#reader x bob

[niilue]

— soft boy, messy pants, sub!bob reynolds —

cw: sub!bob reynolds, fem!dom reader, shy bob, first french kiss, grinding/masturbation through clothes, cockwarming through fabric, orgasm denial (brief), handjob, praise kink, soft domming

a/n; first time writing anything marvel and ever since i saw thunderbolts pretty bob he hasn’t left my mind… like the softest sub ever pls 😩💗

bob reynolds no knew how to handle you when you got too close—not really. not when you touched his arm during casual conversation, not when you looked at him like you knew, and especially not when you leaned in one evening with that lazy, predatory smile and kissed him like he was yours to unravel.

he stiffened at first, lips soft and hesitant under yours. you could feel the restraint in him—like he was trying not to breathe too deep, not to do anything that would fuck it up. but when your tongue brushed against the seam of his lips, he gasped—just enough—and you took it.

a slick, wet kiss. tongues sliding together. your hand in his hair. his whole body shivering under it like it was too much.

“mmh—ah…” he whimpered into your mouth, completely overwhelmed. he wasn’t used to this—not the heat of a real kiss, not the way you kissed him like you owned the air he breathed. when you finally pulled back, he was flushed, panting, eyes wide and glossy, a string of spit still connecting your lips to his.

you looked down—he was hard. painfully hard. straining beneath those soft grey sweatpants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. you didn’t even try to hide your smirk.

“baby…” you cooed, hand trailing down his stomach, fingertips brushing just above the waistband. “you get this worked up from one kiss?”

he let out a broken breath. “i… i-i don’t—mmnh—”

you slid your hand down, cupping him through the fabric, and he moaned, thighs tensing beneath you. the way his cock twitched under your palm, the way it leaked through the material, made your mouth water. big. thick.

“you poor thing,” you murmured, palming him slowly. “no one’s touched you like this, huh?”

his head tipped back against the couch, lips parted, lashes fluttering. he nodded, helpless. your hand moved faster, the heat of his cock soaking through the cotton.

“just from a kiss and a little rubbing, and you’re already like this…”

“i-i can’t—i’m gonna—” he sobbed softly, hips twitching.

you leaned in close, your voice right at his ear. “cum in those cute pants for me, bob. make a mess, baby.”

and he did.

he gasped, body convulsing, his cock jerking under your hand as hot, wet release spilled into the fabric—sticky and visible, his sweatpants darkening at the crotch as he cried out your name. trembling, ruined, soaked in his own cum, breathing like he’d just flown to the edge of space and back.

you kissed him again—slower this time—and whispered against his lips,

“good boy.”

[starlinggirll]

HIS DRUG — R. BOB

TW – manipulation kinda(?), bob is a boob guy in this, mentions of drug, bob being a pervert, bob being weird, bob being creepy. bob.

AUTHORS NOTE – i wrote this at 4 am i had to get it out. idk if i like it but i been wanting to write for marvel for sooo long! also this is in celebration of thunderbolts coming out in digital.

bob liked the avengers tower.

it was spacey, let him have time for himself. but it also kept him close enough with his new friends!

but he also liked–loved, LOVED whenever you popped in. it was always random, and it was always sneakily. he doesn't really know what's your background, why you know bucky. something about being friends with him and captain america is what walter said, but he also heard yelena say that you were there at the prime of the avengers, you were like the baby of the avengers.

you would either walk in hanging off bucky's arm, helping him take his metal arm off etc.or you would be with yelena, and obviously, were yelena is he is most of the times.

so its only obvious that he got time with you. you were like a girl straight out of his dreams when he was on meth. so bubbly, sweet, innocent. constantly wearing pink and white. and even when you weren't wearing pink or white, you looked so good.

and he specially loved how you constantly babied him, asked him if he was okay, sometimes going as far as hugging him to the point were his face was buried in your breasts. you saw him as the baby of the thunderbolts, and while you coddled and cared for him, he was imagining himself completely ruining you with his cock.

but you were the thunderbolts darling. he couldn't touch you even if he wanted to, you constantly had the attention of one of the members. but he reached his limit when walter got a bit too close to you.

but the thing is, you never looked at any of the members that way, never pushed yourself into any of them. it was bob's own sick mind making it seem like you were being preyed by everyone else.

and while he's proud to say he's clean, that he's doing much better and far from ever waking up the void, you make something inside of him twist in an ugly way. he couldn't lose you after all, you quelled the voices in a way. but you also drive him absolutely insane.

a good insane. a type of insane that's way better than making half of the population disappear.

yelena noticed once, that same time while you were talking to walker, she looked at bob and she saw him basically tweaking out.

his fists were clenched, his chest was heaving, basically he was trembling in rage. she smirked, finding the whole ordeal incredibly funny. she called out your name, standing up. "bob isnt feeling okay, and you know just how to make him feel better. can you help?" her words were laced with tease, but you couldn't catch onto it.

but bob did. he opened his mouth to protest but you were already sitting by his side and yelena was dragging walter away. "are you okay?" you frown, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. "uh yeah, yeah im fine now." he smiles, not being able to restrain himself from melting to your touch.

you did baby bob more than the others, or atleast payed more attention to him. part because you didnt want him to get...dark again. but also because he was a baby in your eyes, he melted into your arms like a baby.

because you didnt know how dark his mind was inside.

yeah you knew he was an addict, but did you know he constantly peeks at you when you change? that he jerks himself off at the thought of you? that he fucks his pillow while imagining that it's you he's pistoning into? you dont. and he intends not on keeping it that way.

"i take my eyes off of you for a few seconds and you're all needy?" you giggle, and he leans further into you. "i know." he smiles sheepishly, taking the liberty to bury his face into your breasts. he loves taking advantage of the care you give him, not that he would ever try to do something that makes you uncomfortable, but he loves testing the line of boundaries.

more specifically because he can get away with anything with you.

you smile, running your fingers through his hair. "can we go to bed?" he asks with the quietest voice he can muster. "please?" you nod immediately. anything to make him happy.

he ignores yelenas gaze as he drags you to his room, and in less that a couple of seconds he's taking your shirt off. laying ontop of you before resuming his position. his face between your breasts, nose and mouth pressed against the warm flesh of your right boob.

you're red, super red. but you like that he finds 'comfort' in you. even if his big hands on your bare waist does make you squirm slightly. "you're so comfortable." he hums, gazing up at you before giving your breast a slight squeeze. "specially these, i love these." he sounds like a pervert. any girl in your position would be grossed out. but you arent, partially because you're used to him being like this, but also because you love his attention.

"im going to take a nap." he declares, nuzzling his mouth against your breast, resisting the urge to just pop one into his mouth. "you should sleep too. because you're not leaving from here." you giggle before nodding softly. "o-okay?" you gulp, burying your face into his hair before closing your eyes.

he has you right where he wants you. he could easily take advantage of you, but he isn't ofcourse! he cares about you. and as pervy as he seems, he wants to take his time with you.

maybe soon he'll get to see you fall apart in his arms, just not right now. "goodnight." he whispers, running his hand up to your neck to softly grip it while also caressing it.

one thing is for sure tho, you're completely and utterly his.

[topgunafterdark]

bob and the reader having sex in the top gun academy or something and getting caught by phoenix or hangman or rooster?

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x f!reader

Title: Private Tour

Featuring The female reader working part time at the Hard Deck

Tags: smut, soft dom Bob, submission, needy, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, desk sex, begging, TOPGUN, semi-public sex, getting caught, vaginal sex, sex from behind, tits, Phoenix has more patience than anyone else on earth, Bob is too powerful to be stopped, bubble tea

I’m not always able to tag people depending on your account settings, so if you don’t want to miss things, maybe subscribe to the account so you get alerts? Or subscribe to mistressolivia on ao3 because everything will get cross posted there. Like 95% of what’s on here will be me writing Bob Content because this is a scandalous side account. Regardless, I’ll do my best, but there were a couple people tumblr just didn’t want to tag. ~Naughty~

Private Tour

It keeps happening, and you have no one to blame but yourself. This time it’s happening at the TOPGUN mission training facility, because Bob showed up at the bar again and you asked him for a tour of said training facility rather than just ask him to fuck you, which is what you’d actually wanted. The mildly amused expression on Bob’s face said it all: he knew what you really wanted, and he had no intention of fucking you unless you asked for it first.

That’s just how Bob is. The first time around, he was a little more open, a little more cautious. You were new to one another, after all. But now that he knows he’s got you, all bets are off. He’s still sweet, but he’s also whip-smart, and from the way he expertly winds you up, he’s an expert people-reader. And he absolutely refuses to do anything to you without your say-so. It shouldn’t have been maddening. Literally, it isn’t. In practice, it is. Euphemisms are one thing; he lets you get away with them, so long as you pair your subtlety with physical advancements. But he won’t do the verbal heavy lifting on your behalf; one night, he showed up at the Hard Deck all alone, and you gave him the horniest once over on planet earth. You bit your lip, tilted your head just so, and pushed your tits out a little. And Bob smiled at you, finished his beer, left you a respectable tip, and went home. Your desires are your responsibility, after all.

The little fucker didn’t have to enjoy it so much, though. Right before he went out the door that night, you saw that sweet little smile turn a bit naughty. Submission doesn’t have to involve teeth and rope, canvas sacks, rigs installed into ceilings. Sometimes, it involves waiting. Bob makes you wait. Bob makes you say what you want. It makes you feel small, and dirty, and helpless to the whims of your libido to tell him exactly what you want. And you kind of fucking love it.

You asked for a tour. So he gave you a tour. Here is the front desk, he said. Here is the hangar. Over there, jets. No, you cannot photograph them. Here are the bathrooms. Here are some important people photographed on the wall. The whole time, he’s just grinning like an idiot and you are horny as hell and mad about it. He’s waiting for you to say it. He’s waiting for you to want him plainly, with no room for misunderstanding. A couple of his peers--you don’t know about any of them except for Natasha, or Phoenix, because he’d pointed her out to you as his pilot--walk by in their jumpsuits, shooting you curious glances that don’t go any further than that. By the time Bob lets you inside an empty classroom, points out the physics equations on the board, and hands you a model F-18--“They’re called Super Hornets,” he informs you--you’re ready to tear off your clothes and fuck him. Or kill him. You’re holding out for the former, though.

“I’m not wearing any underwear,” you respond. Your face becomes a fire hazard.

He comes one step closer. It’s the only thing he’ll do. You have to take the next step.

“Sounds very liberating,” he says. “Something you want?”

“You know what I fucking want, Bob.”

“Consent is very important,” he tells you with all the gravitas of a man who knows he’s the smartest one in the room more often than not. “So if there’s something you want, you should tell me. It’s easy.”

“You think it’s easy?” Flustered, you take a step back, hands on your hips, unsure if you want to bail out the window or just remove the rest of your clothing and stare him down until he does something about it.

“Of course,” he says. He leans up against the heavy desk at the front of the room and runs a finger across its surface. “For example, I want to bend you over this desk and make sweet, tender love to you. Now, you try. It’s fun.”

You’re going to kill him. You’re going to kill him, and no one will ever find the body.

“You’re a real smartass, Bob. And I bet you get away with it, don’t you?”

“It’s the glasses,” he sighs in mock exasperation. “And the baby face. What can I do?”

“You can fuck me,” you say. The words feel like taffy getting pulled from between your teeth: sticky, difficult, stubborn. But also: so very sweet. “Over this desk. Like you said. I want you to fuck me over this desk.”

“There you go,” Bob says.

With two gentle fingers to the top of your spine, he turns you around to face the desk, those same two fingers trailing down your back to become a gentler push, and you bend down until your breasts squish against the wood. You’re wearing a skirt again because you knew it would make things easier, and because you like to spread your legs to go deeper; shorts and pants make that a pain.

Two fingers become three: he sticks them inside you all at once, up to the palms of his hands, and you’ve got no time to be sheepish about how wet and ready you are before he’s fingering you open, one slick thumb heading down to pass feather-light over your clit. It’s teasing, and torture, and you’ve never felt better.

“You’re very enthusiastic,” Bob remarks, and you can hear the grin you can’t see. “It’s a shame you aren’t more forward more often.” What an absolute, little shit.

But then the fingers are gone, and he’s down on his knees with his face right between your thighs, eating you out with all the passion you know he’s capable of, when all everyone else sees is a bookish nerd who wouldn’t know sarcasm if it hit him in the face. His tongue rubs against your clit, and he tarries there long enough for over-stimulation to kick in, but when you try to move he grabs your hips nearly hard enough to bruise.

“You don’t want to move,” he says, breathless. “Do you? Say it. You want more.”

“I want more,” you admit. Your body burns like a wildfire. “I do.”

“Manners,” he chides.

“Please.”

You gasp when his tongue returns, and penetrates you as deep as you can go, occasionally replaced by fingers--three, and then four before you can’t fucking take it anymore.

“Fuck me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck me.”

You are released. From behind, you hear the sound of a belt buckle, fabric being jostled, and then the head of his cock is pushing up against you, the thick mass of it just as impressive by touch as it is by sight. How the fuck, you think as he starts guiding himself in, did a guy like Bob wind up with this cock? He bottoms out with a grunt, and you squeeze around him, relishing in the sensation. There’s a bit of a burn, but the old hoo-hah has had a few rounds to acclimate itself to Bob’s obscenely large pants-snake, and Bob can feel it just as much as you can. Naturally, he comments.

“It’s getting easier,” he says, drawing his hips back and snapping them forward. “What are you going to do with yourself after I leave?”

It’s so good. It’s so fucking good and he’s one stroke in. “Get the biggest dildo I can,” you say through gritted teeth. “I will name it in your honor.”

The laugh that follows is kind, and genuine. “Consider me pre-honored by the fact. Please send photos of the naming ceremony.” He draws out again, and snaps back harder.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He thrusts again. Again. Again. “I would,” Bob says. “Please allow me to send my gratitude early.”

You’ve got just enough time to swear and grab the edge of the desk to hold on, and then Bob cuts loose. Your feet lift up off the floor, your breasts are bouncing, your spine is arched, and unless the vents in the room are closed you’re giving all the facility neighbors one hell of a show. With every sharp movement of his hips, Bob tears a new reaction out of you: a gasp, a moan, a breathy whine, a plea, his name, a groan. You can feel your muscles relax, your body itself shifting to let more of him in, to push back and meet him somewhere near the middle, to relish in the way his balls slap against you, which is a dirty pleasure you hadn’t even known you’d entertained until meeting him.

There’s no more sass from the man himself. When he gets to work, he gets to work, and after the last time you were promised no more dad jokes in bed. Bob did negotiate successfully for the presence of dad jokes during pillow talk. But if somebody was in or on somebody else--nada.

“Almost there,” he says, and speeds up. “Me or you?”

“Me,” you say. Shifting one forearm to rest flat on the desk for stability, you let your now-free hand come down to touch yourself, the decadent high of penetration joined by the electric, intense feeling just above. You become a vessel for nothing but your own pleasure, and his, and when you come you transform into a babbling mess, the fuck yes mixing with the please, please and harder and don’t stop until you can’t tell which way is up. You slap both hands palm-down on the desk and arch up as far as you can go, stretching out your orgasm as long as you can, Bob’s hand roughly lifting your shirt so he can pull and pinch at your breasts and nipples.

They’re personal--all the little touches that Bob learned you like. Because yeah, he’s a freak in the sheets, and yeah, he’s a lot spicier than you thought he could be, but he’s also observant and thoughtful. What you share might not be exclusive--you haven’t really talked that over with him since you know his presence here is temporary--but it’s personal, god damn it. Private.

So of course that’s the moment that the classroom door opens and Bob’s pilot, Phoenix walks in holding two large bubble teas. The instant she realizes what she just burst in on, Phoenix yelps and spins around.

“Bob. What the fuck. Again? Again?”

Bob doesn’t even stop. He does apologize, at least. What the fuck have these two been through together, you wonder? You knew being in the military involved some measure of modesty loss, but you’d thought there was a fucking limit, Jesus Christ.

“Sorry,” he says, and moves a tad faster, finishing with a silent inhale that you can feel expanding across your back from his chest. “Thought we’d be done by now.”

“Dude, what the hell. This is fucking ridiculous, Floyd. What is this, number seven on my list of times I’ve walked in on you humping some random person?”

“Oh, the last name. I’m in trouble.” Bob pulls out with a squelch, and you just screw your eyes shut as hard as you can. If you can’t see her, she can’t see you! Logic.

“I should just drink both of these, you nasty-ass bastard.”

“Considering this bubble tea is an apology purchase, which was promised to me after I walked in on you pegging you-know-who two days ago, I think not.”

Phoenix makes a sound of disgust, but even without knowing her you can tell it’s resting on a foundation of fondness. You feel a bit like a third wheel. Opening one eye a crack, you see Phoenix set one of the bubble teas down on a desk, flip Bob off, and leave the room.

“Love you,” she calls over her shoulder.

“I know,” Bob says. “Star Wars,” he offers you by way of explanation after you pull your shirt down and stand back up.

“You guys have known each other for a while, huh?”

“Work spouses ‘til we die. We’re the only ones who can stand each other, I’m afraid.” Bob tucks an errant strand of your hair back in its place. “Let’s get you back home. I hope your tour was educational. I just love learning new things.”

“It was,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and you stare at his hand all the way back to the parking lot, wondering what sort of mad courage you’d need to possess first before you had the guts to reach out and hold on.