#headcanons bob

[starbvund]

If Bob were in modern times, he'd be requesting tractor pics off of Grindr.

[hurtspideyparker]

YES the Thunderbolts have a fantastic team as family dynamic, yes they are living in Avengers tower, yes history is repeating itself and 2012 tower fics are so back. BUT!

instead of "Alexei eating poptarts" or "Yelena in the vents", we must come up with new headcanons and make history

Bob always does normal domestic chores, often getting in the way of important missions and spy business. "All I'm saying is Bucky is our best sniper" "It would be a much quieter assassination if I just slipped into the condo and cut his—" "Hey sorry guys, anyone have laundry? I'm doing a load"

Yelena and her guinea pig always eat meals together at the dining table. Everyone has their Chinese food or barbeque, meanwhile the rodent is loudly munching on a salad right beside them

Bucky is the mom and always keeps them on track. "Ava you have a dentist appointment in the morning, and bring Bob so they can add him to the insurance. Lena how was therapy? Alexei, I said no vodka until dinner"

Alexei is always coming up with new promotional ideas for the team. Cartoon tv show, cereal, toothpaste flavour...every day he thinks he's come up with the next big thing. Whenever they actually get put into production (Wheaties) he collects and saves it, and won't let anyone use a different product. (He threw out Yelena's frosted flakes and it took both Bucky and John to get her to stop attacking him)

Ava likes to phase and sneak attack her teammates at random. She claims it's for training but really she just thinks it's funny hearing them scream

John gets blamed for everything, even if it isn't his fault. Especially if it isn't his fault: "who ate the last bagel?" "John." "Where's my hair straightener?" "John had it." "Whose turn is it to unload the dishwasher?" "Johnnnn"

[anik-annix]

my headcanon for those 14 months time skip is that they all invested in a dyson and a 10 step haircare routine

[lovebugism]

How about something smutty for the Thunderbolts headcanons 😳 Like how each of them would react to you making them cum in their pants

thank you so much for requesting and feeding my hyperfixation!! below you will find four separate baby blurbs for bucky, john, yelena, and bob. each section will have it's own summary, warnings, and whole lotta smut! enjoy :D

BUCKY BARNES X READER — you're with him in wakanda when he's cured of the trigger words in his head. he's able to touch you for the first time without feeling scared of himself. (established relationship, post-cacw | 1k words)

Bucky Barnes can’t remember the last time he felt this free. Maybe sometime in 1942, he guesses — before he got drafted, before Hydra captured him, before they put those goddamn words in his head. It feels weird that they’re gone now; to be without the dark cloud of impending doom that, at any moment, someone could utter the words and he’d just snap. 

But now, freshly cured and living on the Wakandan countryside, he can touch you for the first time without being terrified of himself.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles as his vibranium hand trails up the expanse of your bare back. He keeps his flesh one on your thigh, smoothing his thumb over the plush skin there, and tilts his scruffy chin to smile up at you. He’s got you straddled over his lap, barely clothed and bathed in golden candelight, like some kinda angel brought to life.

“You’re pretty,” you correct with a lovesick grin, raking your hands through his silky, growing locks.

Bucky leans instinctively into your touch. “Don’t make this about me,” he says, squinting.

“It is about you,” you remind him with a giggle, ducking down to kiss his neck. “I’m supposed to compliment you—” Your lips brush his pulse in a chaste kiss. Bucky fights back a shiver. “—Supposed to make you feel good.”

“You do,” Bucky sighs a contented moan, pulling you further into him. “You always do…”

His vibranium hand curls up your back and towards your shoulder. His other one holds tightly to your hip. You wrap your arms tighter around his neck until your bare chest is flush with his scruffy one — until your clothed cunt brushes his cock, half-hard and throbbing within the confines of his boxers.

A moan rumbles in Bucky’s throat. You feel it against your lips when you press them to his adam’s apple. “Do you want to?” you murmur against him, voice low like honey. “‘Cause it kinda seems like you want to.”

Bucky’s head is too clouded to respond properly to your teasing. He just nods his heavy head and flexes his hips beneath you in a desperate attempt to relieve the pulsing ache in his boxers. You let him, and with his consent, begin to rock slowly over his lap. 

“Say it,” you whisper in his ear.

“Want it,” he pants in yours. “Want you.”

“You have me, Buck,” you slur, trying to peer at him through the haze in your vision. Your panties drag over his stiffening cock and leave a damp spot at the center of them. You find yourself chasing your high just as much as Bucky’s. 

You snuck a few sips of alcohol to quell your worry before watching Ayo recite the wretched words back to the man haunted by them. You feel the consequences creeping up on you now and find yourself rambling before you can stop it, half-deluded with pleasure. 

“‘M already yours. My pussy’s already— shit,” you whimper in time with Bucky’s groaning when your clit drags over his lap. Through pants, you beg him, “Say you wanna fuck me. Please. Don’t wanna cum ’til you’re inside me.”

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky whines, face screwed and eyes shut tight. He tries to form the words in his head, but all he can think about is how wet you are — and how his leaking cock has left a damp spot in his underwear — and how the combination of both makes the friction between you so dizzying. “I wanna… fuck—” 

“Uh-huh,” you tease with a slow nod when you sense he’s getting close. “You can do it, Buck. C’mon. There you go.”

He can’t tell if you’re trying to coach him into saying the words or push him headfirst into an orgasm. He hopes it’s the latter, ‘cause he feels himself bursting into his boxers a second later.

“Fuck!” he blurts when he cums, half-muffled and half-whined, like it pains him. 

He holds your hips in both hands, keeping you still above him in a crueler grip than he means to. The quiet bedroom fills with the sound of crackling candles and his groaning. He tilts his face to the ceiling and moans into the golden darkness with his eyes squeezed shut. The sudden orgasm racks through his body in so many shivers up his spine, three warm ropes spit into the confines of his boxers.

“‘M sorry,” he pants when it’s done, still slightly airy from the aftershocks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” you promise with a soft laugh as your own building pleasure begins to subside. You cup his scruffy face in your palms and try to kiss him through the smile on your lips. “You deserve it, Buck,” you whisper against his mouth, between your delicate kisses. “You deserve everything.”

Bucky shakes his head between your palms and smooths his fingers over the bruises he unknowingly stamped into your skin. “Don’t care about everything,” he murmurs lowly. “Just you.”

Your eyes narrow in a sarcastic squint, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Do you think we can get Shuri to erase the cheesiness from your brain, too?”

“Sure,” Bucky scoffs, smiling still, as he shoves you playfully onto your back. You giggle when you hit the mattress, caging your smile between your teeth as the man crawls back between your legs. He lies flat on the mattress, face-to-face with your clothed pussy. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod, obviously sarcastic. “Mhm. Very much.”

“Maybe I’ll just go get her then,” Bucky murmurs, punctuating his quip with a kiss to your inner thigh as he spreads them apart. You shiver when his scruff scrapes your delicate skin. “Tell her to put me back under the ice—”

Your feet lock behind his back to keep him against you. Bucky laughs and curls his arms around your thighs as you prop yourself on your elbows to shoot him a death glare. “You’re not going anywhere, Sergeant Barnes.”

And, truth be told, Bucky’s exactly where he wants to be.

JOHN WALKER X READER — john hates when valentina pairs the two of you on missions together. until he doesn't. (enemies to lovers, pre-thunderbolts, cw for brief mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

John Walker can’t stand you most days. You’re too reckless, too impulsive, too quick to put yourselves in situations that might kill you. He hates that Valentina paired you together just as much as he hates that he cares so much about your well-being.

He knows it’d be easier to let you get yourself killed, to have one less thing to worry about, but he somehow ends up kissing you instead.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” he grumbles through labored breaths, with your spit still shining on his swollen mouth. He cages your body between his larger one and the unforgiving wall behind you. The men guarding the vault outside surely won’t mind the sexual tension rising inside it, seeing as they’re half-dead already.

You smile in the face of his anger until the fresh cut on your mouth starts to sting. “But you can fuck me?” you pant, eyes glazed over as they dart back and forth between his dilated ones. “I mean, you want to, right? ’S why you locked me in here, isn’t it?”

“I locked you in here because there were three guys outside trying to kill you, if you forgot.”

“Two,” you correct in a witty deadpan. “I killed the third one.”

“And I killed the other two, who gives a shit—”

“You’re obsessed with me, Walker,” you grin, pulling him close by the belt loops on his suit. 

Despite his near palpable rage, he melts into you with ease. The blonde man stumbles closer until he’s towering over you — hair messy from his helmet, face bruised, ocean eyes staring daggers into you.

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he gripes.

“I don’t think it is,” you lilt lowly and nudge his clothed crotch with your thigh. 

You watch the words of an argument form and dissolve on his tongue all at once. John exhales hard through his nose as his eyes go glassy. He hadn’t realized how hard he was until you pressed yourself against him — how sensitive he was — how long it had been since he’d had any sort of release.

“Admit it—” you whisper, pulling him closer until his stiff cock is pressed between your bodies. He smells like cologne and copper pennies, likely from the blood darkening his navy blue suit. You’re almost sure you’d be able to feel his racing heart from here, if it weren’t for the thick layers separating you. “—You love me…”

“I hate you,” he corrects, though his dark eyes cloud with lust.

Your smile widens. The cut on the corner of your mouth begins to weep all over again. John reaches for your jaw without thinking, cupping his palm there and swiping the crimson away with his thumb. 

“No, you don’t,” you coo with a shake of your head. The room goes quiet then, filled only by John’s heavy breaths and the clinking of his belt as you undo the buckle. You keep him close with one hand around his belt loop while the other creeps around the front of him. His breath catches in his throat when your fingers dip beneath the hem.

You don’t think he realizes how he’s rocking himself against your thigh. Or the way he subconsciously shakes his head in agreement. 

“You’ve always thought about this, haven’t you?” you continue mercilessly, grinning when your fingertips meet the coarse thatch of hair above his cock. 

John nods his heavy head and leans further into you, propping himself on the wall as his eyes flutter shut. He deserves this, he tells himself, for saving your ass a hundred times over. You owe him one, really.

“I know you have,” you whisper in his ear. “I bet you’ve gotten yourself off to the thought of me a thousand times.”

Again, John nods in response without ever really noticing it. Just like he doesn’t really notice the release building within him — like a creeping hand up his spine, or a tightening knot in his lean stomach. He just keeps rubbing himself against you, chasing a high he barely knows is there.

“But I think when you imagined me making you cum…” you trail off and smile when John moans against your pulse. “…You always thought it’d be inside me.”

John tenses at the thought of fucking you. He’s left trembling above you as a sudden orgasm racks through his body. The quiet room fills with his poorly heldback groans and your giggling while he cums in his pants. He feels the evidence, warm and wet, blooming in his boxers — just like the red-hot embarrassment exploding in his chest. 

He pulls away to find you grinning like the devil.

“Told ya,” you monotone and pull your hand from his boxers, only slightly mourning the fact that you never actually got to touch him. “You’re obsessed with me.”

John scoffs, like he has any room to be ambivalent after humping your thigh like a dog. He zips up his pants, belt buckle clinking as he fastens it again. “You ruined my suit,” is all he can think to say as you walk past him.

You roll your eyes and wrench open the heavy door to the vault, stepping over the bloody bodies littered on the other side of it. “Bill me,” you call over your shoulder.

YELENA BELOVA X READER — yelena is full of adrenaline after a mission, and you only know one way to calm her down (established relationship, post-thunderbolts, cw for very brief mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

Yelena Belova has you flat on your back. The rest of the Avengers tower is dark, quiet, and asleep — each of you recovering from the latest mission in the sanctuary of your bedrooms. The blonde Russian girl is too full of adrenaline to rest, though, never mind how much she could probably use the sleep. She’s a relentless force on top of you — because of the adrenaline, of course, and not because she nearly lost you.

She tugs your pants down your legs with a pair of merciless hands, bruised knees digging into the foot of the mattress across from you. The mattress squeaks with each of your movements, and you fight back a laugh. “Be gentle, Belova!” you scold in a whisper. “Walker’s gonna hear.”

(John had the misfortune of his bedroom being one story below yours. And the floors were surprisingly thin. Or so he says.)

Yelena scoffs, face screwed. “I don’t care,” she mutters, voice accented and low like honey. “Let him hear.”

She makes a big show of climbing back over your body, moving much more violently than normal over the worn bed frame, so it creaks louder beneath her. “Yelena!” you snap quietly through gritted teeth, but hold her gently by the hips when she straddles you just the same.

“What?!” she exclaims, louder than necessary for the late, late night, as she tugs her shirt over her head. She throws the fabric to the side, discarding it with the rest of your pajamas littered on the floor — leaving both of you in mismatched sets of old, cotton underwear.

“God, you’re such a child,” you grouse and cross your arms beneath your head.

Yelena grins. “Stop flirting with me,” she lilts lowly and ducks down to kiss you.

Your eyes flutter shut when her plush lips trail from your jaw down to your neck. “We should rest, Lena…” you tell her, sighing when her teeth scrape your pulse. “We’re gonna be sore in the morning.”

You feel her mouth curl into a smile against your skin. “I hope so.”

“Child,” you repeat.

Yelena gets relentless rather quickly, feral in a way only a previous world-class assassin could be. She forgets about the exhaustion and the bruises that ache to the bone, littered across both your bodies. Her head fills only with thoughts of making you feel good, touching you like it could be the last time she ever gets to.

“Lena, Lena, Lena—” you echo, reaching for her wrist where her hand’s shoved into your panties. “Slow down,” you laugh.

“Why?” she whines.

You find her pretty face contorted in a girlish pout when you cup her cheeks in your hands. “Because we have all night,” you coo, smoothing your thumbs over her flushed jaw. “We don’t have to rush.”

Your words strike something deep in her chest. She refuses to let the vulnerability show. 

“I know that,” she scoffs, trying to look unbothered as you smooth the top of her tank top down her chest. You tuck it beneath her breasts, and her pink nipples perk when the cool air hits them.

“Good,” you hum, lifting your head to take her left breast in your mouth.

“I just— I wanted to make you feel good—” she whines in her low Russian accent, voice cracking when you nudge her clothed cunt with your thigh. “—Oh…”

You smile into her chest, teeth scraping her sensitive nipple. Yelena keeps you pressed against her with a hand on the back of your head. Your arms curl around her back to keep her flush to your thigh. You feel the warmth of her cunt against your skin, and the wet spot slowly forming there.

The stubborn girl turns into a puddle above you, in more ways than one. You feel her shuddering as she buries each of her moans in your hair. Your mouth leaves her nipple with a quiet pop, and a thin string of saliva threatens to connect you when you pull away.

“Are you gonna cum, Lena?” you coo, swollen mouth curling into a soft smile. “I’ve barely even touched you—”

Her fingers tighten in your hair. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she pleads in a broken voice.

You return to her chest, sucking on her sensitive nipple until she keens. She exhales a hoarse moan above you, flexing her hips over your thigh to keep her clit flush to your skin. She lets out several pretty “Uh, uh, uh”’s before tensing suddenly above you. 

Yelena holds her breath, grips you tight by your shoulder and the back of your neck, and begins to tremble over your thigh. “Oh, shit…” she moans, then sighs. “Oh, shit—” 

It comes out more disappointed the second time, as she pulls back from you to flash you a girlish pout. “What?” you laugh, mouth shining with spit, as you smooth a rouge blonde tendril behind her ear.

“I was supposed to make you feel good,” she whines, Russian accent sounding deep in her mouth. “I had it all planned— I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing we’ve got all the time in the world, right?”

Yelena’s frown curls into a more devilish grin at your words.

Neither of you get any sleep that night. Walker, included.

ROBERTY REYNOLDS X READER — a year after the void nearly destroyed new york, you're still teaching bob that it's okay to feel good (new-ish relationship, post-thunderbolts | 1k words)

Robert Reynolds is still getting used to touching you. He’s spent nearly every day with you since you found him — learning how to use his powers for good, how to touch you without hurting you, how to be human again. It’s been a year since then, and he’s starting to get the hang of it. But sometimes he thinks you have more faith in him than he does in himself.

You kiss him hard enough to bruise him on the center of the living room couch, with Sunset Boulevard playing quietly on the large TV behind you. Bob’s anxiety is only partly quelled by the rest of the Thunderbolts’ absence, but he’s still slightly scared of himself — what if The Void returned and swallowed him whole again? Who would be there to stop him from hurting you if it did?

You don’t seem half as panicked about the whole thing as your lips stamp wet kisses up and down the expanse of his long neck. “You’re so pretty, Bobby,” you murmur into his warm skin. “Such a pretty boy…”

Bob swallows hard at your praise, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He shifts uncomfortably beneath you on the sofa when he feels his cock twitching in the confines of his sweatpants. There’s a need for release inside of him that he can’t ignore, but he cares more about keeping you safe. Safe from himself.

You pull back, mouth swollen from your assault on his neck. “Can I…?” you smile and trail off, hands sliding down his clothed, lean chest to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Bob doesn’t know what you’re planning. It excites him as much as it frightens him. His mouth opens and closes like a fish until he finds the words. “Oh. I— I don’t— I don’t know,” he stammers through an awkward chuckle.

You shrug despite the pang of disappointment in your chest. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—”

“It’s not that!” Bob blurts, rushing to hold you by the waist when you threaten to move off him. (He forgets, for maybe the first time ever, to be scared of touching you.) He swallows hard at the look you give him, blinking wildly with glassy eyes. “I just… I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you assure him with a pretty laugh. “You don’t even have to touch me.”

Bob’s brows furrow. “What?” he wonders aloud.

You don’t answer him with words. You just flash him a mischievous smirk and shift on the couch until you’re no longer straddling him. You press your lips to his — once, twice, and then a third time — in a silent reminder to relax before your mouth trails down his neck once more. 

You move past his jaw, to his pulse, and down towards his collarbone, sinking further onto your knees as you kiss down his body.

Bob exhales a shuddering breath and tilts his heavy head towards the back of the couch. He feels his hands start to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists, instead.

“Relax, baby,” you murmur between the kisses you press to his clothed sternum. “Let me make you feel good.”

Bob tenses beneath you when your hands brush his cock, growing harder in his boxers by the second. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ignore the need swelling inside him. “Um… Maybe we should…” he stammers, voice shaking. “Maybe we should, like, slow down?”

He covers his desperate plea with a wavering half-smile.

You nod, now fully on your knees between his spread thighs, and give him a kind, tight-lipped smile in return. “‘Course. I’ll go slow. Promise.”

You feel Bob trembling beneath your hand when you lift the hem of his shirt. Your fingers brush the fine hair sprinkled on his lean stomach as you press chaste kisses to every inch of revealed skin. He takes in a shaking breath, burning red hot under your touch. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you how sensitive he is — how, if he thinks about you and your soft touches for too long, that he’ll explode. So he doesn’t. He just squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think about anything other than the way you’re making him feel just now.

“I’ll take care of you, Bobby. I promise,” you slur between languid kisses, holding his shirt up with one hand while your other teases the hem of his boxers. “I’ll make you feel so good—” Your lips brush the coarse hair peeking from his waistline. You flash him a pair of glassy, mischievous eyes. 

“And maybe—” A kiss. “If you’re real good—” Another, a bit lower this time. “I’ll let you fuck me—”

Bob face twists. His brows furrow, his eyes shut tight, his nose scrunches at the bridge. He makes a strangled noise in his throat, growing so tense beneath you that it makes him tremble. 

You just freeze, frightened that you might’ve done something wrong. You did just promise to take it slow, after all — and here he is now, cumming in his boxers. 

He feels the warmth of his orgasm wetting the plaid fabric and sticking awkwardly to his skin. He fails to stave off the pang of embarrassment searing his chest.

“I’m sorry,” both of you blurt at the same time.

Bob’s eyes snap open, still slightly glazed over. “You’re sorry?!” he gapes. “What are you sorry for?”

You falter for a moment. “I don’t know,” you answer and start to laugh. 

The pretty sound fills the quiet tower, and Bob can’t help but laugh along with you. He tilts his heavy head back against the couch as you rise from your knees, straddling him once more and avoiding the sensitive mess in his pants. 

“Did it feel good, at least?” you ask, smoothing your palms over his trembling shoulders.

Bob nods and swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mumbles, then clears his throat. “I haven’t— Haven’t been with anyone in a while, so… I guess you could say I’m… a little out of practice.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” you coo, ducking down to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. Even with his eyes closed, he can hear the smile in your voice as you whisper, “I’ll whip you back into shape in no time, Reynolds.”

[t-dubber]

[ THUNDERBOLTS* Movie Night | Art + HC ]

- John Walker was going to watch a movie by himself

- The others trickled in one by one

- everyone winds up falling asleep on one another by accident (mostly, except for Bob and Alexei— they came prepared)

- Bucky’s comfortable enough with these losers to leave his arm off and snuggle with Alpine

- yes this takes place in the old Avengers common room

[implyouthern]

Bob realizes he and his roommate might be a little more similar than he had originally anticipated...

[houseofaegon]

Ruined ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Dom!Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts Teammate!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. no use of y/n. secret hookups, armory sex, unprotected p in v, praise kink, power play, slight sub!bob energy but make it neeeedddyyyyy and feral, desperate!bob, dominant!reader, interrupted sex, yelena being yelena, begging, orgasm denial (sort of), overstimulation, dirty talk.

Summary: The Thunderbolt's press tour is a fucking disaster—Valentina's controlling, the team’s a mess, and Bob Reynolds looks at you like he’s one second away from losing his mind. When you catch him pacing the armory alone, you take what you want. But when you tell him to stay quiet and be good... Bob doesn’t stay quiet. And he definitely doesn’t stay good.

Word count: ~4k

Author's note: need bob reynolds to absolutely destroy me. can't even think or breathe cause he's taking up space in my mind. living in my head rent free and i am not complaining. I'm loooovvvinnnggg these two so much, might make more shots with them cause what the hell???? the dynamic thooooo!!! love me some dom and sub bob <3333333 he's so babygirl i can't take it anymore. if you want to be added to my tag list just comment! <3

masterlist.

"Quiet, Bob."

The words came out as a whisper, but the threat in them made Bob Reynolds shiver under your touch. His back hit the cold armory wall with a clang, head tilting back, mouth already parted on a moan. His shirt was god knows where—somewhere between the racks of rifles and dusty, outdated StarkTech. Your mouth was on his, tongue sliding deep, fingers fisting his curls like you needed an anchor. And Bob? He was already halfway gone.

It had been a long, brutal week.

Valentina had decided that the Thunderbolts—the shiny New Avengers—needed a rebranding for a more "palatable" public. And what better way than a grueling, nonstop, goddamn press tour?

You were paraded like collectibles. Forced smiles. Posed photos. Tactical suits are tailored to make you look sleek. Heroes for the modern age, like she'd said.

Like a fucking boy band.

You were all lined up and put on display like action figure dolls.

"Smile for the cameras," she'd coo, pacing in front of you like a general inspecting her soldiers. "We're selling salvation, not trauma. Wipe that frown off your face, Bucky."

Bucky didn’t even flinch. Just stared through her, arms crossed, his metal hand twitching like it wanted to be anywhere else. Or wrapped around her throat.

Valentina didn’t stop there.

“You,” she snapped at you during the third press op, finger jabbing the air like it might actually hit you. “Need to look grateful, sweetheart. Do you know what I’m paying to make you likable? Not that you aren’t—you’re a doll, really—but come on now, you have to stop glaring at the children like you want to throw them into traffic.”

It was all bullshit. She’d even made Bob do interviews. Bob, whose voice cracked anytime someone looked at him too long.

Yelena had muttered something in Russian that was definitely a curse and didn't even try to smile.

Alexei had laughed too loudly during a morning show segment that made the host flinch, and a lighting rig tripped over.

Ava vanished in the middle of a red carpet appearance—literally phased through the floor and didn’t return for hours.

Walker kept trying to one-up Bucky in interviews. "Sure, Barnes is a legend," he'd say, clapping his shoulder, "but some of us chose to be heroes."

Of course, you snorted a little bit too loud. Loud enough for the mic to catch it. Loud enough for Walker to glare at you and Bucky to smirk.

And Mel? Poor Mel had to endure Valentina's bickering, forcing all of you to pose for pictures while muttering apologies like there was no tomorrow.

You were the first one to be asked for solo shots in the new tactical gear.

"Just a few poses," Valentina said, flashing a big, bright PR smile. "You wear it so well. We want something sleek. Powerful. Sexy, but not, like, thirst trap sexy, you know?"

You didn't miss the way Bob watched. He didn't say a word; he barely moved. But his eyes? They devoured you. Dark, wide, hungry. Like he was seconds from losing it in front of everyone.

Later that day, you'd found him in the dark armory, pacing like a caged animal. Shoulder tense. Breathing shallow.

So you pushed him up against the wall. Fist in his hair. Mouth on his.

And now—

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growled against your lips, teeth grazing. His hands were gripping your hips tightly, grinding against you, still half-covered by his pants but already leaking, already thick and throbbing for you. “The way you looked in that suit—I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

You rolled your hips against his, slow and punishing. “You could’ve said something.”

“I could’ve snapped.” He laughed, breathless, voice fraying. “I nearly did.”

He didn't even make it to the bench.

By the time you shoved him down, Bob was already panting, pupils blown, knees buckling. He hit the floor with a groan, legs spread, cock heavy and flushed. You were on him in seconds—knees framing his hips, hands pressing down on his chest, owning him.

You thanked God for wearing a dress.

He didn't even see your panties come off. Just blinked and they were gone, tossed somewhere on the floor. His pants already shoved down far enough, his cock already free.

He looked up at you like you were something holy. Divine. Dangerous. Like he'd beg to be burned if it meant you kept touching him like this.

Then you reached between you, lined him up, and sank down in one thrust. He filled you up completely.

Bob swore, loud and wrecked—“Fuckfuckfuck—” his head hit the floor, back arching, eyes wide and pleading.

“God, you feel so fucking good—tight—perfect—I can’t—”

You clapped your hand over his mouth.

“Quiet, Bob.”

He whimpered behind your palm. His hands were everywhere—your hips, your ass, your thighs—like he didn’t know what to hold onto first.

You started to move—fast and rough, giving neither of you time to adjust. You didn’t want slow. Didn’t want sweet. You wanted to feel it. The way he stretched you open, filled every inch, the way his cock hit deep, perfect with every thrust.

Bob moaned into your palm, loud and choked and shameless. His hips bucked up hard, matching your rhythm, chasing every thrust like he couldn’t help himself. His grip on your ass tightened, spreading you wider for him, pulling you down harder.

Your name spilled from his lips again and again, muffled and wrecked.

“You’re so—fuck,—you’re so perfect—need this for so fucking long. I can't even fucking think when you're on me like this—God, yesssss"

You leaned down, dragging your lips along his jaw.

“You like being under me like this?”

He nodded, feverish, muffled praise tumbling behind your hand.

“Mhm—yes—fuck, please—you don’t know what you do to me,” he breathed against your palm, words falling out between gasps. “Been thinking about this—every night—every time you walked past in that suit, I wanted to fall to my knees—wanted to ruin you or be ruined, didn’t even fucking care—just needed you.”

You grinned, filthy and pleased. “And now you’re ruined under me.”

He whined, hips snapping up with such force that it knocked a loud moan right out of you.

“You feel that?” you gasped, rolling your hips in a slow, dragging circle. “That’s how deep you are. You’re so deep, Bob. I can feel you so deep inside me. God—you feel so fucking good."

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he moaned, eyes blown wide, hands gripping your thighs like a man drowning. “Such a good girl. God, you take me so fucking well—look at you—riding me like I belong to you—”

“You do,” you growled, dragging your nails down his chest. “You’re mine right now. You hear me?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, fuck—yours—always—please god don’t fucking stop—”

You clapped your hand over his mouth again, smirking down at him.

“Quiet, Bob. Don't you dare fucking come until I tell you to."

He whimpered behind your palm, body trembling, trying so hard to behave, to stay still, to not fall apart completely under your touch. But you kept moving—fast, hard, relentless. Your thighs burned. His cock throbbed deep inside you with every stroke.

And just when he was seconds away from breaking—

Hiss. The door slid open.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Yelena’s voice hit like a bullet.

You froze. Bob’s eyes flew open, pure panic, still fully inside you.

Yelena stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, hand flying to her face but only half-covering her view.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered. “The armory? Are you both deranged? This is where we keep weapons, not—whatever the hell this is.”

Bob let out a muffled moan under your hand, utterly betrayed by his body.

Yelena pointed without looking. “Oh my god, this can't be happening. You’re—on top of him. And he’s—Jesus Christ, Bob!”

“Yelena!” you snapped, glaring over your shoulder.

“Alright, alright!” She held up both hands, backing away. “I’ll leave you to your... deep reconnaissance.” She snorted. “Real in-depth work going on here.”

“Yelena! GET OUT!”

“Leaving! Leaving!” she laughed, ducking out as the door hissed shut again. “Just make sure no one ends up disarmed.”

Your heart was still pounding when the door slid shut again, sealing Yelena—and her mouth—on the other side. You didn’t move, still straddling Bob, still full of him, flushed and breathless.

“You okay?” you asked, teasing, one brow raised. “She didn’t scar you for life, did she?”

Bob’s chest was heaving beneath you. He blinked up at you. Something shifted in his eyes.

“No,” he said—low, steady. Then, with startling force, he sat up.

“Bob—?”

His hands gripped your waist, hard. The next second, you were on your back, sprawled across the cool floor, his body covering yours. He was still inside you. Still rock hard. Still throbbing.

“You tease me like that,” he growled, voice rough and frayed, “and expect me to behave?”

Your breath hitched.

“You told me to be quiet. Told me not to come.”

His mouth was at your throat now, kissing, biting, breathing heat against your skin.

“You think I’m gonna ask again?”

You clawed at his back, nails dragging over sweat-slick skin.

“Bob—”

“No,” he snapped, thrusting hard. You gasped, your back arching off the floor. “You don’t get to be in charge now.”

He fucked into you like a man possessed—deep, fast, relentless. All the praise from before was gone, replaced by low, hungry grunts and the sound of skin on skin.

“You wanted this,” he hissed against your ear. “Wanted me like this. Loud. Messy. Mine.”

You moaned, wrapping your legs around him, trying to pull him deeper, and he gave it to you—over and over again.

“You feel that?” he growled, pounding into you. “That’s not deep. This—this is deep.”

You couldn’t even form words. Just gasps. Moans. Scratches across his back.

And he loved it.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking, whimpering beneath him, your control shattered.

He leaned in, panting against your cheek, his voice a rough whisper.

“Now tell me who’s fucking ruined.”

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @notreallythatlost @mandoalorian @urfavfakeblonde @sunday-bug @ruexj283 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos

[spidey-webz]

you can feel bob in your tummy | 18+

inspired by this (p link)

Bob is big. Whenever he’s inside you, your walls are stretched more than you’ve ever experienced before. He fills you out so nicely, every ridge and vein of his cock gliding along your walls. There’s a slight sting to it at first, but it vanishes with every new thrust.

His hands are holding onto your thighs, keeping them upright as he angles your hips up a little. He reaches deeper that way and you can almost feel him right against your cervix.

Bob’s hold on your thighs is strong. He feels every tremble running through you, eyes glued to where you’re both connected. Where his cock is covered in your arousal. Your moans are like music to his ears and he can’t hold back a groan that slips past his lips.

His thrusts are deep and calculated, watching your face contort with pleasure every time he buries himself to the hilt in you. Bob moves his hands to your ass, angling your hips a little higher as he brings your legs to rest on his shoulders.

That’s when he sees it. And you can feel it.

You can feel him so deeply inside you. It sends your eyes rolling back for a moment, a gasp slipping from your lips.

“Fuck,” Bob mumbles at the sight in front of him. There’s a bulge in your tummy and he can faintly see the outline of his cock. “Look at that,” he groans, thrusting into you again and he can’t take his eyes off the sight.

Your legs are trembling on his shoulders while he’s still holding them. Bob’s filling you out so nicely and the lewd sight in front of you, the bulge moving back and forth with every new thrust…

It pushes you closer to the edge, this new angle, the intensity of it all. When Bob speeds up his thrusts, it makes your walls clench around him.

His right hand leaves your thigh to ghost over the skin of your abdomen and you gasp when he presses down where he can see himself through your skin. A curse falls off your lips but it’s just another push to your climax. It’s approaching fast, your focus wandering as the pressure in your tummy builds and builds and it’s almost ready to snap.

Bob presses down on your tummy again, timing it with another deep thrust and that’s what sends you spiralling. Your legs shake around him as you moan his name, head falling back while your high washes over you.

Bob lets out a low moan too, but his thrusts don’t stop. He keeps looking at your face, then the bulge in your tummy and he knows he’s close. A few more thrusts, a few more curses of his lips and seeing you take him so deeply…

Your walls clench around him and that’s what sends him over the edge. He pushes his cock all the way in again, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as hot ropes of cum spill into you. And all he can do is stare at where you’re taking him so well.

[webslinger-holland]

Busy Woman | Bob Reynolds from Thunderbolts

Summary: She's always busy and he thinks she doesn't notice him, but she does.

Warning: NSFW smut 18+ minors DNI, mutual pining, slow burn, teasing and flirting, sexual tension and eventual smut, mentions of nudity, some language, fem!receiving, praise, unprotected sex, p in v, just saying...I've warned you, listened to too much Sabrina Carpenter and got inspired

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.9 k

Type: Oneshot

One thing was certain: Bob Reynolds was not a morning person. He hated seeing the early sunlight leaking through the curtains and dreaded getting out of bed every morning. But he recently learned something...

She was a morning person.

And that's what got him out of bed in the morning.

Sometimes, Bob woke up before everyone else in the tower. He'd grab his keys and go out to a local coffee shop just to get her something. By the time Bob got back, he would find her hunched over the kitchen island, reading a debrief file, and enjoying a donut.

He was nervous to approach her; something about her made him not really know how to act around her. He timidly set down the special drink he ordered for her, sliding it closer to her and retracting his hand quickly as if he feared she'd bite him like a wild animal.

Very slowly, Y/n tore her gaze away from the file in front of her and to the plastic to-go cup of coffee in front of her. Her eyes drifted upwards until they found the socially awkward boy standing in front of her.

“Did you get up early just to bring me this?” She knew. Of course she knew. She always knows.

“I was already up,” Bob mumbled, which was a lie. A huge lie. He’d set three alarms.

Accepting the drink, Y/n kept her gaze locked on him and was curious if he'd break under the pressure. “That right?”

He nodded too quickly and avoided her eyes as if they were burning. “Yeah. I— uh— I like walking in the morning.”

She hummed and glanced back down at the file. She brought the drink to her lips. “You didn’t poison this, did you?” she asked casually, as if it were a normal thing to say before sunrise.

Bob shook his head innocently.

"Good," Y/n smiled at him appreciatively. The look alone caused him to blush and his heart threatened to break out of his chest.

“I—It’s a caramel macchiato!” Bob blurted, louder than he meant to. He was just desperate to keep her attention on him. She looked back up at him with the tiniest smile on her face. He faltered under her watch. "W—With an extra shot...of...espresso."

"Is it just a coincidence that you know my coffee order?" Y/n wondered curiously.

He cleared his throat and tried to sound normal. “You… mentioned it once.”

That got a smile out of her—a small one, but a real one. One that made his heart leap so high.

She eventually redirected her attention back down to the file like nothing serious happened. Bob could feel the heat rising in his face. He wanted to say something else, anything, but his mind was just white noise. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck—a nervous habit, one he was sure she’d noticed by now. Then Bucky entered the room.

“There he is,” Bucky announced with an all knowing smirk, swiftly moving through the kitchen. “You're up early today. Out fetching coffee again?”

Bob groaned softly and backed away from the counter.

“You fetch hers too?” Bucky glanced between them, then grinned. “Of course you did.”

She didn’t say anything—just kept reading, totally unfazed. And Bob stared at Bucky unamused.

"You didn't bring us back anything?" Bucky looked offended and searched around as if expecting his coffee order to just magically appear.

This was something that Bob was teased about constantly by the team because all of them knew about the crush he harbored on her. He ultimately didn't want to have to explain his reasons to Bucky of all people, so he opted to leave the room.

But as Bob turned to leave, she glanced up again. Not with a smile this time, but with a thoughtful sort of look.

Like she was waiting.

The rest of the team was scattered around the base—except Bob, who was just walking and hoping he'd find something to get his attention. He didn't have a real destination, but he might have secretly hoped he'd run into her in the process.

Spotting her open bedroom door just ahead, Bob straightened his back in posture. He walked past her room, glanced inside, and continued on. Then he froze like he’d hit a wall when he realized what he just witnessed.

The lights were soft, the window cracked open. A breeze fluttered the curtains slightly. And there she was—laying on her bed, reading a book. Bare legs behind her and feet hanging over her back given that she was on her stomach. She looked completely at ease.

Just like bees to honey, Bob did a double take and backed up—slowly, quietly—just to get another glimpse of her laying there. He wasn’t even being subtle about it.

Hovering in the doorway, Bob awkwardly placed his hand on the doorframe. She was reading with her head propped on her hand, glasses sliding slightly down her nose. She looked so relaxed; she hadn’t noticed him at all.

Which, for some reason, made him ache a little.

“Hey,” he offered, voice hoarse and soft.

She glanced up, then smiled a little when she saw him. “Hey, Bob.”

He stared for one second too long. And then another. The silence stretched between them like taut wire.

“Did you need something?” she asked, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

"Yes—I mean no. I was just—passing by." His voice cracked. He cleared it and stood straighter. “I was, uh… going somewhere.”

"Where?" Y/n pressed.

Bob blinked, fiddling nervously. “Somewhere... not here.”

She smiled—lazy, amused. "Well. I wouldn't want to stop you from your very important mission."

His mouth opened and then closed. The gears in his head were grinding so hard, he could practically hear the smoke. She was doing that thing again—talking to him like she knew. Like he was a deer and she was just waiting to see if he’d bolt.

"R—Right," Bob's words caught up with his thoughts. He blinked twice and awkwardly shuffled away from the door. "Guess I'll get out of your hair then."

Her gaze found the page she left off on, still unfazed. "Have fun."

As Bob disappeared down the hallway, muttering something unintelligible under his breath, Y/n let a small smirk tug at the corner of her mouth. She didn’t look up from her book, but she didn’t keep reading either.

About once a week, Alexei prided himself in making a big hearty breakfast just for the boys with claims of them needing to spend time together as men. He served every kind of protein imaginable: bacon, sausage, eggs, ham, even steak once. He’d sometimes take requests—except waffles.

Bob had asked for them once.

Alexei had looked him dead in the eye and said, “Waffles are for children and men who fear chewing. I make you meat instead.”

And Bob obediently ate the ham served that day.

The three of them seated at the kitchen island. Bob sat with a fork in hand, picking at a pile of food he didn’t remember asking for and mindlessly thinking about her. Meanwhile, Walker was already halfway through his plate, Bucky was drinking a black coffee, and Alexei was flipping something massive in a cast iron pan over the stove like it owed him rent.

“Eat,” Alexei barked when Bob just poked at a sausage link. He promptly slapped two more onto his plate without asking. “You need more protein; women like men with muscle."

"She knows, guys,” Bob groaned, changing the subject. “She definitely knows.”

"Knows what?" Alexei glanced between John and Bucky like they'd left him out of a group chat. "I do not know. Who knows what?"

"Of course she knows," Bucky proceeded to lower his coffee. "You're not exactly subtle about it—bringing her coffee, walking past her room, turning into a tomato every time she so much as breathes in your direction."

"Ah, you mean her," Alexei connected the dots because even he saw how he looked at her.

"He’s hopelessly in love with her, but won't say anything." Bucky announced.

“She’s too busy for me anyway,” Bob mumbled, shoulders hunched. “She’s got stuff going on. Important stuff.”

John snorted. “That’s your excuse now?”

“She’s literally everywhere,” Bob said, throwing up a hand. “Working out, reading briefings, sparring—like, I’m supposed to just waltz up and flirt while she’s in the middle of combat training?”

“You already do everything but flirt,” Bucky pointed out and John agreed. “You bring her coffee, open doors for her, wait for her to finish meetings just so you can walk the same direction."

Alexei grinned. “He is soft for her.”

"I’m not soft—" Bob sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “She doesn’t even notice me.”

“Oh, she notices,” John said with a smirk. “She’s just pretending not to, which is way worse.”

“I can’t just say something,” Bob muttered. “What if it ruins everything? What if she laughs at me?”

“She won't laugh," John said confidently.

"And we’re not judging," Bucky added. "We’ve all been there. Someone cold, deadly, completely out of your league—”

“Whose out of whose league?”

All heads snapped toward the hallway.

There she stood. In absolutely nothing, but a towel.

Her hair damp, held up loosely in a messy bun. Her skin flushed pink from the hot shower. Her body glistened in the light, littered with small specks of water still. The towel hugged her body like it had been custom-measured to torment Bob specifically—just enough to cover, far too little to handle.

No makeup. Barefoot. And utterly unbothered. Just looking the picture of innocence.

When Bob saw her, he could have sworn his soul left his body.

The room went dead silent.

She couldn't really read the room, just noticed four stunned, absolutely useless men just staring at her like she’d walked in wearing fire.

She raised a brow. “Did I… interrupt something?”

“Nope,” John said, way too fast. “Just guy talk. Carry on. Totally normal.”

“You’re… uh… wet,” Bob blurted, mortified instantly.

She looked down at herself, then back up, amused. “Yes, Bob. That’s generally what happens when you shower.”

He made a small, broken noise that might have been a whimper.

"Just carry on. I'm not even here," Y/n waved off. She moved across the room and made her way over to the refrigerator, oblivious to the sets of eyes that tracked her movements.

The towel swayed. Bob’s jaw tightened. His face went red, then pink, then red again. His hand subtly shifted under the table as he sat up straighter, panicking slightly.

Spotting her peach yogurt, Y/n bend forward just enough to reach the back. The towel hitching up just high enough to give any of them far too much hope.

Each of them react different.

While Bucky sported a wolfish grin, he didn’t even try to look away. His eyes lingered—appreciative, amused, and entirely unbothered by what was clearly a nuclear-level distraction. He leaned back in his chair like he was settling in for the best part of the morning.

His lips curved. He was definitely tempted to whistle.

“Damn,” he muttered with a low chuckle. “Morning just got a whole lot better.”

Walker was mid-bite when he saw her. One second he was chewing toast, the next—he choked so hard he had to thump his chest to recover. He reached for his mug like it was a tactical maneuver, taking a long, steadying sip of black coffee. His eyes shamelessly watched her every move.

Walker murmured under his breath, “Sweet mother of—"

Next, Alexei is the only one unbothered by her actions. Instead, he finds pleasure in watching the other's reactions, smiling wildly like he was enjoying his favorite show on tv.

“Is very fun to watch strong men crumble,” Alexei commented cheerfully, sipping from his own mug and enjoying every second of this.

Especially Bob's reaction. That’s when things got really good. Because Bob was gone.

Frozen. Stuck. Statuesque.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t move.

“Ohmygod—” Bob choked, barely above a whisper. He slammed his eyes shut like he could unsee what had just happened. He tried to focus on his breathing.

He cursed under his breath like he was fighting to keep it all together.

He keeps telling himself in his head: “Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t—too late.”

Withdrawing from the fridge, Y/n successfully closed the door and spun around on the heels of her feet. She held up the yogurt cup and was handed a spoon by Alexei. Peeling back the foil and dipping the spoon into the yogurt, Y/n brought the spoon up to her mouth and savored the first bite.

Her gaze flicked across them casually, but then landed—lingered—on Bob.

Her brows knit slightly. “Something wrong?”

The others were no help at all. Because John was hiding a smirk behind his cup and Bucky watched the interaction with the widest, all-knowing smirk on his face. And all the while, Bob was struggling to breathe.

Bob finally managed something that resembled speech.

“N-No,” he croaked. “Nope. All good.”

She blinked. “You sure?”

Bob nodded. Too quickly. “Yeah. Great. Perfect. Totally normal morning. Nothing weird at all.”

“Okay.” She turned and walked off, towel swaying with every step like she was floating. Everyone's gazes trailed after her as if wanting to commit the image to memory. "If you need anything from me, just ask!"

They heard the door of her room shut softly. They huddled together to speak in harsh whispers.

"Why didn't you say anything to her?" Bucky spoke first.

“She was wearing a towel,” Bob whisper-yelled. “What was I supposed to do—confess my love while she’s practically naked?!?!”

John, still gripping his coffee like a lifeline, muttered, “I would’ve.”

Alexei shrugged. “You were supposed to suffer in silence. Like the rest of us.”

"Didn't you hear what she said?" Bucky brought their attention back and Bob looked confused like he'd missed something important. “She said if you need anything, just ask—that was an invitation,”

"What?" Bob asked, clearly not interpreting it the same way.

“She basically dared you to say something.” Bucky pointed out.

Bob groaned in frustration, dragging both hands over his face. Feeling like it was another missed opportunity. “But if I say something now, it’ll be weird."

“I don’t think she’s the one uncomfortable,” John said, not even pretending to hide his grin.

"That's what I'm saying! She knows, definitely knows. And it amuses her. She's messing with me," Bob threw his hands up in slight defeat.

"Ah, but you like it.” Bucky said flatly.

“…I do.” Bob confessed timidly.

"Just don't get too excited there, sunshine." John remarked. John’s gaze dropped—and Bob followed it, his stomach dropping.

And Bob immediately slapped his hands on the table, desperate to block any view of his pants. He felt his face turning pure crimson in color; the others only chuckling in amusement.

The base was mostly quiet in the evening. The lights were dimmed and the place had a soft hum from something far off like white noise in the background. Everyone just about in for the night.

All except Bob who found himself wandering the dark hallways aimlessly. He slowed down as he neared her open door, being curious about why it was still open this late. Peering inside, Bob found her sitting on her bed with legs curled beneath her. She absentmindedly stared out the window, admiring the city lights. The faint glow lit up her face, soft and calm.

Bob hovered in the doorway for a moment too long, rehearsing a dozen things in his head before any of them made it to his mouth.

She noticed him, but didn’t turn. “You’re not great at sneaking up, you know that, right?”

He stepped inside sheepishly. “I wasn’t trying to sneak. Just… trying to find the right moment.”

“That so?” She finally looked at him, her expression unreadable but clearly open. “Is this it?”

Bob hesitated. “I—uh—guess it has to be.”

He stood awkwardly in front of her bed, wringing his hands together as if the action would put him to ease. She watched him in anticipation, waiting for him to just come out and say it. She didn't even know that she held her breath.

“You’re probably too busy for this. For me," Bob said. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Too busy for what, exactly?” That seemed to get her attention.

“I don’t know. For… whatever this is. I mean, I’ve been trying not to make it weird, but it probably already is weird. You’re always working and focused and—God, I sound like a lunatic—” Bob wanted to cower into himself.

“Bob.” She stood up right in front of him.

He stopped. His eyes met hers. He searched for something, really anything that could have been mistaken as a hint. Rejection or acceptance.

"I already told you: If you want something,” she said gently, “all you have to do is ask.”

The silence stretched between them. He opened his mouth and closed it, desperately trying to gather his courage. She waited for him patiently, not pushing him past discomfort. And then:

“I want you.”

Her lips curved into a quiet smile of satisfaction. As if she’d been waiting exactly for this.

"There it is," Y/n accepted.

Bob didn’t answer—at least, not with words.

Any space between them was quickly closed. His hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones as his mouth crashed into hers, finally giving in to everything he’d been holding back.

She met him halfway, fingers tangling in the front of his shirt to pull him closer. There was no gentleness in it, not at first—just hunger, urgency, months of glances and tension and unsaid things pouring out in one sharp breath.

Her hands found his shoulders, his back, tugging him in like she’d been waiting just as long because she truly had. She guided him toward the bed, slow and steady, letting him follow her lead.

Their clothes began to slip away piece by piece until there was nothing left to shed. His hands finally rose, gently framing her waist like she might vanish. Then his palms slid up—slowly—over her ribs, along her back, until she was pressed against him, chest to chest.

He lifted her without a word, carrying her the rest of the way to the bed, and laying her down like something sacred. When she laid back and pulled him over her, he hovered for a breathless second and searched for any sign of wanting to stop all this.

Her legs shifted, opening just enough to let him settle between them. She weaved her fingers through his brown locks of hair, drawing a soft moan from his lips. He whispered her name like a damn prayer.

"I've waited so long for you," she breathed. He kissed his way down her stomach slowly and worshipfully. Her thighs trembled under his touch and he gently coaxed them open to accommodate his shoulders.

When his mouth finally found her—hot, desperate—she gasped his name and arched against him. Her voice breaking on every syllable, but he desperately needed to taste her. He took his time with her.

Because he wanted to memorize every moan, every whimper, every shake of her legs around his shoulders.

Her hands gripped at whatever they could find—his hair, the sheets beneath them, even his shoulder—as he worked her over with patient intensity. His tongue worked eagerly, drawing every last drop of sweetness she had to offer him.

When she came undone, it was with a cry that echoed off the walls and he held her through it.

She was still catching her breath when he kissed his way back up, slow and reverent, like he was savoring the aftermath. Her fingers tangled in his hair again, pulling him toward her until their mouths met—hot and hungry this time, tasting the want between them.

“Bob,” she whispered against his lips, and that alone nearly undid him.

He groaned low in his throat, like he couldn’t contain it anymore. “Say that again.”

She did—his name soft, broken, beautiful—and it lit something inside him. He pressed his forehead to hers, trying to catch his breath, but the way her hands ran down his back and dug into his skin left him trembling. That was all it took.

The last of his control broke. He kissed her hard, needy. She arched into him, nails leaving little red trails down his back, her legs curling around him to pull him even closer.

His body trembled with restraint, every muscle tight with need as he hovered just above her, their breaths mingling in the space between.

Her legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into his back, urging him closer. "Bob..." she whispered, her voice a shiver in the dark. "Don't make me wait any longer."

He swallowed hard, eyes locked to hers. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face. His thumb caressed the edge of her jaw, slow and reverent. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” she promised. “You’re already everything I want.”

He kissed her again—deeper this time, like he needed it to breathe and his hips slowly rolled forward. Their bodies aligning in a way that stole both their breaths.

Careful to draw himself back out partially, Bob thrusted and moved deliberately. He was too busy feeling the tension in her thighs, the way her fingers flexed against his back, and the way her breath caught in her throat when he rocked his hips just right. His name slipped from her lips again.

“God,” he groaned into her neck, barely holding himself together. “You feel… oh, God… so good.”

"Then don’t stop,” she whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of skin slapping together. She tried meeting his thrusts. “Don’t you dare stop.”

And Bob didn’t.

He moved with aching slowness, letting the tension coil tighter, letting it drag out—each motion deeper, more desperate, more consuming. Until they were both trembling from the force of it, completely lost in each other.

The sound of their bodies moving together filled the room, slow and rhythmic, a symphony of want and wonder.

He stole a glance downward—just once—and the sight nearly undid him. The way they moved together, how perfectly she welcomed him, how her body responded like it had always been meant for his. A quiet curse escaped his lips, and he dropped his head to her shoulder, breathing hard.

“You… you’re everything.”

She turned her head, lips brushing against his temple, her voice breathless. She corrected him. “I’m yours.”

That did something to him. He gripped her tighter, forehead pressed to hers, his rhythm faltering only because he was overwhelmed—by her, by the way she looked at him, by the way she whispered his name like he was her only tether.

They could feel it building, that tight pull low in their stomachs, coiling tighter with every movement, every breathless sound that spilled from the other.

“Bob—” she gasped, her voice trembling, wrecked with need. “I’m… I’m so close—”

“I’ve got you,” his own voice rough and unsteady. “Come with me.”

His hand slid down between them, finding the spot that made her cry out. Her walls clenched around him as her body seized beneath him, and that was all it took.

She broke first—back arched, head thrown back, breath catching in a stuttering moan of his name. And as he felt her fall apart around him, he followed—his own release ripping through him in a wave so sharp and overwhelming he could barely breathe.

They held onto each other through it—through the trembling, through the gasping, through the aftershocks that left them both reeling.

And still, he held her like he was afraid to let go. Because now that he had her, he never wanted to stop.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS OR IF YOU'D LIKE MORE WORKS LIKE THIS!

[s-p-i-t-f-i-r-e]

Actively spinning them in my head on a carousel and inserting more quarters till the machine breaks

[vamplvs]

SLEEPY HCS WITH THE THUNDERBOLTS

INCLUDES -> yelena belova, bob reynolds, john walker, bucky barnes WARNINGS -> literally all fluff! no need to fear angst here (there is some minor swearing tho); walker calls the reader beautiful, and bucky calls them 'doll' NOTES -> y'all i feel crazy about thunderbolts. i haven't had a writing kick like this in YEARS. also, no one hate me for john in this one, he's my problematic wife, ok? also i want wyatt russell bad. anyways, my requests/asks are open! and as always comments and reblogs are much appreciated <3

YELENA BELOVA. — sleepy movie night? you got it. there's snacks, blankets, a random movie, and so many cuddles.

"are you sure you don't want to go to bed, love?" yelena mutters to you. the tv softly glows in front of you both, whatever period piece was playing long forgotten. you've been curled around her side since the movie began, but now your arm is draped over her and your head has fallen to her shoulder.

"no, i'm up," your voice is rough from sleep, but you pick your head up anyways and stretch. "see?" yelena rolls her eyes at your loopy, exhausted smile.

"whatever you say," she replies with a teasing smile.

"mhm..." you adjust your position under the blanket so you can be sitting upright next to her. but the blanket is just so soft and yelena is so warm, and before you know it, it's only a few minutes before you're curled against her once more.

yelena works hard to stifle her laugh when you fall asleep, but she lets you stay there. the movie plays on dully—the man in it has made some apparently irredeemable mistake that the woman he loves will no doubt forgive him for. yelena leans her head against yours, swearing that she'll get up once the movie is over so the two of you can sleep in a proper bed.

the next morning, when bucky is getting coffee he sees the two of you curled up on the couch and can't help but smile. it's nice seeing that yelena's found someone she trusts.

BOB REYNOLDS. — both of you are up late at night, entirely unable to sleep. you because you're working on tech for the thunderbolts new avengerz, and bob simply wandering the tower at night.

bob doesn't exactly sleep well these days, not after the mess with the void. it isn't unusual to find him roaming the tower at odd times, and this time it's your turn to run into him.

you're working in some old lab that you assume was tony stark's back in the day. your back aches, your fingers raw from tinkering with yelena's widow equipment, and you can hardly keep your eyes open. it's a miracle you haven't electrocuted yourself already.

"you're still up?" a voice softly speaks from the hallway.

your heart nearly stops right there and then. "holy shit!"

"sorry," bob steps into the dim lights of the lab, his hands up in a show of peace. "i didn't mean to scare you."

"no, no, it's fine! you're fine." you smile at him. "what are you still doing up, sweetheart?"

"i can't sleep," his response is sheepish.

you stand, stretching your arms above your head, and walk over to him. "let's see if we can do something about that." you pull him along by the hand, fingers entwined.

by the time you both get to bed, your eyes are heavy with sleep. you pull bob closer to you, letting his heartbeat lull you gently to sleep. the comfort of your body against his, a reliable weight to keep him still and grounded, has him dozing in no time.

JOHN WALKER. — he's the one up, unable to sleep. you're fast asleep and he just takes in everything about you. maybe it's the slight frown you have in your sleep, or the way your hair falls into your face just a little, but he's captivated.

john lays opposite of you on the bed, just tracing your features with his eyes. he takes everything in slowly: the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your cheek, the curl of your lips. you're so beautiful, and honestly, john has no idea how he got so lucky.

with his track record, it's a miracle you-

"why'd you stop?" you mumble, still half asleep, interrupting his train of thought entirely. his hands, which had been tracing patterns softly over your skin, have long been still.

"didn't wanna keep you up," he mumbles back, and you crack open an incredulous eye at him.

you grumble something under your breath that john can't quite catch before pulling yourself closer to him.

"it was nice," you say, sleep already calling your name. so john continues.

he traces abstract patterns from the nape of your neck to your shoulders to your back. he feels the way your muscles loosen beneath his touch and the way your breath evens out.

and you know what? fuck his track record. if he got lucky enough to be graced by you, he damn well won't mess it up.

BUCKY BARNES. — this time it's you who can't sleep, and it's a good thing bucky has a tendency to stay up obnoxiously late reading his novels despite his other old man tendencies.

a soft knock comes from the door, startling bucky from his book. it's too late for anyone to need him urgently for anything, so he's almost inclined to ignore it until your voice rings through the door.

"bucky? you still up?" you're tentative, almost wary, as you ask for him.

"yeah, doll, i'm up." he sits up, ready to open the door for you when you walk in wrapped in a blanket.

"can i stay with you?" you mutter, still standing a ways away from the bed.

without saying a word, he pats the spot next to him on his bed and leans back against the headboard, leaving enough space for you to curl up next to him.

"what're you reading?" your voice is muffled by his shirt and the blankets wrapped around you.

"the hobbit. mind if i keep reading?" you shake your head, listening to the steady beating of his heart.

"it was at this point that bilbo stopped. going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did. the tremendous things that happened afterwards were as nothing compared to it..." bucky's voice rumbles soft in his chest, gentle despite the intensity of the moments he read out to you.

[starbvund]

Since I guess we're doing this.

Why Bob thinks the potatoes are magical. When his magic manifested as a child, his mother was tending potatoes in the fields. He was holding a few for her. He was about six or seven. A lizard spooked him, and he set a nearby crate on fire. Since he was holding the potatoes at the time, it stuck with him that they were the reason he could set the crate on fire. Since then he holds potatoes as his physical focus for spells.

Can he be taught that the magic comes from the Weave and within himself? No. No he can not. Any attempt to do so will have him latch onto another root vegetable as the source.

His camp mate, Samuel, tried it by cooking all his potatoes one evening. Bob immediately latched onto carrots.

[keerysgirl]

needy! bob reynolds x afab! reader

needy bob who constantly craves your attention. whether it's nighttime cuddles or even little head scratches, he can't help but want to be as physically close to you as possible.

needy bob who cannot sleep without you in the same bed as him. his arms are always wrapped around you, usually pulling you flush into his chest (that man does not know the definition of 'space') and if you're not in the mood for cuddles, he will stay awake, pouting, unable to fall asleep.

needy bob who can't help but just rub himself up against you in the middle of the night. it's not his fault, he really tries to control himself. but it's just so difficult when you're right there and he's already hard and before he realizes it his hips are rolling softly against your thigh and oh it feels so good.

needy bob who fucking adores your breasts. whether it’s sucking on them or just squeezing them between his fingers; he’s an absolute menace when it comes to your tits. at first, he would get kind of nervous to touch you, not wanting to push too many boundaries, but once you two get further into your relationship, he’s sucking on your breasts like his life depends on it.

needy bob who also loves eating you out. and he'll get real sloppy with it, just lapping at your pretty pussy, sucking on your clip, drooling all over it. he's just so eager, so excited to get a taste of you, and he'll be lapping away, even long after you finish.

needy bob who has the biggest praise kink. he's too shy to outright ay it, but his favorite moments are whenever you're telling him how good of a job he's doing, or how happy he makes you. literally all he wants is to be good for you. (call him a good boy once and he's already popping a boner).

needy bob who loves you so so much, and while sometime he's afriad you might get tired of his neediness and clingy tendencies, you always make sure to remind him how much you adore him.

[lovebugism]

A request for the Thunderbolts (if you're interested no pressure <3)! - being caught/interrupted having sex

ty for requesting! :D below you will find four separate blurbs for the thunderbolts (bucky, john, yelena, and bob), each with their own separate summaries and a whole lotta smut!! enjoy :D

BUCKY BARNES X READER — you and bucky try to have some alone time after a mission gone wrong but, like most things, it doesn't go as planned (0.9k words)

Bucky Barnes has been waiting for this all day.

The need within him borders on primal now. Adrenaline and yearning course through his blood like fire and ice water in his veins; a near-lethal concoction of anger and want and craving. It’s the job that makes him this way, Bucky always tells himself — if it wasn’t always so life or death, and if you weren’t always so willing to throw yourself into the line of fire, he figures he’d be as even-tempered as they come.

But this latest mission wasn’t nearly as easy as Valentina made it out to be. The six of you scattered for safety, and somewhere in the gunfire, Bucky lost sight of you. It took four hours for the dust to finally settle, and for you and John to stumble back to the rundown motel in the middle of nowhere that your boss mistakenly called a ‘safehouse.’ Neither of you sported anything more than couple scrapes and a bruised ego, but Bucky hugged you with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs, anyway.

“You’re okay…” he mumbled into your hair within a sigh of relief.

“I was,” you joked. “Until you started suffocating me.”

Bucky loosened his hold but never quite let you go, while John shifted uncomfortably behind you. “I’m okay, too, guys. Thanks for asking.”

Bucky channels all that stifled grief and rage into you now, in each of his rhythmic thrusts into your pulsing pussy. The thin motel bed creaks beneath your bodies with every roll of his hips. A lewd sort of symphony swells within the walls of the dark, dank motel room accordingly — a sinful orchestra of squeaking, panting, clapping, and moaning.

He feels the very beginnings of an orgasm tightening in the pit of his lean stomach. His hands ball the pillow into his fists on either side of your head, and you smile deliriously up at him.

“Close?” you pant, fighting back a moan when he slides into you just right, the coarse thatch of pubic hair above his cock rutting perfectly against your swollen clit. 

Bucky nods obediently, then ducks his heavy head to your shoulder. The ends of his hair tickle your jaw while he exhales quiet grunts into your neck, right over your racing pulse. 

“I know you are,” you coo through labored breaths, nails etching crescent shapes into shoulders. “I know you need it, Buck. C’mon— Cum for me.”

His hips stutter against yours. His rosy mouth parts to exhale a broken whine. He nearly lets himself go until a knock at the door brings him to — urgent, rapid, and unable to be ignored.

Yelena’s deep voice comes muffled from outside. “T-minus five minutes before the military shows up! Whoever’s not outside is getting left behind,” she announces far too casually, then strolls to knock on the next door. “So much for a safe house,” you hear her grumble as she goes.

Your legs lock around Bucky’s hips when he threatens to pull out of you. You meet his subtle look of shock with something stern and mischievous, an unstoppable force to an immovable object. 

“Did I say you could stop?” you ask him.

Bucky blinks like an owl, then shakes his head in response.

“Then cum for me.”

He buckles down over you again, resting the bulk of his weight on top of your pliable body, while his thrusts turn shallow and irregular. 

He cums inside of you much sooner than he would’ve liked, because he had every intention of dragging this out until daybreak — until the only words you could think of were his name and the pleas to let you orgasm. But you have far too much control over him for that, and he quickly turns into putty in your hands. 

Upon his release — quick, unshared, and premature, like a total teenager — neither of you shares a word while you hurry to get dressed. You help each other put on your tactical gear and rush out the door in time to find the rest of the team piling into the rusted van parked outside.

The tin can was supposed to be inconspicuous enough to carry a team of so-called New Avengers, but nothing could be discreet with Alexei behind the wheel.

“Just in time!” the older man shouts when you and Bucky pile into the back seat.

The door slams behind you, and Alexei peels out of the pitch black parking lot, old tires squealing. His wide smile makes his eyes squint at the edges when he peers at you through the rearview mirror. It makes you wonder if he’s slept.

You shift uncomfortably, sandwiched between a pair of broad shoulders, trying hard to ignore the sensitivity between your thighs. 

“We were about to leave you,” John deadpans from beside you, voice gruff with leftover sleep. 

You squint at him while he props his tired head against the window. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Walker.”

Yelena twists in the passenger seat, smirking at you over her shoulder. Her box-dyed locks are wild from the sleep she never got. “What were you two doing in there?” she lilts, Russian accent deep and gravelly.

“Sleeping,” Bucky monotones.

Ava scoffs from the row in front of you, though you can hardly see her from here. She takes up most of the room in the middle seat, resting her head on her backpack and her legs in Bob’s lap. “Yeah, I bet,” she laughs.

“We were!” you try to argue, though the break in your voice is hardly convincing.

Even Bob turns around with a suspicious squint in his kind eyes. “The walls were criminally thin, to be fair,” he mumbles, almost apologetically.

“Sorry…” you waver.

“Hey! Do not apologize!” Alexei shouts from the front seat, waving his pointer finger in the air. “There is nothing wrong with needing a little bit of release—”

The van fills with a chorus of annoyed groans before he can properly finish his sentence.

JOHN WALKER X READER — you and john try to have a quickie on a mission, but mistakenly forget to turn off your comms (1.1k words)

John Walker saw it coming.

He knew what he was in for the moment the idea fell from your mouth — the blueprint of an elaborate heist to return the smuggled vibranium back to Wakanda, for which each of the New Avengers had their role.

Alexei had been honored to be a distraction, to brush elbows with the wealthiest people in the world and get his fill of complimentary champagne. John, however, was slightly offended that his only part in the whole thing was to woo the woman running the gala long enough to catch her in a lie.

“That’s it?” he laughed from the opposite end of the long table. “You want me to… flirt with some woman I don’t even know?”

You nodded. “Yes. I want you to flirt and look pretty— That’s what you’re best at.”

Yelena fought back a laugh. John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, swallowing through a pang of mild embarrassment. “And it won’t make you jealous?” he wondered aloud.

“Why would I be jealous?” you scoffed.

“Well, what if she doesn’t give in right away?” the blonde man challenged, folding his strong arms over the table to lean in close. “What if she thinks I actually want to have sex with her—? What if she doesn’t want to tell me anything until I’ve had sex with her?”

You hesitated, for only a fleeting moment, then shrugged a lazy shoulder in response. “Whatever it takes.”

John nodded slowly and leaned back again, as though he were taking your words as some kind of dare.

Alexei, unable to read the room, then offered, “Well, if Walker’s too scared to do it, I would be happy to take one for the team and sleep with this strange woman—”

The plan went exactly as you thought it would.

Maybe a little too well.

John Walker plays his part to perfection, the only way he knows how. Turns out, you were right — he was best at flirting and looking pretty, it seems — because it takes very little work on his part to get what he wants.

He dials his charm to eleven, like he knows you’re watching over him; and the drunk woman, worth more money than Walker will ever see in his life, fawns over him with ease. He gets the intel and then some, sporting a smirk and a pink lip print on his cheek.

“Did ya get that, honey?” he asks into his comm, smiling at the nearest security camera because he knows you’re watching him from there.

“Don’t look so smug,” you grouse in his ear. “Meet me at the rendezvous point when you’re done gloating.”

John’s able to sneak his way into the basement, thanks in part to Alexei’s Russian drinking game that he’s roped a group of drunken elites into.

He finds you waiting for him in the security room, all dolled up to blend into the party you never actually attended. The thin, emerald silk of your dress drapes over your body like soft, summer rain.

John loses his breath at the sight of you, quickly forgetting that he came here to gloat, as the door clicks shut behind him.

“Where’s everybody else?” he asks, walking to stand behind you in front of the wall of security cameras. You can see the entire gala from here, every bustling body filmed in black-and-white static.

He stands close enough behind you for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. He can smell the vanilla perfume in your hair the same way you can smell the oaky cologne on his neck.

“Ava and Bob are tracking down your new girlfriend,” you quip, pointing to the screen at the bottom left corner where the two of them rush down the hallway. “And Yelena and Bucky are jetting off to the super luxurious private island your girlfriend really wanted to take you to.”

“She still waiting for me in her room?” John wonders, eyes flitting across the screens ahead of him.

“Yep,” you nod without looking back at him. “You can probably still catch her before the others if you’re fast enough. You know, if you were serious about that good time you wanted to show her.”

John laughs. You feel the exhale of the warm breath against your shoulder, right before he leans in to press a kiss to your bare skin.

“You’re so jealous,” he croons lowly into your neck.

You fight a shiver when his scruff brushes against you there. “I’m not jealous,” you insist proudly, shrugging your shoulder and dipping away from his touch. 

You spin on your heel and brace yourself against the table to slide yourself on top of it. John migrates instinctively towards your parted thighs.

“No?” he presses sarcastically with his head tilted like a puppy.

“No. ‘Cause she’s about to go to prison,” you say, nodding towards the camera where Ava leads the confused woman, dressed in nothing but a silk robe, out of her hotel room. “And you’re about to fuck me.”

“Really?” John hums, despite settling in between your spread legs like he was made to do it. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”

You use his tie like a leash to pull him closer, smiling with a sadistic look in your eye. “Don’t keep me waiting, Walker.”

It’s a mess of scrambling limbs. John hurries to free his cock from the confines of his slacks while you lift the skirt of your dress to slide your panties to the side. 

You watch with lidded eyes, propped against the square screens behind you, while John works himself the rest of the way hard with his fist. You inhale the sweet scent of his cologne when he leans over you, and bite back a whimper when he slides slowly inside of you.

The quiet security room fills quickly with the sounds of heavy breaths and quiet moans — but before John can fuck you the way he wants, the door swings suddenly open.

Bob stumbles in, mouth already parted to say something, but his eyes widen in shock before he can.

“Jesus, Bob!” John shouts, jerking out of you and tucking his stiff cock back into his pants.

The curly-haired boy falters for a moment. He knows he should leave, but his brain isn’t working properly. He turns around to face the corner instead. “Sorry!” he squeaks. “I’m sorry!”

“What are you doing in here?” you pant.

“You said to meet at the rendezvous point!”

You and John share an anxious look. Both of you have forgotten about the in-ears and the live microphone inside them. “You’ve been hearing us on comms?” you waver, distantly fearful of the answer. “Like, this whole time?”

Bob nods. “Yeah…?”

“Why didn’t you say something?” John snaps.

Ava’s voice crackles suddenly through the microphone. “Well, we didn’t want to be rude—”

YELENA BELOVA X READER — walker almost catches you and yelena having a "late night snack" in the kitchen (1k words)

Yelena Belova can’t help herself.

It’s the whiskey running through her veins, maybe, or the way you look in the yellow refrigerator light. She forgets all about the movie paused upstairs and the late-night snack the two of you came searching for at three in the morning.

You bend at the waist, reaching for something deep in the fridge, and your t-shirt rises to reveal your underwear. Modest. Cotton. Pale pink and decorated with so many cream-colored stars.

It drives Yelena wild. 

You leave the carton of milk on the counter and stand on the tips of your toes, reaching for the boxes of cereal Walker always keeps on the highest shelf. You just barely manage to grab the Cinnamon Toast Crunch container when you feel Yelena press herself against your back, caging you between her body and the counter’s edge.

“Excuse me,” you giggle and struggle to spin in her hold.

You just barely manage to catch Yelena’s lazy smile before she leans in closer. “You’re excused,” she murmurs, voice low and smooth as honey.

She kisses you once, twice, and then a third time — longer and more languid than before — then begins to trail her lips down your jaw. 

You grin when she licks over your pulse point. Her fingers ball the hem of your shirt into her fists. “I really want to finish that movie, Lena…” you lilt knowingly.

“We will,” she hums, half-muffled against you. “Right after I make you feel good.”

She goes to sink to her knees in front of you. You hold tightly to the outsides of her elbows to stop her, eyes wide and glittering with panic. “Not here,” you scold with a shake of your head.

Yelena’s face scrunches in a stubborn, girlish pout — far too cute to be a world-class assassin. “Yes, here,” she argues.

“What if someone walks in?”

“No one will walk in. I promise.”

She smiles when your hardened gaze refuses to waver. She leans in close, trailing the tip of his nose over the bridge of yours. Her breath fans over your cupid’s bow. “It’s late, everyone’s sleeping. And I’ll be quick, okay?”

Her fingers dip beneath your shirt, curling over the hem of your panties. She doesn’t know how wet you are for her already. You don’t know how her mouth is watering for a taste of you now.

You huff and turn to the side, finding the blinking green numbers on the stovetop: 2:57 a.m. 

“Fine,” you cave. “But I’m only giving you three minutes.”

Yelena falls slowly to her knees. “I only need one,” she smirks, pressing a chaste kiss to your clothed stomach as she slides your pretty underwear to the side with an expert hand.

You scoff. “That’s very presumptuous of y—” She licks a fat stripe up the length of your pussy. You sigh a broken moan. “—Oh…”

Her hands carress the backs of your thighs, just beneath your ass, as she kisses your cunt the way she would your mouth.

Your knees threaten to buckle when her lips lock with your sensitive clit, sucking gently there until you keen. You feel her smiling against you when you brace yourself on the counter’s edge to keep from falling.

Yelena’s mouth is a merciless thing. She has every intention of making you cum in a minute, just like she promised she would. She focuses mostly on your swollen clit — licking, then sucking, then sucking and licking — to pull a swift and powerful orgasm from your body. 

You think she would’ve broken a record if Walker hadn’t walked in at the absolute worst time.

You tense when the hall light turns on. His steps are slow and heavy, like he’s barely lifting his feet off the ground. John turns the corner, dressed in sagging sweatpants and a tank top, and flinches at the sight of you there — leaning awkwardly against the counter. 

With the kitchen island in the way, he can’t see Yelena from where he’s standing — or how she’s sucking an orgasm most devilishly from your body.

You’re grateful when he stops short in the doorway. You’re less grateful when your girlfriend refuses to cease her merciless assault on your pussy.

“What are you doing up?” John asks, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Oh, you know, just—” You clear your throat when your voice wavers. “Just getting something to eat.”

He nods politely and takes another step.

Panic swells within you the same way your orgasm does.

“Did you need something?” you blurt, fighting back a whimper when Yelena's teeth scrape gently along your clit.

John’s brows furrow, but he makes no mention of how strange you’re being. “I was just getting some water—”

He takes another step. You reach for a rogue water bottle and chuck it across the room, perhaps more forcefully than you mean to.

“Here you go!” you shout with a wavering smile, feeling your orgasm tightening in the pit of your stomach.

John catches the plastic thing against his chest. He scoffs a tired laugh and shakes his head. “Thanks, weirdo…” he mumbles and walks away.

You don’t relax until the hall light has turned off and you’ve heard his bedroom door click shut again. Then you deflate against the kitchen counter — one hand propping yourself up and the other holding tight to the back of Yelena’s head.

You give the short, blonde tendrils an especially sharp tug and she moans into your pussy, heavy eyes fluttering shut.

Your thighs tremble on either side of her face when you cum. You bite your lip until it hurts in a feeble attempt to keep yourself quiet. The kitchen fills with the sound of your subdued whimpering as Yelena sucks the remnants of your orgasm from your weeping cunt.

She doesn’t stop until you’re pushing her away.

Yelena leans back, wiping her glistening mouth with the back of her hand. She smiles while you catch your breath. “How was it?” she quips.

“I’m so getting you back for that,” you pant. “Just so you know.”

“Oh…” she croons sarcastically, rising to full height again. “Are you now?”

You nod once, lidded eyes glinting with something stern and mischievous.

Yelena tries not to cower at the way you look at her, like you’re some kinda succubus who can’t wait to swallow her whole.

“The entire tower is going to hear you screaming before I’m done with you, Belova.”

ROBERT REYNOLDS X READER — the one where alexei finally learns to knock before entering your bedroom (1k words)

Bob Reynolds is having the most amazing dream.

It’s of you and him, all tangled in an unmade bed, and bathing in the morning glow of a golden sunrise. You’re pressed against the side of him, heavy and warm, with your arm tucked under the blanket. You rub his half-hard cock over his boxers and press chaste kisses up and down the length of jaw. Bob’s mouth tugs upward in a lazy smile as he exhales slowly through his nose.

His eyes flutter open on their own accord. 

He finds his bedroom soaked in the same orange glow he was dreaming about. He blinks the haze of sleep from his eyes, and only then registers your body pressed against his — and the way you knead his stiff, clothed cock with a gentle hand. 

Bob wakes from one dream only to enter the next. His sigh of contentment leaves in a grumbled moan in his throat.

He feels your smile curl against his jaw. “Good morning,” you hum against his skin.

Bob nods until the words catch up to him, chestnut curls in a frizzy halo around his head. “Yes, it is…” he jokes, words weighed down with sleep.

Your body trembles with a quiet laugh from where you’re lying along his side. “Well, you were poking me in the back to be fair,” you say, punctuating your murmurs with another kiss to his neck. “So this is kinda your fault, if you think about it.”

Bob might’ve argued if he wasn’t already so close to his orgasm. Your hand dips beneath the hem of his boxers, using his pearly pre-cum as lubricate while you glide your fist up and down his cock.

His stomach tenses — there’s a knot at the pit of it he feels tightening, bound to snap at any moment.

His mouth parts to speak, but a pathetic whine escapes instead.

“You don’t care, do you, Bobby?” you coo to him, mouth brushing the shell of his ear. “You just wanna cum, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly, eyes squeezed shut.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” Bob squeaks obediently, right before he sighs. “Yes, please…”

With his eyes still shut, he feels the mattress dip beside him as you crawl on top of his body. The blankets shift to accommodate you as you settle between his legs.

“Where do you wanna cum, then?” you ask, too innocently for how demoniacal you're being just now. “In my hand or in my mouth?”

“Your mouth,” Bob answers instantly, voice breaking as cock jerks in your fist. “In your mouth, please— In your mouth.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you, and smile wide at the broken look on his face. “Good boy,” you hum, just to make his cock drool, before you dip beneath the covers. 

You tuck the hem of his boxers beneath his balls, keeping the base of his cock in your fist as you lick gently at the tip. You savor the salty tang of his pre-cum when you suckle at his sensitive head with no warning. Bob tenses immediately beneath you. A moan escapes from his parted mouth, filling the quiet bedroom.  

“Sorry!” he squeaks when he realizes how loud he’s being, exhaling a trembling breath and squeezing his hands into fists. He yearns to touch you, but not without permission. “I’m sorry, baby…”

If you’re angry with him, you don’t show it.

You just take is cock down your throat and until he keens. You work at him swiftly and mercilessly — knowing that, at any moment, it’ll be seven in the morning, and the rest of the tower will be up and recruiting for the latest mission.

You need Bob to cum before then.

So you swallow around the length of his cock and cup his sensitive balls in your hand. It’s a near-lethal combination that you only use during your quickies — or when you’re especially trying to torture him. 

“Can I cum?” Bob pants when he feels the knot tightening in his stomach. “Please, can I cum?”

You don’t answer him with words. You can’t with your nose buried in his pubic hair and his cock stuffed down your throat. You hum affirmatively around him instead, “Mhm.” 

The added stimulation makes him burst. Two salty ropes of warm cum pool in your mouth.

“Oh— shit!” 

His moans turn into something more urgent, fearful even, as your bedroom door clicks suddenly open.

Both of you jerk into upright positions — you on your knees, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and Bob cupping his palms over his still twitching cock.

You find Alexei standing in the doorway, with a steaming breakfast burrito clutched in his fist. He blinks hard, like he’s trying to discern exactly what it is he’s looking at.

He swallows down his mouthful and fights back a sudden wave of nausea. 

“Team meeting downstairs in five,” is all he says, half-detached and strangely robotic, before turning back the way he came.

“Shut the door!” you call to his disappearing figure.

He doesn't seem to hear you.

“Lenaaaa!” he shouts over you, Russian voice booming throughout the quiet tower. “Never make me do that again!”

You and Bob are only slightly late to the team meeting in question.

The room is deafeningly silent, heavy with a nameless tension. Neither of the team seems to look at you with anything other than sleep in their eyes — other than Alexei, of course, who sits slouched at the head of the table.

Yelena pets unenthusiastically at his shoulder, begrudgingly comforting the pouting man.

You take your designated seats at the long table without a word — you at the opposite end, and Bob sitting most adjacent to you.

Alexei’s eyes harden into a pitiful glare. “Is there anything you two want to say to me?” he wonders dramatically, accent sounding deep in his throat. “An ‘I’m sorry,’ perhaps?”

Bob shifts uncomfortably, gaze averted. “Sorry—”

“Learn how to knock,” you deadpan, then flash a cynical smile that makes the man cower. “Or I’ll show you something a lot worse than what you saw this morning.”

[yelenaenthusiast]

MORE thunderbolts as onion headlines!

[k9effect]

I've been seeing so many Thunderbolts tower fic headcanons where they say something along the lines of "Bob stays behind and does the household chores" or "Bob loves to help out around the house" all because of the end credit scene where he says he did the dishes.

I don't think people are realising he said "I did the dishes though!" the way he did, because it was an accomplishment. If you can do the dishes every day, saying you did the dishes means nothing. Bob is a canonically mentally ill character who struggles with depression and related issues. Doing the dishes isn't something he would enjoy or be proficient in, I know from experience. He makes sure to point it out so clearly and proudly because that was a monumental achievement, to do the dishes. He said it how he did because he wanted to show that he WAS able to contribute to the household and was carrying his weight.

Bob doesn't "love" to do the dishes or the household chores. It's something he struggles with, that is a task and a challenge for him daily. People headcanoning that he loves to help out all the time are clearly missing the point of that line in that scene and also like, so much of who he is as a character. Its just mischaracterisation.