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Welcome to my masterlist! Most of my fics can be found on my AO3 account, including my largest fic The Red Thread which is too big for tumblr. I primarily write Matt Murdock x Reader, with a variety of other characters thrown in as the mood strikes me.
Instead of a taglist, if you would like to be notified when I post a new fic or chapter, please follow + set notifications for my sideblog @pastaxandriaâ. That blog will only update when I drop a new fic or chapter.
thudnerbolt boys when you go down on them in the showerr
Prompt: Bucky, John, and Bob watch you go down on them in the shower
Warning: 18+ NSFW Minors DNI, lots of swearing, nudity in shower, explicit sexual content (pure dirty smut), oral sex (male receiving), praise kink, cumplay w/ swallowing, mild overstimulation, heavily detailed shower scene, and the boys just getting absolutely wrecked so please read at your own expense
Note: This is absolute filthy smut. Very explicit content below the cut. Please enjoy!
Thunderbolts Masterlist
Bucky: The hot water cascades down your skin as you run your hands through your wet hair. You tilt your head back ever so slightly and keep your eyes shut to relish the feeling of the water trailing down your body. It cleansed you of the day's hardships, relaxing the tight muscles in your shoulders in the process.
You barely register the soft knock before the door opens slightly. When you turn your head to peer through the foggy glass, Bucky stands in the doorway with his hand clutching the handle.
âHey⌠mind if I join you?â Buckyâs voice is low. His eyes shamelessly drag down the length of your body, drinking it all in for his own pleasure.
You know better than to rely on your voice so you nod your head timidly. You try to distract yourself and turn back to the shower head. But your heart begins to race when you hear the rustle of his clothes.
He steps in behind you only a moment later. His metal hand grazes your waist first; it's cool against the heat of your skin and his flesh hand tucks damp strands of hair off your neck.
Neither of you speaks at first. He simply presses close, his forehead resting against your shoulder and his lips ghosting over damp skin. You feel him breathe in slow and deep like heâs grounding himself with you.
When you finally turn to face him, his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, his lips slightly parted. His hands find your hips. He kisses you like heâs starvingâsoft at first, then deeper and wetter. His tongue sliding against yours. The water pounds against your backs as his hands slide down to lift your thigh, pulling you closer.
âYouâre killinâ me,â he murmurs against your mouth. His voice ragged as he trails his mouth down your throat, sucking hard enough to leave bruises.
You let out a soft hum, teasing. âGood.â
Desperately needing you, Bucky leans forward to capture your lips once again, but the hand that shoots out lays flat against his chest and stops him. His brow furrows in slight confusion until he watches you sink to your knees in front of him.
âFuck,â he groans, running a hand through his wet hair, cock already hard, thick, flushed dark.
Coming face to face with his hard length, you can't help but wrap your hand around him, stroking his length slow and deliberate. You glance up at him to watch the way his stomach tenses at the first stroke. His jaw clenches, lips parting on a broken breath as you lean in and lick a slow stripe along the thick vein.
âShit,â he groans, leaning back against the tile.
You take him into your mouthâslow at first, inch by inch, until the thick head nudges the back of your throat. His breath punches out of him in a guttural moan. His metal hand grips the back of your head, trembling with restraint.
âOh baby, fuckââ Bucky sounds so desperate, drunk on pleasure.
The heat of your mouth drives him insane. He canât tear his eyes away, jaw clenched as he watches you suck him deeper, cheeks hollowing, water streaming down your skin. His thighs tense when you moan around him, the vibrations wrecking him completely.
His groans only grow louder as you suck him deeper, water streaming over both of you. His metal hand fists in your hair, his thighs trembling as you hollow your cheeks, working him with your mouth. He guides your head gently, thrusting his hips to fuck into the warm of your mouth. You happily take all that he has to offer.
âPleaseâplease donât stop,â he gasps, utterly wrecked, his thighs trembling as you take him deeper, swallowing around him. âYou feel so fucking goodâshit, Iâm closeâfuck, youâre gonna make meââ
He canât even finish the sentence. His body tenses, hips jerking as the first pulse hits.
âFuckâfuckââ Bucky groans, voice breaking completely as he spills in your mouth. It's hot and thick.
His metal hand gripping you like heâs barely holding on. His breath comes in ragged moans, head thrown back, his entire body shaking with the force of it.
You swallow around him, the warmth filling your mouth as he chokes on another broken gasp. His thighs tremble. He looks down at youâwrecked, flushed, eyes blownâwatching you take every last drop with a look of dazed, breathless adoration.
âJesus Christ,â he breathes, barely able to stand. âYouâre gonna kill me, sweetheart.â
He pulls you up gentlyâhands cupping your faceâpressing soft, trembling kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your forehead as the water pours down around you, his heart pounding so hard you can feel it through his chest.
John: The bathroom door clicks shut and the lock gets set in place. You already in the shower, but you don't look towards the noise. The quiet drag of his footsteps on tile sends a shiver down your spine. You know exactly who it is. You donât need to look to feel the weight of his gaze raking over every inch of your wet, bare skin.
The door to the shower slides open slowly and he steps in behind you. Before you can even draw in a steady breath, his hands are on your hipsâbig, rough palms that roam over slick wet skin. His chest presses flush to your back; his cock already hard and heavy against the curve of your ass.
"Look at you," John's lips brush against the shell of your ear teasingly. The rasp of it makes your stomach clench. "You drive me crazy."
His fingers trail up, gliding over your ribs, sliding higher until they cup your breastsâpalming and teasing. The rough pads of his thumbs brushing across peaked nipples as you shiver under the steady assault of his touch.
âYou gonna be good for me?â he murmurs, teeth grazing your ear. âGonna let me have you the way I need?â
Despite fighting everything in you to let him have you right there, you decide to flip it. You turn slowly to face him.
The water is running down the curve of your spine, your chest is brushing his as you look up at him through soaked lashes. Without a word, you sink to your knees on the slick floor.
Johnâs breath punches out of him in a low, wrecked sound. His cock twitches, hard and flushed. Then his hands fall uselessly to his sides because his control is slipping fast.
His cock is already hard, thick and heavy against his stomach, and when your hand wraps around him, his head tips back with a guttural growl.
âFuck, sweetheart⌠âJohn grits out. You take him into your mouth, sucking him deep, and working the underside of him with your tongue.
His hands tangle roughly in your hair, guiding you faster, groaning low and dark every time you moan around him. Your lips wrap around the head, tongue circling, tasting the salt of pre-come as you suck gently, then deeper. His fingers brush the wet strands of hair out of your face so he can get a better look at you.
âLook at you⌠fuck, youâre so goodâso good for meââ John praises.
Every time you hollow your cheeks and swallow around him, his groans grow louderârough, filthy sounds that let you know exactly how close he is.
âShitâfuckââ His hips jerk forward. His hand is tightening, but he still fights to keep it controlled. You only take him deeper, your hand stroking the base in time with the slow bob of your head. âFuckâgonnaâgonna comeâdonât stopâdonât fucking stopââ
You suck harder, moaning softly around him, and itâs over.
With a strangled groan, his whole body jerks, muscles locking tight as he spills in your mouth. His thighs tremble as you swallow, your hand stroking him through it as he pants your name like a curse.
âFuckâfuckââ He shudders violently, his fingers still tangled in your hair, his cock twitching with the last aftershocks as you pull back and lick him clean just how he likes it.
When John finally manages to catch his breath, he lets out a wrecked, breathless laughâstill shaking, still ruinedâbefore reaching down to pull you up and kiss you hard, tasting himself on your tongue, his hands gripping your face like he canât let you go.
âNext time,â he murmurs roughly against your lips, voice still shot, âIâm not letting you get away with just that.â
Bob: When you made the announcement that you were going to shower and extended the invitation for him to join you, Bob was quiet as he followed you into the bathroom. He watched your every moveâthe way you laid your clothes out with careful hands, the soft way you folded a towel, the small hum of contentment as you tested the water temperature.
There was something so gentle in the way he looked at you. Like you were something fragile he didnât quite believe he was allowed to touch.
He didnât turn away when you started to undress. His eyes followed each slow reveal of skin, and he mirrored your actions without a wordâshedding his layers until there was nothing left between you.
By the time the bathroom filled with steam, you stepped under the spray, sighing as the heat hit your skin. He came into the shower behind you and closed the shower door softly.
âHey,â you murmured softly, offering a shy smile over your shoulder.
His tongue darting over his lips and he swallowed hard. âYouâre⌠youâre beautiful,â he said, voice quiet almost like he was embarrassed to admit it.
He stepped closer, hands tentative at firstâtracing the curve of your waist, fingertips feather-light as though still asking permission. His breath was shaky, his chest rising and falling faster as his hands slid over slick skin.
When you turned to face him fully, his eyes were wide, dark with something soft and achingly sweet. He captured your lips with his own, slow and gentle at first.
His tongue glides against your lower lip, tasting the water dripping from your mouth. He exhaled against you, then kissed you deeper this time, his hands sliding up your back to pull you closer, pressing your bodies together beneath the stream.
âGod, I love you,â Bob whispers against your mouth. Your lips curve into a beautiful smile.
When you pulled back, you held his gaze, your hands trailing down his chest. Then, without a word, you sank slowly to your knees on the slick tile.
Bobâs breath caught sharply. His eyes went impossibly wide, mouth parting in shock as his back hit the cool tile wall behind him. His cock was already hardâflushed and heavyâand he made the softest, broken sound when your hand wrapped around him.
âWhat are youââ Bob started, voice trembling, but it cut off in a sharp gasp when you leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the flushed tip. "You donât have toâ"
âLet me take care of you,â you whispered, looking up at him through wet lashes. That look you gave him made him cave.
âOh Jesusââ he choked out, his head falling back for a split second before his eyes snapped back down, locked on you like he physically couldnât look away.
The first pass of your tongue made his knees nearly buckle. His hand darted out and clutched at the wall for balance. The other buried instinctively in your wet hair, not to push but to anchor himself.
When you sucked him in deeperâslow, unhurried, your hand stroking what your mouth couldnât takeâhe let out a wrecked, breathless moan.
âBabyâoh my Godââ Bobâs voice cracked, soft and desperate, his eyes glassy as he watched the way your lips stretched around him, the way your cheeks hollowed. His whole body trembled, hips barely rocking forward, his self-control fraying fast.
You moaned softly around him, the vibrations making him whimperâan actual whimper, soft and helpless. You move your head a little faster, taking as much of him in your mouth as physically possible.
âPleaseâfuckâplease donât stop,â Bob gasped, his breath coming faster, the pink flush rising all the way to his throat. âFeelsâfeels so goodâJesus, Iââ
His voice kept breakingâhis cock twitching deep in your mouthâas you worked him steady, your eyes never leaving his flushed, wrecked face. He looked overwhelmed, lips parted, brows drawn tight like he could barely handle it.
âIâbaby, Iâm gonnaââ His voice dissolved into a moan. His hips jerking helplessly as he came hard.
The hot salt of it filling your mouth in thick pulses. You swallowed around him, soft and slow, still stroking him gently as he shuddered, his legs nearly giving out. You greedily swallowed just about everything.
His hand trembled against your head, his breath torn from his lungs in broken little gasps: âIâm sorryâIâm sorryâfuckââ
When you finally pulled back, wiping your mouth, he was staring down at you with wide, dazed eyes, still breathless, still red, still visibly shaking.
âAre you okay?â you teased softly, standing to press a kiss to his jaw.
He let out a weak, wrecked laugh, pulling you into his arms and resting his forehead to yours.
âIâmâIâm more than okay,â Bob whispered, still trying to catch his breath. âYou just⌠you ruin me.â
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Pathetic pleasure dom! Dex x bratty!reader x hard dom Matt
Dex who loves his bratty little reader, is always soft on them and barely ever gives out discipline or punishment. Struggles with so much as spanking the reader because his sweet girl just wants his attention, and how could he ever deny them that.
Matt who cannot believe Dex is letting you behave so badly, has no choice but to get involved. Has to overcompensate for dexs lack of discipline. Dex gets off to it in a sort of cuckhold way, likes to be forced to watch as Matt punishes you, will cry and probably needs to be tied to the chair. Sometimes Matt will force dex to do the punishment, just a teary eyed dom giving the softest spanks he can while apologizing.
Do you think Dex could bend a truly good love interestâs morals?
Dex Finds Himself a âGood Girlâ
TW injury, stalking, moral corruption, suggestive/sexual content, harassment by a Task Force agent, murder, she/her pronouns.
WC 1.4K
You swear youâre a good person.
You help at the food bank when you can. You donate to a wildlife charity every month. You always round up for childrenâs hospitals at the cashier. You carry reusable bags. You move worms and snails off the pavement after rain because it breaks your heart when pedestrians step on them unknowingly. You say âthank youâ to bus drivers, and by now they know you by name. You cry at videos of old dogs getting adopted. You once said âsorry sorry sorryâ to a spider before trapping it under a glass and putting it outside.
You swear youâre a good person.
That was all you were trying to be when you found a man bleeding out on your rooftop.
He was slumped against the brick, one hand pressed to his side, blood slipping between his fingers. His suit was a dark blue and black, torn open at the ribs. His face was pale, though his eyes were not.
âNo hospitals,â he said.
And because you were a good person, you swallowed hard and said, âOkay.â
You knew first aid, you volunteered in enough community centers not to.Â
âDo you have a name?â you asked.
His teeth chattered a little. âDex.â
You swear youâre a good person when you let him inside your apartment.
You swear youâre a good person when you clean the blood from his body and nurture him back to health.
You swear youâre a good person when you let him sleep on your couch, even after you realize the suit is familiar.
Even after you realize heâs familiar.
Even after you realise heâs Bullseye. Even if heâs the kind of man good girls are supposed to run from.
But you look at him, Dex sits on your couch under your blanket, bruised and battered, and says, âIâm one of the good guys nowâ with absolute conviction and a lopsided grin, as if he was imitating you.Â
You swear youâre a good person when you believe him.
Or maybe you just want to believe him. Maybe you decide wanting to believe in him counts as mercy.
You swear youâre a good person when heâs eventually well enough to leave.
You swear youâre a good person when you spend two weeks pretending youâre glad heâs gone.
In truth, your apartment feels empty. You keep looking at the place where he bled on your tiles longingly.
Then, like a lost cat, he comes back through the window.
His hair was streaked with blood, he has blood on his knuckles. His eyes are tired and fixed on you.
âTask Force is crawling my streets,â he says. âCan I stay here?â
You swear youâre a good person when you say yes.
You swear youâre a good person when he kisses you that night.
It happens in the kitchen, under the flickering yellow light, with rain tapping against the glass.Â
His mouth hits yours hard. You gasp, and he swallows it. His hand cups the back of your neck, thumb pressing under the soft flesh of your jaw, holding you still while he kisses you deeper. His body pins yours to the counter, and you know you should be scared.
You swear youâre a good person when you kiss him back.
You swear youâre a good person when you pull him closer by his belt loops.
You swear youâre a good person when he tells you heâs been watching you since he left.
He said he was sure you got home safe. He was making sure nobody followed you. He was sure the man from 4B stopped looking at you like a creep. He was sure you were safe, because he was a good man, right?
You should tell him to leave. Instead, you cup his cheeks and press his forehead to yours.
âDonât lie to me about it again,â you whisper gently, which is not the same thing as telling him to stop.
You know that. Dex knows that, too.
You swear youâre a good person when you basically forgive him for stalking you.Â
You swear youâre a good person when he starts staying over.
Suddenly, he has a toothbrush next to yours. His shirts end up in your closet.Â
You swear youâre a good person when his hands go under your shirt, groping and gripping and touching like he canât believe youâre letting him. He kisses your neck until youâre whining. He bites your shoulder hard enough to make you arch. He grinds against you, still clothed, like heâs trying to crawl out of his own skin and into yours.
âTell me to stop,â he pants.
You donât. Instead, you drag him down.
You swear youâre a good person when he fucks you. When he gets you naked with desperate, clumsy hands and pushes your thighs apart like heâs afraid youâll change your mind if he goes any slower. Your thighs are shaking so hard you have to grab his hair and mewl into his shoulders.
He fucks you deep and messy and stupid, hips pounding into yours, one hand gripping your thigh, the other braced beside your head. The bed hits the wall and nails tear down his scarred back. His mouth drags over your nose, your cheek, your lips, all open-mouthed and frantic.
âYouâre mine,â he says, voice wrecked.
You just let out a helpless âhmpph!â
He laughs once against your mouth.
You swear youâre a good person when you let him fuck you silly in your own bed, even though you know what he is.
You swear youâre a good person when Task Force comes knocking three days later, when Dex is out.
The agent at your door is handsome, but not your type.Â
âMaâam,â he says. âWeâre asking about a Bullseye sighting nearby.â
You blink up at him. âNo, sir. I havenât seen anything.â
You swear youâre a good person when you lie.
He doesnât leave and steps closer instead, one boot over your threshold.
His gaze drops to your bare legs, and then to the oversized shirt youâre wearing. It was actually Dexâs shirt.
âYou live alone?â he asks.
Your stomach turns upside down. âI think you should go.â
He shrugs, âIâm just asking questions.â
His hand catches the door before you can shut it. Then he is inside, too close, fingers brushing your wrist.
You freeze.
He looks at your mouth.
âYou sure you donât know anything?â he murmurs.
You swear youâre a good person when you lie again, this time through gritted teeth. âI said no.â
His hand slides to your waist and you shove him.
He laughs, but he tries to put his hands on you again.Â
Eventually, you shut the door and get him out.
You wait for Dex.
You swear youâre a good person when you tell him everything, knowing exactly what Dex would do.Â
âName,â he says.
You tell him what you saw in the badges.
You swear youâre a good person when you donât ask where he is going.
You swear youâre a good person when he comes back before dawn dragging the agent by the back of his collar. The man is crying.
His badge is gone, face is bruised, pushed to his knees on your wooden floor.
Dex stands behind him with a gun in his hand.
âApologise,â Dex says.
The agent sobs through it. He says sorry, says he didnât mean it. Says he was just messing around.
Dex presses the gun to the side of his head and looks at you. âCan I?â
You swear youâre a good person.
You swear.
You swear.
You swear you think about mercy. You swear you think about laws. You swear you think about the literal human life Dex has put in your hands.
Still, you say, âYes.â
Dex shoots him in the head. The agent drops, and blood spreads across your wooden floor.
He looks at you as if asking, are you proud of me yet?
You swear youâre a good person when you help him clean up the mess. You swear youâre a good person when you hold the bin bag open. You swear youâre a good person when you help him scrub blood from the floorboards. You swear youâre a good person when you help him bury the body.
What else were you supposed to do? Let him do it alone? After he defended you? After he did what you asked him to do?
You swear youâre a good person when you crawl into bed beside him that night.
You tuck yourself under his chin and whisper, âI love you.â
His arms close around you as he says, âI love you, too.â
You swear youâre still a good person.
Or maybe youâre just in love. Maybe you donât know the difference anymore.
â
To answer your question anon, yes. If you were so blinded by love, you wouldnât even notice the goalposts had moved!
again, it truly really matters on how in love you are/you perceive to be, but Iâm writing it on the extreme end for the sake of the story!
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Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader
Rating: T
Warnings/Tags: Fluff, accidental nudes, bob is having a breakdown. No smut in this one
Word Count: ~2,791
Summery: Reader sends Bob a nude by accident and he is being TOTALLY cool about it ( NOT)
Authors Note: This was my first request! Im on a fluff train right now I love soft Bob...also i dont know how to end stories so... sorry
She texted him a lot. That was something she did nowâŚ.a lot. For a while.
Bob didn't think about it too hard. Thinking about it too hard meant thinking about why she texted him, and why it was more than she texted anyone else (he'd noticed, not that he was going to do anything with that information, but he'd noticed), and why every time his phone buzzed and it was her name his whole chest went warm like a pilot light catching.
SoâŚ. He didn't think about it too hard.
Tuesday. Kitchen. Sandwich. He was building something involving turkey and an ambitious amount of mustard when her name lit up his screen. A photo of the sunset from the roof. Then a complaint about Yelena that was mostly exclamation points. Then a link to a golden retriever falling off a dock, no comment attached, because she knew he'd click it and she knew it would fix whatever needed fixing.
(It did.)
He was smiling. Standing in an empty kitchen, smiling at his phone, mustard knife in one hand. He clocked this about himself and moved on.
Does this work? I can't tell if it's too much.
Another photo incoming. She was getting dressed and she was asking him. That was... she wanted to know what he thought. About how she looked. She was standing in front of a mirror somewhere in this building right now, thinking about him while deciding what to wear, and his neck was already warm and she hadn't even sent it yet.
He typed back one-handed. For what?
Three dots.
Just out. Drinks maybe. Is it too much?
He could feel the reply building. Something easy. Something that was almost flirting if you tilted your head, but deniable, always deniable, because that was the game and he was very good at it and very tired of it and⌠not brave enough to stop.
Her next message came through.
He opened it the way he'd opened every message she'd ever sent. Thumb on the screen, no thought, the same muscle memory as breathing.
It wasn't the outfit.
in fact it was⌠no outfit at all
His brain didn't catch up. There was a gap... half a second, maybe less... where he was just seeing her. Taking in information.
Oh.
Warm light, from the lamp on her desk. Her mirror was filthy which under different circumstances might have been funny or ironic. And she was...
Oh no.
The phone was face-down on the counter. Both of his hands were flat on the granite. The mustard knife was on the floor.
His heart was beating so fast, in a medical context, it would involve someone using the word event.
The phone buzzed against the counter. And again. And again and again and again, her panic arriving in pieces he could feel.
He didn't turn it over. He didn't need to. The texts lit up the edges of the screen, fragments he caught sideways without meaning to.
WAIT
BOB
WRONG PHOTO
OH MY GOD
THAT WASN'T
BOB PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN'T OPEN THAT
He looked at the ceiling. The ceiling was fine. The ceiling had never made him feel like his skeleton was trying to leave his body.
He left the kitchen. Didn't clean up the sandwich. Didn't grab the mustard knife. Walked to his room at a speed that he was going to call "brisk" because the alternative was admitting he was fleeing and that's a bit embarrassing.
ââşââ âžââşââ
His room. Door shut. Phone in his hand because somewhere between the kitchen and here his body had made that call for him.
He put it face-down on the nightstand. Sat on the edge of the bed.
Stood up.
Sat back down.
Okay.
He had seen her. Not the way he normally saw her, the way that already made his hands stupid and his thoughts go sideways. Not the across-the-kitchen way. Not the she-just-laughed-and-now-he-couldn't-remember-what-year-it-was way, which was already more than he could handle on a given Tuesday.
He had seen her the way you see someone when there is nothing in the way.
And his brain had... it had just...
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. His face was still hot. It had been hot since the kitchen. It was possible his face was going to be hot for the rest of his life, maybe he would develop some sort of cool face melting powersâŚ
Oh God
The phone buzzed on the nightstand. Her messages were still coming. He could feel the shape of them without looking... the apologies stacking on top of each other, building a tower of mortification he recognized.
I'm so sorry.
I was sending you the outfit one and I grabbed the wrong photo.
Please delete it.
I want to die.
Like actually die.
Bob are you there?
He needed to reply. She was panicking and it was because of him. Because he hadn't said anything. Because he was sitting on his bed like a malfunctioning appliance instead of being a normal person who could type normal words with his normal hands.
NormalâŚnormalâŚnormal
He could do this. He could type a response. Something easy and reassuring. Something that said hey, no big deal, accidents happen, already deleted it, we never have to speak of this again.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
The problem was that he⌠hadn't deleted it.
The problem was that his thumb was already on the screen, already opening it, before the responsible part of his brain could file an objection.
Don't.
He looked.
She was sitting on her bed, legs folded under her, her weight settled back on her heels. The light was warm and low and it caught the curve of her waist, the soft dip where it met her hip, the way her stomach rounded just slightly below her navel. Soft. Everything about her was soft. The fullness of her thighs pressed together, the way her breasts sat heavy and natural without anything holding them, the slope of her shoulders where the light ran out and her skin disappeared into shadow.
Fuck shes so beautiful
She wasn't posing. That was the part that was going to kill him. She was just looking at herself. Her chin was tilted up, her lips barely parted, her eyes on her own reflection with an expression he had never once seen on her face. Not for him. Not for anyone in any room he'd been in.
Like she had caught herself in a private moment and captured it. So soft and very naked andâŚ.
Dont LookâŚ
Bob's mouth was dry. His hands were shaking. He could feel his pulse in places that had no business having a pulse right now, and he was very aware, that he was hard. From a photo. On his phone. That she hadn't even meant to send him.
He closed it. Pressed his palms into his eyes so hard he saw colors. Maybe if he pressed hard enough he could erase the image from his brain.
Dont want to erase it
She took that photo for herself. Not for him. She'd been alone and she'd felt good and she'd wanted proof. And she'd been texting him. About an outfit. Because what he thought mattered enough to ask. Both of those things lived in the same phone and neither of them had anything to do with each other except that they were both her and she was...
perfect
He wasn't sorry. He felt a lot of things right now... panicked, overwhelmed, hot in the face, something big and unnamed living behind his ribs... but sorry was not in there. He'd looked and he'd looked again and the worst part, the part that the cold voice in him would use later, was that given the chance he'd look again.
He did not know what to do with that.
He picked the phone up. Put it down. Picked it up again.
He started typing.
He typed no worries and stared at it.
No worries. Like she'd bumped into him in a hallway. Like she'd accidentally taken his coffee. No worries. Two words so aggressively casual they were practically wearing sunglasses.
He deleted it. Tried again.
Hey. Don't worry about it. Seriously. These things happen
These things happen. To who? To who did these things happen? In what universe was he drawing on a wealth of experience where beautiful women accidentally sent him photos that should be hung in museums? These things happen.
He was going to throw his phone into the sun.
Delete.
Haha no big deal! Already forgot about it đ
The exclamation point alone was a felony. The thumbs up was a war crime. And "already forgot about it" was the most transparent lie he had ever constructed, which was saying something, because he'd once told Bucky his chili was "amazing" before purposefully knocking the pot over for everyones sake.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
He went with: Hey. It's okay. Don't worry about it. Happens to the best of us
Sent it. Read it back. Wanted to die. Happens to the best of us. What did that even mean? What was he referencing? His extensive history of accidentally sending nudes? The time he didn't do that because he had never done that because he had never in his life...
She was typing.
Oh my god Bob I'm SO sorry. I was trying to send you the outfit pic and I grabbed the wrong one from my camera roll. I'm literally going to move to another country. I'm going to learn Portuguese and start a new life and never look anyone in the eye again
Something in his chest loosened. She was funny when she was panicking. It got him every single time.
You don't have to learn Portuguese
I'm already looking up flights
I hear the language isn't that hard actually
BobâŚI'm serious I'm so embarrassed I could die
He typed back too fast, the way he always did when she was spiraling and he needed her to stop. Hey. Seriously. It's fine. I'm not weird about it. You're fine.
He was so weird about it. He had never been more weird about anything in his life.
You swear?
I swear
You deleted it?
His thumb stopped moving.
The cursor blinked. He watched it blink. It blinked like it had all the time in the world, like this wasn't a yes-or-no question that was going to determine the entire trajectory of his evening and possibly his life.
Yeah, he typed. And then sat there. Looking at the word. Not pressing send.
Because he still hadn't.
He switched to his photos. The image was still there, in his recently saved, sitting between a screenshot of a recipe Ava had sent him and a blurry photo of a pigeon he'd taken for no reason.
Her. The warm light on her skin. The soft curve of her stomach, the fullness of her thighs. That expression. The one that wasn't for him.
He stared at it for three seconds. Four. Five.
He deleted it.
It felt like pulling out something that had only just started growing roots, and his chest ached in a way that was completely disproportionate to what had actually happened, which was deleting a photo from his phone, which people did every day, all the time, without feeling like they'd given something back they weren't finished holding.
He sent the yeah.
Thank you, she replied. Can we just... pretend this didn't happen?
And there it was.
The thing that was worse than the photo. Worse than the panic, worse than the guilt, worse than the little commentary in the back of his skull. She wanted him to pretend. She wanted to put this back in the box where it was before, the easy, deniable, just friends who text a lot box, and he was supposed to help her close the lid.
Pretend this didn't happen.
He couldn't.
He could delete the photo and he could swear he'd deleted it and he could type yeah of course and send a laughing emoji and go back to being the version of himself that functioned. But he could not un-know what she looked like when she was alone and felt good about being alive. That was in him now. Underneath the panic, in the place where the jokes ran out and there was just the want. The big, stupid, undeniable want that he had been folding into smaller and smaller shapes for months so it would fit inside the deniable box.
It didn't fit anymore.
He put the phone down. Picked it up. Put it down.
Picked it up.
Yeah, he typed. Of course. Already forgotten.
He sent it. Read it back. He hated it.
He put the phone on the nightstand. Stared at the ceiling. The ceiling looked back, unhelpful as ever.
Something was building in his chest. SteadyâŚrisingâŚ
He sat with it for thirty seconds. A minute.
He put his shoes on.
He didn't remember the walk. Hallway, stairs, another hallway. His shoes were on and then he was standing in front of her door before he had the chance to talk himself out of it.
His hand was raised to knock.
He could still leave. He could turn around, go back to his room, text her something funny in the morning, and they could both pretend that the last hour hadn't cracked something open that was never going to close on its own. He could do that. He was good at that. He had been doing that for months.
He knocked.
Silence. Then footsteps, soft and quick.
The door opened.
She'd changed. Oversized shirt, sleep shorts, her hair pushed back like she'd been running her hands through it. Her eyes were red in a way that could've been crying or could've been the specific exhaustion of wanting to disappear and not being able to. She looked at him, and whatever crossed her face was too fast for him to catch.
"Bob?" Quiet. Confused. A little afraid, like she wasn't sure which version of this conversation he was here to have.
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
All the way here. All the way down the hallway with something building in his chest that felt like the truth, and now he was standing in front of her with his hands at his sides and absolutely nothing to offer except the fact that he'd shown up. That he'd chosen to be here instead of somewhere easier. That the phone in his pocket was empty but the image was still in him, warm and close, and he didn't want to pretend.
"I cant forget," he said. Quiet. To the doorframe, not to her. "I tried. I can't."
She stared at him. He made himself look at her.
Whatever was on his face, she saw it. All of it. The want and the guilt and the terrified, no-jokes-left thing underneath both of them. Her hand tightened on the edge of the door.
Her lips parted. She didn't say anything.
He didn't say anything else.
The hallway was very quiet.
She stepped back. Opened the door wider.
He went in.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Her room was dim. One lamp. She'd wrapped her arms around herself, standing in the middle of the floor like she didn't know what to do with her own body, and he recognized that, because he didn't know what to do with his either.
"You weren't supposed to see it," she said.
"I know."
"It wasn't for you. It wasn't for anyone. I just..."
"I know." He looked at the lamp. Made himself look at her instead. "That's the part I can't forget."
Her arms tightened.
"You looked..." He stopped. Started over. "You looked like you'd caught yourself being happy. Just you, by yourself, happy. And I deleted it. I swear I deleted it. But I couldn't delete that I saw it, and I didn't want to lie to you about that. I've been lying about a lot of... adjacent stuff. For months. I'm very tired."
Silence.
"Months?" she said.
"So many months."
Something in her face came loose. Not the mortification. Underneath it. And there it was... the expression from the photo, or the beginning of it, aimed at him this time.
She laughed then. Wet and sudden, like it got out before she could check it. Then she crossed the room and put her forehead against his chest, and his arms went around her without checking with him first.
"Maybe we just stop pretending then," she said into his shirt.
"Okay." A breath. "Okay."
They stood there. Behind his rib cage, the pilot light had ignited. It wasn't going out.
TagList: @my-name-is-baby
Summary: Bucky was just too big and he was desperate for just one more
Warnings: Size kink, filthy talk, overstimulation, soft dom with a filthy mouth Bucky, praising and possession themes. Reader is AFAB.
âĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄ
âGod, look at you,â Bucky groaned, voice like gravel in your ear, deep and filthy. âTryinâ so hard to take my cock, baby. So fuckinâ tight around me. So full.â
You whimpered, thighs trembling on either side of his hips. He was so deep, and it still wasnât all of him. You could feel the heft of him inside youâstretching you open inch by devastating inch, your pussy clenching around the thick girth of him like youâd never get used to it.
âI canât-â you could barely breathe, face flushed, mouth open as you clung to his shoulders. âBucky, youâre too bigâfuckââ
âYes, you can,â he growled, dark and soothing at once. âYou are. Look at that greedy little pussy takinâ me, baby. So desperate for it.â His metal hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face down to focus on where his cock was splitting you open. âYouâre squeezinâ me so tight I can barely fuckinâ move. Feels like you're suffocating my cock.â
He rocked his hips just enough to push in another inch and you gasped, your eyes rolling back as your nails dug into his skin. He was buried almost to the hilt now, only a breath away from bottoming outâand you swore you could feel him in your stomach.
âThatâs it, pretty girl,â he purred, brushing his lips against your ear. âAlmost there. Gonna split you open real slow so you feel every fuckinâ inch. You love it, donât you? Love sittinâ on this cock like itâs made for you.â You moaned, the sound shameless and wrecked.
âSay it,â he rasped. âTell me who this pussy belongs to.â
âYou,â you gasped. âFuck, Buckyâitâs yoursâalways yoursââ
âThatâs my girl,â he hissed. âKeep sayinâ it. You want the rest? You want all of me?â
You nodded frantically, tears in your eyes from how good the pressure was. âThen take it.â His hands gripped your hips and slammed you down the last inch with a sharp snap of his hips that knocked the air from your lungs. âOh fuckââ you cried, your whole body shuddering. âThere it is,â he groaned, his head dropping back. âYou feel that, baby? Feel me balls deep inside this pretty little cunt?â
You screamed, clenching around him hard enough to make him choke on a groan, and he laughedâdark, wrecked, breathless.
âShitâyouâre so fuckinâ tight. So wet. Drippinâ all over me. Fucking christ you're dripping down my thighs baby, so fucking messy for me. My sweet pussyâs just begginâ to be used, huh?â
âPlease,â you gasped, rutting against him, desperate for more friction, more anything.
âYou beg so fuckinâ pretty,â he murmured. âAlright, babyâhold on.â
He started moving. Slow, filthy thrusts that dragged every thick inch of him along your fluttering walls, his cock stretching you open again and again, hitting so deep you were seeing stars.Â
âCan feel you milkinâ me, fuckâyour pussy knows who it belongs to,â he gritted, voice barely holding together. âYou want me to fill you up, huh? Make you even more of a mess?â
âYes-yes, Bucky-pleaseââ
âThatâs right,â he snarled, thrusts picking up, his cock pounding into you now, wet and obscene. âGonna fuck you stupid on this cock, sweetheart. Gonna fill you so full you wonât be able to think about anything else. You wonât walk right for days. Just gonna lie there all fucked-out and dripping.â
The way he growled it in your ear had your orgasm ripping through you before you could even beg, your walls fluttering and clenching hard around him. You screamed his name, your body shuddering violently in his lap.âThatâs it,â he grunted, thrusts stuttering as he chased his own high. âFuck-gonnaâah-fuckinâ take it, babyâtake all my cumâah shit!â
He came hard, cock twitching deep inside you as he groaned against your shoulder, holding you down on him while you both trembled and breathed through the aftershocks. You were still whimpering, hips twitching in his lap, overstimulated but buzzing, drunk on the stretch and the heat of him pulsing inside you.
Bucky kissed the side of your neck, lips tender now. âStill with me, sweetheart?â he whispered. You hummed softly in response. âThatâs it. You did so good for me.â You nodded, dazed and boneless, slumping into him with a ruined little smile. âFuck,â he murmured, holding you tight. âYou really are made for me.â
You were limp in his lap, still full of him, dazed and slick and barely breathing right. Your thighs twitched around his hips. Your cheek rested on his chest, and Bucky stroked your back with one hand while the other cradled the back of your head, murmuring quiet praise like a balm.
âThatâs it, baby. You were perfect. Took all of me like a good girl,â he whispered, lips brushing your temple. âSo fuckinâ proud of you.â You mumbled something weak, dreamy, nearly nonverbal. All you could feel was the sticky heat between your legs, the slow softening of his cock inside you, the throb of being so full. You thought it was over. You thought youâd be wrapped in a blanket, cleaned up, and kissed to sleep.
But then Bucky shifted.
You blinked, weakly clinging to him as he lifted you in his arms. Easily. Effortlessly. Like you weighed nothing at all. âBucky?â you asked, voice hoarse. He looked down at you with that dangerous little half-smileâthe one that never meant anything innocent.
âYou think Iâm done with you, sweetheart?â he asked, voice low, syrupy, teasing. âNah. You were so fuckinâ good for me, lettinâ me stretch you out like that. Gotta reward you, donât I?â
âBuckyââ you whimpered, squirming in his arms. Your pussy was aching, soaked, overstimulated from the orgasm heâd just wrung out of you with his cock. âIâI donât think I can-â
âYeah, you can,â he said, kissing your cheek. âYouâre gonna take everything I give you, baby. Gonna lie there like my sweet little meal and let me eat this pussy âtil youâre cryinâ.â
You shuddered.
He laid you down on the bed with so much care you almost forgot what he just saidâuntil he dropped to his knees at the edge and dragged you down with firm hands, hooking your legs over his shoulders like he owned you.
âLook at this fuckinâ mess,â he groaned, spreading you open with his thumbs, staring at the creamy slick dripping from your spent cunt. âSo wet. So fucked out. Still twitchinâ for me.â
âBucky, Iâmâsensitive-â
âOh I know, baby.â He leaned in, breath warm on your soaked folds. âGonna take it slow. Real nice and slow darlin'.â
And then his mouth was on you. Hot, soft licks that made you sob, back arching as your fingers scrambled for the sheets. He was relentless. Lapping up every drop of his cum spilling out of you, tongue curling right against your clit like he already knew exactly how to undo you all over again. âYou taste like us,â he growled into your pussy. âSo fuckinâ sweet. Gonna lick this pretty cunt âtil youâre begginâ me to stop.â
Your thighs clenched around his head; he just growled and shoved them apart again with a bruising grip. âKeep those legs open for me, baby. Lemme ruin you properly.â
You whimpered his name, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes as his tongue flicked and sucked and fucked you open like he was starving. Every pass of his tongue over your clit made your stomach twist, your hips jerk, your whole body try to crawl away from the pleasure. But he just grabbed you by the hips and dragged you right back onto his face. âDonât run from me,â he murmured, voice muffled. âYou wanted it, remember? Said you needed me. Said you wanted everything I could give ya. So be my good girl and take it babe. â
Your second orgasm crashed down hardâalmost too hard. You cried out, thighs shaking violently around his head, your fingers fisting the sheets as your body convulsed with it.
But he didnât stop.
Not even when you sobbed his name. Not even when your legs kicked weakly. Not even when the tears slipped free. âShhh,â he murmured, breath warm and teasing as he finally slowed his licks. âYouâre okay. Just let it happen, baby. Let me make you feel good.â
Your voice was barely coherent through the wrecked gasps.
âToo muchâBuckyâitâs too much-â
He kissed your inner thigh, tongue dragging softly up your folds like an apology and a promise all at once.
âI know, baby,â he said gently. âJust one more. One more for me... just-- just need one more baby please. â
He looked up at you, eyes completely glazed over as he begged, then his mouth was back on youâmerciless.
âĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄ
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Pairing: Bob Reynolds x!EmpathReader
Rating: T
Warnings/Tags: Fluff, first kiss, soft and very nervous bob. No smut in this one fam.
Word Count: ~1,961
Summery: Yelena said be honest like it was simple. Bob has been sitting on the couch for hours with cold coffee and a loose thread, rehearsing four versions of a confession that all sound terrible. Then she comes home from a mission, he makes her the terrible hot chocolate she likes, and the movie neither of them watches becomes background noise to the hardest thing he's ever tried to say. First kiss fic. Bob is a mess about it.
Authors Note: I am unburdened by the shackles of tense... don't worry about it
Yelena had said be honest like it was simple. Like honesty was a thing you could just do, like sneezing or blinking, and not a full-body crisis that required planning and maybe an EMT nearbyâŚ.
Bob picked at the loose thread on his hoodie and stared at the city through the common room windows. He'd been sitting here for... a while. Long enough that the coffee he'd made had gone cold. Long enough that he'd rehearsed and abandoned four different versions of what he wanted to say, each one worse than the last.
The problem was that Yelena was right. She was almost always right, which was annoying, but she was especially right about this.
He liked her.
Not in the way he liked everyone on the team, which was a general, grateful, slightly bewildered kind of warmth directed at anyone who hadn't run away from him. This was different. This was specific. This was the way his pulse jumped when she walked into a room, the way his stomach fluttered when she laughed at something he said, the fact that he'd memorized which mug she liked and which hot chocolate brand she was weirdly loyal to and how many marshmallows she wantedâŚ. which was always more.
He'd tried to explain it to Yelena without actually saying it, which Yelena had not allowed.
"So... you come here just to ask how I am, or do you want to talk about her?"
He'd tried to deny itâŚ. but that went as well as expected... So he'd told her the truth. That he was scared. That he didn't know what it meant. That the last thing he wanted was to make things weird because things were good right now, the team was good, she was good, and lets be honest he was really good at making things weird.
Yelena had looked at him for a long time. Then she'd said, "Be honest," and walked away.
Bob wasn't sure if that was the least⌠or most helpful advice he had ever gotten.
But that was hours ago.
He was still sitting here.
The thread was getting dangerously long. He should probably stop pulling at it before the whole sleeve unraveled, which would be a fitting metaphor for his life but bad for the hoodie.
Then footsteps.
His head came up. And there she was, standing in the doorway, back from the mission with Walker and Ava. She looked tired. She looked good⌠great even.
"Hey." His voice cracked. Great⌠Fantastic start. "I thought you were on a mission with Walker and Ava." She's standing right in front of you. She's obviously back. Say something that isn't stupid. "It's good to see you. Not that I was waiting or anything. I just... missed talking to you."
He looked away.
Why was this so hard?
She smiled at him. How can someone look so tired and so beautiful at the same timeâŚ.
"Oh, you missed me?" She dropped onto the couch next to him, close enough that her knee nearly brushed his. She said it like a tease but didn't look away like one. Bob didn't know what to do with that.
"I mean... yeah, of course I missed you." He kept his voice casual. Failed. "The tower's quieter when you're not around. Kinda feels... emptier."
He glanced at her, then away. Pulled on the thread again. Very interesting thread.
"Was the mission rough? You look tired."
She tilted her head toward him, just a fraction. Settled closer. He could feel the heat of her through the space between them, or maybe he was imagining that, or maybe he was running hot again, which would be embarrassing for a number of reasons.
"Tedious is the word," she said. "Twelve hours of standing around while Walker argued with a local official about jurisdiction. I think I absorbed enough boredom to power a small city." A dry laugh, the kind that came out when she was running on fumes. She rubbed her eyes. "So yeah. Tired. But seeing you helps."
Seeing you helps.
The heat started at his throat. Climbed before he could stop it. He was going to die right here on this couch and they would put cause of death: received a compliment on his tombstone. [dont love that change?]
"I'm glad," he said, barely above a whisper. "That I can helpâŚI mean."
His fingers twitched against his knee. He wanted to reach for her hand but the idea that she might pull away made him want to throw up. Instead he stood up, because standing up was a thing he could do that didn't require bravery.
"Do you... want me to make you some tea? Or there's that terrible instant hot chocolate you like. The one that's basically just sugar and regret."
She laughed, and the sound went straight through him. Just... right through the middle.
If he could distill that laugh and keep it in a bottle he would.
He crossed to the kitchenette before his face could betray anything else. Filled the kettle. Set it to boil. Found her mug, the one with the chip on the rim she refused to throw out. Tore open two packets of the cheap hot chocolate mix. The ritual of it steadied him. Something to do with his hands that wasn't pulling at a thread or reaching for her.
He found marshmallows in the back of the cabinet. Probably stale. He put in extra anywayâŚ.
When the kettle clicked off, he stirred carefully, carried the mug back, and held it out with both hands like it was something important.
"Here. It's got extra marshmallows. Found them in the back of the cabinet. They're a little stale, probably, but I figured you wouldn't mind."
She took it. And her fingers dragged across his, slow and deliberate, and the brief contact hummed through him in a way that made his brain go briefly blank.
She took a sip. Set the mug on the side table. "Maybe we can watch a movie? Everyone else crashed, but I'm kind of wound up."
He sat back down. She grabbed the remote, clicked through thumbnails, landed on something loud and mindless. Explosions. A car chase. The kind of movie that asked nothing from you.
Bob was not watching the movie.
Bob was watching her from the corner of his eye and thinking about how her fingers had touched his on purpose and wondering if that meant something or if he was building a cathedral out of a coincidence.
She set the remote down. Leaned forward. Angled herself toward him, close enough that the space between them felt deliberate.
"What's up with you?" Her voice was soft. Not careful-gentle. The 'Ive noticed you soft'. "You're buzz... like you are holding state secrets or something. Talk to me."
Bob opened his mouth. Closed it. Let out a breath that was trying to be a laugh and didn't quite make it.
"It's stupid," he mumbled, more to himself than to her.
"Try me."
He stared at the point where her knee was almost touching his. The air between them felt thick. Charged with something he didn't have a word for, or had too many words for, all of them seemedâŚ. incorrect.. not enough
"I just... I've been thinking a lot. About stuff. About..."
Say it. Yelena said be honest. Be honest. Open your mouth and be honest and if it ruins everything at least you'll know and you can go live in the woods somewhere and never make eye contact with another human being.
"About you," he said, and his voice cracked on it.
She didn't say anything. She just waited.
"I like you." He said it to the coffee table. "Not in a... I mean, I like everybody. But you're..." His hand came up, gestured vaguely at all of her, and dropped. "Yeah."
He swallowed. Tried again.
"Yelena said to be honest. So." A breath. "That's me being honest. And I'm... really sorry if that makes things weird."
She didn't answer with words.
She leaned in slow, deliberate, close enough that he could feel her before she touched him. She gave him every chance to pull back. He did not pull back. He did for a moment⌠forget how to blink.
Her lips met his. Soft... Asking.
And then she pressed in deeper, and the sound that came out of him was a cross between a whine and a groan⌠something between a breath and a word that never formed, swallowed up by her mouth on his. She tasted like the cheap hot chocolate and something warmer underneath that Bob could not wait to learn more about.
His hand found her arm and his thumb moved once across her skin before he caught himself. He didn't pull away. He just... held still. Like any sudden movement would end it.
When she pulled back, she stayed close. Her fingertips grazed his jaw, barely there, and he felt it everywhere.
"You know I felt all of that, right?" She was smiling. Soft, unhurried. The kind of smile he'd have done something stupid to earn if he'd known it existed. "Every terrified second. I could feel you rehearsing from the hallway."
Bob stared at her. He was fairly certain there were things a person was supposed to do after being kissed. ButâŚhe could not name a single one.
"Right," he breathed. "You're here. Yeah. I... okay. Cool. I can work with that." He ducked his head, but the grin got there first (because it always did, with her, before he could decide whether he was allowed to have it). "I was really scared you were gonna let me down easy. Make up some excuse about the team dynamic or something."
She was still right there. Still close. Still looking at him like she had no plans to go anywhere.
"So, uh... what now? Do we keep watching the movie, or..."
Her hands slid up his chest, slow, palms flat against the worn fabric of his hoodie. "Bob." Her lips brushed his. "Stop thinking."
He kissed her again. Not careful this time. Not asking. His hands found her waist and pulled her closer and he kissed her like he was maknig up for lost time. She made a sound against his mouth, low and warm, and it vibrated through her chest where it pressed against his, and his brain just... left. Packed a bag and went somewhere quiet and left him alone with his hands in her hair and her mouth and the fact of her. Just her. Just this.
When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead dropped against hers. He was breathing hard. Flushed. Grinning and completely unable to stop.
"Sorry," he whispered, a laugh escaping him. "I just... I've been wanting to do that for a while. Didn't think I'd actually get to."
His thumb traced a line along her jaw. The movie was still playing to nobody.
Yelena had said be honest.
"I'm really glad you came home tonight," he said. And meant it in a way that covered a lot more territory than the words did.
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