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flightsoffandom · 3 hours ago

Note

don't mind me, i'd just be foaming at the mouth if any of the boys threw me over their shoulder and smacked my ass. i think i'd respectfully melt if you wrote that...please

Prompt: Bucky, John, and Bob throw you over their shoulder

Warning: NSFW 18+ minors DNI, just a lot of sexual tension and innuendos, some banter, the boys being dominant, physical intimidation/possessive behavior, dark romance themes, wanted to put a warning on it anyways.

Note: Writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet :)

Bucky: It was late at night. You were halfway down the hallway with socked feet, hoodie zipped up halfway, and a will of determination to make it to the kitchen without anyone noticing. You hadn't been feeling good the last couple days and had been ordered by the doctor to be on bed rest. But you were starving.

“Where do you think you’re going?” That all too familiar voice called out from behind you. You stopped in the middle of your tracks, caught red handed doing the one thing they told you not to do.

You winced and turned. “I’m just getting tea.”

"It's the middle of the night," Bucky observed, putting his hands on his hips and giving you that dad look. "You have a fever. The doctor said you need to be on bed rest."

You scoffed. “It’s just chamomile. I’ll live.”

He narrowed his eyes,; his jaw tightening with that quiet intensity that always meant you’re pushing your luck. He took one slow, deliberate step toward you.

You started to backpedal. “Don’t you dare—”

“Don’t make me do this.” Bucky drew a little closer.

You barely made it two steps down the hallway before he caught up to you. Suddenly, your feet left the ground with a startled yelp and his arm secured you firmly around your thighs. He slung you over his shoulder like it was nothing.

“Bucky! Put me down!” you protested, pounding your fists weakly against his back.

“Nope,” Bucky replied, utterly unmoved, strolling back toward your room. “You still have a fever; you're supposed to be in bed. You’re not wandering around the tower on my watch."

“You’re overreacting.” You threw the insult over your shoulder.

He chuckled, clearly amused. His hand landing a firm, warm pat on the back of your thigh which pulled another surprised yelp from you.

“No, you underestimated how stubborn I am.” Bucky corrected.

“Bucky, I swear—” You tried.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said casually, like that wouldn’t be thinking about those words for the rest of your life. “But if you bite me, we’re gonna have a real problem.”

Entering into your bedroom, Bucky kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot hard. He didn’t speak, simply crossed the space in long purposeful strides. When Bucky came to your bed, he had no intentions of easing you down gently. He knelt one knee onto the mattress, let you slide off his shoulder into his arms and then onto the mattress with a thump that jolted your breath.

You landed on your back, looking up at him with a shocked expression. He stood over you, chest rising and falling, hair slightly disheveled from the walk.

"You done running your body into the ground now?” Bucky asked and crossed his arms over his chest, which meant he was all business.

You propped yourself up on your elbows. “You’re the one manhandling me.”

“You call that handling?” Bucky challenged. You swallowed hard.

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already leaning in again. His one knee pressing into the mattress between your legs as he climbed toward you—slow, steady, sure. A predator with nothing to prove.

He was so close to your face that you felt the heat from his breath fanning your face. You swore he saw just how red your face was turning just from his proximity. He waited and watched you squirm under him.

His metal arm came up and the tip of his finger pinched the tip of your chin, raising it gently to get your eyes level with his. The coolness from his touch felt intoxicating. His voice dropped low and the words that came out felt laced with seduction.

"Be a good girl and stay in bed for me, will ya?"

John: You were in the middle of a mission together. Swiftly navigating towards the ramp of the quinjet, John was hot on your heels. He kept calling your name to stop you, but you ignored him. That was until he caught up with you and came to stand in front of you.

“You are not going out there like that,” John barked, standing between you and the exit.

“It’s recon! I’m not even engaging—” You tried and put your hands on your hips, more annoyed with him than anything.

“You’re limping.” John pointed to your leg which had been patched up not ten minutes ago.

You rolled your eyes. “Barely.”

“That’s enough.” John snapped, tired of listening to you.

“Since when are you in charge of my decisions?” You scoffed.

He stepped closer, radiating that particular brand of unyielding, all-american confidence that always made your pulse tick. You matched him by taking your own step back, slightly worried about this side of him.

“I don’t have to be in charge. I just have to know when you’re being a pain in the ass and stop you.” John spoke.

“John—” You held your hand out to stop him.

“I asked nicely,” John took another step forward. He was giving you one last chance. “You can come back into the jet or I can make you.”

“You wouldn’t—” You narrowed your eyes at him.

It was only then that the corners of his mouth lifted in challenge.

“You want to test that theory, sweetheart?” John wondered.

You made the mistake of lunging for the door. He caught you mid-stride and effortlessly swung your body over his shoulder. He began walking back the way you came and you protested to feeling his hard shoulder digging into your stomach.

“John Walker, put me down right now!” You hit his back once or twice, but you knew it was no use.

He let out a short laugh and tightened his grip. His hand gripped your thigh tighter as he adjusted you, almost like you were slipping—but you weren’t.

“Not until you agree to stay in the jet.” He called back to you.

“I hate you.” You pouted sourly.

“No, you don’t,” John smirked to himself, swatting your backside once to pull a small gasp of disbelief from you. “You just hate that I’m right.”

Safely back inside the quinjet, John let you slide from his shoulder and caught your waist halfway down, standing you upright, but pinning you flush against the wall. You gasped, both palms landing flat against his chest from the force.

He didn’t back away.

He loomed, crowding your space with his body, hands still on your hips. His blue eyes burned down into yours.

“You gonna listen to me now?” John asked in a low and deep tone.

Your jaw tightened along with your stubbornness. “You think throwing me around is how you win an argument?”

“No,” John seemed to smirk down at you like he was enjoying getting you riled up. “I think it’s how I keep you alive.”

You stared up at him. Your heart hammering in your chest. When you tried to push away from him, he just held you firmly and liked to watch you squirm. You only stopped the moment his palm landed flat beside your head, caging you in further and taking you by surprise. The power behind it was unmistakable.

He leaned down to get close to your face, which caused your breath to hitch in the back of your throat. He stared at your; his eyes unwavering. He was not messing around anymore and he didn't want you doing the same. So he spoke once and he spoke very clearly:

“You act up again, I will correct it. You know that, don’t you?”

Bob: You should never underestimate this man. Because you didn’t expect him to move that fast.

One moment, you were glaring at him from across the room, arms crossed, refusing to budge out of your own stubbornness. Just as you went to turn away, you felt a pair of hands grab up. And the floor tilted beneath you.

“Bob—!” you shouted, half a protest, half pure surprise.

But it was too late. He’d already hoisted you up, strong arm locked around the backs of your thighs, your upper body dangling behind him. He wasn’t rough, not quite, but you could feel the effort in the way he held you. Like he was restraining from a much more violent impulse.

“You weren’t listening,” Bob claimed. He sounded too calm, too controlled, too casual. “And I don’t really feel like arguing tonight.”

His body was warm. It always was. Like the sun had stitched itself beneath his skin. His grip was unshakable, but not cruel.

“You can’t just throw people around, Bob!” You tried to argue right back. You squirmed around in his hold, desperate to break free but it was no use.

He let out a soft, almost sad chuckle. “I can do a lot of things I’m not supposed to.”

Your heart stuttered. And you wonder if he heard it.

“I’m being nice,” Bob added and threw a look over his shoulder to address you. You pouted in defeat.

The hallway blurred past as he carried you with terrifying ease. Somewhere between being handled like glass… and being reminded that glass can still be broken.

Then Bob stopped walking.

The silence hung too long before he finally, carefully, bent down. His arms moved with precision, almost clinical, as if afraid he’d break you just by touching.

He set you down on your feet, gently this time. His hands lingering just a little too long at your waist, not for control, but with caution.

“Sorry,” Bob muttered, not meeting your eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

You thought for a second, nibbling your lips gently. You could see the conflict written across his face— like he was still desperately trying to stay in control of himself and that maybe he felt something darker coiled tight beneath the surface.

You took a deep breath to ground yourself. And Bob looked up to meet your gaze.

"I didn’t say I didn’t like it."

SORRY IF THAT WASN'T SUPER GOOD. FELT LIKE I STRUGGLED WITH BOB'S ONE

#bucky barnes x reader #John walker x reader #bob reynolds x reader

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flightsoffandom · 4 hours ago

Text

Have you ever tried this one?

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━

Pairing: John Walker x reader. Word count: 5.2k

Note: Another one inspired by a Sabrina Carpenter song, this time it’s Juno. If you know, you know😉 enjoy 🫶🏼

Description: John had been away on a long mission. A month of nothing but his fist and filthy thoughts of you, edging himself to save it all for you. Every last drop. So when he catches you singing some dirty song about needing it deep? You get exactly what you asked for.

Tags/Warnings: Smut, fem!reader, John gets freaky with his super strength, oral f!rec, only the tip, piv sex, cum play, cum kink (srlsy a lot🙂‍↕️), overstimulation (he just keeps going), so much dirty talk, literally just 5k words of filth with plot.

Happens in the same universe as “Come right on me … I mean camaraderie” but can be read as a stand alone.

Masterlist / archive

It wasn't John's fault. Not really.

It wasn't his fault Bucky had sent him on a month long mission to a place so remote it didn't even show up on a map. It wasn't his fault the signal was garbage, barely enough to send a text, much less hear your voice to at least let you know just how badly he needed you.

By the second week, he was already losing his mind.

Because waking up soaked in sweat with a cock so hard it hurt wasn't the problem, it was waking up alone. Reaching out blindly for the soft heat of your body only to find cold sheets and a cruel reminder that you were only in his dreams. Nothing more than a fucking fantasy. That the version of you riding him, moaning his name in that perfect, ruined little voice of yours, was nothing but a sick joke his head kept playing on loop.

It was maddening.

So no, it wasn't his fault that the tension inside him just kept building up like he was some horny teenager. And no matter how many times his hand drifted down to try to relieve some, anything, he never let himself finish. Not once.

Because coming without you felt wrong.

He told himself the same thing every time, between gritted teeth and sweat dripping from his brow: save it for her.

Every. Single. Drop.

He wrapped up his assignment three days earlier. Fueled by the image of you on your knees, of your pretty little mouth open for him, of that wet heaven between your legs he hadn't tasted in weeks.

He barely acknowledged Yelena when she passed him in the hallway that night he arrived. She raised a brow, opening her mouth to speak.

"Not now," John snapped, already walking past her.

Yelena didn't press further, just raised an eyebrow at the direction John was headed to. Your room.

Yeah, not exactly a shock.

It wasn't a secret you two were having ... something. The compound's walls weren't that thick, and no one here was blind either. You'd both been caught sneaking out of each other's rooms enough times that it barely qualified as "sneaking" anymore.

The whole damn compound probably had a scorecard by now.

At this point, it was honestly ridiculous you still had separate rooms at all. Maybe you liked the thrill of it ... or maybe you were just idiots.

Either way, Yelena knew one thing for sure, she'd probably end up crashing in the living room with the others from that floor, if they wanted to get some sleep that night.

But when John finally reached your door, you weren't there.

He groaned in frustration, eyes narrowing. Maybe you were in the kitchen. Maybe you'd just stepped out, the warm lamp illuminating your messed bedsheets told him so.

Fine. He could wait ... barely.

He dropped his duffel and shield in the his room and headed straight for your shower, too tense to sit still. He scrubbed off the mission, the restraint, all while ignoring the throbbing between his legs he'd been carrying for weeks now. He told himself just a little longer, just a few more minutes and he could finally bury himself in you again, where he belonged.

He was mid drying his body when he heard the door of the room open. He tracked the sound of your footsteps across the room, the gentle bounce of the mattress as you hummed a song.

"Wanna try out some freaky positions ... have you ever tried this one?"

He paused with the towel in hand, half grinning to himself. What on earth were you singing now?

It wasn't the first time he'd caught you in your room with headphones on, humming to yourself like no one else existed. He loved it, loved the way you sang so freely when you thought you were alone. It was always cute. Except this time the lyrics were far away from being “cute”.

He opened the bathroom door with anticipation, hoping to catch your surprised face when you saw him standing in your bathroom with just a towel covering his lower half. But you couldn't see him.

You were sitting cross legged on the bed, facing the headboard. Wearing nothing but one of his huge old shirts, the hem barely covering your thighs, and those noise canceling headphones Yelena and Bob gave you for your birthday.

You were swaying softly, completely oblivious to his presence. The music was loud enough that he could hear the faint echo of a girl's voice through the headphones. Your head bobbed to the beat, eyes glued to your phone.

"One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love," you sang softly, scrolling absentmindedly.

John leaned against the doorframe, one hand holding the towel around his hips, tilted head and a smirk on his face. He lost interest on the music you were humming for a moment, his gaze dropped lower.

Was there anything under that shirt?

He needed to know. He had to.

The hem of the shirt shifted with your movement, offering teasing little flashes of your bare thighs. He tried, really tried to shake those thoughts away. It was a sweet moment. He could hear the playfulness in your voice, maybe you were even thinking about him.

But then the lyrics hit again.

"Adore me, hold me and explore me

Mark your territory

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, one"

He didn't know why the words hit him like that. Maybe it was the anticipation of it all. Maybe it was because they echoed every filthy thought he'd tried to bottle up over the past month. Maybe because he barely held himself together anymore.

He hadn't even touched himself in the last few days ... hadn't dared. Just drowned in the pent up need to be inside you, so thoroughly you'd be dripping with him for days.

"Adore me, hold me and explore me

I'm so fucking horny."

The words came out of your mouth in that same casual, airy tone, like you didn't even realize you were saying them. It was almost innocent. But he shook his head, because he knew you.

Always that mouth. That filthy, sweet, open mouth.

"Jesus Christ..." he muttered to himself.

"Tell me I'm the only, only, only one"

You sighed this time, flopping back on the bed with a dramatic groan, closing your eyes while you held your phone against your chest. The movement of your legs caused the hem of his shirt to ride up your thighs just enough to answer his question.

No panties.

That was it.

He crossed the room in three strides, eyes locked on the picture of you laid out beneath him, upside down from his angle, completely unaware of his gaze fixed on you.

What a treat.

He reached for your headphones, but your eyes flew open before he could pull them off. You yelped, gasping at the sight of him looming over you.

"John?!" you gasped, scrambling upright so fast your phone bounced off the bed, headphones following.

You weren't expecting to see him there at all, at least not yet, he was supposed to arrive by the end of the week. Not that you could ever complain though, the image in front of you was something you'd been dreaming all those weeks he was gone.

His body still damp from the shower, towel barely hanging onto his hips, wet blond hair dripping all over his shoulders … and that devilishly charming grin on his face.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted, nonchalantly, like he didnt almost give you a heart attack.

You blinked a few times, with a breath caught on your throat. "Did you ... did you just come out of my bathroom?"

But you didn't even wait for an answer. Your body just launched forward, wrapping around him like you needed to prove he was real. He caught you instantly with a faint laugh, one arm curling tight around your waist, the other gripping his towel.

His nose brushed your temple as he whispered, "Got back early, couldn't wait to see you."

You smiled, and couldn't wait any longer either, so you crashed your lips against his. There was no hesitation from him, his hands gripped your waist hard, like he needed to anchor himself. Your fingers clawed his chest, his shoulders, dragging him closer by the back of his neck, needing more.

Needing everything.

His body pressed into yours with no space left between, large hands roaming all over your waist, your back, you ass. It wasn't slow, it wasn't sweet. It was tongues and fingers digging into skin. His rough beard scratching against your soft skin.

You pulled back just long enough to breathe, but he chased your mouth, biting at your bottom lip, not letting you go far.

"Fuck, I missed you," you muttered against his mouth, chest heaving. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He chuckled, raising his brow, his chest vibrating against yours. "Didn't want to interrupt the show."

Your face burned. You tried to hide in his chest, but he grabbed your chin so you wouldn't.

"You gonna tell me the rest of those lyrics?" he asked, looking down at you.

You just cursed lowly, because of course he heard all that.

In one smooth motion, he spun you around so your knees hit the bed and your was back pressed to his damp chest. His arm hooked across your shoulders, keeping you upright as his mouth dragged slow, wet kisses along the side of your neck.

"Don’t be shy … I liked that little song of yours," he mumbled against your skin. "But I think I misheard the best part honey ... you said you were what?"

Your breath hitched, you knew he heard you damn right the first time. And he knew you knew. His arm gripped your hip, guiding your ass to grind against him, and that's when you felt it. Felt him. The thick press of his bulge through the towel, hot and painfully hard, in a way that made you drool in anticipation.

"I said ... you were fucking what baby? What was it again?" he growled, pressing your hip harder when you didn't reply.

Your knees suddenly felt weak. God, you had missed him so much, even if he was about to fuck every single line out of you.

"So fucking h-horny," you blurted out the lyrics, dropping your head back to rest on his shoulder.

He hummed, satisfied, slipping a hand down your shirt until he reached the mess between your thighs.

"Jesus, baby..." he rasped, your body jolting when his fingers barely brushed the slick already pooling there. "You're soaking just from that? tsk tsk tsk.”

"You were gone for so long John," you whined, instinctively pushing back against him, "can you really blame me?"

He laughed, lowly, like you've just told him something absurd.

"You think you’re horny?" he groaned, shaking his head. "I've been jerking off like some goddamn teenager for weeks, and the worst part? I couldn't even finish honey … thinking how you should be the one wringing it out of me."

You bit your lip, whimpering at the image.

"You know how fucking hard that was?" he continued. "Sleeping in a cold bed, not even being able to hear your voice while I had my cock in my hand, trying not to cum 'cause I wanted it all to be yours. Wanted to fill you up the second I got back."

He loosened his grip on you only enough to let go of the towel covering his body. He dragged your shirt higher and then he pressed his bare cock against your ass.

"Feel that, baby?" he growled in your ear. "This is what I've been carrying ... just for you."

"Then give it to me," you begged, squirming in his hold. "John, please, it's been too long..."

"Oh, I will." He chuckled darkly. “But you gotta run that dirty mouth a little bit longer.”

You whined, this is exactly where he wanted you.

"Imagine the first thing I hear when I come back is that filthy little mouth of yours ... what was it you were singin' about? some freaky positions?"

Shit.

"Hold on to me."

Before you could even process it, his arms were under your thighs. You let out a squeal as he took you off the bed, carrying you to the wall. He turned you around midair, and without even a sign of discomfort, lifted your body up until your legs instinctively wrapped around his neck.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, and your breath caught in your throat as you realized what was happening.

He was standing, fully upright. Holding you high in the air with your legs hooked over his shoulders, his hands locked under your ass. His face aligned perfectly with your dripping pussy.

"John," you gasped, gripping his wet hair when you realized your head was close to the ceiling now. "What the fuck ..."

He looked up grinning like a devil.

"What?" he asked innocently, smug as hell. "Have you ever tried this one?"

You nervously laughed, shaking your head incredulously.

"Don't worry, baby," he winked, bunching the shirt around your waist, exposing you completely to his greedy eyes. "I got you."

You gasped when his mouth latched on your pussy like he'd been dying of thirst. Obscene sounds filled the room, from your wetness, from the mess he was painting all over his beard, from your pleads. His grip was unshakable, anchoring you in place while his mouth worked like he was trying to make up for every second he'd been gone.

Your chest began rising up and down quickly, one hand desperately tugging his hair while the other traveled up for some sort of leverage, slapping blindly at the ceiling above you as your body trembled.

"John ... fuck–yes," you panted, vision blurring from the intensity.

He groaned against your pussy, the vibration shooting up your spine. It was too much. The strength in his arms, the way he held you there without even faltering, while dragging his tongue through every slick inch of you.

It felt worshipful.

"You're doing it so good, baby," You praised, tugging his hair harder.

He hummed against your pussy, sucking your clit into his mouth in a way only he knew how to make you see stars, and then looked up at you with those unfair baby blue eyes.

You almost came at the sight of him under you, beard all soaked, looking at you like he was getting drunk from your taste alone.

It wasn't long until your whole body began shaking, legs trembling where they were draped over his shoulders, the heels of your feet digging into his back like it would somehow ground you. But nothing could.

You were so high up the wall, so completely suspended by him, only your back touching anything solid, that your vision started to white out.

"J-John I can't ... I'm gonna–“

"Yeah?" he grunted. "Go on then, sweetheart ... mark your territory."

His fingers dug deeper into your ass, holding you in place as he moaned against your cunt, the vibrations sent you crashing over the edge.

Your thighs clenched around his head, body trembling as you reached your high. He didn't stop, not when you came, not when your back arched off the wall, not even when you whimpered his name.

He kept eating, drinking down every twitch of your orgasm, tongue flicking your clit until your thighs shook violently and you tried to push him away.

Your hands ran all over his hair, desperate.

"Too much ... John, baby, please–"

That's when he finally pulled back.

You blinked a few times at him, your juices glistening on his lips, running down his bearded chin. He looked wrecked. His wet hair all wild, jaw flexing, chest rising and falling like he'd been the one coming.

You twitched one more time, and he grinned satisfied.

"You taste even better than I remembered." His voice was raspy, so fucking sexy.

You barely had time to recover before he lowered you just enough to cradle you in his arms, still against the wall, but now your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms locked behind his neck.

He was the one you kissed you this time, making sure you tasted every drop of yourself on his lips. You could feel his hard cock trapped between you, hot and slick, leaking against your stomach.

"Still singin' that song in your head, sweetheart?" he asked as soon as you came apart, in that devilishly teasing tone.

"Huh?" You blurted out, dizzy from the haze.

He shook his head amused, he was barely getting started with you.

He adjusted his grip on you, before taking you off the wall. Your arms tightened around his neck, eyes wide as he carried you through the room, toward the bed. He lowered you on the mattress, spreading your legs with his knees as he hovered over you.

He didn't have patience for you to be covered anymore, even if seeing you in his shirt drove him insane. But he just needed you naked when he came all over you. So he easily ripped his shirt off from you, throwing it somewhere in the room. His eyes dragged down your body, pausing at the mess between your thighs, at the way your chest heaved, at the way your eyes pleaded.

"You look like a fuckin' dream," he muttered, voice rough. This is all he'd been waiting for, all he’d been fantasizing about.

Before you could say anything, hell, before you could even breathe, he grabbed his cock in his hand, slapping the fat head of it against your soaked pussy.

Once. Twice. Again.

You jolt with each wet hit, little shocked gasps slipping from your lips as your sensitive clit twitched under the weight of his cock.

"Too much?" he asked, grinning as he slapped your folds again, harder this time. "You're twitching so pretty for me, sweetheart."

"John ... fuck–please," you whined, head rolling back on the mattress.

He just grinned, treating himself to a few more heavy wet slaps. You looked so pretty when you shivered, when you begged.

You gasped when you felt him pressing in your entrance with no warning. Head shooting up, eyes going wide just in time to see how he only pushed the tip in. Just that goddamn massive tip, splitting you open with a stretch that knocked the air right out of your lungs. You couldn’t help but throw your head back again.

"I know, baby," he groaned at the feeling of your pussy around him. "You're so tight and so full already … look at you, it's not even halfway in," he praised, breath coming short.

He didn't go deeper. Just pushed the head of his cock against your entrance, in and out. Driving you wild.

And my god, he was so vocal. The grunting, the low growling. The slow movement of his hips like he was holding himself back from slamming balls deep inside you. You knew he has.

You whimpered, clutching the sheets, your hips rolled up to chase more, deeper, but he pinned you down, his chest tensing as he held himself back with a growl.

"Just the tip for now, baby."

He wanted to take his time. Make you go as many rounds as he'd saved his cum for the time he was away. But when you clenched your pussy around the head of his cock, he almost almost bursted right there. He kept pressing in, just the swollen crown stretching you wide.

“God … John,” you whimper, grabbing the sheets. “I love the way you fit.”

“I know,” he hisses, eyes glued to where your bodies met. “Feels so fucking good like this.”

He didn’t thrust deep, just moved in short, devastating rolls of his hips that drove that thick tip over your sweetest spot again and again, attempting to drag another orgasm right back out of you.

“You gonna cum again, baby? tip’s too much for you already?”

That cockiness, that smug grin on his face, the way he keep pushing just a part of himself in that teasing pace, made you unravel, his name came out between gasps, body spasming with the pressure.

“Just like that baby, taking me so well, and I haven’t even fucked you properly yet.”

No he hadn’t, still made you see white as you rode your second high on the night. He groaned at the sight, feeling himself closer and closer.

"You want me to cum like this?" he gritted, hips grinding. "Been saving it, my sweet fucking cum ...all yours. You want it?"

You just nodded, eyes still seeing stars, breathless.

"Then sing it for me.”

Your brows furrowed. "W-What?"

"Sing the fuckin' lyric." He growled this time, leaning closer. "The part that got you all worked up. Let's hear it again sweetheart, just the good part"

Your cheeks flushed, brain fuzzing. "John—"

He slammed forward, just an inch deeper, but so hard it knocked a cry out of your throat. You swallowed hard, while he waited expectantly without moving, making you ache for the friction.

"...Adore me..." you mumbled, barely singing.

“Louder."

“Adore me... hold me... and explore me..."

You noticed the way he was becoming undone to your shaky voice, breathing caught in his throat as he began fucking you again his leaking tip, exploring your entire body with his hands. His eyes glistened with anticipation. He needed you to say it, he was so close.

"Go on, what’s next?” He growled between gritted teeth, hips dragging faster his tip in and out of your entrance, hands pinching your nipples.

"...Mark your territory..." you whispered, nearly choking on your words.

"Yeah," he breathed, voice feral. "That's the one."

He let out a guttural sound, hips slamming forward, his body locking up as he finally let himself spill into you, tip buried, grinding into your clenching pussy while his cum rushed out desperate, like it's been waiting to drip out of you.

"Fuck– ugh baby, fuck..."

You felt it before you even saw it. The first hot pulses inside you, so thick and warm. But he’d dreamed about you covered in him, so he pulled out, his cum leaking out behind him in thick drips as he poured the rest of himself on you. You felt it spill all over your body, one spurt. Then another. And another.

And another.

"Oh my –shit, baby," you gasped , eyes flying wide as he poured into you. "That's so much, John ... holy fuck–"

He kept going while he grunted, kept spilling, holding the base of his cock tight as he came all over you. Your clenching walls pushed what was left inside you out, dripping down your pussy, pooling on the sheets.

"Shit–can't stop," he panted, all flushed, watching with hooded eyes as his cum kept painting your body. "Fuck, look at you ... you're soaked."

You glanced down, and your jaw dropped.

It was everywhere. Your belly, your thighs, the curve of your hips. Sticky, thick white streaks all over your chest, a faint drop on your neck. And even more dripping out your pussy like he never pulled out.

And it had been just with the tip.

"John... it’s so much..." you panted, voice barely above a whisper.

"Told you I was saving it up, honey," he grinned, breathless yet still smug, proud ... asshole.

He leaned down, dragging two fingers through the mess on your belly, gathering a thick strand of it, and then smearing it right back onto your skin, lazier, messier, spreading it even more.

"You're not getting cleaned up," he mumbled, voice rough. "Not yet. I want you to feel it. I want you to lie here soaking in it."

You whimpered as his fingers trailed lower, collecting more where it was pooling between your thighs. He spread it around your folds, deliberately pushing it over your sensitive clit, and you jolted, hips twitching.

"Still twitchy," he smirked, loving the way you squirmed. "So damn pretty when you're sensitive."

Then he dragged his fingers back up and smeared more of it across your chest, rubbing his release into your skin like he wanted it to stay there.

His territory marked. Owned.

You were trying to catch your breath, your limbs heavy, skin flushed and sticky, brain barely holding onto thoughts.

But then, the weight of him moved over you again. His hand gripped your wet thigh hard, pushing it up and out. His cock, hard again, sliding right through the mess between your legs, thick and wet from your arousal and his white paint.

Your eyes flew open. "John ... just give me a minute–"

"It's okay baby, I got you."

He grabbed your limp body and flipped it over, chest against the mattress, ass low, while he crossed your arms behind your back so he could raise your back to him. His cock pressed against your ass, and you suddenly needed him more than before.

"Need you ... all of it … please"

This time he didn't say anything, he just thrusted. He buried himself deep, all the way this time, no more teasing with the tip. The sudden stretch made your whole body arch, back curling away from him but he tightened his grip on your arms, as a helpless cry ripped from your throat.

"Shit, you're so tight," he growled, voice rough with need.

He set a brutal rhythm instantly, hips snapping against your ass, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and filthy in the room. You were too sensitive, too full, too overstimulated, but you couldn't stop moaning. Your body could take it. Needed it.

One large hand gripped yours on your lower back, the other landing a smack in your ass as he fucked into you, panting, wild, relentless.

"You're so fucking perfect," he leaned down, teeth grazing your shoulder. "I'm gonna come inside this time. So deep you'll feel it for days."

Your mind was gone. Words were gone. You were just whimpering, relying on his grip to hold you up while he ruined you for the third time.

This is how he needed you. Overstimulated, a moaning mess, dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you. You clenched around his whole length this time, tighter, he looked down at you and smirked.

"Cum on my cock, baby. That's what it's for, all yours."

His deep voice sent you over the edge. Your walls fluttered around his cock, your back arched as you came again while he fucked you through it, clenching around him with a strangled cry. He slammed in deeper, his cock twitching for release.

"Take it, baby … so pretty how your take it."

He growled seeing you become undone again, losing his last thread of restraint.

"Oh fuck..."

"Come on John, I know you still have more for me.”

You felt it the moment he started to lose control, his rhythm stuttering, jaw almost snapping, breath hot and shaky against your skin.

"Gonna fill you up again," he growled, hips slamming into you one last time.

And then he crashed again, deep inside you, seed thick and hot, spilling into your pussy in those long, creamy strings. Your body jolted under him, back arching, but he didn't pull out this time.

He kept himself buried balls deep, cock twitching inside you, his hands tight still holding your arms behind your back.

"Jesus," he groaned, dazed. "You're fuckin' milking me."

You hummed, overstimulated and trembling, feeling every drop of him, filling you up until it began leaking back out.

A slow, thick stream of cum slipped out around his cock, trickling between your thighs, dripping down your leg as John just watched. Mesmerized. Smirking.

He let his grip on you go, gently letting your chest fall back on the mattress, cock still inside you. He looked down.

"Look at that," he mumbled. "Can't even hold it all." He pulled his cock back a little, just enough to make it spill faster. "Fucked you so full I can feel it spilling out of you."

You moaned, all weak, breathless. "Saved all that sweet cum just for me Johnny."

"It's all I thought about baby," he gritted, dragging his thumb to smear the mess around.

He finally pulled out, a gasp escaping your mouth when you felt all his love dripping out of you.

"Look how pretty you are when you're leaking my cum..."

You thought he would give you a minute this time. A little break to remember how to breathe again, when he helped you turn around so you laid your back on the bed, facing him now.

You could feel it against your leg, he was hardening again. Like your whole body wasn't already covered in all of him.

You felt the weight of his cock, thick, flushed, and heavy against your overstimulated pussy, you whimpered when he pressed the head back to your folds.

"John," you breathed, head rolling back. "You already ... fuck, you came so much baby."

"I know," he growled, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath was hot against your cheek. "I know. But look at me, baby."

He grabbed the base of his cock and rubbed the tip through the slick, tender mess between your legs, your whole body reacting. "Still fuckin' hard."

It wasn't his fault. The serum had enhanced everything. Every fucking thing. And he'd been gone, for too damn long.

You barely had time to recover. You were still twitching, body too sensitive, soaked and overstimulated. But your hands still reached to his back, to push him into you one more time.

"Greedy little thing." He chuckled, shaking his head. “Can’t even hold yourself up but you keep reaching for more.”

So he complied, slow at first, like he could still tease after all he’d done to you by now. His hips rolled forward, pushing his previous loads deeper. You gasped, legs trembling, nails digging into his back as you shook your head and whimpered, "John, I can't–"

"Yes, you can," he growled. "You're gonna take every drop. Again."

Then he snaps his hips forward, hard.

Your whole body bounces as he fucked it into you one more time, his cock slamming through the mess he already left inside, making it gush out in slick, tiny splashes with every thrust.

"Fuck, listen to that," he snarled, going feral at the obscene sounds. "So messy for me. You love this."

And the worst part? He was right.

Because even through the overstimulation, the ache, the stretch, you were clenching around him again, your body greedy, desperate, obeying every filthy command he made without question.

He was relentless. Gripping your hips, fucked into you like he was trying to imprint himself into your core, cock pounding the mess deeper while more of it leaked out down your ass and thighs.

"Still sensitive, sweetheart?" He was smug as sin, one hand spreading you open while the other pressed your lower belly. "You can take it … just a little more."

You didn’t take long to come again, nearly sobbing, legs shaking uncontrollably, and he groaned as you cried out his name, squeezing him tight.

He was there, almost there. But he wanted this one somewhere else.

He pulled out of your shaking pussy, and climbed over your body on the bed, straddling your chest as he guided his cock to your face.

"Open for me, sweetheart ... yeah that's it"

He shoved his cock in your mouth, and you gladly took it, all of it. In twitches it spilled down your throat. Salty, thick warmth overflowed your mouth as he grunted, coming all over your tongue.

You hit his thigh when you couldn't breathe anymore from how much it was, so he put a hand behind your neck to lift your head, and raised you to sit on the bed as he panted beside you, mesmerized by the view of you choking in it.

His hand ran comforting strokes down your back, as you tried to swallow as much as you could. Like you always did.

Like the good fucking girl you were for him.

"Look at you," he whistled in a growl. "Covered in me. Stuffed full of me. Choking on me … and I still see some untouched parts."

His thumb found your chin, smearing what had leaked out your mouth down your neck, and tilted your face toward his.

"How many times is that, baby?" he taunted, pushing the hair out of your sweaty face. "Two, three loads? … doesn't even matter, you always take ‘em all.”

You just whimpered to his praise, couldn't trust your voice when you still felt his warmth going down your throat.

You both go quiet.

The kind of quiet that only happened after John was finally satisfied with how many times you came on his cock, with the way you twitched from the sheer exhaustion, when you didn’t even know how to speak anymore.

He pressed kiss to your temple, his lips soft, lingering. The sharp edge of his voice from earlier was gone, replaced by a low raspy whisper as his fingers brushed over your spine.

“Hey… you still with me, baby?”

You nod weakly.

“That’s my girl,” he grinned. “You did so good for me. So damn good.”

As you regained your breath, he just held you for a moment with his hand on your back, and stared. At you. At the mess all over your body. At what he did.

At what you let him do.

“C’mere” He whispered, while he pulled you into his lap, and settled you down on his wet cock.

You moan out, body going limp and stuffed beyond reason as he held you there, not moving, just filling you up for the last time. You clung to him with the last bits of strength you had left, while he wiped the sweat and hair out of your face.

“Just sit here sweetheart, you’re okay” he breathed against your hair, rubbing soothing circles on your body. “Keep me warm while you recover baby, don’t spill another drop.”

He wrapped his arms around you, possessive, smug but with tenderness now, he kissed your shoulder like it was the softest thing in the world. He could feel the stickiness of your body on him, a sweet reminder that you were in fact, the only only only one for him.

“We’ll cleanup later, baby” He cooed and you just nodded weakly, placing a kiss on his pec.

He leaned slightly to see your face, to catch a glimpse of that blissed out, weak smile on your lips. He smiled adoringly, with that softness that only came after he wrecked you.

But then, without even a doubt, a harsh chuckle left his throat.

“Have I marked my territory enough?”

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comments and reblogs are always appreciated, thank you so much for reading 🖤

#john walker x reader #john walker smut

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flightsoffandom · 4 hours ago

Text

Come right on me … I mean camaraderie - John Walker x reader

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Word count: 3.5k

Description: You can't help the inappropriate thoughts that come out of your mouth during a mission, and John has to teach you a lesson, or multiple, about it.

“Holy shit, come right on me” You mumbled under your breath. His head snapped at you. No. There’s no way his hearing caught that.

Tags/warnings: smut, fem!reader is a horny menace, dominant John, long buildup, sex, overstimulation.

Note: This has Sabrina Carpenter levels of bluntness about being horny that's how I feel about this man. Kicked my feet while writing this. Enjoy 🫶🏼

Masterlist

It wasn’t your fault, really.

It wasn’t your fault that John Walker was a goddamn idiot. Or that he was also so painfully hot you’d been waking up to drenched panties after dreams where he made you his in the most filthy ways you could imagine.

It wasn’t your fault your brain crafted entire scenarios while you slept, where he was all over you, handsy, desperate, soaked in sweat.

And it really wasn’t your fault that Bucky kept pairing you up with him for missions. You were sure Yelena had something to do with that targeted sabotage.

You were down so bad for him, all the man had to do was exist. The way he led in front of you, the way he threw around orders under pressure, the particular way he had to shove targets against walls … your mind didn’t even try to behave anymore.

This morning, you’d woken up panting, sheets damp in a sweaty mess, mind adjusting to the fact that his head was between your legs only in your dream and not in reality.

How sad.

And now here you were, paired with him again in some random warehouse lab, Yelena and Bucky waiting back on the jet while you did your part of the mission.

“Did you get it?” His voice came in a growl through your comm, you could hear his grunts as he cleared your extraction route, and holy shit, why did that do things to you?

It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault.

You tucked the vial into your pocket, trying to focus. You cleared your throat before speaking.

“Package secured. I’m on my way to you.”

But before you could turn, a yelp went through the comm when a rough hand grabbed your shoulder and slammed you to the floor. You barely had time to gasp before a body pinned you down, heavy and aggressive, and a cold blade pressed against your throat.

You barely caught the attacker’s fist mid air, fighting the strength he was pushing down with, when a gloved hand stopped him. The man cried in pain when John twisted his arm away from your face. The next thing you knew, he went flying across room.

John had yanked him off you, throwing him away with a snarl that made your blood burn. He let his shield fall to the ground, before he stomped towards the guy, grabbed him by the collar, and smashed his fist into his face.

“So you like hitting pretty girls, huh?” He barked, punching again.

You watched from your spot on the floor, thoughts detailing from the moment he spoke. You bit your lip as he lifted the man to shove him into the wall. Those arms, those grunts … god.

Why on earth was that so hot?

"Holy shit, come right on me." You mumbled under your breath, weren’t even thinking as the words came out of your mouth.

His head snapped at you, dropping the body of the man.

Your eyes go wide. No. There's no fucking way his hearing caught that.

He started at you with furrowed brows and a hint of disbelief. Sweat clung to his hairline, making disheveled strands stick to his forehead, chest rising and falling under the weight of adrenaline.

That image wasn't helping at all.

"What?” He asked, voice coming out rougher than he intended.

Shit.

“I mean ... camaraderie! Y-yeah. Thanks for that" You blurted, pointing awkwardly at the half conscious guy on the floor like that explained anything.

He nodded hesitantly, squinting at you like he was trying to decide whether you were insane or he was.

In three long strides he walked over, standing over you offering his gloved hand. You took it, and in one swift motion he pulled you up, straight into him. His other hand landed firmly on the curve of your back, pressing you tightly against him.

Your uneven breathing hit his neck, barely reaching his jawline.

"That can be arranged" He mumbled, eyes dropping, just for a second, to your lips.

You were sure your brain just short circuited. Of course he heard your horny ass.

"John–"

Before you could say anything to defend whatever was left of your dignity, voices echoed from the hallway, and in a second, he spun you both behind a column, pressing you harshly against the wall. His palm instinctively covered your mouth, eyes locked on the entrance.

“Shh” he whispered, breath warm against your forehead. “Be quiet.”

The agents continued their way down the hall without noticing you were in the room, and John's posture relaxed slightly.

Yours didn't.

Being pinned against a wall, trapped by his larger frame of broad shoulders, feeling every ridge of his suit on your chest and something very solid pressing against your belt.

This. This is what dreams are made of.

You instinctively raised your knee, just enough to rub softly against the bulge in his suit. He sucked in a sharp breath, head jerking in your direction, hand still covering your mouth.

You notice the way his entire body tensed up again.

You brought your knee back down, slowly, and he looked like it physically pained him not to grab it back and rub against him one more time. His hand dropped from your mouth, and the smirk on your lips said everything.

You rose up on your toes, drawing your lips close to his ear.

"I bet it's even better than in my head." You teased, barely nibbling the edge of his ear.

You gasped when he pushed you tighter into the wall, jaw clenching with his fingers digging deeper onto your waist.

He was so so done for.

"Walker? Walker, come in." The comms static pierced through the tension, Yelena's voice breaking the silence. "Did you get it? We need to go. Now."

He hesitated for a second, hands twitching like he wasn’t ready to let your body go yet.

He wasn’t sure if he could trust his voice, and to be honest neither did you. He took a shaky breath, cleared his throat, and backed up a step.

"Y-yeah" He said, turning from you. His voice cracked slightly, so he cleared his throat again, and you bit your lip to keep from laughing."We got it. We’re heading to the jet now."

By the time he turned back around, you were already walking out, casually ahead of him like you hadn’t just driven him to the edge of self control.

The ride back to the watchtower was tense. You took the seat farthest from John, clearly not because you wanted to. No, you wanted to crawl into his lap and beg him to continue what you’d started, but self preservation said maybe don’t ride him in front of coworkers.

Considering Yelena and Bucky had been throwing knowing glances at you the whole time.

This was your fault after all.

Not being able to control your dirty thoughts, showing up all flustered and justifying it on almost getting sliced, pretending you could fool two polygraph detectors.

Whatever.

All you needed was a warm shower and to give yourself a little love to drown those inappropriate thoughts of yours about John.

Respectfully, of course.

You made your way across the hallway towards your room, thinking about getting that shower head as soon as you could between your thighs, when a door openned and hand grabbed you, shoving you inside that room.

The door to John's room slammed shut behind you with a solid thud. Before you could even turn around, he had you pressed up against it, hands holding his weight on the door, each placed next to your head.

"You don't get to do that shit, sweetheart" He groaned, standing close to your face. "You don't say those things to me in the middle of a mission and pretend I’ll just forget about it."

You breathe loudly, chest rising up and down, trying to wrap your head aground the fact that he had you caged in his room. You tilt your head to the side, might as well enjoy it.

"God forbid I have fantasies." You tease, without missing a bit.

Your knee went up to do the same thing you did earlier, but he took one hand off the door to stop it before it could reach his crotch, and let out a bitter laugh.

"You think you’re the only one who fantasizes? You think I don’t dream with that dirty pretty mouth of yours?"

Your breath hitched. His hands traveled to your waist, rough and possessive, thumbs digging into your hips like he was grounding himself, like the last part of him was barely holding back.

His lips brushed your neck, not kissing, just hovering. Teasingly . He pulled back, just enough to make you chase the contact, and that smug little smirk flickered on his lips.

He began guiding you away from the door, never splitting your bodies apart.

"You've been distracting me since day one" he muttered, backing you up until your legs hit the bed. "Wearing that tight suit and those damn lips. Always mouthing shit off, making me want to shut you up."

You whimpered, eyes dropping to the floor.

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

"Oh, so now you're shy?" He teased, making a tsk tsk sound. "I want you to look at me now, when you talk like that."

His hands found the zipper of your suit, with a darkened look he stares at you for a moment, waiting for approval.

And fuck your heart was pounding. You needed someone to pinch you to make sure this wasn't a dream.

You nodded immediately, maybe a little too eager.

He chuckled at your desperation, taking his sweet time to take your one piece suit off, making sure he enjoyed every time your breath hitched when he grazed your skin. He dragged the fabric down, leaving you only in underwear.

As soon as the suit hit the floor, he pressed you down onto the mattress with one hand on your chest.

"You wanna tease me? Say filthy shit in the middle of a fight? Rub your knee against me like that?" His hand slid up your thigh, slowly claiming what’s always been his in your wildest dreams. "You don't get to walk away to find relief on your own."

Your breath stuttered, your hands instinctively went to the zipper of his suit, but he caught your wrists.

"John, come on–"

"No, you have to be patient like I’ve been" he said, dipping his head down to brush his lips across your collarbone. "I tried to be good. Tried to respect the mission."

He lifted his head, eyes locked on yours. "But you decided to be a brat and got me all worked up. Now I get to take my time with you."

He pulled himself back from your body, finally reaching for the top of his suit, messily dismantling it away to throw it off the bed.

You barely had time to breathe before he was on you again, kissing you hard, devouring you. His hands held your jaw, fingers rough and urgent, like he needed to keep you under him forever.

You gasped against his mouth, and that's when it slipped out.

"Been so wet all day since I woke up–“

He froze, immediately pulling back, eyes narrowed at you. "What was that?"

"N-nothing." You stuttered, too quick to be believable. He chuckled.

"No, go ahead sweetheart" he said, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. "Keep talking. You got so much to say, right?"

You opened your mouth but nothing more than a gasp came out when he pushed his hand between your thighs, grinding up against the wet spot on your panties.

"God dammit" he muttered, his fingers painfully grazing the fabric, barely touching it. "This all for me?"

You moaned, nodding. "Been saving it since the morning."

His cock twitched inside his pants at your confession. He softly slapped over your wet panties, making you jolt. "Always have something to say, don't you?" He slapped again when you nodded, harder this time, his fingers getting wet through the fabric.

He brought his fingers to his lips, and without hesitation, teased. "Tastes better than in my head."

"Fuck" you whined, head dropping to the bed. "This is so much worse now."

You were doomed. You were never coming back from this, from his touch.

From all of him.

He bitterly laughed. "You think this is hard for you?"

His hands found your hips, gripping tight. He rolled them up against his own, letting you feel how hard he was.

"I've had to walk around with this for weeks because of you. Every time you stretch, every time you bend over, every time you moan in your room–"

Your head snapped up to look at him, and his smirk deepened.

"Yeah, my room is next to yours. You think I don't hear you? Late at night, thinking you're being quiet?" He was so arrogantly casual about it, like it was something he'd wanted to confess for a long time.

That he heard you every time. A nasty little secret of yours he's kept locked for too long.

"You touch yourself thinking about me, sweetheart?" he asked, voice full of cockiness. "Bet you taste your own fingers after you're done, pretending it's me."

You wanted to yell at him and tell him he was so full of himself. But damn, he was right, all you wanted was to be full of him too.

Your hips jerked against him, your patience was running short. He hissed at your move, like the contact short circuited something in his brain.

"No shame either, didn't even try to deny it." He continued.

"That’s nothing" You shake your head teasingly. "You should hear the things that go through my head. You'd never look at me the same again."

He shook his head amused.

"Poor thing, can't even shut up about how bad she wants it."

You whined, the pool between your thighs starting to ache by the lack of his touch.

You tugged at his tactical pants. "Take them off, right now."

"Impatient" he scolded.

"I've been patient for months" you snapped, squirming under him. "You just never listened."

"Oh, I’m listening now" he growled. "I just have to be sure you can take it."

You reached up to run your hands across his chest, fingers tracing down his abdomen.

“I'll take it" you blurted, fingers dipping low enough to make him groan. "All of it."

He grinned, before fumbling with his pants, cursing when they got slightly stuck, ripping them down fast enough to make you laugh, until your eyes landed on him. On him.

"Oh my god." you breathed.

Shit. It was better than in your head.

Thick, swollen. Absolutely perfect.

He grinned. This is a sight he had only seen in dreams before. You laying on his bed, mouth parted open at the sight of his cock, ready to let him ruin you.

His mouth was on yours again, rough and needy this time, hands everywhere, yanking off the last pieces of fabric from your body like he'd earned it.

And boy, he had.

He lined himself up, dragging the hard tip through your slick entrance, teasing. But you saw it in his face, the way his jaw was clenched, like he was barely holding on.

"You sure, baby?" he asked. "I need you to say it."

You prompted yourself up by your shoulders, grabbing his face, beard tickling your fingers. "Make my fantasies come true, John."

That was all it took for him to push himself in, teasingly slow, beautifully thick, stretching you in the most delicious, overwhelming way. You moaned his name, head falling back on the mattress.

"Shit, so tight" he groaned, barely moving as your walls got used to him. "You're perfect. Fuck, you're perfect"

He couldn’t wait any longer. With no warning he was pounding into you like he meant it. Like a man who’d been dreaming about it for too long and finally got permission to ruin you.

He caged you against his body, his large hands gripped your hips so tight you'd definitely have marks.

You couldn't stop moaning, couldn't even form words. You were just a string of gasps, whimpers, and his name over and over like it was the only thing left in your brain.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, watching your face contort with every thrust. "Such a pretty little mess aren’t you?."

Your nails dragged down his back, trying to keep yourself grounded. But he was hitting that sweet spot with every thrust.

"Harder" you begged in the haze. "Please –fuck, please don't stop."

He growled. Like full on growled. He increased his speed, abusing of his enhanced strength. Your mouth dropped open in a cry, so perfectly wrecked he couldn't help the grin on his face.

"You gonna come for me, baby?" He grunted, feeling that familiar clench around his cock.

You just nodded, biting your lip. But he wasn't having that, he wanted to hear you. He leaned down, teeth grazing your ear.

"Then say it. Say what you say when you think I'm not listening"

Your brain scrambled. "W-what?"

"You know what, say it" he demanded. "Come right on me, wasn't it?"

You gasped, eyes wide as he continued to rearrange your entire system.

"Say it, sweetheart. Or I stop." He threatened, but you shook your head immediately.

You whined, thighs shaking around his waist. "Come ...fuck ... come right on you–"

You got the words mixed up, your brain completely fogged by the pleasure.

"There she is" he groaned, dragging your hips up for a better angle. "There's my filthy girl."

His praise sent your body over the edge, coming so hard it punched the air out of your lungs. And hell, he felt it. Every spasm. Every clench. He swore loud and shoved in deeper, chasing his own high.

"Where did you say you want it, baby? Say it one more time for me.” He panted, losing his rhythm, hips jerking erratically.

"Cum right on m-me" you blurted the right words this time, even while still trembling under him.

He slammed into you once, twice, before pulling out to spill all over your stomach you with a ragged growl, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, hips twitching as he emptied himself on your skin.

For a moment there was just your ragged breathing, and that slick, milky warmth dripping down your abdomen. Half his body weight rested on you, as he breathed on your neck.

"Holy shit" You mumbled, gasping, when he placed a kiss on your shoulder.

Only a few seconds passed.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was moving up again, feeling his hard dick against your stomach like he didn't just fill you up.

Your eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding your post orgasm haze.

"Wait, John" you panted, "you're still...?"

"Oh, baby" he chucked, flipping you over to press your chest to the mattress. He dragged your ass back to him, slow and possessive. "We're not done yet."

You gasped as he slid back in with one deep thrust, your body was too sensitive, walls fluttering around him as he groaned, gripping your hips tight to steady himself.

"You don't get to talk like that" he said, something darker in his voice now. "Say that filthy shit. Look at me the way you do, like you're ready to drop to your knees in the middle of a mission–"

"J-John" you whimpered, he felt even bigger than before.

"–and expect me to stop after one round?"

He started to move. Long, slow strokes that made your toes curl. Your face pressed to the sheets, moaning like you didn't care if your teammates heard.

"John … it's too good, too much..."

By this point you weren’t thinking clearly anymore, words coming out slurred.

"You can take it" He pushed himself harder. "You told me you could, sweetheart."

You whimpered into the pillow, your body trembling. Every thrust hit deeper, harder, somehow better than before. Pleasure curling up your spine, threatening to drag you over the edge again.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me” he muttered, leaning in closer, his voice brushing the back of your neck. “Or maybe you do. Maybe that’s the whole fucking point.”

You were so close. The overstimulation was making you see stars, enough to make you cry out his name again and again.

"So good for me. Could stay inside you all night." He praised, grunting, his hands roaming your back.

Your body crashed out again, louder this time, absolutely zero control over it, your orgasm ripping through you so hard your vision went white.

He lost it.

You cried out his name one last time as you felt him come again, body twitching while this time he filled you up, muttering curses into your back like he was trying to bury them in your skin.

He stayed like that for a moment, buried deep with uneven breathing, chest on your back. You don’t know how long passed, until he pulled out slowly, a hiss catching in his throat as you whimpered softly under him.

"Sorry, sweetheart" he mumbled, his hand softly rubbing your back, "You okay?"

You nodded, completely blissed out. Couldn’t trust yourself to speak properly at this point.

He kissed the back of your neck, so soft, completely opposite to the way he just wrecked you. You couldn't hold your body up any longer, so he helped you flip around to rest your back on the mattress.

"Still breathing, baby?" he whispered, brushing your hair from your damp face.

You let out faint laugh, your vision finally coming back to normal. "Barely."

"Good, we were just getting started."

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━

Part 2 Have you ever tried this one? 🖤

comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

#john walker x reader #john walker smut

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flightsoffandom · 4 hours ago

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flightsoffandom · 2 days ago

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scooby doo ass gang

#bob reynolds #ava starr #yelena belova #john walker #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*

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flightsoffandom · 3 days ago

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a detailed list of things i hate

hot weather

high temperatures

heat

warmer than average conditions

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flightsoffandom · 3 days ago

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save the date

bob reynolds x reader

summary: bob is gutted to find out you’re looking for love on a dating app, not knowing the only reason you are is because you're convinced he will never make a step in your direction – you’re now both trying to move on from each other while neither of you know how much you actually want each other.

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers, misunderstandings/miscommunication trope, dating apps, oblivious idiots in love, mutual pining though both parts think it's unrequited, angst, alcohol consumption, bob takes care of drunk reader, mentions of bob's former addiction, insecurities, the thunderbolts are very involved, yelena being an amazing supportive friend and an aroace icon, I pick on walker a few times in there but I actually like the guy dw

word count: 6k

masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ♡

“I made a selection already but I’m not sure how to slim it down and which ones I should pick”

Yelena gives you a single, confident nod that tells you she got this and silently motions for you to hand her your phone, her lollipop standing by itself inside her mouth as she carefully looks through the different pictures you selected to potentially put on your profile, scrolling through them with the same focus she reviews mission plans with.

She had helped you come up with things to write down for the descriptions on your profile, but you knew damn well that this was the most important part, the main object of attention, the thing that would make your first impression on those men you could potentially date. And you had to admit it was fucking terrifying in some way.

“Oh this one is nice. You look so cute” she says as she picks the lollipop out, stopping on one picture. “It’s definitely going up on your profile.”

Before you can respond, she swipes again and nods decisively. “Oh and this one too.” she says it like it’s a fact, not up for discussion. “Your eyes look like you might want to kill someone, which is probably attractive to some people”

You huff out a laugh. “You say it like it’s a good thing”

“I told you, I wouldn’t be surprised some would be into it,” she says with a shrug as she sticks the baton back between her lips.

You chuckle and nod in appreciation though you're filled with a strange mix of feelings, caught somewhere between excitement and anticipation. It's all new to you, it's not something you have tried before, and you can feel a stress blooming at the bottom of your stomach – picking pictures for dozens of strangers to see is a bit intimidating, even when your face is already known for working as a New Avenger; it feels widely different to choose how you’re wanting to be seen, to put yourself out there for others to judge.

You watch as Yelena continues swiping to the left. “Oh I took that one!” she exclaims, face lighting up with pride as she points proudly to the screen. “Yeah it’s got a little kick. You didn’t even know the picture was being taken so it looks natural. Brings out your casual charm”

You snort up a laugh and nod. “Okay thank you,” you grin, picking your phone back to set the couple pictures she chose and add them onto your profile. “Hey, thank you for helping me with this” you nod, giving her a grateful smile. “I know dating is not your thing so I appreciate your involvement even more”

“Sure, anytime” she tilts her head, giving you a shrug and a friendly smile. You go over your whole profile, assessing the final product, watching how it’s all supposed to reflect you for good now.

Yelena turns around when a couple of knocks hit her door, and she allows entry, her face brightening when Bob reveals himself behind the door, a smile over his face. He greets the both of you sitting cross legged over Yelena's bed, and you reciprocate the smile as he steps inside.

“Oh Bob, good thing you’re here we need a masculine input” Yelena swiftly takes the phone from your hands, showing Bob the set of pictures over the screen. “This looks alright to you?”

Bob steps closer, eyes moving across the images slowly. “Yeah?” he shrugs positively, nodding genuinely, eyes darting back and forth between each picture of you on the screen before they land on you for real. “I mean you look great, what’s that for?” he asks, unsure what is expected of him.

“Dating app” Yelena says as she hands you your phone back. You look up at Bob, quickly feeling a slight heat creep up your cheeks before your gaze darts back down at your phone.

“Oh” Bob’s voice drops a little before he catches up with a smile. “Well you’ll do great,” he nods, his voice sincere. “I mean, whoever matches with you, they’ll be lucky”

“Thank you, Bob” you genuinely smile.

Yelena glances up and watches as he fiddles with the hem of his sweater, and chooses not to say anything.

Bob lightly clears his throat before he talks again. “Well I was just checking up on you, I’m gonna get going,” he says, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “Good luck with that,” he smiles.

You nod, watching as he heads for the door and closes it behind him with a soft click. Yelena raises an eyebrow at you once the sound fades, a little something in her gaze you can’t exactly define. “What?” you ask flatly, but the heat remains on your cheeks as she looks at you accusingly.

“Nothing,” she shrugs. You know she means the whole opposite of it.

—

This past week hasn't been the calmest, but then again, nothing ever really had been – not for Bob.

He had been used to carrying the discomfort his whole life, tossing it quietly at the corners of his mind, letting the mess grow until he couldn’t handle it anymore. Like everything else, it had just been a matter of dealing with it, pushing through, and trying to come to terms with it.

Bob sits in his usual spot of the common area when he reads, but now, it's not really what this is about, as he can't seem to focus and rereads the same line over and over again without ever truly grasping its meaning and the image that is supposed to be painted inside his mind.

Because the only thing he can think about is you, knowing that you're dodging movie night tonight to go on that date.

You had just mentioned it earlier this week – hadn’t made much of a show out of it, just told the team you wouldn’t spend that Friday evening with them the way you did every other Friday, the way your routine as a group had set it.

And you didn’t even specify what it was, where you were going, what you were doing and who you were doing it with.

But it made sense and spoke for itself, but still, as Bob heard Alexei ask and you answered him with what was implied, it still hurt.

This whole dating app profile thing shouldn't have him overthinking it so much, because technically, there was no reason for it to.

And the worst and most confusing thing was, it wasn't even jealousy or something – being jealous would imply he had something to lose, but there, he didn't have anything to begin with, not rightfully.

He knew damn well he could never be enough for you, that was something he had figured out the moment he realized the feelings he had for you.

So he didn’t feel angry. He felt less than. He felt small.

And he hates feeling so deeply about it, hates that an overwhelming ache grows inside his stomach every time he has to think about it, hates the insecurity that creeps up his thoughts and gnaws at everything else until it's all he can think about, until all he can hear is the distant voice of the Void telling him he could never be worth it, could never deserve someone like you. He’s used to it, but it feels different now that it involves someone else indirectly. Hurts in a whole different way. Especially when he truly wants someone to make you happy, even if it involves it not being him.

“Bob” Bucky calls, watching him from a distance, noticing Bob’s gaze unfocused, away from his book, not even pretending to read anymore. “You alright kid?” he asks once Bob’s head perks up, giving him his attention. The team had taken the habit of snapping him out of it whenever it looked like Bob was too deep inside his own head, to distract him with something else before his thoughts got too intense – though Bucky knew for a fact there sometimes was no use trying to chase it away, that if it had to crawl back and consume you whole, it would.

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Yeah I'm fine” Bob smiles.

That was the default answer, no matter how he truly felt, despite having been wanting to be more honest about his feelings as per his therapist’s advice – it wasn’t supposed to be that deep in this specific case, it was just some teenage-like feelings, so lying about it wasn’t so wrong, it didn’t feel like the kind of thing worth confessing, wasn’t the kind of pain that deserved air.

Yet it still hurt.

Bucky nods, barely convinced, but chooses not to say anything, not to push it.

He knows better than anyone else how much it costs to be honest about whatever the hell goes on inside your own head.

—

You stumble out of the elevator, gathering the little focus you have left to try not to trip over your own feet as you make your way inside. Your eyes are glassy, your gaze unfocused and the view around you is scattered from the alcohol poisoning your blood, but the force of habit makes you quick to join the couch and finally sit down. Your limbs somehow feel equally heavy and light, but your legs ache in a whole different way, one that makes you dread the fact that you’re going to have to drag yourself to your bedroom – it makes you consider crashing here, on the couch, without even taking care of removing your makeup and getting into more comfortable clothes, because you swear that once the thought lodges itself inside your brain, it makes you convinced you could fall asleep right then and there.

That is until a soft shuffle draws your attention, and you notice Bob quietly sitting in his corner, turned to you. “Hey,” you smile, the muscles of your face numb.

“Hey” he responds gently, standing up to join you. “You okay?” he asks as he sits beside you, a worried frown transforming his usually soft face when he sees how glassy your eyes are, how tired the lines over your face make you seem to be.

“I’m so drunk, Bob” you whine softly, hand coming to rub at your eyes, smudging your mascara even further.

“Happens,” he shrugs with an easy smile.

“‘m sorry, I didn’t want you to see me like this, ‘figured everyone would be sleeping” you apologize.

He hums quietly and presses a hand at your back. “I’ve seen and been way worse, believe me” he pinches his lips into a small, compassionate smile. “Come on, let me help you get to bed”

“I’m okay,” you wave him off just to be polite, already embarrassed enough that he has to see you in this state. You get up and he’s quick to do the same, grasping your wrist when you almost lose balance.

“Yeah, sure” he snorts a small laugh, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to stabilize you as he starts to lead you towards your room.

You lean against him, instinctively trusting the way he guides your stumbling feet towards the room. “I just– don’t wanna be a drag” you mutter.

“You’re not,” he assures you. His face grows warm when you wrap your arm around him for more balance, the path of your feet shifting slightly before he rectifies the trajectory. “I would have liked having someone to care for me back when I was using”

Once in your room, Bob turns the light on and helps you sit down on the edge of your bed, a soft sigh of relief escaping you when you're finally there and finally able to rest your aching legs.

He has already moved to your bathroom before you can thank him for helping you, coming out with a few cotton pads and your bottle of makeup remover. You watch as he sits beside you, the mattress dipping softly under his weight. “Can I?”

You nod, suddenly feeling the urge to remain quiet instead of wanting to apologize once more.

His hand hesitates with a slight tremble before it gently settles at your jaw, holding your face while the other starts to carefully wipe the makeup away; he can clearly feel the heaviness of your gaze over him while he does this for you, can almost taste the quiet tension filling the air.

Neither of you speaks or attempts to fill the silence, you're way too close to each other to bring yet another layer of closeness, and you're too mesmerized by the way his gaze focuses on you yet remains avoidant anyway.

You're convinced the warmth in your chest has nothing to do with the alcohol anymore – it's intimate in a way that momentarily has you slightly sobering up, anchoring you to reality.

Your eyes flutter shut when he wants to clean the mascara off your lashes, and the gentleness and carefulness he handles you with leaves you weak.

Bob lightly clears his throat when he’s done, giving you a small, awkward smile.

“Pajamas” he points out, quickly walking over to your dresser as if to move on and diffuse the tension that has settled. He rummages through, pulling out one of your large shirts and a pair of shorts before he turns back and hands them out to you.

“Here,” he says, voice dipping, a bit awkward now.

You reach out for them, immediately already pulling your shirt off over your head, not even thinking. Bob practically leaps to turn around, ears burning red. “Oh! Sorry– I didn’t– I’m not looking.”

You giggle tiredly. “You’re fine, Bob.”

The heat in his face barely fades away as he waits, swaying back and forth on his feet, eyes glued to the wall. He only turns back to you once you confirm you’re done, waiting a couple seconds just in case, to avoid further embarrassment.

“Alright,” he huffs out softly. “You all good? Can I do anything else?”

He's too gentle, too devoid of judgement, too caring. You don't answer right away, just stare at him for what you think you would judge to be way too long if you were sober.

Your tiredness hits you in the face at full force, your stomach tightening in a way that is different to the feeling of needing to spill your guts.

You eventually shake your head slowly, vision still swaying. “Thank you,” you murmur quietly, voice cracking slightly.

You know it's over the moment your tears are flooding your eyes before you can even think to hold them back.

You start profusely apologizing the moment Bob rushes back to your side when he sees you breaking into soft sobs, sitting down next to you. “I’m sorry, this is so stupid” you apologize.

He shakes his head immediately, hand reaching and hovering over your knee before he decides to put it over your shoulder instead. “Hey. No it’s not. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, trying to swipe your tears away, ashamed of how freely they fall now that you have no control over them. “It’s just– you’re so nice,” you whisper, a tremble laced through your voice. “And I’m making a fool of myself while you watch and help and it’s so fucking embarrassing, and now that I’m crying it’s even worse”

Bob huffs out a soft, almost fond laugh. “Come on, I used to be an addict. I’ve embarrassed myself more times than I can count. You think you being drunk and crying a little is gonna change the way I see you?”

You breathe out something between a sob and a laugh, and when you look up at him, his smile somehow makes you mirror it.

Until it all catches up to you and your smile fades as quickly as it came, and the lump that starts forming in your throat seems to be carrying the weight of what you’ve been dragging around for weeks.

You shake your head, letting out a scattered breath. It feels different than the silliness of crying because you’re embarrassed that you’re drunk – it’s like the switch has been flipped, and the precise reason why you got drunk is now floating back to the surface and clawing at your back.

And Bob feels it. He watches you carefully, doesn’t push you, waits for you to say anything, ready to listen.

“It's just– I spent most of the night at the bar down the street after the date” you eventually say. “Just to get drunk and forget about it” you admit, your voice lowering. Bob’s eyes flicker along your face, intently listening. “The guy was nice but I hated it, I think I'm the problem, Bob, and you’re–” you croak out as you look back at him, blinking your tears away when it gets too much before you go on.

His head instinctively shakes, his hand reaching your face to brush away the hair that sticks to your tears stained cheeks. “I thought that dating app thing would be a good idea but it’s not working and it’s barely… keeping me distracted from the fact that–”

“Hey,” he murmurs, a frown over his face. “Just because it didn’t work out this time doesn’t mean it never will” he shrugs, eyes roaming along your face. “I’m sure you will get other opportunities and– and I’m convinced you will eventually find the right person” he nods, a reassuring smile over his face when you look up at him, eyes blinking your tears away. “And when you do… I’ll be rooting for you. You deserve it.”

You nod, holding it back. It’s no use telling him more, not when he made it clear he’s not the one waiting for you at the end of this, not when you’re now set on the idea before you could even unburden yourself of it all.

—

Your dating app is a mess of half assed conversations with good looking but painfully uninteresting men – you’re not pretending to be better than them, but it’s an actual torture to try to go through texting some of them, between the stupid and cringe ones, those who take two to three business days to respond, and those who only want to get in your pants and don’t even try to disguise it.

The nice ones make themselves rare but still can’t seem to do it for you, so it pains you to have to go through the whole process again, but you take a chance at trying to match with some new faces.

You look up from your phone when you hear the sound of Bob’s laugh when Ava says something to piss Walker off, making him roll his eyes and leave the room.

Ava sighs something about him having an ego so massive he can’t even take a joke, and joins you, taking a look over your shoulder behind the couch.

“Oh my god, what is that” she grimaces as she glances at the screen of your phone, an obviously disgusted expression over her face.

“I know,” you sigh, immediately clicking the cross on the side of the screen, making the profile vanish, revealing the next one. “I want to give up already”

“You would probably do yourself a favor”

“Is it really going that bad?” Yelena asks from her spot on the couch, gaze still focused on the show on the television.

“I mean,” you start, taking a breath as you adjust your position on the couch. “I have a date planned in a couple days, and he’s nice and actually cares about me and what I have to say” Ava watches as Bob swiftly picks up his book from the table and flees the scene once he sees the direction the conversation is going, leaving the three of you to it. “But I feel like I need a backup plan in case it doesn’t go so well”

“Okay, I’m gonna need a picture so I know who my next target is if that man hurts you in any way” Yelena casually declares, her slight frown indicating she’s half joking, half serious.

“Mhm, count me in” Ava nods in agreement. “You can also guess their intentions and good faith through their eyes”

You huff out a small laugh before you go fetch the guy’s profile, pulling up his pictures.

Ava sees them first and hurries to climb onto the couch from behind to sit down next to you. “Oh honey, I know what your backup plan is, and he lives with us” she scoffs, mouth hanging in disbelief as she takes the phone from your hands to get a better look. Yelena frowns softly, still waiting to see the pictures, and you’re almost as confused, raising an eyebrow at Ava. “This guy looks just like Bob” she huffs out low enough so no one outside the room could hear if they happened to be nearby, eyes wide as she points at the screen of your phone like she tries to make you see it.

This makes Yelena grab the tv remote and pause her show, reaching to grab the phone from Ava.

“Come on, back me up on this,” Ava urges Yelena.

Yelena’s mouth twists into a small grimace that makes her suspense agonizing. “I mean, they do have the same haircut, yeah” she says before she scrolls to take a look at the other pictures, her head tilting slightly as she goes on. “Yeah he does look like Bob. Like a more pretentious Bob” she eventually declares, surrendering to what’s obvious, giving you an apologetic grin.

“Thank you!” Ava whisper-shouts. “You have to admit it’s a hell of a coincidence”

You chuckle, unsure what to say for your own defense. “We’re in New York, Bob is bound to have plenty of doppelgangers” you declare matter-of-factly with a shrug.

“I’m afraid this isn’t exactly what this is about” Yelena counters in a mumble, looking away when you glance at her, scratching her temple, teasingly pretending she didn’t say anything.

You know exactly what she means. But no part of you wants to talk about it, no part of you wants to admit it, because this is all you have been trying to avoid, this is the reason you have been trying so hard to make something out of that dating app.

“Whatever,” you sigh, suddenly wanting to crawl inside a hole and never come out.

“God, it’s so painful watching you two,” Ava rolls her eyes.

“Ava–” Yelena scolds, throwing her a knowing glance when she guesses where she wants to take the conversation.

“No, come on, I can’t be the only one. I can’t be the only one who sees it, and this evil Bob twin is proof” she insists, trying to get Yelena on her side.

Yelena sends Ava a death glare that you know barely impresses her, but still prevents her from adding more and makes her lift her hands in surrender.

The silence that follows is carrying the weight of everything you don’t want to name out loud, the weight of everything Yelena is trying to hold back from Ava too because it is not their business to resolve, but only yours.

And while you're deep down aware of the problem, you’re not exactly sure how to do it.

—

Things get worse before they get better.

That was all you heard during your whole life, and so far, the saying had proven itself to be true.

Only now, things only seem to get more awful as you go on.

Because you cannot, despite everything you have tried, stop thinking about how stupid everything gets whenever you try to stop thinking about it and eventually end up only thinking about it more.

Because as you watch Bob dig through the crates of the record store while you’re supposed to do the same, you can't help but face the fact that there is no one else you would rather do this with, and trying to bury your feelings only makes them resurface and hurt tenfold.

You know pulling away isn’t the solution and can barely be considered as an option – he’s still one of your closest friends and you don’t want to hurt him that way, and the idea of losing him altogether is unbearable.

And maybe all of this is what makes it all the more complicated.

So trying to find someone else to have feelings for still seems like the best solution despite not going great so far, but you have to give it a try, you have to find a way out of this dead end.

You have to give that date tonight your best chance.

That’s the only solution you see when you stare at Bob.

“I found grace” Bob says suddenly, hands braced on the edge of a crate, tearing you out of your thoughts.

You blink, suddenly snapped back to reality, the distant sound of Soundgarden playing from the speakers of the shop clearer now that it’s not just your thoughts overtaking your brain. You squint at Bob, frowning in confusion. “Huh?”

“The album. Grace. Jeff Buckley” he makes clear as he lifts the record slightly to show you the album cover, chuckling softly when he realizes how it sounded.

“Oh, right” you let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Nice” you smile.

“You can have it,” he offers, pulling it out from the vertical pile.

“Nah don’t be stupid. You found it” you chuckle, watching as he nods in surrender before tucking the record under his arm.

It had become a thing, your thing. To go and search through local record stores after you both had established wanting to get a physical copy of all of your favorite albums – sharing the same taste made it a little more interesting, and it felt special to share that activity. Borderline intimate, even. Which in the actual context, makes it worse for you.

“Are you alright?” he eventually asks, noticing you don’t seem fully present.

You give him a quiet approval, trying to ignore the front pieces of his hair falling in front of his eyes and how much you would want to push them away if you weren’t actively trying to get over him.

“We should go to that place you like. The one with the carrot cake” he suggests, smiling when he sees your face light up at the offer. “I think we have enough time before I have to go to my therapy session”

—

Bob enters Yelena's room without even knocking, much against his habits – he considers apologizing for the matter of half a second before the reason he's here floods back at him in urgency and nothing else seems important anymore. “I need to talk to you about something.”

She raises an eyebrow in interest as she quickly glances up from her phone, letting him know that despite being busy, she's ready to listen. “Sure.”

“It's serious,” Bob adds, voice low with gravity.

Yelena is quick to toss her phone aside and give him her full attention, concerned by his tone, foot pushing to the floor so her chair can spin towards his direction. “Okay, spit it out.”

“I–” he starts, eyes closing momentarily when he lets go of the loose thread he's been pulling at on his flannel to scratch his forehead, an uncomfortable smile over his face. He thinks of backing out, considers it for a moment, but he knows he’s not a coward, knows he shouldn’t be, and knows he has to go through with it before it’s too late.

Yelena waits, watches Bob intently as his mouth opens to no sound, moving like he's unsure how to articulate whatever he wants to say.

“I know,” she eventually grins before he can begin to talk, too impatient to not pull the rug from under his feet and make it easier for him, guessing what it's all about from seeing the nervous expression over his face just from having to word it out loud. And as much as she would like to hear him say and finally admit it, she's the last person who officially needs to hear about it.

“What?” he frowns, confused. “I didn’t even say anything yet” he chuckles, borderline offended that she caught him off guard with such force and ease.

“I know what you're going to say, and I don't even want you to say it because I'm not the one you should be saying it to” Yelena shrugs, mouth twisting into a grin.

Bob doesn’t know what to say, not really. His mouth closes in defeat though it’s barely one, his neck suddenly itching from the anxiety growing from the pit of his stomach.

“It’s all over your face, Bob. Has been for a while. And you shouldn’t even need my opinion. Go for it” Yelena nods, a supportive smile tugging at her lips. “You got this.”

—

You set on wearing the exact same thing you did on that previous, disastrous date.

If you were superstitious, you would probably throw it back into your closet and never pull it out for that kind of occasions again, but it happens to be an efficient outfit on all the other levels aside from whatever factor it was that made your other date bust, and looking good and feeling comfortable is an undeniable privilege that is worth keeping.

You feel strangely excited – it’s so surprising that you start to wonder if there’s not something you’re leaving out of the equation, but you easily roll with the fact that you for once believe things could go well and decide not to question it.

You leave the pieces of clothes folded onto your bed like a physical representation of your procrastination – maybe that the later you will wear it, the later you will start anticipating and feeling nervous about that date, but preparing things so early when your date is far away as four hours already attests to how much you’re deep down overthinking it.

When you join the common room in hopes you will channel your energy into something and it turns out to be completely vacant, you’re not so sure what your plan is; you’re even starting to wish even Walker was here, which attests to how strange everything feels at the moment.

You catch glance of a sheet of paper on the floor and immediately assume it got loose from one of Bucky’s files – you know he likes working here on the rare occasions the room happens to be less than half empty, so you pick it up and put it back over the table so he knows it’s here.

The room is so quiet it has you looking out the window like it is the only thing you can busy yourself with. You’ve grown so used to the view that you sometimes forget how impressive it actually is, that high up above New York.

When you turn around after a few moments of watching the other buildings and thinking about how intimidating they look as opposed to their view at night, you go and pour yourself a glass of water, picking and filling another one when the light sound of Bob’s footsteps echo through the empty room when he finds you.

“Don't go on that date tonight”

The unexpected mention of the subject from him shakes something within you, and you still for a second, eyes meeting him as you put the jug of water back down. “What?”

“Please don’t go on that date.” Bob repeats, his voice gentler this time, less firm.

“Why?” you let go of the glass in your hand.

A short silence hangs for a second before he talks, like he’s waiting and contemplating before the bomb goes off. But there’s no turning back now, he knows that. “I see how much it has you struggling, don’t tell me it’s doing you any good” he frowns softly.

Your eyebrows raise, your gaze shifting back down at your glass of water. He has a point, but in the long run, you don’t want it to remain true, and you don’t even see why it would matter that much to him. “It’s not, but I have to give it a better try, and I’m actually confident about that date, so,” you explain in your own defense, even though it sounds more like you’re trying to convince yourself. “I can’t just sit around and wait for it to happen” you shrug.

“It's happening right now,” he chuckles uncomfortably.

He forces himself to take a steadying breath when he sees the small frown growing from confusion over your face, and he gathers all the confidence he couldn’t get for months before he says it.

“I like you,” he declares.

It should feel like the world stops there, but it doesn’t, so he goes on. “And it’s getting really exhausting pretending I don’t” he huffs out in a nervous admission, hands gesturing at his sides.

No matter how intensely he tries to read your gaze at that moment, nothing gives away the way you’re taking in the information – the confusion is etched all over your face, like a mask that hides everything else.

Your mouth opens before it closes, opening again just a second later. “Wha– why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

His mouth tightens into a strained smile. “Uh… I figured I wasn’t worth it” he shrugs indifferently, like what he’s admitting about himself is barely important. “Still kinda do,” he admits, head tilting slightly. “But my therapist– we've been working on opening up. I've been working on opening up” he nods in earnest. “That's what I'm doing right now” he affirms, voice quieter with endearing awkwardness.

It’s what it must feel like when machines short circuit, because you have no idea how to function anymore, how to go on from there, what to say.

You let out a breath you barely realize you had been repressing, one that holds all the disbelief of the situation, and despite that relief, your chest remains tight from his confession – you don’t think this one feeling is going to go away so easily.

“Bob I thought you didn’t–” you halt, unsure what to pick out to say out of the whirlwind of things coming and going inside your head. “I’ve been trying to tell you” you blurt out. “That night I came back drunk.”

“What?” he asks, face twisting in bewilderment.

You nod, lips pinching into a half amused smile. “I thought you would never ask me out, and it’s the exact reason I put myself on that dating app” you explain.

Bob breaks into a stunned chuckle, hand coming to rub at his eyes. “So you’re telling me it was right there and…”

“Mhm,” you nod, huffing out a laugh.

You both shift into a soft laughter from how you have obliviously made things complicated between you, and when it quiets down, the atmosphere falls back to seriousness again, but now that everything is let loose in between you, the dynamic feels relaxed in a whole other way, like that previous overwhelming tension had been looming over your heads.

“So…” he rests a hand against the table, leaning onto his side. “Date offer can still stand, but, y’know…” his head tilts to the side teasingly. “With me”

Your chest rises with a quiet inhale, shaken by how fast your heart rate has managed to rise. “Okay,” you say softly, grinning at the idea of a proper date with him – it suddenly changes the whole aspect of going on a date for you.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile.

He blinks, then that smile, the one that makes your stomach flip every single time without fail, grows across his face like he still can't really believe it, like he had stepped into this without expecting anything but walked out with everything. “Okay,” he repeats, voice gentler now, like he’s really taking it in.

“Hey, just one thing,” you ask, making him raise an eyebrow expectantly. “I think we should keep it on the low and enjoy it for a little before the team starts to make fun of us.”

—

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#bob reynolds #robert reynolds #thunderbolts*#bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader

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flightsoffandom · 4 days ago

Text

not a little (just a lot) • b.f.

pairing: bob floyd x wife!reader

synopsis: bob’s a little sore after his two hundred push-ups.

content: nsfw, 18+ minors dni, handjob, pain kink, cum feeding, mentions of piv sex

notes: based on this thought! hope u enjoy i am gonna think about this while i try to sleep

word count: 1.8k

18+ blog, minors dni

bob comes home exhausted.

a bone-deep kind of tired that turns his limbs into lead. usually you’d hear him humming under his breath as he kicks off those heavy military-issue boots.

today there’s a pause that stretches on after the click of the lock. you venture out of the bedroom, finding bob stood by the door, head hung low and shoulders tense.

he hears you before you appear, bare feet padding down the hall. sees you standing there, all soft and with your arms open—he can’t help but melt into your embrace. crosses over to you in three big strides, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging.

he shoves his face into your neck, inhales deep the smell of you—a heady mix of perfume, your conditioner and his laundry detergent. a relieved groan reverberates within him, relaxing at the scent of you like one of pavlov’s dogs.

your hands run up and down his back gently, voice soft and quiet when you ask, “bad day?”

bob nods, still buried in your neck. you can feel the wet heat of his breath when he grumbles. it comes out all muffled but you can make out something that sounds like hangman and push-ups.

his glasses click when you gently guide him to face you, a soft pull with your fingers in his hair.

his expression nearly makes you crack—pink lips pouted and glasses crooked with his brows furrowed from frustration. but his blue eyes look so tired behind his lenses, you bite your lip to hold back the soft giggle at this top gun fighter pilot pouting in your arms.

“sounds rough, baby,” you hum sympathetically. he nods emphatically, adjusting his glasses over his nose. “how many did you have to do?”

“two hundred,” bob sighs heavily, shoulders heaving with a wince.

at that, your jaw drops—surprised he’s still standing. a flicker of annoyance at jake, wondering what the blond could’ve done this time to rope bob into the punishment with him.

“god, bobby, that’s a lot of push-ups.” your hands slide to his front, pressing just so into his chest. the knee-jerk reaction is instantaneous.

bob hisses, flinching under your touch as his shoulders cave on instinct. you stop just as immediately, eyes wide as you apologise profusely.

but bob’s shaking his head, tired eyes suddenly alert as he pulls your hands back, wanting to feel your fingers splayed over his aching muscles like a balm.

“s’okay, honey. just a little sore.”

and bless your heart—you’re too concerned for his well-being to notice how his cheeks are starting to flush and the way he wets his lips as his eyes flicker to yours.

“d’you want a massage? that might help with the pain tomorrow.”

bob knows by now that you would do anything to make him feel better—sees your instinctual urge to take care of him in real time. combined with how you offer it so sweetly, it has bob fighting the rush of blood south as he accepts with a small nod.

he lets you lead him to the bedroom, watches you peel off his uniform and goes willingly when you nudge him gently to the mattress.

bob’s whole body is screaming at him to sink into the plush of the bed, but he pushes up on his elbows to watch you.

you’re flitting around the room, grabbing your lotion and shutting the blinds against the setting sun, just in case bob falls asleep. (you don’t know sleep is the farthest thing from his mind.)

he doesn’t quite know how he manages to keep it together when you climb on top of him, knees bracketing his waist as you straddle his stomach.

his throat jumps, watching you pump the nozzle of the lotion bottle into your palm.

you’re sitting on your husband with his shirt off, so maybe you take a second or two to admire how all the training he’s been doing has filled him out—broader in the shoulders, biceps thick (running a finger down the stretch marks on the inside makes him shiver).

even then, it’s innocent in your mind as you guide him down by the shoulders. but you’re only wearing an oversized tee—one of his, from the naval academy—worn and threadbare but smelling like him. like this, bob can feel the heat of you radiating through the thin panties he only gets a peek of before he’s flat on his back.

he can’t tell if you genuinely don’t feel him, half-chubbed and swelling in his boxers.

bob fights like hell to keep himself in check—doesn’t want to scare you off, because he knows you’ll fret if you think he’s in pain.

that restraint is tested, pulled taut when your slick palms press onto his pecs, spreading the lotion. you knead gently at first, gauging his reaction.

“is this okay? not too hard?”

bob could laugh, because he absolutely is too hard, and he’s a little embarrassed about it all. but the dull ache under his skin grows sharp with each slippery glide of your fingers, and he’s choking back a gasp. shakes his head ‘no’ as he peers up at you with those adoring eyes.

the focused look on your face as you work out the knots almost makes him feel bad. because here you are, putting all this work into alleviating his pain and he’s getting off from it like some sort of pervert.

but then you spread your palms further along the plane of his chest, firm at the junction under his shoulder. this time, he can’t stop the way his fully-hardened cock twitches in his boxers.

he sees the moment you feel it.

your fingers freeze just as they dig into the tense muscle. that jagged bolt of pain registers a split second before the broken moan claws up his throat—he’s completely helpless to it.

you blink down curiously, and he watches back as your eyes dart between his own and your hands. understanding starts to swirl in your expression.

“bob?” you implore, a slow, mischievous smirk growing on your lips. only a little taken aback by the quick flash of a sheepish smile and the hardness suddenly poking at your tailbone.

“don’t stop,” bob pleads, warm palms circling around your wrists, like he’s making sure you won’t pull away, “just—keep going, it’s okay. it feels good.”

and that unlocks something in you—a part that recognises the pitch of his whine, kicking your mind into gear when it connects the dots.

your brow quirks, shifting your weight back as you reach behind. the tips of your fingers trail over the outline of him, where he’s straining against the fabric. at the same time, a palm is planted square on his chest, adding just a little more pressure.

your smirk grows into a shit-eating grin when he bucks his hips, driving you further up his ribs. scrambling for balance, you lean heavier into him, nails digging into heated skin.

“sweetheart, you— again. fuck, need you to do that again,” bob grunts, sweat beading at his hairline as he heaves from the effort of keeping his hips still and not ripping his boxers off himself. he tries to be patient for his pretty wife taking care of him.

you know what he needs, and that he needs it now, from the way his head is thrown back, exposing the column of his throat. a wet spot grows under your hand still stroking him over his underwear.

so you do it again, one hand moving up to his shoulder and squeezing, the same time you palm his bulge. bob lets out a wrecked groan under you, louder as you shove his waistband down enough to pull his pulsing length out.

it slaps against your lower back, and the angle is a little awkward, so you slide down his body until you’re settled on his thighs, his leaking cock curving up his belly.

bob watches the whole time, eyes half-lidded behind those wire-rimmed glasses, lip caught between his teeth when he sees you swallow at the sight of him.

he’s flushed a deep red, hot and drooling pre-cum in your grip when you start to stroke him steadily. all the while your free hand roams the planes of skin spread out in front of you.

“oh, shit—harder, baby, ‘s okay—feels so fucking good,” he praises you, and it shoots straight between your legs, sticky and hot. makes your eyes glaze over, cupping his pec as you knead at the layer of firm muscle there.

your eyes never leave his face, watching his soft features contort in pleasure as your hands alone coax him higher and higher. your thumb flicks over a nipple, pinching at the sensitive skin there.

bob writhes under you.

“god, yes—” bob’s voice cracks, cock spitting more pre-cum when your thumb swipes over his slit at the same time.

bob feels like he’s on fire—the sting of your nails, your palm twisting tight around his tip. his skin is alight, slicked up from your lotion, his sweat and pre-cum.

“you gonna cum from this, bobby?” you hum, fingertips massaging the underside of his tip. “you like when it hurts?”

he thrusts into your touch, nodding so hard he jostles his gelled hair out of place. “yeah—you’re gonna make me—‘m gonna cum so much for you, baby.”

bob pants like he’s running a marathon, thrusting erratically into your first as you focus on rolling out any remaining knots of tension you can find.

“thankyouthankyouthankyou,” bob slurs, mouth hanging open as he lets the burn eat him alive. glasses knocked askew when he raises an arm over his face, biting down to muffle his desperate moans.

“cum for me now, and i’ll make you dinner—then you can fuck me full after, ‘kay?”

the idea of you feeding him after draining his balls and then letting him fill you up when he’s done makes something click right into place in his caveman brain.

bob’s back arches off the mattress, thighs trembling as he cums with a hoarse shout. his cock spits rope after rope of milky white spend, all over your front.

most of it lands on your shirt, painting across the symbol of the naval academy. some of him drips down your neck and your chin. you’d leaned down at the last second, hoping to catch some on your tongue, but it smears over your cheek instead.

bob is rendered speechless for a while, gaping at you like a fish when you lick your lips, darting out to catch a drop of his release on the corner of your mouth.

your fingers run through the mess he’s left on your face, collecting anything not seeping into your shirt. when you raise them to his mouth, he’s already waiting—wet tongue curling over your digits as his eyes roll back with a whimper.

when his cock jumps against his thigh again, you realise dinner might have to wait.

#bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick

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flightsoffandom · 4 days ago

Text

i can do a lot with 15 minutes • b.r.

pairing: bob reynolds x thunderbolt f!reader

synopsis: bob's karmic punishment—a week of blue balls—comes to an end.

content: nsfw, 18+ minors dni, switch!bob (ish), horny bob, semi-public sex, fingering, briefest mention of knifeplay, unprotected piv, slight plot

notes: she's hereeeee!! i'm losing sleep for this one. pls forgive any typos. loosely (like so very loosely) inspired by 15 minutes by sabrina carpenter. i hope u guys like this one, i was v unsure about it

word count: 6k

read part one here!

can be read as part of the seasons universe!

masterlist

this blog contains 18+ content, minors dni!

bob is in pain. real, physical pain.

his skin feels too tight for his body, heat flaring at the base of his spine with each brush of fabric on his skin. even his softest pyjamas feel like sandpaper.

the whole time you’re gone—a whopping four days—bob vows to refrain from touching himself. it’s borderline torture, but he figures it’s only fair—if you didn’t get any relief, then he shouldn’t either.

and while his heart is in it, his mind and body are far from being on board.

bob spends his days hiding in his room. the team assume he’s just wallowing because you’re gone and he’s a lovesick puppy, but really he just can’t stop how hard he gets when he closes his eyes and sees flashes of how you’d begged him so sweetly the last time you’d been in his arms.

usually it’s the other way around. you’re the one that leaves him pleading for more more more. it’s intoxicating—the thought that he wasn’t the only one affected by the days gone by without touching each other. that you needed him bad enough to cry.

bob’s a worrier—always has been. but this time around he’s juggling his anxiety for your safety and the growing concern that he might actually explode if this goes on any longer.

by the fourth day, bob is miles past horny. he counts his blessings prematurely, because really, he’s in the eye of the storm. he’s already got everything planned, ready to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to his room where he’ll finish what he started.

the morning you’re due to return, bob wakes with a sense of calm. there’s a suspicious absence of the buzzing under his skin he’s grown accustomed to, and his clothes aren’t sticking to him with sweat.

he feels good enough to venture into the kitchen, show his face and have a normal conversation like normal people do. he would have, too, but the second he steps into the room, he finds the tower abuzz with catering, interior decor, a live band—the whole nine yards.

yelena just barely dodges someone carrying a heavy silver tray, making a face as she passes bob standing dumbfounded at the counter.

it hits him then. the gala.

the meeting with valentina comes rushing back, and he vaguely hears her voice pinging around in his head. his first official appearance, she’d said.

bob had been so busy battling his carnal desires that he’d forgotten he technically has… a job.

he flounders there, smack dab in the middle of the kitchen that’s filling up equipment and cutlery at an alarming rate. it starts to make his skin crawl, the sheer number of people coming in and out of what’s essentially his home.

so he turns, snagging a banana on his way out. resigns himself to eating in his room, and maybe he’ll text the group chat later for lunch if he feels good. but then something else hits him halfway down the hall and it takes all of him to keep his knees from buckling.

the gala starts this evening. you get back tonight.

zero crossover. he’ll be at the fundraiser when you return. no time to get you alone, like he’d planned so meticulously. the image of you, still in your gear, crying out from under him as he pistons his cock into you withers and dies in his mind. he chokes back a dejected groan, leaning onto the gunmetal grey walls like he’s absorbing a hit.

it’s almost instinctual, the way bob immediately starts conjuring up excuses he could use to get out of attending the stupid gala, or even just to make a fashionably (severely) late appearance. whatever will give him enough time to give you the welcome home you deserve–the one he’s been waiting so patiently for.

he wonders how he should broach the subject with valentina. a thought occurs fleetingly—his stomach rolls with a bit of shame as he debates whether he should play up the sentry persona—firm, sure and just this side of a god complex, or lean heavier into the pitiful, kicked-puppy front.

inside, he feels the latter, but when he thinks of what’s on the line—the stakes at hand, he’s fumbling with his phone, pressed to his ear without a second thought. he clears his throat seconds before she picks up, already huffing about whether this could’ve been an email.

bob enters what feels like a flow state, letting the words spill out as they come to mind. he thinks he’s putting on a solid performance—his voice only wavers once as he explains logically, why it would make sense for him to show up late. it speaks volumes to how badly he needs this–needs you, because he’s volunteering to have even more attention, more eyes on him just for an hour with you alone.

valentina is silent while he says his piece, quiet while he points out that the sentry’s official debut to the public should be striking and making a strategically delayed appearance would do just that. his eyes roll at calling the upper echelon and slimy politicians—the ‘public’. he’s glad she can’t see him over the phone.

there’s a beat of silence, just a breath before the woman on the other end of the line clicks her tongue.

“you will arrive at the agreed upon time, robert. and don’t even think about being ‘strategically late’ or whatever you called it, or else your little girlfriend’s getting ‘strategically’ stuck on an off-grid recon task in alaska next.”

bob’s breath catches. a flash of anger cracks in his chest, and his ribs ache when it feels like there are hands prying his ribs from the inside, trying to claw their way out. he doesn’t need a mirror to know his eyes aren’t blue anymore.

“but i am loving this energy—exactly what we want to see tonight!” valentina ends the call, and bob has to take drawn-out, grounding breaths just to quell the pressure pushing at the edges of his mind. as if he didn’t have enough problems—now he has to contend with the sentry’s bruised ego too.

bob spends the rest of the day in a mood. by evening, it’s everyone’s problem.

bucky manages to coax bob into john’s room about an hour before the event starts. bob is grumpy the whole time, grumbling about how he doesn’t think he needs a glam squad.

bob sees alexe first, dress shirt undone and open down the front. the super soldier is perched on john’s desk, fiddling with his neon red speaker, filling the room with russian hip hop that rattles the furniture. bob winces as the pounding in his head syncs in time with the palpitating beat.

their tuxes are laid out in sleek, black bags and john is meticulously shaving in the ensuite, greeting bob’s frown with a “sup, bob?”

“any of you know how to tie a bow tie?” bucky asks as he slicks his hair back with gel in the full length mirror. the room is silent with a resounding no.

“figured.”

he meets bob’s eyes in the reflection just as he shrugs, plopping onto the bed with a deep sigh. his hair falls into his eyes, and he wonders if maybe he should ask bucky for that hair gel.

“why’re you pouting, bob?”

bob’s frame tenses more than he already is, and his face falls into a comically blank expression. “‘m not pouting,” bob mutters, eyes glued to the ceiling. his cheeks grow a little hot as he actively refrains from jutting out his lower lip.

john pokes his upper body out from the bathroom, half of his chin still covered in shaving cream as he smirks. “yeah, he’s brooding. that’s basically pouting for men.”

“you guys suck.”

alexei slaps his knee, “pah! this is an easy fix.”

bucky blinks, fingers tugging at his tie. “fix for what?”

“bob needs his woman,” alexei declares, nodding at bob like bob will agree in front of everyone, that the reason he’s so irritable is because he hasn’t had sex in over a week.

bob’s embarrassed, in fact, that alexei had been able to sniff it out so easily. “guys, can we please not talk about this?”

“it is completely natural thing,” alexei’s voice booms, and walker nods exaggeratedly from where he’s standing. even bucky shrugs when bob looks to him desperately for him, because he agrees and also because he wants to see where alexei is going with this.

“we are all adults, hm? there is no shame to admit it, bob. the touch of a lover—nothing like it!”

bob hopes everything he’s felt for the past four days will finally catch up and take him out, because this might just kill him.

his cheeks are blazing hot as the heels of his palms press into his eyes in exasperation. “that’s not–”

“so you’re saying bob almost bit my head off today for using her mug, all because he needs to get laid?” john cackles, eloquent as ever. the blond ducks back into the bathroom, still chuckling to himself when bob glares, jaw clenched tight.

“what’s the big deal, anyway? she’s back today, isn’t she?” bucky asks, hands on his hips as he stares down bob’s unkempt, frazzled appearance—his sweatshirt is inside-out.

bob trips over his words, running through various attempts to express why exactly he’s so high-strung. “yeah, but– it’s not just… i had a plan and everything and then–”

when he realises he’s about to reveal to three super soldiers that he’s pissy because his plans to ruin you the second you got home fell through, his mouth snaps shut. he blinks rapidly, mind racing to find a plausible excuse.

“i just miss her… a lot.” bob settles lamely.

“well, you’ve made it this long. what’s another three, four hours?” bucky offers an understanding hum, reluctantly directing his attention to alexei after glancing at his watch. “now let me help you dumbasses with your ties.”

john walks out of the bathroom, clean-shaven, skin pink and eyes glimmering with what bob knows is the precursor to a jab that’ll make bob cringe.

and like the universe decides to grant him one favour, bob’s phone rings. all eyes land on the picture of your sleeping face lighting up his screen.

there’s a split second where the three super soldiers exchange looks, as if to see who’s going to go first in teasing him. bob isn’t one to waste time, and he’s darting out into the hall before anyone can say anything.

bob speedwalks to his room, answering on the third ring. “hi,” he breathes into the air, heart stuttering with the fact that he’s about to hear your voice, melodic and soft, filling him with warmth that he’s been chasing after by listening to your old voice notes.

“hi, baby,” you croon, and if he closes his eyes, bob can pretend you’re right there, can smell your perfume curling around him. just the sound of those two words leaving your lips is enough to make him shudder, the full weight of everything he’s felt rushing back to him tenfold.

“m– i miss you,” bob’s voice cracks as he tries his damndest not to whimper over the phone.

“oh, sweet boy, i miss you too. how’ve you been doing?”

bob can picture the sympathetic pout on your lips, brows drawn together. you’d reach out and brush your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. his stomach swoops, and his eyes have to fly open before his imagination carries him away.

“it’s been… hard,” bob bites through his teeth, laughing a little at his own pun, even through the way he is actually starting to swell in his sweats. your giggle bubbles over the line, and bob’s lips quirk at the sound.

“i’m sure,” you hum. bob hears shuffling on your end, muffled footsteps leading away from the overlapping voices in the background. your voice lowers into a hushed, curious lilt, “have you… have you touched yourself?”

bob inhales sharply, a shiver rolling down his spine. he can feel the blood rushing south—goes a little light-headed as a result. he shakes his head in response, forgetting you can’t see him.

“no,” bob grunts, keeping his fist balled at his side as the other white-knuckles his phone, “have you?”

you’re quiet for a second. the rumbling of an engine echoes in place of your answer. bob feels his heart pounding in his chest, until the sound of your breath leaving in a deep exhale reaches him.

“no,” you murmur quietly. bob can picture it, your lip caught between your teeth.

“when are you back?” bob doesn’t even care how needy he sounds anymore. he thinks he gets a pass to whine as much as he wants, just this once.

“soon. jet’s landing within the hour, but i’ll need some time to clean up before i get to the gala.”

bob groans out loud, scrubbing a hand over his face. this is genuine torture, how you’re so close but so far. you’ll be in the same building, some floors up, in the shower with your skin glistening and wet–

“think you can hold on just a little longer for me?” your teasing voice breaks him out of his lustful stupor. bob doubts he can, suspecting that you think him a stronger man than he is. his cock already strains against its confines—all from hearing your voice again. just this sliver of you is enough to break down every single brick he’s put in place the past week, sealing away his near feral desire.

and now you’re essentially asking him to behave until the very fancy, very sophisticated gala is over.

“i… wait– how are you on the phone right now? aren’t you supposed to be on, like, airplane mode?”

his cheeks warm when you laugh, full and bright, straight into his ear. “bob, i’m on a multi-million dollar jet built for battle. i think it can handle a phone call.”

bob chuckles sheepishly. with anyone else, maybe he would’ve been embarrassed, because he probably should've known that. but it’s you–what can he say if he gets a little stupid around his girlfriend?

“besides, even if i wasn’t, i’d still risk it for you,” you tell him softly. a faraway call of your name rings through the line, and he hears you sigh, “hey, i gotta go now. but i’ll be there, okay?”

“okay,” bob says on a deep exhale, steeling himself with your reassurance that this hell won’t last that much longer, “i love you.”

“I love you, too, baby.” the line clicks off and bob is left to the silence of his empty room with a big problem he has no means to fix.

•

there’s a rumbling in the air. distantly, bob thinks it’s going to rain. but one cursory glance out the floor to ceiling windows tells him the skies are clear.

it’s coming from inside of him.

bob barely makes it into the first hour of the fundraiser before he’s on his last legs. he can hardly ignore the thrumming in his chest, reverberating in his bones. heat prickles at the back of his neck and he’s starting to feel sweat bead at his hairline—not a good look for the occasion.

an even worse look would be the hard-on he has tucked awkwardly into his waistband. try as he might, that phone call was a catalyst and no amount of confusing his brain could distract from the way he throbbed insistently against his navel.

in short, bob is very uncomfortable.

the gala is lavish in every way that is foreign to bob. it makes him antsy, all those beady, shark-like eyes trained on him as he steps into the penthouse with the team. the instructions were for bob—the sentry—to take the front, but he makes it as far as down the steps before yelena knowingly ushers him behind her and ava.

they make the rounds, as required. everyone is all too happy to let mel and her intern do the talking. bob is all strained smiles and fidgeting fingers, faraway in his head, counting down the minutes.

when valentina announces that they’re free to mingle until further notice, bob moves like smoke, ignoring the confused calls of his name from the team. he disappears into the throng, weaving through floor-length gowns and black tuxes in a beeline to the bathroom.

bob bursts through the door with a strained grunt. he locks it with a trembling hand, the other undoing the clasp of his dress pants and pulling his boxers down. the top of his underwear is starting to dampen. his cock springs free, the head flushed and drooling pre-cum. the cool air that meets his feverish skin walks the line of painful—makes him hiss through his teeth.

it’s quick and efficient, the way he cleans himself up. he’s no stranger to it with how he’s been perpetually hard for a week. bob can barely keep himself quiet with each pass of the paper towels down the length of him, and it takes nearly everything he has to not grip himself in hand and put an end to this. he’s not above jerking one out in a bathroom.

but then your face ghosts across his mind. remembers how you’d admitted quietly that you’d been good too, holding everything back for him.

paper towels land haphazardly in the trash bin, and he tucks himself back into his pants with a muffled groan. as he washes his hands, he dares a look in the mirror and blows out a breath at how wrecked he looks. cheeks red, pupils blown and irises iridescent.

“stop,” bob whispers to his reflection, stern but a little weary, like he’s scolding a child who’s just about to throw a tantrum. his eyes flicker once more, bright and piercing, before they dim slowly—the sentry retreating with a warning.

the muscle in his jaw ticks, as he steels himself to go back out. he can do this, he thinks. he’s been through worse, it’s all in his head, it’s just physical—all things to take his mind somewhere different. he even tries screaming cucumber in his head, to no avail.

bob lingers at the edges of the party, checking his phone just to give his hands something to do. he finds the text you’d sent, telling him you were back. another updating him that you’d just started getting ready, and two more asking his advice on which pair of heels to wear.

he feels a little bad for his late reply, but he sends his vote anyway. his mind works just a little too slow to realise you’re probably already here, slipping in quietly while he’d been hiding in the bathroom.

and then his eyes land on you—more so the bare expanse of your back, but he’d recognize you anywhere. you’re only a few steps away, talking to an older couple with polite nods of your head, totally unaware that you have a man (your man) glued to the floor just a few feet away.

he should move. stop staring from the shadows like a creep. but you’re in a golden dress, a not-so-subtle claim both to and from the golden guardian. the fabric hugs your figure, catching the light with every move, and you’re damn near glowing—a beacon that calls to him.

the rumbling in his chest returns, and this time bob lets it slide—it’s justified.

you shift, turning just enough for bob to catch the high slit on the number, revealing the holster you still have strapped snug around your upper thigh. he thinks he whimpers out loud, this time. he’s glad for the music and the cover of darkness, but it’s enough to kick him into motion.

his steps are heavy, moving like a man on a mission. people move out of his path without question, and any other day maybe he’d have given that more thought, but he’s zeroed in on you. tunnel-visioned on the slope of your spine, the divots he’s mapped with his mouth.

he makes it over to you just as you excuse yourself from the couple. the cordial smile on your face freezes when you feel a warm hand settle dangerously low on your back, blazing hot and firm. bob can see the split-second where you recognise his skin on yours, his cologne and the firm chest pressed behind you.

you whirl to meet his eyes, rouge lips spreading into a giddy grin. his fingers, greedy, slip under the seam of your dress.

“bob,” you say breathily, eyes alight with relief and adoration with how you’re finally face-to-face with your boyfriend. with how you’ve turned towards him now, his eyes can roam appreciatively over your dress. they catch at the deep plunge, and the generous cleavage offered by the halter neckline. bob finds himself fighting a losing battle at not blatantly staring at your tits in front of all these people.

you have half the mind to tell him where your eyes are, but you’re just a little busy admiring how fucking good bob looks like this. the deep brown waves that always hang in his eyes are slicked back tonight, curling loosely at the nape of his neck. there’s a light layer of stubble around his jaw, just enough to get away with it, but the shadow it adds makes you lick your lips.

and the tux—god, the tux.

it fits like a glove. the jacket sleeves pull tight around his biceps, and you can see the strong lines of muscle where his dress pants hug his thighs. golden cufflinks glint under the warm lights as his hand comes up to scrape over his jaw. you could swoon.

bob hums your name, voice low and hungry. your skin burns with the intensity in his eyes. the air around you is charged, but no one around seems to notice.

you’re holding your breath, waiting for anything—any reason to get your hands on him.

but it turns out you don’t need one, because he’s leading you back the way he came with his arm wrapped around your waist. it’s a little bit of a territorial display, you tell him, but he reasons that anyone with eyes can see you in his colour and connect the dots.

you don’t even make it to the bathroom. the second he gets you in a secluded enough corner, there’s no precursor. just a beat where you’re both locked on each other, pulled into orbit. your chests rise in sync, falling just as hard.

he’s on you before you can get to him first. a big hand curls around the back of your neck, keeping you still as he licks at your bottom lip. your mouth open with no resistance, sucking his tongue in your mouth while his hand wastes no time in slipping under the slit in your dress.

his fingers snag on the holster, the handle of the sheathed dagger, and he pulls back just enough to say, “you- you planning on using this?”

your eyes narrow, head tilting with a smile as you shoot back, “do you want me to?”

bob visibly shudders, but opts to just kiss you again, knowing you’re already planning five different ways to use that information.

it’s messy and desperate, more swapping spit than real kissing. you cling onto his lapels when his calloused fingers tease the seam between your thigh and your ass.

“bob, i can’t- need you now,” you sigh into his mouth, lips downturned with how badly you want it.

bob nods against your lips, one more slide of his tongue on yours before he pulls back. “i know, baby. c’mon.”

he takes your hand in his, leading you the rest of the way to the bathroom he’d been in just minutes ago. thanks his lucky stars that it’s unlocked as he ushers you inside.

you’re pressed up to the door as soon as the lock clicks. it’s loud, the only other sounds being your laboured breaths and the muffled bass of the music from the other side of the door.

then bob is kissing you again, and the wet smacking of your lips sends a brush of heat to your core. makes you a little shy, with how bob is moaning into your mouth.

his hands have a mind of their own as they ruck up the hem of your dress, parted at the slit. he nudges your thighs apart with his own, the fabric scratching at the soft skin of your inner thighs.

bob cups your pussy over your thong, feels the heat radiating off of your center and groans loud into your hair. he rubs at you over the lace, thumb pressing firm into where he knows your clit is.

you whimper into the air, hand flying to his shoulder when your hips buck against your will. “bob,” you cry, chasing his touch. you want to feel his fingers on you, in you. not how he is now, driving you crazy with his thumb over your covered nub.

he nods, more to himself. his hand obediently slides under the band of your underwear, tracking a familiar path to where you’re soaked.

“holy shit,” bob gasps, eyes wide, sliding his fingers through the slick he finds waiting for him, “you’re so fucking wet, honey.”

“fuck, i know,” you whimper, head tossed back as he coats his fingers in your arousal. “‘m ovulating.”

bob’s mind goes white. he feels like he’s looked straight at the sun, blinded with how fucking bad he wants you. the revelation sends him to heaven for a second, and when you moan his name, twitching beneath his touch, he knows he’s there to stay.

“fuck,” bob grunts under his breath, sliding two fingers into you. feels your walls clamp down hard, the same time you gasp at the thickness of his digits inside you.

“god, i fucking missed this,” is all he says before he goes a little quiet, so in his head and dead-set on finishing what he started that he forgets he’s basically in public.

but that’s all well and good, because you’re way gone too. already babbling praise, unable to muffle the whines escaping your red lips while he strokes inside you.

“oh, bob, feels so good,” you breathe into the crook of his neck as he curls his fingers, reaching deep into that spot that makes you gush. when your head falls back, knocking on the steel door, your eyes trail hungrily over his face, hardened with focus.

“you’re so handsome, bob. needed you so bad, need you to– to make me cum,” your fingers tug at the hair at the nape of his neck. he groans at the sharp pull, pumping his fingers into you harder. your eyes roll back, mouth falling open when his thumb swirls over your clit, sticky with your juices.

“let me have it,” bob pleads, capturing your mouth with his. “c’mon, pretty girl, give it to me. please– let me feel it– that’s what you were waiting for, right?”

it’s so fucking dirty, but you’re cumming on his fingers, pressed up against a bathroom door. bob has to slap a hand over your mouth when you do, because you nearly scream at how tight everything seizes up. your first after a week, and it makes your knees buckle.

he drags it out for you, marvels at the way you soak his hand while his other holds you upright, easy and tight on your hip.

you pant against his lips, and he seems happy to share your breath as you come down, especially when you’re knocking his wet hand away to fumble with his zipper.

it’s downright holy, the relief he feels when your fingers wrap around him. all is right in the world, back on its axis.

you draw him out of his boxers, tucking the waistband under his heavy balls. his cock is an angry crimson, slick and sticky all down the sides with how much he’s been leaking ever since your call.

“oh my god,” you murmur when his cock twitches in your grasp, spitting out pearly beads of pre-cum. your thumb slides over his tip, collecting what you can before you bring it to your lips, humming at the familiar taste.

bob groans loud and needy, his abdomen clenching in uncontrollable bursts.

“poor baby,” your palm twists around his cockhead, “that looks like it hurts.”

“fuck- it does!” bob grits out, eyes squeezed shut as he focuses on not blowing his load all over your pretty dress. “you gotta stop doing that, ‘cause the only place i’m gonna cum is inside you.”

you release him with a smile, slipping out from under his arms caging you in. you hop onto the sink, wriggling out of your ruined underwear.

and like the universe’s last attempt at leaving bob with blue balls, he remembers the speech you’re lined up for. it cuts through his needy haze like a knife, and he even tears up a little when he says, “shit, baby, we can’t. don’t you need to be on stage soon?”

only, it comes out weak and pathetic, and you both know he’s going to be inside you within the next minute.

bob watches, salivating at the sight of you kicking your panties off your heel, and when you spread your thighs for him, offering yourself up, he needs no further invitation.

“in fifteen minutes actually,” you sigh as bob steps between your legs, jacket tossed to the side. he leaves dangerous kisses down your throat. you won’t be able to cover anything up and he knows that.

“don’t worry, sweet boy,” you smile, cheeky as you draw him in, “we can work with that.”

bob’s hypnotised, one strong hand anchoring at your waist while the other lines himself up. he kisses you once before he pushes in, eyes trained intently on you, wanting to see every minuscule twitch of your reaction.

he loves the face you make every time he makes that first slide home. your eyebrows furrow, raised in surprise as your lips fall open. he likes watching your lashes flutter as you try to keep your eyes open, inevitably rolling back when he sheathes himself fully.

usually it would take more sweet nothings murmured into your ear and his fingers at your clit to fit all of him inside. but this time you’re so slick and ready that he manages to slip inside in one thrust.

the sound you make is halfway between a squeal and a gasp. “bob-!” you sound genuinely shocked, like you’ve forgotten just how it feels to have him so full and thick inside of you.

your nails claw at his shirt when he starts drawing his hips back in shallow thrusts. “god, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” bob’s voice cracks at the feeling of your slick walls sucking him back in.

“you’re so perfect,” he whimpers with his forehead pressed to yours, “so fucking beautiful like this.” he can’t believe this is real. maybe he’s hallucinating, or he’s living through a really vivid daydream.

you’re here, legs hooked around his hips, heels digging into his ass as he ruts into you. barely dragging his full length out before he’s slamming back in.

he fucks you hard on the bathroom counter, your tits bouncing in that dress that steals his breath. he paws at the glittering fabric, pulling it aside to release your tits. lowers his chin and sucks a nipple into his mouth, all while his hands pull your hips down to meet his thrusts.

the sticky sounds make you blush, if the way bob’s wet tongue swirling around your peaked nipple doesn’t do it first. a constant plap! plap! plap! where his balls slap against your ass.

his cock pulses inside you, and you know he’s close when he starts drooling against your neck.

“thought about this every day,” bob admits, slurred and breathless. “thought i was going crazy. dreamed about you every night, honey.”

you’re egging him on with your pretty moans, thighs clenching at his hips when his pace picks up, pistoning against the spot that makes you keen.

“dreamed of you too, bob,” you whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear. you watch goosebumps disappear down his crisp white collar. “woke up soaking every morning, wished you were there to take care of me.”

bob moans wantonly against your neck, “fuck, i– yeah, baby, gonna take care ‘f you, okay? y’don’t have to worry about anything.”

you nod, feeling that telltale heat building in your tummy. his rambling makes your head go fuzzy, and you’re launched into the countdown for what you know is going to be a devastating orgasm.

“i’ll fuck you properly when this is over. just cum for me now, yeah?”

so you do, because he said so.

you go stock still, mouth caught on a silent scream when it hits. for a moment, you feel like you’re floating, like right before the big drop on a roller coaster.

and then you plummet back into your body, trembling as your walls spasm. bob talks you through it, whimpering into your neck as his end approaches while yours drags on.

“thaaat’s it, good girl. soak my cock just like that,” he hums, sucking the skin between your shoulder and your neck between his teeth when he cums, dragged over the edge from your release.

it muffles the shout crawling up his throat, and he nearly chokes from how hard it hits him. he spurts thick, heavy ropes of cum inside you, moans all broken and ruined.

you moan contentedly at the warm sensation of being filled up. the wait was worth it for this moment alone.

you think he’s done, but he just keeps cumming. he’s crying, for real this time, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as the overstimulation takes over. but his balls are still drawn right and he whines like he’s not the one still pushing his twitching cock into your puffy hole.

when he finally pulls out, you have to act quick so his cum doesn’t get on your dress. bob wipes most of what’s leaking out with a paper towel, kissing you soft and gentle the whole time.

he retrieves your discarded panties, pulling them up your legs carefully. and then he pays where he’s starting to seep into the barely-there lace.

“keep… keep me there, until we get home,” he says. it’s almost a question and it almost sounds shy, but one look at his blown pupils tells you it’s an instruction. his voice is so deep and wrecked that it makes your stomach flip, and you realise you’re starting to forget your lines for the speech valentina had drilled everyone into remembering.

an insistent knock breaks you both out of it.

yelena, on the other side of the door, calling for you to “get the fuck out, it’s go time.”

bob wonders how exactly she’d known where to find you—he doesn’t know you told her resolutely, before you even left for the mission that you were going to fuck him in that bathroom, regardless of how he’d dragged you in there first.

the door swings open to reveal yelena, standing there in her suit. eyes narrowed knowingly as her sharp eyes dart between your shiteating grin, the blotches along your shoulder and bob’s hair—once carefully slicked back, now tousled and wild.

on the walk to the stage, yelena has to brief you on your lines while bob trails behind, looking the picture of someone who just got fucked hard. he realises belatedly, satisfaction curling in his belly, that you’d worn the heels he liked.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds smut #thunderbolts

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flightsoffandom · 4 days ago

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but what if i read one of your fanfics and then went to your ao3 accounts and read all of your fanfics and left a comment on every single chapter of every single one and you got spam emails from all of my kudos and comments and it made you smile, what then? what if i brighten your day with my words like you did mine, what then???

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flightsoffandom · 5 days ago

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Oh my god I straight up do not want to see AI generated fics on my feed. I have blocked two popular "writers" who very clearly use AI, and if I see anyone hyping up that slop, I'll block your ass too.

AI generated fics, art, whatever, are not real fics or art. Stop fucking supporting that shit then wondering why all the actual writers and artists are leaving fandoms, or only sharing their fics or artwork with friends in group chats or private discords.

This. Is. Fucking. Why!!!!

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flightsoffandom · 6 days ago

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THIS IS NOT REAL. If you get this comment, they’re just trying to get you to delete your fic.

1) I would have gotten some kind of email from Ao3 if this was true

2) this comment is formatted to be perfect to tack onto any fic they choose

3) ALSO why on earth would Ao3 get rid of entire fandoms off the site? Even if they WERE inactive? Who knows if others will be ‘late’ to the fandom and want some fic to read. Who knows if someone wants to come back to their 6 year old account only to find most of their fics deleted.

I’m lucky to be a reasonable adult who has seen tricks like these who also had a very kind person comment their own doubts.

Please let your Ao3 friends know <3

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flightsoffandom · 7 days ago

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flightsoffandom · 7 days ago

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⟡Guilty As Sin⟡

(John Walker x Reader)

Summary: You hate how attracted you are to Walker, and you pull away from him because of it. He notices.

Word Count: 3.8k

Notes: Post-Thunderbolts, reader is a New Avenger and is mentioned to have some kind of super abilites (not plot relevant but it's there), porn with some plot, just reader being horny and then getting to fuck this man, car sex!!!! p in v, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks) reader and John both bully each other during sex, John Walker's praise kink (when will it not make an appearance) Bucky and Bob appearance!

a/n: This one goes out to all my homies who hated John in TFATWS and feel conflicted about finding him really hot in Thunderbolts! I guess he's my boy now bc I was literally the second post on the Walker x Reader tag (????tf????) so here I am once again being horny on main with y'all.

Teasing Walker was practically a team bonding activity. Hell, even the man himself had grown used to it, took it as a show of affection from the other New Avengers. You were one of the main perpetrators of it. John had always pissed you off, from the minute you met in the vault. He’d grown on you significantly since then, although you’d never admit that, especially not to him.

You’d also never admit how down bad you were for him.

You weren’t really sure when it had started. He was an attractive guy, from an objective standpoint. They’d picked him to be Captain America for a reason, and one of those was that he looked damn good. Still, beyond the awareness he was handsome you’d never really thought of him in that way.

That is, until that day. You couldn’t find one of your knives, and you were sure Bucky had stolen it, so you’d ventured down to the training room to confront him. You opened the door, ready to start interrogating him when you were met with the sight of him and John, side by side, doing pull ups in the doorway to the equipment room. Bob stood next to them, counting off as they went.

You’ve known Bucky for a long time. He’s like an older brother figure to you, someone you couldn’t see romantically if you tried. Seeing him shirtless has no effect on you, other than an instinctual ew. You’ve never seen John shirtless before.

And here you are, speechless, gawking at the guy who you once referred to as ‘Captain Crashout’. His biceps flexed with each lift, the muscle sinewy but hard-earned, gleaming with sweat. Broad shoulders, dabbled with old scars and freckles from too long in the sun. Your eyes fell to his abs, not as clean cut as Bob’s, but still very much there, pulled taut as he raised himself over and over. He was clad in a pair of old gym shorts, which had fallen a little lower than they started out, revealing the beginnings of a sharp v-line, and what you thought was just a smattering of blond hair trailing down.

And the sounds. John has always had a tic of snorting during battle. You call it his gorilla call that he makes when shit gets serious. The way he grunted as he pulled himself up, exerted but determined, gave you goosebumps the more you heard it.

Jesus fucking Christ, when did John get so hot?

He’s a supersoldier, of course. You know he’s strong. You interact with him almost everyday. You’ve seen him carry a crate the size of Yelena with ease. Yet somehow you’d never considered him hot before this. Never once have you looked at John Walker and felt this hot and sweaty all of a sudden, something in your stomach twisting with equal parts nerves and arousal.

You think you’re going insane.

After what feels like an eternity, John dropped, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Fine, you win Barnes.”

Bucky dropped as well, a smug look on his face. “Told you.”

“Hey, well you’re shorter than me, you have less to pull up.”

“By what, 3 inches?”

“3 inches where it counts.” Walker joked. Shit, now you’re thinking about this dick. Don’t look at his crotch. Do not look at his crotch-

“When’d you get here?” you snapped out of it at the sound of Bob’s voice, turning your attention to the other man.

“Um, around 20?” you guessed, doing your best to keep your eyes off Walker. You blinked hard as you turned to Bucky. “Did you take my Bowie knife?”

He sighed as he toweled himself off. “Shit, yeah. It’s in my bag, I’ll get it.”

“Asshole.”

He just flipped you off as he walked off to the locker room. Bob trails behind him, announcing his need to pee, leaving you alone with Walker.

You did your best to avoid eye contact, or any visual of him as he lowered himself onto the nearby bench ,grabbing his water bottle. You knew he has a habit of manspreading, which you often tease him about, but now it’s more annoying in that you’re trying desperately not to ogle him.

“Pretty good, huh?”

“What?” you blinked, looking over at his confused face.

“60 pull ups. Maybe not as good as Barnes,” he threw a jilted look at the locker room door, “but still, impressive, huh?”

“Yeah, I uh, guess so.” you stared at the space above his head, arms crossed, praying Bucky finds his damn bag and brings you your knife soon.

“You okay?” John questioned, standing up to approach you. You instinctually took a step back, causing him to stop. “Did I do something?’

“No! No, I’m fine, you didn’t do anything. Just feeling a little off today, maybe I’m getting sick.”

John nodded, unconvinced. “Uh huh.” He took another sip of his water, drawing your eyes to his strong forearms, solid and firm, leading to his large hands gripping the bottle. Were his hands always that big? It’s ridiculous. You wonder what they would feel like gripping your hips.

“Got it.” Thankfully, Bucky reentered, holding out your knife. You swiftly snatched it, stuttering out a thank you and goodbye before you practically ran out the door. John and Bucky just stood there, confused.

After that, you ran to your room, locked the door and screamed into a pillow like a middle school girl.

You know there’s nothing wrong with liking Walker. Sure, he’s real fucked up, but hell, you are too. You’re both trying to be better, all of you on the team are. Your present torment is self-inflicted, part of it being the sheer embarrassment. You can’t seem to let go of your ego, the little voice in your brain bullying you for wanting a man who carries around a shield shaped like a taco.

You’re being ridiculous.

You’re held back by a fear of screwing things up with him yourself, and therefore for the entire team. You don’t want to ruin what you all have. You’ve all had hard pasts, never really having a group of people that you could rely on till now. You wouldn’t destroy that because you were so, so very horny for one of your teammates.

So you distance yourself. You try not to look him in the eye, lest you start imagining him with his shirt off again. You feel like an old Victorian man who forced ladies to hide their ankles; looking at any part of John makes you feel like you’re going to lose it then burst into flames. Once you went to ask him something and saw him in just a towel, and immediately turned heel and left. He plagues your mind, beyond just the thought of sex. The thought of him, holding you in his arms, whispering into your ear, smiling down at you.

You do manage to forget how badly you want to fuck him when all of a sudden he’s hurling himself into danger, in front of a hail of bullets that his stupid shield barely covers.

“What the hell were you thinking?” you lecture him as the two of you climb back into the van. You’d been tasked with securing classified S.H.I.E.L.D files from a criminal organization planning to sell them. You’d managed to get them back, but not without a few scrapes and bruises. Honestly, you’re lucky neither of you died because of John’s recklessness, something you’ve told him multiple times now.

“I was thinking of what was best to keep us both safe.” he grumbles as he slams the driver’s door, turning the key in the ignition. “It was a tactical decision-”

“It was a tactical decision,” you mimic his deep voice. “You could’ve died! You’re lucky-”

“Lucky to be alive, I know, I know. What do you even care?” you turn to him, seeing the anger in his eyes, mixed with something else you can’t place.

“Why do I care? Because you’re my fucking friend, John, and I’d rather not see you filled with lead!” “Well, it doesn’t seem that way lately.” he scoffs, eyes moving back to the road.

“What did you say?”

“I’m saying, you’ve been acting crazy lately.” he slams a hand on the wheel. “One day, we’re friends, the next you act like I’m the dirt on your shoe. I-I don’t understand. What did I ever do to you?” he leans back in his seat, defeated. “You’re acting like you don’t care whether I live or die, so fine, if I die, what’s it to you?”

“John,” you sigh, trying to hold it together. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he sits back up, angrier, more offended than upset. “I’m the one who’s being ridiculous? You’re the one being ridiculous! All this time-”

He rambles on, leaving your anger at him to simmer in your chest. It mixes with guilt, of being cold to him, not telling him why. He somehow manages to look handsome like this, passionate, full of emotion. Still, you feel your stomach twist knowing you did this, that you hurt him like this. “John, look, I’m-”

“No, I’m not done!” he interrupts. He continues to rant, getting into specifics of your treatment, your apology dying in your throat. What would you even say? I’m sorry I was mean to you, it’s because you’re too fucking attractive and I don’t know how to handle it?

You forget about all the reasons not to do this. You forget how annoying and brash he can be, all the embarrassing things he does you tease him for. You forget how screwed up you both are, about the team, about everything.

You just lean over the console, grab his face and smash your mouth to his.

He’s quiet, finally, still in shock of what is happening. The second his brain catches up to his body he’s gripping your shoulders, kissing you back with a force. It quickly turns open and messy, tongues desperate for each other as you act on months of frustration and feelings repressed.

You pull back when you run out of air, sliding back into your own seat as he does his. You sit, quiet, thinking about what you’ve done.

“Is that why?” His voice is hoarse from kissing.

You nod. “Yeah. That’s why.”

You’re both quiet again, reeling from your actions. He slowly unbuckles his seatbelt, climbs out of the car. You wonder if you’ve done something wrong, if maybe you misread him.

Then he’s opening your door, and before you can say anything he’s kissing you again, large hands cupping your face in them as he presses his lips to yours, hungry and needy.

He pulls away too quickly, looking at you with a ferocity in his eyes you’ve never seen before. “Do you want this?” he asks, voice low and warning.

“Yes.” you nod. “John I’ve wanted you so bad for-”

You’re both throwing yourselves into each other, not even bothering to finish talking. John’s wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. You yelp as you quickly wrap your legs around him, clinging to him for dear life, still not breaking the kiss.

He kicks the car door shut and presses you up against it, tongue slithering along your bottom lip, asking permission. You give it, sliding your won against him, deepening the kiss. You feel a moan emanate from your throat as you do, feeling like you’re absorbing John into your very being.

He shifts one hand to holding you up as he fiddles with the backseat door, yanking at it unsuccessfully. He finally pulls back, much to your dismay, to pull the damn thing open properly.

“There you go.” you joke.

“Shut up.” he mutters, before pulling you back from the side of the car and gently carrying you into it, laying you on along the backseat.

“Take your clothes off.” he huffs, fiddling with his own as he climbs in, stripping himself of his weapons. You do the same, pulling off piece after piece of tactical gear.

There’s kevlar everywhere, bulletproof vests thrown haphazardly in the trunk, knives discarded in the front seat. Somehow in a lust-induced craze, the two of you still manage to have some form of organization.

You’ve barely pulled off your shirt before you peer over at Walker, face turned red from exertion, cheat heaving with heavy breaths.

And god, you love looking at his chest. Your eyes meet his, flitting back down in silent communication. Without a word, he nods and you’re on his, straddling him as your hands run along his broad shoulders, teeth nipping at his neck before you kiss the small bites.

He groans, head falling to the crook of your neck as he takes you in, hands gripping your hips like you’ll vanish he doesn’t.

“God, so fucking pretty.” he mumbles, grabbing your chin to pull you back in for anther kiss. One hand trails down towards your arching core, tugging at your waistband. You quickly move to help pull them down, you and John struggling together until finally, the dreaded things are gone.

He doesn’t bother dealing with your underwear, just pushing your panties aside as he brings a finger to your soaked cunt, you gasping at the sensation of his touch.

“So fuckin’ wet, too, shit.” He trails his digit alon you till he reaches your clit, flicking it, eliciting another sharp gasp from you. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

He brings two fingers to your hole, running them against your folds, coating them in your arousal as you groan. “Fucking hell, John, please.”

“You’re even mean when you’re horny.” he chuckles, you glaring down at him in return as you lower one hand to the bulge in his pants, squeezing it to a sharp inhale from John.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” you palm at his crotch as he tries to form some kind of words. Finally, he gives up, instead pushing his fingers into you, at last granting you the friction you’ve longed for. It’s so much better than those nights you’ve laid along in your bed, picturing him above you as you pleasured yourself on your own fingers. His are thick and calloused, and feel fucking incredible as you pushes in and out of you with ease, eyes never leaving your face.

“God you’re gorgeous,” he mumbles out, “so fuckin’ tight just on my fingers. Wanted this forever…”

“Please, John, need you too-”

“Gotta cum on my fingers before you can cum on my dick, baby.” you clench around him at the pet name, John smirking at the feeling as he quickly adds a third finger. Your nails dig into his bare shoulders as he moves within you, your head thrown back and eyes shut in pleasure,

“Look at me baby.” you obey, opening your eyes to see John’s flushed countenance, blue eyes dark and wide as you drink you in. “Go on, cum for me.”

He scissors his fingers within you, and with a cry, you do. You thank God you’re parked in the middle of some forest in the middle of nowhere as you moan, riding the wave of ecstasy. John doesn’t stop, keeping his pace till you start to come down, taking deep breaths as you loosen your grip.

“You cut me.” you blink, John nodding to his shoulder. You see the places where your nails have left crescent marks, breaking the skin.

“Oops.” you shrug, still out of breath from your orgasm. “Something to remember me by?”

John purses his lip. “Only fair I get to leave a little something for you.” he turns his attention to your collarbone, kissing and sucking a bruise into it as he circles his thumb on your clit, making you yearn for more even after one orgasm.

“John, please, for fuck’s sake…” you mumble incoherently. Your brain is wired to tease him and even his fingers inside of you will not change that.

He lifts his head, looking down at the bruise he’s left with pride. “Something to remember me by.”

“You are such a teenager.” you sigh, hand reaching down to undo his belt.

“You’re the one begging me to fuck you.” he grins. His hands meet you there, tugging the leather off and tossing it away as he yanks his tactical pants down just far enough to free his cock.

You can’t help it, you gape it at. He’s thick, and long, a vein running along the underside where you can clearly see. It curves slightly up against his stomach, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. If you weren’t on top of him, you’d lean down and lick it off.

“Shit, do we need a-”

“You’re good. Can’t get pregnant.” you’re already lifting your hips, trying to position yourself over him.

“See, begging.” he teases as he lines up with cock with your cunt, tip rubbing along your folds. “You ready?” he asks earnestly, looking up at you with genuine concern,

You nod. “Walker, if you don’t hurry up and fuck me I swear-”

With that, he pushes into you, silencing you with a moan as you feel yourself stretch around his cock. He’s not too painfully big, the kind of sharp pinch that makes the feeling just that much more sinful.

He groans, head rolling back as he clutches your waist. You’re sure if you looked down you’d see his knuckles turned white.

“Jesus Christ, this fuckin’ perfect pussy,” he mumvles incoherently as he pushes deeper into you. “SO fuckin tight for me, baby.”

Then finally, he sheathes himself fully, with a downright pornographic moan escaping your throat at the sensation, John gives you a moment to adjust, the two of you sitting in silence, save for your shared panting and occasional groans.

You’ve never felt so full, stuffed to the brim with JOhn’s cock, feeling the head just kiss your cervix within you. You breathe deep as you adjust, feeling every part of him, every ridge, vein, curve of his cock.

“God, John, so big…” you trail off as your brain shuts down, thoughts of anything else besides the man in front of you and his dick inside you fading away into static.

“Taking it so good.” he brushes a fallen piece of hair out of your face, a gentle gesture compared to his usually annoying countenance. “So pretty when you’re full of me.”

You nod sharply, your brain still fuzzy with lust and pleasure. You lift your hips, his cock rubbing against your walls before you slide back down, moaning as you do.

You pick up the pace, riding him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, because it’s all you’ve wanted for fucking weeks and he feels so fucking good.

John sucks another bruise into you, this one on your neck, groaning out incoherent expletives as you bounce in his lap, moaning loudly with ecstasy.

Still, you’re exhausted from your mission and your previous orgasm, your pace beginning to falter. Your eyes meet John’s, and without a word he wraps his arms around you, rolling the two of you onto the seat, you on your back with him above you.

You rake your nails over his back, leaving even more scratches as you writhe beneath him. That gentle moment from earlier feels long-gone; John is rough with you, each thrust pounds into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as you wrap your legs around his waist, trying to pull him in deeper, as deep as he can possibly get. His mussed blond hair frames his face as he fucks into you, his expression concentrated and determined.

“Feels fuckin’ perfect, perfcct fuckin’ girl beensth me, God I’ve wanted you so bad, so perfect and good.”

“Wanted you too.” you manage to pat out, looking up into John's eyes. “So handsome, John, you’re so good.”

Oh, he liked that. He moans outright, loudly, his thrusts managing to become even harder. You give a raspy moan in reply.

“Like when I tell you how good you are?” you pant out as you give him a dastardly smile, to which he just grunts in response, “So fuckin’ good, John, love your cock, let you fuck me forever.”

You’re a little cockdrunk, or a lot, head spinning as you clench around him, John pressing his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss. Maybe to shut you up, maybe because he wanted to, who knows. You just know you can feel the pressure building in your stomach, another orgasm on the verge of breaking loose within you.

“John,” you move a hand to his face, running through his beard, gripping the fine hairs as you seek something, anything to hold onto. “Gonna cum, ‘m close.”

“Go on, baby.” he grunts, thrusts growing faster and more erratic, his cock barely leaving you before slamming back in. “Cum all over my cock.”

You grip his shoulders, crying out his name as you cum again, seeing stars as you feel the white-hot waves of pleasure crashing over you. John follows shortly, sheathing himself deep inside you, where you can feel the heat of him cum painting your walls.

He gives a few weak thrusts, as if he’s trying to fuck his cum further into you. You just groan, eyes squeezed shut, body still feeling like it’s on fire.

When you open your eyes, you see him above you, panting as he comes down to Earth. He looks even more handsome like this, all sweaty and messy and smelling of sex.

“Was that,” he exhales, still trying to catch his breath, “Was that good?”

You just stare up at him, before a laugh manages to escape you. He looks a little sad before you pull him down by the nape of his neck, kissing him again, soft and slow.

“Yes,” you say as you lay your head back against the seat. “That was good, John.”

He smiles, not the usual cocky and self-satisfied look, but a genuine smile, a sense of satisfaction flowing through him. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, atop where he’s left a hickey, then to the other, then a third peck to your lips. You giggle a little, running your hands through his messy hair.

“If I’d known all it took to make you stop being an asshole was fucking you, I woulda done it a lot sooner.”

“Well, technically I was the one fucking you”

You groan, exasperated. “God, the fucking technicalities with you.” you look back up at him, tilting your head as you smile. “Am I gonna have to do this again to make you stop?”

He just shrugs, a mischievous look on his face. “Guess so.” he rolls his hips against yours once more, and you can already feel him getting hard again within you.

“Fuck John…” you’re still barely recovered from the first round.

“Hey, thank the serum.”

a/n: Shoutout to the Tiktok comment where someone called him Captain Crashout bc i immediately jotted that shit down for later use. And thank all of you who've shown my fics so much love!!! I started this as a hobby to practice my writing and I'm genuinely shocked that people really enjoy these.

It ain't much but it's honest work :)

#thunderbolts*#john walker #john walker x reader #us agent x reader #john walker smut

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