summary: there’s nothing in the world you hate more than doing the dishes, and bob isn’t so fond of the idea of it either, so instead of fighting over who would do it, you figured a way to make it interesting – the first one to come takes the dishes duty.
cw: f!reader, smut, sixty nine position, oral m and f receiving, munch bob let's go, handjob, fingering, counts as mutual masturbation I guess? praise kink, banter
a/n: yeah hi I'm just on fire these days. don't mind me
There’s nothing in the world you hate more than doing the dishes.
A pile rests in the kitchen sink of the Watchtower, a massive stack of dirty pots and pans used for the fairly elaborate dinner – by this team’s standards – you all had yesterday for Yelena’s organized gathering. The mix of remaining smells stinks, the bottom of the sink isn’t even visible anymore, and the faucet isn’t even usable anymore – the pile is so huge that it’s angled out of the way so it all could fit.
You and Bob hadn’t done so much to participate in the organization of the gathering – Yelena had planned it all out, contacting and inviting friends, Bucky had ran errands for it, Alexei had cleaned the place in his own weird ways of doing it, and John and Ava had cooked in a chaos that all told you it probably wouldn’t ever happen again. The both of you had helped here and there, but probably not significantly enough to be noted, so it would only be natural for either of you to take care of the dishes.
There really is nothing in the world you hate more than doing the dishes. And Bob isn’t so fond of the idea of it right now either.
So instead of fighting over who would get the ultimate punishment, you debated, talked, went astray and eventually met halfway and figured a way to make it work, to make it interesting – the first one to come takes the dishes duty.
Bob’s cock throbs in the hold of your palm in reluctant desperation, hard and leaking, responding to each and every touch of yours – this is going to be so easy. “I was thinking about grabbing coffee this afternoon,” you declare mindlessly, your thumb teasingly caressing at the tip of his cock, rubbing around the bead of pre cum that has gathered at the slit. “–Since I’m not gonna be busy with the dishes. I’ll bring you something home if you want” you nod, glancing back over your shoulder with an insolent grin, looking at him where he’s still only caressing along the length of your thighs, already seeming to have forgotten about the point of all this ever since you started taking care of him – you're off to a good start.
“Don’t get too cocky,” he advises, a small sound escaping his chest when your hand begins gliding down the length of his cock again.
“Curious choice of word” you huff out, teasing – you almost choke on your own breath when he clings tighter onto you, your confidence crumbling with the first contact of his tongue. He hums right into you as he starts eating you out, slow and passionate, the vibrations from his throat only instinctively making you arch further into him – you could almost forget what this is all about, he could easily turn it all around and make you forget. Your mouth is stuck slightly agape, brow furrowed as he feasts on your pussy already, tongue delving through your folds teasingly, hands holding you tight like he's determined to win this and determined to do it fast.
“Okay, okay” you wail, shifting your position desperately trying to pull away from his mouth, your free hand holding firm onto him, fingers digging tight into the muscles of his thigh.
Bob parts away from you with a hum, fingers easing on the grip over your ass where you’re laying over him. “What were you saying? Sorry, I got a little distracted” he says after he licks his lips, eyebrows raised in fake wonder as he awaits your response, a feigned confused expression over his face when you turn back to him.
“Yeah, very funny” you mutter, turning back away from him feeling a little light headed from the lingering feeling of his mouth on you, resuming the steady movements of your hand on his cock, stroking languidly. You hear him sigh softly, feel the warmth of it against the inside of your thighs where you’re aching even more intensely for him now that he has given you a taste of it, craving more.
“I love you, but I’m not touching dish soap today” he declares, broads hands caressing the goosebumps of your skin, his touch soft and tender despite the situation. “Not a single drop of it.”
“Sure, we’ll see” you huff out in a small, unconvinced laugh that fades when you start lapping at his sensitive tip – his thighs ever so slightly twitch, hands tensing where he’s holding you, a small, half repressed sound tearing from the depths of his throat.
Bob lets himself get lost to the feeling for a second before his fingers glide through your slick in response, collecting the evidence of your arousal over the length of them as he rubs back and forth through your folds, only making you wetter for him. You feel like you're about to die from impatience when he teases them at your entrance, making you crave the way they feel when they're inside you – it's not as shattering as having the whole weight and warmth of him, but he knows just the rhythm to make you arch into him, just where to press to make you cry out.
"You're not gonna win if you're only gonna tease me about it" you note, the palm of your hand taking over and stroking the length of him again now that your mouth can't do the work anymore.
"You talk a lot for someone who better put their mouth to other use" he argues, letting the tip of his fingers linger over your clit, circling maddeningly gently – your body involuntarily arches into him for more friction, drawing the soft sound of a quiet laugh from his mouth.
He has no idea how right he is, but you're saving it for later.
His dick twitches before your eyes at the sound you make when he slides a finger into you, gentle and careful, progressively easing all the way in. He only moves when he's sure you have accommodated to the feeling, slow and deep, already trying to reach where he knows you'll feel weak. He withdraws all the way in after a while only to add another, filling you full of his slender fingers, a strangled moan escaping your mouth when they curve and reach for the spongy spot inside of you, the one that makes your legs tremble. It’s a curse that he knows you this well, knows exactly what makes you fall apart, that his hands are now so confident over you where they once used to be so shy and tentative – you could have won this little challenge in no time a few months ago.
His rhythm falters a little when you let the tip of your lips linger along his cock in teasing kisses, only getting it to twitch in need for you – his head drops back into his pillow with a grunt when you take him into your mouth, for real now, humming around him just to make him crumble even further. "Nghh– shit," the thrusts of his fingers let up inside you, unable to focus anymore, not when you're taking him this deep and this good. They withdraw with the closing of his eyes, his hips weakly bucking into your mouth, your confidence coming back all at once when all he's capable of is gripping your skin as an anchor for his pleasure, sweet whimpers leaving his lips, brow furrowing with how hard he's trying to keep himself composed and not come into your mouth this easily.
You're convinced of your win, already celebrating the thought of not having to even glance at that massive pile of dishes, pride filling you when you feel him softly throb into your mouth – you know he's close already and it's a shame you can't see his face, can't glance at him and see the blissed out expression you usually see through your lashes, can't see the sweet, faint flush over his cheeks.
The thought vanishes with his fingers gripping your ass cheeks, arms locking around you and holding you in place as his tongue delves back through your folds in broad, maddening licks, whining at the taste of you, making you clench against his tongue. He's getting back to you, fighting back, every vibration of the sounds he makes getting you even more wrecked, your hips inadvertently rolling back against his face. He's slow but careful, each lap of his tongue calculated and intent on driving you crazy, moaning into you like he's getting off on this alone – you suddenly cry out when he moves and starts sucking your clit so good it makes you pull away from his dick, eyes squeezing close, hand planting on the bed to get a grip on something. He's good, you think, before your mind gets clouded with the feel of him, gets overwhelmed by the strong hold he has on you when the tip of his tongue flicks against your clit just right; you sometimes wonder if his telekinesis and enhanced senses have something to do with the way he always seems to sync in with your needs, always precisely finding and adapting to the perfect pace.
You're about to play real unfair.
“You know,” you breathe out, hand lazily caressing his cock just the way you know he likes from the reactions it usually draws out of him, turning on the upstroke. “You’re actually doing so well” you coo in a murmur, voice intentionally soft for him. “You’re so good to me, Bob.”
He twitches into your hold, weak and desperate, everything about the way he gets handsier telling you he's getting close. He wants to speak back, wants to tell you you’re playing unfair using praise and taking advantage of his weaknesses, but each second using his mouth elsewhere than on you is a second closer to losing this – he just moans into you, whimpers drawn out of him with each praise of yours, getting messier and sloppier in desperation.
You whine with each and every of his efforts on you, unable to repress the gasps when your thighs begin to shake beneath his hands.
“You’re making me feel so good,” you praise gently in between pants, doing your best to focus on not breaking and on getting him to break instead. The sounds he makes only fuel you further, and it's just a question of time now before either of you snaps, a matter of seconds now. “Come on, give it to me baby” you encourage, feeling him tense in your palm. "You can do this, you're such a good boy"
His hips buck into your hand the moment the words leave you mouth, and he lets out the most broken moan you've ever heard from him, muffled into your core – you feel his breath hitch against you as he pulses and spills into your hand, soft whines drawn from deep inside his chest as he comes, just what you needed to have him drag and push you right to the edge too. He takes everything you have to give, laps at your spent while you cry out for him, the motions of his thrusts into your hand getting weaker as he drowns into you.
His head sinks back into the pillow when you whine from overstimulation, his eyes closing in defeat, a small, breathy laugh leaving his slick lips when he comes down. You unstraddle him and join his side, leaving a couple kisses over the hard plane of his heaving stomach before you look up at him, a blissful glint in your eyes. "You weren't so bad, I guess"
Later, you walk up to him and peek from behind his shoulder at the sink, kissing his cheek when his hands are buried deep into a pot, an irrepressible smirk over your face as your thumb and index finger shape into an L over your forehead before you leave to watch him from the comfort of the couch.
There's nothing in the world you love more than a challenge.
—
any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated, I can't stress this enough♡
usually a blowjob hater but all i can think about lately is tying a pretty boy to a chair with his wrists back and legs spread and making sure he can’t move before i make out with his tip, slowly kissing and licking his dick until he’s a leaking mess. stopping just before he cums to see him writhing and groaning and whining at his ruined orgasm, just to continue once the feeling fades. wanna do this over and over again until he’s sobbing from frustration and his thighs are trembling and abs are clenching, then finally making him cum. once he cums, he’s so sensitive and adorable and i wouldn’t be able to resists pulling another orgasm from him, nor another, nor another, until he’s overstimulated and writhing and begging me to stop, that he cannot handle anymore, head thrown back and sobbing harder and going even dumber for me
CW: angst/hurt/comfort to smut, no use of y/n, pinv, afab reader, foul language and mentions of alcohol abuse, unprotected sex, facesitting, mating press position, bathtub sex
Summary: Bob's been sulking in the tub since he got back from his first solo mission. Thankfully, you always know how to make him feel better.
**********************************
Bob’s bathtub is completely ridiculous. It’s larger than most hot tubs and takes up the entire corner of the bathroom; by your closest estimate you could comfortably fit an entire minor league baseball team in it. Sunken into the floor and flush against the massive wall of windows, it commands the attention of the entire room. It’s nearly three feet deep, with a built-in bench running the length of it. Even with all the time you spend in his apartment at the Watchtower compound, you’ll never get used to how insanely opulent it is.
The heated tile floor under your stomach, the darkness of the room, and the soft whoosh of the water jets is steadily lulling you into a drowsy haze as your fingers dangle loosely in the water. Your t-shirt and bike shorts are starting to get damp from the humidity. A few sweaty strands of hair stick to your face, but raising your arm to fix it requires too much effort.
You’re not sure exactly what day it is, but you know you’re stuck somewhere in that strange span of time between Christmas and New Years. Your only objective is to see how long you can go without wearing a bra, drink excessively, and rot in bed. Thankfully, you’ve become an expert at all three. You hadn’t been on call in days; as part of the New Avengers “clean up crew,” (head of the back-up special ops squad, to be exact) your job is to solve problems, which are blessedly absent as of late.
The rest of your mug of mulled wine beckons to you from its precarious perch on the edge of the tub. The empty bottle sits on the counter, long forgotten. It’s the good kind you can only get from Germany, with some weird name you can’t remember how to pronounce. Valentina ordered it for the holiday gala last week, and you had drunkenly squirreled away several bottles with Alexei once the party was winding down.
Your joints pop loudly as you stretch and arch your back against the warm tile. Yelena had given you a thorough beatdown during your sparring session earlier today, and you’re so worn out you’ve started to consider just rolling into the tub fully clothed. It’s nice to have a fellow Widow to train with, though; the super soldiers have a tendency to take workouts to extremes and Ava usually just phases out of the way until you get bored and give up. Besides, if it weren’t for Natasha and Yelena, you would still be in the Red Room. Nat wasn’t around anymore to thank, so you would have to settle for getting your ass kicked by Yelena.
Bob is submerged up to his chest in the corner of the tub, hunched forward as he idly traces patterns in the condensation fogging up the glass. The tub is so huge he looks small in comparison, almost childlike. His lips are moving but you can’t quite hear what he’s mumbling under his breath. A few stray snowflakes gently drift down on the other side of the glass as Manhattan twinkles and bustles beneath you with the urgency and efficiency of an anthill. So full of life, even at this ungodly hour of the night.
Bob had only been back for a few hours. He’d been gone all day yesterday and the day before, sent by Valentina on some stupid "reconnaissance" solo mission that was almost certainly for some good PR. The New Avengers desperately need it, especially after that last article in the Times. The accompanying image of Walker astride his crumpled shield (Bob still feels bad about that) had done some serious damage.
The compound felt so empty without Bob, but at least you got to while away the hours hanging around the Watchtower and watching the latest shitty reality TV show. Yelena and Ava were half a season ahead of you and had been pestering you for days to catch up before your next girl’s night.
A siren faintly wails in the distance, the red and blue lights reflecting in Bob’s eyes. He hasn’t said a word to anyone since he got back; just stalked straight for his room as soon as he emerged from the elevator, stripped off his suit, and walked right into the tub. Your message notifications went unusually silent about twelve hours after he left. Now here he sits, brooding and sullen. You figured you might as well keep him company until he finally-
“I asked them not to put me so high up.”
You jump, startled out of your musings by his hoarse voice echoing off the concrete walls. A muscle twitches in Bob’s jaw as he stares blankly out the window.
“I told her that I don’t like heights,” he mumbles.
You push yourself up onto your elbows to get a better look at him. “Have you thought about moving to a different room? It’s not like Valentina’s gonna say no.”
He snorts quietly. “It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s not like I’m going to be here for very long.”
The last vestiges of wine-induced haziness drain from your mind as you sit straight up. The water is scorching hot against your skin as your feet dangle into the tub. “What do you mean by that?”
“I fucked up my mission.” He blinks rapidly as his eyes dart around the room. “I don’t contribute anything to the team, and I can’t even be the Sentry without turning into a shadow demon that traps people in their own nightmares.”
The words just keep pouring out.
“Every time I try to do something good, the other guy comes and messes things up even worse. I don’t know why I try anymore.” His hands shake as he angrily pushes a strand of hair out of his face. “I don’t know why you guys even keep me around.”
He falls silent again as he stares out the window.
“Jesus, what happened out there?” you murmur.
You should go make him feel better.
You stand and roll the edge of your shorts up before wading across the tub to sit next to him. It’s hard not to wince as the hot water stings against your legs, but Bob hardly seems to notice the heat. You plunk down on the edge of the tub next to him.
“I just- I don’t remember how exactly, but I know I fucked it up,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes as he sinks further down into the water. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
A whiff of something metallic and acrid stings in your nose as you press a kiss to the top of his head.
Gunpowder residue.
The tense, heavy silence blanketing the room is stifling. You can no longer ignore how tight your shirt is around your neck or how your shorts are digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.
“Hold on, I’m coming in,” you grumble through the fabric of your shirt as you tug it over your head. Your shorts and underwear are next, kicking them down your wet calves.
Bob’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull when he looks over and is immediately face-to-face with your tits, perfect and glistening with sweat in the glow of the city lights below, so close he could just lean over and-
“My eyes are up here, Mr. Reynolds,” you tease. “Now scoot over. I’m gonna wash your hair.”
He nods and swallows hard as he tries and fails to drag his gaze back up to your face. There was something he was going to say, but his train of thought had completely derailed.
“I visited Yelena’s office the other day. I don’t know how she stays in for so long, I feel like I’m melting already.” You fan yourself with your hand as you fumble for the shampoo tucked into an alcove in the wall. “Shit, why is it so hot?”
Bob shrugs vaguely, transfixed by the way your sculpted muscles gleam under the dim lights. “Figured I deserve it.”
A single drop of sweat trails down your cleavage, and he’s too busy trying not to combust to notice the searching look you’re giving him. He’s seen you topless countless times by now, but something about the way your naked body moves through the water has him already half hard.
“Why would you ever deserve that?” The softness of your voice rattles him enough to force his eyes up to yours.
A nervous smile flashes across his face momentarily as he pushes away a mental image of you bouncing on his cock as he-
“Bob.” Your stare yanks him out of his imagination and pins him in place. “I’m serious. Now get your hair wet.”
He obeys and quickly ducks his head under the water. Steam rolls off him in waves when he resurfaces, shaking droplets off his face. His bicep is solid under your hand as you guide him to face away from you, maneuvering until you’re sitting cross-legged behind him.
The bottle of shampoo feels strangely familiar as you pick it up. “Wait, is this my shampoo? I’ve been looking for this!”
A blush creeps up his neck. “It works a lot better than mine,” he admits. “And it smells really good.”
“Yeah, that’s because it’s not that five-in-one bullshit you use. I’m telling you, you’re gonna ruin your hair with that stuff,” you chide gently.
“You like my hair anyway. And at least I’m not using dish soap anymore.”
You hum quietly; his argument is unfortunately solid. The shampoo does smell phenomenal, a concoction of berries, sandalwood and vanilla that has gotten Bob caught sniffing your hair on more than one occasion.
The silence is more comfortable this time as you run your soapy fingers through his thick curls. He gradually leans into you, and when your nails scrape lightly against his scalp Bob almost short circuits.
You chew on the inside of your cheek for a moment as you plot your next words.
“I know you think that you aren’t contributing to the team,” you start cautiously. The wide expanse of his back tenses in front of you.
“I’m fine.” His mouth twitches. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” You grip his shoulder, turning him to face you. “The team needs you. Just because you weren’t ready now doesn’t mean you’re never going to be ready.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles. “I’m just dead weight.”
You seize his face in your hands. His eyes are lined with red as they meet yours.
“There wouldn’t even be a team without you! The only reason there is a New Avengers at all is because you brought them together in the first place. Just think about it-” Your noses brush as you press your forehead to his, drawing him into your arms. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, and I’m just a glorified sidekick.”
“That’s not true,” he murmurs into your hand, his lips ghosting over your palm.
Somehow you always know what to say, how to soothe the ache until he starts to feel better. Good, even.
You snort. “Oh please, my job is to clean up your messes before they’re even messes. I might as well be a janitor.”
“You’re a sexy janitor, though.” His fingers are starting to trail up the outside of your thighs. A tingle shivers up your spine.
“My point is that you can’t give up on yourself after just a few months. You’ve barely even started training, not to mention the fact that you’ve been extremely distracted lately,” you say firmly.
He buries his face in the spot where your neck meets your shoulder as his hands squeeze your hips. “Maybe I like it when you distract me,” he mumbles against your skin. Sparks sizzle through your bloodstream, but you’ve got a mission to accomplish first.
“Right now you’re distracting me from washing your hair, so turn back around so I can finish,” He lets out the softest noise of disappointment, and you almost reconsider. “I promise I’ll be quick.”
That sweet, shy smile that first drew you to him spreads across his face and he acquiesces. You get back to work with the shampoo, working up a good lather as you massage his scalp.
“I really missed you,” he breathes, his soapy head drooping forward.
“I really missed you too,” you sigh. “It felt so weird sleeping by myself. Your bed is so cold and sad without you.”
Bob looks over his shoulder at you, a mischievous glint in his sapphire eyes. “Did you sleep in my bed?”
“Hey, I’m not the one with the million dollar suite overlooking Manhattan.” Now it’s your turn to blush. “So maybe I borrowed your room while you were gone.”
The thought of you sprawled across his navy blue sheets makes all the blood in Bob’s body immediately rush south. Fuck, what if you slept naked? Do his sheets smell like you now? He thanks his lucky stars that his back is to you so you can’t see how hard he is.
“Well, I’m definitely not complaining that a hot assassin lady is sleeping in my bed.” He forgets how to breathe as your arms wrap around his chest, your fingers dragging across his sculpted pectorals. You press against him, pressing soft kisses to the vertebrae in his neck as he melts into your embrace.
You could make him feel better. You always make him feel better.
“Rinse your hair out, and then you should let me give you a massage, get some of that tension out.” You give his bicep a quick squeeze. “Maybe tomorrow we should stop at that comic book store, see if they have anything new?”
“Uh, yeah- yep, comic book store sounds good,” he gulps. His attention is currently laser-focused on the feeling of your tits brushing against his back. If he doesn’t clear his head immediately, he’s going to explode. “Hold on, just gotta- uh-”
He pulls away from you and sinks with a soft sploonk below the surface. Before you can even react he’s back, water sloughing off him in sheets as he shakes droplets out of his eyes. Now that he’s kneeling and facing you, you can surreptitiously sneak a peek at his insanely chiseled torso rising from the water, your eyes wandering upwards from his washboard abs until-
The heat in his gaze pins you to your seat on the bench. His eyes are huge, pupils blown wide. Desire radiates from him in suffocating waves as he practically vibrates.
He wants you to make him better.
“Sweetheart,” you reach for him, your fingers brushing his chest. His heart is pounding under your touch. “You okay?”
Christ, how could he be okay? He was just crying in your arms not five minutes ago, and now he’s bricked up like a teenager on prom night. His hands are shaking with the effort of holding back from bending you over the ledge of the bathtub right then and there and painting your ass with cum.
“Mhm!” He nods vigorously. His eyes are as big as saucers. “I’m good.”
Better.
“You don’t look like you’re good-”
“Honey, I want you so, so bad right now-” he mumbles hoarsely, “I feel like I can’t control myself.”
“Jesus, Bob, what’s gotten into you?” you say as your blood roars to life in response.
In an instant he’s advancing upon you, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of your ass, mouthing and nuzzling at your collarbone, your neck, anything he could reach.
“Please, baby, just let me have you-” You’re instantly soaking wet as his teeth graze your skin. “Need you to make me feel better-”
His breath hits a sensitive spot on the side of your neck, sending an involuntary shudder down your spine. Bob jerks away as if you burned him.
“Shit, was that too much? I’m sorry- oh god, I’m so sorry-” He starts to step away from you.
“Wait, Bob, stop-” Your hand covers his, reeling him back in. “It’s not too much. You just tickled me a little.”
Your lips twitch upwards in a flicker of a smile. Bob wants those lips on him right now. There’s a manic glow in his eyes as he thinks about the things those lips have done.
“Oh.”
“You want to feel better?” you whisper. You guide his hand upwards until it settles on your breast, and you swear you see his eyes pulse gold.
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you come over here?”
“Fuck yes.”
In the blink of an eye his hands are cupping your face as his lips crash against yours. Desperation makes him bolder than usual, and you feel nearly weightless as he seizes your thighs and hauls you up against him. Your arms and legs wrap around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you hold on for dear life. The way he’s grinding his leaking cock against the inside of your thigh is nothing but pure sin.
He turns and lowers you both until he’s seated on the edge of the bathtub. The heated tile warms your shins as you straddle him. Like a man starved, his kisses are sloppy and possessive, his tongue clashing with yours, devouring you whole.
“Gonna make you feel so good,” he huffs into your mouth. “Been driving me crazy-”
He groans as you wind your fingers through his hair and tug. “I don’t think we’re going to make it to the bed like this-” you whisper against his lips.
He lays back against the floor of the bathroom, a strong hand on your back pulling you down with him. “Just sit on my fucking face already.”
A quick bolt of shock and trepidation bursts through you. “Wait, I don’t want to smother-” You gasp as he grabs handfuls of your ass and pushes your dripping pussy towards his waiting mouth.
Fortunately for you, suffocating to death with his face buried between your thighs is Bob’s ideal way to die.
The moan that rips from you echoes off the concrete walls. One of his hands is grinding you down onto his face, the other holding your hip with a grip so tight you’ll have bruises in the morning. He’s got you right where he wants you, and every time you squirm and start to forget the extent of Bob’s strength, he doesn’t hesitate to remind you. He parts you with a long, indulgent lap of his tongue and then he’s eating you alive. You clench around nothing as pleasure hits your bloodstream like pure heroin. If he wasn’t holding you in place, you would be nothing but a puddle on the floor.
“Hold still honey, I got you.” His breath is hot against the most intimate parts of you, your thighs twitching with each slow, deliberate lick. The tension in your core is building higher and higher as he alternates between laving at your clit and fucking his tongue into you. It’s too much and not enough, and somewhere you can hear your own voice begging him to let you cum. You need more, you need him, more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life.
One long, calloused finger slips inside you, filling you and stretching you open for him. The friction is too good as he flicks his tongue against your clit and rubs against the spot inside you that makes your vision go white.
“Oh, fuck-” The orgasm slams into like a freight train and your mind melts. He’s moaning into you, wanton and wrecked as every muscle in your body spasms and you cum against his hand and face.
A sly, satisfied grin lights up his face as he lets you back down. You collapse against his chest, panting and breathless and still coming back to your senses as his hands wander over you.
The energy of a thousand suns still radiates from him, ever insistent and demanding. Watching you come apart on his tongue has only riled him up even more. The heat pouring off of him is suffocating as you lift your head to see him already looking at you, hungry and impatient and ready to claim you.
“Baby, I want you inside me,” your voice whispers. He’s so heavy and hard in your hand, delicate skin like velvet as you stroke him, feather-light and teasing.
“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet.”
Your back hits the tile floor as he flips you and kneels in the water before you. He works his cock with hard, punishing strokes, his bare chest heaving as he seizes your ankles and braces them over his shoulders. The tip is red and leaking and practically begging for your mouth. He looks so much like the Golden God here, towering above you with the back of your thighs pressed against his abs, hair glued to his forehead as sweat and steam mingle on his skin.
Some time in the last few months, this Golden God became home to you. Your Bob, your Void, your Sentry.
He drags the head of his cock through your slick, rubbing against your oversensitive clit until you’re twitching against him.
“Please,” you pant as your hips jerk upwards to meet him. The friction is too good, and you need it more than air.
He notches the tip at your entrance and then stills. His grip on your legs tightens. “Tell me you want it.”
“Fuck, baby, I want you so bad-”
You both moan as he pushes inside you. The stretch makes your mind go blank every time, no matter how many times he has you like this you’ll never truly get used to his size. Inch by inch, he slowly sinks in until he bottoms out, buried deep in your cunt as your walls clench around him. It’s a perfect fit, and you’re so warm and tight and wet around him, Bob needs to take a moment to breathe so he doesn’t finish immediately.
You’re whining under him and grinding on his dick so beautifully, any restraint he still possesses flies out the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Restraint has never been his thing, anyway.
He pulls back slightly and then he’s slamming into you, taking you, hips slapping against your ass with every merciless stroke. The angle of his thrusts has him hitting a spot deep inside you that you didn’t even know existed. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remember to be grateful for the thick, soundproof concrete walls as Bob pulls sounds from you that are borderline pornographic.
It only spurs him on even more, and he suddenly pushes your thighs down against your chest, leaning his weight against you and folding you in half.
“God, you’re so beautiful like this-” he babbles against your neck as his hips piston wildly into you. Your nails dig into his back and your legs begin to shake as you clutch at him desperately. “Fuck, you’re so good to me, honey-”
“Ohmygod, Bob, oh god-” Your voice hiccups with every snap of his hips.
The force and exquisite friction of his cock drilling into you knocks the air from your lungs, but you’re well past the point of caring. All you know now is Bob, surrounding you and filling you and ratcheting the tension in your core tighter and tighter until you feel you’re about to come apart around him.
“Come on baby, gimme one more, wanna feel you cum around my cock.” He doesn’t let up as your walls clench around him again.
“Oh, fuck,” you cry out as every coherent thought leaves your mind as you cum again, hard enough to see stars. He slows down but fucks you through it until you’re almost sobbing from overstimulation. Hot, open-mouthed kisses pepper your neck, shoulders, chest, everywhere as you come back down.
Only to find that Robert Reynolds is still hard and ready for more. His hands are gentle as he pulls out carefully and sets your still spasming legs down. Awe, wonder, and a heavy dose of lust settle in his eyes as he looks at you like you put the stars in the sky.
“You’re my girl,” He kisses you deeply, his tongue flicking into your mouth. “All fucking mine.”
Your fingers tangle in his wet hair as you kiss him back. “All yours.”
The tenderness of his touch fails to distract from the golden ring glowing around his pupils in the darkness of the room. He’s balanced on the knife-edge, not quite Sentry yet, but not fully Bob.
You want more. His cock pulses against the inside of your thigh as your gazes meet. Slowly, deliberately, your nails drag down his back, pulling him down to you again. His mouth drops open silently as his eyes glaze over.
“Fuck, I love it when you’re needy,” he groans. His grip is crushing as he manhandles you, yanking you towards him and rolling you onto your stomach as you yelp in surprise. “Hold on to something, honey.”
Your nails scrabble across the tile, finding the ledge of the tub to brace yourself against. Getting pinned between Bob and the heated floor as he fucks you under the glow of the city lights was not on your bucket list, but it should have been. Two hands knead your ass, your hips wiggling enticingly as his cock prods at your entrance again.
A strangled moan escapes you as he slides in effortlessly. You whine as he pauses, seated so deeply within you that you can feel him in your belly.
“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous taking it like this.” His breath is hot against the shell of your ear as he leans down, his power thrumming at your back. You can’t see his face like this but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“Fuck, Bob, please just have me, I’m yours, I promise-”
All you can do is writhe helplessly under him as he roughly pounds into you without warning. One hand moves from your ass to your hip, the other to the center of your back, forcing your back into an arch.
The wrecked groan that rips from his chest melds with yours. He’s always so vocal, so responsive for you. His rhythm starts to falter, his thrusts getting harsher and faster as he gets closer to the edge. Water sloshes violently against you both, drowning out the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin as he fucks you. He’s not holding back now, almost using you like a toy, taking what pleasure he wants from you and leaving you a quivering mess. You want nothing else, want him to use you until you’re spent, but he gets off on your pleasure just as much as his own.
“Wanna cum all over you-” he huffs out as he ruts into you.
You’re too far gone to speak, all you can do is nod and cry out as another orgasm crashes over you.
“Oh, god-” His cock pulses inside you as your walls spasm around him. “Fuck, take it- take it, honey-”
A shaky gasp and burst of short, shallow thrusts and he pulls out, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. Shudders course through him and he’s erupting, painting your ass and pussy with hot ropes of cum as he orgasms. He sinks back into the water, admiring the masterpiece he’s made of you.
Your legs are trembling violently as you flop down next to him. An exhausted, satiated smile ghosts across his face as he looks at you.
“We made a little bit of a mess,” you giggle quietly.
Embarrassment and realization flushes his neck a deep red as he fumbles for a washcloth to clean you up with. “Sorry, the serum enhanced a lot. I’m still figuring stuff out.”
“Don’t apologize.” His eyes are back to their usual blue as he gingerly washes you off. Your Bob is back, sweet and kind and ever the gentleman. “Seriously, it’s hot.”
He pulls you into his lap as he settles onto the bench. His hand cups your face, thumb worrying over your cheek. “Thank you. I mean it, I don’t know what I would do without you. You always know how to make me feel better.”
You push a few strands of wet hair out of his eyes. “Well, I like making you feel better. And you definitely like making me feel better, so it seems like you’re stuck with me,” you smile.
He sighs contentedly. “Sounds good to me.”
The snow blankets the streets below in a layer of quiet as the city glistens beneath you, stalwart and lively as always.
Summary: Bob tries a new way of folding Sentry and the Void into his psyche, and it involves recreating the vibes of your smutty books.
Bob is a cinnamon roll, but Sentry likes it spicy. If you only like Bob soft and sweet THIS IS NOT FOR YOU.
Rating: 18+ MDNI
WC: 11.1k (complete)
Suggested listening: Off the Ground (Feat. MRYN)
CW: Porn with plot, no use of y/n, mutual pining, verbal consent, Bob is down bad, Sentry is a dom, reader is femme coded but not described, reader is also a thunderbolt/superhero (of vague power and origin, you decide!), banter, discussion of sexual harassment, Yelena is the greatest wingperson of all time, mild themes of violence, Bob is jealous, power dynamics, power play, dom/sub dynamics, p in v sex, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, creative sexual use of super powers, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), cream pie, fluff.
Sick af dividers by @lobster-graphics
“She likes you, you know. Everyone thinks she likes you.”
It should’ve made him feel better. It should’ve made him happy. Bob closed the book he had been pretending to read. Clearly, he wasn’t fooling anybody, and especially not Yelena. He was trying not to pretend so much lately, but old habits…
“I don’t know,” Bob muttered, shrugging. Across the common room from them, you sat on the bar top swinging your legs, hands flying as you relayed the details of yet another terrible date while Ava nodded along, absorbing, chiming in with the occasional disgusted grunt, laughing where appropriate. Bob shoved a piece of hair behind his ear and went back to pretending—pretending that he didn’t notice things about you, pretending that he didn’t care. Yelena, perched on the right arm of his overstuffed reading chair, shifted as if she might relent and leave him alone. He should’ve let her. Instead, he blurted out, “She goes on dates.”
Yelena snorted softly. Like him, she had opted for sweats and sneaks on a rare day off. Well, all of Bob’s days were off, technically; he was on the bench until he learned how to integrate. That was the word everyone kept using. Integrate. His personality was fragmented. He wasn’t much use to anyone, least of all a superhero team, until he learned to integrate. It would be easier to try if everyone stopped treating him like a puppy with a busted paw.
“Dates shmates,” Yelena said, tossing a glance over her shoulder at the two women gossiping by the bar. “She’s just waiting for you to work up the courage.”
Bob gave her a worried smile. “It’s um, I think maybe it’s better for her if I don’t.”
“I thought we were trying optimism.”
“Like I want to hear about crypto, of all fucking things…” you were saying, to a belabored groan from Ava. “…ruined my chicken parm.”
“Save her, Bob. Save her from the finance bros.” Yelena patted his shoulder, hopping down from the arm of his chair. “They are a menace and a scourge.” She tilted her head to the side, smirking as she flicked her head toward you and Ava. “Doesn’t it sound like she needs…a hero? A super hero?”
Yelena kept trying to walk away, but Bob kept saying too much. He flinched as his jealous mind tattled on him again. “Yeah? Maybe Walker can ask her out.”
“John?” Her brows tugged down along with the rest of her. She knelt beside the chair, folding her arms across the spot she had just been sitting on. Bob opened his book, a reflex, studiously avoiding her more pointed look. “Why do you sound bitter? What do you know about her that I don’t?”
Bob set his jaw, which in his mind projected a supremely tough and firm expression. It did nothing to rebuff Yelena. She went on staring, skipping a hand up the sleeve of his hoodie before poking his shoulder. He winced away from the prod. “Please don’t do that, you’re very strong.”
“You’re the Sentry.”
Bob shook his head. “Just…we should drop this.” His eyes, unbidden, tracked from the page he wasn’t reading, over Yelena’s head, to you. What did he know that Yelena didn’t? Where to start?
When you joined the team, you had gone to shake everyone’s hand without a second thought. Bob had been too distracted by your eyes, your warm smile, your laugh, to stop you before it was too late. Your hand folded into his, a perfect fit, and then you were somewhere else, a room he didn’t recognize, a memory dredged from the darkest shadow of your mind. He had witnessed your deepest shame, a thing he had no right to, a thing he wished desperately to forget.
Or maybe not. He didn’t know. He didn’t like the idea of forgetting any aspect of you, even the difficult pieces. When the vision faded, you stared at him with your lips parted, a muscle twitching in your jaw. Tears filmed your eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he had muttered, looking down at his shoes. “That…sometimes I can’t control that.”
And he would’ve forgiven you if you never warmed to him after that, but you did.
Yelena and Ava were so overjoyed to have another woman on the team that they took you in as a third sister; he was sure they must have filled you in on his whole sordid backstory. The drugs. The wandering. The lab in Malaysia. The vault. The Void. Even more ticks in the What The Fuck column, but you didn’t shun him. Sometimes, when he did the dishes, you just came and stood beside him and waited to help, taking the wet glasses from him and drying them. You didn’t always talk in those times, but the silence was fine, companionable. You calmed him down. He knew your darkness, and it hadn’t frightened him away or turned him into a judgy prick, and he got the sense that was a relief.
You left books out for him, ones you thought he would like, a hobby crumb trail to gauge his taste. You offered to take the pickles off his burger when he didn’t want them. When Walker condescendingly called him “House Husband” after catching him doing chores, you laid into John for it. “Does that mean you’re going to start pulling your weight around here? Pick up your shit?” you had shouted, and Walker’s face turned a hilariously patriotic shade of red. “No? Didn’t think so…”
On and on.
“Bob? Earth to Bob?” Yelena snapped in front of his face, then searched it.
“We shouldn’t…” Bob scrambled for an excuse she would accept so everyone could move on with their lives. Or Bob would try to move on, at least. Someone should move on because that’s what healthy people were meant to do. “Shouldn’t fraternize with teammates."
"Fraternize? Who said anything about fraternize?” Yelena scoffed, then laughed, then scoffed again, rolling her eyes. She wiped a nonexistent booger off her nose and lowered her voice to a naughty whisper. “I’m talking about smooching and cuddling and fu—”
“That’s fraternizing.” Bob shrank down into the chair, trying to disappear. She was never going to relent, ordinarily a fantastic quality for a superhero to possess but in this specific case highly irritating. “Look, if I tell you the real reason will you let it go?”
Yelena hummed. “Mm, that depends on the reason. Is it a dumb reason?”
“I’m not her type.” Bob shut his eyes and said it fast, definitively, so he didn’t have to hold the words in his mouth for too long. If he did, he knew they would burn. Across the room, you laughed, and it was like an arrow lodging in his heart. He peeled one eye open at the sound, expression softening.
“Oooh you are down bad bad, I see.” Yelena clucked her tongue, shifted her legs to shake the ants out of them as she continued kneeling beside the chair. “And bullshit, Bob. Bullshit. She tries not to stare at you as much as you try not to stare at her.”
“How can you even tell something like that?”
“It takes a yearner to know one.” Yelena heaved a long-suffering, dreamy sigh, then leaned forward slightly and slapped Bob on the knee. “Why wouldn’t you be her type? You have the beautiful, wounded eyes of a basset hound and the floppy hair of a 90s heartthrob. That is a lethal combination for many.”
Bob quirked his lips to one side, temporarily less interested in vanishing off the face of the planet. “You think my eyes are beautiful?”
“They are beautiful, Bob. I know it, you know it.” She frowned, narrowing her eyes. “I thought self-image work was part of you integration therapy.”
“It is,” he said. “This has nothing to do with that.”
You and Ava had finished your complete evisceration of Crypto Guy and, after a job well done, had wandered off together toward the elevator discussing dinner options. Now that you were gone, Bob felt a little easier about having this discussion right out in the open. God forbid Walker waltz in and overhear something with this super soldier hearing.
Yelena popped up, standing over him, hip cocked, arms folding across her half-zipped hoodie. “She’s gone. Out with it.” Her eyes somehow narrowed further. “You know something.”
“Listen, I’m not proud of it…” Bob cleared his throat, ran one hand through his hair, then both, with greater agitation. “I just…she likes to read, right? She left her Kindle out on the coffee table last week and I thought, hey, her birthday is soon, I can figure out what book to get her and like a total dumb ass I snooped.”
“You snooped.” Yelena repeated it, dry. “Does this story get more interesting? Because—”
“She has all these books about…” He took a deep, centering breath. “Sex.”
“Sex books!? Bob.” Fluttering her hand over her heart, she pretended to faint and swoon. “Oh my God. A grown woman has sex books? Like about sex? Penis vagina sex? How will your pure baby heart ever recover from the shock? Are you okay? I’m glad you’re already sitting down, because--”
“Stop. Forget it.” Bob shook his head, hugged his book to his chest, and stood, bypassing his interrogator as he stormed toward the kitchen and bar. Of course, she followed. Of course, the heckling didn’t stop. She always meant well, but sometimes it was just too much. Nimble and a thousand times more athletic than Just Bob, she beat him to the refrigerator, placing herself between it and him.
“It’s not a problem, okay? It isn’t that it’s sex. Sex is fine. Sex is great.” Bob couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, he sounded like a guidance counselor. But the lines about these things had always been blurry at best. The team gave each other shit like siblings and also like siblings, protected each other fiercely from the criticisms and cruelties of the outside world where normies, like, just didn’t get their whole thing, man, and if there were explicit rules against inter-Avenger romances, he hadn’t seen it in the paperwork, but if something went wrong, if something got messy…
“Sex is fine. Sex is great?” Yelena rolled her shoulders, pursing her lips as she snorted at him. “Sex is cool, maybe? Is it wow neato?”
Bob rocked up onto his toes, trying to remember the box breathing exercises his integration therapist had taught him before she accused him of being a virgin. What do you think is holding you back? the therapist had asked, bouncing the butt of a pen against his chin while he appraised Bob over a pair of thick turtle shell glasses. He didn’t know that such a therapist even existed, but Valentina had insisted it was totally a real thing, and whatever his reservations might be, the meetings were not optional. This is not a humane society, were her words, and you are not a stray kitten.
There were worksheets, homework. Constant, constant questions…
Are you afraid of what will happen if Sentry or the Void become dominant?
Bob flexed his white-knuckled fingers around the book he was clutching like a life preserver. He closed his eyes because he wasn’t sure he could explain it if he had to see her reaction. “The guys in her books are intense. They're tough and they yell constantly. They…they boss the women around. They’re fucking jerks, honestly, and I don’t want to be a jerk.”
The cackle he expected from her never landed. Yelena lowered her arms, then crossed the distance between them and gently touched his elbows. “Bob. Robert. It’s just a fantasy. She doesn’t actually want a jerk, she wants you.”
He shook his head. “No, no, they were all like that.”
“You read them all?”
“No. No. I skimmed. Enough to recognize a pattern. Look, I don’t know how to be like that,” he said quietly, deflating. “Even if it is just a fantasy, I couldn’t give that to her, I’m…” He sorted through all the unkind descriptions that had been hurled at him in his life, the ones he had internalized, the ones that stung, and the ones he could shrug off. “Afraid.”
“My sweet Bob. My darling Bob. My tiny baby sweet boy Bob…” Yelena patted his elbows, sticking out her lower lip.
Bob twisted away from her. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”
He was so fucking tired of everyone patronizing him. Yes, he had problems. Yes, it was taking quite some time for him to figure out his fragmented identities, and yes, he was kind of a dead weight in the meantime. Couldn’t they see that he was fucked up about it? Couldn’t they see him trying?
Are you afraid of what will happen if Sentry or the Void become dominant?
He tossed his book on the bar top and reached over Yelena’s shoulder for the refrigerator door, promising himself a crisp Dr. Pepper could fix this, pulling the panel open with enough force to rip it halfway off its hinges. Yelena leapt back, silent. Bob stared at where his hand was wrapped around the cylindrical handle. A jar of Dijon mustard fell off the lowest shelf and rolled across the shiny floor until Yelena stopped it with a tap of her foot.
“That’s new,” she said, eyes widening.
“I, um…” Bob tried to put the door back, but it hung loose and to the side, visibly busted. “I’m sure we can fix that.”
“Was that Sentry?” she asked lightly.
“I don’t know.” Bob hunched, keeping his eyes turned away from her. “Maybe.”
Suddenly, he didn’t have a choice about looking at her. Yelena soccer scooped the mustard jar onto the top of her foot and flicked it up into her hand, tossing it in the air and catching it as she came toward him, chewing her cheek in thought. She took him by the arm, swinging until they were face to face. “This is a good thing, Bob.”
“It…is? Because I think Valentina is going to be pretty pissed, and—”
She felt along his bicep as if to make sure he hadn’t secretly gotten jacked while they weren’t looking, but she didn’t seem to detect any major changes. “I met Sentry—”
Bob groaned, trying to veer away. “God, don’t remind me, I—”
“And he was kind of a fucking asshole.” She smiled, though, squeezing his arm playfully. “But he could be our kind of asshole. Her kind of asshole.”
Bob froze in her grasp, catching up to her meaning. His mouth fell open as his eyes shifted side to side. “I don’t know about this, Lena. I don’t know if I can control him if he comes out, and if I did something, hurt her, God, if I hurt her, I would never forgive myself.”
“Which is why you won’t.” She said it so simply. Honestly? It was kind of refreshing, and certainly more direct than the constant loops he went in with the integration therapist. “You are Bob and Bob is Sentry and Sentry is Void and Void is Bob, and so on, yes? If you want to keep her safe, they will keep her safe.” She poked him hard in the chest, and Bob jerked backward. “The heart of one man, but the, uh, diverse skillset of three. So maybe Sentry would…be a bit more flexible when it comes to playing the jerk. Just for her.” Yelena waggled her eyebrows and winked. “Just in the bedroom.”
“I thought you hated this stuff.”
You watched Yelena tear through your bookshelf with the zeal of a sheltered Mormon teen, fingers like claws as she dumped romance novel after romance novel into the growing pile at her feet. She was certainly organizing her night around a theme. You glanced at the titles with a knot tightening in your stomach. The Storm and the Stallion. The Sellsword’s Bride. Mounted by the Warlord.
“I’m broadening my horizons,” Yelena said flatly. She picked up Mounted by the Warlord and gestured toward you with it, eyes dark and dubious as she considered you and then the book. “How’s this one? Intellectually stimulating?”
“Is this a cry for help?” You joined her by the bookshelf. Previously, you had been observing her 180-degree personality shift from the safe harbor of your bedside table and the multicolor reading lamp there. Walker said those were for insomniatic autistic kids, but you had shot him such a poisonously withering look that he had stumbled on to say there was nothing wrong with that and maybe he should get one and oh look the Yankees game was on…
You studied Yelena, growing more suspicious by the second.
“Don’t worry about me, worry about you.” She put the novel back down on top of the stack, and pivoted, puffing the hair out of her eyes.
“Me? What did I do?” you asked, mirroring her defensive posture. “Did Bucky say something about bugs in the Britta filter because if so, I had nothing to do with that…”
“What bugs?”
“It’s not important.” You wiped impatiently at your eyes. Valentina had volunteered you for a charity fundraiser the following evening, and you had hoped to take all of the hours between now and then to prepare, decompress, practice your calming mantras before wading into a sea of politicians and paparazzi. You did not expect the Oprah’s Book Club treatment from someone who thought Pedro Páramo was a taco joint. “Can we skip to the part where you lovingly berate me?”
“Sure. Fine by me.” Yelena dusted off her hands as if touching all of your smutty books had left a physical residue. She squared up to you, placing her palms on your shoulders, giving her best frustrated big sister sigh. “Why are you wasting your precious time with finance bros when our dear beloved Bob is right there? I know you are not stupid, so what’s the problem?”
You opened and closed your mouth a few times, wondering if a stiff headbutt would be enough to knock her out. Anything to escape this conversation.
“There is no reason to torture yourself with Wallstreet coke heads, my love, Bob is single and ready to awkwardly mingle, and we would all cheer you on. Even Walker, which is saying something.”
“Please stop talking.” You covered your face with both hands, forcing out a groan through the crack between your palms.
Bob. Oh God, Bob. You had just survived twelve rounds of merciless interviews, a background check that would make even Steve Rogers sweat, and a compulsory media training camp that made you self-conscious about everything from your teeth (showing too much, too little) to your ankles (showing too much, too little) and—exhausted, terrified—Bob’s guileless smile had felt too good, too kind, to be true. It was, of course, because thirty seconds later he touched you and you were blasted back to the most traumatizing day of your life, but somehow you had known he didn’t mean to do it. He fell all over himself apologizing. He found you, hours later, and offered to order you a pizza or shawarma, or whatever, and that shame room thing didn’t always happen, and he mostly had it under control…
When you came home from your first mission, high as balls on adrenaline and public adoration but sporting several new battle scars, you found that he had cleaned off a corner of the main bookshelf in the common room. A place for your stuff. There was a crooked cardboard placard there, handmade, with your name scribbled on it.
In the storm of egos and anti-social behaviors that were the team, he was an oasis.
Yelena did not stop talking.
“—if it’s about the pot head sweaters, I know, I hate them, too, but we could just take him shopping, it will take like ten minutes and then you two can finally--”
“It’s not about the fucking sweaters.” The walls shook from the unnatural clang of your voice. Yelena froze, gently plucking her hands from your shoulders and holding them up in mock surrender. You heaved for air, getting control of yourself, of your power. “He’s sweet. He’s gentle. I’m not that.”
Yelena nodded along, but you could tell she was coming to unrelated conclusions in her head.
The admission toppled out of you before you could stop it. “I’d ruin him.”
“You can’t ruin Bob,” she stated. “You weren’t there; you didn’t see it--he almost destroyed Manhattan through the sheer, terrible power of self-loathing. Bob is as ruined as he’s going to get, and we all suffered for it, but he’s trying to be something else now.”
“That’s the problem,” you said, curling your hands into fists. “You’ve met those other parts of him. I haven’t.”
“I’m working on it. But trust me, you really don’t want to meet the V-Man--”
You squinted, shifting closer to her. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. “What does that mean?”
“He’s working on it, I mean, of course,” she hurried to correct. “With his state-sponsored therapist.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Just…don’t write him off, okay?” Yelena asked, doing that puppy dog, pouty pleading thing that was annoyingly effective. She bent down and scooped up her stack of books. You had assumed she would forget them, that it was just a pretense to get you alone for this conversation. You tracked the novels in her arms as she shuffled toward the door. “Promise me you won’t write him off.”
Never. Never.
“No promises,” you said, and went to bed.
Sometimes Bob liked to take his book to Carlo’s and sit at the bar, eat a slice or two, and just watch the world go by. HQ was nice, of course, and they were gradually making it feel more lived in, but sometimes there was still a soulless, corporate quality to it that was a real god damn bummer. Carlo’s was real. The bathrooms smelled like the stuff they used to clean high schools, the coasters were mismatched, the pepperoni cups on the pies were always wrinkly and spicy, and they still had the red, bumpy plastic cups that somehow made the water taste good but also thrifted. The Rat Pack and only the Rat Pack crooned in mellow swells from the juke box, because Carlo’s grandson and the current owner would kick out anyone who tried to switch up the vibe.
The elderly Italian lady who bartended made sure there was a spot at the bar for Bob. She called him “sweetie” and refilled his sodas before he was even halfway done. It was a hidden gem, something he kept just for himself, which was why he was more than a bit surprised to see Yelena there on a Friday evening. This was usually the time when she and Ava took over the common room for their horror movie nights, but here she was, frolicking toward him with a book bag slung over one shoulder and enough mischief in her eyes to sound the early warning system in his head.
“This place is cute,” she said, settling in beside him.
Bob wedged a bookmark between two pages to hold his spot, watching as Yelena took the pizza crusts left on his plate and wolfed them down without asking. He didn’t want them, but still.
“How did you--”
“We have trackers, Bob. We all wear them?”
“Oh. Right.”
“I have something for you,” she said, heaving the bag onto her lap with a grunt. Just from the way it dented her thighs, Bob could tell it was heavy. “Start with this one.” Yelena reached into the bag and pulled out a worn, tattered paperback, shoving it toward him.
Bob looked around to make sure the elderly bartender didn’t see him holding a tattered copy of Mounted by the Warlord.
“It’s hers,” Yelena said before he could ask, then, pointing a finger at him, added teasingly, “do not sniff it.”
“Jesus, I wasn’t going to…”
“Phase One of the plan is go—read these and do some visualization exercises. Probably don’t tell your therapist about Phase One.”
Bob flipped the book over on his lap, afraid just touching it would put a scarlet letter on his forehead for the rest of time. “Okay, I won’t tell him because I never agreed to a plan or any phases--”
“Bob, please just try.” Yelena swiveled to face him on her stool, chin working side to side as she sized him up. “You never said you didn’t like her, by the way. You just gave me a bunch of excuses for why you hadn’t done anything about it.”
He fell quiet, spinning his cup in place and watching the pool from the condensation spread. “I wouldn’t be good for her. I’m not even one whole guy, I’m just…pieces.” Simply for something to do, something to keep his mind occupied, he flipped to a random page in the book. He squinted down at it.
The warlord loomed over her, and she was helpless before his power. “You are mine to take. I have no patience for your modesty, girl. Remove your tunic and spread yourself, show me all that is mine by rights to claim.”
Bob flopped the book toward her, pointing. “I can’t be this guy.”
Yelena quickly read the passage in question, clearing her throat. She didn’t even blush. “No, but Sentry?”
“I don’t think Sentry, Earth’s mightiest protector, should be this guy.”
Bob slammed the novel shut and tried to push it into her hands, but she dodged, grabbing him by the wrists until he had no choice but to relent and keep it.
“You keep sidestepping the pretend part,” Yelena pointed out, lifting a brow. “It’s okay to try different things, play dress up, put on different hats--unless you’re Walker, in which case hats are to be avoided at all costs.”
At that, Bob allowed a grim smile.
“Keep the book for now,” she said, leaving the bag behind on the stool that she slid down off of. He would, and further, he knew he would cave and read it. Probably that night. Probably in one sitting. God damnit. “I worked really hard to get that. I thought she was going to stomp me into paste when I asked to borrow them all.”
Bob fidgeted, fixed his hair. His temperature flamed just at the thought of you. He ran his fingers through the condensation pool to try and cool down. “Did she…” He glanced to the side. “Did she say anything…”
“Just that she’d like to meet all of you, Bob.” Yelena leaned in and tapped his knee before turning to go. “All of you. Me personally? I think you should let her. I think you won’t get anywhere unless you push yourself a little.”
Bob paid his tab, hooked the book bag over his shoulder, and drifted through the night to the subway. Maybe it was okay to try a different kind of homework, one that wasn’t worksheets and self-affirmations that filled him with thoughts and questions but not much else.
Bob stared out the window as the train ca-shookt ca-shookt over the tracks; two girls in their clubbing clothes whispered behind their hands across the aisle from him. The car shook, jostling the overfull bag on his lap. A novel fell out from the commotion, hitting his foot. Bob leaned down, making sure his hand covered the title as he jammed Mounted by the Warlord back in with its mates. Jesus. He shook his head, feeling ridiculous, his gaze unfocusing as he watched the dim lights in the tunnel flash by. It had a lulling effect, turning off the constant stream of checks and admonishments that dominated his mental landscape. And for a moment, his mind was empty, a smooth blank, before an image flashed before his eyes—an image of you on his bed, half-cloaked in shifting silver as rain pelted the window, his shadow falling across you, your eyes filled with excitement that verged on fear; all the power of the world was in his hands, and you knew it, and you liked it, and as he stepped closer, a voice came out of him that was cold and confident and demanding…
You are mine to take.
“Fuck.” Bob blinked, squeezing his temples, shaking himself out of that place. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the subway window, and not even the streaks and grime could conceal the faint glint of gold in his dark, dark eyes.
Saturday night. You had survived the charity event by the skin of your teeth, somehow with your patience and dignity intact, and you had every intention of rewarding yourself with a casual night that could go anywhere. No high heels. No high slits. No high expectations.
It was kind of a shame though, you thought, elbowing your way into your favorite bar, that no one else on the team had been there to see you all glammed up. Even Valentina had found a compliment for you, and a vast majority of your responsibilities for the evening became keeping important politicians from saying something deeply uncomfortable in front of their spouses. Nobody had prepared you for how weirdly touchy-feely people got with superheroes, like they were suddenly all drunk dads at Disney trying to feel up Princess Jasmine.
We’re not real to them. Does a symbol know it’s being sexually harassed?
A question for the next interminable banquet. It would’ve been nice to show everyone your dress, your makeup, your bag, but it would’ve been better if someone had come with to help fend off the creeps. Or at least make fun of them with you. You had ideas, of course, for ideal candidates. Candidate. Maybe next time you would beg Valentina to let Bob come along. How bad could it get? He needed the media practice, and he would look nice in a tux. James Bond if James Bond mostly rescued kittens. Seemed like the gentlest possible way of easing him into the job. Eat a few canapes, rub a few elbows, try not to combust when the mayor eye fucks you in front of his wife…
Speaking of sexual harassment, that would basically just be you taking a circuitous route to landing a date with Bob. A date he couldn’t refuse. Holy shit. Maybe not, maybe you’d just wait for him to make a move, which, at this rate, meant sometime during your retirement years.
You went to the bar and got in line. It was a black and white tiled floor, mostly pool, mostly beer and wings type of place. Unpretentious. Easy to blend in with a t-shirt, jeans, and ball cap if you were feeling extra solitary. You weren’t noticeable or beloved enough yet to draw a crowd even if someone did recognize you. Your accolades weren’t filling up the front page, and nobody was going to buy you a round for surviving the Perv Purge at the charity ball.
You breathed easier here. Your shoulders went down. The staff knew you, liked you, and always made friendly conversation when it was your turn to grab a beverage. Long, emerald lights glowed above the cash register. A few pool tables in the back provided pleasant click-clack percussion under the bluesy music. No juke box, thank God. You found your way to a circular table, high top, and perched there with your drink. The bar started to fill up, and you idly took out your phone, uploading a few choice pictures from the night before—the ones that made your legs look great, the one where the photographer had caught you in profile and the chandeliers made your silhouette glow. Almost as soon as they were live, you noticed a profile liking all of them back-to-back.
justyouraveragebob and two others liked your photo.
His instagram handle always made your heart squish. There was nothing average about him.
A shadow spread across your hands and your phone. You really, really didn’t want to be bothered, especially when Bob was somewhere shamelessly liking all of your hot pics, which was about as direct as he got with his flirting, but whoever it was, they didn’t budge. You sighed, not glancing up from your phone.
“Table for one, I’m afraid.”
“Come on, we’re not strangers.”
Your eyes raked up the screen to the man standing across from you. Just as quickly as your heart had somersaulted for Bob, it sank like a stone at the sight of Gilbert. Yes, Gilbert. No, you hadn’t known that was his name when someone from your last crew set you up on a blind date. It seemed crazy that he would turn up here. Gilbert wore seven-hundred-and-twenty-dollar Dior cufflinks. Gilbert had shoes made out of crocodiles. Gilbert had shot an honest to god lion on safari once. Gilbert had lunch at Eleven Madison Park on a bi-weekly basis, which he would absolutely make sure you knew within moments of making his acquaintance. The corpse of your last date wasn’t even cold, and here he was, that annoying fucking TikTok song come to life—trust fund, 6’5”, blue eyes. Although you were fairly certain he was maybe 6’3” on a good day; his crocodile shoes had lifts.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, placing your phone face down on the table, as if Bob could see what you were doing and you wanted to shield his eyes. “I don’t think there’s fennel pollen within six blocks of this place.”
Gilbert smirked, a default facial expression for him. Maybe you were being unkind. He had paid for the meal, held the door, said nice things about your outfit, and asked three standard questions about your life. You didn’t know if he would be a generous lover but maybe a tolerable one.
“My firm had a trivia night thing,” he said, answering your initial question. He had blonde, feathered hair that ruffled itself attractively when he moved. And he had tried to dress like a normal person, a light gray tee under a bomber jacket and jeans. “Just a few doors down,” he went on, pointing to the wall with his beer in hand. “Thought I would scope out the local attractions.”
At that, his eyes lingered on you.
“No fennel pollen required,” he added, with a wink and a laugh at himself. Another man bumped into him from behind, almost but not quite spilling his beer. Gilbert sneered, shoving the man back with a muttered, “Asshole.”
“Well, great,” you said, in a tone that you hoped communicated your total lack of interest. “It was nice bumping into you.”
He leaned in to shout above the music, which wasn’t even really that loud. “We could go somewhere else,” he said, keeping his face close to yours. “I can get us into Clemente no problem.
You smiled, tight. I’m one of the fucking Avengers; even with a z, I think I could get a table. “I’m good, thanks.”
Gilbert either hadn’t heard you or had decided not to care, barging on. “Their beverage program is second to none, the Real Talk will knock your socks off, we—”
“I said I’m good.”
He put down his beer, which was never a good sign, and moved around the table in a half-circle toward you. There was a slack, weird quality to his expression, like he was suddenly wearing a mask of his own face. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his left hand start to move toward your hip under the table. Contact never came; Gilbert froze as a third person arrived, leaning onto the table like he belonged there.
Because he does.
“Hey, baby.” The first thing you noticed was that Bob had done his hair. Not a lot, just enough. He had ditched the Grateful Dead sweater for a simple, clean button down tucked into jeans that fit. Your eyes met under the red glow of the hanging BUDLIGHT-themed stained-glass lamp, and the insistent pressure of his eyes said: Trust me. Go with it.
“Hey,” you breathed, all of you bending toward him with relief. “You made it.”
Bob grinned, eyes only for you. “Sorry I’m late. Impromptu dance thing on the subway. I think maybe they were a cult? Not super clear. They should really work on their messaging.”
You snorted down into your drink. “Sounds like it.”
He moved in the opposite direction as Gilbert, melding against your left side like he was made to fit there. Your skin started buzzing from the ease of it, and from the flabbergasted expression on Gilbert’s stupid face.
“Who’s this?” Gilbert asked, allowing you a few inches of space as he sidled back toward his beer.
“This is Bo—”
“Robert,” he said, still with that cool, calculated smile, million-yard stare, but only when turned against Gilbert. He raked his gaze up and down the other man as if he had been forced at gunpoint to give him an ounce of attention. “And you are?”
“Gilbert.”
And because you knew Bob and Yelena were horrible eavesdroppers, you added softly, almost to Bob’s shoulder, “He’s in finance. Crypto.”
“It’s the future,” said Gilbert, certain.
“Oh.” Bob’s eyebrows went up with a flicker of a laugh. “Ha. Right. Makes sense.” He tapped the side of his nose as if to say, the cocaine guy?
“Excuse me?” Gilbert had started getting heated the moment Bob arrived, but now he looked like he might shoot through the ceiling like a rocket. “Did you just—”
“What are you drinking tonight?” Bob asked, simultaneously cutting Gilbert off from the rest of his sentence and the conversation at large. The world shrank down around you. You were in Bob’s warm embrace, his hand like a quietly pulsing star against your spine. He kept himself angled toward you, protectively, a preemptive shield. “Can I get you a refill?”
“I’m fine for now,” you said, showing him that you still had half of your drink left. Bob took that in stride, rubbing your back with a soft hum. “Gilbert was just telling me about the beverage program at Clemente Bar.”
Bob nodded once, as if any of those words made sense to him. “Beverage program,” he repeated, enjoying himself.
Gilbert chugged a few fortifying gulps of his beer, rightly sensing that the night was not going his way. “The chef there is—”
“Not relevant,” Bob said flatly. “Because she’s not going with you.” His tone brightened, almost cheerful, and for a moment, he was sweet, boyish Bob again. “But you have fun, Dilbert.”
“It’s Gilbert, freak.”
Bob waited for a beat, maybe giving Gilbert time to walk that back.
“Freak, is it?” Frost settled across Bob’s features. The lights above the pool table flickered. Just once. He didn’t move, or blink, and the small smile that tugged at his lips did not indicate pleasure, but rather the beginnings of an impatience that could expand into worse. Bob inclined his head slightly toward the other man; the music fizzled, going to static. You saw the glimmer of gold circling his irises as the air between you deadened. The beer bottle in Gilbert’s grasp shivered, popped, exploded so quickly into hot vapor that the glass didn’t have time to break. The sudden rush of heat sent Gilbert reeling back a step as he shook out his singed hands.
A cloud of steam rose between them and lingered, sizzling.
“Had enough?” Bob asked, lowering his voice to a glacial whisper.
“Psycho shit,” you heard the other man mumble before he dodged swiftly toward the exit, running.
When Gilbert was gone, you snort-laughed, leaning into Bob, expecting to glance up and see him smirking back at you. But Bob wasn’t present. The gold diminished in his eyes, but the specter of it never completely went away. A shiver caught you off guard. He noticed, and folded you more firmly against his side, the heat rolling off of his body and through his shirt was incredible. Your whole life had been about strangeness, power, but what you felt now radiating off of Bob—Robert—was hard to comprehend.
The power of a million exploding suns, that was how Yelena had put it. The pitch. The tagline. It sounded like an insane exaggeration at the time, but now…
His voice, rough, baritone, settled over you like a tight hug. “Did I frighten you?”
You stared up into his face. So. This wasn’t quite Bob and it wasn’t quite Sentry. Integration.
“No,” you said truthfully. Relief softened the cold blankness in his eyes. He didn’t seem interested in letting you go and you were not interested in moving back.
“I’m…trying something,” he said.
Earnest. Nervous. Your heart ached.
“How does it feel?” you asked, slowly pushing your half-finished drink toward him. He took a single, grateful gulp, but that was enough to empty the glass.
“Okay, I think, I’m still figuring things out.” Like he was test-driving a car. Like he was encased in a robotic suit. But you could hear Bob in there, nestled in alongside this other guy. “I’m gonna be honest, when the beverage program thing came up, I thought about making his head explode.”
“You and me both.” You hid your face in his shoulder, both of you shaking with laughter.
His hand tented on your back, less encompassing, less there.
You tensed, as if afraid to lose that point of contact.
“Is this alright with you?” he asked, flattening his palm again, touching more of you.
“Yes,” you said. You couldn’t help it. “I know this has to be scary for you, letting different parts of you take up more space. If you need to just be Bob—”
“No,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut for just a second. “No, I can’t…I have to live with my anger, I have to make friends with it. He can be an asshole but he’s not always wrong. I’m Bob, I’m him, I’m all of this.” He shook his head, eyes narrowed. “I’m not pretending. When I saw him bothering you, I wanted it to stop. That’s all I had to do, focus on the truth of the thing, and suddenly I could just do it. Be him. Be…me.”
You didn’t want to ruin the vibe with tears. You pressed your lips together, catching yourself. “I’m really fucking proud of you. Even just for trying.” He looked down at you, and you gazed up at him, not knowing exactly what had changed between you, only that something had. You could stay swimming in his eyes forever, you thought, float in the darkness, bask in the gold. “And maybe it was a tiny bit fun?”
“So fun, oh my God,” he agreed, snorting in a quintessentially Bob way. He rubbed your back again, leaning in, brushing a kiss across your forehead that made your skin ignite. Oh no. Yelena was never going to put away her shit-eating grin when she found out. “And is that alright with you?” he asked, doing it again when you nodded.
You pressed into his side, one hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt over his chest. “Can we get out of here?”
“Anywhere but Clemente Bar,” he teased, his nose in your hair.
You slid your hand into his—easy, comfortable—and he tugged you toward the door. “Who are we kidding?” you laughed. “We’re Avengerz with a Z, we’d never get a table.”
Bob couldn’t hear the decision itself, but he detected everything that surrounded it—the rasp of desperate breath; the jangle of a zipper; the sound of flop sweat hitting the pavement; the cock of the hammer; the implosion within the barrel; the singing of the bullet as it kissed the night air.
And his decision and his movement happened instantaneously, even before the projectile zipped toward you. Way before death was a sure thing. In a blink, he was at your side, then behind you, hand outstretched, not catching the bullet but stopping it in mid-air before it could slam into your shoulder. It flared into a burning red eye, melting.
“Shit, shit, shit…” Gilbert, fucking Gilbert, crouched in the alley outside the bar, fumbling with his revolver before deciding to cut his losses and run. All of these finance guys were getting into meth, he thought, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. And maybe he wasn’t; no, not surprised, just transmuting. Integrating. The gun turned to molten slag in the jerk-off’s hand, cold and metal again by the time it thunked to the pavement. Vaguely, Bob heard you calling his name, but he was already rounding on Gilbert, following him into the darkness.
“I don’t know what the fuck is going on, what the fuck you are—” Gilbert broke into a frantic run, screaming over his shoulder. It was no effort to follow. It was a child’s game.
“Good observation,” Bob said, appearing in Gilbert’s path. “I’m still learning what I am, too. Maybe we should find out together.”
His hand closed around Gilbert’s neck, threatening, the flesh and the pulse and the blood of meager interest to a god. The facts of Gilbert were so sad, sad enough to make him wonder if the man ought to exist at all. That was the Void talking, because where Sentry went, Void followed. But then he saw you jogging down the alley toward them with a question in your eyes that Bob must answer.
Are you afraid of what will happen if Sentry or the Void become dominant?
You looked so alive, so beautiful, and Gilbert monstrously defaced by his own choices; the contrast fascinated him. Like a universe blinking out, heat death, he felt the impulse to destroy Gilbert vanish. A human man screamed inside him to remember—remember his own pain and how he had tried to numb it. And sympathy declared itself like a fourth voice; gradually, his grip eased on Gilbert’s neck.
“Go back inside,” he told you calmly. “I’ll be right back.”
“Bob—”
His eyes were bright hot in the darkness. “Trust me.”
There was no need for the subway; Bob flew you home.
You almost wished someone had been there to see it. Walker, preferably, so he could finally quit whining about fueling up the jet as if the gas came from his pocket personally. Or Alexei, who seemed fixated on the idea of one day riding Bob into the sky. Instead, the tower was quiet. You clung to Bob’s neck, forearms looped around him, legs kicked up into his grasp. It was, you thought, the most superhero thing that had ever happened to you. And as he set you down gently, allowing but not forcing you to glide fully down his front until your feet touched solid ground, you wondered if it would be too embarrassing to swoon.
Along the way, Bob had promised you that no real harm had come to Gilbert, that he had handed him over to the nearest precinct and waited until Gilbert confessed to his attempted murder. On an Avenger, no less.
“That was big of you,” you said, meaning it. Bob was still figuring out how to control this side of him—it was a miracle he had wrangled his impulses before doing something extreme. You watched his ears turn pink from the compliment as you walked back inside, where it was warm and smelled faintly of burned popcorn. “Your first night as the new you and no extrajudicial killings. That’s major.”
Bob shook his head, sticking his hands into his pockets. Now it came down to it—you stood chest to chest in the common room, both of your rooms in walking distance. But Bob kept his eyes on you. “You’re making fun.”
“I’m not,” you said, crossing your heart to show him. “I would tell you what happened the first time I felt my powers manifest…” Your voice dropped, no longer teasing, no longer giddy. “But you already know.”
The moonlight through the tall windows turned slivers of his hair silver. He touched your cheek, cupping your face. You held your breath, worried, briefly, that you would slide back into those ugly memories just from skin-to-skin contact. But you stayed where you were—in your new home, with your new….
“You were just a kid,” he told you, gentle. His eyes shined with all of the kindness and all of the grace that he rarely showed himself.
“I tell myself that all the time. Somehow, it never sticks.”
Bob tilted his head to the side and down, studying you. “What if I told you.”
You kept waiting for it to sound like a question. His eyes burrowed into you, deadly serious. “You just did, Bob.”
He shook his head, inching closer, not crowding, showing you how solid and real and overpowering his presence could become. Through his fingers, carefully channeled, you felt a growing, odd heat. “What if I told you over and over again,” he said, gold liminal in his gaze. It came and went, but you could sense Sentry just on the other side of his brittle restraint. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. I’ve already seen your darkness.” He brought his lips down carefully, his eyes locked to yours, monitoring, checking. His breath ghosted across your mouth, and you let him in.
“What about yours?” you asked, kissing his chin.
His composure cracked, just for a millisecond. His eyes changed rapidly, colors shifting, moods flying by, like someone clicking through slides, dark blue to black to gold to a gradient of all three. He shivered, closed his eyes, and kissed you. Both of his hands bracketed your face, thumbs just outside your lips. A rush of air. A feeling like falling. His lips slid against yours, hungry, seeking more. By the time you pulled back slightly for air, you realized you were no longer in the common room together but his quarters, both of you levitating inches off the ground.
“How did you do that?” you asked, grabbing his neck before you could fall. But he had you, and his smile was mild, amused, as he lightly set you both down.
“Does it matter?”
His eyes flared gold; the door shut behind him.
“No,” you whispered, mouth suddenly dry. “No, I guess not.”
Bob let go of you, hands at his sides, eyes falling to his feet. “I ruined it, I—”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” You hugged him, arms around his waist, and just as readily his hands found their way back to you, settling on your hips. “This is new for both of us.”
“Can I kiss you again?” he asked.
You leaned up and pressed your lips to his in answer. His heart hammered against your chest. A quiet, greedy sound rasped out of the back of his throat. The room was cold and dark, and his heat called to you. Your fingers crawled from his back to his shoulders to his hair, threading into the thick golden-brown waves that he had tamed that night just for you. Breaking the kiss, you thumbed a few loose strands of hair behind his ears, stroking his temples. “You can stop asking, Bob.”
He took you by the wrists, jaw tightening. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. You told me to trust you—I did.”
His eyes went up and down your body once, then burned into yours again. “How attached are you to these clothes?”
You smirked, curious. “Not very, I—”
A feeling like you had just stepped in front of a bonfire roared across your skin. Light shimmered up from your arms and torso, and then your t-shirt and jeans were dust scattering to the floor, disintegrated. Not a single hair on you had been so much as toasted. Bob touched your cheek again, his eyes difficult to read.
“Better,” he said.
It was juvenile, maybe, but that show of power thrilled you. There was steel behind his touch, hunger gathering in his gaze. He looked you up and down again, taking his time, absorbing the shudder that ripped through you as he drank in your body, his thumb jerking on your cheek when his gaze reached your breasts. They were caged in sheer fabric, the chill in the room and his heat drawing out your nipples, hardening them, every part of you desperate for more, for his touch.
You undid the top button on his shirt clumsily; you tried to move quickly but your fingers had stopped working, and it only got worse when he laughed softly at your distress. Bob took over, nodding toward the bed just behind you.
“Get on the bed,” he said. There was the slightest tremor in his voice, but by the time he spoke again, it was gone. “Show me what’s mine.”
Your eyes widened. Not in a hundred years had you considered those words would leave Bob’s mouth. You moved before he could register your hesitation. Not hesitation, just…wow. You remembered the feeling of your own clothes burning off of your body, something he had accomplished with a single thought. As you turned and crawled onto his bed, knees and palms sinking into the soft, dark blue flannel, you noticed a stack of books near the bedside table. You would’ve recognized them anywhere, even in the dark—they were yours.
A tide of conflicting emotions rose in your chest. It was incredibly sweet that he had made a close study of your desires. On the other hand, if this wasn’t him… You flipped onto your back, head at his pillows, to say as much, but the concerns died in your throat. You didn’t know who was standing there—Bob, Robert, Sentry, the Void—but the sight of him took your breath away. He stood at the foot of the bed, stripped down to his black boxer briefs, every perfect muscle visible in the gray slats of gloom allowed in by the half-tipped blinds. Maybe it was the perma pajama pants, but you had never noticed how unbelievably thick his legs were. Thighs. The word pulsed like a neon sign behind your eyes.
“What did I say?” he asked, in a voice of quiet command. Not angry, perhaps somewhat disappointed.
“S-Sorry.” The apology spilled out of you. Holy shit. It was one thing to read about a towering figure in the bedroom ready to control, ready to take, but experiencing it with a guy who could explode a gun with his mind was altogether different. It felt like you could levitate again, this time all on your own.
“Don’t apologize,” he said, his eyes rotating through that odd catalog of colors again as he tilted his head to the side. “Just do as I ask.”
Sir, yes, sir.
You tried to relax, but there was no hiding the shaking in your legs as you laid back against the pillows and rested your hands across your midsection, subtly opening your thighs as you stretched out. His eyes burned like stoked coals in the darkness, sharp lights in an anti-halo of shadow. A heartbeat later, he was on the bed, over you, his weight sinking the mattress at your sides.
“Jesus,” you whispered, jolting your head up to meet his eyes.
“Good?” he asked. Bob, you thought, he was in there.
You nodded, licking your lips.
Just as quickly as he had come, Bob receded again. His lips descended to your throat, searing across the delicate architecture there, down to your collarbone, across, learning, memorizing. “Maybe I need an outlet,” he said. “What am I? A god? A man? A monster?” His hips lowered until you were forced to twitch your thighs further apart to accommodate him. “Out there,” he went on, still dropping kisses across your neck, “I have to be so careful. But in here?”
His voice trailed away. You slid your hands across his back, molding your fingers around the hard juts of his shoulder blades. He made a pained sound against your throat, dragging his nose from your neck to your shoulder. His teeth closed around the ridge there, biting until you gasped and arched against him. “You,” he said, releasing the hold of his teeth, but blinking up at the ceiling, you knew there would be a mark there in the morning. “You. My outlet. For the god,” he whispered fiercely. “And the monster.”
Bob craned back, looking down at you. Checking. You wondered if the blend of them was becoming more seamless. He was waiting for you to fend him off, disagree, but instead you touched your forehead to his chin. Permission. He allowed himself one weak, ragged breath.
“Show me,” he said. “Show me that you’re mine.”
You took his right hand, sliding it from the mattress by your shoulder to your side, over your left breast and your heart, then down, guiding his palm over your stomach, beneath the waistband of your panties, and toward the soaking wet heat he had generated between your legs. His middle finger curled automatically into you. The power in the building surged, a transformer down the block splitting the silence with a thunderous boom. The sound startled you, your hips driving you against him, forcing him further inside. All of the lights went on in the room, twinkling in a sequence before turning themselves off again.
Both of you were holding your breath.
“What happens when you cum?” you whispered.
Bob supported himself on his left elbow, shook his head. “That’s never happened before.” He tossed his head again, eyes stuttering shut as if in disbelief. A second finger joined the first, shocking your hips up again. “Is this for me?” he asked.
“Yes.” You tightened your grip on his wrist as he twisted his fingers, pumping, searching, stretching.
“You’re so fucking wet.” Golden eyes found you in the dark, brightening, your bra and panties sizzling off of your skin until you were completely bare beneath him. He claimed your mouth with a brutal kiss, forcing your chin upward, then down, his tongue driving into you at the same rate as his fingers, setting a steady rhythm. “Let go of my wrist,” he said, breaking the kiss. His chest rose and fell, expanding like bellows. “Put your hands above your head. Don’t move them unless I tell you to.”
You did as he instructed, bracing your fingertips against the headboard.
“Good,” he said. He pulled his fingers out of you with a sound that made your ears burn. Wet wasn’t the word for it. The word hadn’t been invented yet. You whimpered at his absence. “Don’t worry,” he told you, reaching down to free his cock from his shorts. His voice seemed to fill the room, infiltrate you from every direction. “Beg for it. Beg for it from your god.”
He drove home the command with a glimmer building in his eyes. He wasn’t even touching you anymore, but you felt a whisper of pressure around your clit, circling, teasing. You shivered and clamped down on nothing, whispering his name. He waited, patient, never increasing the speed of that sensation, making it spread, flickers of energy circling your breasts, skipping up and across your nipples until it felt like they were being lightly, teasingly electrified. You felt it in your teeth. Helpless, you flexed the hands wedged above your head, desperate for relief. Your back bent toward him, but Bob remained still, letting you torture yourself until the words clawed their way out of your throat.
“Please, Robert,” you whispered, fighting the waves of pleasure contorting your spine. “Please, I need you. Please, Jesus, it’s too much.”
The touching without touching had been bad, but when he made it stop, that was worse. You slithered back down to the mattress, breathing hard, gasping as he crawled over you, urging your thighs wider before pressing his lips to your ear. His hot, swollen dick pulsed against your thigh, brushing at such tantalizing range you heard yourself whine like a frantic animal. “I’m going to fuck you now, and if it destroys the power grid then so be it.”
He scooped you against him, one arm braced under your lower back, his other hand guiding his cock to your entrance. There was so little resistance it made you both exhale; no more waiting. Stretch but not resistance, your body was ready for him, soaked and pliant. Bob rewarded you with a biting tug on your earlobe, his breath shuddering against your neck as he fit himself inside you to the hilt and groaned. You smiled at the thought of making a fucking god moan like that.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, ragged. “You’re beautiful. You look so beautiful when I fuck you.”
He worked his hips back and forth, giving you a preview of just how much delicious friction that could produce. A string of lights stapled around the border of his ceiling sparkled on, warming the space above his head. Your thighs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his sides, technically not against the established rules, and seemingly to his taste. He hummed with approval, slapping both of his palms against your upper thighs as he knelt, shifting his weight, pushing into you on a long, devastating stroke.
“Fuck.” Your head fell back, air blasting out of your lungs.
“You seemed to like this before,” he said, laughing against your throat. “Let’s try it again.” Those cruel, teasing flickers of hot energy coiled around you again, tracing maddening circles around your clit, your peaked nipples, the ends of your toes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Even if those lights hadn’t turned on you would be seeing stars. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked, wry. “To give up control? Give yourself to me? Because now that I have you, I could do anything. Anything.”
The energy was everywhere now, coursing through you, pinging through every cell, mapping every corner of your body. You felt him in your throat, behind your knees, along the inner coils of your ears, zapping your tongue. You arched and cried out for him and then fell silent, dumb, just letting the insane, raw beauty of his power tingle in your blood. Bob fucked into you harder, sweating, his hair damp as it clung to your shoulder. Down the street, another transformer erupted, a dog barked. The air around you sizzled. He angled your hips slightly, finding a new depth, holding his own orgasm at bay long enough to leave you panting, dazed, fucked into a place where your mind had gone blank. There was just him. Just his eerie energy moving through you. He could do anything. Anything.
“Please,” you murmured, wishing you could hold him, touch him, rake your nails down his back in pent up gratitude. “Please I’m so close.”
“That’s good,” he said, shoving his forehead against your jaw. Finally, he sounded as wrecked as you did. He was coming undone, close, close, driving, swelling… “Let go. Show me.”
The little gusts of heat he had been controlling coalesced around your sex, concentrated on your clit, spiraling inward, faster, faster, until the glittering, live wire mesh that had been tightening around your body snapped shut, heat rocketing through your core, burning a clean line from your abdomen to your eyeballs. You couldn’t keep your hands away from him any longer. You clung to his shoulders, sobbing out the shocks that had nowhere to go but out.
It sent him over the edge.
Bob ground you into the mattress, holding himself deep, whispering something you couldn't make out as he jerked and bucked and filled you until it felt like you might burst. Jesus, every part of him was powerful—you had never felt someone cum like that, distinct enough to push another little climax through you.
His chest worked against yours, his breathing evening out after a prolonged, sweaty moment of total entangled bliss. He let you go gently, setting your legs down as if they might break, but he didn’t climb off of you. Lowering himself with utmost care, he nestled against your body, face in your neck and arms around your middle. The string lights were still glowing faintly, like you were just two horny losers in a college dorm. As you came back to yourself and opened your eyes, every single object in his room except the bed was floating.
“Now we know what happens,” you said softly, carding your fingers through his hair. Just from the weight of him, from the sweet way he kissed your throat and held you like his life depended on it, you could tell Bob was back in control. He turned his head, looking around at the desk, the lamp, the laundry basket, the sneakers, all suspended as if you were in outer space. Coughing, perhaps with embarrassment, Bob gradually let the objects float back down. His hands tightened on you in concentration.
“Do…do you think everyone heard us?” he asked, hiding his face against your skin again.
“Probably.” You laughed, relaxing against the pillows as he finally rolled to the side, freeing himself from you with a groan as he crumpled to your right. “I don’t mind,” you said, reaching for him. “It’s okay if they know I’m yours.”
Bob blinked at you, a shy, boyish smile pulling his lips to one side. “I’m yours, too. You know that, right? I…said a lot of stuff at you just now. I hope it was okay.”
“It was more than okay,” you assured him. “Like you said. An outlet.”
“This is gonna blow the tits off my integration therapist,” he muttered, covering his face with both hands. “I’ll maybe gloss over some parts. Like where stuff exploded. And the burning your clothes off with my mind thing.” He shrugged and flopped onto his side, gazing at you adoringly from his pillow. “I’ll, um, I'll buy you new jeans.”
You snuggled closer, fitting your face against his chest. He pulled you in, sighing. It seemed right, the way you fit together.
You leaned up for one more kiss. “Fine, but only if you promise to burn them off again.”
A little zap of energy coasted up and down your back. “Deal.”
I’ll cave in and request Soldier Boy naked in the garden. Face in the bush while standing in a bush, you know surrounded by Mother Nature, in all the possible ways . And like I previously stated, he definitely loves ass. Oh and calling him Ben not Soldier Boy is a huge turn on for him 🥀please and thank you 🙏
In Our Garden Where Our Neighbours Are Looking
Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female Reader
Summary: When you find Ben naked in your garden, he can't help but unleash his wild side... And neither can you.
Word Count: 2,150
Tags/Warnings: +18, smut, sex in the garden, Reader has a bush, p in v (unprotected), exhibition
You were finishing washing the dishes. You hadn’t even looked up once, believing there was nothing interesting in the window overlooking your garden. But you were wrong. So wrong.
You sighed and ran a hand over your forehead when you finished. You always seemed to be cooking for an army since Ben ate enough for two hundred men. You looked up to see the sunlight as you adjusted your hair in your ponytail. Maybe you’d do some gardening later.
But what you saw stopped you in your tracks, hands in your ponytail as you opened your eyes wide and blinked several times, wondering if you were seeing things. You shook your head and rubbed your eyes. When you looked again, the image was still there, as vivid and real as could be.
“Fuck.”
You ran through the house until you reached the garden and approached Ben, who was lying on a lounge chair, completely naked, with one arm behind his head, wearing sunglasses and holding a beer bottle. He was humming a song.
You looked him up and down, stunned.
“What the hell?!”
He turned to look at you, and his smile widened.
“Oh, hi, doll.”
“Hi, doll?” You said angrily. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Good morning?” He shrugged indifferently.
“Ben, you’re naked! Naked in our garden!”
“Oh, you know how much I love it when you say my name.” He bit his lower lip, and you even saw his limp cock stir listlessly.
“Benjamin, get inside the house right now, or at least be decent and put some clothes on!”
“Hmm…” He pretended to think. “No.”
You looked around and craned your neck to see if any neighbors were watching. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be any in sight.
“Alright, Ben, I don’t think the neighbors have seen you yet, but they will eventually.”
“Have I told you I hate it when you tie your hair up? You should let it loose and wild.”
You groaned in frustration and tugged at his arm holding the drink.
“Come on, Ben, get inside!”
But his body was like a rock, and it was impossible for you to move him. You fell on your backside trying to do so and huffed in annoyance. Ben looked down at you and slid his sunglasses onto his head.
“Well, don’t you look beautiful like that, all angry and out of breath? I hope that juicy ass is already red for me.”
You pursed your lips and stood up, running your hands over your dress to smooth it out. Ben was watching you with amusement, even trying to get a glimpse of your backside, but you stopped him.
“Benjamin, this is very inappropriate, even for a pervert like you. For heaven’s sake, the neighbors might call the police for public nudity!”
He laughed and put his drink down.
“And what will they do? Lock me up? Me? Besides, uh, I’m not in a public place. I’m in the beautiful garden that my lovely wife takes such good care of.”
You ran a hand over your face and took his hand, tugging at it again. Ben looked at you indifferently, not moving an inch.
“You’ll get exhausted, darling. Your strength is nothing like mine.”
But you kept trying to pull, and even Ben, to make it more fun, pretended you’d moved him two centimeters, and your eyes lit up, truly hoping you could drag him into the house, so you kept pulling.
“Honey…” He said slowly. He sighed, seeing you weren’t listening. “Okay, that’s enough.” He gave your wrist a light tug, and you fell on top of him, his hand landing on your lower back as he grinned. “Well, hi.” He winked.
You rolled your eyes and placed your hands on his chest, trying not to move your lower body so as not to “wake up” his little friend.
“You’re going inside now and putting on clothes.”
“No.” He said simply.
You groaned again in frustration and punched him in the chest. He was acting like a little kid who didn’t want to take a bath.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you…” He moved his hand up your dress and patted your ass. “You’re fucking perfect. You should let go and be one with nature. Like me.” He pulled his glasses back down.
“I won’t expose myself naked to the neighbors, Ben.”
“God, it turns me on when you call me by my name.” He licked his lips and slid his hand under your dress, taking hold of your ass like a hungry man.
“Soldier Boy.”
“Ooh, now you’re being naughty.” He hissed. “That turns me on too.”
“Oh, for God’s sake—”
He placed his hand behind your head and quickly pulled you close, pressing his lips to yours and kissing you passionately. He slipped his hands under your dress and lightly spanked your bottom, making you gasp into his mouth. He ran his tongue over your lips before slipping it inside your mouth and playing with your tongue.
You knew perfectly well what Ben was trying to do: make you forget your protests and make you want what he wanted. You knew it, but when Ben kissed you, like that or any other way, you became completely submissive and wild.
He nipped at your lip and broke the kiss, smirking.
“So? Are you still going to say you don’t want your fucking beautiful body to unite with me and nature?”
You pursed your lips, thoughtful, and glanced around, seeing if the neighbors had perhaps come out yet, but they still hadn’t appeared. You sat comfortably on top of him, gently moving your hips against his member, which was just beginning to harden. You pulled your dress over your head. Your breasts hardened as they came into contact with the fresh air.
Ben looked up, but his eyes were a mystery to you because of his glasses. He moved his hands up and touched your breasts, his thumbs caressing your nipples. You moaned, lightly scratching his chest with your nails (though it was more likely you’d break them than even leave a mark).
“Have I told you how much I hate it when you tie your hair up?” He asked, running a hand through it.
“Yes, and the last time was just a few moments ago.”
“And you still don’t listen to me.” He growled.
He stood up just enough for his hand to reach the ponytail you were wearing and take it off, collapsing back down as your hair fell free and loose.
“You look so much better like this. Like a fucking goddess.”
You took off my glasses and put them on your head instead.
“You have to let me see those green eyes, Ben.”
He licked his lips and glanced around.
“You know what?” If we’re going to have sex in our garden, we might as well do it right.”
You let out a little squeal as he stood up, wrapping an arm around your stomach, your flip-flops slipping off and falling to the ground. He led you through the garden to some bushes, where he pushed his way through; you could already feel the small branches scratching you.
“Ben, we’ll hurt ourselves here.” You complained.
“You, if anything.” He propped you up on a bush, making sure to hold you firmly so you wouldn’t pull him down. “I’m invincible.”
His gaze drifted down to your crotch, where the curly hairs in an area you never shaved were visible around your cotton panties.
“Look what we have here.”
He ran his thumb over that frame of hair, and you bit your lower lip.
“Come on, Ben, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“No, but it still makes my cock hard and grow like the fucking Statue of Liberty.”
He pulled down your panties and whistled, making you purse your lips and glance around to see if any neighbors could hear. It even seemed like that was his intention.
“Look at that natural pussy, all hairy and out in the open. Christ on a cross, you’re a dirty fucking girl.”
He ran his thumb over your clit and you arched your back, but you tried not to make a sound. Ben didn’t scold you for that, even though he didn’t like it when you held back. He held his hard cock in one hand, stroking it while he continued to touch you.
“Ah, B-Ben… Bennnn.” You whimpered, moving your hips against him.
“You’re a needy one. And five minutes ago you wanted me to go inside and get dressed.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “No, no, no, nobody tells Soldier Boy what to do, understand?” But when you didn’t answer, Ben grabbed your hair and yanked it hard. “Answer me.”
“Y-yes… Yes, I understand.”
“Good.”
He guided his cock to your entrance, first simply rubbing the head up and down, subtly caressing your clit and collecting the juices that began to flow from you as soon as he positioned you on top of him. You grabbed his arms, your breath growing faster with excitement, but Ben still wouldn’t thrust it in.
“C-come on, Ben…”
“You want it, baby? You want this big cock in your fucking hairy cunt?”
You nodded and licked your lips, feeling your mouth dry.
“Yes, please, Ben. Please, I need it, I need you.”
“I’ve never said a fucking no to you.”
And with that, he plunged in instantly, making you let out a moan so loud that the neighbors inside their houses probably heard it, but you weren’t thinking about that anymore. Your biggest worry at that moment was that Ben would keep giving you pleasure. He held your arms as he pulled his cock out and then brutally thrust it back in. Your spongy walls squeezed him with the hard impact.
“Yes, that’s it.” He brushed a strand of hair away from your face and began to pound into you, his hips moving rapidly.
Your back must have been all scratched up by the bush and Ben’s feet must have been dirty with dirt by now, but thinking about that only excited you more and made you wish this would never end.
“Yes, Ben, j-right there. S-shit.”
He gave you a light slap and you moaned.
“Don’t start insulting, you rude whore. Look at yourself.” His nails dug into your arms, and you could already feel the bruises forming. “You’re a total cock-sucker. You’re insatiable. And then you call me a pervert, but you’re worse.”
He slapped you again. This time for no reason. His cock touched your cervix with every movement, and your eyes rolled back, moaning like a bitch in heat while Ben snarled and cursed nonstop.
“God, Ben.” You whimpered.
“Are you close? Yes, of course you are, my perfect, natural girl, who loves being watched by the neighbors while having sex.”
You shook your head.
“No…”
“No? Uh, you seem to be a lying whore.” He tugged at your hair. “But I know you better than that, doll.” He lowered a hand, rubbing your clitoris with his thumb. “Come on, baby, come for me. Come for me while I’m balls deep inside you and the neighbors watch.”
You reached your orgasm. Pleasure coursed through your body as Ben didn’t stop any of his movements, wanting to prolong what you felt. Even the sunglasses you had put on your head came off and ended up next to you, on top of the bush. Your whole body trembled and your pussy contracted tightly, squeezing him, causing Ben to reach his limit as well.
“Fucking Christ-Shit.” He groaned, expelling his semen inside you.
It filled you completely, the bushes you were in moving violently around you, and Ben’s toes dug into the earth.
You sighed as your body began to relax and your heart started beating normally again. Ben stayed inside you while he recovered, then looked up at you with a smile.
“Well, fuck. I should spend more time in the garden.” He grabbed his glasses and put them on his head. “Come on, doll.” He held you against him and lifted you up, struggling out of the bushes. “Let’s go inside before any neighbors see us.” He paused for a moment. “Although I know you like it that way.” He winked at you before continuing, and you rolled your eyes.
“Shut up.”
“Shut me up.”
He held you firmly and led you inside.
The neighbors came by a while later to ask if anything had happened in the garden since they had heard “strange noises.” Ben glanced at you from where he was smoking, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, before turning his attention back to the television.
Some neighbors had probably peeked out to see what was happening, but none of them gave any indication of whether they’d seen everything or not. They wouldn’t dare complain to Ben.
content warning/s & word count: 18+!!!, first and foremost—ben is his own warning here because jesus christ, language and swearing, misogyny, violence, threats, spitting, smut (kissing, biting, oral/cunnilingus, throat-fucking, fingering, unprotected p in v, threat of p in a, spanking, overstim, coming on face, ben being mean, reader has an implied breeding kink), manhandling, degradation, gentle humiliation, mocking, i believe that's it. 6.4k
The safehouse door slammed shut behind you with a rusted metal groan, the sound sharp and final—like a lid sealing on a coffin.
You dropped your bag at the threshold without looking back. Your shoulder was bleeding again—torn wide when the mission started unravelling, torn wider when he got involved. You hadn’t even wrapped it. Couldn’t stand the thought of asking him for help. Would rather bleed out on the floor than let him touch you.
The air in the safehouse was sour. Sweat, smoke, old rot behind the walls. A single naked bulb dangled from the ceiling, flickering every few seconds like it couldn’t decide whether to expose or protect.
Behind you: boots. Slow. Heavy. Cocky.
You heard him exhale like he was bored. Like this whole thing—the mission, the mess, you—was just another inconvenience.
“Y’know…” he drawled, voice low and lazy, like he was savouring the words before spitting them into your spine, “He’s not wrong.”
You didn’t turn around.
“Butcher,” he added, in case you needed clarity. “You heard him. Said we’re a liability. Said we fucked it.”
You still didn’t move. The pain in your shoulder pulsed in time with your heartbeat. You could feel him behind you—close enough that your skin prickled.
“What was it he said again? Somethin’ like—‘get the fuck back to base before you fuck everything else up, yeah?’” He snorted. “Fuckin’ poetry.”
You turned slowly. Deliberate. Controlled. Like you hadn’t been burning the entire way back.
Ben leaned against the table like he owned it. Like he owned everything. His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled, streaks of blood dried on his forearms. A cut split the corner of his mouth, barely crusted over. He looked like hell. He looked smug as sin.
“This your way of apologising?” You asked flatly.
He grinned.
“For what? Havin’ to drag your sorry ass out of the crossfire?” He tipped his chin toward you, voice soft and sharp. “You’re the one who decided to break off formation, sweetheart. You’re the one who thought she knew better. As usual.”
“You were supposed to be on my six.”
“I was,” he said, with a smirk that could rot teeth. “But your head’s so far up your own ass, you probably couldn’t see straight.”
You took a step forward.
“Don’t fucking talk to me.”
“Why not?” He tilted his head, mock-confused. “Scared I’ll say somethin’ you don’t wanna hear?” He clicked his tongue. “Or scared I’ll say somethin’ you do?”
He pushed off the table and started toward you, boots deliberate, like he was giving you time to flinch.
You didn’t.
“Touch me and I’ll gut you.”
He laughed. Full-bellied. Loud in the cramped space.
“Jesus Christ. Every time. You get that little snarl in your voice and think it makes you dangerous. But sweetheart—” He closed the distance, close enough to smell the blood drying on his skin. “—you don’t scare me. You get me hot.”
You flinched before you could stop yourself. And he noticed.
“That’s right,” he said, voice dipped low like a secret, like a threat. “Say my name like it don’t hurt you to come out that pretty, wet little mouth.”
“I’d rather chew glass.”
“Don’t tempt me. I’d still fuck you with blood on your teeth.”
Your hand twitched toward your blade.
He saw it. Didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
“What are you gonna do?” He asked, voice husky with mock concern. “Stab me?”
He leaned in. “C’mon, baby. Don’t tease. You and I both know you ain't gonna do shit.”
You shoved him.
It was instinctive, desperate, not meant to land so much as buy space—but he didn’t budge. Didn’t stumble. He just looked down at the spot where your hands had hit his chest. Then up.
Then smiled.
“There she is,” he murmured. “My little junkyard dog. All bark. No bite.”
You punched him. Hard. Right across the face.
His head jerked sideways with the impact. And for a moment—blessed silence.
Then he licked the blood from his lip and grinned.
“That all you got?”
You went for him again. This time he blocked it. Then the other.
You were shaking. Breathing too fast. You didn’t care. Your shoulder screamed, your vision burned—but you kept swinging. He caught your wrist. Twisted. Pressed you back against the table.
His face hovered over yours, grinning like a devil that just found a loophole.
“Always a mean little bitch under all that scowling,” he rasped, his breath hot against your cheek. “Now what? You gonna hit me again…”
His other hand slid across your hip, slow, possessive.
“…or you gonna fuckin’ kiss me?”
You shoved him—hard.
This time, Ben moved. His ass slammed against the table’s edge with a thud, the sound loud in the breathless space between you. The legs screeched against the concrete floor, the flickering bulb above swaying ever so slightly from the shift.
He didn’t look angry. He looked delighted.
That fucking smirk twisted across his split lip like sin incarnate. His eyes tracked your movements lazily, like he was watching a predictable game play out exactly as he'd imagined.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” you snapped, voice low, warning-laced, vibrating with the kind of rage that tasted like blood at the back of your throat.
He tilted his head. “Ohhh,” he said slowly, savouring the shape of the sound like a fine cigar. “Feisty now, huh?”
Your chest heaved. Your shoulder throbbed. The sleeve of your jacket was soaked through, blood soaking the fabric where the wound still wept. You didn’t care. Not now. Not when he stood there like every word that had ever left your mouth was just foreplay.
“You are a walking piece of shit, Hargrove,” you hissed, each syllable laced with months of bitter frustration. “Every time you open your mouth, it’s like someone scraped the bottom of a fucking urinal and taught it to speak.”
He barked out a laugh, loud and cruel, cutting across your words like a blade. “C’mon, sweetheart. You can do better than that.”
You didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
“You’re a liability. A danger to your own team. You’re not a soldier—you’re a relic. Washed-up and bitter and desperate for someone to look at you like you’re still relevant—”
“There she goes,” he said, louder now, over you. His tone dripped with amusement, his grin all teeth. “God, you run that mouth like it’s gonna win you a medal.”
“Shut the fuck up and let me finish!”
“Why?” He shrugged. “You only like hearin’ yourself talk?”
Your vision blurred, fury red-hot behind your eyes. You didn’t even realise how close you’d stepped until you felt his breath ghosting across your lips.
“You think this is funny?” You hissed. “You ruin everything you touch. Every mission, every team—you tank it. Because you can’t handle anyone not looking at you like you’re a fucking god.”
He didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked pleased. “And yet you keep comin’ back,” he murmured. “Can’t help yourself. Bet you lie awake wonderin’ if I’m thinkin’ about you. Wantin’ me to.”
You scoffed, but his grin widened.
“Hate to break it to you, honey, but you ain't special. You're just easy.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Nah. I'm honest.” He stepped in close, voice dropping to a murmur. “Y’know what your real problem is? You don’t know your fuckin’ place.”
You blinked. Something in your spine stiffened. That sick-slick tension tightened between your ribs.
“Back in my day,” he continued, slow and deliberate, “girls like you weren’t out in the field. You were fuckin’ dinner entertainment. Something soft to come home to. Not stompin’ around, actin’ like your tits and your tantrums count as tactical advantage.”
Your nails bit into your palms. He kept going.
“You wanna play soldier so bad, but you can’t even keep your emotions in check. Bleedin’ all over the floor and yellin’ like a brat who didn’t get her way.”
“I am ten times the asset you’ll ever be—” you began, but he cut you off again.
“Sweetheart, the only asset you got is between your fuckin’ legs.”
Silence fell. Ugly. Hot.
Then you spit.
Right into his face.
It landed just beneath his eye, slid slow and gleaming down his cheek to where his jaw tensed. He didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t blink.
Then, fast as a whipcrack, he lunged.
His hand snapped up and clamped around your jaw with bruising force, fingers digging into the soft parts of your cheeks, thumb pressing into the hinge like he was daring it to break. He squeezed hard enough to make your lips part, to force your chin upward until your eyes had nowhere to go but him.
You jerked, tried to wrench away, but he held you firm. Unyielding.
“Don’t waste your fuckin’ spit like that,” he growled.
His breath was hot. His face inches from yours, that cut on his lip glistening red and wet.
“You got no idea how many men would’ve dropped you where you stand for that.”
He paused, then smiled. A slow, filthy thing.
“But not me.” His voice rasped low, reverent in the worst way. “Nah. I like you like this. All mouth and no plan. Lookin’ at me like you wanna kill me and come on my cock at the same time.”
You tried to speak, and he tightened his grip. The ache bloomed instantly, your jaw locked in place.
“Don’t. Speak.”
His eyes roamed over your face, dark and gleaming with something feral.
“You’re not gonna say anything I haven’t already jerked off to.”
Your jaw ached in his grip, cheeks squeezed between his calloused fingers, lips parted just enough for breath to pass—but nothing else. He held you there like a fucking trophy, his thumb rough against your skin, his smirk rotting through your bloodstream like venom.
You could hear yourself breathing. Could hear him breathing. Close and sharp and slow. Measured, like he was savouring the scent of your unraveling.
You hated the silence. Because in the silence—you felt it.
The throb. Low and dark, blooming in your gut like a bruise. Not from rage. Not from shame.
From want.
And it hit you like a slap.
No.
No, no, no.
Your pulse pounded hard against your ribs. Your body buzzed like it had just realised what kind of man had you pinned. What kind of voice was in your ear. What kind of fingers were on your jaw.
And that—that’s what made your stomach twist. Because somewhere in the middle of all the hate and heat and violence—
You were getting wet.
You scowled. Tried to pull back. But Ben’s grip didn’t loosen. Instead, his smile stretched into something even worse.
“Ohhh,” he crooned, soft and vicious, “there it is.”
You froze. Heart lurching.
“That little squirm,” he said. “Took you a minute, huh? Thought you were gonna keep up the act a little longer.”
You growled in your throat, furious, but he just kept going.
“Should’ve known. All that righteous little rage—” he leaned in, voice dipping like a secret, “—was just your pussy tryin’ to negotiate terms.”
You twisted in his grip, but he followed you like a shadow.
“Bet you’re soaked. Hatin’ every second of it. Poor thing.”
“I’m gonna kill you,” you hissed.
He ignored it.
“What is it?” He murmured. “The voice? The muscles? Or is it the fact I treat you like a fuckin’ dumb little girl who doesn’t belong on the field?”
You spat again—but this time, you missed. It hit his collarbone, slid down his bare chest where his shirt wasn't fully done up.
He chuckled darkly.
“Temper, temper.”
Then you bit him. Hard.
Your teeth sank into the curve where his shoulder met his neck, the tang of his sweat hitting your tongue like copper and salt. You heard him grunt—deep and involuntary—but he didn’t pull away. If anything, his hand tightened on your jaw, holding you there like he wanted the pain.
You pulled back and glared up at him, lips slick with spit and rage.
“You are not fucking me,” you snapped.
Ben didn’t blink.
“No?” He said, voice sharp with laughter, laced with something darker beneath it.
Then his hand dropped low, low enough to brush between your legs, just for a second, just enough for him to feel the heat there.
His eyes lit up.
“Well I ain’t fuckin’ the hole in your shoulder, sweetheart.”
You slapped him.
The sound snapped through the room like the crack of a whip. His face turned with the force of it—but his smile stayed. Wider now. Red glistened on his lip where your palm had split it further, curling into the corner of his mouth like a badge of honour.
And still—he laughed. Low and steady, like he was enjoying this more than anything that had come before.
“Still got fight,” he rasped. “God, I fuckin’ love that.”
He stepped forward again, forcing you back until your spine met the rough cinderblock wall. His body caged yours, broad and radiating heat, his breath ragged but measured like he was controlling it just to make a point.
His hand landed on your hip. Possessive. Heavy.
“You’re burnin’ up,” he murmured. “Tryna hide it, but you’re meltin’ for it. I can feel it. You’re pulsin’.”
You sneered. “You’re hallucinating.”
He laughed again, but there was a tension coiled beneath it now. Something tight and hungry and climbing.
His fingers dragged slowly up your thigh, the heat of them searing through the fabric. He didn’t go high enough to touch anything worth touching—but close. So close. Just enough to make your skin buzz and crawl.
“You always get this hot when you’re mad, or is it just for me?”
You turned your face away.
That smug fucking tone. That condescension. That voice.
Your body hated you for it. You hated you for it.
He leaned in until his mouth grazed the edge of your jaw, his lips brushing skin with infuriating softness. His stubble scraped, and your breath hitched—just once.
He heard it.
“C’mon,” he said, softer now. Dangerous. “Stop fightin’ it, baby.”
You clenched your teeth.
“I’m not—” you started, but he cut you off with a groan that was almost frustrated.
“Jesus. You are the most stubborn little fuckin’ thing I’ve ever met.” His palm pressed flat against your stomach now, not moving higher, not yet. “I’m right here. You know it. I feel you, sweetheart.”
He pressed his hips against yours.
You felt it—his arousal, straining against his pants, heavy and hot and very, very there.
And still—your jaw locked.
He chuckled again, but this time it was quieter. Rougher. His lips ghosted over your ear.
“You ain’t gotta beg,” he murmured. “Don’t gotta say please.”
He nipped your earlobe, and you flinched.
“But fuck,” he breathed, “I want you to. Just once. Just a fuckin’ whimper of it.”
His other hand came up and gripped the back of your neck, dragging your head back against the wall, making you look at him.
“Just gimme somethin’,” he growled. “Let me have it.”
You stared up at him, eyes defiant, chest heaving, lips trembling with a fury you couldn’t name. His pupils were blown, jaw tight, sweat beading at his temple.
“You want me to say it?” You whispered.
He nodded, once. Jaw ticking.
You leaned forward, lips almost brushing his.
“No.”
His eyes flared. Just for a moment. Then his forehead hit the wall beside your head with a hollow thunk.
“Fuckin’ tease,” he growled, nearly breathless. “Goddamn little—”
You kissed him.
Or maybe he kissed you. It didn’t matter. Because suddenly—there were no more words. Only teeth. Tongue. Pressure. Only hands everywhere, dragging, grabbing, bruising. Only the sound of your breath punched out of your lungs as he pinned you harder, like he wanted to break something open just to see what spilled out.
And still—you didn’t beg. Not once.
His mouth was on yours, hot and hungry and entirely too satisfied with itself. He kissed like he fought—with dominance, with grit, with absolutely no care for anyone’s breath but his own. Your teeth clashed, tongues fighting for control, every gasp turning into another insult.
“I fuckin’ knew you wanted it,” he muttered against your lips, breath ragged, voice ruined. “God, you’re such a fuckin’ prick tease sometimes.”
You bit his bottom lip, hard enough to make him grunt. “Shut the fuck up,” you panted, fingers already yanking at his half-undone shirt.
He growled—deep and primal—grabbing the hem of your top and pulling it over your head like it’d personally offended him. You barely had time to toss it aside before his hands were on your tits, greedy and rough and everywhere.
Between kisses, between moans, between muttered curses, you were tearing at his belt, yanking and fumbling, both of you shaking with urgency.
“Fuckin’ finally,” he hissed, snapping the leather free. “Gonna ruin you.”
“You already have,” you spat.
His grin split wider. “Aww, baby. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
Then he went for your pants.
And froze.
You were kicking off your boots, halfway done when he huffed—truly, violently irritated.
“Fuck this shit,” he barked.
Before you could speak, his arms wrapped around your waist and he spun you—fast, like the air was thick with smoke and he didn’t have time to be gentle.
You barely got your hands out to brace yourself before your hips hit the edge of the table and you were slammed down onto your front.
“Hargrove—” you started.
He didn’t listen.
Didn’t care.
His hand wrapped around your waistband and in one brutal, fluid motion, he ripped your pants and underwear clean down the back of your legs, the fabric tearing with a shriek and hitting the floor like surrender.
“Are you fucking serious?! I liked those pants!”
He grabbed a fistful of your hair, just enough to tilt your head back.
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth.”
Then he dropped to his knees.
You barely had time to process the shift before his hands gripped your ass and spread you, and his whole face pressed in like he was trying to suffocate between your thighs.
And then—his mouth.
“Oh fuck—”
The first lick was devastating. Broad and slow, from your clit to your dripping entrance, and then back again, like he was learning you.
Then came the second—filthier. Sloppier. Louder.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, voice muffled in your cunt. “You taste like a fuckin’ war crime.”
You choked on a laugh and a moan at once, half turning to glare over your shoulder.
“Don’t flatter yourself—”
But he growled—deep—and sucked your clit into his mouth like he was punishing it. You almost collapsed.
“Shut up,” he muttered against you. “Just fuckin’ take it.”
Then he really started working.
Tongue pressed flat, then curling. Lapping and sucking and moaning like he’d gone feral. One hand keeping you spread, the other sliding down your thigh, gripping tight enough to bruise.
“You hear that?” He said, pulling back just long enough to spit onto your pussy and spread it with two fingers. “That squelch? That’s you, baby. Drippin’ all over my fuckin’ face.”
His mouth dove back in, and this time, he added teeth.
You cried out. His name. A curse. Maybe both.
He laughed into you. “That’s right. Fuckin’ mess. And you act like you’re not into it.”
You tried to push up, to speak, but he slapped your ass—hard—and buried his tongue deep again, humming like it was the best goddamn meal he’d ever had.
“Keep that mouth shut and let me eat, sweetheart,” he growled, voice wrecked. “You’re so fuckin’ wet I could drown in it.”
And he wanted to. You could feel it—in the way he moved. Desperate. Devoted. Obscene.
You were moaning. Panting. Swearing. But even now—still, now—you were running your fucking mouth.
His tongue had been buried in you for what felt like hours. Alternating between lapping, sucking, biting—his face drenched, his groans constant, hands gripping your thighs like a lifeline.
And you? You were taking it. You were suffering for it. But not quietly.
“You sound like a dog,” you hissed, voice breathless, broken, but still smug. “Fucking mutt. Bet you’d hump my leg if I let you.”
He growled into your cunt. You gasped. But the grin was still there, stretching across your face like sin.
“You’re pathetic, Hargrove,” you whispered. “Fucking starving like you haven’t had pussy in—”
His voice rumbled, low and sharp: “Shut your mouth.”
But you didn’t. Couldn’t.
“Can’t get enough, huh? Pathetic little—”
“I swear to God, sweetheart—” His breath was ragged, trembling with something dangerous. “I will fuck that pretty throat if you don’t stop talkin’.”
You arched your back and laughed, breathless and triumphant.
“Aww,” you taunted, “Did I bruise your ego?”
That was it.
He moved. In a blur of strength and heat and fury, he grabbed your waist and lifted you clean off the floor. You yelped, legs kicking reflexively as your spine hit the table, your head dangling off the far side.
The world flipped upside down.
“Hargrove—what the fu—”
Your words were cut off by the weight of him—thick and hot and full, his cock driving into your mouth so deep your vision sparked.
Your throat convulsed.
He hissed through clenched teeth, head thrown back, arms braced over the table as he held you there.
“Fuck—told you.” His voice cracked, breath rattling through the growl. “I fuckin’ warned you,” he groaned, thrusting slowly, deeply, into your throat while your eyes watered and your fingernails dug into the edges of the table.
“Run that fuckin’ mouth one more time,” he panted, his hips grinding deeper with every word, “and I’ll use it just like this every goddamn time.”
He wasn’t pulling back.
Just shallow rocks of his hips, grinding against the back of your throat while he looked down at your body bent over the table like a goddamn feast.
And then?
His fingers slid between your legs again. Without warning. Two of them. Deep.
You choked—hard—around him as his fingers curled exactly where they needed to, dragging slick out of you like he wanted to make it messier.
Your whole body spasmed.
“You feel that?” He rasped, breath shuddering. “Goddamn. You’re squeezin’ my fingers like a fuckin’ vice.”
He groaned again—shaky, hot, fucked-out.
“Jesus, baby… and you were talkin’ like you didn’t want this.”
His free hand cradled your throat now—thumb pressed against the bulge of his cock visible in your neck, feeling himself inside you.
His eyes rolled back.
“Christ, your fuckin’ throat was made for me.”
You tried to move. Couldn’t.
Every breath you dragged in was him. Every sound was slick and gasped and obscene—the wet noise of his fingers plunging into your soaked cunt, the slap of his hips against your lips, the throb of your core twitching around his hand.
He laughed again—wrecked, barely holding on.
And you were still fighting it. Still glaring through tear-lined lashes, still gagging and clawing and refusing to break.
But he was gonna make you, even if he had to keep you full at both ends to do it.
He was fucking your throat like it was the last thing on Earth that could save him.
Every roll of his hips was deeper. Slower. Less angry and more delirious, like he’d tipped over into something hot and helpless and consuming.
His fingers were still inside you, working in tandem with his cock down your throat—crooking and twisting like he was testing reactions, mapping you from the inside out. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could barely think.
And he loved it.
You could hear it in the way he was groaning now—drawn-out, fucked-up sounds, torn from deep in his chest. He wasn’t even taunting anymore. He was worshipping.
“Jesus,” he gasped, looking down at you with wild, half-lidded eyes, sweat dripping from his temple. “This mouth. This fuckin’ mouth, sweetheart—"
He thrust again, slow and deep, hips stuttering at the feel of you twitching around him.
“I love it when you spit at me,” he groaned, voice cracking into a soft laugh. “I love it when you snarl like a rabid little fuckin’ animal—”
You gagged around him, throat clenched so tight he moaned.
“God, yeah. When you run that mouth like a spoiled little brat—when you hate me so fuckin’ loud—”
He curled his fingers inside you, deep and slick, pressing down on your front wall—that spongey, gummy, wreck-you spot—like he was playing a damn instrument.
“—and then suck me down like you don’t even need to breathe anymore—fuck—”
Your vision blurred. Everything started spinning. You tapped his thigh once. Twice. Desperate.
His hips froze. His cock still buried in your throat.
“Oh—fuck,” he gasped, already pulling out. “Shit. Sorry, sweetheart—got lost in the fuckin’ moment there.”
He was laughing. A breathless, ragged sound, part apology, part thrill. His eyes were wild with it. Face flushed. Hands shaking.
You gagged as air rushed back into your lungs, coughing, drool trailing down your chin, your mouth gaping as you tried to drag yourself upright.
“Jesus,” you rasped, blinking tears from your lashes. “You’re fucking insane.”
His fingers left you with a wet pull that made you flinch—and he watched it. Watched how your thighs twitched when you were empty again.
He was circling the table now, still breathless, his cock glistening, soaked in spit and flushed angry red.
“Damn right I am,” he said hoarsely, eyes raking down your wrecked body.
Then he gripped your hips and dragged you down the table, rough and fluid, until your ass met the edge and your legs dropped open—slack, shivering.
“C’mon.” His voice was low now. Different. Almost soft. “Lean up. Wanna see those fuckin’ eyes.”
You propped yourself up on your elbows, still gasping, still shaking. But you looked. You watched.
You watched him line up—the head of his cock rubbing through your soaked folds, catching against your clit, then sliding down to your entrance where you were aching to be filled.
He exhaled shakily, mouth falling open.
“God,” he muttered, like a man on the brink. “Look at you.”
One hand on your thigh. The other gripping himself, twitching at the base. He nudged forward again, teasing—not to torture, but because he was savouring.
You locked eyes. He was gone.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you,” he whispered.
Then he pushed in like he had all the time in the world.
No rush. No brutality.
Just that slow, devastating stretch as his cock split you open—inch by aching inch—like he’d been waiting for this, like he’d earned it. His mouth dropped open when he bottomed out, a filthy groan catching low in his throat.
“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. “You’re so fuckin’ tight. Squeezin’ me like you were made for this.”
Your body arched, mouth falling open in a wordless moan as the table beneath your back creaked. You couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think. All you could feel was the weight of him—deep, thick, pulsing inside you—and the heat blooming out from where your bodies met.
And then he started to move.
Slow. Deep. Dragging his cock almost all the way out, then pressing it back in until your walls clenched and fluttered helplessly.
Your head lolled back. Your eyes rolled.
He slapped your thigh—hard.
“Uh-uh.” His voice was tight. Stern. “Eyes on me.”
You blinked, dazed.
He was braced over you, one hand on your thigh, the other fisted beside your hip. His hips rolled forward again—slower this time, deliberate. You moaned. Your eyelids fluttered.
Another sharp slap to your thigh.
“Look. At. Me.” he growled.
You dragged your gaze back to him, jaw slack, lips parted.
“Goddamn,” he rasped, staring down at you like you were an open flame. “Look at that face. Look at what I fuckin’ do to you.”
He rocked in again, groaning as your body clenched around him.
“I love this part,” he muttered. “When you’re still tryin’ to hold it together. Still actin’ like you’re not fallin’ apart.”
You whimpered, and his mouth curled.
“You like this, don’t you?” He crooned, voice thick with filth. “Being pinned open like this. Full. Spread. Watched.”
Your head tipped back again on instinct, eyes slipping shut—
And his hand snapped up, grabbing your jaw.
“No.”
He held your face, fingers digging into your cheeks, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“You don’t get to look away,” he said, voice sharp with heat. “Not when I’m inside you like this. Not when I’m this deep.”
He thrust again, deeper this time—grinding the base of his cock against you so perfectly you cried out.
“That’s it.” He grinned, breath catching. “I wanna see you break.”
Your hands scrambled at the table, nails dragging across the wood. Your thighs were shaking. Every time he bottomed out, your hips jerked, your breath hitched, your chest arched—and he watched. Every. Fucking. Time.
“Don’t you dare close those eyes again,” he warned, still holding your face. “I want to watch what I do to you. Every twitch. Every moan. Every little shiver.”
Your body pulsed around him like it was listening.
And that made him feral.
“Jesus, sweetheart—this pussy,” he groaned, slowing his thrusts again, dragging them out to pure torture. “Grippin’ me like it knows. Like it wants to be ruined.”
Your eyes fluttered again.
He tutted.
“Aw, baby. You tryna be good?” His cock slid deeper. “You wanna be good for me?”
You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. He let your jaw go—just long enough to slap your thigh one more time.
“Christ,” he groaned, hands gripping your thighs like restraints. “Still this fuckin’ tight…”
You felt it every time he bottomed out—hips flush to yours, cock buried so deep you could barely breathe. Your mouth opened on a moan that never quite found its voice, your head tipping back on the table, fingers trembling where they gripped the edge.
His hands moved—one sliding up to press flat against your belly, the other settling on your jaw, thumb grazing your lips like he didn’t know what part of you he wanted to control more.
“Pussy like this should come with a fuckin’ warning,” he muttered, thumb brushing your lower lip. “You feel that? How tight you’re squeezin’ me? It’s fucking perfect.”
You moaned, head tipping back more.
He slapped your thigh. Again. Sharper.
“Nuh-uh. Eyes. On. Me.”
Your gaze dragged back up to meet his—blurry, glassy, wrecked.
He looked devastated. Sweat on his chest. Jaw tight. His green eyes burning down at you like he’d die if you looked away again.
“You keep doin’ that, I’m gonna lose it,” he whispered. “I’m already hangin’ by a fuckin’ thread.”
Your walls clenched around him at the admission. He hissed.
“You like that, don’t you? Bein’ the one who makes me lose my fuckin’ mind.”
His thrusts got deeper, harder. Still slow, still controlled—but barely.
“God, I really do love this fuckin’ mouth,” he panted, staring at your lips now.
You whimpered. Shuddered. Your whole body was tensing.
He could feel it. His fingers reached down, thumb finding your clit, circling in tight, merciless pressure.
“You close?” He asked, voice gone rough and mean.
You nodded, whimpering, trying to say yes. But your throat couldn’t form it.
He stilled.
You cried out, grinding your hips, chasing the friction—anything—but he held you.
“Nope,” he rasped. “You wanna come? You ask.”
Your eyes flared. Fury and arousal crashing like thunder.
He grinned.
“What’s wrong?” He cooed. “Too proud to beg? Thought you were a tough girl.”
You clenched your teeth, panting.
“I can do this all night, sweetheart,” he said, hips grinding deep and slow again, teasing that spot that made your legs twitch. “I’ll keep you right here until you sob for it.”
He pulled back, just enough to make you feel empty. Then slid back in, eyes glued to your face.
“You gonna say it?” He whispered. “Gonna ask me?”
Still, you didn’t. But your eyes were glassy. Your hips were shaking. Your voice was gone.
And then, you said it. Soft. Broken.
“…Ben.”
His name. Your voice.
Everything stopped.
His hands shook. His breath hitched. His head dropped forward with a gasp.
“Oh, fuck…”
He looked at you like he didn’t know what to do with that sound.
“You’ve never…” he whispered. “You’ve never called me that.”
You said it again, even softer.
“Ben…”
And he shattered.
“Fuck, come.” His voice cracked. “Please. Now.”
His thumb pressed down. His hips snapped forward. Your body broke. And the moment it hit the air—
He snapped.
“Fuck—yes, yes, come, come for me—”
His voice fractured around it—command and awe bleeding together like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His thumb kept circling your clit, relentless. His cock buried deep. And your body shuddered beneath him.
You came hard. Again. Back arching, mouth open, eyes rolling.
And still—
He didn’t stop.
Not even for a second.
He was still fucking you. Driving into your wrecked cunt like he’d been given permission to devour.
You whimpered. Eyes fluttering.
“Ben—”
“Oh, we’re not done,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “Not even close, sweetheart.”
He kissed you. Open-mouthed and filthy. His lips found your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—like he couldn’t decide what part of you to ruin next. His hips never slowed. Each thrust was harder now. Rougher. Every wet slap of his body against yours made you twitch.
You couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think. And your body—shaking, overstimulated—begged for mercy you refused to ask for.
Your head tipped back again.
Eyes closed.
Your fatal mistake.
He froze. Just for a second. Then he snapped his hips. Hard. Brutal.
You cried out.
His hand cracked across your thigh. Again.
“Eyes,” he snarled. “The fuck did I say?”
You tried. Blinked. Dragged yourself back to him.
His eyes were wild. Hair damp with sweat. Jaw tight. His cock pulsing deep inside you.
“You look at me when I fuck you.”
He slowed. Just a little. Then slammed into you again, harder than before—making the table creak and your legs twitch.
“Can’t believe you dared to close your fuckin’ eyes again after I warned you.”
“Ben—fuck, I—”
He spit the next words like a threat:
“You do that one more time, and I swear to God, sweetheart—
I’ll flip you over, fuck your ass deep, and I won’t let you look at me.”
Your whole body spasmed.
His voice dropped, feral.
“Sound good to you?” He growled. “Want me there next? So every fuckin’ inch of you is mine? So you remember who fuckin’ owns this body?”
You choked on a moan.
He grabbed your face again, forcing your gaze back to his.
“That’s right. Keep those pretty little eyes where they belong.”
He thrust again—hard, fast, filthy. You sobbed. Clenched. He groaned like he was dying. Your thighs were soaked. Your vision blurred. And he was still going. Still holding you wide open.
Still not coming. Because he wanted you broken first.
He was fucking you like he was trying to carve a god out of your body. Relentless. Precise. The kind of rhythm that wasn’t chaos—it was control. Hard-earned. Hard-kept. Just barely contained.
Your thighs were soaked. His cock was dripping. You could feel your own come sliding down the insides of your legs from the last orgasm, and still—he hadn’t let up.
Then—
His pace broke.
He pulled back, hips stuttering as he groaned, “Fuck, I’m close. Fuck—where d’you want it?”
His voice was wrecked. Ragged. Wild. “Your tits? Your stomach? Wanna see it drip off your ass? What, baby—what do you want?”
Your answer was a sob. One word.
“Inside.”
And he stopped cold.
You didn’t even feel his cock anymore—just the sudden absence as he yanked back like you’d burned him.
His hand flew to the base of his cock, fisting it tight to hold himself back.
“Jesus fuck, sweetheart—”
He was breathing hard. Panicked. Laughing like it hurt.
“You can’t—you can’t say shit like that,” he gasped, squeezing himself as precum smeared over his knuckles. “You gotta give a guy warning before you pull that fucking move.”
You whimpered. Barely coherent. “Please…”
He laughed. Laughed like he was losing his mind.
“Oh, no. No, no, no—” he choked, circling around the table like he had to walk it off or he’d blow right then and there.
He looked feral. Cheeks flushed, sweat gleaming on his chest, cock throbbing in his fist.
“Inside?” He echoed, voice hoarse. “Jesus, you really are a little fuckin’ menace.”
You blinked up at him, dazed, mouth open, wrecked in every possible way.
“The last thing either of us needs,” he panted, “is me fuckin’ a baby into you.”
You shivered. Moaned. He grinned wider.
“Can you imagine?” He groaned, twisting his fist at the tip. “Half me and half you? That kid would be fucked. Wouldn’t even make it past the first trimester before startin’ bar fights in the womb.”
He shook his head, still circling, the slap of his fist on his cock echoing through the room.
“Hot in theory, sweetheart. In practice? Not so fuckin’ much.”
He came to a stop at the head of the table. Looked down at you—body blown open, thighs twitching, chest flushed, mouth wet and waiting.
“Back,” he said, pressing a hand to your shoulder. “Down. Now.”
You obeyed. Laid back across the table, head tilted slightly, breathing shallow.
He gripped his cock tighter, leaning over you with that wild grin stretched across his face, his other hand toying with your nipples, rolling and pinching until you gasped.
“Gonna make such a mess of this face,” he whispered.
Your legs spread wider.
He grinned. “That’s my girl.”
Then his hand hovered over your lips.
“Open wide,” he said, voice low.
You did.
He spit. Heavy. Wet. Right into your mouth.
“For earlier, you little fucker,” he muttered, eyes glittering.
You moaned around it. Swallowed. Smiled.
He groaned. “Jesus Christ, you liked that.”
Then—he slapped your cheek, light, teasing. The kind of touch that said mine.
“Here it fuckin’ comes, baby,” he panted, jerking faster now. “Open wider. C’mon.”
You looked up at him. Eyes glossy. Lips parted.
He groaned loud. “Good girl.”
And then—
He came. Hot. Thick. Everywhere. Over your tongue, your chin, your cheeks, your fucking soul. And when he was done, he stumbled. Laughed. Ran a hand through his hair and looked down at you like you’d just ruined him.
Because you had.
author notes: boy, oh boy... i went hard on this one. i need to get fucked like this at the moment, i genuinely believe it would get me out of my own fucking head for five goddamn minutes and then i can just get back on with my life. but alas, i hate all men, and will not go near one, even if it means the dicking of my life.
i love ben like this. fucking nasty asshat but so obviously reverent over reader. we live to see it.
i also haven't fully proofread this because i'm just delirious from last night, and let's be real, the past few weeks lol. my life is going down the fucking toilet.
let me know what y'alls think, please. i need some fucking praise right now. and that isn't even a hint, it's an outright request.
all the damn love.
This fic contains: smut, porn with minimal plot, established relationship, shower sex, using the shower head for stimulation, boob worship, finger sucking, fingering, implied prior sex, dirty talking, penetrative sex, creampie, biting
Summary: You and Bob have shower sex (I wish there was more but there isnt)
Notes: I've been sick for a week now so what better way to keep myself from spiraling by revisiting and finally finishing a 4-year-old piece that went through 3 character changes throughout the span of time ghajksgh I felt particularly inspired by Navy and Roo's Candy Heart Challenge
Prompt: Day 11: loving, touching, squeezing and all the kinky stuff - @the-slumberparty
New York City. The city that never sleeps, full of hopes and dreams. And sometimes, those dreams were beyond your wildest imagination. Dating one of the New Avengers, Robert Reynolds, and following them around on missions, press tours and private events like a groupie was definitely one of them. You had always admired superheroes, but falling in love with one of them was a reality that you found crazy to wrap your head around. Oftentimes, you ended up in the spotlight with them, but overall kept you and Bob’s life together private.
You and he were staying at one of the top hotels of the city. The creator of the New Avengers booked them for a gala, which basically meant complimentary hotels and all the luxuries of life both you and Bob were still trying to get used to. Even though you would have shown up without invitation, Valentina extended the offer to you with the intent you would bring good press for Bob and the team.
While he was on a call, you took your chance to enjoy the peace and quiet and stand out on the balcony. The last half hour was spent people-watching, taking pictures of the scenery with your Polaroid and sipping a glass of rose. You felt it was necessary to take some wholesome photos as your latest collection of Polaroids consisted of you and Bob in not-so-wholesome situations around the hotel room.
“Hey babe, we should start getting ready soon,” your boyfriend called out to you, leaning against the door frame. “The team is going to be here within the hour.” You looked him up and down, relishing the sight of him in only gray sweatpants. Even though you gained at least three photos of Bob topless last night, you pointed the mini camera towards him and took your shot. Your model shook his head, smiling to himself.
“Just a few more minutes,” you requested, “I’m just in awe with how beautiful New York is.” Your lover started to slowly strut towards you.
“You know we live here right?” He wrapped his bulky arms around your waist, your back flat against his naked torso. Your fingers traced along the veins of his forearms, goosebumps popping up on his skin.
“I know, but I always find something new to appreciate.” Your boyfriend laughed again, his hands massaging your shoulders through your silk robe. He moved the collar of your robe to the side to expose the top of your chest. His lips ghosted over your shoulder, causing you to shiver in anticipation.
“This is why I love you so much.”
In the blink of an eye, Bob spun you around to face him. He grabbed your face to pull you into a fiery kiss. You shut your eyes, letting out a flustered sigh. You could feel his lips forming into his smug smirk against your lips. He pinned you against the balcony, trapping your body against the glass with his legs. His cock began to wake up as it pressed against your lower stomach.
Bob hungrily bit your bottom lip, sucking it in between his own. You desperately pulled him closer to you by his biceps, digging your fingertips into his muscles. Your hold on him faltered when his hands aggressively groped your breasts, nipples hardening behind the pink silk.
RING! RING!
“Fuckin hell,” Your lover grunted in frustration as he pulled away from you. The way he cussed angrily while digging through his pocket for his phone made your pussy dampen even more than the kiss did. Even though it frightened you seeing him in that state, it secretly excited you. He noticed you watching him sullenly and gave you a defeated look before answering the phone.
“Yeah?” Bob nonchalantly greeted, his free hand stroking the back of your head. While his rough hand slid along your hair, a lightbulb flickered inside your head.
The conversation with his fashion team dragged on and you took advantage of Bob’s distracted state to stick one of his fingers in your mouth. You watched his jaw tighten into a fine line, his blue eyes peering down at you sucking his fingers. He pursed his lips, the corners partially curving upward.
“Sorry, say that again, please,” the brown haired superhero choked, eyes never leaving your lips wrapped around his finger. You continued swirling your tongue around his digit while he muttered a couple yeahs and uh-huhs before pressing the red button on his screen. Bob yanked his finger out of your mouth, a trail of spit following behind his fingertip.
“Dirty girl,” your boyfriend smirked, not bothering to dry off his finger. You innocently giggled, hoping it would egg him on to take you inside and fuck you. “So, it turns out the fashion team is running late and won’t be here for another half hour to an hour. No matter though, you and I can just pick up where we left off.” He pulled you by the wrist into the room, leading you into the bathroom. Bob turned on the shower, allowing the water to warm up while you stripped each other of what little clothing you already had on.
“Get your pretty ass in the shower,” He growled, swatting your ass playfully, “you’ve been a dirty girl and I need to clean you up.” You bit your lip, stepping into the hot glass box with your boyfriend not too far behind you. Bob wasted no time in pushing your back against the tile wall, hungrily attacking your lips. Your tongues slotted into each other's mouths, battling for dominance until you willingly submitted to him by pulling away breathlessly. He eyed the shower head on the wall and already predicted where this was leading to.
Your boyfriend detached the shower head from the wall, switching the water setting to massage and letting the water touch your clit. A wave of pleasure shot up your body, causing your knees to wobble. He took this as a sign to hold the shower head closer to your sensitive area. The hot, pulsing water against your clit felt just as good as the vibrator he uses on you to enhance your experience. Since you were away from home, he thought the shower head would be a great substitute for the vibrator.
“Mmmm, baby-y-y, f-feels so good,” you whined, your voice echoing against the tile walls.
“I know it does,” Bob replied, altering his voice to match your high one. “You miss your vibrator back at home, huh?” You nodded, clenching at the brief mention of your favorite toy. “I bet I can make you feel so much better. Hold the shower head and let me take care of my baby girl.” He handed you the shower head before stooping his head down to engulf his mouth around your breast. He plunged his long fingers inside your pussy while his free hand played with your other tit. All this combined urged you to push the shower head flush against your clit, the pulsing sensations of the water beating against you.
You gasped his name, each letter slowly dancing off your lips. Your free hand braced onto the back of his head which pushed him to further tease your nipple with his lips, tongue, and teeth. Bob’s lust blown eyes demanded your attention and you were immediately pulled into his trance. You subconsciously bucked your hips against the shower head, allowing his fingers to explore you even more. Your boyfriend smiled against your swollen flesh, slowly circling the tip of his tongue around the hardened peak all the while keeping his lust filled eyes on yours.
“Babe, fuck, I wanna cum,” you choked out.
“Not yet, baby girl. I want you cumming around my cock.” In a matter of seconds, Bob twirled you around so your chest was pressed against the wall. The contrast of temperature caused you to gasp. His firm hands planted on your hips, using them to stick your ass out for him. You instinctively spread your legs and arch your back more. Turning your head back, you find your boyfriend’s captivating eyes, causing him to smugly smirk as he warms up his length in his hand.
“Now, be a good girl and keep that shower head off your pussy.” Without another word, his hard cock filled you up, making you scream.
Your grip on the shower head tightened, causing your walls to clench around his cock. His hands seared into your hips as he pistoned in and out of you. Your free hand clawed at anything to keep yourself balanced but the moisture of the walls caused your hand to slide down the tiles, until his hand clasped over yours.
“I gotchu, baby,” he muttered into your shoulder, “Just enjoy yourself. You sound so good.” Bob’s fingers laced with yours as he kissed up your neck. His lips lingered on your skin before biting down, creating a red violet mark. You gasped at the feeling of him claiming possession over you.
The sensation of his lips and teeth on your hot skin. The warmth of the water on your clit. The friction of his length sheathing your cunt. Bob slamming his hips into yours, pushing you against the cold wall of the shower. It was all a perfect cocktail of pleasure and you drank it in one gulp until your head began to spin.
“Please, Bob, I’m so close!”
“I know, me too!” His thrusts fell out of rhythm, yet each one hit a spot in you that drew out a high pitched yelp. “Where do you want it, baby?” He already knew the answer. He always knew. But hearing you say it was all he needed to get you both to that release.
“Inside me, please.”
Bob growled, rutting into you like both of your lives depended on it. “Yeah, you want me to fill your pussy up? Feel me throb inside you while you pulse around me?” He knew all the right words to say to help you reach that high.
“Yes, fuck yes!” You shouted. “Please, god, I want it inside me so bad!”
Bob was now balls deep in you. His grunts and thrusts made your pussy flutter around him. With one final jolt of his hips, you were both crying out in bliss. You were full for a brief moment until he slipped out of you. In the midst of your fucked out state, you couldn’t tell if it was the shower water or the mixture of your cum and his that trailed down your quivering thighs.
“So hot,” you murmured, absorbing the cold from the wall.
“I’d say the same for you.” Bob winked before gingerly fishing the shower head from your hand, installing it back on the handle. The temperature from the water cooled down as it cascaded onto your heads and down your clammy bodies. His lips met yours once again, moving lazily. Your lover’s shaggy hair drooped in between your faces, causing water to trickle into your mouths. You both giggled as you dragged the locks from his face.
“Let’s wash up for real this time. They’ll be here any minute and they can’t catch us both naked or still in the shower.”
Navigation | Fic Masterlist | Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds Masterlist
For Valentines Day, we came up with a candy heart themed challenge. This will include daily candy hearts with a prompt related to the phrases on the heart!
❤️pieces must be at least 300 words and up to 5000 words in length; please us a ‘read more’ after the first 100 words
🩷works can be fluffy, angsty, or dark; please include warnings where relevant; you may opt to include 'author has chosen not to include warnings’
🧡tag this blog and add the tag #candyheartssleepover
💛open to all fandoms
💚we encourage inclusivity for fics; please ensure any custom banners include inclusive images
💙Be kind to yourself and to others. We are here to support and include each other
💜This event will run for a full-month; there will be a new prompt each day and you have until noon the next day to complete a piece for the prompt.
Warnings: ⚠️dead dove; do not eat⚠️ dub con, void!Bob is a really fuckin hot incubus, fisting, cunnilingus
Basically if you’re under 18 and/or dark fics aren’t your jam, you better skidaddle
Incubus!Bob that haunts your new apartment in the dead of night
Incubus!Bob that eventually disrupts your dreams, bringing out your wildest fantasies that only you knew about and leaving you breathless and wet when you wake up
Incubus!Bob that has learned about you, your body, and your deepest desires without ever directly interacting with you
Incubus!Bob that causes you to light candles around your room and pray to a god that you hope will protect you from the demon living in the darkest shadows of your house
Incubus!Bob that snuffs out the candlelights, causes the temperature in the room to drop, and emerges from the shadows, a tall, dark figure with dim eyes that pierce your soul
Incubus!Bob that hushes your screams by gripping your neck and throwing you to the bed before hovering over you
Incubus!Bob that tells you, “Don’t be afraid, sweet little angel. I won’t hurt you. I just wanna make you feel really good.”
Incubus!Bob that makes your panties wet and your nipples hard through your nightgown because even though you feared for your life in that moment, the past few nights left you hot and bothered by the strange figure in your dreams, and you so badly needed a release
Incubus!Bob that tore off your nightgown and panties to worship your body as if you were the goddess that deserved to be prayed to, dragging his claws against every curve and marking your skin with his fangs
Incubus!Bob that kept your hips locked under his firm grip as he devoured your pussy like forbidden fruit, making you come more times than any mortal has attempted to in all your life
Incubus!Bob that shoved not one but two fingers inside you, forcing you to look into his white eyes with his free hand as you pulsed around his fingers
Incubus!Bob that successfully slipped a third finger in your aching hole after challenging you to take more of him, your wince melting into a moan
Incubus!Bob that manages to push his fourth finger in and your needy cunt sucks and lubricates each digit as he experimentally curls them against a spongy spot that causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head and thrash on the bed
Incubus!Bob that dives back in to flick your budding clit with his tongue while part of his hand is still inside you and holy shit does it all feel so good to you that you are in tears and your vision gets fuzzy
Incubus!Bob that removes his fingers and mouth from you as you’re floating back to earth from your high
Incubus!Bob who is the last thing you see before you drift off to a peaceful slumber, feeling him kiss your forehead as you succumb to sleep
Warnings: ⚠️dead dove; do not eat⚠️ dub con, void!Bob is a really fuckin hot incubus, fisting, cunnilingus
Basically if you’re under 18 and/or dark fics aren’t your jam, you better skidaddle
Incubus!Bob that haunts your new apartment in the dead of night
Incubus!Bob that eventually disrupts your dreams, bringing out your wildest fantasies that only you knew about and leaving you breathless and wet when you wake up
Incubus!Bob that has learned about you, your body, and your deepest desires without ever directly interacting with you
Incubus!Bob that causes you to light candles around your room and pray to a god that you hope will protect you from the demon living in the darkest shadows of your house
Incubus!Bob that snuffs out the candlelights, causes the temperature in the room to drop, and emerges from the shadows, a tall, dark figure with dim eyes that pierce your soul
Incubus!Bob that hushes your screams by gripping your neck and throwing you to the bed before hovering over you
Incubus!Bob that tells you, “Don’t be afraid, sweet little angel. I won’t hurt you. I just wanna make you feel really good.”
Incubus!Bob that makes your panties wet and your nipples hard through your nightgown because even though you feared for your life in that moment, the past few nights left you hot and bothered by the strange figure in your dreams, and you so badly needed a release
Incubus!Bob that tore off your nightgown and panties to worship your body as if you were the goddess that deserved to be prayed to, dragging his claws against every curve and marking your skin with his fangs
Incubus!Bob that kept your hips locked under his firm grip as he devoured your pussy like forbidden fruit, making you come more times than any mortal has attempted to in all your life
Incubus!Bob that shoved not one but two fingers inside you, forcing you to look into his white eyes with his free hand as you pulsed around his fingers
Incubus!Bob that successfully slipped a third finger in your aching hole after challenging you to take more of him, your wince melting into a moan
Incubus!Bob that manages to push his fourth finger in and your needy cunt sucks and lubricates each digit as he experimentally curls them against a spongy spot that causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head and thrash on the bed
Incubus!Bob that dives back in to flick your budding clit with his tongue while part of his hand is still inside you and holy shit does it all feel so good to you that you are in tears and your vision gets fuzzy
Incubus!Bob that removes his fingers and mouth from you as you’re floating back to earth from your high
Incubus!Bob who is the last thing you see before you drift off to a peaceful slumber, feeling him kiss your forehead as you succumb to sleep
Warnings: ⚠️dead dove; do not eat⚠️ dub con, void!Bob is a really fuckin hot incubus, fisting, cunnilingus
Basically if you’re under 18 and/or dark fics aren’t your jam, you better skidaddle
Incubus!Bob that haunts your new apartment in the dead of night
Incubus!Bob that eventually disrupts your dreams, bringing out your wildest fantasies that only you knew about and leaving you breathless and wet when you wake up
Incubus!Bob that has learned about you, your body, and your deepest desires without ever directly interacting with you
Incubus!Bob that causes you to light candles around your room and pray to a god that you hope will protect you from the demon living in the darkest shadows of your house
Incubus!Bob that snuffs out the candlelights, causes the temperature in the room to drop, and emerges from the shadows, a tall, dark figure with dim eyes that pierce your soul
Incubus!Bob that hushes your screams by gripping your neck and throwing you to the bed before hovering over you
Incubus!Bob that tells you, “Don’t be afraid, sweet little angel. I won’t hurt you. I just wanna make you feel really good.”
Incubus!Bob that makes your panties wet and your nipples hard through your nightgown because even though you feared for your life in that moment, the past few nights left you hot and bothered by the strange figure in your dreams, and you so badly needed a release
Incubus!Bob that tore off your nightgown and panties to worship your body as if you were the goddess that deserved to be prayed to, dragging his claws against every curve and marking your skin with his fangs
Incubus!Bob that kept your hips locked under his firm grip as he devoured your pussy like forbidden fruit, making you come more times than any mortal has attempted to in all your life
Incubus!Bob that shoved not one but two fingers inside you, forcing you to look into his white eyes with his free hand as you pulsed around his fingers
Incubus!Bob that successfully slipped a third finger in your aching hole after challenging you to take more of him, your wince melting into a moan
Incubus!Bob that manages to push his fourth finger in and your needy cunt sucks and lubricates each digit as he experimentally curls them against a spongy spot that causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head and thrash on the bed
Incubus!Bob that dives back in to flick your budding clit with his tongue while part of his hand is still inside you and holy shit does it all feel so good to you that you are in tears and your vision gets fuzzy
Incubus!Bob that removes his fingers and mouth from you as you’re floating back to earth from your high
Incubus!Bob who is the last thing you see before you drift off to a peaceful slumber, feeling him kiss your forehead as you succumb to sleep
Warnings: ⚠️dead dove; do not eat⚠️ dub con, void!Bob is a really fuckin hot incubus, fisting, cunnilingus
Basically if you’re under 18 and/or dark fics aren’t your jam, you better skidaddle
Incubus!Bob that haunts your new apartment in the dead of night
Incubus!Bob that eventually disrupts your dreams, bringing out your wildest fantasies that only you knew about and leaving you breathless and wet when you wake up
Incubus!Bob that has learned about you, your body, and your deepest desires without ever directly interacting with you
Incubus!Bob that causes you to light candles around your room and pray to a god that you hope will protect you from the demon living in the darkest shadows of your house
Incubus!Bob that snuffs out the candlelights, causes the temperature in the room to drop, and emerges from the shadows, a tall, dark figure with dim eyes that pierce your soul
Incubus!Bob that hushes your screams by gripping your neck and throwing you to the bed before hovering over you
Incubus!Bob that tells you, “Don’t be afraid, sweet little angel. I won’t hurt you. I just wanna make you feel really good.”
Incubus!Bob that makes your panties wet and your nipples hard through your nightgown because even though you feared for your life in that moment, the past few nights left you hot and bothered by the strange figure in your dreams, and you so badly needed a release
Incubus!Bob that tore off your nightgown and panties to worship your body as if you were the goddess that deserved to be prayed to, dragging his claws against every curve and marking your skin with his fangs
Incubus!Bob that kept your hips locked under his firm grip as he devoured your pussy like forbidden fruit, making you come more times than any mortal has attempted to in all your life
Incubus!Bob that shoved not one but two fingers inside you, forcing you to look into his white eyes with his free hand as you pulsed around his fingers
Incubus!Bob that successfully slipped a third finger in your aching hole after challenging you to take more of him, your wince melting into a moan
Incubus!Bob that manages to push his fourth finger in and your needy cunt sucks and lubricates each digit as he experimentally curls them against a spongy spot that causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head and thrash on the bed
Incubus!Bob that dives back in to flick your budding clit with his tongue while part of his hand is still inside you and holy shit does it all feel so good to you that you are in tears and your vision gets fuzzy
Incubus!Bob that removes his fingers and mouth from you as you’re floating back to earth from your high
Incubus!Bob who is the last thing you see before you drift off to a peaceful slumber, feeling him kiss your forehead as you succumb to sleep
Warnings: ⚠️dead dove; do not eat⚠️ dub con, void!Bob is a really fuckin hot incubus, fisting, cunnilingus
Basically if you’re under 18 and/or dark fics aren’t your jam, you better skidaddle
Incubus!Bob that haunts your new apartment in the dead of night
Incubus!Bob that eventually disrupts your dreams, bringing out your wildest fantasies that only you knew about and leaving you breathless and wet when you wake up
Incubus!Bob that has learned about you, your body, and your deepest desires without ever directly interacting with you
Incubus!Bob that causes you to light candles around your room and pray to a god that you hope will protect you from the demon living in the darkest shadows of your house
Incubus!Bob that snuffs out the candlelights, causes the temperature in the room to drop, and emerges from the shadows, a tall, dark figure with dim eyes that pierce your soul
Incubus!Bob that hushes your screams by gripping your neck and throwing you to the bed before hovering over you
Incubus!Bob that tells you, “Don’t be afraid, sweet little angel. I won’t hurt you. I just wanna make you feel really good.”
Incubus!Bob that makes your panties wet and your nipples hard through your nightgown because even though you feared for your life in that moment, the past few nights left you hot and bothered by the strange figure in your dreams, and you so badly needed a release
Incubus!Bob that tore off your nightgown and panties to worship your body as if you were the goddess that deserved to be prayed to, dragging his claws against every curve and marking your skin with his fangs
Incubus!Bob that kept your hips locked under his firm grip as he devoured your pussy like forbidden fruit, making you come more times than any mortal has attempted to in all your life
Incubus!Bob that shoved not one but two fingers inside you, forcing you to look into his white eyes with his free hand as you pulsed around his fingers
Incubus!Bob that successfully slipped a third finger in your aching hole after challenging you to take more of him, your wince melting into a moan
Incubus!Bob that manages to push his fourth finger in and your needy cunt sucks and lubricates each digit as he experimentally curls them against a spongy spot that causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head and thrash on the bed
Incubus!Bob that dives back in to flick your budding clit with his tongue while part of his hand is still inside you and holy shit does it all feel so good to you that you are in tears and your vision gets fuzzy
Incubus!Bob that removes his fingers and mouth from you as you’re floating back to earth from your high
Incubus!Bob who is the last thing you see before you drift off to a peaceful slumber, feeling him kiss your forehead as you succumb to sleep
Warnings: ⚠️dead dove; do not eat⚠️ dub con, void!Bob is a really fuckin hot incubus, fisting, cunnilingus
Basically if you’re under 18 and/or dark fics aren’t your jam, you better skidaddle
Incubus!Bob that haunts your new apartment in the dead of night
Incubus!Bob that eventually disrupts your dreams, bringing out your wildest fantasies that only you knew about and leaving you breathless and wet when you wake up
Incubus!Bob that has learned about you, your body, and your deepest desires without ever directly interacting with you
Incubus!Bob that causes you to light candles around your room and pray to a god that you hope will protect you from the demon living in the darkest shadows of your house
Incubus!Bob that snuffs out the candlelights, causes the temperature in the room to drop, and emerges from the shadows, a tall, dark figure with dim eyes that pierce your soul
Incubus!Bob that hushes your screams by gripping your neck and throwing you to the bed before hovering over you
Incubus!Bob that tells you, “Don’t be afraid, sweet little angel. I won’t hurt you. I just wanna make you feel really good.”
Incubus!Bob that makes your panties wet and your nipples hard through your nightgown because even though you feared for your life in that moment, the past few nights left you hot and bothered by the strange figure in your dreams, and you so badly needed a release
Incubus!Bob that tore off your nightgown and panties to worship your body as if you were the goddess that deserved to be prayed to, dragging his claws against every curve and marking your skin with his fangs
Incubus!Bob that kept your hips locked under his firm grip as he devoured your pussy like forbidden fruit, making you come more times than any mortal has attempted to in all your life
Incubus!Bob that shoved not one but two fingers inside you, forcing you to look into his white eyes with his free hand as you pulsed around his fingers
Incubus!Bob that successfully slipped a third finger in your aching hole after challenging you to take more of him, your wince melting into a moan
Incubus!Bob that manages to push his fourth finger in and your needy cunt sucks and lubricates each digit as he experimentally curls them against a spongy spot that causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head and thrash on the bed
Incubus!Bob that dives back in to flick your budding clit with his tongue while part of his hand is still inside you and holy shit does it all feel so good to you that you are in tears and your vision gets fuzzy
Incubus!Bob that removes his fingers and mouth from you as you’re floating back to earth from your high
Incubus!Bob who is the last thing you see before you drift off to a peaceful slumber, feeling him kiss your forehead as you succumb to sleep
Ugh yeeees I love it maybe he’s connected to you or the house itself but. Yes. Ugh feeling like shit the next day but kinda miffed he didn’t actually fuck you….thats a ride I wouldn’t survive
Warnings: ⚠️dead dove; do not eat⚠️ dub con, void!Bob is a really fuckin hot incubus, fisting, cunnilingus
Basically if you’re under 18 and/or dark fics aren’t your jam, you better skidaddle
Incubus!Bob that haunts your new apartment in the dead of night
Incubus!Bob that eventually disrupts your dreams, bringing out your wildest fantasies that only you knew about and leaving you breathless and wet when you wake up
Incubus!Bob that has learned about you, your body, and your deepest desires without ever directly interacting with you
Incubus!Bob that causes you to light candles around your room and pray to a god that you hope will protect you from the demon living in the darkest shadows of your house
Incubus!Bob that snuffs out the candlelights, causes the temperature in the room to drop, and emerges from the shadows, a tall, dark figure with dim eyes that pierce your soul
Incubus!Bob that hushes your screams by gripping your neck and throwing you to the bed before hovering over you
Incubus!Bob that tells you, “Don’t be afraid, sweet little angel. I won’t hurt you. I just wanna make you feel really good.”
Incubus!Bob that makes your panties wet and your nipples hard through your nightgown because even though you feared for your life in that moment, the past few nights left you hot and bothered by the strange figure in your dreams, and you so badly needed a release
Incubus!Bob that tore off your nightgown and panties to worship your body as if you were the goddess that deserved to be prayed to, dragging his claws against every curve and marking your skin with his fangs
Incubus!Bob that kept your hips locked under his firm grip as he devoured your pussy like forbidden fruit, making you come more times than any mortal has attempted to in all your life
Incubus!Bob that shoved not one but two fingers inside you, forcing you to look into his white eyes with his free hand as you pulsed around his fingers
Incubus!Bob that successfully slipped a third finger in your aching hole after challenging you to take more of him, your wince melting into a moan
Incubus!Bob that manages to push his fourth finger in and your needy cunt sucks and lubricates each digit as he experimentally curls them against a spongy spot that causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head and thrash on the bed
Incubus!Bob that dives back in to flick your budding clit with his tongue while part of his hand is still inside you and holy shit does it all feel so good to you that you are in tears and your vision gets fuzzy
Incubus!Bob that removes his fingers and mouth from you as you’re floating back to earth from your high
Incubus!Bob who is the last thing you see before you drift off to a peaceful slumber, feeling him kiss your forehead as you succumb to sleep
