starrbishops

[starrbishops]

⟡Good Morning⟡

(Bob Reynolds x f!Reader)

Summary: There is never a peaceful morning in the Watchtower, especially not after you and Bob finally get together. (Mini-sequel to Risk and Baby, I'm Yours, requested by @my-name-is-baby)

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Set after the events of Thunderbolts*, established relationship, fluff, kissing, talk of sex, team finding out, swearing, wearing Bob's clothes, suggestive ending

a/n: As per the poll i have adapted the fic formerly known as B-O-B so they callin you BOB into this, combined with a request I received. I just really love writing the other Thunderbolts in these fics and this one brought me great joy :)

Bob wakes up to the sound of a knock on his door.

He blinks his eyes open, his brain catching up with what’s happening around him. His arm around you, fast asleep on his chest. He smiles softly as he recalls the events of last night, and at the sight of you in a deep sleep, hand laid over his heart. He brushes the hair from your face, taking a good look at you, before another knock sounds through the room.

“Bob?” Walker’s voice echoes from the door, followed by yet another knock. “Hey, man, you up?”

Bob’s eyes flick between the door and you, trying to decide what to do. In the past he’s thought of himself as quick on his feet, but right now his brain feels like lovestruck mush. 

The last thing he wants to do is wake you up and disturb your peace. But maybe you don’t Walker to come in and see you in his bed. Maybe you want this to be secret. But if he hides you, you might think he’s ashamed of you.

You’re stirring slightly, eyes fluttering open, squinting as you peer up at him, then the door. “The hell?”

“Walker.” he whispers. Your eyes widen just a bit, clearly also thinking about what to do. “Uh, I don’t mind him knowing, if you don’t-”

“I don’t!” you clarify, sitting up while pulling the sheets to cover yourself. “I just-” you gesture to your naked torso, to which Bob makes an ‘oh’ sound.

“ONE MINUTE!” He yells to the door before jumping up, scrambling to his dresser, still fully naked. He tosses you a shirt and your underwear from the floor, before haphazardly pulling on a pair of boxers.

“You okay in there?” Walker yells.

“Fine!” Bob calls back, gathering up your lost clothes from the night before, tossing them into the bathroom. “Everything is great!”

“Is someone holding you hostage-” John is interrupted by Bob practically yanking the door off its hinges, settling into what he thinks is a natural pose, leaning on the door with one hand on his hip, legs crossed. It takes significant effort not to laugh at him.

“What’s up?” he says in a voice that is trying way too hard to be casual.

“Hey, I was just going for a run, thought you’d like to-” he stops, eyes landing on you, seated on the bed with Bob’s old t-shirt hanging on your body.

It takes Walker a second to process, mouth wide open like a fish, looking from you, to Bob, back to you. “You asshole!” he yells through a laugh, shoving Bob playfully from his pose. “Look at you, you fuckin’ did it!”

Bob chuckles awkwardly, face red with embarrassment as he nods. “Eh, she kinda did most of the work.” he admits, a grin on his face. “I did kiss her first, though.”

Walker slaps his back. “That’s my boy!”

“You knew he liked me?” you call from your spot the bed.

“Oh yeah, it was obvious.” Walker says, Bob turning to face the ground. “Honestly, it's astonishing how you didn’t notice he liked you.”

You throw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face as it knocks him slightly backwards. “I am not that oblivious.” you turn to Bob, who has a pensive look on his face. “Right?”

“I mean…” you hold up another pillow, shutting him up as he raises his hands in surrender.

John throws an arm around Bob, shaking him slightly. “I really am happy for you two, y’know. The whole time, I told him, she clearly likes you, but he didn’t listen, but guess who was right.” he points to his own face.

“Alright, alright, go for your run now, asshole.” Bob shoves him off, still smiling. “And don’t tell anyone yet, alright?” he points at him, now with a serious expression.

John raises his hands as he walks out backwards. “I won’t, I won’t. I’m a great secretkeeper.” he flashes you a mischievous smile, as he walks off into the hall. Bob sighs, shutting the door behind him before flopping back onto the bed. 

“Oh my god,” he murmurs into the blanket, one hand crawling over to rest on your thigh. You just cuckle, running your hands through his brown locks.

“Hey, could be worse, huh? Alexei could’ve stormed in here before we had any clothes on.” that gets a laugh out of him, raising his head and settling it in your lap. 

“Yeah, fair point.” he turns to look up at you, a small smile on his face. “I just, still can’t believe this is real, and now Walker knows.”

You shrug. “Well, it seems like he already had an inkling.”

“Yeah, he was behind a lot of my poorer attempts at flirting.” Bob’s hand runs along the smooth skin of your leg, tracing aimless circles into it.

“Wingman Walker. Never thought I’d see the day someone went to him for love advice.”

“Hey, I was desperate,” he says, sitting up. “I didn’t want to screw this up.”

You smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Well, you didn’t. And you’re not gonna.” you reassure him, his hands moving to your waist as he pulls you closer. He kisses you again, this one deeper, more passionate. Your hands tangle in his hair, smiling against his lips. You’re too caught up in each other to hear the telltale sound of Ava's phasing.

“Bob, Walker told us to check- OH MY GOD!” she spins around while simultaneously covering her eyes.

Not five seconds later, the door opens again. “Ava? Are you- oh!” Yelena makes a surprised expression, giving an awkward wave. “Oh, finally. Took you long enough.”

“Thanks, Lena.” Bob gives an awkward grin. “Ava, you can turn around.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

“What’s going on?” Bucky’s voice echoes from the hallway.

“Hi Bucky!” you call as he steps into the doorframe, Alpine perched on his shoulder. His eyes widen a bit, before a smile forms.

“Finally,” he scoffs.

“That’s what I said!” Yelena agrees.

Bucky grins at the blonde before turning back to you and Bob. “I told you he liked you.” he gestured between the two of you. Bob turns to you with a confused expression.

“Okay, maybe I am a little oblivious.” you admit.

“‘S okay, I like you anyways.” he presses a kiss into the top of your head, prompting a joking ‘eww’ from Yelena.

“Okay, I’ll see you two later when you’re fully clothed.” Ava walks away, phasing through the wall in favor of walking through the door. Bucky and Yelena chuckle, following after her. 

You sigh, turning back to Bob. “Hey, well, now they all know.”

“Yeah, I think we were the only stupid ones.” he chuckles, one hand cupping your cheek. “And maybe Alexei.”

As if he’d summoned him, Bob’s theory is confirmed by a loud, distinctly Russian voice yelling “WHAT?” from down the hall. You both giggle as Alexei kicks the door open, Yelena peeking out from behind him. “You two? Together?” he frantically points between you, an expression of genuine shock on his face.

“Uh, yeah.” Bob confirms.

His shock changes to pride as he approaches you, taking you both into a bear hug. “I am so, so proud of you too. I had no idea this was happening, but now I see. True love!” he announces.

“Alexei, I can’t breathe.” you choke out, the large man letting you go before giving Bob another smack on the back.

“Good man, Bob. Take good care of her, alright?” he tells him, Bob nodding desperately as he prays for him to leave. “You know, if we had Sentry, you could protect her much eas-”

“Dad!” Yelena yells from the hall, clearly embarrassed. He waves her off, giving you both one last grin.

“Okay, I leave now. You two, have fun, be safe!” he shakes Bob’s shoulders, before walking off, Yelena closing the door behind him with a smirk.

“Well, at least they’re supportive.” you joke, Bob laughing with you before pulling you into another kiss. 

“You look so good in my clothes.” he mutters against your lips.

“Are you gonna follow that up with ‘but you’d look better without them?’” you do a poor imitation of Bob’s deeper voice.

He shrugs, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well, yeah, but I can still eat you out with it on.” he whispers, before knocking you back onto the bed with another kiss, the two of you laughing on the way down.

[starrbishops]

Omg I love your writing!! I was wondering if you could do a like an extra for the Risk fic where the team, especially John, finds out they finally got together

I CAN and I WILL it will be posted TOMORROW

i really like capitalizing words for emphasis but ty for the request i love writing the thunderbolts team :)

[starrbishops]

Just wanna say I love your work so much.

Anyway, I was wondering if you could write about John and reader on Halloween as kids where John dresses up as Cap. Idk how this would work or if child!John x child!reader is something that a) you would want to write and b) anyone else would be interested in reading.

Also, I know it’s nowhere near Halloween but I saw someone post about John dressing up as a kid and I have been thinking about it ever since. I guess it doesn’t have to be Halloween either, maybe he just loves Cap.

Anyway sorry for the rant lol 💜

ok i really love this concept bc cap in universe is a historical figure which implies that 1) baby john was just really into war and the military from a young age which also leads me to think 2) as an adult he's one of those ww2 history buff dudes who would know about really specific battles and work on model battlefields a la frank heffley instead of watching his kid.

so i don't know if i'd really do an entire fic with child! john but i do want to write something involving his family and upbringing (like maybe him and reader visiting Georgia or his parents) and this is a really cute detail i'd like to include (like she finds an old photo of baby john as cap)

[starrbishops]

⟡Baby, I'm Yours⟡

(Bob Reynolds x f!Reader)

Summary: You have sex with Bob for the first time. (sequel to Risk but can be read standalone)

Word Count: 4K

Notes: Set after the events of Thunderbolts*, established relationship, SMUT, "what are we gonna do ride Bob" 😏, oral sex (f recieving), fingering, p in v, missionary, cowgirl, multiple rounds (super stamina woohoo!) unproteted sex (wrap it up kids), Bob Reynolds has a big dick fight me on this, references to masturbation and wet dreams, aftercare, Bob's eyes glow when he cums (I warned you all)

a/n: So I finished writing this and then made this silly little textpost and uh. people liked it a lot so i'm proud to present you the basis for it. Just wanna say from the bottom of my heart Bob Reynolds is a little shit from Florida and yes he IS mostly submissive and he DOES whimper during sex but he is NOT an innocent baby boy and he CAN and DOES fuck. Okay rant done enjoy the sex.

You spend the next few minutes wrapped up in each other’s arms in the dim lamplight, kissing and giggling and just being together. It’s intimate, a kind of safety Bob hasn’t felt maybe ever. It's exhilarating, like something out of a dream. You’re really here, kissing him, touching him, wanting him. The thought just plays over and over in his mind. He’s so preoccupied by you, he’s barely aware of the growing hardness in his pants. Which you quickly become aware of.

You pull away mid-kiss, and Bob furrows his brow, worried he did something wrong. Even in the darkness, he can see the confusion on your face. “Um, Bob…” you trail off, not sure how to point it out. Then it hits him.

“Oh!” he scrambles back, grabbing a pillow to cover his lap. “I am so sorry, that, I did not mean to do that, I-”

“Bob.” you chuckle, a reassuring smile on your face. “It’s okay. I was just…surprised.” Bob laughs nervously in response, still clutching the pillow. 

“Do you want to?” Bob tilts his head at your question.

“Want, want to what?”

“Have sex, Bob.” you say, flat out. You’re never one to beat around the bush, you get straight to the point. It’s one of the things he likes about you. 

Still, his brain needs a moment to catch up to what’s happening around him. “Oh, um, do you? Want to?”

You nod. “We don’t have to, I mean, I don’t want to pressure you into-”

“I do!” he exclaims. “Want to. Have sex with you. Now. If you want to.”

You just smile, crawling over to his side of the bed. You unclasp his fingers from the pillow, taking its place in his lap. On instinct he wraps his arms around your waist, resting them just barely on the small of your back. He’s still not sure if he’s allowed to touch you, or should be. You kiss his jaw, gentle and soft, testing the waters. Bob’s breath catches as you do so, and you continue, trailing down his jawline to his neck, pausing at the conjunction of his neck and shoulder, where you begin sucking a bruise into the skin.

Bob releases a broken moan, his hands gripping onto your hips. You can feel how hard he is beneath you, and get a sense of just how big he is. The Sentry Project changed a lot about him, you know that. It’d crossed your mind that it might have affected him down there, but it still surprises you just a bit. Or maybe he’d always been like this. He’s just as incredible to you, powers or not.

Satisfied with yourself, you pull away from Bob’s neck, grinning at the darkening bruise forming there. He moves a hand from you to touch it, as if he’s making sure it’s real. You take his hand in yours, placing it on your face. 

He looks up at you with a hungry gaze, before moving in to devour you once again. Robert Reynolds kisses like a man starved, gorging himself on your affection for fear it’ll vanish once more. You hold him tight, kiss him back as hard as you can. A reassurance, a promise that you’re not going anywhere, not now, not ever if you had it your way.

“Take your clothes off,” you pant out between kisses. It’s not meant to be an order, but Bob certainly takes it as one, immediately rushing to pull off his baggy sweatshirt, followed quickly by his t-shirt underneath. Bob is the last guy anyone would expect to be jacked, but here he is.

You run a hand along the line of his abs, Bob shivering under your touch. “You’re beautiful, y’know?” you whisper, kissing his cheek as you squeeze his shoulder. He chuckles, nervously muttering something under his breath. “You are.” you insist, pulling back to face him. “Not because of your body, but because you’re you, okay?”

He nods, gazing up at you like you’ve hung the moon and stars for him. You’re not sure how to respond to his look of absolute adoration except to once again kiss him senseless. 

He starts tugging on the hem of your shirt, a request. You’re still in your tactical gear, crumpled and dirty from your mission. You pull back, getting to work on removing your various holsters and hidden knives, Bob assisting you to the best of his ability.

“You have so many knives.” he points out, adding number five to the pile that’s begun forming next to where the two of you sit.

“You never know.” you quip as you find your last one, moving the pile over to Bob’s nightstand as he starts yanking your shirt up.

“Only fair.” he points out with a smirk. You raise your arms over your head, allowing him to tug off your suit, leaving just your bra covering your top. You reach behind yourself to unclip it, only for Bob to swat your hand away. “I got it.” he insists, taking only a moment as he unfastens it, tossing it somewhere in the room.

He takes a second to take in the view, his mouth hangs open in the shape of a smile, not sure whether to gape or cheer. He quickly puts his mouth to better use, kissing a trail down your collarbone to your breasts, one hand on each pressing them together as he lavishes them.

“Can I eat you out?” Bob’s voice interrupts the silence, peering up at you from between your breasts. “I-I’m not that great, but I want to try. Please.”

You nod, rolling off of him and laying on your back while Bob settles himself between your legs, busying himself with tugging your pants off. “Have you done this before?”

“Hm?” he snaps out of his focus at the sound of your voice. “Oh, yeah, I just, never really got to do it properly, y’know? Take my time.” He tosses your pants away, fingers hooking under your underwear before pausing. “Do you still want to?”

“Bob, I want you between my legs five minutes ago.” he grins and yanks off your underwear, not even tearing his eyes away from your pussy. Even hidden beneath his shaggy brown hair you can see his dark blue eyes are blown out with lust, lingering carnal desire evident on his face.

Bob doesn’t bother with words. He just goes to work, gripping your thighs in his large hands and licking a stripe up your cunt as you moan, your hands tangling in his hair as he begins to lap at you. It’s messy, imprecise, but god it feels so good. He’s learning, noticing what gets the most reaction and keeping it up. He sees how your breath catches when he just barely flicks his tongue against your clit, filing it away for later. 

“Fuck, Bob, baby…” you pant, gripping his hair like a lifeline. “Not great my ass, you liar…”

Bob interrupts your jokes by sucking on your clit, earning another sudden moan from you before he stops suddenly, perking his head up. “Can I use my fingers?”

“Hell yeah.” you manage to breathe out. He nods and lowers his head back down, this time moving his hand from where it digs into your thigh to swipe through the wetness of your folds. He coats his index finger in your arousal, looking straight in your eyes as he licks it off. 

“You taste so good.” you mumbles as he slowly inserts his finger into you, a choked out moan escaping your throat. Bob’s a big guy, and more than once you’ve imagined those massive hands of his fingering you. Reality is ten times better than any fantasy.

He starts slowly, putting what he's learned into practice and continuing to alternate licking and sucking at your clit while he presses his finger in and out of you. You jerk against his grip, back arching as he hits that perfect spot within you. His grip on your thigh just tightens, and he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “I got you.” he mutters, adding another finger and speeding up his pace, making sure to hit the spot that seems to make you go wild. It works, judging from the strings of expletives and moans that continue to escape you.

You can feel the knot in your stomach tightening as you writhe under Bob’s touch, every move sending licks of fire through your body. “Bob, Bob, ‘m so close, baby, please…”

Bob cuts you off with a moan between your legs, the vibrations reverberating through you, pushing you closer to your high. His eyes shut in pleasure as he devours you, the sound of you moaning out his name better than any high he’s ever felt.

“‘So close, Bob, please…” 

He takes it as a sign, sucks on your clit even harder, opening his eyes so he can watch you fall apart under him. And you do, crying out his name, one hand with a death grip on his hair and the other gripping the pillows so hard he’s surprised it hasn’t exploded into feathers. 

He keeps it up through your orgasm, slowing down the pace of his fingers and switching from sucking to gentle licks on your clit as you come down. “Jesus fucking Christ, Bob,” you pant, gazing down at the man between your legs.

“Did I do good?” he asks, his voice earnest and hopeful. It’s quite the contrast, the feeling of ecstasy still buzzing in the bones, the sight of your slick all over his chin, compared to the genuine worried look in his eyes as he asks the question.

“Yes, Bob, that was good.” you half-laugh. “I don’t think I’ve cum that hard in a long time.”

He grins, satisfied with his work. “Nice.” he crawls up your body, gingerly pressing a kiss to your lips. You taste yourself on him, the flavor driving you even crazier, making you more desperate for him. You lightly tug on his lower lip, earning a deep groan from Bob.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” he mumbles, the kiss becoming a collision of lips and teeth, the two of you stick with saliva and arousal. “You’re so perfect, and you want me.”

“Want you so bad, Bob.” you mutter into his mouth between kisses. “Want your cock, please.”

He moans, pulling away to look at your face, eyes dark with lust, lips kiss-swollen and wet, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “Say it again.”

“God, need your pretty cock inside of me, Bob, baby, please-” he’s smashing his lips against yours again, one hand working on tugging his sweatpants off. He sits up, you joining in assisting him. He pulls his boxers down with them as he finally rids himself of the wretched garments, his cock laying hard and leaking against his perfect abs. It’s better than you could’ve imagined, long and girthy, veins running along it. A small part of you worries about walking tomorrow, but the part of your brain that is so goddamn horny overrules it.

“I got a condom somewhere, I think.” he’s saying, although you barely register it as you stare at his length.

“You’re good!” you snap out of it, Bob turning back to you. “I’m all clean, IUD, you’re good.” you clear your throat, a bit awkwardly, “I’m not planning on being with anyone else, so…”

“Oh my god,” Bob grins, settling himself back on the bed before pulling you into his lap, “I’m clean too, and I don’t want anyone but you. You’re perfect.” he presses a kiss to your temple.

You chuckle as you recall something. “Remember how John was saying we should ride you into the sky?”

Bob looks confused, but nods. You lean in, whispering in his ear. “This is what I was imagining.”

His hands grip your hips, a stuttered breath escaping against your shoulder. He can barely get the words, “oh yeah?” out.

“Yeah.” you whisper, nipping at his neck, before pressing a kiss to it.

He’s hot against your aching cunt as you raise your hips, aligning yourself with his hardened cock. The pre-cum leaking from his tip mixing with the abundance of arousal dripping between your thighs. “Y-you ready? I know it’s kinda a lot, I mean, it always was, and then Sentry, well-”

“Bob, you’re perfect.” you look him right in the eyes, giving him a kind smile, as if he’s not about to fuck you raw. “I want you. All of you.”

He nods, clearly psyching himself up. He’s had flings before, and he knows he’s a lot to take. The Sentry Project enhanced all of him, and he’s doing his best not to hurt you. “Just tell me if you need to stop, okay?” You nod, and with a sharp inhale you begin to lower yourself, the head of his cock breaching your entrance. You gasp, and he pauses, making sure you’re okay. You just nod fervently, unable to form sentences at the feel of him stretching you out. It’s a little painful, which you expected, but the pleasure far outweighs the fact that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. You continue, brow furrowed in concentration, whimpers escaping Bob beneath you at the feel of your hot cunt squeezing around him.

“Fuck, your pussy feels so good, hooooly shit,” he groans as he shuts his eyes in pleasure, doing his best not to cum when he’s only halfway in you, “you’re so fucking tight, oooh my god, are you okay?” 

You nod, nails digging into his shoulders as you pause, trying to adjust to the feel of him in you. Even only halfway, the stretch is more than you’ve ever had before, and it feels fucking incredible. You start to understand the meaning of being cockdrunk for the first time. 

With a final groan, you settle on Bob’s lap, his cock sheathed in you completely, panting at the feel of you around him. “Holy fuck,” he mutters, head hanging in the crook of your neck. For a few moments, the only sound is your intertwined breaths, your bodies hot and slick with sweat against one another as you sit there.

You roll your hips experimentally, a small moan escaping at the sensation. Bob’s head rolls back against the headboard, his grip on you even tighter than before. You’re gonna have bruises of his handprint for days.

You start slowly, rising and lowering onto his thick length. “Fuck, Bob…” you moan, eyes rolling back as you lose any sense of time and place, the only thing left the feeling of Bob’s body pressed against yours, Bob’s cock splitting you open as you bounce in his lap. 

“You’re gonna kill me, fuck…” he groans into your neck as you quicken your pace, the need for him growing. He bites on your collarbone as another moan escapes his chest, thrusts quickening. He kisses the spot he’s marked, sucking a bruise into it. “You’re so good, so perfect…”

“All yours, Bob.” you pant, one hand turning his face to look at you. “I’m all yours, baby.”

The sound Bob makes borders on animalistic, a whine escaping his lips as he kisses you, sloppy and desperate. “I’m yours,” he murmurs against your lips, “I’m yours forever.”

The lewd sound of wet skin slapping echoes throughout his room interspersed with Bob’s whines and your cries. You look like an angel above him, the golden light illuminating your glassy eyes as you moan with pleasure, your tits bouncing with each movement. You can already feel your second orgasm coming, and from the expletives escaping Bob, he’s fast approaching his as well. And then you notice.

“I-is something wrong? You okay?” Bob murmurs, noticing your confused expression.

“Y-your eyes, Bob, fuck…” 

He doesn’t even realize till now that his eyes are glowing. It’s another thing the Sentry Project changed about him. It happens when he gets too caught up in something, uses his powers, gets frustrated or angry. He’d never realized it happened in situations like this. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” he tells you, clenching his jaw as he tries to hold it together, his eyes buzzing with light, the lamps in the room’s brightness going in and out. “Should I-where should I-”

“In me.” you moan you rapidly bounce yourself up and down, “fuck, Bob, fill me up, please!”

“So good to me, so pretty,” he murmurs as he desperately tries to hold out from his high, his grip on you bruising, quickly losing control of himself as he unwinds. “I’m gonna give you everything. It’s all yours, baby, all for you.”

“Fuck, yes, Bob! Please, please please please-” your babbling moans end with a last scream of his name as you cum, cunt clenching around him as you take him as deep as possible, pelvises flush against each other. Something about the golden glow of his irises, the low rasp in his voice, the words themselves, it all sends you crashing over the edge, an incoherent, animalistic noise escaping you as you cling to Bob, pressing your forehead up against his.

 Bob whimpers, the glow from his eyes illuminating your face as you cum, the way your eyes roll back, the debauched expression you wear. It’s enough to send him over the edge, his eyes buzzing with light as he cums. With a cry of your name, Bob tumbles over the edge, arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. You feel the warm spurts of his cum within you, painting your insides, claiming you for himself. The two of you sit there, panting and sweating as you come down.

“Oh my, fucking god, that was amazing.” he looks up at you, a tired, fucked out expression on his face. “You’re amazing.”

“So are you.” you smile, removing your nails from where they’ve left red crescents on Bob’s shoulder blades, moving to cup his cheek. “So good to me, baby.”

“I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, one hand running down to your waist. 

You shake your head. “Well, I can’t really feel my legs, but I did expect that, so…”

“Sorry.” he says, though that smile on his face says otherwise. He’s proud of himself.

“‘S alright.” you sigh, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. He whines, shifting his head to kiss you properly. He’s still inside of you, and you can feel his cock, still semi-hard within you. Even after two orgasms, you look up at him and want more, wanting to feel him, for the feeling of his skin on yours to never leave. “I could go again, honestly.”

“Really?” he laughs, a little surprised at both your stamina and the fact that you still want him. He sighs, one hand running along your jaw as he feels himself already growing hard once again. “I can’t say no to you.”

“So, yes to round two?”

“If I ever say no to that question, shoot me.” he grins, wrapping his arms around your hips as he rolls you both over, his cock staying in you the whole time. “How’s this?”

You yelp a little from the change in position, landing on your back and wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders once again. 

You’re still sensitive from your first two orgasms, and Bob is aware of that.“I got you.” he whispers into your shoulders, rolling his hips gently. “I’ll take care of you. Promise.” He goes slowly, his eyes locked on yours as you pant under him, head falling back against the pillows.He kisses you again, hungry and desperate, as he sets his pace, dragging his cock out before pushing back in once again. Bob is gentle with you, considerate, a man with the power of a thousand suns turned docile above you.

“So many dirty dreams about you, baby, you’re so much better than any of ‘em.” Bob mutters into your shoulder. He looks up at you, a little unsure, although his pace doesn't change. “Is this a dream? Are you here?”

“I’m here, Bob.” you moan, giving him a small smile as you run a hand through his hair. “I-fuck! I’m here.”

You look like heaven, messy hair framing your face, mouth gaping, eyes shut as you throw your head back. You’re all he wants, everything he needs. He could stay here forever, taking care of you, fucking you, whatever you want. Just as long as you neer stop giving him those sweet smiles, screaming out his name just like that as he fucks you.

“Bob,” you call his name in a breathy whisper, “more, please, baby.”

He nods, speeding up his thrusts, pushing into you with more force. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass as you pull him deeper into you. He breaks eye contact to look down at where your bodies connect, gazing at the sheen of your arousal around his cock, the white ring forming at the base of it. A mixture of both of your cum spurts out around where he’s entering you, and the sight somehow manages to make him even harder.

He’s moaning again, and before you know it his hands are on your face, pulling you up to kiss him as his thrusts grow harder and shallower, barely pulling out before slamming his full length back into you. “Fuck, Bob, yes, just like that, yes!” You scream at the sensation. You couldn’t give a fuck if the others hear when Bob Reynolds is on top of you, pounding his pretty cock into you, whispering dirty nothings in your ear.

One hand leaves your face and returns to the spot between you, rubbing gentle circles on your clit. “Come on, baby, give it to me, please.” he practically begs, dark blue eyes once again shining above you. “Need you to cum for me, come on my cock, please.” You do as he says, the coil in your stomach snapping once more, ecstasy washing over you, your cunt clenching around Bob’s length. Bob curses, pressing his lips against yours as he thrusts as deep as possible, filling you up with his cum once again.

“Fuck.” you groan, barely able to lift your head. “That was cool. The eye thing.” 

“I didn’t know I did that.” he admits, rolling off of you. A small gasp escapes him as he watches his cum spill out of you, sticky and wet between your thighs. “You just look so perfect full of me.”

You smile, taking a deep breath as Bob quickly runs to the bathroom, returning with a warm towel that he uses to wipe you down. “Y’know, I never took you for a talker.”

“What, during sex?” he asks, as if he’s not literally wiping his cum off of you.

“Sex takes some of your brain cells out of you, huh?” you joke, sitting up on your elbows.

Bob chuckles, giving a small shrug. “I think that’s just what you do to me.”

After he’s carried you to the bathroom to pee, gotten you a glass of water, you settle yourself on his bare chest, running your finger along his collarbone as he shuts out the lights.

“You’re amazing.” you tell him between yawns, your eyes closing, exhausted by your activities. “Even if I can’t sit for a week.” you mutter, and then you’re out, breathing slowing as you drift off.

Bob ust smiles at the sight of you, resting against his chest, comfortable and content. Never in a million years did he think he’d have something like this. A home in the tower, a family in the team, and a love in you. “You’re perfect” he says to no one, pressing one last kiss to your hair as he wraps an arm around you, shutting his eyes for the night. “And all mine.”

[starrbishops]

bob's eyes glow when he cums WHO SAID THAT

[starrbishops]

⟡Perfect Situation⟡

(John Walker x f!Reader)

Summary: You and John have a penchant for getting into stupid situations together. When you kiss him to get out of one such situation, it leads to something more in your friendship.

Word Count: 4.6k

Notes: Set after the events of Thunderbolts*, the 'ol Natasha Romanoff fake kiss on a mission trope, SMUT, shower sex, male masturbation, voyeurism if you squint, blowjob, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up), brief fingering, John Walker's praise kink (ofc), Walker is down BAD, Walker has a big dick (sorry not sorry), reader is a New Avenger/Thunderbolt, Yelena appearance!

a/n: This one has been in the works for a while. My magnum opus of idiots to lovers truly. Idk why I wrote the smut half from John's POV but uh. It's there. Have fun :)

You knew it was a stupid idea from the start.

Unfortunately, if you and John had one thing in common, it was committing hard to stupid ideas.

You were supposed to be doing simple recon, hanging out at a bar which known organized crime members frequented, hoping to pick up some kind of information. The thing was, you’d forgotten the fact that the two of you were now plastered on every billboard and Wheaties box in the country. 

You now found yourselves being chased out by several gangsters with guns and other assorted weapons, trying to get out of sight without being shot.

“Told you this was a dumb fuckin’ idea.” you panted out as you ran, close behind Walker.

“Yeah, well you’re the one who said we didn’t need backup.” he retorted, ducking into an alleyway. You followed, the sound of the gangsters still close.

You found yourselves in a crowded plaza, people bustling all over the place. You scanned the area, looking for soemwhere to hide. You had learned the hard way that you and Walker were now recognizable, and he was a big guy who was hard to hide in a crowd.

A lightbulb went off in your head.

“Follow me.” you grabbed his arm, dragging him off to one of the brick walls encicling the plaza. You leaned your back against it and pulled John towards you.

“What the hell is your plan-”

“Kiss me.”

“What?” he stared down at you, confusion written clearly on his face. 

You could hear the shouts of the gangsters getting closer. “Just, fucking do it, okay? I’ll explain later.”

He just took a breath before leaning in and smashing his lips to yours, pressing you against the wall. His arms caged you in as he kissed you, covering you from view of the mobsters.

John was a surprisingly good kisser, you thought to yourself. He was married for years, of course he was. Still, even faking it he was doing a damn good job. He kissed with a fervor, like it was the last thing he was ever going to do.

He was the kind of guy to commit to a dumb idea.

You kissed back, wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to make a passionate show of it. You heard the mobsters walk by, one of them making an ‘eugh’ sound. After a moment, you pulled back, opening your eyes and peering over John’s shoulder.

“We’re good.” you turned to him, finding his face red and nervous. You’ve never seen John flustered before. “Hey, you okay?”

He nods feverishly, straighetning up in front of you. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah, it’s just, uh, been a while.”

Oh. Right. The divorce. It’s been a while since he and Olivia officially divorced, even longer since they’d separated. As far as you knew, John wasn’t interested in dating after her.

“Shit, sorry.” 

He just shrugged. “Not like you’re stealing my innocence, I mean, I was married.”

You both laugh it off awkwardly, moving to the alley to make your way back to the Watchtower.

You walk in silence after that, both trying to move on from what’s just happened. Usually you’d be quick to argue with or tease John after a shitty mission like this, but today all that runs through your head is the kiss, the memory of his lips on yours, his massive figure pressing you against the wall as if he was trying to meld himself with you. 

Next to you, John was quiet too. You assumed he was either planning out how to come back from this shitshow of a night, or thinking about Olivia. It made something in your stomach twist, a kind of…jealousy? Whatever it was, you felt it burning inside you as you clenched your fists, walking on without meeting his eyes.

“Oh, you two survived. Wonderful.” Yelena called from her spot on the couch as you entered, shoulders sagged and tired from running. “I see it went well.”

“Shut up.” John grumbled as he made straight for his room, not even saying a goodnight, leaving you alone in the entryway with the Russian spy. You can hear his door creak and slam from down the hall.

“What’s got him all grumpy?”

“Getting chased down by gangsters who keep calling you knock-off Cap will do that to you.” you slid your jacket off and plopped down next to Yelena, staring aimlessly at whatever reality TV show she was playing. “Mission was bad, he’ll get over it.”

Yelena just shrugs, turning her attention back to the TV. Part of you wants to tell her about the kiss, but you know she’ll tease you relentlessly for it, even moreso if you admitted that you liked it. 

“You know, Walker usually comes home happy when he’s with you.” Yelena comments, drawing your attention from your spiraling thoughts to her, “Even when things go bad. You make him more…optimistic.”

You just stare down into your lap, knowing she’s right. You get along with Walker more than anyone else on the team. An unlikely pair, but the two of you work well together. It’s why you agree to his stupid missions and why he supports your dumb choices. You’re two idiot peas in a pod, always in it together.

You worry you’ve ruined what you had. Things have been different with John for a while now. Where silence used to be comfortable it becomes more intense, like there’s words going unsaid in the way he looks at you. 

You’ve thought about kissing him before. Hell, you’ve thought about doing plenty of things to him before, and you weren’t thinking about smacking him when he did something wrong. Maybe your dumb kiss idea was an extension of that, your brain resorting to primal instincts instead of your training. And now here you sit, John having barely spoken to you after the kiss.

God, you fucked up.

You make some excuse about getting some rest to Yelena, making for John’s room immediately. How could you be so stupid? Letting your dumb feelings get in the way of the mission, of your friendship, of the whole team dynamic. You knock on his door, silently praying he’ll forgive you your stupidity. 

You receive no answer. You think for a moment, trying the door and finding it unlocked. You step in, hoping he’s just tired and avoiding you for the moment.

You find an empty room, hearing the shower from his en-suite running. Shit. You’ll try again tomorrow.

As you turn to leave, you hear some kind of grunting noise. You whip around on instinct peering around for the source of it. Something coming from the bathroom. It sounds like the grunts John makes when he’s focused in battle, the ones you always tease him about. 

You hear it again. It’s less angry sounding than it is when he’s fighting, but still as intense. Is he having a batte with the shampoo bottle or something?

You tiptoe closer to the door, your brain trying to come up with potential reasons. Maybe he’s hurt and didn’t tell you. He does historically have a tendency to not mention his wounds, deal with them himself so as not to worry others. You’ve insisted time and time again it’s no burden, and you thought he’d gotten over it.

You’re about to knock on the door, ask if he’s alright, when you hear it.

Your name.

Your brain screeches to a halt, wondering how he knew you were there. Then you hear it again, not an acknowledgement or a greeting, but a groan.

Oh. That’s what he’s doing.

Oh.

You clamp your hand over your mouth to avoid gasping, praying he didn’t hear you. Your mind is rushing at a million miles an hour.

So that’s why he was being weird after the kiss. It’s why he always stares at you in silence, looking like he has something to say. It’s why he shivers every time you touch him, clean up his wounds or even just nudge him in a meeting.

You’re frozen to your spot, wondering what you do now. The groaning sounds continue, and it certainly sounds like he’s enjoying himself. While thinking about you. Just imagining him, hair soaked and skin drenched in water, touching himself to the thought of you sparks a fire inside you.

The sounds stop. You snap out of your fantasies and immediately enter a state of panic, wondering what to do. This is not a scenario you’ve ever planned for. Do you wait for him to come out and confront him? Terrible idea, you look like a pervert. Do you run away and bring it up later? Again, pervert. There’s no winning. Best idea is to pretend it never happened.

But you don’t want to do that. You want to stomp in there and help him finish the job.

The water shuts off, and you decide on running. You tiptoe as fast as you can to the door, quietly turning the knob.

You think you’re home free till you hear the loud screech coming from the hinges of the door.

Damn John and his propensity for dramatically slamming doors.

The sounds of activity in the bathroom cease. You freeze, hoping and praying he didn’t hear it.

“Hello?” Shit, he heard it. Now what? “...Hi?” you call out nervously, immediately slamming your head against the wall.

You refuse to look back as John walks in, instead closing the godforsaken creaky door as you contemplate your fate. You’ve made things so, so much worse somehow.

“Hey.” he says, a tinge of nerves in his voice.

You clear your throat, trying to disguise your own fear and embarassment. “Hey.”

“How long were you, uh, out here for?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, still gripping the doorbknob like a lifeline. “Um, not too long. I was just, uh, coming to check on you because you seemed mad and I, I didn’t know you were in there. I was just leaving!” Great lying. You wonder sometimes how you became an Avenger.

“Oh.” His voice is gravelly, tired from a long day and after his shower activities. “So you, um…” 

You don’t even let him finish his sentence. “I didn’t hear anything!” Shit.

“I didn’t…” he trails off with a sigh. You can hear his wet foot squelch against the floor as he takes a step towards you. “Look, I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have had to hear that, it was…inappropriate, to say the least.”

“Oh, yeah.” you mumble, your brain basically running on fumes and reverting back to your base state of sarcasm. Walker just sighs in embarrassment behind you.

“Look, I… I don’t want things to be uncomfortable. If you don’t want to be around me after that, I understand, but I-I do enjoy being your friend. Even if I may want something more and you don’t.”

You finally open your eyes, leaning agaisnt the now shut door as you turn to face John. He’s clad in nothing for a towel, hair messy and sticking to his forehead. You can see everything; his strong biceps, the vein in his forearm that drives you crazy when he flexes it, his v-line running down beneath the cotton towel. You do your best not to ogle, focusing on his face, which has gone beet-red from the heat of the shower and the embarrassment of being caught.

You take a breath, trying to calm yourself before you speak. “Who said I didn’t want something more?”

His eyes light up, his face somehow becoming even more red. “You do?” he practically whispers, hope growing. 

“I was going to say sorry, for kissing you earlier, because I thought you were angry with me.” you chuckle, reeling at the insanity of your current situation. “I thought I ruined our friendship, and I was gonna beg for your forgiveness because I let my feelings get in the way of things and I made you hate me-”

“Hey.” he interrupts your rambling, crossing to room to stand in front of you, a mirror of your earlier kiss, with you backed against the wall and him hovering above you. “I could never hate you.”

You just nod, gazing up at him. “I do. Want something more.” you breathe in as you realize you’ve been holding your breath. “I want you.”

He’s giving you that look again, the one you now recognize as longing, although he looks strained, like he’s still holding himself back.

“Can I…” he steps closer, almost flush against you. “Can I kiss you? Again?”

“God, please do.” you grab the nape of his neck and pull him down, smashing your lips to his like it’s the end of the world and this is the only chance you’ll get. His hands move to cup your face, kissing back with all the intensity and feeling he’s held back. All the words left unsaid, the yearning looks, the late nights lying awake, he pours it into this, clutching onto you like you’re his salvation.

“You’re wet.” you mumble against his lips, feeling the rumble of laughter in his chest as you kiss him again, pulling him against you. Your clothes are wet now too, but you couldn’t care less. You just keep kissing him like his lips are the air you need to breathe.

His hands move from your face, trailing down to your waist, just above the curve of your ass.

“Can I have you?” he asks, breathless, his mouth resting on your forehead. “Please?”

“John.” you pant, and you can see his face fall, just a little, as you look up. “I am so gross from all that running.”

He just laughs, taking your hand in his. “That’s what showers are for.” he grins as he tugs you towards the door, holding it open for you to walk through. He wolf whistles as you do so, checking you out from behind. You elbow his stomach gently on the way in before you move to start undressing.

John’s still only got his towel, so he simply turns the water on and stands back to enjoy the show, watching you tug your shirt over your head, start to unbutton your pants. Every piece of skin you show somehow makes him harder, and the towel is doing a poor job of covering him up. Still, he waits to drop it, biding his time.

“What, are you enjoying the show?” you pause as you notice John’s eyes on you.

“Very much.” he grins cheekily.

“Alright, get in the shower, loverboy, I’ll see you in there.” you wave him off as you move to unclip your bra.

He does as he’s told, although he can’t help but mouth off. “That’s a new nickname.” he comments as he slides the glass door open once more.

“Would you rather I call you ‘creep?’”

“See you in there!” he ignores the last comment as he drops his towel, tossing it on the counter as he steps back into the shower. This time you whistle at the sight of his ass, eliciting a chuckle from him before he shuts the door again.

The water borders on scalding, the way he likes it. The serum made him run warm, and it takes just that much more heat for him to really feel it. He lets his pour over his face, run through his hair as he tries to ignore his aching erection.

It wasn’t the first time he’d masturbated to the thought of you. It’d been an accident the first time, honestly. He’d already been in the process, near finishing when all of a sudden your face had popped into his head, clear as day. Not even anything sexual about you, just your presence, your smile. He came harder than he ever had with just his hand before.

He felt guilty about it after. And every other time he’d done it. He couldn’t look at you for days afterwards. He liked you, a lot. You were on his mind all the time, not just when he was jerking off. And it was more than just your body. It was you, the way you believe in him, backed up even the stupidest ideas, laughed at his terrible jokes. The fact that you were unbelievably attractive was also a plus.

Just thinking about you right now, undressing outside for him made him have to steady himself against the wall, hand pressing into the tile just to avoid touching himself. He’s about to ask what’s taking so long when the door slides open, revealing your naked form as you step in to join him.

Any snarky remark he was going to make leaves his brain immediately. His eyes rake over you, taking it all in. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, the sharp edges of your collarbone. He’s honestly speechless, even more so when you turn to shut the door and he can see your bare ass. He doesn’t even hear what you say as he struggles to put into words the sheer beauty before him.

“Huh?” he manages to snap out of it, standing up straight.

“I said, are you okay?” you laugh, joinigng him under the stream of water. The droplets soak your skin. Leaving shining traces where they drizzle down. 

“You’re so beautiful.” he finally manages.

You just smile, running your hands through your now wet hair. John feels like his heart is going to explode. And his dick, too.

Instead, he blinks hard, trying to ignore how goddamn horny he is. “Um, you need some help?” he waves a bar of soap in front of you, and with a nod from you, begins lathering your shoulders with it.

Neither of you talks as he explores your body with his hands, tracing the curve of your spine down to your ass as he cleans you. It feels intimate, safe here with you, like the rest of the world disappears. In here, there is no failed mission, no New Avengers, no pressure to save the world. It’s just you and him, baring yourselves to one another.

Once you’ve rinsed all the soap off, you finally turn to him, a mischievous grin on your face. “Need some help?” you echo his earlier words, one hand moving to wrap around the base of his cock. He hisses at the contact, his aching erection finally reivieng some attention.

“God, yes, please…” he can barely string a sentence together while you sink down to your knees, beginning to stroke him up and down. His hand returns to the tile, trying to hold himself together as you touch him.

“Jesus, so good.” it’s intoxicaintg, the sight of you on your knees before him. He’s imagined it before, but nothing compares to the real thing. Your eyes, blown out with lust as you look up at him, one hand around his length and hte other between your thighs. He memorizes the sight, wanting to preserve it forever in his memory.

Then you’re licking the dripping precum from his tip, and he groans outright. “You’re a loud one, huh?” you comment, before taking the head of him in your mouth, earning another broken moan from his lips. 

You take him deeper into your mouth, and it feels impossibly good. He can feel a moan vibrate around his cock as you suck him. One hand moves to grab your hair, not pulling, just grounding him as you continue bobbing your head on his dick, your hand stroking the base of him. “Fuck, John,” you moan as you take a momentary break, “‘s big.” 

He was already close before, having been unable to finish during his earlier shower, but he feels about to go off the deep end already now, the way you caress him, the feel of your mouth on him yoru dirty compliments.

“God, baby, I’m gonna…Christ, you feel so good.” He starts weighing his options, cum in your mouth, or cum in your cunt. He picks the second one. “Honey, wait, please.”

You release him with a wet pop, a lewd sound that makes up for his removal from your mouth. You give him a confused look, as he tries to catch his breath. He can feel his brain short circuitng at the sight of you, water streaming down your naked form, on your knees with your hands wrapped around his cock. You look like a work of art. “First time I cum with you is gonna be inside you.” You grin, giving one last lick up the underside of his length, his grip on your hair tightening. 

“Alright, get up here.” he releases your hair, instead pulling you back to standing. He stumbles back a bit as he removes his hand from the wall, still dizzy from his near orgasm. He pulls you in close, kissing you once more as he backs you against the wall.

“Fuck, John…” you moan as he kisses down your neck, sucking a bruise into your collarbone. He couldn’t care less if anyone sees it later. Let them, he thinks. Let them know you’re mine.

He wraps his hands under your thighs, pulling you up. He silences your yelp with another burning kiss, desperate to be inside of you already. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as his cock brushes agaisnt your soaked core.

Holding you up with one hand, his other moves to your cunt, feeling your wetness mixed with the water of the shower. He delves one finger into you, eliciting a gasp. He can feel you squeeze around him, arousal practically dripping from you. “This all for me?” he asks between kisses on your neck. 

You nod fervently, wiggling your hips as you try to pull him in deeper. “Yes, God, John, all for you.”

He smiles, removing his finger, much to your displeasure. You’re distracted from it as he brings it to his mouth, sucking your juices off slowly, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. He’ll have to eat you out after this, he thinks, moving it to the top of the list of things he wants to do to you. The look of awe and pure lust on your face will have to do for now. First, he needs to fuck you like his life depends on it. 

He grips his cock, dragging it agaisnt your cunt, lining himself up. “You ready?” he checks in, blue eyes meeting yours. “It’s a lot.”

He doesn’t even mean to brag, just pointing out a fact. He’s always been on the longer side, but the serum somehow added more girth, something he had to adjust to. You’re the first person he’s had sex with since the divorce, so he’s extra careful.

You just chuckle, your hand threading into his blond locks. “I’m ready.” you tell him, the same confident tone you go into a mission with, the voice you use when you’re about to dive headfirst into danger, or another stupid situation.

He is quite the stupid situation, he thinks. This whole thing is a terrible choice. Putting yourself on the line with him, of all people? He’d never think poorly of you, never think of you as stupid. You just tended to make dumb choices, and he was the dumbest choice of all. Maybe that’s what made you perfect for each other.

Still, he furrows his brows, eyes trained on yours as he begins to push in. You’re so hot around him, your walls squeezing him like a vice, and he’s only put the tip in. He goes as slowly as he can, not wanting to hurt you. Inch by inch, he keeps his eyes on your face, watching every moan, the way your face contorts with pleasure. He groans as he finally bottoms out, his hands gripping your thighs with the effort it takes to keep from fucking into you.

Your own hands dig into his shoulder blades, hard enough to break skin. He’s sure he’ll be left with a few crescent scars from where your nails scratch his skin, and he couldn’t be happier. He tries to breathe, to hold himself together and not fall apart instantly with you clenching around his cock.

“Holy shit, John.” you groan, trying to catch your breath. “Y-you can move.”

John is a man who follows orders, and with your permission, he slowly pulls out of you, quickly thrusting back in. He sets a pace, pulling lamost all the way out before he slams back into you.

“Harder, John.” you moan into the crook of his neck. He groans at your request.

“Jesus, baby, you’re gonna kill me.”

He does as you tell him, picks up his pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. His balls slap against your ass, the sound of wet skin on skin echoing through the shower. “So good, John, so full…” one of your hands runs along his jaw, caressing his cheek. You use it to pull him into another kiss, this one all teeth and tongue clashing against each other, reckless passion as he pounds into you. “So fucking handsome, John.”

Your praise only drives him crazier, his hips bucking into yours as he fucks you with all his might. It feels like heaven, being inside you. Better than any dream he’s had of it. Your tight, wet cunt practically choking him as he thrusts his cock in and out of you. He’s grateful for the stamina the serum gave him, because he thinks he’d die if he stops now. His brain has turned off fully, barely able to string together words anymore. All he knows is that he has to keep going, has to feel you cum on his cock, and has to fill you up with his cum.

He doesn’t even realize he’s talking aloud till he feels you grip him tighter, nodding agaisnt his shoulder. “God, yes, John, fill me up, please.” you moan. The sound is music to his ears. 

“Gotta cum for me first, honey.” he pants, thrusts becoming shallower and more erratic as he feels himself getting closer. He moves one hand to your clit, his thumb rubbing circles into your sensitive bud. “Please, cum on my cock, baby.”

If he thought you were tight before, it’s nothing compared to how you spasm around him as you cum. You scream out his name, nails cutting into his skin. He doesn’t stop, just keeps fucking you like his life depends on it, chasing his own release desperately.

“John.” you murmur out as you come down. “Cum inside me, please, need you too.”

John Walker is a man who follows orders.

He lets himself go, with one last thrust pushing himself as deep into you as possible. His cock releases hot ropes of cum into you as he finally fnishses. He moans out your name, biting your shoulder in an attempt to stifle himself. His hands clutch yoru thighs hard enough to bruise as he instinctively thrusts once, twice more, as if he’s trying to fuck his spend as deep into you as possible.

“You’re perfect.” he catches his breath as he comes down from his high. He knows better than to say ‘i love you,’ even if it’s what he’s thinking right now. Later, he tells himself. It’s exhilarating, the thought of it. That there will be a later, that you want to be with him. “God, you’re incredible.” he kisses you, the promise of more to come, the promise to be here for later. Even as he doesn’t say it aloud, the kiss is as much an ‘i love you’ as the words themselves. For now, that’s all you need. 

a/n: i'm really proud of this one and i hope y'all liked it as well! thank you all for reading and sticking with me as my writing has improved, i love sharing my love for these characters with y'all! ain't much, but it's honest work.

[starrbishops]

⟡Filthy Mouth⟡

(Bob Reynolds x Reader)

Summary: Bob finally lets you give him a blowjob. - prequel to Sidelines based on a request from @princess312

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Oral sex, blowjob, established relationship, Post-Thunderbolts*, porn without plot, so much swearing, Bob Reynolds curses like a sailor,

a/n: Uhhhh yeah this is just pornography. Straight up written word porn. With some Bob character study mixed in on his background and behaviors in a relationship. But mostly porn. Enjoy!

Bob wasn’t used to being powerful.

It was strange, having his new abilities. He felt stronger, healthier, but he still felt like himself. Robert Reynolds, the vagrant drug addict dropout. He did his best to keep his powers at the forefront of his mind after remembering what he’d done to New York. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially not his new friends. And especially not you.

Bob tried to take things slow with you, always leaving you chances to back out. He knew he wasn’t an easy person to be with, and he honestly didn’t fully understand what you saw in him. But you stayed everytime. No matter how much he pointed out his faults, his flaws, you’d just smile and tell him you liked him anyways, as is.

It’s part of why he likes you so much. More than anyone he’s ever known.

Still, he tries to not come on too strong. He always makes sure to put you first. All the bare minimum boyfriend tasks; walk closer to the street, hold doors open for you, remind you everyday how incredible you are. In bed, it translates to making sure you cum at least once, preferably twice or more, before he does. Which is why it takes so long for him to let you blow him.

When it comes to sex, Bob is first and foremost concerned with not hurting you. He still gets nightmares of when you beat up you and the rest of the team as Sentry. You all laugh it off as a funny memory, tell him you forgive him, but it nags at him. He could hurt you so easily, and he would sooner die than do that on purpose. Anyways, he much prefers the way you look when he eats you out, eyes rolling back in your head, hands gripping his hair while he raves at you. He prioritizes your pleasure over anything else. The fact that you even let him have sex with you is the win from his perspective. Apparently, you don’t see it that way.

You’re seated in his lap, the two of you making out in his bedroom while the rest of the team is away on a mission. You palm at the grown bulge in his pants, breaking the kiss. “Can I please blow you?” you ask, with just a hint of a pout on your face. “I’m good at it, so I’ve been told.”

Bob is about to reply before you cut him off. “And if you say you just want me to have a good time, I will have a good time. I like taking care of you Bob. I just want you to let me.” 

He shuts his mouth, looking up at you. It feels like a fever dream, a beautiful girl in his lap who desperately wants to suck his dick. It’s not like he hasn’t imagined it before. There’ve been plenty of long missions where he’s had to deal with his erections himself, and thought of you while doing so. Imagine it was your hand rather than his, how it would feel to have your lips wrap around his length, taking all of him into your mouth and down your throat. Just thinking about it now makes it even harder.

So instead of his usual deflection, he nods. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You just grin, already tugging at his waistband. “Bob, we’ve had sex before. I know your dick is big. Congratulations, I will survive.”

He chuckles as he assists you in removing his pants, lifting his hips so you can pull them off along with his boxers before tossing them across the room. You settle yourself between his legs, licking your lips as you take in the image before you. 

Bob’s cock stands at attention, red and desperate for touch, precum leaking from the tip. You glance up, waiting for consent before you make a move. Bob nods, awkwardly settling his hands by his sides, not wanting to touch you too intensely at first.

Bob Reynolds is no blushing virgin. He’s had sex, and had blowjobs before. He’s trying not to be too loud. He really, really does. Still, the moment your tongue swipes over his tip, he’s already groaning. “Fuck, baby.” he gasps, one hand flying to your head while the other grips the sheets beneath him in an attempt to ground himself. “So good, fuck.”

You take the base of his cock in our hand, getting a firm hold before you lick up the underside of him, taking your time to coat him with your spit. He does his best not to hold too tightly onto your hair for fear of pulling too hard. He keeps his eyes on you, memorizing the sight of your tongue sliding along his length, the feeling of you against his most sensitive parts.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.” you mutter, looking up at him with lust darkened eyes. “Don’t hold it in.”

Bob’s always been the talkative type. Before you, he tried to tone it down, considering most of his sexual experience was just flings. When you said you liked when he made noise, he took it to heart, letting his inner monologue escape his lips as you ravished him. 

He nods, another moan escaping him as you take him in your mouth, at the heavenly feeling of your lips around his cock. 

Try as you might, you can’t take his whole length in your mouth. You compensate with your hand on what you can’t fit, stroking him as you begin to bob your head on him, Bob groaning at the sensation.

“Holy shit, babe, oh my god.” he rambles as you take him in and out of your mouth, his knuckles beginning to turn white with how hard he grips the sheets. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this, mouth full of cock. Should’ve let you do this sooner, fuck-”

He interrupts himself with another moan as you manage to take him ever deeper into your throat, his tip just touching the back of your throat. You continue at your pace, laser focused on his every move and sound, noting what gets the most reaction. You do it again, take him just that much deeper, and Bob almost cums on the spot.

“Oh my god, you’re so good. Holy fuck, you’re perfect, your mouth is fucking incredible.” He can feel your own moan vibrate around him, and he groans at the feeling in turn. He’s becoming convinced you’re trying to suck his soul out through his cock. He’d let you, if it feels this good. He’d let you do anything you want to him.

He’s still talking aloud, he realizes as you make a sound that at first verges on a laugh, shifting quickly to a moan as he accidentally jerks his hips up just a bit. “Shit, I’m sorry, a-are you good? Okay?”

You nod, wiping your mouth quickly and smiling innocently as you lower your mouth back onto him, one hand moving to cup his balls beneath his cock. Yet another string of curses escapes him at the feeling, the combined sensation of your mouth and hands becoming all too much. He can feel himself hurtling off the edge, towards absolute ecstasy.

“Oh, god, baby I’m gonna cum, where should I- can I cum in your mouth? Please? Wanna fill you, let you taste me.”

You moan around him, and Bob takes that as the affirmative. You continue, eyes closed as you concentrate on maximizing his pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna cum, fuck, fuck!” he practically yells out your name as he finally cums, you taking as much of him as possible as he does, hot spurts of cum sliding down your throat. You take it like a champ, holding your position, still stroking the base of him and massaging his balls beneath that.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bob groans as he tries to collect himself, eyes coming back into focus to see you sit up, swallowing before licking what’s left of his cum off the tip of his softened dick. “You’re amazing.”

“You have a filthy mouth.” you chuckle, crawling up his body. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse that much.”

“The things you do to me.” he smiles, leaning in to kiss you. He can taste the salty flavor of himself on your lips. “We should do that again sometime.”

You brush some fallen hair out of his face, grinning with satisfaction. “Told you I was good.”

“I never doubted you.” he assures you, pulling you into his arms as he flips you onto your back. “But now it’s my turn.”

a/n: i'm gonna be fr blowjobs are not my specialty but i did my bset here and honestly it was good practice. Insane thing to say about writing about blowjobs but damn here we are. uhhhh bob fans enjoy!

[starrbishops]

As a native New Yorker you have no idea how many ideas I have for Thunderbolts in NY fic. Thunderbolts go to Central Park. Thunderbolts go to Broadway. Bob experiences the New York Bagel™. Alexei fights a Times Square Elmo. Ava phasing through the turnstiles on the subway. John ends up on the famous people wall of some pizza place but they call him Walter the whole time. Yelena adopts a pigeon. Bucky is invited to Rogers the Musical and hates it.

[starrbishops]

⟡Good Times, For a Change⟡

(Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: You and Bucky visit the Museum of Modern Art, trying to understand how art has changed over the last 70 years. - ao3 version

Word Count: 2.2k

Notes: 40s!reader (requested by @laurenjbb), can be read as post TFATWS or TB*, established relationship, museum date, modern art warning, penises but not in the way you think, just fluff, Bucky being the best bf in the 40's and now

a/n: Fun fact about me is I'm a massive art history nerd and a native New Yorker so this is my area of expertise. I still did a ridiculous amount of research for this which was actually a lot of fun. All the pieces I'm going to describe in this are real and I've actually seen in person at the MoMA. I could not make this shit up. Enjoy!

“This is making me uncomfortable.” 

You turn back to see your boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, glaring at what appeared to be a teacup covered in animal fur. You join him by it, trying to comprehend the thing before you. You got goosebumps looking at it. And not in a good way.

“I don’t like it.” Bucky says, flat-out. Never one to hide his opinion on things.

“Okay, we haven’t read the plaque.” you point out, for some reason trying to defend the abomination before you. “Object, Meret Oppenheim.” you read out, skimming the description. “So…it seems like the whole point is to make you uncomfortable.”

“I thought art was supposed to make you happy. Or sad. Not give me the creeps.” he glares at the object as if it’s personally offended him just by existing.

Bucky had always liked museums. He’d taken you to plenty when you’d first started dating. He mostly preferred science museums. The Museum of Natural History was his go-to back in the 40’s. Still, when he met you, and you started talking about your interest in art, he’d known exactly where to take you. He spent a month’s pay on the cab and the entrance fee to the Met, but seeing you happy was worth it. When you lived in DC, it was the Smithsonian. Now that you were back in the city, you insisted on visiting the Musuem of Modern Art, to try and understand the culture you’d both missed out on.

“Doll. Sweetheart.” he’d said. “I love you. So much. I do not understand this modern art stuff. Can’t we go back to the Met?”

Still, you’d pouted and complained, and of course, he gave in, and here you stood, trying to understand what had happened to art in the 70 years you’d been gone.

You’d both been once, back in the 30’s before the war. Back then it was just a couple rooms, older portraits and abstract scenes of rooms and florals. He didn’t really get it, but you did. You’d talked on and on about how the style was an entirely new movement coming out of Paris, and how interesting and subversive it was. He’d nodded along, trying to keep track of the foreign names you said as you walked through. Even if he didn’t understand the words, he loved the sound of your voice, especially when you were excited about something.

Now, Bucky kept a firm grip on your hand, letting you lead the way through the place. It was… different, to say the least. He’d always thought of art as just pretty paintings. Apparently it was also weird teacups. And videos. And chairs that looked like they were made of dicks.

“There is no way that’s what it is.” you insist as you pull out your phone to search up the piece.

“You just typed in ‘chair made of penises’.”

You shush him as you slowly type out the words, finding the page of the item before you. Your face falls ever so slightly as you return your phone to your pocket.

“Yeah, it’s a chair made of dicks.”

“Told you.” Bucky gives you a smug smile, looking over the work before him. “Doesn’t look very comfortable.”

You smack his arm, eliciting a chuckle from him. He’s softer when it’s just the two of you, talks and jokes more. Even in a public space, he feels less claustrophobic. Like you’re oxygen, helpin him to breathe in the crowd. 

He’s not an art guy whatsoever. But he’s your guy, and he loves you enough to try and make it through this. You’re always so earnest in your attempts to catch up to the present. This isn’t the first strange place in the city he’s been taken to, although he does like it a lot more than Times Square, where he almost got into a fight with a strange man dressed as Mickey Mouse. You’d taken a break from modern culture outings after that day. And started avoiding Times Square. You know he really is trying to learn. Even if he doesn’t understand, he knows he wants to be there for you, always. 

Even if it means trying to understand the absolutely insane things that people now consider art.

Because when he turns around from the strange chair, he’s met with a wall covered in soup cans. Not real ones. Paintings. The same old Campbell soup cans he’d buy back in the 30’s. He taps, you pointing to the exhibit.

“I actually know this one!” you exclaim, flipping through the museum guide you’ve been carrying all day. It’s become your new Bible at this point. Bucky bought it for you when you first mentioned wanting to go. “Andy Warhol. It’s called pop art. It's a commentary on consumerism.” you grin as you point to the image of the paintings recreated on the page. 

“It’s making me hungry.” he jokes, squinting to read the various flavors on the can. “Chicken noodle, cream of vegetable, we’ve got ‘em all here.” 

You laugh next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Steve used to stock his cabinets with these.”

“No, that was me,” he recalls. “Idiot would always forget to go to the grocery store. I’d grab a bunch of these and just leave ‘em in his house.” he smiles at the memory, the image of a tiny, frail Steve insisting that he didn’t need the help while Bucky slammed down a massive paper bag of soup.

He’s gotten more comfortable talking about Steve lately. When he first left, it was like he was a taboo. It hurt just to say his name, to think about him. Now, he’s adjusting. You’ve been the most helpful. Having someone left who understands him, comes from the same time as him, makes him feel infinitely less alone. Like he’s not just a singular soldier out of time. His time is wherever you both are, he’s started to say. 

“When did art become all about commentary? I thought it was just supposed to be pretty.”

“Art’s always about saying something, Buck.”

“Yeah, but back then it was just saying, wow, look at these pretty flowers.” “Did all our trips to the Met teach you nothing?” you chide, although your smile remains on your face. He wraps his hands around your hips, pulling you close to him.

“Guess we have to go again.” he jokes. You shake your head at him, before giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Alright, c’mon, there’s plenty more museum.” you practically drag him off into the next space. He lets you, following behind eagerly. He’d follow you anywhere, even if anywhere is a room full of the strangest objects he’d seen in over 100 years of being alive.

Still, he tried, for you. He knew how you loved art. You’d dragged him to the Met more times than he could count back in the 30’s. You’d ramble on about all these fancy words, ‘impressionism’, ‘cubism’, a lot of ‘isms. He started bringing a notepad to write them down. He also started keeping track of your favorites, which artists you liked best, which ones you didn’t, reminding himself to look into them more later. He didn’t just nod blithely when you talked about your interest; he really cared about what you cared about, and he wanted to know more about it so he could understand not only it better, but you and why you love it so much.

Which is why he tries his best as he stares at the canvas in front of him, trying to derive meaning from it. He’s never been great at analyzing these kinds of things. Put him in a fight, he can tell you exactly what punchces the guy is throwing before he even moves. Put him in an art gallery, he has no clue.

“This is sort of…terrifying.” you laugh at Bucky’s comment, although the mass before you is intimidating. Dangling from the ceiling are several rainbow colored masses of stuffed animals, mashed up together into a pile. 

“It is a little creepy.” you admit, stepping around the various masses, keeping your distance from them. “Art can be anything, I guess.”

“I think I won you one like that at Coney Island.” he points at a pink bear, trapped within the pile of other toys. 

“That’s right.” you recall the day in question, you, Bucky, Steve and a friend of yours at the amusement park. “Took you four different games, but you did it.”

“I don’t remember it like that.” he says, an obvious lie, but you let it slide anyways. 

“Was that when you made Steve ride the Cyclone and he threw up?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I thought he was gonna die.”

“Me too.” he chuckles, resting his head on your shoulder, peering over at your guidebook. He reaches over, takes it out of your hands, and begins paging through it. “What happened to all the pretty flowers and landscapes you like? The, uh, impressionism?” he finds the word in his head, recalling your fondness for the style.

“Well, that’s more our time, I guess that’s not the popular style anymore. We’re not exactly modern, honey.” you chuckle, although he can sense a little disappointment in you as you go to take back your guidebook. 

He raises it just out of your reach, lifting it higher each time you try to grab it. “Bucky, quit it.” He steps back, palming through it himself till he finds what he wants. 

“Here we go.” he mutters, scanning the room for the numbers marking each one. He takes your hand, you huffing as he pulls you along with him through the gallery, up a flight of stairs.

“You want to tell me where we’re going?” you question as he jogs upwards, still looking into the book.

“Surprise.” he replies, moving with a purpose through the rooms.

As you glane around, the art becomes more familiar; old religious paintings that look medeival, copper statues from Ancient Greece. This floor is more crowded than any of the others; people flock to the pieces on the walls, observing them not with the confusion or perplexity of the modern art, but with genuine interest and emotion. Not with 

Finally, he pauses, one hand holding you back behind him. You can’t even ask a question before he’s taking your hands in his and placing them over your eyes.

“Honey, what-”

“Shhh, just follow my lead.”

You chuckle, but obey. “Since when are you the museum expert?”

“Since now.” you follow the rumble of his voice, his hands on your waist as he moves you forward. 

You can hear whispering, a mixture of compliments and observations, though you can’t see the object of them. You do manage to pick up an “Is that Bucky Barnes?” as you walk by, making you chuckle.

“Okay, open.” You’re met with the visage of a beautiful lake, dappled with lily pads and pink lilies. The painting covers the wall, taking up a whole room. The water is muttered with white brushtrokes creating waves within them, the flowers themselves almost barely there, blending into the beautiful illusion of the painting.

You don’t say anything, just stare in awe at the beauty, the simplicity of the art. Bucky stands behind you, and though you can’t see him, you can feel his satisfied grin.

“You always liked this guy.” he says, returning to his place next to you. “Monet. Had all those flower paintings you insisted on stopping by before we left. I’d make sure to bring you whichever flowers we saw on our next date.”

You turn to him, smiling wider than you have all day. Then you’re grabbing him, arms wrapped around his neck in a hug. He laughs, joking that he didn’t paint them, but he returns the hug, squeezing you back. 

“I love you.” you whisper in his ear. He plants a kiss on your cheek in return, before relucatnly letting you go.

“I love you too.” he reminds you as he brushes a loose strand of hair from your face. “You’re the prettiest work of art here.”

You push him back gently, still laughing at the cheesiness of the line. “When’s the last time you used that one?”

“Probably our last museum date. 1941.” He keeps his arm around your waist, holding you close as you return to admiring the painting. He doesn’t bother, just looks at you. It’s cheesy, but he does really mean that line. He’d choose you over a million flowers or squres of color. He wonders how he got so lucky to find you, both then and now, to be standing back in this museum with you again 70 years later.

“Y’know, people seem to like the old stuff more.” you point out as you walk home later, hand in hand. In his metal hand, Bucky carries a bag holding a print of Water Lillies that he insisted on buying to hang up in the apartment. 

“Oh yeah?” he replies.

“Yeah. Everyone was on the fifth floor. Guess no one actually comes for the modern stuff.”

“Just gets better with age.” he jokes, pulling yoru hand up for a kiss. “Like us.”

You roll your eyes, but smile. “Yeah, just like us.”

a/n: I'm sorry if that got a little too nerdy at any point. I love art. I think Bucky would not like art as much as I do. But I love Bucky so I'm subjecting him to it <3 anyways, here's the list of all the pieces I talk about and links to info about them if you're interested! It ain't much but it's honest work

Object , Accumulation 1, Campbell's Soup Cans, Deodorized Mass, Water Lilies

[starrbishops]

i think youre one of the only people ive seen write bob in a way that i actually rlly rlly love and feel that is incredibly accurate to his character!! kudos!!!!!

Thank you so much! I really wanted to write a version of Bob that isn't ridiculously infantilized and still retained his like deeply sad vibe. Bob is a Florida man who moments after almost dying straight up called Walker an asshole to his face he's truly just some guy who's also sad and sarcastic and has superpowers and I love that about him and I'm glad I did him justice <3

[starrbishops]

⟡Everything Else⟡

(John Walker x Reader)

Summary: You wake up from a nightmare and find yourself drawn to the tower's grand piano. John finds you having a crisis shortly after. (Based on a request by @laugffgbbh) - ao3 version

Word Count: 2.5k

Notes: Set after the events of Thunderbolts*, self-loathing, nightmares, feelings of inadequacy, general mental illness (this is mostly based on my own experience with an anxiety disorder so uh. yeah), reader plays piano, hurt/comfort i think??? walker in his therapy era (king) Beethoven, romantic undertones (to be explored in a potential part 2??)

a/n: So if you didn't know I am a huge theatre kid. However I am cursed in that I am a tech kid and do not know anything about music besides 3 years of clarinet in elementary school. But I love Next to Normal (which this is named after) and I love John Walker and I have a mental illness so enjoy this piece.

You wake up with a start, panting as you try to calm yourself down. Your eyes flashed across the room, trying to comprehend your surroundings.

It was just your room. You took a breath. Just a nightmare. You are home, and safe, in the Watchtower. You take deep breaths; one in, hold, one out. John insisted on teaching you his military breathing techniques. You’d never admit it to him, but they worked. 

You flopped back on your bed, staring into your ceiling. You could try and go back to sleep, but you knew it’d be futile. You took a glance at your alarm clock. 3:45. Jesus.

You settled on heading to the common room to watch some nonsense middle of the night television till you hopefully fell asleep. As you left your room, you took care to tiptoe through the halls, trying not to wake the others.

You didn’t bother turning on a light as you reached the common room; you plopped down on  the sofa, shutting your eyes to bask in the silence. The tower was rarely this peaceful; there was always Yelena and John arguing about something, Alexei pitching a new marketing idea. It was soothing, just existing in the quiet space. 

You opened your eyes again, craning your neck as you looked out the picture windows. The sky was still dark, the sun still hidden beyond the horizon. Out of the corner of your vision, you could see the grand piano that had sat gathering dust since you’d all moved in.

Val insisted that it came with the tower when she bought it. You all placed bets on who put it there; Bucky insisted Tony did to look cooler and more elegant, Yelena and Ava were convinced it was Bruce Banner’s, while Alexei kept spouting out his theories about Asgardian musical traditions. Still, you found no leads as to whose it was or who had put it there.

It just sat there, another mystery of the past. Just another reminder of your headquarter’s prior residents. You all felt the presence of the old Avengers in everything you did. Bucky had chosen to live in Steve’s old room, Yelena in Natasha’s. John was still reeling from his brief stint as Cap. You knew they still felt the losses, the gaping void both in them and the world at large, the level of greatness they felt was expected of them. Maybe it wasn’t as personal for the other three, but you knew they felt the same. You felt it too. You felt it every time you looked at that godforsaken piano.

The Avengers weren’t perfect. You knew that. But everyone certainly remembered them as perfect. After the Blip, people had forgotten how New York had been torn apart after the battle in 2012, how Sokovia had been completely razed. They had made some serious fuck-ups, same as you had. But the 6 of you hadn’t saved the earth from a genocidal purple alien (well, except Bucky), which meant you had big shoes to fill.

You found yourself walking to the piano, pulled as if by some invisible force beyond your comprehension. The surface was covered in dust, the keys still hidden beneath the lid. A small light hung above the sheet music, slightly crumpled and yellowed with time. It had still been there with the piano when you’d all found it. None of you could bear to touch it.

You flicked on the light. Opened up the keylid. The black and white keys sat there, untouched, polished. Just as they were left.

You’ve never told any of the team you played piano. You learned because your old building had a piano in the lobby, and you went down there when you felt too boxed in in your own apartment. It was a little embarrassing, honestly. Especially when compared to a group of former professional killers whose special talents include walking through walls, jumping off buildings and literally flying, being able to play an instrument didn’t seem too impressive. 

So you never brought it up. You found yourself avoiding the piano, in fact. It felt like a piece of history, a museum exhibit that shouldn’t be touched. You’d all grown used to living in the tower, to being so close to what felt like history. Still, it was the piano that felt most off limits to you.

Your fingers hovered over the keys, hands adjusting to the correct position. Still unsure, you pressed one key.

The sound felt like it echoed through the whole tower. You whipped your head around, afraid someone would suddenly appear. You were met with silence, the common room just as empty as before.

You’re no pianist. You play decently, a hobby for between missions, for when the day felt too long and you needed to get out of your head. When you sat at that old, untuned piano, you could forget who you were, what you’d done. You could just play.

You tap along the keys, a scale of sorts. You haven’t played in months, not since before the vault, before this. You’ve avoided the piano like the plague, like it was something unholy.

Still, you can’t seem to stop yourself as you start to play.

You forget your nightmares. You forget all the people you've killed, the pain you caused. You forget you’re playing an instrument owned by a man who saved the world. THat you’re the one who's supposed to be saving the world now. The weight of your life vanishes in the music, harmonies echoing out of the instrument. Then you hit a wrong note. And it’s ruined.

“Fuck.” you mumble. You pause, fingers hovering just above the keys. You stare into them, trying to recenter yourself. You readjust, go back to the beginning. You start to play again.

You close your eyes, trying to lose yourself in it like before. But that one fuckup note still echoes in your mind. You wonder if someone like Stark or Barton sucked at piano too. It didn’t matter, because they were heroes. They didn’t need to be good at this, because everything they did was good. And here you sat, some screw-up anti-hero at best playing their piano.

You hit two wrong keys at the same time.

You don’t bother swearing. Just crack your neck slightly and start again.

Yelena talks about Natasha often. She’s one of the only ones who feels like a person, not some idolic figure that left this massive hole in their wake. Yelena and Alexei tell stories of her as a kid, always the protective older sister, standing up for Yelena, playing make-believe in the backyard. They don’t bring up her faults, all the dark things in her life. And somehow it makes all your mistakes even bigger, that little voice in the back of your mind even louder as it tells you you don’t deserve this, to have a second chance, to be a hero.

This time, you smash the keys as you screw up. You try again.

You think of how the nation saw Steve Rogers. Like some saint, someone who was truly good. You compare it to the way Bucky talks about Steve. Not as some painting on a church wall, but as a person, a real human. He tells these ridiculous stories of their days in Brooklyn, stupid things Steve would do. He wasn’t perfect. But he might as well be. And you weren’t. You had no one to look fondly upon the times you lost a fight, got a black eye. You have a world watching you, just waiting for you to screw up so they can throw you away.

You cry out, smashing against the keys like a madman. Fractured, angry sounds emanate through the room, mixed with your grunts of frustration. You beat against the keys like a punching bag. If you can’t do it right, you might as well give up. Might as well pound on the keys till you can’t hear your thoughts. Hurt them, like it’ll take away the loathing you feel everyday as you parade yourself around like some kind of hero.

You didn’t even realize you were crying till you stopped, head hung low over the keys, your own voice feeling like an echo, low sobs coming out of your throat.

You feel alone. Utterly alone. And a failure. You’ll never live up to them. To this title you found yourself forced into. How could you? Who could ever replace them? Certainly not some shitty assassin for hire like you.

A voice interrupts your spiral.

“Hey.”

You jolt up, wiping the tears from your face as you spot Walker standing a few feet away. You blink hard, trying to clear the wetness forming in your eyes. “Hey. You’re up early.”

He nods awkwardly, trying to find a way to address what he just saw. “Yeah. I couldn't sleep.”

“Me neither.” you both go silent again, the room quiet save for the buzzing of the old piano light. “How long were you-”

“You’re really good.” you both speak at the same time. You scoff, glancing at the vile instrument. 

“I fucked up.” you blurt out. “I fucked up over, and over. I suck. I can’t play for shit-”

“Hey. Hey hey hey.”John insists as he scooches onto the piano stool, his large frame taking up almost the whole thing. “Don’t talk like that. What’s this about? Because it’s clearly not just about you absolutely shredding on the piano.”

You chuckle a little. “I don’t think that’s the right word for it.”

“Whatever. You wanna talk about it?” you look over at him. He doesn’t have the usual smug look on his face. He seems genuinely concerned. Who wouldn’t be if they found their teammate crying at a grand piano at 4 in the morning.

You take a small breath, staring into your reflection in the polished black of the piano. “How are we supposed to live up to them?” you mumble. “How is a fuckup like me supposed to be an Avenger? I-I can’t even do this right, how am I supposed to save the world?”

John sighs. “We’re never gonna be them.” he admits, earnest and quiet. “Trust me, I know better than anyone.”

There’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice, trying to lighten the bad memories. You didn’t live under a rock; you saw John’s meteoric fall from grace as Cap a few years back. 

“But you can’t let it get to you.” he steadies himself, assertive in his words. “None of us are perfect. But we just gotta keep trying.”

None of you are perfect, that’s for sure. You probably have a combined kill count of a small country. But you can forget about that, even just for this moment, sitting here with Walker, with your friend by your side. 

You can’t erase it. But you can move forward.

You turn back to him, a small smile forming. “Nice pep talk, Walker.”

He shrugs jokingly. “Yeah, the therapy’s helped a lot.”

“You go to therapy?”

“Everytime I say something about my childhood, you and Ava tell me to go to therapy, and you’re surprised I actually did it?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” You actually laugh at that. “But that’s good.”

“It is. It’s actually nice, talking about…feelings.” he says it as if it’s a dirty word, or if he’s not sure if he’s allowed to use it. 

“Wow. Crazy stuff.” you deadpan, earning another chuckle from him. He has a nice laugh, a low rumble you don’t hear very often. You like this John. Kind, soft. You hope he stays when the sun comes up.

For now, you just lean against him, head resting on his shoulder. You feel him tense up just a little, surprised at the touch. He clears his throat. “You, uh, can you play this?” he gestures to the sheet music before you. You squint. The first few pages of Für Elise.

“Pretty easy. Whoever was using this wasn’t very good at piano.” you joke.

“See? We’re the Avengers with the better pianist.”

You just laugh, moving into the piece. You forget your nightmares, the Avengers, the pain. You just lean into John, joking and laughing, and you play. 

You make a mistake.

Before you can even start to think poorly of yourself, John is talking. “That’s still really good,” he points out. “I mean, you just saw the music for the first time. I can’t even read this.”

“What, you’re telling me you weren’t in your high school marching band?”

“I was on the field actually playing.” he reminds you. “3 years, state champs, back-”

“To back, to back, go Bears!” you jokingly raise your fist as you recite it from memory. “You bring this up at least once a month, John.”

“Because it’s impressive!”

“Alright, you wanna see impressive?” you crack your knuckles dramatically, stretching your fingers as they return to the keys. 

Your fingers move on their own, like you’re casting a spell instead of hitting keys. You play it through, then turn the page over to the next, and the next, and the next. Everything else just vanishes as you throw yourself into it, only feeling the cold keys under your hands and the warmth of John Walker next to you.

You finish with a flourish, giving a smug smile to Walker. He doesn’t even look annoyed; just happy, impressed, even. He gives a small clap. “That was good. Nerd.”

You smack his arm playfully, and he responds by pulling you into a one armed hug. You both laugh, your sorrows forgotten as the sun begins to rise, the light reflecting on the surface of the instrument.

You look up at John, noticing the way the light catches his bright blue eyes. You like to bully him about them sometimes, joking that they always look like they’re boring into your soul. In this light, they remind you of a clear sky, of a moment of peace. 

You don’t realize you’re staring till moments after you realize that John is as well. Your faces have inched closer to one another. A little too close. You clear your throat, turning back to the piano. 

“Thanks, John. For, uh, everything.”

“‘Course.” he says. You can still feel his eyes on you, the warmth of his arm around you. You feel him lean in just a bit, his lips just barely touching the crown of your head. You swear you can feel him leave a kiss against your hair, before he excuses himself to go train.

You just stay at the piano. You pick through the sheet music, find another piece, and try to play. You don’t beat yourself up at your mistakes. You just keep playing, on and on and on.

And for a minute, everything else goes away. Well, almost everything.

a/n: TO BE CONTINUED???? MAYBE??? idk if you guys like this and are interested i'd love to do a little part two to this one. maybe also n2n inspired??? you guys aren't escaping fic based on this musical i've already got bob character study in the works. Ain't much but it's honest work!

[starrbishops]

If anyone's interested, I'm currently transferring my fics I've posted on here to my ao3 account of the same name so if that is your preferred method of fic reading they will all soon be there :) Most of my Walker fics are there already and I'll be crossposting all my fics here from now on.

[starrbishops]

Happy 1 am new Bob fic out now posting it bc I'm delirious and also can't stop laughing at this image. Why does he look like that. So angry but so little. The photographer who took this is my hero I've been laughing for ten minutes straight. go read risk pls

[starrbishops]

⟡Risk⟡

(Bob Reynolds x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob have feelings for each other. Which would be great, considering you're best friends; the problem is neither of you thinks the other likes you back. - ao3 version

Word Count: 3.8k

Notes: Set after the events of Thunderbolts*, friends to lovers, fluff, a little hurt/comfort, terrible wingman Walker, Bucky and Alpine (my beloved), New Avengers movie night, discussion of pipe bombs/mail bombs (not plot relevant but stay with me here), first kiss

a/n: It's me again. Thunderbolts fanfiction author starrbishops. And I'm bringing you another cute, fluffy friends to lovers Bob Reynolds Avengers Tower story that is sure to give you a cavity. I give you, Risk (titled after the Gracie Abrams song of similar themes)

At first you think you’re imagining it. 

The fact that Bob always sits next to you on movie nights, smiles whenever you walk in a room. You chalk it up to friendship. After all, you and Bob have grown close ever since the Void incident. You’ve made sure to let him know you’re here for him, no matter what, any time of the day. He’s taken you up on it a couple times, coming by your room in the middle of the night when the thoughts in his head are too loud. You’ve sat with him, held him till it quiets and he could finally sleep.

Watching Bob sleep, you forget he’s the most powerful being on earth. He’s just Bob, snoring quietly, clinging to you like a koala. He looks peaceful, cute even. It’s one of the things you like most about him. And you like just about everything about him.

Because it’s more than just the late night sleepovers and the kind greetings in the morning. You notice Bob pays just a little more attention to the household chores that pertain to you than to anyone else. He’s doing a load of laundry? Yours is the first done, already folded and left on your bed. Meanwhile, he texts Walker to let him know his clothes are in the dryer and to go get them in 30 minutes.

If you’re doing the dishes after dinner one night? He joins you. Sometimes it takes over completely. You insist you’ve got it; he insists he wants to. After a few nights of this, you give up on trying to stop him; you hate the dishes, and besides, he always seems happy to take over for you. In fact, once you start letting him take over, you find him joining you for the most mundane tasks. When you’re putting the dishes away, he’s suddenly there sorting the utensils. When you’re going to the grocery store, he’s the first to volunteer to go with you.

It’s not that you’re mad about it; you love spending time with Bob. He’s more than just the nervous guy from the vault, he’s sweet, funny, considerate. It’s just that the more he does these things, and the more time you spend with him, the more you fall for him.

It’s like everytime he smiles, your heart stops beating for a second. Any time his hand brushes yours, you feel like electricity is running across your skin. Once when he stretched, his sweatshirt rode up just a little, revealing his cut abs and a sharp v-line dipping into his sweatpants. You swear your brain waves turned into static for a minute.

You don’t know what to do. You could just tell him, except you can’t work up the nerve. It’s a little laughable, actually. You, an Avenger, someone who’s killed and fought more people than you can count, can’t tell a guy you like him.

You’re not even sure if Bob himself likes you back. Sure, he does seem to seek you out in every situation, always putting you first on his to-do list, but that could just be him being friendly, right? Why would he like someone like you, of all people? Besides, he’s still struggling with his mental and physical health after the trauma of the Sentry Project. You don’t want to be the thing that curbs his improvement, or makes him worse. Besides, if he doesn’t like you, you risk ruining the entire team dynamic. You’re a ragtag group of weirdos, but you love these weirdos like family, and you wouldn’t risk anything that might destroy your bond. Even if that means dying inside every time Bob sits a little too close to you.

Like now, as the seven of you sit together in the common room, watching some old Russian action movie Alexei picked. Yelena had begged him to choose something normal for once, but he’d insisted it was, in his words, ‘cinematic excellence.’ Honestly, you couldn’t tell if it was good or not, considering it was entirely in Russian with no subtitles. From Bucky’s confused expression and Yelena’s look of embarrassment, it wasn’t very good.

You couldn’t be paying less attention. You were seated on the couch between Bob and Walker, relaxing against the cushions. It’d been a long week for all of you. You’d just gotten back from a mission in South America, and you all needed to take a load off. The minute you walked in, Bob was sitting on the couch, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you. He rushed over, immediately giving you a hug, making your stomach drop. 

“I missed you.” he whispered in your ear, and you felt like your knees were going to give out.

But you survived, and here you sat, just another Friday movie night to make it through without either snapping and kissing Bob senseless or spontaneously combusting.

“This is an…interesting movie.” he muttered into your ear. 

“Interesting is an understatement.” You chuckled as you watched Alexei cheer as one of the bad guys was blown up with comically bad special effects. “At least he’s enjoying it.” You were enjoying it a little too. Not the movie itself, but the fact you got to spend time with Bob. He'd been whispering comments into your ear all night, ranging from jabs at the poor quality of the film to just random tidbits about his day. You smiled at each one of them, just at the sound of his voice in your ear. You’d missed him too, his comforting presence always beside you, his kindness that lifted just a little bit of weight off your shoulders.

Bob yawned a little, his eyes shutting as he tried to stifle it, lest Alexei hear and pause the movie to explain everything he’d missed. “Tired?” you joked, him nodding in response.

“Long day.” he mumbled, leaning back into the cushions. “Did all the laundry from the mission. Yours is in your room. I left your favorite sweater on your dresser.”

You turned to face him. “The blue one? How’d you know?”

He just shrugged. “You always wear it.”

You felt your face go a little hot at that, turning back to the TV screen to hopefully disguise your blush. This was the kind of thing that Bob just did, small acts of kindness that showed that he knew you, more than you’d even realized you let on.

Bob yawned again, this time stretching his arms out. You focused your eyes straight ahead, fearing another brain buffer like the last incident. Unfortunately, you couldn’t escape it; Bob’s lowered arm landed behind you on the sofa, encircling you, with his hand resting on your shoulder.

Did Bob Reynolds really just do the yawn-arm-around-you trick? The man with the power of a thousand suns just used a middle school dating tactic on you. You felt like a teenager on a first date. Your mind raced as you tried to find a plausible explanation for this. It’s not like physical touch is too out there for Bob. You’ve slept by each other’s sides plenty of times. Still, this feels different. Where that was comfort in the face of pain, this is out of nowhere. Bob touches you because he wants to. Your brain felt like putty, melting down in the heat of his touch around your shoulders. 

You chalked up what you did next to your lack of brain function in the moment. You leaned against him, resting your head against his chest. He felt solid beneath you. You forgot sometimes how strong he was, the way the Sentry Project had changed him. It was strange to say, considering you’d never known him before. Bob felt familiar to you, like you’d known him all your life.

You dared to look up at Bob, seeing how his eyes stayed fixed on the TV. The film on the screen lights them up, revealing the blue hues that appear when the light hits them just right. They’re beautiful.

Neither of you says anything for a while. You just sit together, in comfortable silence, watching Alexei excitedly explain the symbolism of the film to Ava, who sits curled up on the floor half-asleep. Yelena and Walker snack on the popcorn bowl between them, while Bucky appears to zone out as he pets Alpine, lying asleep in his lap. At one point, he glances over at you, furrowing his brow as he sees you and Bob. You and Bob are close, everyone knows that. You’ve just never given the impression of being this touchy together. He tilts his head at you, asking What’s going on here? You purse your lips, giving him a confused expression that says I honestly couldn’t tell you.

And the movie’s over, but neither you nor Bob move a muscle. “Good movie, eh?” Alexei asks as the credits roll, looking over at you and Bob across the couch. “You two look, eh…comfortable.”

You don’t know who moves first, you or Bob, but you both spring up, scooting away from each other. You hear Walker grumble something next to you, probably a teasing joke. Thankfully, Yelena takes the heat off you by beginning her critiques of the movie. It’s like every movie night, she turns into a film critic afterwards. 

You glance up at Bob, seeing that he’s just as red as you are. It calms you a little, seeing him in the same boat of embarrassment as you. But it also skyrockets your anxiety, wondering if he regrets it, if he didn’t actually mean anything by it, if you misread the situation. 

After a few minutes, Bob clears his throat. “I’m, uh, gonna head to bed. Long day.” he chuckles, glancing over at you in the process. John agrees with him, the rest of the team saying their goodnights as the two men walk off to the elevator. 

You try to focus on the lively discussion Yelena, Ava and Alxei are currently having about the logistics of planting pipe bombs, but your thoughts are still full of Bob. The way his arm felt around you, the feel of his breath just brushing past the top of your head. You forgot how big he was, sometimes. He could completely envelop you in his arms when he hugged you. Once you’d compared your hands, his being comically larger than yours. It made your mind drift towards dirtier things, imaging Bob in your bed, the way he could use his hands.

You shook yourself out of it as Bucky plopped down next to you, still holding Alpine. He just sits quietly for a moment, before Alpine meows quietly, causing him to clear his throat.

“I-uh, Alpine, would like to know what was going on there with you and Bob.” his voice is just above a whisper, trying to avoid the others jumping in with their opinions.

You shake your head, facing him. “I have no clue. He just did that.”

“He just…laid your head on his chest?”

“Well, I mean…it’s not…I don’t even know.” you flop back, covering your eyes with your hands. “I don’t know what’s happening anymore.”

You feel a sharp prick against your leg, then another. You move your hand to see Alpine crawl into your lap, setting herself up comfortably. You gently pet her soft fur, the monotony calming you.

“She likes you.” Bucky comments, moving his metal arm to stroke her as well. “It’s no wonder Bob does too.”

You pause for a moment, just staring at Bucky.  “I’m old, not stupid. I know what a guy with a crush looks like.”

You go back to petting Alpine, focusing on the rhythm of your hands on her pale fur. “I don’t know about that…”

“Hey.” Bucky looks you right in the eye, hsi metal hand on your shoulder. “You’re a good kid. So’s he. You’d be good together.” he lays back, yawning slightly. “Besides, I’m tired of watching you too dance around each other. You know, if this was the 40’s you’d be engaged at this point.”

You chuckle, even as your thoughts still swirl with worries.

“Bucky!” Alexei interrupts them, “If Winter Soldier was to send pipe bomb through mail, how would he go about it?”

Bucky looks a mix of shocked and disappointed. “I…don’t know how to answer that.”

“I do!” Ava launches into her own argument. You and Bucky just laugh as you watch them fight, your mind moving away from the brown haired boy to the logistics of bribing the USPS to send a bomb for you.

Meanwhile, Bob is starfished out on his bed, staring into his ceiling.

“I don’t think she likes me.”

“Of course she does!” John insists, continuing his pacing at the foot of the bed. “I thought that trick was sure to work.”

“We’re not in middle school, John!” Bob sits up. “It was stupid. And now she probably thinks I'm a weirdo.”

John shrugs. “I don’t know, it seems like she was into it.”

Bob scoffs. “Yeah right. I’m screwed.”

“Hey.” John joins him on the bed, gripping his shoulders, eye contact unwavering. “You can do this. You are going to get the girl, Bob. It may be hard, but love is worth it.”

Bob just stares back at him for a moment, wondering what his life has come to now that the divorced ex Captain America is his wingman.

“Nice pep talk, Walker.” he pulls away, flopping back down, covering his eyes. “I’m doomed.”

“You are not doomed.” he leans over Bob, moving his hands out of his face. “Look, do you believe in love, Bob?”

Bob is quiet. “I believe she’s gonna think we’re in love if you keep doing shit like this. Get off me.” he shoves John aside. “But yeah, sure. Love, and whatever.”

Bob does believe in love, although he’s never really known it properly. An alcoholic dad and a mentally ill mom will do that to you. For years, he thought love was just some lie that people tell to excuse or justify their terrible relationships. He knew now he was wrong. You showed him he was wrong. 

Sure he’s been in relationships before, but nothing serious. Usually just some casual fun that made the highs that the drugs gabe him just that much better. You were the first person who he really felt a connection to, the first person who he wanted something real with. Part of him still worried he wasn’t good enough for you. After all, you were an Avenger, a hero. Hell, you’d saved him twice over on the first day of knowing him. What could he have to offer you? He was a former meth addict slacker from Florida with no future before the Sentry Project. He was trying to be more, to really find himself, build a life with the team. He wanted you in that life. Still, he wondered if he could ever deserve you, if anyone could, for that matter.

“Listen man.” John grabs his shoulder yet again, a sign of what is sure to be a riveting motivational speech. “You and her, you’ve got something special. I can see it. She’s into you, Bob. You just gotta believe in yourself. Make a move!”

Bob just nods, gripping Walker’s shoulder with his opposite arm. “What do you think I’ve been doing all this time?!” he asks frustratedly.

“Okay, doing her chores for her is clearly not enough. I’m gonna be straight with you Bob my boy, she’s a little oblivious.”

Normally he wouldn’t stand for anyone insulting or speaking remotely ill of you, but Walker did have a point. He’d spent the last few months making a conscious effort to pull your attention, going out of his way just to make you smile. Even Walker managed to pick up that he liked you from that. Yet still, you seemed oblivious.

“Maybe it’s not that” he mutters.

“What?” “Maybe she does know, and she just doesn’t like me.”

Walker sighs incredulously. “Bob, c’mon man. It’s not that, I guarantee you-”

“That’s what you said about the last plan! What do you even know about love, Walker? What makes you such an expert?” Walker goes quiet, clenching his jaw. “Fine. you think you’re the expert. Do it yourself.” With that, he stomps off and out of the room, slamming the door as loudly as possible behind him.

Bob just groans, laying back on his bed. He has no chance. What was he even thinking? You’d never like him. What was there to like?

He drifted off into sleep, his head floating with pity and self-loathing.

The two of you don’t talk about movie might. He chalks it up to disinterest. He tries not to hound you for the next few days. Doesn’t bother you when you’re alone in the kitchen, despite how much he wants to help, just to see you smile, hear your laugh.

You and Bucky are sent out soon on a weeks-long mission. Romania, apparently. You’re off the grid, strictly no contact with anyone. It’s torture. At least he could see you before, put a face to the yearning. Now, it just feels like a black hole inside him, swallowing everything up. He can’t sleep. Barely eats. He just thinks about you. Misses you. 

It’s not like you haven’t been on long missions before. That he could deal with. It’s like withdrawal, mixed with regret at how he avoided you prior to your leaving. The memories of you feel so far away now, leaving him with nothing to hold onto.

One night he woke with a start to the sound of knocking on his door. Rubbing his eyes, he read his alarm clock; 3:18 AM. Who the hell was here at this hour? Maybe Walker coming to force him to train early with him in Bucky’s absence, or Alexei with some middle of the night marketing pitch. He was proved wrong, opening the door to find you standing there, out of breath, still in your tactical gear. You’d just gotten home.

“Hey.” you mumble, quiet and breathy. 

“Hey.” he says back, instinctively reaching for you. “You’re home.”

“Yeah.” you affirm, nodding sharply. “Uh, mission was good, went well, I just…” you cover your mouth, stifling a sob.

“Hey.” he immediately puts his arms around you, one hand moving to stroke your hair. “You’re okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

He hears you sniffle a little, before wrapping your arms around his midriff, clinging onto him like a lifeline. He just holds you tight, mumbles reassurances into the crown of your head. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

He forgets all his doubts, all the ways you are infinitely better than him. He sees you hurting, and he can’t have that. It physically pains him, seeing you in tears. Maybe he doesn’t deserve you. Maybe he has nothing to offer you. But he can do this. He can be there for you in the middle of the night, ready to fight off whatever pain plagues you, anything that could harm you. He can hold you, carefully, as if you’re something precious to protect, because you are.

“I-I’m better now.” you mutter, pulling away slightly. Bob releases his grasp, though his hands remain on your waist and head, blue eyes still looking down into yours. “It’s nothing, I’m just, I’m being crazy.”

“You wanna talk about it?” he questions, hand sliding down to cup your cheek. He can feel the skin is slightly wet from tears. He feels a little part of his heart snap in half.

You shake his head, leaning back into him. Just as before , you rest your head on his chest, just breathing in and out, catching your breath. It’s something you do when you return from missions, he’s noticed. Deep, rhythmic breaths as he hugs you, as if you’re reassuring yourself that this is real.

“You wanna lay down?” he asks, feeling you nod your head against him. “Okay.” he mutters, “I got you.” he steps away, taking your hand in his as he walks to the bed, pulling back the blanket for you to climb in.

You rest your head on his shoulder, letting him put his arms around you once more. He could stay like this forever, he thinks. 

“You’re my best friend, y’know”

He perks up at your words, raising his head to look at you. You just stare blankly off into the expanse of his room. “I am?”

You nod. “You are”

He’s not sure how to respond to this. “Thanks?” he settles on after a brief silence.

“And all that time, I kept having these nightmares that-that I’d come back and you’d be gone, or hurt, or you’d hate me, and I just, it drove me crazy, to the point where I’d barely sleep-”

“Hey.” he cuts you off, one hand pulling your chin up to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever. And I could never, ever hate you.” he rubs one thumb against your cheek softly, repeating himself quietly. “I could never hate you.”

You finally look up at him. It’s not sadness in your eyes, but something else. Longing. He recognizes it, from all the nights he’s spent alone, thinking of you. The days spent watching you idle about the tower, just grateful to be in your presence. It’s something he’s never been on the receiving end of. It’s a little strange. But addictive.

 You both sit in silence for a moment, unsure what to do next. He leans down, a little closer to you. Fuck it, he thinks.

He kisses you.

And it’s everything he’s dreamed; your lips are soft, your hands run through his hair, pulling him in closer. It’s gentle, not rushed. It’s a culmination, but not yet a climax. A confession, finally, out in the open.

When he pulls back, it’s just barely, his face still mere inches from yours. He can feel your breath against his lips as you laugh, just a little.

“I thought I was crazy.” he hears you mumble. He opens his eyes, and you’re smiling. God, how he’s missed that sight. “I thought you were just being really nice to me because we’re friends.”

“Sorta.” he brushes a loose strand of hair from your face. “I did it because I love seeing you happy.” he smiles, small but real. “Like this.”

You just grin, leaning back in to press another quick kiss to his lips. Almost immediately he pulls you back in, this one deeper, passionate. He puts everything into it. All the yearning, the doubt, the love he feels. He pours it into this. Even if he can’t, won’t say it just yet, he gives you this, he gives you himself in this one kiss.

When you finally pull back, this time you’re left breathless, smiling even wider than before. It warms his heart, knowing he did this, because you want him.

“I like you a lot, you know.” you say. He chuckles at the hilarity of the statement at this point.

“I like you too.” he presses a kiss to your forehead. This one is an affirmation, a promise of more to come. “I like you so, so much.”

a/n: I love Bob. I love the idea of Avengers movie night. Been working on various conepts of this one for a while and it's finally come together and I really like it. Part two w/ smut coming soon >:) It ain't much, but it's honest work.

[starrbishops]

John Walker was neglected as a child and I stand by that. He constantly craves validation, praise, and reassurance while not being able to handle his emotions at all if he's rejected or if he's not liked. The military obviously preys on that kind of shit. Anyway John Walker is a little boy who never got a hug from his parents unless he won a trophy and I like to think the thunderbolts are helping him heal that small child within him because they love him no matter what.

[starrbishops]

No one cares but in my head John's son is named James Lemar Walker. He calls him Jamie

James is after Olivia's dad and Lemar of course for John's best friend