sadboyeddie

[sadboyeddie]

𝐁𝐨𝐛 𝐑𝐞𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬

x Something’s Off With Bob

[sadboyeddie]

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠’𝐬 𝐎𝐟𝐟 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐨𝐛

Summary: Bob has been acting different. You intend to find out why.

Warnings: (MDNI 18+) Fem!Reader, No Use Of Y/N, Blow Job, Sex Club, Smut, Dirty Talk

A/N: It’s been a hot minute since I have written smut so I hope it’s passable. Let me know tho.

WC: 5.8k

Something was off with Bob. 

He was acting strange somehow.

More secretive

You've gotten used to his many moods and behaviours since living together at the Watchtower. In fact with how many of the members of the team were trained to basically not feel shame you knew far too much about some of them. 

Walker on the other hand is just a dude who doesn't care. He's given up on shame.

But with Bob his day to day has become routine, a schedule he keeps to. He says it helps him manage the darker parts of his life, at first you thought he meant the Void; but he was also talking about his older habits. 

Bob had been clean for a long while now and there has never been an indication of a relapse, and honestly you're a little mad and disappointed with yourself for even implying there might be. 

It's just Bob doesn't sneak out; he always tells at least someone, usually Yelena, where he's going. He doesn't clam up and start spluttering half baked excuses when asked what he did the previous night. He never blows off movie night, usually the first there in the common room with his blanket, waiting for you to arrive with the popcorn.

But he has been. He has been sneaking out, has been clamming up, he has been skipping out on movie night.

You try to casually ask around but for a bunch of spies who usually have no boundaries they seem very nonplussed about your queries.

Yelena assures you it's fine and to just leave it alone, Ava hasn't even really noticed and John says he's probably got a secret girlfriend.

You trust Yelena, you know how close her and Bob are. It once drove you made with jealousy but after realising there was no romantic feelings between them the fogged cleared and you realised how good it was for Bob to have a best friend like Yelena.

Also you didn't want to be one of those people that got jealous every time a member of the opposite sex talked to someone you liked.

You do sometimes wish it was you though.

Anyway, since everyone was of so little help you decided to figure it out yourself. You were a pretty decent spy yourself. 

--

Like Bob's normal routine of laundry on Sunday, grocery shopping on Wednesday and changing the bed linens on Saturday; his mysterious night time activity was also on a schedule. 

Twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday; leaving the tower at 7:30pm on the dot. 

You watch as he passes Yelena, offering her a small smile and a nod in greeting before getting on the elevator. 

She doesn't even ask where he's going. She must know something.

You decide against cornering her and asking again, you know there's no point. Not even Hydra would be able to torture the information out of her. Where's Bucky when you need him?

Okay, that was a little rude. Thank god there's no telepaths in the building.

You wait until you hear the door to Yelena's room close before heading towards the elevator, you watch as the numbers gradually countdown until reaching the first floor. You smack the button and wait for it to come back up, contemplating taking the stairs but there's no way you'd make it to the bottom in time. 

You should have planned for this. 

Before deciding to just base jump from a window the doors ding and you step inside, as you go to close the door you hear Walker calling for you to hold it. Feigning deafness you hit the 'close' button a few extra times and thankfully they shut before he makes it.

That last thing you see before the doors shut is John's annoyed yet confused gaze.

You impatiently tap your foot against the cool metal of the floor, why is this taking so long? Has the elevator always been this slow? What if there was an emergency?

When the doors open with a ding you let out a huff and speed walk over to the buildings exit, nodding to the security guard behind the desk. 

When you're on the street you frantically look around for the familiar flop of brown curls, the street is fairly empty this time of night but even with the street lights it's still dark.

"What way did Bob go?" you call back to the guard. 

With a slightly startled jump, he puts down he word jumble and points to the left, you give him a quick thank you before making your way down the sidewalk.

Thankfully you don't have to break out into a jog because a few meters up the road is Bob. 

You take a second to fall back a bit, getting too close in your eagerness to find him. 

He has his airpods in and is bopping his head a bit to whatever song he is listening to. 

Usually you'd find that cute and endearing but you're in work mode right now. No time for fun.

You're feeling immense guilt with each step you take. He's done nothing to truly make you doubt his trust and yet here you are stalking him. The man just brings this out in you. You swear before moving to the tower you used to have boundaries.

Bob is your friend, one of your closest. You spend the most time with him then anyone, hell, most nights he ends up in bed with you. 

When it started he'd make up poor excuses; glare from the street lights (50 floors up?), cold in his room, (he usually slept with the A/C on cause he runs hot), Alexei snores, that one you believed. 

But you could never find yourself to care because you quickly realised that you slept better next to Bob. Your nightmares weren't as frequent and you ran cold so you enjoyed having a personal heater in your bed. He's like a barnacle that attaches itself to you as soon as he hits the mattress and you find that his touch grounds you. 

He's told you that it helps him too, you did notice that after the first few times the dark bags under his eyes started to recede, and maintenance wasn't having to come up and change as many light bulbs anymore, when Bob would wake from his nightmares he'd let out a pulse of energy that was like an EMP. 

Much to your disappointment nothing sexual ever came of it, Bob being far too polite and shy. The closest you have ever gotten is feeling his hard on in the morning before he stutters out and apology and rushes from your room. You always felt a tad guilty wishing more did come from it, he saw you as a means of comfort and you wanted to climb him like a tree. 

You often got the feeling he reciprocated your feelings, that was until you saw him interact with anyone else. All smiles and crimson cheeks, biting his lips and meaningful stares. Stupid Bob making everyone he interacts with feel special.

You thought you had made a new breakthrough with your relationship when it became more playful and sassy but you noticed once again he became like that with others when he had warmed up to them enough. 

Still you had your own things that you did together, apart from sleeping in the same bed, you had tv shows that just the two of you would watch, you'd wear his clothes and he'd put his hair up in one of your scrunchies when it would get into his eyes when reading. Sometimes when he was out shopping he'd buy you some clothes, stuff he thought you'd like. 

You were even wearing one of the shirts now; a grey shirt with a small butterfly decal on the chest.

You're pulled out of your thoughts when Bob crosses the road, you wait for a car to pass before following, making sure to maintain a distance. 

You end up following him for a good twenty minutes before he makes a sharp right turn down an alleyway, you're grateful he walked, you would have never been able to catch up to him if he took a taxi or uber. 

But you know Bob likes to walk, he says it helps regulate his moods. Every morning he goes for a walk around the local park, sometimes you join but he does like to go alone, listening to music and getting his steps in is almost as beneficial as therapy according to him.  

You peak out from behind the brick wall of the apartment building and watch as Bob takes a quick glance around before knocking a pattern onto a metal door. 

Your heart sinks into your ass as you watch him enter the sketchy building, your fears being all but confirmed. 

You spend what feels like an eternity fighting with yourself, deciding whether or not to go home or go drag his ass out of whatever crack den he's found himself in. 

You know you don't technically have a right to do that, you're not his girlfriend or parole officer, but you promised him the last time he almost Voided out that no matter what you'll be there to pull him from the fire, no matter what. 

You know that the only thing that's holding you back is the obvious rage Bob will feel towards you when he realises you violated his trust but it's something you're willing to deal with. 

You march with purpose to the end of the alleyway and think back for a second, remembering the door knock. 

Shuffling awkwardly you wait with baited breath until the small socket slides open, a pair of eyes give you a once over before the door creaks open. 

You're instantly met with a wall of sound, loud music and a deep bass coming from behind the broad shouldered bouncer.

"You comin' or what?" he asks, clearly annoyed. 

You duck your head and slide past him, confusion hitting you like a truck. 

Walking through a dark hallway, you make your way towards the source of music, the closer you get the more your eyes start to adjust, there's small dim lights on the walls but they do nothing. 

When you reach the end the door is covered by a heavy black curtain and another attendant is standing by. 

They barely pay you any mind as they lift it back for you to walk past. 

In all your years of espionage nothing could have trained you for this. 

You stand there, eyes wide as you take in your surroundings. 

This room is better lit but still dark; mood lighting. All across the room is people in various forms of nudity and undress. Masses of skin and writhing bodies. The room is a red and almost all surfaces are velvet, various toys and lewd art decorating the walls.

You're no stranger to sex and intimacy but you are way out of your depth here. 

For a brief moment as you watch what is happening around you and forget why you came. 

You take note of a bar at the back of the room, male and female waitstaff walking around naked with only black and white collars to their necks, if not for the trays of alcohol in their hands you'd think they were part of the activities.

Although judging by the waitress to the right of you being taken against a table perhaps they do join in the fun.

The wanton moaning and sounds of completion start to get to you, your mouth going dry as your body heats up. You go to leave, this is all too much and you can't focus, but as you turn to go your eyes catch on a figure, a very familiar figure.

This time when you see Bob he's only wearing his jeans, top half completely bare, but that's not what stopped you in your tracks; the woman holding his hand and pulling him along looks like you!

You choke on the saliva that's filled your mouth as your mind short circuits. This woman features are far too similar to yours to be a coincidence. 

Same hair; length and colour, same build; height and weight, and if you had to guess you'd say she may even have the same eye colour.

You watch as he follows along obediently, a small plastic bag swinging by his side and a smile on his face as he's being lead from the room, through more curtained doors. 

The burning inside you is no longer from arousal and embarrassment, you now feel very jealous. 

Anger and hurt also bubble under the surface. Why would he go out to a club and find someone who looks like you when you look like you?

Okay, that's not a smart argument but he already has you, so he doesn't need her.

"You're overdressed," a deep voice says from beside you. Snapping you from your intelligent thoughts.

You turn towards the man but quickly avert your gaze when you realise how very naked and very turned on he his.

He lets out a chuckle at your innocence before talking again, "first time?" his voice is a little louder to cut through the sea of groaning.

"That obvious?" your laugh is strained and forced but polite none the less. 

"Very," he chuckles, if not for his bare body and this entire situation you wouldn't mind talking to him, he kind of looks like Prince Caspian. "You want a drink?"

"Desperately," you reply without thinking, your eyes now landing on his face, strictly on his face, "but I'm curious as to what goes on behind those curtains," you point to the door Bob went through. 

"Private rooms," he points to he left, "glory hole booths," he grabs two glasses of brown liquid off a passing waiters tray and hands you one, "whiskey," he nods.

Your heart plummets at the information but your grateful for the drink, though whiskey has never been your favourite it will do in a crisis. 

"Want a closer look?" his voice is deep and sultry and honestly if you weren't bat shit crazy about the ex addict that lived three rooms down from you, you'd probably take him up on his offer. 

"I'll have to take a rain check," you shrug apologetically but the tall handsome man with seemingly black eyes seems to take no offense with your rejection. 

"Another time," he smiles as he leaves you to it, his attention already quickly being taken away buy a dark haired woman. 

You make your way around the crowd, nervous that if you walk through and get too close someone might grab you and pull you in. 

When you reach the curtain there's no attendant there to usher you through, which you're relieved about. The less people to witness whatever you're doing or about to do the better. 

This hallway is much better lit, there are sconces by each door which is adorned with a metal plate that labels the room. 

On each side of the hallway there are five doors, you're probably about to see a lot of stuff you don't want to but you're desperate. 

You place your ear against the cold wood of the first door on the left, hoping to hear voices or at the very least you might be able to pick out Bobs moans? He's got a pretty deep voice so you've always assumed his sounds of pleasure would be just as deep. 

Unfortunately the door is very thick and any sound or voices you hear are muffled and faint. 

You take a breath before slowly turning the knob, cracking open only enough to see if the occupants are either Bob or the doppelganger - doppelbanger. 

You let out a small miserable chuckle at your stupid word play and a small relieved sigh when you see they aren't in here, that is until you hear the whip come down on the mans ass and thighs, you wince at the crack but the man makes a sound that you once heard in a nature documentary about tigers so you guess he's having a hell of a time. 

Good for him, at least someone is. 

You continue on with your pervy task of violation as you switch to the other door opposite to this one. 

- 

You're not sure much time has passed but you're down to the last two doors.

You admittedly took a little longer as one of the rooms really intrigued you, a woman on her back with her head handing off the bed as a man quite literally fucked her throat. 

Maybe you were a bit of a voyeur.

Maybe you needed therapy.

But first you needed to find Bob. 

What would you do when you find him? Burst into the room like some perverted knight in shinning armour? It's not like Bob was here against his will. Would you confess that you like him? Is this really the time and place?

The rational thoughts leave your head when you hear a loud broken moan coming from your left, you let out a pitiful noise (and squeeze your legs together, what is wrong with you?) as part of you already know that this is Bob's room. 

With practiced ease you crack the door open and hurt your own feelings when you confirm your suspicions. There lies Bob on the bed, red and covered in sweat as the copy of you slides off him and collapses on the side. You notice she's not even naked but your focus is not on her.

You're screaming in your own head to turn away, go home and cry into some ice cream - or better yet nachos, but you've already crossed so many boundaries tonight why not a few more?

Bobs eyes are closed, a very fucked and blissed out expression covers his face as he fights to catch his breath, thanks to the large angled mirror at the head of the bed you can see everything. His length, thickness, the veins how it curves slightly to the left - and to your utter surprise; a stick-and-poke tattoo high on his upper thigh, is that Kermit (?), close to his dick.

Which now is starting to get hard again.

You remember having a rather detailed conversation with Alexei about the refractory periods of Super Soldiers, the conversation was funny until it wasn't. Yelena's obvious discomfort of the topic her father chose was humourous until he started to make it personal and then everyone was uncomfortable.

"You goin' to the booths after this, Robby?" Not You asks as she traces a perfectly manicured finger over his chest, making him tremble slightly.

"Yeah," his breathing is back to normal but his voice is soft and slow, "will you be in there tonight?" he seems so hopeful and that causes your heart to crack open just a little bit more.

"Not tonight," she sounds almost sad, "but there's some good one's in there."

By now Bob is almost completely hard again and he goes to sit up on the side of the bed, Not You follows suit. That's when you notice it. Notice the clothes the copy is wearing.

She's dressed just like you.

And not just in clothes you own and wear sometimes, no she's wearing almost the exact same thing you're wearing now. 

Same grey shirt with black sleeves and a small butterfly decal, the black jean jacket that has fallen down her arms is the same as yours, hell, even the white velvet scrunchy in her hair is the same. 

What in the Twilight Zone, Invasion of the Body Snatchers is going on here?

A brief glance lower and you realise even her underwear is the same, red lace! How did he know what you're wearing?

Whatever guilt you previously felt over violating Bob is gone because this perv is just as bad. 

And the thing that should probably be stressful is that you don't care. You don't care even a little bit. Bob is so desperate for you he basically replicated you. 

Even though you were right there!

Okay, so the anger is back. 

In your moment of realisation you didn't notice Bob getting to his feet and getting dressed, even the Replicant has changed back to her other outfit, which was easy - nipple pasties and black lacy panties. 

You close the door quietly and start to panic when Bob starts moving to leave. He can't catch you here now!

You hot foot it to the end of the hallway and out through the curtain, if you bravely risk your hygiene and safety by going through the Naked Sea you could probably make it out before Bob exits the hallway. 

But the sight of Yelena standing in front of the exits causes you to stop still and let out a far too loud "what the fuck!"

Thankfully the man jackrabbiting into the woman near you and her sounds of tortured bliss drown out your frustrated cry. 

The Jackrabbit man makes awkward eye contact with you - awkward for you, he seems to rather enjoy it. 

Before you can stop yourself you give him a thumbs up and a "nice form!" before turning to the glory hole hallway, not even waiting to see the reply from the man.

This hallway is almost identical to the last, except there are double the amount of doors and each pair of doors are closer together. There's two signs above the entrance to the hallway; one with a large hole and a lewd drawing of a lower half; legs spread, the other more simple, a smaller hole with a penis coming through it.

You head down to the end of hallway and open the door to the right, the penis hole side.

Weird thing to say. 

Thankfully it's empty, you lock the door behind you and take a seat on the admittedly comfy cushion and wait for this to all blow over. 

You have to admit, the sound proofing in this place is pretty spectacular, the small speakers in the corner playing soft music also adds to the ambiance. This place is kinda nice. Maybe that's why Yelena was here.

Wait! Why the hell was she here? Who else comes here? Is this a hangout place for the Thunderbolts to decompress? How come you weren't invited?

Unfortunately you weren't meant to find peace because your quiet moment is interrupted by someone entering the stall connected to yours. 

If you hadn't have been in such as rush you might have noticed the small lights next to the door that signified occupancy and that when you locked the door the light went from red to yellow, which meant the person inside was waiting for another. 

But your earlier gloating about being a good spy was now invalid because you are a terrible spy. 

You hear someone clear their throat on the other end followed by the shuffling of clothes. You go to rush out protests, putting your face dangerously close to the hole but that's when your eyes catch on something.

Hi-ho, Kermit the fucking frog. 

What was he thinking, honestly. 

"Is this o-okay?" his deep voice cuts through the silent tension, Bob completely unaware of the conundrum you're currently facing. 

Whelp, when in Rome. 

You try to drop your voice an octave lower before answering in a whisper, you'd rather be strapped to a car battery again then face the humiliation of Bob finding you here. 

"F'course, sweetheart," you inwardly curse as the pet name you normally call Bob comes out automatically. 

The desperate whimper Bob lets out proves that he didn't mind one bit.

"Like it, like it when you call me that," his voice is already wrecked but that could be chalked up to his previous activities.

A sour taste fills your mouth and you silently scold yourself.

This is a once in a lifetime opportunity and you will not ruin this for yourself!

In your brief trance Bob has slipped his cock through the hole, and you let out an audible gasp; not intending for it to be that loud you bite your lip.

"Like that, honey?" he asks, letting his pet name for you easily slip through his lips. 

Or maybe he just calls everyone that, you think bitterly before scolding yourself again.

Stop it!

"It's thick," you hum, "I like that," you move a little closer and Bob lets out a small shutter at your warm breath against his member. You could really have some fun with this. 

"Put it in your mouth, honey," he sounds desperate, pathetic, just like you feel, "suck on it, please."

His cock bobs in front of you, a small bead of pre cum gathers at the tip and you find yourself utterly entranced. 

You lean forward and lick over the head, making sure to clean off all the salty liquid before wrapping your hand around the base.

His hips move closer to the wall giving you more to work with, suddenly you hear a slight thud above you followed by a muffled whine, if you had to guess Bob probably dropped his head against the wall in front of him.

A small breathy chuckle falls from your lips onto the underside of his cock, which in turn twitches in your hand. He's so sensitive. 

You slowly lick the vein at the base all the way up to the tip, repeating the action a few more times just to spread some saliva around. 

"Pl-please," you like when he begs, "I want more," he whines again. 

"Be a good boy for me," you whisper, you think he didn't hear you but judging by the small curse you know he did. You remember Bucky saying how the Serum enhances the senses. 

"I'll be good," he swears, "I'll be so good, I p-promise, honey."

You clench your thighs together, the deep vibration mixed with the desperation in his voice getting to you. 

You lean forward and take the head of his cock in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and adding a tight suction before taking more of him in. 

"Fuck!" he slams a fist down on the wall as you continue to suck him down, only stopping when he hits the back of your throat.

You hold him there for a minute, savouring the feeling of him, taking joy in the fact you're finally living out one of your fantasies. 

Unfortunately you never mastered the whole gag reflex thing and the burning in your eyes and throat is becoming too much, you pull off of Bob with a loud gag followed by a whine before going to apologise, Bob doesn't let you.

"Fuck, honey, do that again," his voice comes out rushed, "please choke on my cock again."

This isn't your first blow job but a quick suck and fuck with a few men who weren't even close to the size of Bob really makes a difference.

You gracelessly wipe your eyes and nose before spitting on your hand and giving him a few strokes, base to tip, he slightly stutters forward with a groan. 

You get higher on your knees and kiss the head of his cock twice before swallowing it down, making sure to cover your teeth the deeper you take him. 

Before you can make it all the way down Bob lets out a broken whimper as he thrusts forward, his cock hitting the back of your throat hard making you gag, you pull back to collect yourself as you hear Bob rush out apologies. 

You don't really hear him as you watch a thick string of saliva that's connected from your mouth to his cock, you watch mesmerised as it starts to sag down, before it breaks you lean forward and wrap your mouth around him again.

The words die on his lips and is replaced by a drawn out moan, deep and warm, one that you could find yourself getting used to hearing.

You don't shy away from the uncomfortable feeling of him at the back of your throat, instead you lean into the burn, with each and every gag Bob lets out a small sound of pleasure or a curse, every time you swallow around him; savouring every drop of pre cum that dribbles out of his cock he hits the wall with his hand. 

He has his thrusting pretty much under control but each time one sneaks through, thankfully it's not hard enough to bring you to a stop. 

You're suddenly reminded of the woman on the bed getting her face fucked, how she barely choked.

You try to remember hushed conversations whispered between friends in the middle of the night at high school sleepovers; if you relax the throat and breath through your nose it's much easier. 

You tighten your fist that's still wrapped around the base of Bobs cock, too long to fit entirely in your mouth, and you rub your thumb on the underside, gently over his vein. A move you'd normally do when holding his hand while watching a move. 

"Oh, fuck," his voice is raw and full of pleasure, "I'm c-close," you think you can hear scratching against the wall, "honey, I'm so close."

You relax your throat as much as you can while trying to breath through your nose, allowing yourself to feel pleasure, you reach down and unbutton your jeans. 

"Yes, touch yourself," Bob whimpers, his sensitive hearing picking up on an almost soundless action, "cum with me, honey."

You push past the waistline of your underwear and groan at how wet you are, the vibration sends a thrill through Bobs cock and he lets out a debauched moan at the feeling. 

Wasting no time you use two fingers to gather your slick before rubbing it over your sensitive clit, your whole body is wracked with a shiver at the feeling. 

You get to work catching up on your orgasm, honestly you're not that far behind, you truly believe that you'd would have been able to cum from the feeling of Bobs cocks and rubbing your thighs together alone. 

You match your fingers with the pace of your mouth, flicking your bundle of nerves when ever you flick your tongue over his tip.

"Switch, fuck, switch hands, honey," bob pleads and you slow down just a fraction making him whine, "want your slick on my cock," he begs.

A noise falls from your mouth that you never thought you could make, a moan mixed with a whimper, muffled by Bobs cock, you quickly follow his instructions and switch hands, but before you do you scoop up some of your wetness between your fingers. 

As you make the switch your eyes widen at the sticky mess coating your digits, you are far more gone then you thought. 

Bob cries out when he feels the warm wet heat of your other hand, he ruts against the hole uncaring of the protesting whines you let out. 

He babbles out apologies but makes no move of stopping, "sorry, honey, can't stop," he's breathless and wrecked, "s'your fault, you did this," he blames, he sounds too far gone like he doesn't even know he's talking, "drive me wild, love your sweet mouth, wanna feel your pussy."

You pull back with a moan, unable to keep up with his new punishing pace. You can already feel the the back of your throat bruising.

"Wanted this for so long, imagine it all the time," your breath catches at his confession although you're not sure what he's confessing to exactly, "get so hard in bed next t'you, honey, wanna come on your sleeping body, fuck."

The hand that was rubbing your clit stills as you listen to Bob, now terrified, but still very much aroused, that he's figured out it's you. 

"Yeah, sweetheart?" you pull back and spit the saliva that's pooled in your mouth onto his cock, "desperate for me?" you ask before taking him back into your mouth, you resume the movement on your clit, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge.

"Yes, fuck, yes, honey," he slams in deeper again, hips stuttering as he's reaching his end, "wanna wake you with my cock buried inside you, wanna live inside you," he lets a choked moan slip out, "please, wanna cum."

The depraved confession followed by the desperate plea send you careening over the edge, your broken cry is muffled on Bobs cock and the vibration of your wrecked sobs paired with the grazing of your teeth on his sensitive skin is sending him right behind you. 

Loud groans fall from his lips, followed by a name that is unmistakably yours, as he paints your throat with his cum, "swallow it all," he begs breathlessly, "keep me inside of you, always."

You hollow out your cheeks as you milk him dry, making sure not to waste even a single drop, your fingers are still lazily stroking over your sensitive bud as you slowly come down from the high. 

Bob lets out another whine as you pull of his softening cock, the air still thick with tension, but this time it's a different sort of tension.

He pulls himself through the hole and you wait, like a coward, for him to talk first. Like a never ending torture he drags this out, zipping himself up and making himself more presentable. 

Finally, finally, he says something, "I'm sorry."

You're so caught off guard you make a small noise of confusion.

"I didn't mean to say those things," he says, his voice sounds a little guilty, "or call you by that name," he takes a heavy breath, "it's just someone I have a crush on." His small humourless chuckle makes you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

He doesn't know it's you!

Are you happy or disappointed? 

A bit of both, really.

"S'okay," you whisper, deciding to keep up the lie, at least for now, "I liked it."

His laugh now is breathy and a bit lighter, "good," there's a bit of movement on his side before you hear the opening of his door, "thank you."

Before you can answer he's gone. You sit back on your legs and take a second to wait for him to leave and to wrap your head around what just happened. 

You sucked Bob's dick.

You sucked Bob's dick and he has no idea. 

Bob has a Kermit the frog tattoo. 

You're going to have so much fun with this.

As all these very important thoughts run through your head you're suddenly snapped back to reality when the door opens and closes again, part of you is excited, hoping it's Bob but when a heavy, gruff and familiar Russian accent fills the room you let out an undignified yelp and scramble to leave.

Does everyone come to this fucking club?!

- 

On the walk back to the tower Bob lets out a small smirk, his senses filled with your scent, a smell that's undeniably you. He couldn't believe his luck when he saw you peaking on him in the private room at the club.

He's going to have so much fun with this.

[sadboyeddie]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐥 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐃𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 & 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭

Summary: It's time to taste Miles' pies.

Warnings: There's some implied stuff and the tension gets a little heavy but nothing yet.

A/N: I'm on a roll so might as well keep going. I'm thinking about putting some smut in the next chapter idk. Please let me know if you're reading and enjoying this. I'm desperate for praise and feedback.

WC: 2.8K

A small curse leaves your lips as you struggle to open the door, the key fit in the lock fine but the handle is jammed. You knock your shoulder against the hard wood a few times and to your relief the door begrudgingly pushes open. 

You can't help the grimace that covers your face as you take in the colour of the room; it's a lot. You don't let that deter you though as you fully enter, kicking the door closed behind you, and drop your bag on the floor. 

You sit on the side of the bed facing the large mirror on the wall, fingers gliding over the material of the comforter; a little stiff but not the worst you've had to endure this trip. The mattress itself is a bit springy but it's also kind of firm which you like. 

You allow yourself to sit for a moment and just take a breath. 

Falling back against the bed you decide to close your eyes for a few minutes, unaware of the man staring at you from only a few feet away.

-- 

Miles knows this is wrong.

Knows he should be in his little closet sized room doing something else wrong but he just couldn't help himself. Your smile, your laugh, your genuine interest in what he was saying was just too captivating.

It's not like he's filming you, not that the dark thought hadn't crossed his mind, he's only watching. He tries to convince himself what he's doing is not that bad.

It could be worse.

Your soft demeanor seems to have a calming effect on his soul, something he hasn't felt since before he left for war.

He leans down and flicks the switch, the small crackle of the machine adds sound to the quiet hall before your voice fills the space. 

You're humming a tune and it takes him all but a second to realise it's the song that was playing in the lobby. He cant see your face, unfortunately, from the angle that you're laying in but he watches as you bring your hand to your chest and start playing with something; your necklace most likely. 

Although a dirtier more darker part of him wishes it was something else.

Miles takes a step back until he hits the cold concrete wall behind him, bringing his hands to his face to press the heels of his palms into his eyes, he doesn't stop until he starts to see stars behind the lids.

He's never done this before, he's only every come down to observe and watch when he's been told to. When he gets that call. He's normally very respectful of regular guests but there's something about you. Something sweet and alluring. Something the darker part of him wants. Craves

He takes one last look at you before flicking the switch off, your soft voice being cut out, as he quickly leaves the dark hallway. 

When he locks the door behind him he can hear the shrill alarm of the oven going off. 

His pies. He completely forgot.

-- 

After dragging yourself from the bed you had made your way to the shower, relieved to feel the hot water pulsing from the head. You admittedly had spent far longer in there then you intended but it felt far too good to get out, the images of the handsome concierge didn't at all help your situation. Maybe you should've had a cold shower instead? 

Here you sit on your bed now, lacing up your shoes as you finish getting ready to go out and find something to eat. You're still starving, the small bag of peanuts you had before your shower did nothing to help your hunger but you chose the comfort of the warm spray of water over food and now you're slightly regretting the long shower. 

Double checking to make sure you have your room key and purse you head down the covered walkway back to the lobby, a little surprised to see that it's already dark out. You hadn't noticed the time get away from you.

When you enter the lobby the first thing to hit you is the warmth, followed by how dark it is. There's light coming from the dessert display cases, a light behind the bar some small lamps on the tables in the booths here but not much other then that. 

You intend to ask Miles if there's a place around here to eat but just like check-in the man is nowhere to be seen.

As you make your way over to the counter you hear the faint grumblings of President Nixon going on about some such garbage that you don't really care to listen to coming from the small TV set, so you turn and head over to the display case of food on the opposite side of the room. 

You bite your bottom lip in contemplation, there's a few sandwiches; looking a little stale, some sad looking fruit and finally some slices of pie, there's a little paper note on the bottom of each plate labeling each selection in a messy scrawl; apple, strawberry, cherry or mix. 

Interesting.

While you were engrossed in the cases you didn't happen to notice or hear Miles entering, not until he stands several feet behind you and clears his throat. 

You swear you jump several feet in the air as you quickly spin to face the noise, hand tightly clutching your chest, "my god!" your breathing is a little fast as you take in the apologetic smile of Miles, "you're a quiet little thing when you want to be." 

He has the audacity to look sheepish but a little pleased as he once again apologises, "I'm really sorry, I tried to be a bit louder so I wouldn't scare you."

After taking several seconds for your heart to stop racing you let out a small chuckle, "didn't work."

You notice how he's a little more put together then he was this afternoon, not twitching as much and able to actually look you in the eye. 

It's actually a little intense.

"So.." you slightly trail off as you turn back towards the display case, "what would you suggest?"

He walks a bit closer to get a better look at the options and you take the opportunity to be a little creepy and smell him a bit. 

He smells like fruit and washing powder, an odd combination but not at all unpleasant. 

"Well, uh, I baked the pies this afternoon," he looks over at you with a proud grin and you can't help but smile back. He's so cute.

"A concierge and a cook?" You ask, impressed, "a man of many talents."

"I don't know about that," he chuckles a bit, "I never said the pies were good."

"I guess I'll be the judge of that," you turn fully to the case and take your purse from your pocket before you're stopped by Miles. 

"If you're going to rate my desserts you shouldn't have to pay," his smile is small but still there as he makes his way towards the case; ignoring your protest with his key in hand he unlocks the glass door. 

"Trying to butter up the judge?" you playfully ask as he grabs two small plates of sliced pie.

"If I was going to do that I would go and get the ice cream," he grins and makes his way over to a booth, you obediently following behind him. 

"Well now I'm definitely taking a point off for no ice cream," you grumble with a smile as you take a seat.

Miles breathes out a laugh through his nose, an easy smile on his face and heads back over to the display case to get the other two flavours of pie and two forks. 

"So, which is which?" you ask, gently turning the slices of pies to get a better look at their fillings as he sits down and places the forks on the table.

"Apple, strawberry, cherry, mixed," he points to each one as he names it, he takes note of the small confusion as he points to the fourth, "I had extra filling left over so I made a smaller pie," he shrugs.

"Ah, very smart," you praise as you pick up a fork and pull the strawberry pie a little closer to you, "have you tried any yet?" you nod towards the desserts.

"I had some of the cherry before putting it into the oven," he picks up his fork and waits for you to start, "it was good." 

"I'll decide that," you smile, and he laughs a bit, as you cut the tip of the pie off with the side of your fork, making sure to get a decent amount of crust and filling before scooping it into your mouth. 

Miles watches you with baited breath, trying to gauge your reaction. To your credit you try very hard to keep a neutral expression but your facade falls and you let out a small groan.

If you hadn't gone to fork another piece you would have seen the tips of Miles' ears go red and his face flush a deep crimson.

"This is so good!" you praise before taking another bite. Your hunger make itself more evident now that you've had a taste of food.

Your praise snaps him out of his trance and he gives you a warm smile, "yeah?"

"Yes!" you nod, "try some," pushing the plate with little force in his direction, stopping when it's in the middle of the table between you. 

"Okay," it's soft and a little shy but he eagerly digs his fork into the pie, a small thrill runs through you as you watch him share the dessert. The whole thing feeling entirely too intimate but you can't find it in yourself to stop.

You admit that if Miles was a different person, perhaps loud and brash you might not want to spent much time in his presence but he's completely the opposite of that. Gentle and shy, mysterious and intriguing. A soft riddle you want to solve.

You can tell the moment the pie hits his tongue because his eyes widen and light up a bit, "huh," he nods, trying his hardest to stay modest, "not bad."

"'Not bad'," you scoff and playfully roll your eyes, "such a humble chef." 

You go to break off another peace and he follows your lead smiling as he does. 

"Where'd you learn to bake?" you ask the question casually but you notice his shoulders stiffen a bit.

He takes his time chewing the mouthful of pastry before finally answering your question, "my Grandma taught me."

You take in his hesitancy before replying, "I think she'd be proud of this," you point the fork at the crumbs now lingering the empty plate, feeling slightly guilty you ate much more then Miles.

If he cares, he doesn't show it.

"Oh, this wouldn't even compare to hers," his laugh is a tad depreciating, "hers tasted like home," the last part was said much quieter and a with a little sadness.

The look on his face makes you want to climb across the table and hold him; instead you gently place your hand on his, to your relief he doesn't shake it off or remove it. The urge to sooth him is overwhelming and you have to take a second to mentally pull yourself back.

You met this guy this afternoon and have barely been around him for an hour and yet you're ready to risk it all for him. How desperate are you?

He clears his throat and puts on a small smile before pushing the apple pie in your direction, "ready for more?"

Okay, yeah, you're very desperate. 

"Mhm," you hum, not really trusting your voice at the moment. You take note of how cold your hand feels now that it's no longer touching his warm one.

Pull it together!

"Apple," your voice comes out a little rougher then you'd hope, "a classic," you bite your bottom lip as you cut off a piece and bring it up for a taste. 

Your hand stutters slightly as you notice Miles' burning eyes focused solely on your lips. You quickly place the for in your mouth but you're so distracted by Miles you don't really taste it before chewing and swallowing. 

"It's, um, it's very good," you nervously laugh avoiding Miles' gaze as you go in for more. 

He's once again snapped from his trance, letting out a heavy breath as he takes a scoop of the apple and quickly pushes it into his mouth. 

"Your verdict?" you ask, feeling your cheeks heat up watching him swallow. 

What is going on with you?

"You're the judge," his shy smile is back, like it never left, "you tell me."

You playfully laugh as you take another bite, fully intending to actually taste the pie this time. You take a minute after swallowing to answer him.

"Apple isn't my favourite type of pie," you start, "but the cinnamon really brings out the flavour," you complement, "would be nicer with cream though," you joke.

It was meant as a jest but Miles answers like his mouth was faster then his brain. 

"Cream pies are the best," your eyes go wide as he tries to stutter out a response, "cream w-with pies, cream is good on pies," you can see the horror in his eyes as he talks.

The room goes still, awkward tension fills the air but you can't help but add to that. 

"I like cream pies," you wink as you reach over and grab the cherry pie, feeling pretty satisfied when you hear Miles let out a choked cough, "I'll admit cherries are my favourite so you better not have messed this up," you add playfully, like you didn't just send his mind spiraling.

"Mine too," is all he can manage to say after a long pause, his voice is soft but the grip he has on the fork looks like it's enough to bend the metal. 

This time the groan you let out is not all for the taste of the pie, its exaggerated and you close your eyes just for show, "So good, Miles." 

He quickly scoops up what was left of the apple pie into his mouth, something to distract him from the problem he's now facing. 

"I don't know if I want to share this," you open your eyes and give him your most innocent smile, "it's the best one."

After a beat and a small breath he replies.

"There's more in the case," it's his turn for his voice to be rough, "you can have as much as you like."

"Don't tease me," you laugh, "I might just take you up that." 

The pie really is the best of the three, you haven't tried the fourth one yet but you've already picked a clear winner. 

"Here," you cut off a generous portion of the pastry and filling and hold it up, "taste it."

Miles can no longer hold back the small groan that's been lingering at the back of his throat as he eagerly leans forward and wraps his lips around your fork, all the while keeping eye contact. 

All the control you thought you had and all the confidence suddenly vanishes as you watch him slowly eat the pie from your fork. Your breathing is once again coming out heavy as you watch him slowly chew, eyes burning into yours before swallowing.

A small bit of juice has gathered on his bottom lip and before you can lean over and do something about it his tongue darts out, swiping over the sweet liquid, there really isn't that much but just to be sure he make a show of bringing his thumb up and swiping over his lip before sucking the tip into his mouth.

You harshly push the plates to the side and lean up in your seat to kiss him, he follows your lead as you grab handfuls of his white button-up shirt but just before you can crash your lips to his the front door to the lobby opens and a man and woman walk in, loudly chatting between themselves.

You hear Miles let out a small sound, something between a whimper and a groan, which if you weren't annoyed at being interrupted would have definitely done something to you. 

You can't help but pout when he stands up, taking a second to straighten up his now crumpled shirt before heading over to attend the couple that are now ringing the bell at the front desk. 

With the tension gone and the mood ruined you grab the last piece of pie and head back to your room, you would have maybe stayed but you can over hear the man talking about having a few drinks at the bar, and you doubt there's a bartender other the Miles here. 

You briefly make eye contact with Miles as you open the door, his jaw is clenched and his shoulders are straight, you let out a humourless chuckle at the look he sends the woman when she asks for the introductory tour. 

At least he's feeling similarly to you.

[sadboyeddie]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐥 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Miles: The Master Baker

Check-In

Dinner & Dessert

[sadboyeddie]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐥 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤-𝐈𝐧

Summary: Introducing: You!

A/N: I took dialogue straight from the movie so kudos to the writers, thanks for the help. I haven't taken my meds in a few days and I'm feeling pretty dizzy so hopefully this makes sense. Enjoy!

WC: 1.2k

You let out a soft sigh as you place your duffel bag on the bench by the entrance, slowly rolling your shoulders once, twice, three times to get the tension out from driving for so long.

As you stretch your legs a bit you take note of the familiar tune coming from the jukebox and the faint smell of something baking which causes your stomach to let out a soft grumble, you haven't eaten since the last truck stop and that was miles ago.

You take an inquisitive look around the room taking in all the details, large and small; the large line down the middle signifying the two States, the large fire pits dangling from the ceiling and the stone work on the floors and walls.

Even though the El Royale was way beyond its prime, no longer having the casino and half the lodges being closed down, this was still the fanciest place you allowed yourself to stay. 

You had made the decision to leave your home town and take a trip to Reno, to get away from the hum drum monotony of daily life. You've sadly never really been the type to make impulsive decisions, always having to overthink and make plans about plans about plans. 

You brush aside how eerie you feel, despite the music playing in the background and the warm lights the empty lobby is making you momentarily second guess your decision to stay.

There were no cars in the parking lot but that doesn't necessarily mean there's not guests. You make your way towards the check-in counter, taking note of the stuffed animals in the display case behind the desk. That bear seems far too small.  

You ring the small metal bell in rapid succession, the shrill sound slightly echoing around the room, and wait for any sign of movement - you assume whoever is manning the front desk is probably behind the large, blue, wooden "Employees Only" door. 

After waiting a generous amount of time you ring the bell again, this time tapping a little louder and a little longer but still you're waiting alone. 

You let out an irritated sigh, the exhaustion from driving for far too long finally taking a bit of a toll on you, before calling out to the empty lobby, "hello?" 

You look around and contemplate banging on the door but the manners drilled into your head as child seem to hold you back. 

"Is any body there!" Your voice gets slightly louder and that's when you hear a faint crashing sound coming from a room behind you, followed by soft cursing and rushing footsteps. 

"I-I'm so sorry!" The sight of the awkwardly disheveled man makes you briefly forget your irritation as he makes his way to the counter, continuing with his rushed out apologies, "I couldn't hear you." His little grimace brings a soft smile to your face, your sour mood vanishing at the sight of the handsome concierge. 

You take in his appearance as he makes his way around the desk to put on his maroon coat, taking note of the white powder on his cheek and shirt, if you had to guess you'd say it was flour but you are in Nevada after all so who knows. 

He tries his best to straighten his slightly crumbled jacket whilst quickly brushing of the mysterious powder, all the while still mumbling apologies, you quietly wait for him to gather his composer before stepping closer to the counter and making a note of his name tag, Miles. 

Now that he's deemed himself acceptable he looks at you for the first time since he came into the lobby, you try to ignore the way his eyes go slightly wide and a warm crimson colours his cheeks, clearly he must be feeling embarrassment. 

He opens his mouth a few times trying to formulate a greeting, you've obviously caught the poor guy by surprise. Biting back a small laugh you decide to help him out a little.

"Do I get the tour?" You ask, rocking slightly on your heels, your eyes slightly looking around the room. 

"Oh! Uh, yeah! Of course," He can't seem to keep eye contact with you as he nervously lifts up the desk and makes his way to the front of the room.

Straightening up slightly and letting a small confident smile grace his features he begins the well rehearsed speech.

"The El Royale is a bi-state establishment, you have the option to stay in either the great state of California," he makes a gesture to his right as he slowly moves across the floor, "or the great state of Nevada," he smiles proudly as he gestures behind him. 

He watches you brightly as you hang on to his every word, slightly surprised with how genuine your expression seems to be. 

"Warmth and sunshine to the West," he nods to his right as he continues, "or hope and opportunity to the East," he takes a small breath before asking, "which would you prefer?"

You tip your head to the side and think a second before asking, "whats the difference?"

His faux confidences drops a little as he nervously replies, "between California and Nevada?" 

"Between the rooms," you let slip a small laugh as you watch him fidget with his hands.

"Oh, uh for starters the rooms in California cost a dollar more," he steps forward a bit, his nerves seeming to calm a bit. 

"What makes them a dollar extra?" you ask, genuinely curious.

"They're, uh, in California," he shakes his head slightly, not really understanding the price difference himself. 

"Hm," you hum, nodding your head a bit, watching as Miles clenches his jaw still avoiding looking directly at you, "fair enough," you shrug.

He lets out a breath and the tension that was building up in his shoulders releases, although his hands are still twitching; a nervous tick perhaps?

He makes his way back behind the counter, tearing a paper map from a pad and placing it in front of you, "only the main lodge is available in the off season." 

You take a quick glance at the map, not really caring what room you have. As long as it has fresh sheets and warm water you couldn't care less. 

"Room three in Nevada will do, Thank you Miles," you say softly as your eyes flicker up to his face.

You bite back another smile at the the brief shock that crosses his face. You've worked in hospitality so you know he mustn't be used to basic kindness.

He turns quickly and opens a wooden cupboard on the back wall and grabs out a key with the number three and a tag that resembles Nevada, he places it on the desks avoiding your outstretched hand completely.

You try to push back the confusion and small amount of hurt? offence? and wait as he places a large leather bound book on the counter in front of you.

"That will be $8 and I'll need the first night in advance," he clenches his jaw again and waits patiently as you dig your purse out of your pocket. When you place the money on the desk he opens up the book and taps the blank page two times, "please sign the ledger."

You quickly scrawl your signature across the page while mumbling a quick "thank you," before grabbing the key and turning on your heel to head towards your bag near the door, as you go to leave you risk one last glance at the awkward man but he already has his back to you as he exits through the 'Employees Only' door. 

This is going to be an interesting stay.

[sadboyeddie]

this is where my crush on Lewis Pullman began I’m FROTHING AT THE MOUTH-

[sadboyeddie]

𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

x Good Times At The El Royale Series

[sadboyeddie]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐥 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

Thank you to @sunfloress for the idea! This is so cute!

Summary: Miles craves some familiarity of his childhood so he decides to make the pies for the display case himself.

I'm thinking about adding another part to this, maybe make it one or two chapters long with Reader and smut. let me know what you think.

Warnings: Not proofread, a bit sad but otherwise no warnings.

A/N: Okay so I have the feeling that Miles is either really good or really bad at making pie so here we go.

WC: 900 words

Miles lets out an exhausted huff as he places the last sack of flour in the pantry, with customers becoming so scarce the deliveries don't come as often but when they do there's always plenty of stock.

In the off season the El Royale is pretty much abandoned, the occasional high profile politician comes in with a dolled up lady and an extra $20 bill slipped across the desk but other then that it's just him alone with his thoughts.

He hates that.

He hates who he is, who he has become. He hates how enticing the needle looks sitting on his makeshift nightstand, the control the substance has over his life.

He mourns for who he used to be.

So today instead of half heartedly dusting and listening to the same tunes on the jukebox he decides to do something old, something familiar.

He decides he's going to make the pies.

Usually he orders them from the grocery store, finding cooking to be entirely too much but he remembers how he felt baking with his Grandma, the shared laughter and the sneaking a taste before placing the pie in the oven.

He yearns for that. He misses his Grandma.

He goes to grab some of the old recipe books the previous chefs left behind when they were laid off but decides against it, it's been a while but surely he can remember how to make something as simple as pie.

He makes a list of the desserts he's going to make: apple; a classic, strawberry; his Grandmas favourite and cherry; his favourite.

He spends the next twenty minutes gathering the ingredients, placing them haphazardly on the metal bench before grabbing out pans and mixing bowls.

He sets about making the pastry, the faint sounds of the jukebox filling in the empty space as he mixes and rolls, making a huge mess in the process, (how did he end up with flour in his hair?) before setting them aside and preheating the oven.

He washes and peels the different fruits, cutting, slicing and removing the pits. He's no professional and the rough looking pieces of fruit prove that but he's more then satisfied when he places them into their individual mixing bowls.

He can't remember the precise measurements of the cinnamon, sugar, lemon or any other extra spices but he's sure that won't matter in the long run.

He hopes. But if he does mess up it'll probably only be him eating them anyway.

He stirs around the filling and lets it sit for a while as he cleans up some of the kitchen, mainly just putting things in the large basin to soak until he can be bothered to finish the job.

Oh how he misses there being more staff at the hotel.

He brushes away the excess flour on the bench and slides the pastry and filling to where he needs them, taking a large serving spoon he starts to scoop the ingredients into the pie base.

In theory this should be a relatively clean part of the job, but sticky globs of fruit chunks litter the bench, the juice getting everywhere and he's suddenly reminded why he prefers to buy the desserts pre-made.

After filling the bases he lets out a soft disgruntled sound, taking in all the left over fruit still left in the bowls. Maybe he should have read the recipes.

After making a basic lattice design for the top of the pies, placing a piece of each fruit on top of the lid to signify which is which he makes the quick decision to make one more crust.

It's only a quick job because his motivation and energy are dwindling and he can feel the itch under his skin to get back to his room but he made a small commitment and he want's to be able to do just this one thing.

He makes quick work of scooping the left over filling into the last pie base, surely apple, strawberry and cherry won't taste too bad mixed together. It'll probably be the best of the four.

Instead of doing another lattice design for the lid he just rolls some pastry flat and lays it over the top before using a fork to poke a few holes on top.

That'll do.

Making sure the oven is the right temperature he takes a second to poke around the first pie, making sure to get some filling on his finger before popping it between his lips.

He lets out a soft content sound as the juice from the cherries mingle with his taste buds and he's suddenly feeling like a little kid again. Surrounded by the warmth of the oven and his Grandma combined, as he closes his eyes he swears he can still hear her playfully scolding him right before she sneaks her own taste.

The memory quickly fades as he opens his eyes, clearing his throat to distract from the burning from inside his chest and behind his eyes.

He really misses his Grandma.

He makes quick work of placing all four pies inside the oven and shuts the door with perhaps too much force as he hears the metal racks vibrate slightly.

He leans back against a metal bench and rolls the tight muscles in his shoulder once, twice, three times before building up the motivation to put the dirty dishes in the basin with the rest.

He sets the timer on the oven and sits on a bench as he waits for the pies to bake, a small smile graces his lips as the pleasant nostalgic aroma starts to fill the kitchen.

Not a bad afternoon.

Unfortunately his peace doesn't last long as the sound of the front desk bell rings out followed by a voice. He startles from his position, knocking off a mixing bowl as he jumps down and tries to make himself presentable.

He allows himself to take a deep breath before rushing out to the lobby.

How'd I do? Should I continue?

[sadboyeddie]

Lewis Pullman (being adorable) for Bad Times at The El Royale

[sadboyeddie]

I want to write some stuff for Miles Miller from Bad Times At The El Royale so if you got any ideas please send in them

[sadboyeddie]

𝐁𝐨𝐛 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝

x Menace | Blurb

[sadboyeddie]

𝐋𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐧

❥ 𝐁𝐨𝐛 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝

❥ 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

[sadboyeddie]

thinking about going out to the bar with Bob Floyd and the rest of the gang. everyone is either playing pool or talking amongst themselves, you're content with just people watching with bob pressed tightly to your side, his fingers playing with yours. his touch seems innocent to the outside viewer but you can tell by the look in his eyes he's feeling a little playful.

you watch as he grabs his half finished beer and pushes the bottle into your hand, moving your fingers around the base in a hold that looks intimately familiar. you nearly choke on your own drink when you hear the little menace mumble "hm im much thicker." before taking his beer back and taking a swig.

[sadboyeddie]

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

x NSFW Alphabet

[sadboyeddie]

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[sadboyeddie]

John Walker NSFW Alphabet

I'm back in my marvel era so it's time to get some of this brain rot out so i can finally s l e e p

MDNI 18+

Authors Note: First thing I have written in about three years so please be kind. I was only gonna write basic stuff but like usual I got carried away.

WC: 2k

𖢻••𖢻••𖢻••𖢻••𖢻••𖢻••𖢻••𖢻••𖢻••𖢻••𖢻••𖢻

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Due to the serum John is able to go multiple rounds without tiring - a godsend and a curse.

I can see John reacting differently to aftercare depending on your relationship:

Casual No Strings attached: he'll check to make sure you're okay maybe gets you a glass of water before heading out

In A Relationship: gets you a glass of water and a damp cloth to wipe you down as he checks how much damage he has done to you before grabbing one of his soft cotton shirts to place on you. He'll gently man handle you into a comfortable sleeping position and wait until he can hear your soft snores before being lulled into slumber.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

John is a bit of a narcissist, he's quite happy with all of his body - especially after taking the serum. It didn't really change much, not like what happened with Steve but it did add some definition to his muscles.

John loves your thighs. I feel as though that is something we have all decided as a fanbase anyway. He could spend the whole evening camped between your legs with your thighs tightly clamped around his head.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Dependent on his moods. If hes been away from you for a while on a long mission its gotta be inside you. That man has a breeding kink and he needs his cum to be so deep it doesn't leak out.

If he's feeling a little jealous and possessive he'll cum all over you. He loves to mark you, to make you wear it. (I have a hc that he cums a lot - more on that later). His favourite place to cum on you is your thighs, your chest and across your face.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

John carries a pair of your underwear around on missions. Being a footballer in school he's no stranger to superstitions and one big one is that he's never failed a mission with your panties tucked into his pocket. He always takes the pair you're currently wearing, he loves to feel how warm they still are as he tucks them away.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I feel like in high school he was a bit of a hoe. Dated a cheerleader, maybe hooked up with some girls at a party of behind the bleachers. He married his high school sweetheart but that doesn't mean he didn't get around before then.

That being said I feel as though his marriage was pretty mundane and vanilla. He had plenty of sex but after a while it might have felt like a chore.

Has plenty of things bookmarked on his phone that he'd like to try: bondage, dom/sub, CNC, roleplay etc. He just needs to find the right person to let himself be vulnerable enough with.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Again super dependent on his moods and your relationship.

If dating: loves the intimacy that comes with missionary, foreheads pressed together, sharing the same breath. Also loves you riding him - laying down or sitting he doesn't mind. He's down for all positions really.

Casual: Doggy style with his hand wrapped in your hair, back arched as he drags you back to meet his thrusts all before pushing your head into the mattress making you arch your back as he rearranges your insides.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I wouldn't say goofy but he can be sassy and after every comment it's followed by his signature smirk. He likes it when you get a little playful cause it starts to move into brat territory and he loves to put you in your place.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Not completely shaven but well trimmed. John is a hairy guy from his chest to his thighs but it's not something you mind. He keeps everything well groomed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

When things are casual he makes sure you're okay during and after but he tries to keep the intimacy to a minimum. After his divorce he's not ready to open that door so soon.

If you're dating he's surprisingly very intimate, hand holding, forehead/temple kisses, carrying bags and opening doors.

When he's deep inside you he likes to nuzzle his cheek against yours and kiss your neck and shoulder. He holds your hands besides your head and whispers sweet praises against your lips like a secret, "so good, honey", "pussy's so tight she's gonna make me cum', "yeah, you like like that? want me fill you up?", "love you so much, baby"

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

High stamina so he jacks off a lot. And that's part of what your panties come in handy for (heh). After you start your relationship he's used to getting it all the time so when he's on a mission or you're not around when he's horny he just cranks one out.

Hell, you could be down the hall in the communal kitchen talking to Bob or Yelena but John couldn't be bothered to go looking so he pulls his cock free and grabs an item of your clothing, wraps it around his fist and cock and goes to town. He lost count of the amount of times you've scolded him about staining your clothes (and pillow cases).

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

This man has so many kinks, praise, authority, breeding, uniform etc.

Loves to be called Captain, in and out of the bedroom. The first time you were on a mission and you playfully praised "good job, Captain," John practically dragged you to a hidden part in an abandoned hallway and made you cum on his fingers while he humped your leg.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom is his favourite place cause he can do so much without the worry of being interrupted but if there was a second place it would be the training area. Having you pinned down under him, rutting his cock over your still clothed but very wet panties, fingers in your mouth as he critiques you on your fighting stance is something he looks forward to whenever you ask him to 'spar'.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Calling him Captain, the smell of your perfume, wearing his clothes. Depending on how hard up he is: sometimes when you're reading, lounging around watching tv you'll make soft noises and that's enough to distract him and rile him up.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that puts you in danger, extreme BDSM.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Likes to receive but prefers to give. Loves to have you seated on his face, hands on the headboard as you ride his tongue. Enjoys eating you out while you're reading, scrolling on your phone or watching tv.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends. Late at night and early morning he likes to go slow, lazily slipping inside you as you let out a tired moan, your back pressed to his chest as he grinds himself deeper.

Usually if you're in for the night and he gets to go a couple of rounds he'll start slow and end fast. Likes to have you sitting on his cock, lazily riding him, he'll make you cum once or twice before he flips you over and fucks you into the bed.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

All the time. Loves them. Sometimes there just isn't time to go slow and he can't wait so having you pressed as against a wall as he fucks you from behind with his fingers in your mouth will have to do

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Loves to experiment. After getting with you he realised there's so many things he hasn't tried.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

High stamina can go many rounds. He can cum pretty quick the first few times but by the end of the night he stay buried inside you, lazily thrusting for hours.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Loves to use toys on you, never really tried any on himself. He prefers your body (you're his toy). Loves to use a vibe on you at Val's stupid galas and press conferences. Has, on more then one occasion, double penetrated you with one of your vibrators.

You once used a vibe on John when you gave him head, the combination of the vibrations on his tip, the wet heat of your mouth and the occasional swiped of the vibe across his hole had him coming embarrassingly fast.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

So much. On missions he constantly pins you to a wall, thigh between your leg, far to high to be mistaken as anything but sexual, because "sorry, princess, thought I heard someone" said with his infuriating smirk.

A huge tease with the vibe, whenever someone, usually a guy, comes up to talk he'll turn the vibe up to max and watch you squirm. Constantly offering you up to dance with people "Joaquin looks like he wants to dance, sweetheart, you'll dance with him, wont you?" and poor sweet Joaquin is in no position to say no. He waits until you're at least halfway through the dance before switching on the vibe.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Mostly just grunts and growls, some whining and desperate moans here and there.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

John initially was pissed when Sentry taco'd his shield and even though he complains about it often he's actually not that mad.

Not when he came back from training with Bucky, still red faced and covered in sweat, to see you kneeling on his bed with his shield tucked snugly between your legs. Your head is thrown back, desperate whines fall from your lips as you rut harder against the cold metal.

Judging by the slight twitching of your muscles John can tell you've been at this for a while, obviously you did this for yourself and to intentionally put on a show for his, that just turns him on more.

Thanks to how caught up you are in your own pleasure and Johns ability to move about quietly you've not noticed the large super soldier watching your every move.

You start to grind down harder and the whines start to dissolve into breathy whispers of his name, he reaches down and squeezes his cock, all ready hard and leaking in his shorts but he's determined to wait until you've cum to interrupt.

His nostrils flare and he bites back a small growl when he sees your slick glistening against his shield, if you don't cum soon he wont be able to stop himself.

Thankfully with one last thrust of your hips and a loud moan of "Captain!" you let put a violent shutter as you cum. You hump his shield a few more times to help you come down before open your eyes and let out a startled cry at the sight before you.

A six foot something super soldier, shorts tented, shirt slick with sweat and breaths coming out in pants, at first glance with the clenched fists he looks angry but you've seen that look enough to know you're in for a long night.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Over average but not scary big. Yeah it's a little long. He's quick thick and vieney.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Very high. Dude is ready to fuck constantly.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Usually likes to wait for you to sleep before allowing himself.

[sadboyeddie]

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