Omg girlie can you imagine bob adjusting to having super strength after the serum? I'm thinking of the classic marvel scenes of wolverine and spiderman breaking the sinks bc they don't realise their own strength yet
ty for requesting :D — the one where bob reynolds has a way of ruining everything but you (established relationship, post-thunderbolts, cw smut 18+!! | 1.5k)
Robert Reynolds is the strongest Avenger known to man. He’s also the clumsiest one, too.
It’s a running theory among the Thunderbolts that his newfound powers didn’t relieve him of his gracelessness, but rather amplified it along with his strength. His perpetual awkward disposition would be endearing if it weren’t the absolute worst trait a superhero with otherworldly capabilities could possess.
Of all things to be known for, Bob is notorious for breaking things around the tower — not because he’s angry or because he ever means to, but because he’s happy and totally unaware of his strength, like some kind of large-breed puppy.
But, by all accounts, Bob Reynolds is completely and utterly harmless.
Most of the time.
He’s the last to wake and join the lot of you by the poolside, where the team scarfs down their breakfast by the water. Ava forks down her omelet and meanders aimlessly on a pool float, while Alexei belly flops into the water until his tattooed torso is glowing red. “Lena, look,” he calls to his daughter with a grin every time. “Watch me, Lena.” (He’s got no idea Yelena’s fallen asleep behind her sunglasses.)
Alexei hits the water harder this time and inadvertently splashes Ava from the opposite end of the pool. She glares with her mostly unscathed omelette in hand. “Do it again, fat man,” she threatens callously enough to make the aging super soldier cower.
“Hey,” Walker scolds instinctively from where he sunbathes in a lounge chair. “Play nice.”
Bob enters then like a total ray of sunshine — a giddy, golden thing in a white tank top and a pair of tropical-patterned trunks. He glows with the distant understanding that this will likely be the first time in years he’s gotten to have fun. The ‘totally sober, free from experimentation, no obligation to fight crime’ fun.
He’s got a smile on his face that someone could see from a mile away. The kind that shows the dimple in his left cheek and makes his eyes squint at the edges. The kind that you’ve learned often means trouble. “Bob, slow down—” you just manage to caution from where you kick your feet in the shallow end with Bucky.
But by then, it’s already too late.
Bob’s already slammed the door shut behind him — a simple flick of his wrist that’s got a world of inadvertent power behind it. Everyone flinches, bracing themselves for the inevitable impact. The thick glass of the sliding door cracks and shatters until you can’t see through it anymore.
Bob just freezes, cheeks burning red, like staying still enough will make him invisible.
“Nice going, Bobby,” Ava chides with her mouthful.
“I’ll fix it,” he squeaks out.
Walker laughs. “How?”
Bob falters. “I’ll… I’m sure I’ll figure it out,” he shrugs with a wavering smile, much too pretty to argue with.
It stays broken for two days after that, which is how long it takes Valentina to send someone up to fix it.
Typically, when Bob breaks one thing, he breaks several others in quick succession. None of you is totally sure why that is — you only know that a few of you have made quite a bit of money betting on what he’ll break next. (You once made a pretty penny in one night after correctly assuming that Bob would break the dining table before dinner after he’d shattered one of the chairs at breakfast that morning.)
So, you feel pretty confident now betting that Bob will end up shattering the newly installed glass door.
Of all the other guesses from the remaining Thunderbolts, Alexei’s is the most horrid. “The bed’s next. I know it,” he guesses in a low Russian drawl, then scoffs at the screwed look of disgust on your face. “I share a wall with you, you know? I hear these things—”
When Bob follows you into the bathroom later that night, half-asleep and insistent on keeping you company while you shower, you wonder silently what’s in there for him to break — the sink, the towel rod, the mirror maybe (if he’s being particularly reckless, which would then mean you’d owe Yelena fifty dollars).
You can’t help but worry as he trudges in behind you, visibly weighed down by sleep.
“You don’t have to wait for me, Bob,” you giggle from behind the foggy, translucent curtain. He can just barely make out the pretty sound of it beneath the thundering water cascading over you in steamy droplets. “You know that, right?”
Bob rubs a fist over his swollen eyes, wearing the need for slumber all over — in his wild chestnut curls and the glazed-over look in his dark ocean eyes. “I want to, though…” he murmurs in tired slurs. “I missed you.”
“Well, if you were asleep, you wouldn’t be able to miss me.”
“I always miss you when you’re not around,” Bob scoffs, wrapping his fingers around the counter’s edge as he angles himself to sit on top of it.
You open your mouth to respond, but the words dissolve on the tip of your tongue at the dull crack that fills the bathroom. Bob freezes, eyes wide and breath hitching in his throat. The feeling of the marble counter shifting underneath him sobers him from sleep almost instantly.
Your hand slides the shower curtain back, just enough to reveal your flushed features and dripping hair. “…Did you break just something?” you wonder aloud when you don’t find anything obvious out of the ordinary.
Bob swallows hard and shakes his head, despite the split marble slowly pinching his sweatpant-clad thigh. “No,” he answers in a voice an octave higher than usual.
He shifts uncomfortably, and your eyes narrow into the thin slits. “You broke the counter, didn’t you?”
“I’ll fix it,” he blurts, just like he always does.
Because he always has the best intentions, never means to ruin anything — he just wishes he had the ability to put things back together after he’s broken them. He’d want that power over being some stupid invicible schmuch any day. At least then he’d feel actually deserving of all the praise he gets from the public, if he could make things better instead of destroying them.
As far as Bob’s concerned, the only thing he knows how to do properly is make you feel good. You’re the only thing he’s touched that he hasn’t totally ruined. Despite everything he’s hurt with his hands and his body and his mind, he uses those things to bring you to heaven and back too.
He fucks you within an inch of your life into the mattress, propped on his arms above you with his hands balling the pillow into his fists. His core burns with the intensity of his merciless thrusts, which punch so many pretty whines out of you.
“That the spot, baby?” he pants when your mouth parts in a silent moan, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. “That the spot? Huh?”
You nod wordlessly, unable to form the words, as your body grows taut underneath him. The stimulation is constant and ruthless — your sensitive nipples caged beneath his chest, your swollen clit rutting against the coarse thatch of hair above his cock, your velvet walls gushing around his piercing thrusts.
The pleasure is all-consuming. You couldn’t run from it if you tried.
Bob watches with lidded, attentive eyes as your orgasm racks suddenly through your body. Your nails dig crescent shapes into his shoulders in a desperate attempt to tether yourself when your limbs start to tremble underneath him. Your cunt pulses around his twitching cock, and his own orgasm swells in the pit of his stomach along with his pride.
“There you go…” Bob pants into your neck, hiding his face there while he chases his high with rapid and erratic thrusts. His fingertips threaten to dig bruises into your skin from where he holds so ardently to your hips. “Take it, baby,” he whimpers. “Take it…”
Your body feels lighter than air as you come down. You exhale deeply and rake your fingers through his curls, coaxing him softly as his cock begins to jerk within your pulsating confines. “Cum for me,” you beg in quiet slurs. “Need it so bad, baby, please cum for me—”
A pained sort of groan sounds deep in his throat. He punches into you once — hard — and suddenly a dull and hearty crack sounds from underneath you. You blink, and suddenly you’re lying halfway crooked on a lopsided bedframe.
If Bob notices the damage to the wooden thing, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps exhaling pretty little whines into your skin as his cock spits deep inside you. It takes several long moments for the haze to pass, for his cock to soften, and for Bob to realize how both of you are leaning ever so lightly askew.
“…I broke the bed, huh?” he pants against your neck, face still hidden, as his body weight rests wholly on top of you.
You nod, still breathless. “I think so.”
“I’ll fix it,” he promises.
You know he won’t, but you can’t bring yourself to care.
All you can think about now is that you owe Alexei fifty dollars.
Omgomgomg hiiii! can I please req Bob reynolds x reader (fem if thats okay) where Sentry falls before bob if thats okay?
I LOVED this request! Thank you so much for sending it to me <3 I hope you like how I wrote this idea
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You’d always been kind to Bob. That’s where it started. Not with declarations or romance, but with you bringing him coffee during early mornings at the Tower, remembering how he liked it—two sugars, light cream. With you making space for him on missions, never treating him like a weapon, but like a person. That rarest of things. Sentry noticed.
Not Bob. Sentry.
The glowing man with golden eyes who flew ahead of the team, who faced gods and monsters like they were made of paper. He saw the way you spoke to Bob, not with fear or awe, but warmth. Softness. Sentry didn't understand it at first; they never received this treatment before, but he knew he wanted more of it. More of you.
The first time Sentry saw you for himself you were laughing. Not the kind of laugh meant for someone else’s benefit. Not polite. Not strained. It was real—loud, full, your head thrown back, the corners of your eyes creased with joy.
It was something Bob flinched from in the past. But Sentry? Sentry leaned closer. She sounds like sunlight, he thought.
Sometimes, when Bob would retreat inward, when his self-doubt pressed in like the darkness of the Void…Sentry would come forward. To protect him but also to see you…you’re starting to become the main reason.
“I like your hair like that,” he said once—Sentry, not Bob—hovering just outside your window in the dusk, glowing faintly. “It looks… brave.” You smiled. “That’s a strange compliment.” “I mean it.” He hesitated, then asked something Bob never could. “Can I sit with you a while?”
You nodded. That night, he said nothing else. Just sat beside you on the rooftop, watching the stars, bathed in quiet gold. You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t probe. You didn’t call him by the names others whispered with fear or reverence. You just sat with him. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He visited more after that. Late nights. Rooftop talks. Quiet confessions. His voice, usually so commanding, softened around you. Like your presence gave him permission to be fragile. “Sometimes I think I’m not real,” he said one night, golden aura flickering like a dying star.
“You feel real,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over his. “To me, you’re real.” And that was the first time he ever considered choosing to be more than just power.
It took Bob longer to realize it. He thought it was the Sentry who was drawn to you, that golden half of himself—stronger, bolder, unafraid. Bob told himself that he wasn’t worthy of you. That Sentry could love, and he could only watch. But love doesn’t stay where it isn’t returned. And you never smiled at the Sentry quite the way you smiled at Bob. Not when he made terrible jokes in the kitchen at 2 a.m., or when he forgot how to tie his tie before a briefing and you patiently helped him. Not when he was anxious and hiding it badly, and you leaned into him just enough to say “I’m here.”
Sentry might have spoken first. But it was Bob you were falling for. You had been falling for Bob the whole time. It just took him a while to catch up to the part of himself that already had.
Bob sat on your porch steps one quiet evening, fingers twisting nervously in his lap. “I think…” he started. “I think he fell in love with you before I did.” You smiled, soft and knowing. “I think you were always a part of that love for me. You just didn’t know how to let yourself feel it.” His shoulders dropped. Relief. Maybe something close to peace. And when you kissed him, there was no Sentry. No golden light. No legend. No god.
Just Bob. And this time, he let himself stay.
Thank you so much for reading my work! As always if you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open <3
john: you know when they say 'you attract what you fear'
bob:*sarcastically* oh no, i hope i don't attract an absolute sweetheart, a real cutie patootie, a soul so kind no one can hate them even if they tried but is also dry humoured and sarcastic.
you: *just woke up, dressed in one of his sweaters kissing his cheek* morning honey, morning captain taco shield.
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero
No warnings, lots of fluff!
*Could be a continuation of Dance with Me, but can also stand on it's own*
Thank you for all the love on my first one! It's SO much fun to be writing again! xo
Y/N was no stranger to chaos.
Being the Phoenix meant living in constant unpredictability, and getting close to people like Bucky Barnes and Yelena Belova only sharpened her instinct to brace for the worst.
She’d faced monsters, corrupt governments—but nothing prepared her for him. He wasn’t a threat she could fight or a mission to complete. He was something else entirely. And that made him dangerous.
Y/N didn’t look back as she walked into the kitchen, but she felt the newcomer Bob’s eyes on her. That invisible thread tugged at her spine—persistent, undeniable. She’d felt it the moment they met, and it terrified her.
Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, her gaze drifted to him. Bucky was already talking, something about Valentina and a plan to take her down for good, but Y/N wasn’t listening.
Beside her, Yelena nudged gently. “You good?”
“I’m fine,” Y/N replied. It was automatic. A lie dressed in calm.
The meeting moved fast—intel, threats, movements. The kind of stuff that used to make Y/N’s skin buzz with adrenaline. But now, it felt muted. Distant. Her focus kept drifting, always back to him.
Bob didn’t say much, but he listened. Closely. His hands were folded in his lap, but they weren’t still—his fingers moved constantly, a nervous habit or something deeper, like he was trying to ground himself.
Once the debrief ended and the others trickled into different rooms, Y/N lingered behind, pretending to refill her coffee. She could feel him behind her before she heard him.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
She turned. “What are you sorry for?”
He shrugged, gaze lowering. “I don’t belong here. I’m making you uncomfortable, I can see it in your face.”
“That couldn’t be further from the truth.”
He brushed his fingers through his hair. “I…I just don’t want to be a burden.”
“You could never be a burden, Bob.” She whispered, smiling up at him.
His eyes flicked up to meet hers, a curious expression etched on his face. He hesitated for a moment, but finally asked, “Why can I feel you?”
“I have no idea, but I can feel you too.”
He took a small step closer.
Y/N reached out slowly, her fingers just brushing against his. He started to pull away, then froze. For a moment, neither of them breathed—caught in the quiet weight of something unspoken. But when a door creaked open down the hall, they both flinched, the moment shattering like glass.
“Alexi, if you touch my toothbrush I’m going to kill you!” Bucky yelled from the hallway.
Y/N reached behind Bob and grabbed a set of keys that were sitting on the counter. “Come on, I know somewhere we can go.”
He followed her out the apartment, up the stairs and out the side door that led to the rooftop. The city stretched wide and glowed below, lights flickering like the stars.
Y/N sat first, pulling her knees to her chest. Bob settled beside her, a safe distance apart-but not too far.
“You don’t like being touched,” Y/N said quietly.
He tensed. “Not usually.”
“But you let me.”
“I didn’t want to move,” he admitted, “didn’t want it to stop. It feels…right.”
That thread tugged again, deep and low in her chest.
Y/N looked over at him, “Me either.”
The wind was soft up here, cool against their skin, and the sounds of the city below felt miles away. Up here, it was just them—two people weighed down by too much power, too much memory, and a connection neither of them could explain.
Bob leaned back on his hands, his gaze drifting over the skyline. “It’s quiet here.”
Y/N eyes drifted. “That’s why I like it. No questions, no pressure. So much space to breathe.”
He nodded slowly, like he understood. “I don’t remember the last time I felt calm.”
She didn’t speak—just shifted closer, her knee brushing his.
His breath hitched.
“You don’t have to be anything up here,” She said, voice low. “No powers, no stress. Just…yourself.”
Bob looked over at her then. Really looked. His eyes were soft now, less guarded, like he was letting her see behind the walls. Her pulse fluttered at the way he studied her—like she was something he didn’t know he needed until she appeared.
“I have to tell you something,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m scared that if I do… you’ll leave.”
Y/N’s brows knit together, and she tilted her head, her voice steady and warm. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He hesitated, eyes dropping briefly to her lips before meeting her gaze again. “I would really like to kiss you.”
For a second, all she could do was stare, her heart thudding against her ribs. Words tangled in her throat, but one slipped free—quiet, certain. “Yes.”
His brow furrowed. “Yes… what?”
A small smile curved her lips as she moved just a little closer. “Kiss me.”
Bob leaned in slowly, like he was afraid the moment would vanish if he rushed it. His fingers brushed her neck before cupping her cheek gently, grounding himself in the warmth of her skin. She didn’t move, just let him take his time, let him choose her.
His lips brushed against hers, and an immediate pulse of power thrummed through her body. They had barely touched, yet something inside her ignited—hot and electric.
Y/N gasped, the air catching in her throat, but Bob didn’t move. His lips hovered just above hers, breath mingling with hers in the fragile space between.
“Do you feel that too?” he murmured.
She nodded, unable to speak, her hand finding his chest, fingers curling tightly into his shirt like she needed something—anything—to hold on to. Her body was aching for him, hungry for more.
“Please,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I need more.”
When his lips finally met hers again, it was soft—reverent almost—but beneath it, desperation burned. He kissed her like he was trying to memorize her, like she was the only thing anchoring him in the world. He lit something inside her, a fire that roared to life, and she never wanted it to burn out.
He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against hers, like he was anchoring himself there.
“This feels like...” he exhaled, voice shaking, “home. I don’t feel like I’m breaking anymore.”
Y/N smiled, breathless. “That’s because you’re not.”
Her fingers brushed slowly along his jaw, lingering before her thumb swept across his bottom lip with a teasing softness. Her voice was a whisper, thick with longing. “I don’t think I could ever let you go now.”
Something shattered behind his eyes—walls crumbling, fears dissolving.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to say that. And now that you have… I won’t let go. Not unless you ask me to.”
And for once, the chaos quieted.
Not gone. Just... stilled.
They were just two people finding something they didn’t know they were missing.
warnings: mmm minor spoilers BUT if you’ve seen marvel’s social media accounts as of late, the posters/asterick reveal specifically, you already know. oh and drug mention and very light mental health issues
a/n: cant wait for higher quality gifs……
not requested
Bob nervously stood in the frame of your door with a hairbrush clutched between both his hands. He stared down at the ground with his long curls blocking his view of you ever so slightly, then cleared his throat just loud enough to announce his presence. “Y/N?” He shuffled his feet timidly and you looked up from your laptop, working up new logos and team names just in case Sam Wilson actually did file for copyright.
“Yeah?” You gave him a soft expression to assure him he wasn’t disturbing you, a small curl of your lips to put him at ease. His body language was…typical, but starting to ease up day by day. He was making progress. You looked him up and down and noticed what was he held in his hands.
“Could you…help me brush my hair?” Bob’s voice was low and somewhat rough. You could see his hair was a little bit messy, but no different than usual. “It’s hard sometimes. I’m tired.” He tried to explain and you patted the space next to you on your bed, welcoming to sit beside you. “Thank you.”
You took the brush from his hand, but before beginning with the tool provided, you started with your fingers. Your nails against his scalp calmed him more than any drug he’d ever gotten his hands on. You gently worked out any knots that may have otherwise got caught in the bristles of the hairbrush and hurt him. Bob’s eyes had been closed a few minutes now, his thoughts at ease, and a weight lifted from his shoulders. Once you saw fit, you took the brush and began slowly pulling it through his brown curls. Bob asking for help was a step in the right direction, and you felt content that he asked you. Made you feel like you were heading in the right direction, too.
Summary: Bob doesn't know how to express his feelings for you, at least not with words so... he follows you around everywhere.
Pairing: Bob Reynolds x reader
Masterlist
Since you joined the Thunderbolts, more like New Avengers team, you connected really well with everyone... especially with Bob.
You can spent hours talking with him adn to him, cause most of the time he ends up quiet, just looking at you. He told you that it doesn't matter to him, that he is just a good listener and loves to hear people talk.
But one thing you are starting to notice is that he isn't just one good listener but also an observer and a follower. You supposed it was due to his personality and his trauma, but still was a curious situation.
When you came back from every mission, he was on the couch waiting and then the following began, all around the tower. Sometimes it was quiet, just seeing you from afar, other times he asked you to tell him about his day and in especial ocassions he made up the courage to talk himself.
The thing you always notice is Bob's lost eyes, like a puppy who wants attention.
So, today you are on a somewhat euphoric mood so you decided to fight back his strategy and start following him and start asking him.
"Hi, Y/N." he said with a cute smile while doing the dishes, you lay yourself on the doorframe.
"Hi Bob, how was your day?"
"G-good." he said flustered, looking at the dishes.
"But what did you do?"
"I... i did some chores, and went to the supermarket..." it looked like the dishes were about to slip from his hands, "and I had a walk."
"Where?"
"What?"
"Where was the walk?"
"Around central park."
You are sure that Bob never talked to you so much in one sitting and it was clearly showing due to his nervous mannerism and flustered face but he was smiling even though he wasn't looking at you.
You decided to continue talking to him a little more and leave him alone for a couple of hours, so he can recover.
Then you found him doing some crosswords on his ussual spot and you went to him, lazily putting your hands on the couch and almost placing your chin on top of his head.
"What are you doing?" he just showed you the magazine, muttering the answer. "what are the one that are more difficult?"
And the thing continued again for half and hour and you let him free again.
Then you decided to do it once more, the third one, just to make it perfect.
You spotted him getting out of the shower and you followed him thru the hallway. Suddently he turned around and you ended up crushing onto his chest.
"What are you doing?" he said, blushing at how you bumped onto him.
"I was just doing what you do."
"That's what makes me even more confused."
"I wanted to know why you do it, why you follow me like a lost puppy, how it felt... and it is quite funny in fact, is cute to see you doing things around." you said with a smile, but he was getting reder every second.
"But I don't do it to be fun."
"Then why?" his voice sounded like a small groan, he was on the verge of a small collapse.
"Cause I don't know how to be around you and that's how I end up acting."
"And why would you still try to be around me then..." and then you finally realized. "I like you too... if you want a kiss, just tell me."
"I would like it." he said with a low shy voice, not looking at your eyes.
You laugh a little and put your hands on his cheeks to attract him and kiss his lips slowly.
pairing: robert "bob" reynolds x f!reader
synopsis: you're used to bob being away for long stretches, but this time he's left you with a gift — and what better time to use it than when you finally get him on the phone.
content: [18+ MDNI!!] phone sex baby, female masturbation, implied male masturbation, semi-public sorta kinda
word count: 3.5k
taglist: @fandomxo, @hallowedactias, @cillixn, @magicwithaknife, @xxsquiddkiddxx, @mornomn, @theoriginalfemmebot, @laniec03, @kitkatkaitin, @raidstarz, @hoodharlow, @someblessedmonster, @cassandakillian, @everydaydreamer, @heliosphere8, @adoringanakin, @mossmydarling, @she-sounds-hidieous, @dracuula98, @1eliana123-blog
author's note: oh bobert... i love u. i missed writing bob smut we are about to get more bobbed out RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!!! also of course i used the greatest ldr theme song in tha world... this got me thru my first relationship soulja boy and sammie if u see this u really changed the game!! anyways enough rambling ... if u enjoyed this please feel free to leave a comment, reblog, or even send an ask <3 love u all!
main masterlist ☆ join my taglist
Of all the things that come with dating a superhero, the loneliness is the one you’re least prepared for. You knew it would come — after all, you had chosen to date the Golden Guardian of Good. He was plastered across cereal boxes everywhere, a Spirit Halloween mainstay once he’d been properly introduced to the general public, and carried the hope of many people who had questions after the Avengers had seemingly upped and left to protect and defend other corners of the galaxy, but no amount of knowledge and acceptance could make up for the fact that sometimes you just wanted to be with your boyfriend.
You wanted to settle in for a cosy date night without worrying about an alert going off. You didn’t even mind the spontaneous situations. Civilians taken hostage, or runaway bank robbers, or rogue superpowered individuals. You always knew he’d be back before the night ended in those cases — the perks of being genetically engineered to be stronger than strong.
It was the covert missions that were the problem. The days, weeks, sometimes month-and-a-bit long operations that kept him out of sight and out of your arms. Phone calls were rare, if ever and you never knew what he was doing. Sometimes he’d come back visibly rattled, gaps in his memory that took weeks to fill and the intense guilt that followed after.
You hated these, and almost yearned for the days Bob was still considered too volatile to go on them, but as his control had gotten better, he was being asked to go for more and more of these missions. The cruelest part? Unless the other side had someone with unique abilities, he was always on standby, left to wallow in a room in a safe house in case the team genuinely needed him, but expected to follow all the same rules: stay out of sight, no phones, no leaving without permission. Sometimes he was allowed to call, but it was always short and to the point — they could never risk giving away their location.
The only thing that made it marginally better was knowing he was safe. Actually safe, not safe-because-he’s-strong.
You’re on week three of what’s meant to be a six week stint, and the longing is so bad you’ve buried yourself in Bob’s sheets dressed in nothing but one of his old shirts. His scent has long faded but it feels good to be surrounded by him in some way. Something plays on the TV, an old comedy with poorly aged jokes and a laugh track to match when your phone rings, an unknown number flashing across the screen.
Relief washes through you when you hear Bob’s voice through your earbuds, confident at first then more hesitant when you don’t immediately answer. He can’t see you but you sit up straight anyways, smoothing over the bottom of his shirt while you organise your thoughts. Calls like these were always short; you didn’t have time to waste on fumbling through greetings.
“Hi, I thought I’d be waiting at least another week,” you joke.
“Snuck away. Far away.”
“And what if the team needs you? Or you’re followed?”
And what if Valentina finds out? you want to ask, because you know he doesn’t have permission.
“I miss you. Needed to hear your voice,” he mumbles.
His voice echoes slightly, and you strain, ears trying to pick up any clues as to where he might be.
“Miss you so much. This is so hard,” he complains. You can pick up the faint drumming of his fingers.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve been away for this long.”
“It’s the first time I’ve been with someone the entire time,” he whines. “I don’t have a single moment to myself unless I’m in the bathroom. I feel so … supervised.”
“Awww. It’s a bonding opportunity,” you coo, pressing yourself further into his sheets. They’re too fresh to smell like him but you take a deep breath anyways.
“It sucks. I’m sharing a room with Bucky,” he whispers. “Bucky’s the lightest sleeper alive.”
“He was in the Second World War, and you guys should be on high alert,” you laugh.
When you close your eyes you can picture his face as he sighs, brows furrowed in frustration, head tilted back. When your thoughts start wandering to the way this action exposes his neck you, you shake your head trying to bring your thoughts back to the current conversation.
“I know it’s just… I miss you and I can’t stop thinking about you but I’m never alone and I can’t work it out because every time I relax even a little I hear Bucky shifting in his bed and it kills my boner.”
You picture his pout, his pleading blue eyes. You imagine he has the phone clenched tightly in his hands.
“Oh so that’s what this is about. You’re pent up. Poor Bob can’t rub one out.”
“Easy for you to mock me when you can get off whenever you like.”
You snort then, and the line crackles as he waits for you to finish laughing.
“I’m serious. If you’re home you can just get into bed and get yourself off and hey presto you’re done.”
“It’s not that easy,” you pout, thighs pressed together.
“It seems easy enough when I do it.”
You imagine the small smile he’s trying to suppress.
“Exactly. Not the same without you. I almost miss you more when I try.”
“I think you’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“No. If I was trying to make you feel better I would’ve told you I’m lying in your bed right now because being at mine feels too lonely.”
“Don’t say that,” he rushes out. “Don’t say that please. It’s not fair.”
You hum, shifting slightly on the bed. Outside you can hear raised voices and car horns.
“Guess I probably shouldn’t tell you I’m wearing that old Buccaneers shirt you tried to hide from me, then?”
The sigh on the other end is enough to make your stomach turn slightly. You can see him now, fist clenched trying to keep his voice level when he speaks to you.
“You probably shouldn’t,” he starts, voice heavy with something you recognise as need. “Any other things you probably shouldn’t tell me?”
You hum a little, dragging out the sound as you listen to his breathing, slow and controlled on the other side.
“I’ve been using your little gift,” you whisper suddenly shy.
There’s a sharp burst of static, then a silence so long you think he’s left.
“Bob, baby, are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry. Fuck. Shouldn’t have said that. Not fair I don’t get to see you,” he whines. Can see you on your back all spread out,” he muses.
“Not just on my back. Standing in the shower, on my stomach. If I use a couple pillows and the harness I can ride it too,” you hum. “Been practising for you. Gonna be so good when you get back,” you purr.
Static crackles as he exhales.
“Have you got it with you?”
His voice is tight, stretched thin as he tries to keep up the façade. He’s doing a miserable job.
“You bring it to the Tower with you?”
You hum out a yes, listening to the soft way his breath catches. Wherever he is, you know he’s palming at himself — discreetly, hopefully — because he never quite has the control to hold back when it comes to you, especially when he hasn’t seen you in a long time.
You let your mind stray to the times he’d come after long missions. Sometimes he wouldn’t even text, just show up at your front door with windswept hair and a new mission of his own.
“You still there?” he asks.
“Yeah. D’you say something?”
“Asked you if you have time now… it’s fine if you don’t I can–”
You cut him off.
“I don’t know what time it is where you are, but I have time. So much time,” you assure him, hand already slipping under the hem of his shirt.
“Wanna hear you use it,” he says, static crackling softly when he speaks. “Wanna hear. Been thinking about it since we left,” he mumbles and you know for sure he’s got his pants pushed down to his thighs, cock in hand.
“You have?”
“‘Course I do. All I could think about when I was getting the mold ready,” he sighs. “Does it work? Does it feel like me?”
“Of course it does,” you answer. It’s scary how much like him it feels, down to the veins and the slight curve. If you pretend for long enough, play the voice notes he leaves you when you’re at work and he’s at home, you can almost pretend he’s there with you. Almost.
“Good, that’s what I wanted,” he chuckles nervously. “Hope it doesn’t work too well. Don’t wanna be obsolete,” he jokes.
“God you could never be obsolete,” you sigh, thighs pressed together as you think of all the ways he could never be replaced.
“Really?” he asks.
His voice is still measured but there’s an undercurrent of barely restrained need beneath it all so you agree. You tell him that even with the lovingly crafted custom dildo he’d left you it wasn’t the same as having him there. It didn’t feel as good when you couldn’t feel the warm hum of his skin beneath your palms while you rode him, hard and fast until you couldn’t anymore and he helped you along with his fingers pressed deep into your thighs.
“Fuck, wanna touch you so bad,” he huffs. “Touch you, taste you, all of it.”
“Yeah? That what you’ve been thinking about when you should be sleeping?”
“What else am I supposed to think about? Wish I could see you use it, bet you look so pretty,” he groans. “Wanna kiss you again. I miss kissing you,” he whispers, and you feel something in you shift as your hand rests over your boob and then squeezes. “You’re so soft,” he continues. “Always so soft for me,” he mumbles again. “Sound so cute too,” he chuckles when you sigh at his words, desire already pooling deep in your stomach.
“Wish I could feel your tits,” he complains, “put ‘em in my mouth. Just for a bit,” he adds, attempting restraint.
“Never just a bit,” you sigh as you squeeze at your boob, stomach tightening when you imagine the heat of Bob’s mouth and the scrape of his teeth against your nipple. Your other hand rests between your thighs, fingers pressing down gently as you listen to Bob’s breathing get that little bit faster.
“You touching yourself?” he asks. It’s timid, despite the fact that he started this.
“What am I supposed to do when you’re talking about how soft I am,” you whisper, laughing. “I’ve missed you so much. Feels so good to hear your voice, honey.”
He laughs, and you imagine the shy way his face lights up.
“Are you still wearing the shirt,” he asks.
“Yeah. Want me take it off?”
You stop pawing at yourself but he’s rushing out a hurried no before you can actually move.
“Keep it on. Love you in that shirt,” he explains. “Can you play with your tits for me? Make yourself feel good.”
“You can’t even see me doing it,” you snort, even as your hands move to cup both of them, pinching at your nipples as you sigh softly.
“I can imagine. You always look so good for when you do it for me.”
His voice is low, a quiet confidence simmering beneath his words. “Don’t have to stop myself anymore,” he continues. “I can think about you all soft and easy on my bed. Always so easy.”
Static crackles softly as he speaks and it’s almost like the current is running through you.
You whimper.
You imagine the glow, the quiet power as he holds himself together wherever he is. You squeeze a little harder, almost able to feel Bob on you. The sound of traffic outside softens, his voice bouncing around your head as you groan softly for him.
“Sound so sweet,” he praises. “Even when I’m not there, you sound so sweet for me.”
You let one of your hands slide back down between your thighs, a shiver running through you in expectation.
"I’m so hard, it’s not fair,” he whines. “Know you’d take such good care of me, right?”
Your jaw clenches, and the coil in the pit of your stomach tightens as you think about getting on your knees for him, his cock heavy on your tongue while you take your time.
“Awww baby, of course I would. Wouldn’t even tease, I’d let you get straight to fucking my mouth,” you sigh, fingers pressed to your clit in tight circles. “You want that honey? Wanna make me cry?”
Anything coherent he has to say is lost in a flash of static and garbled sentences and you can already see the gold flashing in his veins, moving beneath his skin in fast intermittent bursts.
“That what you see when you think of me?”
“Yeah. Lots of tears. So pretty when you’re crying… and-and eager too. Let me do what I want,” he chokes out.
The strangled pitch of his voice gives you confidence.
“Bet you’re all leaky right now, huh. All pink, and pretty and sticky for me,” you purr, eyes shut as you picture him, big hand wrapped around the base of his cock. “You taking it nice and slow? You being patient for me?”
You let your fingers drag through your slit, already slick. You know he’s not, that he’s probably squeezing frantically, hips bucking into his fist. He doesn’t answer you, just panting into the receiver.
“Bob, honey. You taking it nice and slow? You waiting for me?”
“Trying. You’re not making it easy.”
You preen, back arching off the bed slightly. The fingers on your clit speed up, slit growing slicker as you imagine him frantic and needy.
“If you can’t control yourself now how are you gonna handle it when I’m all full of you, huh? This isn’t even the main event.”
There’s another burst of static, a couple of faint clunking sounds and then a short silence.
“Bob?”
“I’m here. Lost it for a bit but I’m here, fuck.”
You tease around your entrance, prodding as he catches his breath.
“I’m so wet for you, honey I wish you were here,” you whine, sliding your fingers through your arousal.
“Yeah. Wanna taste you so badly. It’s been so long I’ve practically forgotten,” he sighs. “Wanna eat until you’re begging me to stop, nice and slow. Can you get a finger in for me?”
You don’t hesitate, sighing in relief when your finger sinks into you nice and easy.
“Not the same when it’s not you,” you pout.
“I know, baby I know. But it’s just for a bit, get you nice and open yeah?”
You pulse around your finger.
You slide another in uninstructed, impatient as you listen to Bob’s barely controlled breathing on the other side.
“Fuck, I can hear it,” he groans out. “How wet you are. Just from my voice, huh.”
His admission only makes your want grow stronger as increase the tempo, grinding up into the heel of your palm.
Your breathing grows frantic and whiney as he instructs you to press harder, stretch yourself open on your fingers for him. Your back arches off the mattress as you try your best to reach that peak. The hem of his shirt brushes against your wrist almost distractingly, but you won’t take it off knowing that that’s how he’s picturing you.
“Can you get it?” he asks.
“Hmmm?”
“The dildo. Wanna hear you fuck yourself on it for me. Bet I’ll slide right in like I always do.”
“Cocky.”
“Know you so well now. She always opens up for me doesn’t she?”
You sigh out an agreement as you scan the room for your makeshift dildo dock. It was an invention of laziness that had proved to be your best idea yet. It’s on the floor nearby, almost calling for you to pick it up.
You listen, stretching out so you can heave it into bed, your knees pressed firmly into the mattress on either side.
Despite Bob’s urging you take your time, spreading lube over it as you listen to him on the other end.
“I don’t have much more time,” he reminds you.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” you say as you finally sink down onto it.
You don’t need to say anything, because the moment he hears your breath catch he’s praising you, encouraging you so earnestly you can almost conjure up the feeling of his hands on your hips as he guides you down, down, down until all of him is snug inside you.
“So full, Bob,” you whine as you rock your hips gently, your hands pressed forward into the mattress beneath you. It takes you a while to find a rhythm that makes sense, but you’re settled in soon enough, your stomach coiling in pleasure.
You close your eyes so you can focus on Bob’s voice, on the way he says your name through gritted teeth and hissed profanities.
It’s not the same. It’s never the same, but with Bob on the phone, when you close your eyes you can almost pretend he’s right there, can almost feel the heavy, desperate press of his fingers as he squeezes your thighs in an attempt to retain control. When he whimpers on the other end, it’s like you can feel the humming beneath his skin, the warmth that pulses through him while you grind down into him.
“Let me hear you baby, please,” you plead when he whimpers too low for you to hear.
“Gotta be quiet,” he mumbles.
“Can’t get there without you. Please don’t make me beg,” you plead, rocking your hips against the pillow as the toy presses into you. Your knees press uncomfortably into the mattress, and the steady creaking of his bed beneath spurs you on and you know, deep in your gut that all you want is to hear him properly.
He complies, voice clearer over the line and you feel a flash of heat travel through you.
You can feel the sweat beginning to bead on your temple, and the small spasms in your thigh.
“Wish you were here,” you whine out as you chase your high.
“Tired?”
Your stomach tightens again at just how well he knows you, and you just hum.
“Wish you could help,” you say and you hear him gasp, the static between you growing louder when you shift your hips just right and you can’t help but let out a desperate whine.
“Me too. Wanna see your face. I miss seeing your face,” he chokes out, the static building steadily over the line.
“We’ll see each other soon. Can look at me as much as you want then,” you coo. Every press of your clit on the pillow pulls you closer to the edge and you’re trying to drag this moment out, hold on to the way the static builds as Bob whimpers pathetically.
“Bob, honey are you there? You’re breaking up,” you ask desperately, ears straining for the sound of his voice.
It’s not long before the static subsides.
“Yeah, I’m here, sorry. You close?”
“So close. Just need a little more,” you plead.
He delivers immediately, groaning his encouragement.
“Let go for me. I need to hear it,” he pleads.
You don’t deny him, twitching and fluttering as you ride through it, voice broken as you call for him.
He lets off a chorus of “I’m right here”s that are soon drowned out by the returning static.
There’s a pause, a choked ‘I love you’ that’s somehow clear as day over the harsh burst of static.
As the static subsides, all you hear is Bob’s heavy breathing and when you close your eyes again you can almost feel him sprawled out beneath you, his lips soft as he kisses the top of your head.
And then the spell is broken by an automated voice.
“To continue your call please deposit more money.”
You hear Bob swear under his breath, and he must follow instructions because the call doesn’t disconnect.
“Are you in a payphone?” you laugh.
“Yeah, I was looking for some place private and saw it, thought I’d give it a try.”
“Didn’t know those still worked.”
“Me neither. Guess I got lucky.”
“Very lucky.”
After a longer than usual pause you add: “I guess we shouldn’t push that luck, huh?”
Your stomach’s already sinking at the thought of getting off the phone, of having to go another stretch of time without hearing him.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon, I promise.”
“I’m gonna miss you more now,” you complain.
“Me too. Shouldn’t have called, I made it worse.”
“It was nice to hear you Bob, even just for a little bit. Come home in one piece for me.”
“Of course, I always do.”
“And no more jerking off in payphones,” you add before he can hang up.
“No promises there.”
And then the call drops, and you’re left lying in bed longing for him to come home.
