#smoochieverse

A sound caught in your throat - a gasp? a moan? - as the hand pulled you back, grinding your plush ass against the thick press of your boyfriend's morning erection.

"John," you breathed out, arching your back to press against him harder.

"Mornin', princess," he whispered in your ear, continuing to grind against you, careful not to shake the bed. Bob was still curled up in your arms, sound asleep, after all.

Oh fuck, Bob.

This wasn't exactly the first time John had woken you up like this. He was always such a morning person, annoyingly so sometimes (mainly when he'd rouse you from your slumber at some ungodly hour of the morning to go on a fucking run of all things). But the times like this when he'd coax your eyes open with his hands and his mouth and his hard cock pressed against you and inside of you more than made up for the disruption of your sleep schedule.

However, since you had started curling up at night with both of your boyfriends, John had kept his hands (and other body parts) to himself. This wasn't exactly a scenario any of you had discussed. Hell, you hadn't even talked about sharing a bed with them at the same time; it just…happened. You'd been cuddled up with Bob one night, and John knocked on your door, sheepishly asking if you had room for one more. And Bob, sweet Bob, seeing the same dark circles and haunted eyes he most likely recognized in himself, didn't hesitate to invite John in.

Originally, you split time with them right down the middle - you spent your days with John and your nights with Bob. But, after a few months of that holding pattern, the borders of your very separate relationships with your very separate boyfriends became murky. The days and nights bled into each other, the same way John and Bob seemed to start overlapping in your life. But this? This wasn't tiptoeing over the demarcation line that clearly defined your relationships. This was pole vaulting over it.

"We can't do this," you hissed back at John, moving your hand to try to stop his wandering one that had gripped your thigh. "Bob is right here."

"Then we'd better be quiet. Right, pretty girl?" You could hear the smirk in his voice. Smug bastard. But you couldn't deny just how good it felt. And even if you tried to, all it took was John's hand to move one inch down and…

"Fuck, baby. You're soaked." You bit your lip as John pressed two fingers against the wet fabric between your legs, trailing them up your slit. Before he got to your clit, his other hand came up from between the pillows, covering your mouth. It was just in time to muffle the little noise that escaped your throat as his fingers rubbed the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Shh," John whispered in your ear. "We don't wanna wake Bobby, do we?" The hand over your mouth dampened the sound of the whimper that escaped you at his words. You could have protested. You could have pulled away. All it would take is you shaking your head, and John would stop. You both knew it. But instead, you brought your free hand up, the one that wasn't tucked under Bob's pillow, and grasped John's wrist with a white-knuckled grip. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, and you could practically feel the devious grin on his face.

Pulling your underwear to the side, John slid his fingers through your folds, using your shoulder to muffle his groan at how wet you were for him. He bucked his hips once, hard, and you swore you could feel his cock throb against you even through the layers of cloth.

It was stifling under the blanket, each movement making John radiate with heat, and Bob always ran hot, adding to the inferno. Sweat was beading on your forehead, and you felt a trickle run down your night shirt and in-between your breasts.

There was no teasing suddenly, just want. John rubbed your clit with purpose, grinding even harder against you. It didn't take long before you could hear him lightly panting. You wanted to turn, to watch his face as he fell apart, but you were caught between his hands holding you down, his body pressed against you, and the other man sound asleep in front of you, peacefully unaware of anything but your arms around him. You whimpered at the thought, letting your eyes flutter shut. Bob could wake up at any moment and catch John rutting against you and you just laying back and taking it, letting him draw you closer to the edge with each movement of his dexterous fingers. And just for a second, you pictured what had always hovered at the back of your mind on those rare nights you spent all alone and pent up, hand between your legs, trying to soothe the ache there that you couldn't bring yourself to put words to. Both of your boyfriends. Both of them on you at the same time. Two pairs of eyes watching you. Two sets of hands touching you. Two mouths unraveling you. Two cocks taking you apart. The positions didn't matter - on your knees with Bob inside of you while you let John use your mouth, riding John while Bob watched with his hand on his cock, or even the one you never consciously let yourself acknowledge: you at the bottom of both of them, Bob buried in your pussy, sobbing in pleasure as John fucked him, controlling your combined pleasure with each thrust.

As the knot in your stomach coiled, tensing ever-tighter, you were grateful for John's hand over your mouth catching all the little sounds that escaped your lips as you panted against his palm. John seemed content to rut against you, but you were sorely tempted to plead for him inside of you. It was probably too late. You were fast approaching the precipice, and John was getting close, too. A wet spot had formed at the front of his boxers, dampening your underwear with his precum more and more with each slide.

"Fuck's sake, Walker. Couldn't keep your hands off her until I leave?"

Your eyes flew open. Oh, God. Bob. Your supposedly-asleep boyfriend was watching you closely, a strange expression on his face, one you couldn't quite place. A wave of shame washed over you, forcibly pulling you back from the edge of your orgasm.

You smacked John's arm, trying to tug his hand out of your underwear. He stopped rubbing your clit but kept his hand where it was, moving the one that was over your mouth instead to let you speak.

"Bob, I can explain…"

He didn't wait for your confession. In one swift movement, Bob pulled the comforter off of the three of you, fully exposing your illicit activities. The cooler air of the room that hit your sweat-slicked skin felt like you'd jumped into a river in the middle of winter. Goosebumps formed on your flesh. Reaching, you groped around for the comforter, a blanket, a sheet, anything to cover your shame.

"Not my fault you sleep in so damn late," John grumbled, a tinge of amusement in his voice.

"John!" you scolded with a gasp. Abandoning your your fumbling quest to cover yourself, you instead tugged at John's arm again, trying to get him off of you so you could sit up. He crossed his other arm over your chest instead, effectively holding you down. Pushing against him was like trying to bend a steel beam. You knew if you looked back that John wasn't even struggling to keep you pinned down. Even though it was the worst time, your body didn't seem to realize that, growing even wetter at the casual show of strength.

"Couldn't keep your dick to yourself for another hour?" Bob asked wryly. He didn't sound angry. And even though he was speaking to John, his eyes stayed fixed on you. They slid up your body, drinking you in, his gaze so intense it almost felt like a physical caress. When his eyes met yours at last, you finally noticed what you'd overlooked in your panic - Bob's pupils were blown wide, almost overtaking the dark blue irises. He had that look in his eyes, that mischievous one he'd get when he'd do something reckless like touch you under the table at dinner or pull you into the pantry and go down on his knees for you. Like he was using every last ounce of his self-control to not pounce on you.

The weight of his gaze was so heavy, it felt like you couldn't breathe properly. Bob seemed to notice his effect on you. His eyes drifted down, watching your breasts rise and fall rapidly under your shirt with unabashed hunger on his face.

"Can you blame me?" John asked, his voice almost a drawl. The hand still inside your underwear started a teasing rhythm, slow circles dancing around where you needed him most, almost touching but not quite. You squirmed under his touch. "Can't resist this pretty pussy."

Bob hummed his agreement, eyes traveling back down you and landing between your thighs, watching John's fingers move inside the black cotton of your panties. He reached forward and slid the offending article of clothing down your legs and threw them off the bed, making sure to skim his palms along your body as he did. More goosebumps rose in their wake.

John shifted, forcing you to lean back against him. The movement pressed your back flat against John's front, his still rock hard erection pressing tightly against your now-naked ass.

"Spread 'em,baby," John murmured in your ear, voice low and deliciously gravelly. You couldn't help yourself; you felt so exposed, so vulnerable in front of them, your arousal fully on display for both men. So you squeezed your thighs together, trying to pull your shirt down to cover your shame.

Bob tsked at you, clicking his tongue. "No, angel. Let us see you." When you loosened your muscles a little, Bob took advantage, pulling your shirt up, baring your stomach, and adjusted your leg to where it was draped over John's, fully exposing yourself to his eyes. Bob's greedy eyes drank you in. You could swear you saw a flash of gold in the deep blue there.

"Fuck," Bob swore, "You're drenched." He smoothed his hands up your thighs, spreading your labia further apart when he reached the apex of your legs. He looked up, eyes searching your face. "That all for us, baby?"

Your face felt so hot, you were sure John could feel it radiating off of you. You nodded your head, too aroused and embarrassed for words.

"Speak up, darlin'," John said with a little lilt in his voice. "Answer Bobby. Tell him you're a little slut that likes to be spread out in front of your boyfriends."

Bob glanced up at John with questioning eyes before looking back at you curiously, his gaze intent. Degradation was never something Bob indulged in with you. He occasionally liked being called a few names in bed. Just as long as you smothered him with praise afterward. But he'd never used anything but sweetness with you.

You didn't hold back your moan at John's words, squirming even more in his grasp. You wanted so much to press your thighs back together, to alleviate some of the pressure that started building again inside of you just from their greedy eyes raking over you. Your thighs quivered, but you managed to stay still.

"I like it," you whispered, biting your lip. That wasn't a good enough answer for John, and you knew it. And with his arms mostly occupied, you had a good idea what his retaliation would be.

The crack of John's hand slapping your pussy made Bob draw in a sharp breath in surprise. You let out an unabashed moan of pain mixed with pleasure, writhing beneath his hand and Bob's gaze. Your cunt throbbed, your visible arousal starting to smear down to your thighs.

"Say it," John commanded, his tone casual, almost lazy. Like you weren't even worth the effort to sound stern. It only turned you on that much more.

You whimpered but obeyed. "I'm a…I'm a slut who likes to spread my pussy in front of my boyfriends." You shut your eyes in aroused embarrassment, missing the way Bob drank in your expression with pure desire. The little choked noise he made, though? You didn't miss that.

"Yeah, you are," John said smugly. "That's my good girl." A shiver ran through you at his words, and you could feel the smile on his lips as John pressed open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck. He was definitely enjoying this. Unlike Bob, whose all-encompassing need sometimes meant he couldn't keep his hands to himself in public, John had never been one for excessive PDA let alone exhibitionism. He'd happily hold your hand at the grocery store, give you a kiss on the head when he came back from a run, or wrap his arm around you while sitting next to you on the couch, but that was the extent of things. Even if you got him worked up, John never acted on it in public. He'd make excuses for you both to leave, or, occasionally, he'd stealthily pull you away, putting his hand over your mouth and dragging you out of sight, leaving the group to wonder where or even when you'd left. And here he was spreading you out like a buffet for Bob's hungry eyes, getting off on your arousal and humiliation and the heat of Bob's gaze. Maybe your imagined scenario of riding John's cock while Bob watched and touched himself wasn't such an out there possibility after all.

"She's our girl, Walker," Bob said, shooting John a look over your shoulder. Judging by the way Bob's lips twitched down in an unmistakable sign of disapproval, John definitely rolled his eyes at the other man.

"Thank you, Bob. She's our good girl," John said sarcastically. His hand slipped down, through the mess you'd made of yourself, middle and ring fingers teasing at your entrance. Your breath caught in your throat, your skin still so sensitive from the slap. "And good girls? They get rewarded."

In one rough motion, John thrust his fingers inside of you.

"Jesus!" Bob gasped in surprise.

Crying out, you arched your back, feeling that pleasant burn from the sudden stretch like a jolt of electricity, starting from your aching cunt and radiating up your body. His fingers were so thick. They filled you so much better than your own when you tried to do the same thing. John didn't waste time setting a brutal rhythm. Grabbing at whatever you could reach, you clutched at the arm across your chest, the one that was holding you against him, nails biting into his skin as John ruthlessly fucked you on his fingers. The lewd, wet sounds of your arousal echoed loudly in the room along with your panting, each thrust of his fingers seeming louder than the last.

Then, almost as soon as it had begun, everything came to a screeching halt.

You couldn't stop the whine from escaping your mouth, squirming against the fingers still inside of you, muscles clenching around them.

"Bob," John said flatly, annoyance plain in his tone, "What're you doing? If you wanna touch her, you're gonna have to wait your turn." Blinking, your arousal-fogged brain tried to comprehend the situation. One glance down, and you understood.

Bob was gripping John's forearm in his hand, holding it still. He gently pulled John's fingers out of you, and you whimpered at the loss of them, clenching again but now around nothing.

"Bob," you whined down at him. Bob snapped his head up to you, and there was an unmistakable ring of gold in his blue eyes. And concern clearly etched all over his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he reached up and cupped your face tenderly. You leaned into his touch, practically nuzzling his hand. Bob was almost always like this in bed. He handled you like you were something precious, like you were someone to be touched with love and respect and awe that you'd even let him touch you at all. Like you were something sacred. And you loved it. But John had set the tone this morning with rough words and even rougher hands, and you craved the way he touched you like he was claiming you, like you were a possession to be desired and used.

"Wait, is something wrong?" John's tone changed to one of pure concern, and he shifted, adjusting your body to let you sit up. This was unfortunate for you, as you didn't want to sit up at all. If anything, you wanted to go back to a few seconds ago with John's fingers inside of you, so you let out an indignant noise of protest.

John froze immediately. And you took the opportunity to splay yourself back out, pressing your body back against John and the unmistakable bulge in his boxers that hadn't subsided. Despite the turn things had taken, your arousal didn't subside. If anything, it got stronger, seeing these two men you loved so worried about your well-being putting their own wants aside to check in on you. You didn't want to be checked in on; you wanted them to take you apart.

Taking John's hand, you moved it back between your legs, letting him cup your sex. You rolled your hips up, seeking friction, biting your lip to hold back a little pathetic noise that threatened to escape you.

All at once, you felt John's muscles relax against your back, and his warm chuckle thrummed pleasantly through you. "Looks like the only problem is this greedy little pussy wants to be filled." Spreading your lips with his index and ring finger, John circled your clit with his middle finger. His touch was so light and teasing that it conversely made you feel extra sensitive, your legs visibly twitching like you did sometimes when overstimulated.

"You sure you're okay?" Bob asked again, drawing your attention back to him. He was worrying his lower lip with his teeth, that adorable little wrinkle forming between his eyebrows that he only seemed to get when he was concerned that something was wrong with you. "That was…really rough, and we didn't use lube."

Nodding, you turned and kissed the palm of his hand. "Just want more," you murmured. Letting go of John's arm, you reached up and took hold of Bob's wrist instead. You angled it just right to where Bob's thumb ran over your lips, gently outlining them in circular motion, matching John's fingers on your body further south. Bob's breath caught audibly when you pressed a kiss there, humming in pleasure when he pressed his thumb into your mouth. You closed your lips around it and sucked.

"Fuck," John muttered under his breath, voice full of awe and arousal. Glancing out of the corner of your eye, you could see John staring down, eyes locked on your mouth. Judging from the way his breathing had picked up, chest rising and falling more rapidly, and the way his pupils had blown wide, he liked what he saw. And you weren't the only one who noticed.

"I think he likes what he sees, angel," Bob murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw. You let out a pleased sound at his words. Bob turned, catching John's gaze, that mischievous light back in his eyes. "Let's show him more. Baby, let me…" His words trailed off as he pulled his thumb out of your mouth, quickly replacing it with his index and middle fingers, John watching each movement with that careful focus he gave to anything important. You let out another happy hum, closing your eyes as you lathed his fingers with your tongue, getting them nice and wet like you knew Bob wanted.

He didn't stop there, though. Your eyes opened to slits as Bob pulled his fingers back, not pulling them all the way out. You'd done this plenty of times with him before, enough to know instinctively what he wanted. You let your mouth fall open wide enough that John could see the pink of your tongue circle around the tips of Bob's fingers, mimicking the way you'd swirl it around the sensitive tip of Bob's cock.

"God, you're so fucking perfect," Bob cooed at you, making you shudder at his praise. "Looks so damn good with something in her mouth, doesn't she?" This last one was directed at John, who licked his lips, nodding and letting out a single hoarse "yeah" as if that was all he could bring himself to verbalize.

"Watch," was all Bob said before he started pressing back into your mouth. You closed your lips around him eagerly, hollowing out your cheeks as you sucked at his digits. Bob started fingerfucking your mouth, and you let him, letting your eyes close again as you enjoyed the silent surrender. John's finger on your clit still drew lazy circles, and you gave in to the feeling of both of your boyfriends' hands on you and in you. Spit dribbled from the corner of your mouth, your lips slick with it, but you didn't care. You also didn't give a fuck that you could feel your own arousal slipping down your thighs, most likely dripping down onto the sheets beneath you.

You weren't sure how much time had passed by the time Bob started to pull his fingers out of your mouth. You let out a small sound of protest, but Bob quieted you with a gentle kiss to your lips, which were already reddening from Bob using your mouth.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Bob murmured soothingly, pressing another kiss on the very tip of your nose. "Now, open up for me."

You did as you were told, opening your mouth wide, sticking your tongue out just slightly beyond your lips. Bob leaned up, hovering over you. He let the saliva pool in his mouth before opening and pursing his lips, letting it trickle onto your tongue. You held your mouth open after he was done, sticking out your tongue farther, curling it on the edges to hold his spit without spilling a single drop.

"Swallow," Bob said, and you obeyed instantly, even sticking your tongue back out again to show that you'd followed his orders. Without another word, Bob's mouth crashed into yours, drinking down your moans as he kissed you breathless. As he pulled away, a thin strand of saliva stretched between you, only broken when you turned your head to look up at John, who looked absolutely wrecked with want.

"Never done that before?" Bob asked with more than a hint of smugness in his tone. John shook his head but didn't look up at the other man, his eyes locked on your mouth. "Wanna try?" Without waiting for his response, you opened up again, looking up at John with big, pleading eyes.

John glanced at Bob nervously, and the other man gave him an encouraging nod. So John did as he had watched - paused to let his spit gather in his mouth and opened his lips to let it fall. But instead of letting it drip from his lips, John stuck out his tongue, letting his saliva fall from it in wet strands into your mouth. You held it on your tongue, watching him, waiting for his command. It never came. Instead, John leaned down, capturing your mouth with his, sliding his tongue against yours, the spit intermingling between the two of you as you kissed. Closing your eyes, you gave into the sensations - John's tongue sliding slick against yours, his soft beard scratching your delicate skin, the awkward angle of your bodies as you contorted to be able to face each other, and the deep moan that came not from John, but from Bob as he watched your kiss.

When John pulled back, you were both panting, chests heaving for breath. Bob's eyes flitted back and forth between the two of you, hunger evident in his gaze.

"Please," you whimpered, looking at both of your boyfriends. You squirmed under John's light, teasing touch on your sensitive clit, pushing your hips up, seeking out more pressure.

"Please what?" John asked, starting to press kisses down the side of your neck, making you eagerly lean into his touch.

"Please touch me," you answered breathlessly, eyes moving to Bob who was still observing the two of you. "I need your fingers inside of me."

John pulled back just enough to mumble, "You heard the lady, Bobby," before going back to kissing your neck, sucking a deep bruise into your skin before scraping his teeth over it, causing you to shiver beneath him.

"Yes ma'am," Bob murmured, using his split-slick fingers to circle your entrance before slipping one inside. A moan left his lips as your heat enveloped him, your walls eagerly clamping down on his finger. As soon as Bob pushed into you, John stopped teasing and started rubbing hot circles and figure eights on that sensitive little bundle of nerves.

"Wet?" John asked, lifting his head to grin at Bob, amusement dancing in those bright blue eyes.

"Soaked," Bob confirmed, starting to pump his finger in and out of you. Unconsciously, you started moving your hips, rocking them in time to meet his thrusts.

That tension was already building in you again. Both of your boyfriends were touching you, bringing you pleasure simultaneously. It wasn't perfect - John was a little faster and more aggressive on your clit and Bob taking his time and focusing on slowly stretching you - but the visual alone was nearly enough to undo you. Bob was biting his lip in concentration, paying no mind to the strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes, too focused on building up a rhythm as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, watching your hips rise up to meet his thrusts. John had an expression of wonder on his face, like he still couldn't believe he was here. His eyes were everywhere: watching every micro-detail of your face and drinking in your reactions, trailing hotly down your body, watching his own fingers move over your flesh, and staring at Bob's hand as he stretched you open, adding a second finger to your slick heat.

It didn't matter that John was speeding up and Bob almost seemed to be slowing down, not when John pressed a little harder on your throbbing clit and Bob curled his fingers to hit that spot inside of you that made you see stars with every rolling thrust. You could feel it again, the pressure in your stomach, a knot coiling there, each caress, each movement, each second bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

"She's close. Aren't you, honey?" Bob murmured, turning his heated gaze to your face, watching it contort in pleasure. You nodded, unable to form words. "Can feel her squeezing me tight. Like she doesn't want to let go."

"Is that right, baby?" John cooed at you, and you let out a pathetic noise in response. "You like this? Both of your boyfriends touching you? Fucking your sweet little pussy with our fingers?" You clenched even tighter, letting out a whine of both embarrassment and sheer arousal.

Bob looked up at John, a wicked grin on his face. "I think that's a yes."

"Mmm," John hummed in agreement. "But I asked you a question, princess. That wasn't an answer."

Bob wasn't surprised this time when John's hand came down against your sex, the slap ringing in the air along with the obscene sounds of Bob's fingers pounding in and out of you and the wail you let out at the impact.

"Don't let her cum," John ordered, and Bob immediately stopped moving. You let out a cry of despair, pulled away from the edge for the third time that morning. Bob shushed you, stroking your hair with his other hand, pressing kisses all over your face. He silently looked to John for further direction, his face full of concern for you.

John kissed your shoulder where your shirt had fallen down, exposing the skin there. He rested his hand on your hip and rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. His voice was much more gentle but still gravelly, rumbling through you as he spoke. "Sweet girl, need you to answer my question. Can you do that for me?"

Looking at him, tears in your eyes, you nodded your head. "I…" Your voice cracked, so you paused to clear your throat, swallowing hard and licking your lips before continuing. "I love it. Love when you touch me." Suddenly shy, you glanced between them, peering from one set of blue eyes to another, one bright as the sky during a sunny day, the other deep as the depths of the ocean during a storm. "I've…I've thought about it before," you confessed, voice almost a whispered. "Both of you. At the same time."

Bob's eyebrows shot up, turning his head to see John's reaction, but the blond kept his gaze firmly on you. He didn't look surprised at all. There was a light in his eyes, one that, even through the haze of pleasure in your head, you recognized from the field. It was the look he'd shoot you when he called something early on in the mission and someone doubted him. It was a look of vindication.

"Whatever our pretty girl wants…" John's hand moved from your hip, skimming over the bare skin of your stomach where the shirt was pushed up. He pressed a kiss to your jaw. "…She gets." He laid an open mouth kiss on your pulse point, your breath catching in your throat as his hand moved under your shirt, skimming the underside of your breasts. "Isn't that right, Bobby?"

"Yeah," Bob said breathlessly. "Yes. Anything."

Pulling back a little bit, John looked down, eyes sweeping over you. Whatever he saw there must have pleased him, because he flashed one of those rare, small smiles, one of the ones that seemed to erase years from his face, leaving behind a vision of the man John must have been before the New Avengers, before the shield, before the army fatigues. "Beautiful," he murmured, catching your eye as he said so. Heat rose to your face, and you tried to hide your face in your pillow, somehow even more bashful under his loving gaze than under his teasing words.

It was Bob who caught you, firmly holding your chin, not allowing you to turn away from the compliment. "He's right. You're so beautiful, baby. So perfect for us."

"Let's take this off," John murmured, tugging your night shirt up. "Wanna see all of you." You let him pull the offending article of clothing over your head and fling it onto the floor, which might as well have been an abyss for all you were concerned. Both men's eyes fell to your torso and chest, eagerly eying all the newly bared flesh now on display. Somehow, you felt more naked than ever trapped between your two fully-clothed boyfriends.

Bob ran his fingertips over your nipples, watching as they pebbled under his touch, hardening to peaks that literally made his mouth water. He absently wiped the drool from his lips with the back of his hand.

"Had to give Bobby something to do with his mouth, darlin'," John drawled. He and Bob locked eyes again, some silent message passing between them. Bob nodded solemnly, and John laid back down behind you. You could feel him moving against you and heard the sound of clothing shifting. Before you could look behind you and see what new mischief he was up to, you felt it - John's cock thrust between your thighs. His hand pressed your legs together, giving him a tight hole to fuck into. His hips slapped against your ass as he gave a few tentative thrusts, your thighs slick from your own arousal lubricating the slide there. You could feel him shudder against your back.

"Could fuck your sweet thighs for hours," John murmured in your ear. "But you've been teased enough tonight." He manhandled you, easily spreading your legs to make more room for him. Grasping his thick length, John rubbed the head, already wet with precum, through your folds, using your slick to coat his cock with your fluids. You whimpered when it brushed against your clit, pressing back against him for more friction on your aching bud. Your fingers dug into Bob's sweater, unconsciously balling your hands in the worn, faded fabric. Normally, Bob would comfort you, but he was otherwise occupied, his eyes watching John's cock move back and forth as though hypnotized by the movement.

As he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip pressed against you so close he could feel it when your muscles clenched. John leaned in to murmur in your ear. "Ready? I promise to go slow."

"Jonathan Fitzgerald Walker, you will do no such thing," you bit out, grinding your ass back against him. "Fuck me, or I'll fuck myself on you."

Bob's breath audibly hitched at your words, and John let out a low, shaky groan. You could almost swear you felt his dick pulse at your words.

"Yes ma'am," he affirmed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before starting to push inside. It was faster than you imagine he would have liked, but it wasn't nearly fast enough for you. Using your leg that was still propped up on John's hip, you pushed yourself back and pulled him forward as much as you could, not stopping until he bottomed out inside of you. The stretch didn't give you pause; you wanted more of it. You wanted all that he could give you.

John swore, his hips stuttering involuntarily. He grabbed at your hips, holding you still so you couldn't follow through on your promise.

"Need a minute," he grunted out, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. You tried to wriggle, but his grip was like iron. "You keep movin' like that, and this is gonna be over before we even get started."

"Good," you snarled back at him, still trying to shimmy your hips out of his grasp, desperate for him to move. "I want you to fuck your cum into me." John's cock twitched inside of you, his grip tightening enough that you could practically feel bruises in the shapes of his fingers forming on your skin.

"Bobby…Bob, please," John ground out through gritted teeth. "'M not gonna last if she keep this up."

His words were enough to snap Bob out of the trance he'd been in, staring fixated at where John's cock was stretching your aching hole, spearing you open. He quickly took in the situation: John with his eyes closed in concentration, jaw clenched hard as he fought back the nearly overwhelming urge to cum, and you, determination in your eyes and a kind of feral ferocity in your face, having moved from whiny and submissive to aggressively taking what you wanted. Bob slid down the bed and let himself do what he'd been fighting the urge to do ever since John spread you out like a feast before him - he dove in face first.

As Bob's mouth enveloped your clit, you let out a gasp, your body freezing. He gave one harsh suck, and you cried out his name, fisting your hands in his shaggy hair. In an instant, he was everywhere, sucking and licking and moaning wantonly against your heat, not even seeming to care when his tongue would brush against John's cock as he devoured you. And John certainly didn't seem to mind. After he got a rein on his self-control, he gazed over your shoulder as Bob placed several little kitten licks to your clit before leaning back enough to spit right on it. Both men watched as Bob's saliva trickled down, running in a stream down your slit and wetting John's balls.

Somewhere along the way, John started moving, his pace deliciously deep and agonizingly slow. He ground his hips against your ass, pushing the head of his prick against that little spot inside of you that he'd previously abused with his fingers. It became borderline overwhelming almost immediately - the thick drag of John's cock inside of you making you feel impossibly full, and the wet heat of Bob's mouth and tongue combining to make for the best kind of sensory overload. You weren't even aware of anything anymore, not where you were, not the words pouring out of your mouth - praise and pleading and pleasure all bleeding together. Everything pushing you higher and higher, the knot in your stomach coiling tighter with every thrust, every lick until you broke with a cry, your body shaking apart. Neither man stopped as they worked you through your orgasm, both pairs of hands holding you down as they coaxed wave after wave of undulating pleasure out of you.

When you started whimpering and twitching away, Bob let go of your still-pulsing clit, the lower part of his face slick with your desire. He pulled himself up the bed, capturing your mouth in a blistering kiss. You moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips, tightening your grip on his hair until he rolled his hips against your thigh.

John barely gave you any time to recover before he resumed, starting up a hard and fast pace, catching you entirely off guard. When you whined into Bob's mouth, writhing in overstimulation, John's voice purred in your ear, "You're doing so good. Taking me so well, princess. Feels fucking incredible. So tight, like you're made for this. Made for my cock."

Breathing hard, Bob pulled back to watch as your face contorted in bliss. "She likes that," he murmured, voice low, breathy, and full of wonder.

John chuckled. "'Course she does. Likes to be told she's a good little fucktoy." He bit out the last word with a grunt as he slammed his hips, pistoning his cock into you even harder. You tried to hold back a pathetic whimper at his words, biting your lower lip hard enough to leave teeth marks. But John angled his next thrust differently, the fat head of his cock ramming into your G-spot. So you let out a strangled gasp that devolved into little whimpers that escaped your mouth with each subsequent thrust.

"Fuck," Bob practically moaned, drinking in your reactions. "She does like that." You could practically see his mind racing with possibilities at all the new revelations this morning had brought to light.

You struggled to keep your eyes open but forced yourself to, taking in how utterly wrecked Bob looked. His hair was wild, sticking out in clumps from where your hands had gripped his locks. His eyes were practically black as he gazed at you with utter focus, like he was blocking everything else out, his world narrowing to you and your pleasure. His lips were kiss-bruised and reddened, chin still slick from tasting you. His cheeks were pink, the color bleeding down his neck and slipping under the neck of his sweater. And he was panting, chest rising and falling too quickly for someone just watching. It was then that you heard it - the sound of skin on skin, separate from the loud, lewd claps of John's hips against your ass and the slap of his balls against your leaking cunt. Bob was touching himself. Cutting your eyes down, you watched as his hand stroked up and down his rigid shaft. His grip was tight, pace fast and almost punishing. The weeping red crown of him was impossible to look away from. You watched as each stroke milked out pearls of precum. He thumbed the head with every few strokes, smearing the droplets and using them to lubricate the glide of his hand.

When you looked back up, Bob's eyes met yours, still locked on your face. Whatever he saw there, it obviously pleased him. He smirked, a bit of gold flashing in his eyes.

"Yeah, pretty girl. Couldn't help myself." Bob pushed his hips towards you, letting his bare cock slide against your upper thighs. He angled it, swiping the wet tip against your swollen clit. You couldn't hold back, crying out his name as the sensation pulsed through you.

"Feel good?" Bob practically purred. You nodded your head, unable to force your mouth to form any other sound than a moan or whimper. "Fuck, you're so beautiful. Look at you, angel. Coming apart on John's cock. You've never looked better."

With a growl, John reached over, fisting his hand in Bob's hair, right between where you had your hands. Bob cried out at the other man's grip, his cockiness melting away immediately, leaving him whimpering and desperately fucking up into his own fist. "Put that mouth to use, Reynolds," John hissed through gritted teeth, forcibly dragging Bob's mouth down to your breast. He didn't hesitate to follow orders, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking hard. His cheeks hollowed as he suckled at your breast, causing you to moan as the pressure of his mouth combined with the hot, wet swipes of his tongue around your pebbled flesh. Bob stared up, his eyes not on you for once but locked on the blond behind you who met Bob's heated gaze with one of his own.

"Yeah, that's better, " John grunted out. "Suck on 'em. Make our girl feel good." When John's grip tightened in his hair, Bob let out a whine, his teeth scraping over your nipple, sending a shudder down your spine at the pain/pleasure combination. John used that opening to pull Bob by the hair to your other breast, where he repeated the treatment, lathing your neglected nipple with his tongue before capturing it in his mouth, sucking hard enough that it was just shy of too much. "There we go. Can't forget that one, can we?"

Bob made an affirmative noise, but you knew from experience anything but verbal confirmation wasn't good enough when John was in this head space. That was confirmed when John yanked Bob's hair hard enough to rip him off of you. Bob cried out, practically sobbing with pleasure from John's roughness. If he kept this up too much longer, Bob was going to finish prematurely just from John pulling his hair, the overwhelming arousal and pain making Bob twitchy and desperate as his hand picked up the pace, fist practically a blur as he pumped his aching length.

"What do you say?" John ground out.

"No," Bob answered instantly, breath hot on your spit-soaked skin and glazed eyes pleading for approval.

"No, what?" John prompted. You couldn't see him from this angle, but you had seen him get like this enough to imagine - the lowered brow as he pinned Bob with a burning hot stare, flared nostrils as John tried to not pant as he continued pumping his cock into you, the clenched jaw and gritted teeth and he held himself back from fucking you using his full strength, so hard that you would be bedridden the next day. He was a picture of fire and discipline like this. And Bob looked enraptured.

Bob pulled off of your breast with a pop, wrenching another keening sound from your lips. "No sir," he corrected, sticking his tongue out and lathing your nipple in his saliva to soothe the ache there. Bob's eyes stayed fixed on John's, watching for his approval.

There was a pause from behind you. You could practically feel John's hesitation before he finally spoke. "Good boy," he growled out, voice dipping half an octave lower.

Bob's breath caught as he inhaled through his nose, eyes rolling back in his head as he groaned in pleasure at the praise. And you were no better, practically weeping out John's name, your walls fluttering around him.

That delicious pressure was growing inside of you again, the muscles tensing in your body as you let yourself give in to pure sensation, chasing your high. The strokes of John's cock hitting that electric spot inside of you, every rough suck of Bob's mouth that felt like just the right side of too much forced you higher, building up inside of you. Bob's breath huffed out through his nose, ghosting over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He took your neglected breast, slick with his spit, and rolled your nipple in his fingers, pinching the bud until you cried out, pussy quivering around John. You were so damn close. John must have felt it too, because he doubled down, jackhammering into you with pinpoint accuracy, your cunt seeming to tighten around him with every thrust. He was talking was in your ear - panting, coaxing, begging - but you couldn't make out the words; you just let his voice wash over you.

When you came, it was like your climax slammed into you, flooding you all at once, leaving you gasping and moaning and writhing in your lovers' embrace. You threw your head back against your pillow, body bowing under the waves of euphoria that crashed over you. John was right behind you, pounding into you once, twice more before breaking with your name on his lips, hips twitching as he pumped you full of his spend in hot pulses that flooded you with his warmth. There was so much that you could already feel it trickling out around John's cock still buried deep and throbbing inside of you. Bob made a choked noise, pulling off of your breast as his body jerked against yours. He moaned your name, almost sounding pained as he came, his release painting your stomach white with his cum.

You must have fallen asleep for a moment, because the next thing you remembered, you were on your back, both boyfriends on either side of you. John was stroking your hair, looking as sated as you felt as he watched your face with a love-softened gaze. Bob was pressing kisses to every inch he could reach, whispering sweet nothings into your skin, his preferred way of worshiping at your altar.

"There she is," John murmured. "Our pretty girl." His hair was a mess, something you hadn't noticed before. If you didn't feel so sleepy and boneless, you'd poke fun at him about it. But you didn't even have the energy to giggle at him. You just smiled, a vision of satisfaction.

Bob lifted his head to see you, giving you a sleepy grin that bordered on looking dopey, like he was tipsy. "That was awesome."

Even though you were tired, a laugh still burbled up out of you. John didn't make a sound, but you felt his chest rumble with silent laughter.

"Yeah," he agreed, looking at Bob with amusement in his eyes. "That was pretty great."

"We should do that again," Bob said, and both men turned to look at you. You weren't sure what they wanted - elation, reassurance, permission - but you gave them all three.

"Hopefully soon," you added. Both John and Bob looked pleased with your answer - Bob beaming from ear to ear and John giving you one of his small, pleased smiles that he saved just for you. "But maybe not too soon. I could use a good shower and a nap. Probably not in that order, though."

John made a noise of disagreement. "We need to get you cleaned up and some new sheets put on the bed. Otherwise you're gonna wake up feeling gross."

You shrugged. Even that small movement felt like too much work. "That is for future me to worry about. Current me is going to get some shut eye." When John shot you an admonishing look, you continued. "Besides, pretty sure my lower half is made of jelly right now."

"I'll carry you," Bob offered.

"And we'll get you clean," John added. "You won't have to lift a finger."

You sighed. This was definitely going to become a pattern, John and Bob teaming up to bully you into letting them take care of you. It wasn't exactly the kind of doubleteaming you'd been dreaming of. "I don't really get a choice in this, do I?"

"Nope!" Bob said cheerfully, popping his lips on the 'p' sound.

"All right, all right," you grumbled, starting to sit up. Both men immediately scrambled to help you. As much as you hated to admit it, maybe they were right. Even though a nap sounded heavenly, the idea of waking up sticky was appalling. Not that you'd ever admit that to them. "No funny business, though." You fixed each of them with a playful glare.

Bob managed to look sheepish, scratching the back of his neck. But John just smirked, eyes sweeping up and down your body. And when he met your gaze, you knew there was no way he was through with you.

"No promises."

Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

Images in header are not mine

Cross-posted to AO3

Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

You weren't even sure what you were watching. It was one of those nights that everything bled together in your mind, all sights and sounds just a stew of stimuli that your tired brain stubbornly refused to process. But despite the exhaustion, your mind rejected the relief of sleep.

Talk was minimal. Bob didn't say anything, but the deep rings under his eyes that looked like black smudges in the television glow told you enough. You'd offered to stop the movie multiple times, but Bob assured you he was fine. You quit asking after he put his hand on yours, looked into your eyes, and said in a soft but oddly serious voice that he promised he'd tell you when he wanted to stop.

You didn't think anything of it when Bob rested his head on your shoulder. Yeah, it made your heart thump so loudly in your chest that you were afraid he'd be able to hear it, but that was nothing new. That happened anytime he touched you. But when the credits rolled and he didn't stir, you allowed yourself to look at him, his hair gently brushing your cheek as your head turned.

He looked so different in his sleep. It was hard to correlate this Bob with the one you saw every day. Awake Bob was burdened with so much - power, fear, guilt - that it physically weighed him down. You could see it in the way his shoulders hunched and his head naturally tilted to the floor as if there was a great load he was always carrying, like Atlas holding up the weight of the world. Even his feet shuffled along the ground as though they were too heavy to lift off the ground.

But asleep Bob had an impossible lightness to him that you'd never seen on him before. His face had gone slack, the lines that were normally creased with worry smoothed out, like sleep had melted them along with his anxiety. His mouth had parted just slightly, a light sheen on his lower lip gleaming in the dim glow, drawing your eyes to it. You briefly let yourself wonder if this was what Bob looked like when he was about to kiss someone - flushed lips dipping open, long dark lashes brushing his pale skin, leaning closer…

You wrenched your mind away, letting the warmth of his body pressed against yours and the steady thud of his heartbeat ground you. Gently, you brushed a stray strand of hair out of his face, fingertips grazing the skin of his forehead as you did. Bob made a soft noise in the back of his throat, and you froze, watching. But he didn't stir, just nestled even closer to you as if his body instinctively sought the comfort of yours.

You didn't remember falling asleep that night on that couch next to Bob, but you did remember how rested you felt when you woke up sometime around mid-morning when Bob finally stirred. The team said nothing about your impromptu sleep session, but they did all shoot smug looks at you and towards each other. Except for John, who'd given you one long, unreadable look when you returned his blanket that he'd draped over you and Bob sometime during the night.

After that, you both gravitated to the couch in your room. You'd offered to go to Bob's as well. Not everything had to be on your terms. But he'd shrugged and said there was no need, joking that your room was cleaner and that he liked your quarters better anyway. His eyes had lingered on yours after he said that, like there was some secret, cryptic meaning you didn't quite grasp.

Falling asleep together became a semi-regular occurrence. At least once a week, you'd both wake up stiff and sore, hair mussed and with a DVD menu loudly playing on repeat but still better rested than either of you usually managed separately.

The first time you both moved to the bed, it was an accident.

You didn't mean to fall asleep on him. You'd both been doing good for weeks. Each time you'd watch a movie, you'd at least make it to the end of the first one. When you got tired, you'd call it a night. But that night, it was like there was no space between being awake and being asleep. One minute you were watching whatever 90s stoner comedy Bob had insisted on that night, the next you felt your body being lain down on something both soft and cold. Your eyes fluttered open just as Bob was pulling your covers over you.

"Wha' happ'nd t'the movie?" you mumbled, rubbing your eyes and sitting up in bed.

Bob swore under his breath, and, when you blinked at him owlishly, waiting for his answer, he shot you a sheepish smile.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"No, 'm sorry. I didn't mean t'fall asleep," you rebutted, frowning at Bob. You just realized he had turned to face the door, like he was going to leave. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Oh, uh…my room?" he answered like it was an obvious statement.

You frowned even harder, and Bob's smile faltered.

"What about the movie?" you pressed. For some reason, the idea of ending the night so prematurely made your chest clench. Guilt weighed heavy in the pit of your stomach. Why? You weren't sure.

"We can finish it tomorrow night. You're tired."

"We can finish it now," you insisted, reaching to your nightstand and grabbing the remote control there, hitting the power button. Both you and Bob blinked as the television on your opposing wall flickered on, flooding the dark room with light.

When Bob looked down at you, you lifted the covers off of the other side of the bed and patted the spot next to you invitingly. Even with the television's glow, it was too dark and you were too tired to recognize the emotions that flickered across Bob's face, but you did recognize one thing - hesitation.

"C'mon," you said, putting down the remote to make grabby hands at Bob. He couldn't fight the smile that curled his lips against his will. If you could read his mind, you'd very clearly hear the words 'God, you're adorable' there.

"You sure?" he asked even as he took a step forward, reaching hesitatingly towards the covers.

"Positive," you said, picking the remote back up again and clicking a few buttons to pull up the movie. "I won't bite," you added, causing Bob to let out a breath of laughter as he sat down next to you, pulling the covers up over his legs.

"What if I want you to?"

"That can be arranged," you said with a grin, resting your head on Bob's shoulder as you pressed play.

A few more minutes into the movie, and the next thing you remembered was the first rays of dawn peeking in through your bedroom curtains and the warmth of another body next to yours. Sometime during the night, you'd practically climbed on top of Bob, one of your legs stretched across his legs, your hand resting possessively across his stomach, fingertips grazing the sliver of pale skin that peeked out from under his sweatshirt. At first, you froze, assessing the situation - the TV had been turned off, the remote control was back on your bedside table, and, most importantly, both of your clothes were still on. There was a slight pang in your chest that you ignored at that thought.

You'd meant to extract yourself, to let Bob sleep in peace without you sprawled all over him. However, Bob seemed to have other plans. The moment you tried to sit up, his arm tightened around you instinctively. You hadn't even realized it in your sleepy state, but sometime during the night, Bob had wrapped his arm around you, pulling you practically into the crook of his neck where you'd presumably spent most of the night. You tried one more time to move (albeit halfheartedly) , but his grip held fast. When you let him pull you back down, resting your cheek on the swell of his chest, Bob mumbled something in his sleep. You couldn't make out all the words, but you did make out one - your name. So you ignored the morning light, closing your eyes and letting yourself drift back to sleep.

Many more movie nights were spent in the comfort of your bed to the point you and Bob tended to default to it. It was more comfortable, you'd argued to Yelena when she cornered you, questioning why she'd caught Bob coming out of your room early in the morning, sneaking back to his own. What you hadn't told her is that Bob is what made it more comfortable. It was so much easier to pretend to accidentally touch him, to have an excuse to fall asleep next to him. And if Bob seemed to have fewer nightmares than before, so much the better.

The day everything changed wasn't anything out of the ordinary either. You weren't even sure what movie you were watching. It was one of yours, you were sure of that. So most likely a romcom or maybe even a movie from your childhood - either way, it was something lighthearted. It was the third movie of the night, so that meant you and Bob had slowly slipped down the bed and were now fully lying down, you on your back with multiple pillows propping your head up and Bob on his side, angled slightly to see the screen.

It was some part of the movie that you enjoyed, probably something you'd continually referenced in dumb inside jokes with your friends that you secretly treasured deeply. You were so focused on the movie that you didn't notice Bob wasn't watching it at all. So, when you turned to tell him a quick anecdote, it caught you off guard to find him watching you instead.

It wasn't just that you had his attention; you had his total focus. Bob looked at you in a way you'd never seen before. It was more than just full concentration. He was watching you like he never wanted to look away, storm dark eyes locked on your face like it held the answers to every question he'd ever had but with a softness to them, a tenderness that almost took your breath away. Bob looked at you like he couldn't get enough of you, like you were the beginning and the end to his world. And whatever he saw reflected there in your face must have answered something for him, because there was zero hesitation when he leaned in.

You'd thought about what it would be like to kiss Bob Reynolds for the first time more often than you'd ever admit to anyone, even him. It would be quick and hesitant, that you were sure of. Bob wasn't the kind of person to do things without getting express consent. He'd asked you if he could have a handful of popcorn every single time he wanted one for multiple weeks after you'd started watching movies together. It took concerted effort for him to stop asking if the second mug of hot cocoa you'd bring out was for him. After you started sharing the same blanket, he seemed surprised for weeks every single time you'd drape it over not just yourself but him too. But he kissed like he couldn't go without your lips on his for another second.

When he finally pulled back, it was only his hand cupping your cheek that kept you from chasing his mouth, unwilling to stop the kiss that had taken months to finally start.

He searched your face, brow cutely furrowed as he looked for any sign of regret or hesitation, but he found none. The corners of Bob's lips curled in a tender smile and his forehead smoothed out as he relaxed, his thumb stroking your cheek like he couldn't help himself.

"Was that okay?" he asked, voice rumbly and deep, a hint of tentativeness there despite his easy body language. You couldn't help but smile. Of course Bob wanted verbal consent despite how obviously your body screamed 'yes.'

"Yeah," you answered. "Yes. More than okay. A lot more than okay."

"Can we…do that again?" Bob asked, his voice more breathy and intimate than you could ever remember hearing before. He knew the answer. He was already leaning back in towards you, but it was like he needed to hear it from your lips.

"Please," you whispered. Your voice cracked in a way that would have made you feel embarrassed about how desperate you sounded, but Bob surged across the space between you, capturing your lips again, and embarrassment was the last thing on your mind.

The rest of the movie was lost in a haze of Bob - the mint on his breath, the softness of his lips, the gentle way his hands cupped the nape of your neck, kissing you even deeper. You didn't remember the rest of the movie, but you vividly recalled how Bob's warm embrace felt like the beginning of something special.

Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

Images in header are not mine

Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

This was the first time you'd really spent with John completely alone. Unlike everyone else (Alexei aside), you didn't mind him. When you'd met in the vault, you thought he was a delusional jackass, cut from the same cloth as a certain type of man you'd met while working for S.H.I.E.L.D. then freelancing for OXE after. The kind of man who thought he was God's gift to everyone else. The special little boy whose mama never told him no and whose dad never really cared either way. That image started to break down as soon as you'd left the vault, right after Bob had inadvertently tanked your escape plan by rolling your stolen Humvee. You felt like you saw a little bit of who he was behind the facade in that small moment where he offered up some cactus berries. His smile was sheepish when he'd handed you a piece, looking for all the world like a man who'd spent years frowning and was trying to remember how to look friendly instead of angry. Then your view of him cracked wide open in the Void. You'd accidentally stumbled into his shame room and had to pull him away from the memory of a friend killed in action, one that cut so deep and sharp it had him on his knees even though he knew it wasn't real.

In the kitchen, John gave you a searching look, scanning your face with brows furrowed, like he was trying to tell if this was a set up for a joke at his expense.

"It's really no problem," you offered, giving him a tentative smile.

His eyes flicked down to your lips just for a second, barely long enough for you to register the movement before he looked back up into your eyes. "Yeah. That would be great," John said, the barest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble. If it is -"

"How do you like your eggs?" you asked, cutting off his self-doubt before he could fully put it into words. You lifted up the plate of bacon like an offering, handing it to him. "Here. You can have the first round. Unless you want to save it to have with the eggs."

He hummed as he took a bite of one, closing his eyes briefly in enjoyment. When he opened them, John's eyes found yours immediately. "We can share," he offered, holding out the plate for you to take a piece. Which you gladly did.

The conversation was surprisingly easy that morning and each one after it. You didn't always have early days, but the ones you did, you made breakfast for two.

Your relationship with Bob started because of an impromptu movie marathon.

It was one of your bad nights, ones where you tossed and turned in bed before falling into a fitful sleep that was ripped away from you when you'd inevitably shoot up in bed, your heart pounding erratically against your ribcage and your body drenched in sweat. Finally, tired of the painful cycle, you got up and wandered down to the living room, turning on a movie. Not in the mood for anything new, you just selected whichever one you saw first that was an old favorite. Something as comfortable as the blanket you curled up in and the cup of cocoa you sipped.

You were only a few minutes into a movie when you noticed a figure lurking at the doorway. Startled, you jumped, whipping around to see Bob standing there. He was wearing what you'd normally wear as pajamas but for Bob, it could just be his outfit for the day - a wildly oversized hoodie and equally large sweatpants with bright blue fuzzy socks peeking out underneath. His hair was mussed, raised on one side like he'd just been laying in bed, and the expression on his face was one you recognized in yourself - the kind of dazed weariness that comes from trying your hardest to sleep but your body refusing to listen. Bob turned to look at you, but he didn't startle in return the way he would under normal circumstances. He was the jumpiest person you'd ever met. So for him to not react? He must have been exhausted.

"Sorry," Bob mumbled, his voice a croak of disuse.

"You're okay," you said, offering him a small, tired smile. The corners of his lips lifted in return. "Did I have the TV up too loud?"

Bob shook his head solemnly, eyes already turned back to the screen. "No," he said simply. "I was already awake."

Glancing back for a second at the movie, you realized you were still very close to the beginning. "Do you…?" You paused, hesitating for a second. He looked back at you, a little wrinkle forming between his brows that immediately struck you as adorable. You pushed the thought away before you could examine it further. "Do you want me to restart the movie?"

This was definitely the first time you'd spent time alone with Bob. He mainly kept to his room, coming out at odd hours or whenever Yelena managed to convince him to join the group. From what little you'd seen of him in the Tower, Bob was the quiet sort, the kind who avoided crowds at all costs because the idea of so many eyes on him at once made him twitchy and nervous. He was a man who was haunted by the ghosts of himself: past, present, and future. Even his smiles were halfhearted, like he wasn't sure how to or, more likely, that he wasn't sure if he was allowed to. But you hadn't forgotten his kindness in the vault. Or his bravery outside of it. All the Thunderbolts had had to face parts of yourselves in the Void that you'd all fought to bury deep down, but Bob had to face everything about himself all at once - his childhood trauma, his addictions, his mental illness. And he did. He'd saved the world from his own darkness, forced to embrace his own inner pain to save a group of people he barely knew who'd shown him a modicum of humanity.

In the living room, Bob looked at you, really looked at you, like he was seeing you for the first time. There was an awareness in his eyes you hadn't seen before, and you got the impression that your next few words had a weight to them, that they'd set the tone for your relationship with this man going forward. So you let yourself be vulnerable.

"I really don't mind starting it over. I've seen it a hundred times and…" You paused, biting your lip. It was dark enough that you didn't notice when his eyes followed the movement, resting a little too long on your mouth. "Honestly…I could use some company," you confessed, looking down at the mug on the table, at your hands, anywhere but at his face.

So, you didn't see when Bob sat down on the couch, but you felt it shift and the warmth of another body next to you. When you looked up at him in surprise, he gave you a small, genuine smile in return.

"I think I could use some too," Bob admitted, ducking his head like he was physically unable to take you looking at him directly. Like your gaze was the sun and he couldn't help but shade his eyes. "Plus, I love The Emperor's New Groove. It's one of my favorites," he added.

You fought back a grin at his words. "I had a feeling. What with the elevator shaft in the vault and all," you teased.

As he leaned forward to pick up the remote control on the coffee table, you could swear there was a dusting of pink on his pale cheeks that wasn't there before. But it was impossible to tell in the dim glow of the television.

Bob restarted the movie and placed the remote back, almost knocking over your hot cocoa.

"Shit," he swore under his breath, managing to stabilize the mug, only splashing a little bit of (fortunately not too hot) cocoa on his hand. Not seeing a napkin, Bob opted to suck the liquid off of his skin. Your eyes lingered on his mouth. When he turned to you to apologize, some of the lightness that had filled him seemed to have dissipated. He managed to look both deflated and stiff at the same time, like he was convinced he'd ruined something.

"It's okay, Bob. I promise," you assured him just as he opened his mouth. "Worst case scenario, I would have made you make me more."

Bob paused, caught off guard. You could see your words sinking in as his tensed shoulders relaxed a little more with each breath. "I'm still sorry," he said weakly. "It was…the cocoa was really good. I don't think I could have made a good replacement."

"Apology accepted," you said quickly, leaning down to scoop up the mug. You held it out to him. "Wanna share?"

Bob didn't fight you this time. Taking the cup with both hands as if to be doubly careful with it, Bob held your gaze as he took a sip. "Thank you."

You just smiled at him in answer.

Neither of you spoke much that night, except to decide on the next movie and the next until the sun peaked out over the horizon, your cue to both try to get some sleep. You didn't always have sleepless nights, but the ones you did, you'd bring enough blankets and hot cocoa for two.

Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

Images in header are not mine

Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

John 🔴⚪️⚫️: Hey

John 🔴⚪️⚫️: Run today?

That was the first sign something was off. You didn't always have early mornings. Some nights, the insomnia was too strong, and you'd end up sleeping in until noon. So John operated on the assumption that you weren't going to join him unless you texted him first. He never messaged you first. And these messages were from 4 AM, a time you were only ever awake at during your very worst nights. Even on your earliest days, you would wake up at 5, something John knew implicitly from multiple past conversations.

When you hadn't answered, he followed up only a few minutes later.

John 🔴⚪️⚫️: Sorry, didn't look at the time. You're not even awake yet.

John 🔴⚪️⚫️: No rush. Just let me know when you wake up 🙂

That was even more bizarre. John Walker didn't use emojis. To confirm, you quickly scrolled up through your past conversations. The only emojis in sight were yours. A quick scan through the Thunderbolts group chat rendered the same verdict - John was being weird.

Adding to your suspicions, his chat bubble popped up almost immediately after you sent your confirmation text. It kept appearing and disappearing. After a minute of waiting for his reply, you got up and started getting ready, keeping an eye on your phone for John's response. Which didn't end up coming at all. When you were pulling on your shoes, you glanced over and saw that John had reacted to your message with a thumbs-up emoji instead.

When you came down to the kitchen, you expected to catch John chugging a protein shake or maybe cooking up some bacon and eggs. Instead, you found a veritable breakfast smorgasbord laid out: fluffy pancakes, crispy hash browns, homemade biscuits and gravy, buttery grits, a bowl of freshly cut fruit, toast with a variety of jams, your favorite eggs, and three different breakfast meats - ham, bacon, and sausage. Half the team were already there, digging in. Ava nibbled on some toast over the remnants of her breakfast, scrolling on her phone and sipping her favorite black breakfast tea. Bob's plate was loaded up with pancakes smothered in enough syrup to appease his sweet tooth, and he was digging into the eggs and sausage he'd put on a separate, smaller plate. Bucky was at the sink, washing his dishes. And John looked stoic, pushing around the half-eaten omelet on his plate.

All that changed the second he saw you. His face lit up, flashing you a friendly but almost hesitant smile. For the second time that morning, your heart seemed to freeze for a second. At least this you were used to. John Walker didn't smile. Or, if he did, it wasn't a full one, one that showed his teeth. It was usually a smirk or a grimace. But he always smiled at you. The rarity of the act made it all the more special. Instinctively, you returned it with a smile of your own. It didn't escape your notice that John seemed to relax in his seat a little more, almost like he was nervous and it had something to do with you.

"Whoa! What's the occasion?" you asked, coming up to John, casually resting a hand on his shoulder as you eyed a piece of toast with a cinnamon swirl, already contemplating which jam to use with it.

John's brow furrowed as he frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"This feast," you said, snatching up two pieces of toast and the butter you'd already decided to put on it instead. "That's a lot of food for 'just because.'"

You were too busy buttering your breakfast to realize that your other three teammates all stopped what they were doing, eyes going from you to John and back again.

"Uh, I was just in the mood, I guess," John said with a thin laugh, rubbing the back of his neck in a distinctly awkward manner. You didn't notice Ava's smirk, Bucky's raised eyebrow, or Bob's death grip on his utensils.

"You made all this?" you asked, audibly surprised, your attention now fully focused on him. Must have been why he was up so early.

"Uh, yeah. I guess," he muttered, picking up an overly large forkful of omelet and shoveling it into his mouth.

"Holy shit, that's amazing, John! I knew you were a pretty damn good cook, but you really outdid yourself!" You took a bite of the still-warm cinnamon toast, letting out a little moan of pleasure at the taste. Your eyes closed as you savored your bite, so you didn't notice the flush that crept up John's neck and dusted his face in a shade of splotchy pink.

You also didn't notice the look of disappointment on his face when you insisted that you'd grab another piece of toast and some bacon before heading out on your run, promising you'd heat up a proper breakfast after you both got back to fully appreciate John's culinary skills.

You did notice, however, that John was unusually quiet on your run. Normally, he jogged alongside as you ran, barely breaking a sweat as he yapped about whatever thing that had caught his attention lately. Some days, he regaled you with the history of modern guns, the next he was complaining about the state of Twitter, and the day after, he was chattering about a new gym routine he was considering. And as much as you enjoyed the view from behind (especially in his thigh-length shorts that had no business looking that good on him), you couldn't quash the sneaking suspicion that his unusually quiet demeanor was because of you.

Try as you might to ignore the growing discomfort in your stomach that had nothing to do with your light pre-breakfast snack, you just couldn't.

At an intersection where you had to wait for the light to turn green, you blurted out, "Are you mad at me?"

John had been jogging in place, but he jerked to a halt, head whipping away from eying the traffic to stare at you, dumbfounded.

His silence was too loud, so you carried on, talking so you wouldn't chicken out. "You've been quiet. And you're only quiet when you're upset. I hope…" Pausing, you bit your lip as you gathered your thoughts. You didn't notice the way John's eyes fell so easily to your mouth, like he'd memorized the exact distance between your eyes and your lips and the movement was muscle memory by now.

"I just hope it's not because of me," you finished lamely, letting your shoulders droop.

"Why would I be upset with you?" John asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. It was enough to make you look up. His smile matched his voice, a small, gentle thing that made the soldier look much more like a friendly teddy bear that you knew than the vicious killer the media liked to portray him as.

"The breakfast. You put a lot of effort into it, and I only ate some toast."

"And some bacon," John added, a quiet, teasing edge to his voice. Your answering laugh was nothing more than a soft breath of air out of your nose.

"And some bacon," you echoed, flashing a self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry, John. It all looked delicious. I just can't eat much before I exercise, because I get sick."

"I know that. I'm not upset with you." You paused, eyes examining his face for a hint of any lie there, but you found none. "I'm upset with myself," John admitted.

That was not the answer you'd expected. If it wasn't you, maybe there was something he'd been hiding from you. The thought of that made you frown. You didn't have an official policy of telling each other everything, but there seemed to be few secrets between you. John liked talking too much to keep anything quiet, and you felt safe around him to divulge some secrets you swore you'd take to the grave. Of course there was one secret you'd been keeping, but it didn't occur to you that he might be keeping a similar one close to the vest.

"I've been planning for days," John started, "And of course, I fuck it up every step of the way."

At your questioning look, he continued, "I messaged you at four in the morning. Then, when I realized what I'd done, I wanted to apologize because I felt like an idiot. But I didn't want you to think it was a big deal, so I ended up sending you a fucking emoji. Like a twelve year old."

"I use emojis," you offered, and John shot you a fondly annoyed look.

"One of your worst qualities," he muttered, a smile pulling at his lips when you let out an actual laugh at his words. Then, like he had remembered why he was upset in the first place, John scowled before continuing. "Then you were nice about it and ignored how fucking weird I was being. I tried to explain myself, but everything I typed sounded stupid no matter how I put it. So I used another emoji and reacted to your message. I didn't even know I knew how to do that."

"Me either," you quipped.

John kept going. "The food turned out well. If you ignore the burnt toast I had to throw out because Alexei pretty much had the toaster on the 'charcoal' setting. Then Bucky came up. Then Ava. And then Bob." He ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a sigh of frustration. "There was so much damn food, how was I supposed to tell them it wasn't for the team?"

You found yourself watching John more than listening to his words. Somehow you'd come to have favorite parts of his face: his canine teeth, the ones that stuck out just a little bit more than the rest, giving his smile a slightly boyish charm to it. The peak of his aquiline nose matched only by the jut of his strong jaw. The little patch of hair under his lip that was lighter than the rest of his beard. That singular freckle on his left ear that drove you to distraction. The mess of blond hair that he always tried to keep neatly combed but that you secretly preferred ruffled like he'd just taken off his helmet. And, of course, those eyes. You'd never seen such bright blue eyes. They were like the sky on a sunny day without a cloud in sight. Crystal clear but so easily lit with passion like they were now as John continued to rant.

Even as John spoke, the pieces started to fall into place. It was all so obvious in retrospect. The too early text, the way he seemed nervous when you came down to breakfast, how he'd visibly deflated when you insisted that you both go on a run instead of lingering in the kitchen… You really needed to put him out of his misery.

John was in the middle of ranting about how inept he was at anything social (something you could have told him months ago and saved him the trouble) when you interrupted him.

"So, just ask me," you said simply. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

John stopped dead in the middle of his sentence, hands that had been gesticulating to emphasize his rant freezing in mid-air as he gaped at you.

"What…what are you talking about?"

"You wanted to ask me something, right? Then do it."

John paused, thinking, the internal war raging inside of him written in the lines on his face.

When you touched his arm, your hand lightly rested on his wrist. John tensed, bracing himself before letting himself look at you. His answering smile was sad, almost defeated like he was in a fight that he was certain he couldn't win. You returned it with a genuine one, letting your fondness for the man in front of you show in your face.

"Do you want me to ask you?"

Once again, your words seemed to startle him, as though he was sure he knew how this conversation was going to go, but you'd abruptly gone off script.

Apparently you were going to have to do all the work here. One step forward made all the difference in the world. One step brought you into his personal space, far closer than any friend should be. The pulse in his wrist jumped under your fingers. His eyes were on you, pupils dilated slightly, watching you like the world around you had faded away, and nothing existed outside of you. It was the kind of look that made your own pulse jump, heart fluttering in your chest. Where you had doubts before, there were none now.

It was so obvious in retrospect. Thinking back, this wasn't even the first time he'd tried to ask you. But this time, you wouldn't let him get cold feet. Hell, you'd hold his feet to the fire if you needed to.

"John, do you want to -"

"Would you like to go -"

You both stopped abruptly, blinking owlishly at each other. You try again.

"Oops! Didn't mean to -"

"Sorry. You can talk -"

Another beat of silence with nothing but the ambient noises of early morning New York City: the quiet hum of people walking by, the much louder whoosh of cars driving past, a dog barking in the distance, the mechanical hum of window unit air conditioners working, and, of course, the ever-present honking of car horns.

Before you could speak again, John covered your mouth with his hand, effectively silencing you.

"Would you like to go out with me? On a date," he finally asked. The way he looked at you was so new but so familiar at the same time. There was a gentleness in his countenance, like he'd let his protective armor fall to show the softness he kept inside, away from the world. You'd seen cracks in his facade before, little vulnerable moments where you caught a glimpse of this John. The real John. His forehead was creased in worry, fearful of the rejection he'd been fighting internally for who knows how long. But there was hope in his eyes. And an affection you'd never seen directed towards you.

Unfortunately, he didn't uncover your mouth, so you couldn't say the "yes" that was ready to burst forth from your mouth. Instead, you licked his hand.

"Hey!" John complained, pulling his hand back and wiping it on his shorts. You couldn't help but laugh, feeling lighter than you had in weeks, months…maybe even longer. The glare he shot your way only made you laugh a little harder.

"It's hard to say 'yes' when you literally won't let me speak," you said, practically beaming at him, smiling so hard that it made your cheeks hurt.

John at least had the grace to look embarrassed.

"Sorry. Not my smartest move," he said with a little laugh, shifting his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. You could see it when your words finally sunk in and it dawned on him. "Wait…yes? You're…you're saying yes?"

"Yes," you echoed, your lips curling into an even bigger smile as you spoke the word again. With that 'yes,' you were letting out all the feelings you thought you were alone in for the past few months. Every time you spent together, those feelings had pounded at your heart. Every run together, every meal you shared, every cup of coffee during sleepless mornings, every time his hand would accidentally brush yours and you'd pull away sharply like if you lingered he'd know it meant something more than friendship…you weren't alone. He'd felt it, too.

"Wait, really?" John's hands lightly grasped your shoulders, looking down into your eyes as if he could divine the veracity of your words. "Even after today?"

"Especially after today," you affirmed.

When he believed it, you could see it in his eyes. John gazed down at you with a dreamy, soft expression you'd never seen before. It was a good look on him.

You leaned up on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips together for a singular tender kiss. His lips were a little dry and his beard slightly itchy, but you didn't care. It was perfect. It was everything. And it was only the beginning.

Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

Images in header are not mine

Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

You couldn't help your mind wandering, imagining what other little surprises these two had in store for you.

"You doing okay, angel?" Bob asked, his tone suddenly much more gentle. You opened your eyes, and he was much closer than you remembered. You didn't even hear him move. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking your skin in soothing circles. John had shifted as well, the arm that held you down having slid down to your waist, his hand warm against your stomach. The hand that was on your clit was gently rubbing up and down your bare side.

"Got quiet all of the sudden," John said. You turned your head as much as you could without dislodging Bob's hand to see your other boyfriend gazing down at you with concern in his eyes. He looked adorable - hair sleep rumpled, a line from a fold in the pillow sheet on his cheek, and a little frown that was closer to a pout than he'd ever admit. "Too much?" John asked, his tone gentle, a sharp contrast to the smug attitude from just a minute ago.

You shook your head minutely. "No. It felt wonderful. I just…" You bit your lip, taking a moment to find the right phrasing. "I was wondering what other kinks you two have up your sleeves that I don't know about."

John and Bob shared a look, and you couldn't help but feel like some secret understanding passed between them. They simultaneously turned their attention back to you, John giving you a short, sweet peck on the lips, his beard pleasantly rubbing against your skin.

"Obviously someone was doing a shitty job making you feel good if you were getting distracted," Bob jeered, smirking at John with a playful glint in his eyes. It was jarring how quickly he transitioned from doting boyfriend to horny menace.

John snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, and that's why she's soaking wet for me. Think you can do better, Bobby?"

Bob's answering grin was so sharp it could cut glass. "I know I can, Johnny."

John was apparently thinking something similar, because he leaned down and mock-whispered in your ear, "I think Bobby likes watching you, pretty girl. Look at him."

You opened your eyes obediently, catching Bob's heated stare as he gazed down at John's hand rubbing lazy circles around your clit. He was as beautiful as ever - sleep-mussed hair, too-big sweater that he insisted on wearing to sleep even if he got too hot, warm hand resting on your inner thigh, and the prominent tent at the front of his boxers that made your mouth salivate at the sight of.

Judging by the flexing muscles, John was trying to pull his arm away with no luck. He wasn't even budging Bob's rock solid grip. Looking back up, Bob's eyes glowed gold. He looked absolutely furious. The muscles in his jaw ticked as Bob clenched his teeth, his lower lip almost quivering in anger.

"What the fuck are you doing, you asshole?" Bob snapped back, easily pulling John's fingers out of you and pushing his hand away. "You're going to fucking hurt her being that rough. You didn't even prep her first!"

"She likes that!" John said, starting to raise his voice. "Did you hear her complaining? Or are you not used to hearing the sounds of her actually enjoying getting fucked?"

Bob's eyes started turning brighter gold, practically glowing. A light bulb in an adjacent room audibly shattered.

"Whoa!" you interrupted, flinging your arms out to gesture for them to stop. "Okay, that…that escalated quickly. Everyone calm down."

Judging by the flexing muscles, John was trying to pull his arm away with no luck. He wasn't even budging Bob's rock solid grip. Looking back up, Bob's eyes glowed gold. He looked absolutely furious. The muscles in his jaw ticked as Bob clenched his teeth, his lower lip almost quivering in anger.

"What the fuck are you doing, you asshole?" Bob snapped back, easily pulling John's fingers out of you and pushing his hand away. "You're going to fucking hurt her being that rough. You didn't even prep her first!"

"She likes that!" John said, starting to raise his voice. "Did you hear her complaining? Or are you not used to hearing the sounds of her actually enjoying getting fucked?"

Bob's eyes started turning brighter gold, practically glowing. A light bulb in an adjacent room audibly shattered.

"Whoa!" you interrupted, flinging your arms out to gesture for them to stop. "Okay, that…that escalated quickly. Everyone calm down."

"She's fine, Bobby. She's wet enough that she could take it," John said with the kind of tone you use to explain big concepts to a child. Bob glanced away from you just long enough to send John another annoyed look over your shoulder. "If you weren't sticking your fingers in her mouth like a weirdo, you could feel for yourself."

"She likes when I put my fingers in her mouth," Bob snapped back, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He kept his eyes on you though, the gold in them having faded back to the deep, stormy blue you were used to. "Baby, let me…" Bob's words trailed off as he pulled his thumb out of your mouth, quickly replacing them with his index and middle fingers. You let out another happy hum, closing your eyes as you sucked on his fingers, lathing them with your tongue, getting them nice and wet like you knew he wanted.

John shifted behind you. Judging by the shadow that loomed over you, blocking out the faint light that was making its way through your bedroom curtains, he was trying to catch a glimpse of your face.

"I'll be damned," he said with a faint note of surprise in his voice. "She hates it when I do that to her."

"Was she topping you when you tried?"

There was a pause before John answered, sheepishly. "Yeah. Now that I think about it, she was in control."

"Thought so. She only likes it when she's being submissive." You could hear Bob pause and lean a little closer to John like he was sharing a secret. "It really gets her going to have something in her mouth when you're in charge of her. I got her this gag that…"

With a pop, you pulled Bob's fingers out of your mouth and opened your eyes, glaring at the two men. "If you two are done sharing trade secrets, I'd really like to stop being teased and get fucked if you don't mind."

Grinning down at you, John complied. "Yes ma'am," he said, putting a little more pressure on your clit, starting to run little figure eights over the bundle of nerves.

Bob obeyed as well, using his split-slick fingers to circle your entrance before slipping one digit inside. A moan left his lips, sounding like it forced its way out of his chest at the feel of your wet heat around him.

"Wet?" John asked. He was still grinning, this time at Bob, amusement dancing in those bright blue eyes.

"Soaked," Bob confirmed, starting to pump his finger in and out of you. Unconsciously, you started moving your hips, rocking them in time to meet his thrusts.

That tension was already building in you again. Both of your boyfriends were touching you, bringing you pleasure simultaneously. It wasn't perfect - John was a little faster and more aggressive on your clit and Bob taking his time and focusing on slowly stretching you - but the visual alone was nearly enough to undo you. Bob was biting his lip in concentration, paying no mind to the strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes, too focused on building up a rhythm and watching your hips rise up to meet his thrusts. John's eyes were everywhere: watching every micro-detail of your face and drinking in your reactions, trailing hotly down your body, watching his own fingers move over your flesh, and staring at Bob's hand as he stretched you open, adding a second finger to your slick heat.

It didn't matter that John was speeding up and Bob almost seemed to be slowing down, not when John pressed a little harder on your throbbing clit and Bob curled his fingers to hit that spot inside of you that made you see stars with every rolling thrust. You could feel it again, the pressure in your stomach, a knot coiling there, each caress, each movement, each second bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Only for it to stop suddenly again.

You let out a cry of despair when John stopped moving, but he didn't seem to notice. He was too fixated on Bob.

"You're going too slow."

"Huh?" Bob asked, looking up at the other man, his pace also coming to a complete halt. If your mind wasn't reeling from the abrupt change in pace - the second of the fucking morning - you could have screamed in frustration. "What are you talking about?"

"Your fingers. She's never going to cum if you keep going that slow," John said, that smug, know-it-all-tone back in his voice.

It was Bob's turn to roll his eyes. "That would be a first."

"What? Her cumming? I can give you some tips if you need." Now John was just being a dick.

Bob scoffed. "Hardly. She's always finished when she was with me."

With a smirk, John replied, "You sure, Bobby?"

Before Bob could respond, you were sitting up in bed. Both men stared at you in surprise, especially when you started actually trying to leave. Hands came up from both of them to stop you, and you batted them aside, making to crawl out from between them on the bed.

Their words overlapped when they both started speaking at once.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where are you going?"

"Are you okay, angel? What's wrong?"

You stopped, turning and fixing both of them with a pointed glare. "If you two can't work together to get me off, I'm going to go to the bathroom and get myself off, thank you."

They spoke over each other again:

"Hey now, let's not be so hasty."

"Baby! I'm sorry! Please don't go."

Even though they had struggled to do anything in sync with each other before, both John and Bob grabbed for your arms at the same time, pulling you back by manhandling you and trying to draw you closer respectively.

"C'mon," said John as your back hit the pillows as they leaned you up against the headboard. "Sure, we fucked up. But we're a hell of a lot better than just using your own hand."

You opened your mouth to tell John that you'd prefer your hand to getting edged by a cocky asshole, but Bob started talking first. "She wouldn't have to use her hand."

John blinked at him in confusion. "Excuse me. What?"

"She, uh…" Bob glanced at you, instantly clocking the annoyed look on your face and stumbling over his words. "S-she wouldn't ha-have to use her hands. She has, um…she has toys in the bath…the bathroom."

"Toys," John deadpanned, obviously not processing what Bob was meaning.

"What he means," you said, crossing your arms. "Is that I have a dildo and a vibrator in the bathroom drawer."

John practically sputtered. "What?! Why?"

You shrugged. "Just because I'm dating both of you doesn't mean I don't need some alone time."

"Actually, that's exactly what that means," John corrected, arrogant as ever. "Baby, if he's not satisfying you, I am more than happy to -"

"Oh, fuck off," Bob exclaimed, interrupting his proposition.

John rounded on the other man. "How do you know she has those anyway?"

"Because I use them on her," Bob said simply.

Scoffing, John replied, "Yeah, because you go too slow to make her finish."

Bob rolled his eyes again, his annoyance with John strong enough to make him forget yours. "No, because I don't feel inadequate because she wants more than just my dick to make her feel good. You're missing out," he added. Before John could question him further, Bob answered. "If you've never used a toy on her, you've never got to watch close up how she falls apart on your cock. And sometimes I like her to finish a few times before we even get started."

"Jonathan." Craning your neck, you turned to glare back at the man who at least managed to look at least a little remorseful.

"Too far?" John asked, a self-deprecating deadpan tone in his voice.

Bob let out a low, amused laugh. "Ooh, you got the full first name, Walker. You're in trouble now."

Your fingers that were curled in Bob's hair tightened painfully, jerking his head back with a flick of your wrist. He gasped loudly, the sound half-surprise and half-moan, and you felt the bed dip as Bob involuntarily rolled his hips, seeking friction.

"Be good, Robert," you chastised, turning back to look him in the eye. There was a flash of gold there, but one raised eyebrow was all it took for Bob to blink, his irises returning to their regular deep blue hue.

"Yes," Bob panted, pausing to lick his lips before starting again. "Yes, ma'am."

Lace Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

MDNI Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

Images in headers are not mine.

Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

First Starts Mini-Series:

🗲 Starting Patterns (John Walker/Reader, Bob Reynolds/Reader) - ☁️ - 1.9k You'd met both John Walker and Bob Reynolds before, of course. But that was mostly in passing or in the middle of a fight. But, within the first few weeks of moving into the Watchtower, you found yourself connecting with them in small ways, starting with a plate of bacon and a cup of hot cocoa.

🗲 Starting Points: John (John Walker/Reader)- ☁️ - 2.8k Breakfast has brought you and John back together, but this time John is acting strangely. It all starts with an unusual text message.

🗲 Starting Points: Bob (Bob Reynolds/Reader) - ☁️ - 2.3k Ever since your first impromptu movie night with Bob, you've both made a habit of watching them together on a near-nightly basis. What started as impersonal slowly morphs into something else, something more intimate.

🗲 Starting Positions (John Walker/Reader, Bob Reynolds/Reader) - 🍆 - TBA There's a first time for everything, including in the bedroom.

I Want My Boyfriends To Kiss:

🗲 Swap Spit, Lock Lips - 🍆 - 8.3k (Outtakes) The lines in your relationships with John Walker and Bob Reynolds had already become blurred, but you'd managed to keep one aspect intact - you'd only ever slept with them separately. However, when John wakes up and can't keep his hands off of you, that might not be true anymore.

🗲 I Want My Boyfriends to Kiss - 🍆🍆🍆 - 22.5k (Outtakes) Your boyfriends have been acting strange recently, like they're hiding something from you. After you come to find out they have some secret plans involving you, them, and a whole lotta rope, you take it upon yourself to come up with a plan of your own to turn the tables on them.