i like to think bob reynolds was an omega before the sentry project but the serum altered him so much and made him an alpha. another struggle for him to fret about... hehe
[context]
similar but slightly contradictory - i think it kind of works like that, like i think all those super serums certainly causes some kind of sexual dysfunction and definitely dampens secondary sex characteristics (the first few ruts and heats become horribly unpredictable because of the influx in hormones, but settle and become mild but a bit more uncomfortable once they settle; alphas can't knot, omega's can't produce slick; so on and so forth), and as a result causes early menopause for any presentation, or depending on the canon, a forth "faux" presentation that's most similar to a beta presentation with irregular/erratic symptoms.
if bob were an omega before pre serum, i can certainly see how he'd think he's becoming an alpha, and getting wigged out and horrified by it. i don't think he'd be the most open about these changes either, so he's just kinda quietly panicking and fretting until he works up the courage to tell another thunderbolt, a doctor, or someone just figures it out.
Pretty please pre bottom surgery and post top surgery ftm!Bob Reynolds (sub) x ftm!reader (soft dom) also pre bottom surgery and post top surgery, Bob riding readers sparkly strap on👅👅👅👅 And lots of praise from reader🙏🙏🙏🙏
Also, can I be 🐶 anon if it isn't taken?
Love your work dude, drink water and take care of yourself!
pretty
robert 'bob' reynolds x reader
cw: riding, strap on, ftm bob, ftm reader, past relationship, getting back together, implied power usage
a/n: hi hi! yeah, you can be 🐶anon! it is not taken! and yes, i will write this! if ftm bob r is your thing this fic might interest you, it's also t4t. and this one isn't t4t, but it has top ftm reader, post bottom surgery. i am sorry this is kinda short, but i kinda like how it came out
also tysm! works picking up and im outside a lot more (i'm on a tour rn so i haven't had a lot of time to write), i definitely needed the reminder :) and please take care of yourself as well!!
you'd barely been able to tear your eyes off of him long enough to slip into the strap. even when you had, you took glances that lasted longer than they should've. longer than bob could be patient for.
it was when bob, on his knees, pulling and tucking straps with for you. after you'd watched his shirt come off. after he'd pushed that glittery dick into your hands, trying to shove you away, to keep you from grazing the tips of your fingers up his sides and along his scars. scars across a flatter chest, scars that've grown sensitive from the attention you've littered them with. because it is not your fault they're pretty.
it's that muted pink with that precise, barely raised line in the middle. so pale you'd hardly notice them if you hadn't been there when he got them. if you hadn't taken care of him after. all with that dull shine stretched across. you're not sure you have a favorite part of bob, physically or otherwise. there's no list, but his chest would certainly be high up there, if there was. (preparing for that surgery had been the longest stretch of time he'd been sober for in all the time you've known him. before now. before new york and the thunderbolts and all those other details you try not to think about.)
that first "pretty", the first of the night. the first you can remember at least, came absentmindedly. when bob kneeled in front of you. impatient. darling.
a pet through his hair gained grip, forcing his head back. leaving his gaze to fall on you. "baby, you're so," came out airy.
you hadn't recognized them, hadn't realized you'd said them, until bob pushed. "so? i'm so," his voice hung on to that last 'so'.
and that first pretty got you bob, over-eager, over-powered, over waiting, pushing you down onto your couch. pulling himself over you. your sparkly dick. tension up his thighs as he takes you. bob's just wet enough to keep that initial slide stuffy. to get another pretty from you. another hand in his hair, forcing his head back.
he's flushed.
"look at you," you say it low and leading. puncuated by a squeeze to his thigh. "still eager for me."
and looking at him. features softened and that illuminating gold encroaching his irises, you can't be sure what started this. if it was your hand under his shirt, splayed out over his shoulder, or his hand on your thigh that started it. that got you bob in your lap, gripping the couch. doing his best not to break it. not to go too fast, not to chase the friction of your thick, glittery dick. not stay your good, pretty boy.
maybe there was nothing, no single thing that initiated. just months of build up. of getting to know each other again. of dancing around each other, careful to avoid old sore spots, skirting around feeling that never got around to fading. of flirty jokes that toed imaginary lines and movie nights and errand-turned-hang outs that lasted until the parking lot. and then longer still.
cliches are cliches for good reason. it did just happen.
you'd swear it did.
it, of course, being this.
you.
your dick glossy. the slide of bob's cunt from those tight rolls, your thumb harsh on his clit making his hips stutter down that toy, glittery blue and wet. leaving it shiny from every half-drag. leaving it "pretty". leaving you repeating that sentiment again.
and you see his face go slack, just for a moment. just before he can catch it. before he tries to turn away, to hide that expression in your cheek and groan next your ear to distract from it. to try to. to fail against your grip still in his hair.
not that it would've worked, even without that steady grip. not when you're so focused on your baby.
cw: established relationship, referenced sex (m/m), masturbation, praise kink, kink for pics/being photographed, sexual frustration (implied), abrupt ending, thunderbolt!r
an: requested! from this post, but if you don't feel like clicking-
a Bob Reynolds’s fic where he is having alone time imagining top reader is there because he is gone on a mission.
it's pathetic.
bob does get that.
curled up in your bed, with some toys and lube rolled up in a towel next to him, working himself up just scrolling through his photo album of you. a compilation of his favorites. he had the sense to give himself a break. he's no more gratified now than he was when he first pushed the blunt head of one the thicker toys into himself to pictures of you. some playful, ones he took because you were doing something half-dressed. because it annoyed you. because you're so unintentionally hot all the fucking time-
bob switches to your texts. fighting the urge to send another after that last one that simply read 'come home come home come home come home' (fourth text for the day. eleventh in the last three).
you don't text each other much, bob realizes. you don't really need to. you see each other more often than not when you're home. at the tower.
most of your messages to each other are pictures, some are things you see while either of you are out. some are from stores, from the sporatic messages about picking up something - usually groceries, but meds and dinner aren't uncommon either. there's some walls of texts without pictures at all. all from bob. all like the one he just he sent. all along the lines of 'do you have your phone back yet?' or 'you hate me :(' when you're on an assignment.
all obviously unanswered.
it's protocol. bob can hear it in yelena's voice when he finds himself getting agitated about it. he can hear it walker's and bucky's and ava's, before he bothers complaining. it's one of the first things anyone, sans alexei, says to him on the first few days after you're deployed for an assignment.
which is fair.
it's fine.
bob gets why you can't have it, can't send personal messages or have any contact with loved ones on the field - though there is a bit of pride held in the fact that he isn't labeled the same as the rest of the team. one he doesn't gloat about, rarely mentions. just keeps it close to his heart when you're not around. rings in his mind as praise.
dropping from his side to his stomach, bob scrolls further and further up the text chain. the vast majority of those messages, of those pictures, are a bit more prurient. leaves him rolling his hips against the bed, slow.
it's nothing. not satisifying, but not chasing it either.
the latest pictures, the first couple he saw after getting past his wall of text and weeks of the more mundane, errand-y questions, were ones you sent. all of bob, some with you. one of the highlights was one of the older pictures. one of your favorites, one of the first you ever took of him like this, after he first admitted to liking pictures like that being taken. one where bob's fucked out, looking up at you, just over your phone's camera after he'd given you head.
your hand is holding his face in the picture, bob remembers how harsh your grip was, unconsiously mimics it. squeezes his face like he can keep that memory playing in his mind, feel a ghost of every sensation a little longer if he holds his face tight. like you did.
bob slips his middle and pointer finger into his mouth. your dick felt so thick in his mouth and it's not the same. doesn't taste like you, like that combination of skin and soap and you. but his hand, the press of his fingers far back on his tongue, is alright. it's something. doesn't get him that 'baby' ripped out of your mouth while he pushes himself, but it reminds him of it. reminds him of choking around you, trying to take what's left in his hand too quickly. because bob is messy.
the soft buzzing from the plug had undoubtedly ramped him up some that night. but in that picture, you hadn't known about it yet. you were barely a few minutes in the door before bob's original plan was abandoned. he hadn't seen that nice suit they put you in before you left and he needed you out of those slacks. couldn't pull them down fast enough. that planned reward for you already forgotten, replaced by a much more impulsive one.
one that left his legs cramped with that dull, cold burn that comes from sitting on your knees too long. that warm prickle up his scalp from your hold in his hair was more than a fine trade off. you didn't mean to pull, bob knew that. craved more than the memory of it, though. this was just barely enough. that memory accompanied by that picture of himself. spit spread across his lips, stretched across cheeks fuller than bob was used to having, then. your grip was rough enough to push a few streaks of cum down his chin, while he tried to swallow.
how vain.
when he thrusts his fingers further in his mouth, he moans, flushes warm. bob flips to another picture. same night, only a few minutes before the last one. you hate this one, only kept it because bob was immediately obsessed with it - it's a mirror picture. you're both in it, but mostly you.
he could see that button up undone. and the undershirt. jacket's gone, thrown somewhere you groaned about later. you're on the edge of the bed. bob's kneeling, head between your thighs. he remembers you wincing from how hard he gripped your thigh, at first. you're leaned back, propped up on your elbow. the whole picture is blurry from an unsteady hand. leaving that grip in his hair. bob remembers how nervous you were fucking down his throat. how you sounded, fuck, he wishes he could hear you now. hear that rumble from yours, all gravelly with huffy curses interspersed. a few 'good boy's that has bob desperate to squeeze his dick when they linger in his mind.
bob barely realizes he dropped his phone, dragging his legs up just enough to arch his ass up, just enough to scramble getting his sweats down his hips.
he'd ground into nothing then, and he finds himself grinding harsh onto the mattress, now. he can't help how erratic his hand comes down on his own dick. too indignant in his need to care that it isn't good. he remembers that 'you're always so good,' that came after mirror picture was taken and he needs something on him. or in him. anything at the memory of your hand falling from his hair, when he whined, too loud to hear you, before you could smooth it down his back. at the 'baby, you're too much for me', it earned him.
that 'too much,' repeats itself and bob sucks a little harder around his fingers, to feel like he's earned every, too much. there's another for each quick stroke down his dick.
god, he wants it to be too much. wants to be so wholly overwhelmed by your touch.
your dick.
lube.
he needs lube.
hastily he pulls the towel out and under himself and rolls onto his back.
bob would prefer to stay on his stomach. that's how you had laid him out after you pulled him forward. tugging him up after those pictures, taking him by the mouth, licking into his while he fumbled for you. any of you, your arms, your face, wherever.
it was with your hand to his ass, fingers intending to tease, finding the long t-shaped end of his plug instead.
that look of yours, with lips ever so slightly curved, eyes fixated on him through lashes, left him ruddy. 'yeah?'
your voice was so.
something.
in these moments you sound- bob doesn't know. just has a timbre to it that bob could describe if he wasn't so hot every time he heard it.
between that yeah? and every too much that came before, bob could cum from the kiss of the toy's head to his asshole. if he can at all.
the toy goes in too easy and he's panting before it's far enough inside him to matter. whining out when it's stuffed in completely.
you were much gentler than bob is now. kept him on his stomach as you played with the plug. ramping the vibration speed higher before hooking your fingers on either side of the plug's stem. you ran your hand over his lower back, massaging it while you pulled the plug out. partially. you kept it in at the widest point. 'that too much?'
too much, too much, too much
it wasn't.
not that he said that. or anything. tried to grind back onto the plug. your hand on his back stopped him. and it wasn't meant to be a taunt, and said in a voice much sweeter.
'look at you, so eager to take it. didn't even have to ask'
fuck, he could cry. it's not enough.
you fucked him so slow that night it verged on egding. but he came. cum and spit still splashed across his face, lube running down his thighs, he came.
and he's cum a handful of times tonight. enough that he doesn't think he can again, not even with that super serum shit, not tonight. every thrust from the toy leaves him shaky.
