Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader
Summary: Bob always needs reassurance that he’s pleasing you and doing a good job.
Warnings:18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Smut, Smut, Bob is desperate for reassurance and is a whiny mess, Established Relationship, *ahem* very limited plot here lol
Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V, messy sex, oral sex (female receiving), overstimulation, breast play, begging, drooling, licking, whimpering/whining, scratching, Slightly Rough Sex, Choking (very lightly), Praise Kink, Use of ‘Good Boy’, Biting till the skin breaks by accident?
Author’s note: This was a request/prompt, and I absolutely adored it and couldn’t hold myself back from writing it! I can’t resist whimpering men, what can I say? Hope you guys enjoy <3
Word Count: 7,457
“Right there, Bob…Fuck! That’s so good! Please don’t stop–oh god!” You exclaimed, your voice cracking into a desperate whine, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush as pleasure coiled like a sparked wire through your core. You grabbed onto his wrist with one hand, squeezing it with a fierce grip that betrayed how utterly undone you were, feeling the warmth of his large, calloused palm splaying wide across your belly. His thumb traced lazy, soothing circles over the faint peach fuzz there, a tender caress to reflect the care that he was pouring into you, grounding himself in the small little flexes beneath his touch.
With your free hand, you laced your fingers through his soft, light brown hair–dampened now with a sheen of sweat that made the wavy strands cling to your skin like wet silk thread–tugging firmly at the roots, eliciting a low, vibrating groan from his that reverberated straight into the sensitive flesh he was lavishing.
His body moved in perfect sync with yours, undulating like a wave that mirrored every arch and twist of your hips, as though he had become an extension of you, woven into the very fabric of your being. He anticipated your every buck and shudder, his mouth never breaking contact with your overstimulated core, reading the subtle language of your tremors and gasps as if he’d memorized it long ago–or perhaps he was burrowed so deep into your psyche that he could predict the rhythm of your desire without a single glance.
Bob moaned deeply into you, the sound muffled and hungry, his chin slick and glistening with your arousal as he parted his mouth just a fraction wider. His tongue flattened and stretched, a broad, insistent stroke that covered you entirely, lapping from the pulsing heat of your entrance all the way up to your swollen clit. He savoured you, sucking the sensitive bundle into his mouth, swirling around it with teasing flicks that built into obscene, wet popping sounds each time he released it with a gentle tug.
Your eyes stung as tears welled along your lashes, blurring the dim glow of the room–the soft lamplight casting shadows that danced along Bobs sapphire eyes, his irises striking an azure that seemed to depend with every passing second, reflecting the lust and devotion swirling within him. The pressure in your stomach wound tighter, a relentless knot verging on exquisite pain, the intensity of it all threatening to shatter you. This would be your third orgasm of the night, and your body was teetering on the edge of exhaustion, with every nerve ending setting ablaze and protesting the overwhelming bliss even as it craved more.
Your nails dug into the skin of his wrist, leaving faint crescent marks as a helpless mewl escaped your lips, your thighs quivering uncontrollably against the broad expanse of his shoulders. The muscles there were firm yet soft, like a cushion of flesh, a testament to his strength, the kind that didn’t boast but enveloped you in safety.
Bob ground his hips into the mattress below, the friction against his aching cock drawing out a shudder that rippled through his frame. He could feel the damp spot spreading on the sheet, thick rivulets of his precum soaking the soft cotton and clinging to his pelvis in sticky strands, a humiliating reminder of how desperately turned on he was. A broken whimper slipped from his throat before he could stifle it, humming into your core and sending fresh sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.
He knew it was pathetic–how consuming you like this brought him so perilously close to the edge, how the sight of you writhing in ecstasy could nearly make him cum untouched–but deep down, he sensed you’d revel in it, that witnessing him finish would only fuel your own desire, even if it flushed his cheeks with embarrassment. He buried his face deeper between your thighs, the soft, corded muscles of his shoulders pressing into the backs, folding you open further until your knees nearly brushed your belly. You were utterly exposed, no escape from the relentless devotion of his mouth, the gentle scrape of his stubble against your inner thighs adding a delicious friction that bordered on too much.
Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling just enough to make him gasp, as he moaned again–louder this time, more urgent. He shifted his head from side to side, deliberately smearing your slick across his skin, marking himself with you. His tongue sharpened its focus now, zeroing in on your clit with precise, flicking motions that pushed you toward your orgasm, each lap and swirl building the final surges you needed to tip you over the edge.
Little gasps clawed their way from your throat as you tried to writhe beneath him, but his weight pinned you more firmly to the mattress, a comforting heaviness that kept you grounded amid the chaos. Your thighs shook against him, your back arching off the bed in a graceful bow, ankles digging into the taut muscles of his back as a sudden blast of heat erupted from your core. It raced upward like wildfire, igniting every nerve and every inch of skin, until your entire body was aflame with it–consumed, reborn in the ecstasy.
“Oh my fucking god!” You whined, your voice raw and breaking as you clamped your thighs around his head, locking him in place like a vice. Your release gushed forth in a torrent, drowning him in your slick while his tongue lapped greedily, extending the wave of your orgasm with every insistent stroke. His hand pressed down on your belly with just enough pressure to hold you steady, preventing any squirm or retreat; he was determined to capture every drop, letting it coat his tongue, like it was the sweetest essence he’d ever known. He wouldn’t let a single bit go to waste–not when it was coming from you, not when it tasted like heaven distilled.
Time blurred into an indefinable haze as he lingered there, his licks slowing to tender, reverent caresses, drawing out your high until your body softened into a boneless, euphoric melt. Only then did he ease back, pressing soft, grateful kisses along your soaked core–as if silently thanking you for the gift you had bestowed upon him for the third time tonight. He trailed them to the insides of your thighs, where his heavy, hot breaths clung to the damp skin, mingling with the faint salt of your sweat.
“Was…Was that good?” He asked, his voice muffled, the words vibrating through the tender flesh as he pressed his wet lips to it in a caress. His free hand traced featherlight lines along the outside of your leg, fingertips dancing over the skin and coaxing goosebumps to rise in their wake, a gentle contrast to the intensity that had just consumed you both. You were utterly dazed, the cascade of orgasms leaving your mind foggy and your limbs heavy, but the question pierced through the haze. “Good” felt like a laughable understatement; what he’d done had catapulted you to euphoric heights you’d never known before him, a pinnacle of bliss that burned through your veins like liquid fire. Nothing else could compare to his devotion to you, it was unparalleled, and you never wanted to descend from this heaven he had crafted.
“I think the soaked sheets can answer that question for you, Bob,” You replied, your voice winded and ragged, each word pulling from deep within as you fought to steady your breathing. Hyperawareness flooded your senses: the distant hum of the city outside your window, the natural, earthy musk of his skin mingling with the salty tang of sweat and arousal, the lingering heat of his hands and breath adhering to your flesh like a second skin. His gleaming irises locked onto you, their depths swirling with lust and a quiet plea for more reassurance. The room’s dim lighting casted a golden sheen over your sweat-glistened body, highlighting the rise and fall of your chest as you struggled to calm the thunderous pounding of your heart, which echoed in your ears like a drumbeat to a song you couldn’t pinpoint.
It was as if your blood had began to boil, threatening to overwhelm you entirely, making your skin prickle with the threat of overheating. You tried to temper the wild rhythm in your chest, but it was futile with Bob still nestled between your thigh, his face slick with your releases, gazing up at you expectantly. He could see the evidence himself–the dark, damp patch beneath you, a calling to your undoing–and part of him ached to press his cheek against it, to revel in the mess you had made. But he held back, his self-control wearing thin, waiting for your words to weave him back into certainty.
“Please…Tell me,” He whispered, his voice a whiny edge that bordered on desperation, nuzzling his nose against your thigh, “Did…Did I make you feel good? Was I…Good for you?” You sighed softly, sliding your hand from his wrist so you could intertwine your fingers with his, feeling the subtle dryness between his fingers scraping against the smoothness of your own skin. You gave them a gentle squeeze, a silent affirmation that grounded him, before uncurling the hand tangled in his hair. Slowly, you moved it down, flowing down the splatters of cinnamon coloured freckles to cup his cheek, the stickiness of your arousal on his skin transferring to your palm in a slick, warm smear that felt both filthy and profoundly connecting in a way that you couldn’t describe.
He tilted his head toward your touch, leaning into it hard, allowing you to fully absorb the heat radiating from his flesh–flushed from his pridefulness, and deepening when his eyes saw the way your core was clenching around nothing, even now, when his mouth wasn’t on you. His skin was so soft and plush under your fingers, yet it was underscored by the faint rasp of stubble that prickled against your thumb. He often shaved during his little night time routine, but tonight it had all been thrown out the window when you surprised him in a sheer black robe that left little to the imagination, and you relished in that texture, so much so that you continued stroking it mindlessly. He pried his eyes off of your fluttering entrance and drew them up to meet yours with a pleading intensity, waiting for you to speak, knowing your words would hit him right where he needed them to.
“It was incredible, Bob,” Your murmured, your thumb brushing over his lower lip–plump and swollen from the fervent efforts he had poured into pleasing you, the skin there glistening with a mix of your essence and his saliva. “You always make me feel so fucking good. I’m all wrecked because of you…Because of the amazing job you did.” You added, the words laced with genuine awe, watching as his eyes flicked shut at the praise, his lashes casting delicate little shadows on his cheeks. A soft whimper escaped him, vibrating against your thumb as he turned his head slightly, pressing his lips to your palm in a short kiss before his tongue darted out to lick at the stick residue there. He really couldn’t get enough, and he was desperate to savour every trace of you, his body trembling beneath the weight of his own neglected arousal–his cock throbbing insistently against the firmness of the mattress, leaking more precum in thick, pearlescent beads that only soaked the sheets further, the ache building to an almost unbearable crescendo that had him shifting his hips in subtle, needy rolls, hoping you wouldn’t notice, but you always did, and you knew he needed you just as much as you needed him in that moment.
“Now come up here so I can give you a better reward than my touch,” You teased, watching his eyes snap open and widen with a mix of surprise and eager anticipation. A smile tugged at his lips, boyish and endearing despite the heat in his gaze, his entire frame vibrating with excitement like a coiled spring that was finally given permission to release. He lingered for one last moment, pressing a final kiss to the inside of your thigh–sucking gently at the stubble burned skin there, his teeth grazing just enough to leave a faint mark that he soothed immediately with a languid lick of his tongue, tasting the salt of your sweat mingled with the sweetness of your release. Then, with a reluctant pull, he disentangled himself from between your legs and began his ascent up your body.
His solid, muscled frame, slid along yours in a heated glide, the firmness of his chest brushing against your thighs, then your hips, the friction of dampened skin on skin igniting fresh sparks wherever he touched. His mouth charted a devoted path, lips wet and trailing over your pubic bone in open-mouthed kisses that left a dewy trail cooling in the air, up to the soft curve of your belly where he paused to nuzzle, inhaling deeply as if he was committing your scent to memory. His hand released yours, fingers splaying wide to steady himself against the bed, the muscles in his arms flexing subtly, his veins popping out from beneath his skin, pulsing on full display.
“No-Nothing is more rewarding than your touch,” He whispered, shaking his head with an impassioned denial, his nose brushing over the dip of your navel in a caress that made your abdomen flutter. Strands of his hair fell forward around his face like a curtain, the soft tips grazing your skin in ticklish rasps that contrasted the intensity of the moment, sending goosebumps rippling outward in waves. You hummed in response, a low, contented sound that rumbled from your chest, shifting yourself higher against the pillows so you could prop yourself up, giving you the perfect view of him continuing his voyage.
He took his time, relishing in the journey he had travelled many times before, his lips and tongue appreciating every inch of your naked form that granted him such unfettered access: the slight rise of your ribs, the smooth plane of your sternum, and the valley between your breasts where he placed a chaste kiss, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat that mirrored his own.
As he finally reached your chest, his hands joined the exploration, one sweaty palm sliding up the curve of your side, tracing over your flesh before slipping to the underside of your breast. His fingers curled around the soft swell, cupping it fully in a gentle yet possessive squeeze that reignited the heat in your belly. The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, contrasting the cool air of the room that had begun to gnaw at your exposed flesh.
His mouth found the breast he wasn’t holding, lips brushing the plush yielding flesh in a series of barely there kisses that built with each press. He nipped at the sensitive skin, teeth grazing just enough to draw a gasp from you, then tugged softly with his lips, pulling the tissue taut before releasing it with a wet pop. His hot breath fanned over your pebbled nipple, a humid gust that made it tighten further, aching for more, as a small moan escaped him.
He shifted uncomfortably on top of you, his body adjusting with a subtle rock of his hips, allowing his hot, leaking erection to settle against the soft plane of your belly. The velvety length smeared your skin with his precum, leaving glistening trails that cooled slightly in the air, displaying his mounting desperation. He let out a sigh of relief at the contact, the brief friction easing the insistent throb.
“So-Sorry, it was getting a bit much having it against the mattress,” He admitted, his lashes fluttering as he ducked his head slightly, a flush creeping up his neck to tint his ears pink. You dismissed the notion with a soft smile, bringing your hands to rest on his shoulders, where you traced your nails over the indents of muscles.
“No need to be sorry,” You reassured, your voice a soothing murmur that wrapped around him like a blanket, watching as he licked his lips, the pink tip of his tongue making them glisten before his gaze returned to your breast with a hunger that made your pulse pick up again. HIs mouth followed, placing little peck over the swell, until he reached your nipple. He sucked it into his mouth, the wet heat enveloping you as his tongue swirled in lazy, indulgent circles–flicking, lapping, and teasing the hardened peak with a rhythm that mirrored the way he had eaten you out just moments before. His other hand pinched and rolled the nipple of your neglected breast between his thumb and forefinger with just enough pressure to toe the line of pleasure with a sweet, stinging edge.
Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails pressing into the warm, taut skin there, leaving faint half-moons that would fade by morning but marked him in this moment as yours. A moan tore from your throat, as you arched your back up toward him, silently coaxing him to take more–deeper, harder. And he obliged immediately, drawing more of your breast into his mouth with a greedy suck, his tongue lavishing the soft tissue. Drool escaped the corner of his lips, trailing down the curve of your breast in messy, silvery streaks that caught the dim light like dewdrops on silk. He shifted back slightly, his eyes half-lidded with lust, and chased the trail with his tongue, lapping it up in a broad eager stroke, before gulping loudly, the sound obscene in the quiet room. Pulling off completely, he revealed the glistening bud, now swollen and shimmering, and blew a thin stream of air onto it, watching with rapt fascination as it hardened even further under the teasing chill.
You slipped your hands from his shoulders and up to the back of his head, threading your fingers through the damp, wavy strands of hair, and with a firm tug, you guided him upward, pulling him away from your chest and up to your face. Leaning up to meet him halfway, you captured his lips in a searing kiss, the heat of it igniting instantly. He melted into it, his lips parting eagerly to allow your tongues to tangle in a desperate, slippery dance–tasting your arousal on him, sweet and intoxicating with the mix of his saliva.
As the kiss deepened–teeth gnashing with each move–he slid his arm under the space between your neck and the pillow, cradling you with a tenderness that belied the fire raging between you, his fingers splaying across the nape of your neck to hold you steady. His other hand left your breast then, trailing upward in a lingering path along your collarbone before coming to rest on your cheek, cupping it as he moaned into your mouth–a deep, resonant sound that travelled down your throat, vibrating inside your chest. You sucked on his tongue, drawing it deeper with a playful pull that made him shiver, and brought your legs up to wrap around his torso, locking your ankles at the small of his back. The move pulled his body flush against yours, the solid weight of him pressing you deeper into the mattress–the comforting heaviness of his frame, all corded muscle and warm skin, enveloping you like a living cocoon.
HIs cock twitched between your bodies at the increased pressure, trapped against your abdomen, the veined length pulsing with need as he whined–a high, broken sound that escaped against your lips. He pulled away from the kiss, his chest heaving with short, ragged breaths, his face a picture of overwhelm: brows furrowed, lips parted and slick, eyes glazed with a desperate haze that looked like he was going to die if he didn’t do something soon. Your legs tightened around him, the muscles in your thighs flexing against his sides, feeling the give of his ribs expanding with each pant, the heat of his skin radiating into yours like a shared fever.
“I...I need you,” He breathed, his voice cracking on the words, his eyes glancing up at you through his lashes, pleading and raw. A small smile crept onto your kiss-bitten lips, swollen and tingling from his mouth.
“Then take me,” You whispered, the invitation hanging in the air like a tantalizing smoke, before closing the scant space between you to kiss him again. You felt the starvation behind the way his lips moved on yours–like he was going to devour you whole, or suck every breath from your lungs until you were hollow, empty of everything but him. HIs kisses turned frantic, tongues battling in a wet, heated frenzy that left you both gasping. His hand slid off your cheek, the tips of his fingers trailing down your torso in a path that skimmed the side of your breast, dipped into the curve of your waist, and settled on your hip with a firm grip, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh there.
Pulling away from the kiss once more, he leaned back slightly, his weight shifting onto his knees as your legs loosened just enough to give him room. His eyes locked onto yours, dark with lust, before dropping lower, watching with rapt attention as he reached for his cock–thick and flushed, the head glistening with a fresh bead of precum that dripped lazily onto your skin. He guided the tip through your folds, smearing his arousal with yours in a slick glide that made you both shiver. Teasing it over your clit in slow circles, he elicited a short, sharp breath from you, your hips bucking instinctively toward the tormenting pressure.
Then finally, he pressed the thick head against your entrance, the blunt warmth nudging at your slick heat. HIs eyes lifted to meet yours in a quiet query–seeking that final thread of consent amid the charged air. You gave him a nod, the gesture simple and laden with trust, and in that instant, his restraint fracture just enough to ease forward.
He pushed in with one gentle thrust, the broad tip breaching you slowly, your body yielding to the intrusion as your walls stretched around him. The sensation was exquisite, a burn that bordered on pure bliss, your inner muscles fluttering in eager welcome, clenching reflexively as if to draw him deeper into the molten core of you. He filled the space inch by inch, his girth parting you with a delicious pressure that made your toes curl against the sheets.
“Oh…Oh fuck,” He moaned, the words tumbling out in a wrecked gasp, as he leaned toward you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His breath came in hot, erratic puffs against your skin, each exhale a humid caress that raised the fine hairs along your nap, mingling with the faint, clean scent of his shampoo that you used earlier that evening–a subtle lemon rind mixed with orange. A little grunt of approval escaped his lips, vibrating against your collarbone, as if even in this haze of desire, he appreciated the small things that bound the both of you together.
Inch by inch , he moved his hips toward yours, sinking deeper into you with a measured glide that had your breath hitching in your throat. His arms bracketed your head, elbows digging into the pillow on either side, the cords of muscle in his forearms flexing visibly as he fought for a semblance of control, his fingers curling into the sheets.
“Y/N…Y/N, Jesus.” He whimpered into your ear, the sound high and fracture, as his hand squeezed the pillow with a desperate clench, his knuckles whitening against the fabric. His body shuddered when he bottomed out, fully sheathed in your head, the base of him flush against you in a union that felt both primal and tender. You clenched around him, a teasing pulse that drew a choked whine from his throat. In response, you wrapped your arms beneath his, your palms flattening against the broad expanse of his back before your nails dragged down his shoulder blades, leaving tingling trails that made his skin pebble under your touch. Your fingers continued lower, tracing the sweat-dampened surface of his spine.
“Fuck Bob…You fill me up just right…Like the good boy you are.” You praised, feeling him twitch inside you at the words–a visceral reaction that sent a thrill up your own spine. His head turned to the side, his lips seeking out the sensitive skin of your neck in a grateful press, the kiss messy and fervent, as if words had deserted him entirely. He was so lost in you, adrift in the overwhelming tide of euphoria, that even breathing seemed secondary to the need to be closer, deeper, and utterly consumed by you.
He began to move then, pulling back slow enough that you felt every ridge and vein along his length, before thrusting in again, rolling his hips against yours in a fluid, undulating rhythm that built upon itself. The motion was intimate, bodies sliding together in a slick harmony, the faint slap of skin on skin puncturing the quiet. Both of you were breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling in tandem, the air thick with the shared cadence of gasps and sighs. Your nails raked down his back, scoring light red lines across the freckled canvas of his skin, feeling him shake against you. His hands held the pillow tightly, the plushness bunching in his fists as if it were the only thing he could grab that tethered him to the moment, his eyes cinching shut, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He continued to press kisses against your pulse, each one growing with the craving he had for you–soft at first, then nipping with his teeth that grazed just enough to leave a mark.
He grunted and whined, the sounds blending into a desperate melody that made your ears flutter, growing louder with each roll of his hips, before pushing himself up on his elbows, creating just enough space to look down at you. His gaze roamed, taking in the way your breasts moved with every thrust–the soft bounce and sway hypnotic, drawing his eyes like a magnet. He felt the pressure of your hands squeezing the muscles of his back, fingers kneading into the firm ridges there, like you were trying to hold yourself back from scratching him up even more.
“God you’re so fu-fucking beautiful,” He moaned, the words spilling out in a stuttered rush, his voice thick with awe as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, the rhythm gaining urgency, needing more of your slickness on him. You squeezed around him in response, a flutter that made his stomach flip, the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix each time his hips met yours in a deep grind that blurred the line between pleasure and ache.
You let out a gasp, arching toward him in a sinuous curve that pressed your bodies closer against, while he reached for one of your wrists, sliding your touch off his back. He aided your hand to rest against his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing under your palm as he swallowed thickly, silently indicating what he needed, his pulse thrumming wildly beneath the warmth of his skin. You obliged, your fingers curling lightly around his neck–not enough to constrict, but sufficient enough to apply a teasing pressure that made his eyes flutter half-shut, his whimpers growing louder, more ragged, as he started really picking up the pace.
The thrusts turned messy, his hips snapping forward with a force that shook the bed frame, the wood hitting against the wall to emulate the rhythm like a metronome, the obscene wet sounds of your bodies connecting echoing through the room along with the tapping. His desperation manifested in every strained muscle, every vein that pulsed beneath his skin, and every broken sound that clawed from his chest, like every other time the two of you had been wrapped up in one another.
“Tell me…Tell me I’m good…Tell me I’m ma-making you feel good.” He begged, his voice breaking as if he was on the brink of tears from your silence–which you hadn’t meant, but you were so utterly distracted by him stretching you open and hitting every spot you needed that the thought of talking wasn’t at the forefront of your mine–as you squeezed his neck.
“You’re so fucking good, Bob…Your cock is perfect and you…You’re gonna make me cum again, oh fuck…” It took a lot of willpower to put your words together, but somehow you managed it, each syllable forced out between gasps as your pleasure flooded your brain, overtaking every ounce of focus you had on the moment, like you had handed the controls of your mind to another being entirely.
His movements picked up even more at the praise, building to a frenzy that had the mattress creaking in protest as your hand on his back slid around to scratch against his abs–nails dragging and digging over the defined lines there, leaving welts that flushed a bright pink against his skin, layering one on top of the other. Your eyes closed tightly, feeling your lashes dampen with tears, your walls quivering around him in erratic pulses that signalled your impending release.
He slid his hand to the back of your thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pushed it up, folding your leg so your knee pressed against your belly, changing the angle with practiced ease, granting you more friction and him the sight of his cock pushing into you, seeing how the skin along his shaft was soaked in your arousal. He sank even further into you in those moments, grinding after every thrust so his pelvis could rub against your clit. Every plunge felt like a velvet invasion, stretching you and filling you to the brim, and he could see your jaw go slack.
“I need more…Y/N.” He pleaded, a bead of sweat dripping from his temple to trail down his cheek, glistening like a tear in the low light. Your hand slipped from his neck to join the other in scratching at his abdomen, nails biting into the taut planes of muscle that flexed with each powerful drive.
“You’re the only person who can make me cum, the only person that’s ever done it…You’ve ruined me for everyone else and I’m so fucking happy that I’m yours…That you make me feel like I’m on top of the world, especially when you’re fucking me like this.” He whined at your words, a high, keening sound that dissolved into a groan.
“God, Y/N…Fuck, baby.” He wanted to say more, to try and return the compliments, but he just couldn’t, his mind was just so preoccupied by you. Every finer of his being was intertwining to the symphony of your shared ecstasy–the way your slick heat enveloped him like a slick vice, drawing him in deeper with each desperate plunge, the rhythmic clench of your walls that seemed to echo the beat of his own heart, and yours. He glanced down, mesmerized by the erotic chaos below: your folds glistening like dew-kissed petals around his shaft, dripping in viscous trails that painted your inner thighs, the tops of his, and the sheets beneath in a sheen. The sight was hypnotic, a visual treat to your unravelling, and he could swear he felt you vibrating against him with every thrust, as if your body were whispering secrets of your impending climax in a language only he could decipher. It always fascinated him how effortlessly your form communicated when words failed–how your breaths hitched into staccato rhythms, your muscles quivering like taut strings on the verge of snapping, and how your hips canted upward in silent supplication, urging him onward and meeting him halfway.
He thanked whatever benevolent force watched over him that you were teetering on that precipice now, because his restrain was fraying like an old rope under unbearable tension. Slipping into you had been effortless, a glide into paradise that tested his limits from the start, but now every muscle in his body felt cinched tight by an invisible drawstring, pulling him toward a haze where pleasure blurred into total overstimulation. His skin prickled with electric heat, nerves alight as if lightning coursed through his veins, and the world narrowed to the intoxicating friction of your bodies merging, the scent of your mingled essences–musk and sweet and heady–filling his lungs like an addictive fog.
You slid one hand off his abdomen, the drag leaving stinging echos on his skin as your nails trailed away, reaching down to find his that was holding your thigh in place. Your fingers intertwined with his in a desperate clasp, your palm slick with sweat, as if that grounding contact was going to keep your soul anchored to your body. The wave of your orgasm finally crashed over you in a blinding surge, your outstretched leg wrapping over his like a vine seeking purchase, a shattered sob escaping your throat in a raw, guttural cry that reverberated through the room. Your core squeezed tightly around him in convulsing pulses–relentless, rhythmic waves that milked him with an intensity that made his vision blur at the edges, his frantic thrusts stuttering as he fought to maintain control through the grip.
The wet sounds only grew louder from your release, a lewd orchestration of squelching slaps and slippery glides that filled the air like an obscene chorus. Bob was an absolute mess, his composure shattering into fragments–his breaths coming in ragged, animalistic pants, his face contorted in a mask of agonized bliss, brows furrowed deep and lips parted in silent pleas. Sweat beaded along his hairline, trickling down his temples in salty streams that mingled with the flush staining his cheeks, his body trembling uncontrollably as he chased the edge, hips snapping against yours with reckless abandon, the muscles in his thighs and back coiling in anticipation for the end.
“Bob! Oh fuck…Please! Please cum in me! God, be a good boy for me, give me everything.” You begged, your nails digging into the back of his hand with a fierce, crescent-marking grip, overwhelmed by the way your nerves felt like gasoline had been poured all over them and set ablaze by his deep, quick thrusts–each one a piston-like drive that made your thighs tremble and your body arch towards him.
You could hear his breathing turning into jagged gasps as he leaned forward, the shift in position pressing his sweat-slicked chest against yours in a heated slide, his mouth descending to find your breast with a hunger that felt like it was going to tear him to shreds if he didn’t satisfy it. He latched on, sucking and lapping at the soft, plush flesh like it was going to give him life, a frantic distraction to channel the way he was going to teeter off the edge. The salty tang of your skin mixed with the faint metallic bite of his earlier marks made him groan into you, sucking more to draw up additional blood to the surface so that the love bite could stay there longer.
You felt his rhythm falter, the once-precise undulations devolving into erratic jerks, his muscles tensing against you in a full-body shudder–shoulders bunching, abs clenching like iron bands, the veins in his neck standing out in stark relief. The sweat from his body pressed into yours, creating a slick fusion that made everything feel wet and sticky, your skin adhering and pulling apart with tacky smacks against his. He gasped–a pointed, broken inhalation that caught in his throat like shattered glass–and his hips jerked in a sudden, brutal thrust right against your cervix, the impact sending a jolt through you both. His cock twitched inside you, swelling impossibly thicker for a split second before his cum spilled into you in hot, forceful spurts, flooding your depths with an inferno that seeped into every crevice.
His body shook with the full force of his orgasm, convulsions rippling through him like seismic waves, and he bit down on the soft flesh in his mouth–an instinctive clamp of teeth that pierced just enough to draw a faint coppery tang, the pain blooming into a twisted pleasure for you as a grunt vibrated against the skin there, muffled almost to a complete silence. He fucked every thick pulse of his release into you with shallow, grinding rolls, trying to keep it all in you even as more came. It was as if the prolonged buildup had primed his body to believe this was his final act of surrender and it was determined to empty every last drop, to drain him completely and leave him spent in your embrace. His teeth sunk deeper into your breast, a broken whimper escaping him–like a plea for mercy–as you felt his muscles tense one last time against you, before he broke completely.
His jaw slackened, the tension draining from his features in a visible unravelling, as he released your breast with a wet, resounding pop that echoed off the walls. The mark he left behind bloomed vividly against your skin–a constellation of deep indentations from his teeth, with a very thin trail of blood seeping out from one particularly sharp puncture, a crimson bead tracing a lazy path down the curve of your swell. The cool air of the room kissed the raw spot with an aching sting, but you couldn’t summon the energy to care, not when every fibre of your awareness was riveted to him.
He immediately went limp on top of you, collapsing into your form with the unresisting weight of utter exhaustion, his limbs losing what little control remained, as if the strings holding him upright had been severed all at once. His mass settled over you like a heavy, comforting blanket–solid and enveloping, a cocoon of heated muscle and damp skin that pinned you to the mattress, his chest pressing against your belly as it attempted to sync with your slowing breaths. His cock remained buried deep inside you, a lingering connection that pulsed with faint aftershocks, softening gradually amid the sporadic twitches that made your oversensitive walls squeeze back.
He was breathing heavily and shaking against you, his frame quaking with tremors that rippled from his core outward, like after-quakes following an earthquake of sensation. Soft whimpers escaped him, sounding almost like he was hurt–wordless pleas that tugged at something deep within your chest, raw and unfiltered in their need. He buried his face into the valley of your chest, nuzzling into the warmth there to seek refuge, hiding from the world, from your gaze, from the overwhelming experience the both of you had just shared, his damp hair tickling your skin in disheveled waves.
Instantly, the lingering remnants of euphoria that still pulsed through your veins cleared with startling abruptness, swept away by a surge of pure, instinctive concern that sharpened your senses and quickened your pulse anew. The shift was visceral, and your body transitioned from complete bliss to protective alertness in a snap.
“Bob…Baby, are you okay?” You asked, your voice soft but laced with urgency, as your hands trailed up from his back in a soothing glide, your fingers skimming over the raised welts you’d left on his flesh before reaching his face. You cradled his overheated cheek gently in your palm, feeling the feverish flush radiating from his skin like a banked fire, the heat so intense it bordered on alarming. It was worrying how fast his temperature had spiked, rising in a sudden wave that made you wonder if something was wrong beyond the exertion–if he’d pushed himself too far, or if a sudden illness had came over him.
The thought propelled you to shift beneath him, adjusting your position with a subtle twist to get a better look at his face, your other hand coming up to join the first in framing his features. That’s when you noticed it: a single tear escaping the corner of his eye, glistening like a molten pearl before trailing down his skin. Your thumb brushed it away, the pad capturing the droplet, and you startled at the unnatural heat of it–far hotter than any tear should be, like water on the verge of boiling, searing against your skin before evaporating completely.
“Baby…Talk to me, are you okay? Do you need water? Tell me what you need, you’re starting to scare me.” Your words tumbled out in a rush, as fear tightened your throat, your eyes searching his face for any sign of distress beyond the physical, your fingers now stroking his jawline in gentle, reassuring patterns, willing him to respond.
Finally, he took in a deep, shuddering breath that expanded his chest against you, the inhale ragged but steadying, as if he was drawing in your essence along with the air. His eyes fluttered open slowly, heavy-lidded and glassy, his gaze peering up at you through the veil of tear-soaked lashes–thick and clumped, framing irises that still swirled with the remnants of passion and lust. He took you in, absorbing the sight of you in all your blissed out glory, even though it was all camouflaged beneath the worry etching your features–brows furrowed, mouth set in a concerned line.
“I…I’m fine. Just need a minute. I’m so-sorry.” His voice was a fragile whisper, cracked around the edges, carrying the weight of his apology like an unnecessary burden, as if he had somehow failed you in this moment of honesty.
You let out a little sight of relief, the tension in your shoulders easing as the sound escaped into the air. You rubbed his cheek slowly, your thumb tracing the high plane of his cheekbone in tender circles, nodding gently to affirm his words. The heat was still there, but it seemed to be stabilizing, no longer climbing.
“Don’t apologize, take your time.” You reassured, your tone a soothing balm, as your fingers travelled up to trace along his sweaty brow, brushing back the damp strands of hair that clung there like wilted vines. You kept your eyes locked on him, witnessing the slow recovering unfolding before you–the way his breathing steadied from frantic gasps to deeper, more measured inhales, his body rising and falling against yours in a gentler cadence, the quivers in his limbs subsiding like ripples fading on a pond’s surface. Until, at last, his arms finally moved, stirring from their limp state, his hands sliding along the curves of your torso before burrowing beneath your back, worming their way under you to wrap around your waist in a hold that pulled you impossibly closer.
You could feel the slick sweat on his palms pressing against the valley of your spine, but you kept yourself still, unmoving, knowing that he was seeking his anchor: the steady thrum of your heartbeat, the one constant that never failed to help him truly descend from the overwhelming heights you had climbed together, synching his rhythm to yours like a lullaby for his frayed nerves.
“Di-Did I do good?” He asked quietly, the words emerging in a hesitant murmur, his voice small and seeking despite the overwhelming evidence.
You kissed your teeth softly–a subtle tsk of affectionate exasperation at how he still sought an answer that should’ve been so obvious to him, after all the the ways you’d unravelled under his touch, after the praises you’d already lavished–but there was no real annoyance behind the sound.
ooo maybe needy/desperate bob with reader. (saw this on another blog where he has an oral fixation with readers breasts, so maybe a breeding thing going on there as well?) if youre feeling up to it, maybe he DOES knock the reader up (by accident or on purpose, your choice) and him just taking care of the reader/what he'd do
Yours ✩ Bob Reynolds
Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader
Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. unprotected p in v, oral fixation (breasts), breeding kink, accidental pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms & test scene, found family, fluff, emotional comfort, soft and needy!bob.
Summary: What started as another desperate night tangled in Bob’s arms becomes something so much more. Two weeks later, something in your body changes—and Yelena and Bucky are the first to notice. When the test confirms it, you’re terrified. But when you finally tell Bob… he drops to his knees. Because he meant every word he’s ever said. And now it’s real. He’s yours. And you’re his. Forever.
Author's Note: oh my god i'm screaming rn, i'm getting bombarded with request of bob with a breeding kink ughhhhhh and i am not complaining, keep them coming cause its hot as fuckkkkkk!!! this one's shorter lol. i've been writing a loooott these past few days jeezzzz, i'm so obsessed with bob i can't take it anymore. bob being a dad is all i need in this life. my baby deserves happiness!!! <3 i might’ve taken a lot of inspiration from the headcanons i posted yesterday about bob having a breeding kink lol im giggling like an idiot right now. thank you for the request!! i have so many in my inbox now i promise i will get to them soon, im writing a lot of them right now so i will probably be posting them these next days <3 ty again for all the love and support!! i love u all
Bob's hands were already tearing your shirt off.
You’d barely even started to lift it when he groaned and got impatient—fingers grasping the hem, tugging, mouth already on your skin before it was halfway over your head.
“Fuck, baby,” he gasped, lips grazing the curve of your breast as it bounced free. “You're so beautiful.”
You could feel him shaking. His mouth closed over one nipple like it was instinct, and he moaned, deep and wrecked.
“Bob—” you whimpered, back arching up as his tongue swirled slow and messy around your hardened nipple.
“I can’t help it,” he groaned into your chest. “They're so perfect. So full. You were made for me.”
You were already wet. Just from this. From his mouth, his need.
He sucked, switching sides like he couldn’t get enough. Like he’d die if he didn’t taste every inch of you.
“You want it again, baby?” he asked, voice thick. “Want me to fill you up?”
You nodded, breathless. “Yes—Bob, please…”
He was already pushing your legs open, pulling his sweats down just enough to free himself. He didn’t tease. Just lined up, pushed in slow, groaning.
“Gonna make you mine all over again,” he whispered, thrusting deep and steady. “Gonna fuck you so full you won’t be able to think straight.”
His mouth never left your chest. Kissing, sucking, moaning into your skin.
“You're everything,” he whispered. “You’re mine.”
He came with your nipple in his mouth, deep inside, holding you down as he spilled into you with a low, broken groan.
“Look at you,” he whispered, resting his hand on your lower belly, still buried deep inside you. “So fucking full of my seed. Gonna have you leaking for days.”
You laughed softly, breathless. Teased him—called him obsessed.
He just grinned, kissed you again, slow, messy, tender. He pulled you into his arms and tucked you beneath his chin.
You fell asleep on his chest, lulled by the rhythm of his breathing.
Neither of you knew what you'd done.
Not yet.
But you would soon.
Two weeks later, you couldn't sleep. Something in your body felt off, too sensitive, achy, warm in ways that lingered longer than they should. It hit you in waves: nausea in the mornings, dizziness in the evenings, a strange heaviness in your chest that wasn’t just physical.
You knew the signs. But you didn’t want to believe it.
The gym was warm. You were mid-spar with Yelena, sweat clicking your back, knuckles stinging with every hit, but something wasn't right. Your chest felt tight. Too tight. Your balance, off. The world tilted just a little too much as you threw your next punch.
You stumbled.
“Whoa—whoa, easy there.” Bucky was at your side in a flash, strong arm wrapping around your back, catching you before your knees hit the mat. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” you said quickly, too quickly, breath catching in your throat.
Yelena wasn’t convinced. She stepped forward, arms crossed, that sharp look in her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay, dollface? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”
“I’m just lightheaded,” you muttered, brushing them off. “Didn’t eat breakfast this morning, that’s all—”
But then your stomach twisted. Your throat burned. And you turned.
You ran.
Straight down the hall, straight into the nearest bathroom. You barely made it to the toilet before your stomach gave out.
Bucky was right behind you, kneeling next to you without hesitation, one hand rubbing your back, the other gently pulling your hair our of your face. “Hey. Breathe. Just breathe, okay?”
Yelena stormed in seconds later. “Move over, Barnes. Let me see her face.”
You slumped back against the wall, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Sweat beaded at your temple. Your hands were shaking.
Yelena crouched in front of you, her expression surprisingly sof.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “We’re going to ask this one more time. Are. You. Okay.”
You looked between them—Yelena’s raised brow, Bucky’s furrowed one—and sighed.
“I don’t know.”
That afternoon, you were sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor with Yelena beside you, both of you hunched over the pregnancy test box. Bucky was sitting on the edge of the tub, arms crossed, visibly trying his best not to panic.
You held the test in your hands—upside down, because you couldn’t look yet. You weren’t ready.
"Okay, so hypothetically, if you’re pregnant, what’s the plan? Hide it? Cry? Run to Russia and live off-grid? Because I vote off-grid. Maybe Monaco or Hawaii.”
"Yelena," Bucky muttered.
“What? I’m being supportive.”
You stared at the stick, hand trembling. “I can’t do it. I can’t look.” You handed it to Bucky.
He looked confused. “Me?”
"Please, Bucky. I can't do it."
He sighed, gently taking the test from your hand.
There was a long beat of silence.
You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until you looked up at him. His eyes met yours. And that was it.
You knew.
Bucky didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to.
Your hand flew to your mouth. Your heart dropped, rose, twisted.
Yelena blinked, leaning in, yanking the test from Bucky's hands. “Wait—wait. No fucking way.”
You didn’t speak. Just nodded slowly.
Yelena’s jaw dropped as she stared at the test. “You’re actually pregnant?!”
You nodded again, and then—Yelena shrieked, the test flying off her hands and landing on the floor.
“Oh my god! That golden retriever of yours did it?! I knew your boobs looked bigger!”
“Yelena!” Bucky barked.
But she didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug, pulling you against her like you were made of glass.
“I got you, babe,” she whispered. “We’re gonna figure this out.”
And Bucky—he didn’t say much. But he sat beside you, one big hand landing gently on your shoulder.
“I’m here too,” he said, quiet. “Whatever you need. But you gotta tell him."
Bucky and Yelena left your room a couple minutes after that. The test was still in the bathroom. Your hands were trembling.
Pregnant.
The word echoed in your head. Your legs felt like they might give out.
You sat on the edge of your bed, clutching a pillow to your chest, trying to calm your breathing when the door opened.
"Hey, baby," Bob's voice was warm. He sounded so happy.
You looked up. He was still in his tactical suit, unzipped halfway, sweat in his collarbones, golden curls messy from his field training. Walker and Ava's voices echoed down the hall behind him, fading away.
Bob's smile widened when he saw you. "You okay? I missed you. You didn't text after your traning—I figured you were tired, but…”
You cut him off.
“Bob,” you said quickly. “Wait.”
His smile faltered.
“I—I need to tell you something. Just… listen, okay?”
His face went still. That happy smile was gone, replaced by a look of concern.
You stood slowly, your hands shaking.
"Baby, what's wrong? Are you okay? Did something—"
You cut him off again.
"I'm pregnant."
Then the world stopped.
Bob froze where he stood, eyes locked on you. He didn't move. Didn't blink. It hit him slowly, like a wave. First, his mouth opened, then closed. Then again. His breathing picked up.
"Please say something," your voiced cracked. Eyes filled with tears almost instantly.
“Are you serious?” he said, voice cracking, almost breathless. “Baby—please tell me this isn’t a joke. You’re really…”
You nodded, heart pounding. You were crying already.
“I’m pregnant, Bob.”
He walked towards you and dropped to his knees.
Just like that.
His hands found your waist as he pressed his face to your stomach—nothing even showing yet—and sobbed.
“Fuck,” he choked. “Oh my god. Baby, you’re pregnant. You’re really pregnant.”
You ran your hands through his hair, gently cradling his head.
He was shaking. Laughing through tears. His whole body trembling as he kissed your stomach, again and again and again.
“A baby?” he whispered. “Oh god. I’m gonna be a dad.”
He looked up at you and smiled.
“You have no idea how happy I am right now,” he said, voice breaking again. “God, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”
He kissed you—fierce, messy, wet with tears—and rested his forehead to yours.
You sobbed, a big grin on your face as you held his face softly.
“I’m gonna take care of you,” he promised. “Of both of you. I promise, baby."
And the way he hold you in that moment? You knew he meant it.
Because he meant it. Will all his heart.
He'd always wanted a family, someone to love, someone to care for. And now he had you. Forever.
⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹
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Can you do some more Bob/sentry/void p links please 🥺
YES, YES, YES YES!!!! i'm going to try something that i've never done before and do three sets of p links for bob/sentry/void on this post!! this'll be chaotic but yknow
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: must be signed into twitter to view these links
ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ !!
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✰ sitting on bob's face took some convincing, but it was worth it.
✰ 69ing with bob after he told you just wants to be close.
✰ fucking the stress out of him after he trained for hours, the man whimpers.
✰ soft sex with bob in the morning.
✰ riding bob in the tower's living room after you returned home from a week long mission, he missed you :(
✰ stroking needy!bob's cock on camera and he's embarassed.
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✰ fwb!sentry taking his stress out on you after valentina got angry with him.
✰ sucking sentry off as he praises you endlessly.
✰ playing with his pretty girl.
✰ sentry being obsessed with your tits during sex. (not working, need to fix)
✰ sentry eating you out after a rough mission.
✰ riding sentry's thigh when he's busy doing work.
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✰ tummy bulge.
✰ size difference with void, becoming painfully aware and turned on by it.
✰ the void fingering you after you begged.
✰ void making you work for his cock, even after you begged so nicely. (not working)
✰ he just needs to get it all out of his system, and if that means using you - so be it.
✰ fucking you infront of the mirror so you can see how much of a slut you are for him.
When bob turns void it’s cause he LITERATELY DIES (both times, medical study and kill switch)
Bob turns sentry after outside forces coax him into that mindset and those actions- AND last he remembers he was just shot several (probably hundred) times.
Bob will not randomly sentry/void. The team does not walk on eggshells around him. He does not threaten sentry/void, they do not cater to the possibility of sentry/void. He is hella resilient and does not void out at a break up or argument (we literately see him be normal in the vault)
They care about him. They love him. They don’t treat him poorly. But he’s not a time bomb, nor a weapon, or a naive child, and certainly is not intentionally evil one wrong word away
