Professional Geta enjoyer. Hereās where any writings will end up if I manage to post them. Iām gonna blame this on the eyeliner. She/her, 33 Main Blog: @reformedkingsmanagent
Hi, Iām Tara. 33. Pathetic. A daydreamer. Pisces.
I am quiet and introverted. Aloof until you get through my armor, and then I canāt shut up about the things I enjoy to a degree where Iām confident I annoy people and will begin to retreat again. Iām sorry. Itās just how I am.
I am but a humble scribe, subject to the whims of our esteemed Emperor Geta.
ā Masterlist ā Taglist ā
Rules
This is an 18+ only blog. Itās just how it has to be. This is not flexible.
I reserve the right to not fulfill an ask or request if the vibes just arenāt vibing, or if it fills me with dread. Thank you for understanding. Itās never personal, it just sometimes isnāt the right time.
Do not feed my creative works into any AI please. We do this for free. Itās free labor, not an endless content creation mill.
I write for Emperor Geta, rarely āCalla if Iām in the right mood, as well as various other Joseph Quinn characters, so far including:
Michael (Hoard),
Sam (Warfare), and
Johnny Storm.
I have also added Tommy (Warfare), as well as Eddie Munson and Prince Paul, but these are mostly for monthly prompts and with rare exception might see other writings added.
I tend to write my boys a bit on the softer side (this feels like a gross understatement). I donāt love being mean, even if it is only temporary. Iām not saying Iād never explore anything else, but donāt expect anything super dark from me.
Summary: Bob just canāt get enough of you. Itāll ruin him. He doesnāt care.
Word count: 1.6k
Tags and warnings: Smut, possessiveness and clinginess, brief mention of addiction, established relationship, Bob thinking heās a god (talk your shit, king), Bobās POV, the Void, Bob/Sentry/Void are all the same person (just different aspects of Bob), Bob is smitten and besotted and in love, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. 18+! Minors, please do not interact!
(I kept getting this urge to explore some of the darker aspects of Bobās personality and powers andā¦here we are. This is more like two smaller fics that are similar enough to pair together in one post. I donāt think itās overly graphic or dark, but please heed the warnings, just in case! Thank you as always to the wonderful @getaapologist for sitting through my nonsense!)
Bob Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist
A sentry's duty is to keep watch for danger. And slowly, over time, Bob grows more confident in his role as the Golden Guardian of Good.
Keep watch. Control access. Guard.
Control.
And he does. He learns to control his powers, learns to keep The Void locked away. He lives up to his title. Heās good. He doesnāt hurt, he doesnāt destroy. He helps, he protects. Heās finally what he wanted to be all long.
Something better. Something more.
And the more he helps ā the more he protects, rescues, saves ā the more he wants to do it. It becomes an unbearable itch that he canāt quite reach, can never truly satisfy.
It becomes an addiction. The power he holds. Valentina was right ā he is a God. And shouldnāt a God use his powers for good? Shouldnāt he keep the helpless humans safe from danger? From themselves?
And then thereās you. Oh, heād burn the world to the ground to protect you. And slowly, these thoughts come to him, over and over. Unrelenting. Persistent. At first, he tries to ignore them. They feel irrational, delusional even. But then, gradually, they start to wear him down.
They start to make sense.
Youāre the best thing thatās ever happened to him. He couldnāt bear to lose you. He doesnāt want to remember the man he was before he met you. And he wonāt ever have to, if he can just keep you safe.
After all, youāre as human as the rest of them. Shouldnāt he protect you too? Protect you from harm, from those who would hurt you, from those who would use you to hurt him?
Shouldnāt he keep you safe from yourself? Doesnāt a God know whatās best?
At first, itās subtle. Barely noticeable. Blink and youād miss it. Bobās always been a little clingy with you. You've always thought it was sweet. Itās nice to be needed. You know what he's been through, and it feels like a privilege for him to trust you so much.
But then, as time goes by, it starts to change. Grow. Wherever you go, he always seems to be there first.
It doesnāt go unnoticed by the others.
Walker passes by the two of you sitting together at the kitchen table one afternoon. There's no mistaking his blatant grimace.
āCanāt remember the last time I saw one of you without the other,ā he snarks. āItās getting creepy.ā
A sudden crack erupts through the room as the table collapses in pieces beneath Bobās palms. Before you can process whatās happened, heās on his feet, pulling you away from the mess. He checks you over with care, turning your hands over in his and muttering to himself about splinters.
You and Walker exchange a glance while heās distracted. All too soon, Bobās pulling your attention back to him, a worried expression on his face as he caresses your cheek. The ground feels as though itās been pulled out from under you. Youāve never seen his eyes so golden before.
The Watchtower is a sanctuary, but now, itās starting to feel like a gilded sage. When was the last time you left? The last time Bob didnāt have an excuse, a distraction? Something to keep you by his side, under his watchful eye.
And when you finally confront him about it, you expect denial. An argument. Lies.
But thatās not what happens at all.
He paces the room, back and forth, head bowed as he speaks, hands wringing over and over.
āYou donāt understand how dangerous it is out there,ā he says, voice low and laced with something you canāt quite place.
Something that makes heat pool in your stomach and twists it in knots all at once.
You watch him as he moves, as his blinks quicken, as his jaw tics over and over.
āWhat if something were to happen? And I- I wasnāt there. If I wasnāt fast enough. If I couldnāt-ā
His voice cracks, and he stops suddenly, blinking back tears.
āI have to keep you safe,ā he whispers despairingly.
He crosses the room to where you sit, dropping to his knees at your feet. Forehead pressed to your thighs as his hands search clumsily for yours. His grip is just teetering on the wrong side of too tight.
āI know itās wrong of me to try and keep you all to myself, but I- I couldnāt forgive myself if anything happened to you,ā he murmurs in a choked voice.
When he raises his head, his eyes are as bright as the sun. And while you wipe away his tears ā try and reassure him, sate him ā you donāt notice how the shadows creep up over you both until itās too late.
The more Bob helps, the more he wants to help. Until it's a never-ending cycle. The better a person he is ā the more helpful, more useful ā the better he feels about himself. This is his purpose in life. Every time he felt helpless, powerlessā¦ None of that matters anymore.
He can cast it all off. A snake shedding its skin.
He finally feels fulfilled. And that feeling gives him a rush that he can't get enough of. Gradually, that meek, shy man starts to disappear, and in his place stands the man with the power of a thousand suns. He's not as easy to read anymore ā there's a confidence about him that might seem arrogant coming from someone so mild-mannered, and a wild energy that leaves the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.
Where he used to skirt around things, explain himself in mumbled words, he's now calm and collected in how he speaks. He knows what he wants. And what he wants is to keep you safe from harm.
You'll see things his way. He knows you will.
And eventually, you do. It all starts to make sense. The world is such a dangerous place ā how did it take you so long to realise?
He really does know what's best for you. How could you possibly know better than a God?
Rarely are you ever out of his sight. And when you are, he's always quick to find you again. To gather you into his arms, press kisses to your face and tell you that it's alright.
Somewhere along the way, he stopped caring about the world so much. You're his world now. Nothing makes him happier than seeing you happy. Holding you close. Whatever your heart desires ā he'd go through Hell and back for you.
You're all he thinks about. All he cares about. A high he never wants to come down from. You're perfect.
And when he finally has you alone, beneath him, clinging to him like your very life depends on it ā fuck. You're his weakness. He can't let you go. He won't. Not until he pulls you apart, piece by piece, sees exactly how you work, so he can meticulously put you back together again.
Not until he hears you say his name.
He keeps you right on that edge for hours, could keep you there forever ā what does time matter to a God? It's the most blissful torture. He wants to commit every inch of you to memory. Every sound, every sigh and gasp and trembling "oh, God".
And when you're close ā head thrown back, nails leaving welts across his shoulders as you clutch desperately at him ā it only makes him more determined. He needs you to fall apart for him, feels like he'll lose his mind if you don't.
A sharp gasp is pushed from you as it hits you all at once, your back arching, pushing you closer to him.
"Fuck- Bob-"
Exhaled like a prayer. Whispered between clenched teeth.
He doesn't stop. He can't stop. Not until you give him what he wants. You swat at him with a weak hand, tell him to slow down, to let you catch your breath.
His teeth nip the skin beneath your ear, worrying it until he's certain he's left a bruise blooming in his wake.
"Nuh-uh, you know what I want from you," he grits out, lost in the feeling of you. "You promised."
Having this power over you ā this control ā there's nothing else in the world that can compare to it.
You blink up at him, swallowing hard as you try to think. He doesn't want you to think, he loves you like this ā without a care in the world.
"What are you-"
Realisation seems to dawn. Your eyes widen.
"Bob, I did- I did say it. I swear I did."
He looks at you, drinks you in ā your parted lips, the cute little line between your brows. He's so in love with you, it makes him delirious.
He laughs then, a low breath of a sound that sends a shiver through you.
"Maybe you did," he concedes. Not once does he stop. "Sounded too much like God to me."
The blissed out, dreamy smile that spreads across your face could do more damage to him than any monster he's ever gone up against. He presses a line of kisses along the edge of your jaw, until you're squirming.
"You think you can try again for me, baby?" he asks softly. A plea and a command all at once. "One more? Please?"
You're both in for a long night. But he's going to make sure every second of it is worth your while. Couldn't forgive himself if he didn't. He might be more powerful than a God, but youā you rule him, mind, body and soul.
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Summary: Bob is the undisputed king of games night. No oneās ever been able to dethrone him. But you have an idea that just might work.
Word count: 1.8k
Tags and warnings: Fluff, established relationship, squad shenanigans, no pronouns for reader, no use of Y/N.
(I have no excuse for this. I just wanted to write another fic of @getaapologist's husband being the super cute sweetheart that he is.)
Bob Floyd Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist
As much as they love to pick on each other like siblings, none of the Daggers ever have a bad thing to say about Bob. Well, except for Hangman - who always has something to say about everyone - but even he has to really think about it before he can give him any shit. To which Bob always just blinks and politely tells him that he doesnāt understand the joke.
He told you once in confidence that he understands perfectly well, but he knows how much it gets under Jakeās skin when he pretends and makes him explain the joke to death. You, of course, treat this information like itās top secret military intel. He's not always as serious as people seem to think.
There is, however, one little thing that drives the entire squad mad about Bob.
And itās that he canāt be beaten at video games.
Whenever everyone's able to get together and hang out, someone will inevitably make the mistake of asking to play a few rounds of Mario Kart, which is immediately followed with a collective groan from the rest of the room. Ironically, it's never Bob's idea - he's just happy to be spending time with his friends. He doesn't really mind what they do.
The first time you suggest it, you're quickly left wondering if you've killed someone in Jake's family and somehow forgotten all about it from the way he glares at you.
"What?" you ask, oblivious. "I thought it would be fun."
"You're joking, right?" he shoots back. He still looks deadly serious. "You really want to take a perfectly nice, peaceful night between friends and ruin it like that?"
You're obviously missing something. Natasha rolls her eyes, leaning across you to lift a can of soda from the table.
"There's a few things about your dear Bob that you haven't found out yet, clearly," she says with a smile that knows too much.
This only leaves you more confused. You and Bob have been together for a few months now, and while he isn't always the most forthcoming, it's less to do with the fact that he's hiding something, and more of a combination of shyness and not having anything to hide in the first place. You're confident that you know him pretty well by this point.
At the sound of his name, Bob looks up from his slice of pizza, eyebrows knit in a slight frown as though he's in trouble.
"Wait, you haven't said anything?" Mickey asks him.
Bob just blinks. "About what?" he asks in return.
At least he's as clueless as you are. That's reassuring.
Jake looks as if he's about to lose his mind. "About King Bob!" he exclaims, throwing his arms up with enough force that poor Reuben almost loses his pizza to the floor.
"Dude, c'mon," he snarks, elbowing Jake in the ribs.
In spite of your confusion, you find yourself laughing. "Sorry, King Bob?" you ask, lightly prodding Bob in the side. "What are you hiding from me?"
He sighs as he adjusts his glasses. "It's nothing. Just a silly nickname."
Mickey looks offended. "We've never been able to beat you at a single game - ever - and you're calling that silly?"
"It's like he's cheating, he's that good," Natasha explains. "And Mario Kart's the worst one. None of us have ever won a race against him."
āAnd he always picks that damn lizard, which is an insult, honestly,ā Jake gripes.
āHis name is Yoshi,ā Bob mutters, low enough that only you hear it. His frown deepens then, as if he's genuinely annoyed.
Now you're curious. You had no idea that Bob had an competitive streak. He's been doing a great job of hiding it from you.
After a bit more moaning and complaining from Jake - because it wouldn't be him if he didn't - Natasha sets up the console, digging the extra controllers out of the drawer. A couple of games in and you soon find out that Bob doesn't seem to have a competitive bone in his body, and this is what pisses Jake off so much. Not so much that he's untouchable, but that he's so polite about it. He doesn't brag, doesn't shit-talk; he just calmly crosses the finish line every single time like he's on a pleasant Sunday drive. He makes it look zen. Jake looks like he's about to kill someone.
Slowly, an idea begins to form in your head.
Reuben offers you his controller after yet another victory for Bob. "You wanna try the impossible?" he asks with a grin.
You shake your head. Thankfully, he doesn't insist, passing it to Bradley instead.
This plan of yours is going to require some privacy. And if it goes well, you just might be able to dethrone the king once and for all.
It's a few nights later when you decide to set things in motion. Bob's sitting cross-legged on the floor at the coffee table, putting the finishing touches on his latest model fighter jet. He's so meticulous about keeping everything clean as he works - newspaper pages cover the table in a neat formation, and he's wearing an old T-shirt kept solely for painting - and yet somehow he always ends up with flecks of paint scattered across his face, like colourful little freckles.
You don't tell him. You never do. Once he's finished, you always make him sit next to you and take your time cleaning each tiny splatter yourself. He gets so flustered every time; it's more than enough of a reward for your work.
"Hey, I was thinkingā¦" you start casually, as you carefully clean the paint from Bob's skin.
He tries his best to focus on you as you speak, but with his glasses off, you can tell he's struggling, because his eyes keep crossing the smallest amount. You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing at how cute he looks.
"Since you're done with your painting," you continue, once you've composed yourself. "Why don't we play a few rounds of Mario Kart?"
Bob's eyebrows raise, as if he's surprised by that. "Sure," he replies simply.
Well, that was easy. You finish up, running your fingers through his hair to push it out of his face as he puts his glasses back on. His cheeks are slightly ruddy from where the more stubborn flecks were.
You leave him to tidy up his supplies while you set up the console. Now onto phase two of your plan. This part might be a bit trickier to pull off.
You pass Bob a controller as he makes himself comfortable on the couch next to you. As always, he immediately chooses Yoshi, patiently waiting for you to go through the different characters. It doesn't matter who you play as, you know you haven't a chance of winning. Still, you want to make it look as though you don't have a secret agenda. You're just having a nice time playing video games with your boyfriend, that's all.
About twenty minutes pass, and Bob's won every single round, as predicted. There were a few times when you came pretty close, but every time, he managed to evade defeat. It doesn't matter how you play, what character you pick, how you hold the controller - he's untouchable. And like every other time, he's an absolute sweetheart when he wins. No bragging or boasting, or rubbing it in your face. Nothing. Just that pleased little smile. From anyone else, it might come off as condescending or patronising. But with Bob, it's different. He really is a quiet winner - nothing more to it.
Time to instigate the next part of the plan. You watch as Yoshi crosses the finish line a whole lap ahead of everyone else before letting out a big sigh. As predicted, Bob's immediately checking in.
āYou okay, honey?ā he asks, and thereās not a trace of sarcasm in his voice at all. āWe can play something else, if you want.ā
You shake your head, letting out another exaggerated sigh. āNo, itās okay. Itās justā¦What would you say to making things a little moreā¦interesting?"
You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. Oh, you've definitely got his attention.
āWhat do you mean?ā he asks.
āWellā¦Why donāt we make a bet?" you reply, choosing every word carefully. "If you win, I give up trying to beat you and you can stay the undisputed king of Mario Kart. But if I winā¦ā
You pause for dramatic effect. Bob leans in closer. Youāve got him hooked. Perfect.
āā¦I get to kiss you.ā
The whole idea is ridiculous, and you're well aware of it. You and Bob are in a relationship - you can kiss whenever you like. But life's far too serious sometimes, and you're nothing if not a little stubborn. You turn to him with your hand held out resolutely.
āDeal?ā you ask.
You're fully committed to pretending to be oh so serious about it all, not breaking eye contact for a second. It's hard to miss the faint tinge of pink creeping into Bob's cheeks. He stops, as if he's processing what you've said, before taking your hand in his.
"Deal."
You're not sure how this next part's going to go. Bob might not be the most competitive, but you're also having a bit of a hard time imagining him just throwing away his unchallenged title over something as silly as this.
So, of course you're surprised when not thirty seconds into the next race, Yoshi's cart slows to a complete stop. There's a soft thump against the couch, and when you look down, it's to find that Bob's dropped his controller. He looks at you, almost expectantly.
"I think my controller's broken," he says quietly, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "Guess I lose."
It takes you a second, before your own controller slips out of your hand to join his. You're not quite sure which one of you moves first - what really matters is that your plan actually worked. And you can't even be annoyed at him for not putting any effort in. Because it might not mean all that much to him, but he still threw his undefeated title away - for you.
By the time you pull away from him, the tinge from before has spread to a flush right across his cheeks. You don't think you'll ever get used to just how smitten he is with you. You're no better.
"You know you didn't technically lose, right?" you tell him, as he catches his breath. "I didn't finish the race either."
He squints over your shoulder at the screen. "Mmā¦No, you definitely stopped after I did. You win," he insists.
He's rooting around the couch cushions before he finishes speaking, quickly finding the remote and turning the TV off. Before you can even think about wrestling it away from him, he's tossing it out of your reach and pulling you in for another kiss. You don't fight him on it - after all, this was all your idea.
Bob might not technically be the king of video games anymore, but that little secret can stay between you and him. As far as you're concerned, no one else needs to know.
Summary: Bob's had something on his mind for a while now. Tonight feels like the right time to finally do something about it.
Word count: 1.5k
Tags and warnings: Smut (not super explicit), fluff, reader and Bob are married, brief mentions of alcohol, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. 18+! Minors, please don't interact!
(This is revenge for the amazing, beautiful, gorgeous Bob Reynolds-related hell @getaapologist put me through recently. Love you!!)
Bob Floyd Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist
"I wanna try something."
It's a thought that Bob's been having for a while now, and tonight feels like the perfect time to finally do something about it.
You're curled up together on the couch, his arm around your waist as your head rests against his chest. You've both had a few drinks, and that nervous feeling that's been plaguing him seems to have disappeared. He feels brave; he's not going to waste it.
"What?" you ask lazily, shivering as Bob's fingers walk a playful line along your back.
"Do you trust me?"
You look up at him then, a little confused, but you're smiling nonetheless.
"Of course I do. Bob, what are you-"
Thatās all he needs to hear before his knees are hitting the floor with a soft thump. Your confusion only seems to grow as you try to straighten yourself up.
"Honey, are you okay?" you ask.
He doesn't answer; his hands find the bare skin of your legs as he shuffles closer. Sometimes he gets so far into his own head about things like this that he ends up talking himself out of it altogether.
But he wants to. God, he wants.
How could he not? You're the prettiest thing he's ever seen. From the very first moment he saw you, he knew he was a goner. There'd be no one else for him. No one that could ever make him feel the way you do. And he wants to tell you, wants to show you, but sometimes it becomes so overwhelming that all he can do is stare.
He's smitten with you.
People talk about the 'honeymoon phase' - the couple of months where everything's perfect and you don't see any of the other person's flaws through that haze of early love. And then, over time, the haze lifts, the cracks begin to show, the less sturdy relationships crumble and fall to pieces.
Bob doesn't believe in the honeymoon phase. Because it's always felt perfect with you. Even when you argue, even on the nights he can count on only one hand where one of you has gone to bed in a bad mood, he knows that it'll always be okay. There's not a doubt in his mind about that. There's nothing the two of you can't work through and make right.
He hopes someday that he won't need a little liquid courage to spur him on. He's working on it. But right now, he has you exactly where he wants you - where he needs you- and he's not about to let it slip away.
Strong hands run along the underside of your thighs, sliding up to your hips with a gentle squeeze. His fingers hook into the elastic of your sleep shorts. Giving the fabric a little tug, he lets it snap lightly against your skin. He doesn't miss the way you jolt.
"You just say the word and Iāll stop," he murmurs.
The way you're looking at him, like you're hanging onto his every word, does things to him that he couldn't explain even if he tried.
"I trust you," you tell him. Your voice is barely more than a whisper, but it's firm. Resolute.
Your pajama shorts soon find the floor, underwear following quickly after, and that's when it really seems to click with you. What he's about to do.
A nervous laugh escapes you at being so suddenly exposed, and your legs reflexively press together.
"Come on, no hiding. Let me see you," he tells you softly, with a kiss to your knee.
When he looks up at you again, he almost wishes he hadn't. Your cheeks are flushed - from the alcohol or from him, he can't tell. Your eyes are half-lidded, a shy smile curling the corners of your lips. You're like an angel. Beautiful.
You reach for his glasses, carefully removing them and setting them to one side. He blinks hard, trying to focus. His eyesight is terrible without them, but right now, they'll only get in his way.
Besides, he doesn't need them to see you. He has every part of your face, every line and slope and curve, committed to memory. He'd know you in the dark.
Slowly, you let your knees part, and his breath hitches in his throat. To know that you'll let him do this - that you trust him to do this - is something that he'll never take for granted. He knows how shy you can be at the best of times.
He needs to show you how much it means to him. Make every second of it worth your time.
His touch is gentle but firm against your thighs, pushing ever so slightly to make more room for himself. You get the message, yielding under his touch. He starts slow, pressing soft lines of kisses along the length of sensitive skin exposed to him, from your knee right up to your upper thigh. He feels your fingers thread through his hair and a sudden shiver runs down his spine. He reaches up, placing his hand over yours. Squeezing a little. Hoping you'll understand.
Tentatively, your grip tightens. A groan slips from him, deep and low, and that seems to encourage you. You pull again, harder this time, and that's about all Bob can take. He needs you, and he needs you now.
You're fond of telling him that he's a tease because he drags everything out, but he would never dream of doing that to you. He thinks it's cruel. But he can't help that he wants to take his time, explore every inch of you, give you everything you deserve and more. Sometimes, it's not until the early hours of the morning that he's finally satisfied.
You can't accuse him of being a tease now.
The sharp gasp that fills the air from the very first press of his tongue against you might be the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. He wants to hear it again. Needs to hear it. Needs to hear you, feel you fall apart in his hands. You leave him feeling woozy in the sweetest way. Like he's laid down on his bed after a couple of drinks and the room's slowly spinning around him.
He could become addicted to you, if he let himself.
He moves again, his hands steadfast against the backs of your legs as he drags you closer, until your heels are digging into his shoulders blades. There's a part of him that's struggling to keep it together, struggling to stop himself from pulling you into his lap and burying himself inside you.
But a bigger part of him wants this. Wants to be on his knees for you, let you take your own pleasure from him like this, feel you fall apart against his tongue. He can't pretend there's anything selfless about what he's doing.
He wants to worship you like you deserve.
He doesn't let up for a second, determined to pull every gasp and moan and whine from you that he can. And when you say his name, a breathy whisper of a sound, God- Itās almost his undoing. He's a grown man, and just the sound of his wife crying out his name has him almost coming untouched. That's what you do to him. The power you have over him.
And when you finally break for him, when the tension finally snaps and you cry out, fingers tight in his hair as your back arches, he thinks this might be what heaven feels like. He holds you close, not letting up for a second until he feels you collapse against the couch again, until you gently swat at his back.
"Okay, okay," you tell him, your voice trembling as a breathless laugh leaves you.
Reluctantly, he sits up. His back protests from the position he's been in for so long, but when he sees your face - all smiles and flushed skin as you try to catch your breath, the pain seems to vanish.
"Oh God, you're a mess," you say, embarrassed. "Let me just-"
The rest of what you were about to say dies in your throat. Pushing past his rising nerves, he holds your gaze as he cleans himself up, fingertips dragging along the corners of his mouth as he licks his lips.
"Got it," he replies, and he's surprised at how steady his voice sounds.
You laugh again, and this time when you reach for him, he doesn't stop you. You pull him close, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him breathless. His palms rest against the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. It's impossible for either of you to ignore how hard he still is.
"I wanna return the favour," you murmur between kisses. "Let me?"
The word 'yes' has barely left his mouth before you're pushing him against the couch and climbing into his lap. His hand fumbles along the cushions, searching for his glasses. There's no way he's going to miss a single second of this. He wouldn't dare. You're like a dream he never wants to wake up from.
summary: bob lets you see the less reserved side of him through the excitement of a new relationship and accidental confessions
content: reader is a bartender, bob has a habit of watching her from across the room, some sweet relationship fluff and of course lots of smut, dirty talk from our shy king, mutual masturbation, size kink kinda but not really (idk bob talks about how small readers hands are compared to his dick so thereās that), confessions of love, bob getting turned on by emotional intimacy, unprotected sex, cream pie (reader explicitly asks bob to come in her for the first time and his brain short circuits)
word count: 3.6k
authorās note: another day another smut about a man named bobā¦ really though, with the lewis pullman obsession taking over every fiber of my being, it was only a matter of time before i wrote for bob floyd. also i didnāt do an extensive amount of research for this, so apologies in advance if itās not exactly ālore accurateā
The night Bob Floyd finally worked up the courage to ask you out, you were almost too stunned to respond.Ā
It was a simple āWhat time do you get off?ā delivered in a severely underconfident tone, with a weak smile accompanying it.Ā
He had been watching you for weeks. Going to The Hard Deck with other members of his class to let off steam, and subsequently seeing you working behind the bar every night.Ā
You were always so busy taking orders and pouring drinks, but it never stopped you from feeling his stare from across the room.Ā
You noticed him right away; always sat in the back of the crowd, quietly observing with a content smile on his lips.Ā
He didnāt talk much, not even the times he found himself face to face with you at the bar top, just a quick greeting and a straight forward drink order, but his eyes spoke volumes. They were soft and teeming with curiosity. His stare always met yours, but never longer than five or six seconds. However, that short time was enough to have both of you flustered and searching the room in a desperate attempt to play off the mutual attraction.
But Bob was oblivious to your crush on him.
He had convinced himself that there was no way on earth he had a chance with you. Every time he glanced your way and found you already looking in his direction, he felt a twinge of embarrassment for getting caught in the actā stealing a glance at the pretty bartender that was way out of his league.Ā
It wasnāt until the sixth or seventh time everyone found their way to bar for drinks, that a few of the other guys gave him enough flack to actually influence him to ask you out. Succumbing to peer pressure and the notion that maybe, just maybe, you were interested in him too, he let his hesitant feet carry him to the bar.
It was a round-about way of asking you on a dateā inquiring what time you got off workā but he was far too chicken to ask you out directly. He figured this way he had a better chance of getting let down easily.Ā
So it took him by surprise when you answered a straight forward āNine oāclock,ā with a sweet smile and your eyes fearlessly locked on his.Ā
That was the night he took you to get ice cream and the two of you walked along the beach, talking for hours with nothing but the glow of the moon reflecting off the tide to illuminate your path on the sand.
He kissed you that night. On the steps of your front porch with his hands holding either side of your face, he gently leaned in. His lips were softātimid in their descent, but confident once they met with yours. There was an undeniable passion in the way his mouth moved. Even with a simple goodnight kiss, it was obvious to you that there was something more there, hidden and burning beneath his movements.Ā
That soft spoken spark grew into a blazing fire over the next few weeks.
It almost felt silly to you nowā your first impression of himā a quiet, shy, and almost dorky man, who you figured might stumble over his words and follow your lead like a lost puppy.
He couldnāt have been further from that when the two of you were alone together.
He may have been shy, but he was far from quiet. There was no doubt that Bob had no trouble holding his own behind closed doorsā specifically your bedroom door.
The first time he had you pinned against your bedroom wall, hands roaming down your body and his lips on your collarbone, your knees nearly buckled. Youād been a clumsy kissing mess all the way through your front door and across your living room, until you finally pulled him past the threshold of your bedroom, and let him take the reins.
He carefully pressed your body between his chest and the wall, wasting no time as he explored every inch of you.
Youād severely misjudged his level of experience. Either that or he was gifted with the god given talent of actually knowing how to please a woman. Whatever it was, it resulted in the two of you spending many sleepless nights tangled in your sheets.Ā
Your honeymoon phase of complete toe curling bliss was cut incredibly short by Bob getting enlisted to train for an elite mission alongside some of the other graduates from his class.Ā
While it was a huge honor for him to be involved with such a high profile mission, it meant you saw less of each other.Ā
A lot less.Ā
Not only did he spend most days training from sun up to sun down, but the details of the mission were highly classified, meaning they kept close tabs on all of the recruits involved.Ā
Of course, he still found time to see you, it was just far less than you were both used to after nearly two months of enjoying unrestricted time together.Ā
Although it was temporary, the sporadic and rushed nature of his visits never failed to keep you on your toes. Some days youād see him, other days you didnāt.Ā
This, however, was the longest youād gone without seeing him since he was put on the assignment.Ā
Four days.
Sure it didnāt seem like much, but with the blooming nature of your newly christened relationship, four days might as well have been four weeks.Ā
And as you noticed the light hues of orange threatening to cover the clouds outside your kitchen window, you feared four days might turn into five.
And then a knock.
And another.
The two hurried taps against your front door shouldnāt have sent adrenaline coursing through your veins, but you knew it was him. And the excitement of a surprise visit from Bob was enough to have you eagerly striding to your front door, ripping it open at lightning speed.Ā
There he was. Hair falling slightly from its gel slicken place, pins perfectly placed at the pocket of his uniform, glasses sitting cordially on the bridge of his nose, and a wide beaming smile stretching across his lips.Ā
A matching smile burned at your cheeks and a cheerful greeting was due to follow, only he crashed his lips into yours before you even had a chance to speak.Ā
The weight of his body met yours, causing you to stumble backward into your living room. Instinctively, his hand found your lower back, arm snaking around your waist and holding you steady as he worked to guide your feet, walking you further into your entry way with his lips still attached to yours.Ā
He wasted no time. Showing you just how much he missed you in that grueling 96 hour period where he was rendered unable to taste your lips on his.Ā
His hands were quick to find the hem of your shirt, pushing it up your body and allowing you to help him throw it to the floor.Ā
In the time it took you to pull the material over your head, your lips were free long enough to get a few words out, āSo I donāt even get a hi, how are you?ā
He smiled, but it was unclear if the source of his delight was from your sarcastic remark or the view of your newly exposed skin.
It wasnāt long before you felt his sloppy grin press into your neck, lips peppering gentle kisses just underneath your jaw.Ā
āHiā His voice was a muffled hum against your skin.
āHow are you?ā His question teetered on mocking, but the sweet way the words tumbled from his lips and into the crook of your neck made it all the more endearing.
āBetter now,ā the answer to his question slipped past your lips as you tried your best not to moan with him lightly sucking at a particularly sensitive spot.
It was muscle memory the way your hands found his belt. The motions seemed to be an ingrained pathway in your brain as your fingertips pulled it free from the loops of his pants.
You could feel his breath hitch against your neck, as your hands found the button of his pants.Ā
āGod, I couldnāt stop thinking about you.ā His lips were still moving against your skin, moving back up your neck as your hand slid into the front of his pants, dipping below the waistband of his underwear.Ā
āYou were on my mind, every minute of every day.ā His voice was low in your ear as your fingers wrapped around his dick that was already straining against the tight confines of his pants.Ā
āWhat did you think about?ā The question sounded innocent as it purred from your lips, but paired with the way your hand was shoved down his pants, slowly stroking him, your words were aimed to kill.Ā
āThought about your lips, and how soft they always feel on mine.ā He placed a quick kiss to your mouth the second the words left his tongue.
āThought about your handsā¦ā He pulled away from the kiss, his arms still wrapped around your waist holding you close, but his gaze fell between your bodies at your hand pumping agonizingly slow in his khakis.Ā
āHow small they are when theyāre wrapped around me.ā It was like he was in trance, his eyes fixed on your wrist just barely visible at the top of his pants. He watched as it moved in time with your palm gliding against his length, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.Ā
His words were confident but not arrogant. The confessionsā regardless of how dirtyā were kindly spoken. Each one delivered in an earnest tone despite the shaky breaths expelled between them. He was trying his best to keep his composure while your hand busied itself in his briefs.Ā Ā
Breaking out of his daze, his eyes found yours again, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he let one of his hands slide to the front of your body, tracing the skin along the waistband of your pants.Ā
āThought about how youāre always so wet for me.ā Those words held a bit more sensuality as his voice dropped to a raspier octave, and his hand dipped into the thin material of your panties, fingers wasting no time as they found the arousal pooling at your centerā evidence of his hushed admission.
His name left your lips in a soft gasp as he teased your entrance with the pad of his middle finger.Ā
There you both were, standing in the middle of your living room with your hands shoved down each otherās pants.
While somewhat pathetic, the desperate sighs of relief and impulsive moans pouring into the space between you were anabashadly hot. It was a primitive display of excitement in finally feeling one another.Ā Ā
He leisurely pressed his finger into you, watching the way your lips parted at the feeling.Ā
A quiet whimper found its way past your opened mouth and Bob groaned in response,
āThought about those little sounds you make.ā
Almost as if the warmth of your pussy wrapped around his finger was too much to handle, his head fell into the crook of your neck.Ā
Your hand was still keeping a steady rhythm, stroking him in his pants, when he mumbled into your neck, āKeep making them for me.ā
He was referring to the soft moans and unsolicited whines that bubbled up from your chest every time he curled his finger into you. Adding another digit and working against the restraint of your pants, he had every intention of hitting that perfect spot that would send profanities dripping from your tongue, except you grabbed his wrist, halting his movements and forcing his head from its resting place on your shoulder. He gave you a raised eyebrow and slightly tilted his head in question to your abrupt interruption.Ā
āBobby.ā His name filled the room like a songā soft and sweet from your lips.
āCan you just fuck me already?ā The words were rushed and breathless, and the look on his face was a mix between surprise and utter amusement as he freed his hand from your pants and effortlessly guided your body onto the nearby couch.Ā
With your back against the cushions, you maneuvered your hips, pushing your pants and underwear down your legs and tossing them aside, while Bob stood over you eagerly undressing himself until the two of you were completely bare and he was hovering above you, kissing you with passion fuelled anticipation.Ā
He lined himself up at your entrance, eyes flickering between your face and the space between you where your bodies met, watching as he pushed himself into you, slowly stretching you to take every inch of him.Ā
āFuck- you feel so good.ā Your words melted into a moan as he continued to push into you, an agonizing pleasure overtaking your body as he took his time pushing in to the hilt.Ā
āGod I love you.ā He hummed out, gazing at the way he disappeared between your thighs.Ā
The second the words left his lips heād filled you completely, dick fully sheathed inside your plush walls, and all he could do was freeze.Ā
He didnāt mean to say it out loud.
Neither of you had used the āL wordā yet.Ā
He knew he loved you weeks agoā three weeks ago to be exactā when you were wearing his t-shirt and cooking him breakfast while you giggled at one of his stories from class.Ā
It hit him like a semi truck in that moment, he cared so deeply for you, wanted to spend every waking moment in your presence, wanted to see you in every single one of his t-shirts, and would do anything to make you laugh over and over again just to hear the sound of it. He loved you, but he refused to say it first.Ā
His overwhelming fear of rejection kept him from making the outward profession of his feelings too soon, yet here he was, balls deep in you on your living room couch, the three simple words echoing in the silence of humiliation.Ā
You looked up at him, waiting for any sort of follow up clarification or retraction, only to be met with a very serious and slightly apprehensive stare, and Bobās heaving chest.Ā
Your hands found the back of his neck, sliding affectionately into his hair and bringing his face down closer to yours.Ā
āI love you too.āĀ
The palpable tension pulling at his muscles immediately melted, and his eyes softened at hearing the reciprocated confession in your gentle voice.Ā
It was impossible to stop himself from lowering his head into yours, kissing you for what felt like the hundredth time in the last half hour, as relief flooded throughout his body, and crashed into your lips.Ā
Still buried inside you, his hips pulled back before thrusting into you with measured intensity.Ā
Over and over again, his hips met with yours as your hands tugged at his hair with messy moans escaping through locked lips.
āSay it again.ā His demand was sweet and sincere, as he pulled away from the kiss, continuing to drive into you at the same satisfying pace, with his eyes watching carefully as the words floated from your lips once more.
āI love you, I love you, I love you.ā It sounded through the room like a quiet chant on each of your moans, whispering words of praise and affection at every one of his thrusts.
The sweet nature of the moment was drowned out by the guttural groans coming from the man above you. It was like every time you uttered those three little words, something primal lit up in his brain, telling him to push into you harderā faster. Hitting the same sweet spot with each jerk of his hips, and you could feel the familiar coil of release tightening in your abdomen.Ā
āOh sweetheart, keep squeezinā me like that.ā His voice was a breathless groan, threatening to crack at the pleasure of feeling you pulse around him.Ā Ā
You obliged, tightening around him with every stroke of his cock, throwing your head even further back into the pillows underneath you.
Your hands that were tangled in his hair found their way down, tracing the muscles of his back.Ā
Feeling your hands running down his body sent Bobās mind into overdrive, as his head dipped down to kiss and nip at your chest.Ā
His mouth worked skillfully, tongue dancing around your nipples, sucking eagerly anywhere and everywhere he could. His actions drew groans of appeasement from you as you laid underneath him, his thrusts working in tandem with his mouth to send you over the edge.Ā
You squirmed and moaned, nails raking into his back as you tensed up, warning signals of your impending climax.Ā
āThatās it sweetheart.ā In a pussy-drunk haze, he let out a mumble against your chest, feeling the way you were freezing up underneath him, grasping at his back, letting him know you were close.Ā
His words acted as the final push, tossing you into a pool of utter euphoria as you came around him with a pathetic squeak of his name.Ā
He slowed his thrusts for a second, a gentle hand coming to rest on your face while he met you in a kiss. Sweet whispers of praise left his lips as you came out of your orgasm induced fog, a haphazard smile painted on your face.Ā
His thumb rubbed back and forth across your cheek, his hips stalling with his dick still pushing against your now soft and swollen walls that tensed around him repeatedly.Ā
āSo perfectā¦ā His eyes gazed down at you with nothing but affection swimming in them.Ā
Now it was your turn to let something spew from your psyche, completely unfilteredā
āI want you to come in me.ā
You could hear him audibly swallow, as his eyes stayed on yours.Ā
While youād had sex countless times, in plenty of different positions, with condoms, without condomsā relying on the pullout method and the birth control pills you took religiously every night to do their jobā youād never gone into this territory before.Ā
āA-Are you sure?ā For the first time since youād known him, Bob stumbled over his words. His eyes searching yours in an effort to ensure that your request was genuine.
Without a single word, you just nodded your head, hands gently running across his back.Ā
You wanted this. More than wantedā you craved it.Ā
In your mind there was absolutely no other way for this meeting on your couch to end. You knew it was riskyā stupid even, but you needed to feel him in every way possible.Ā
Without needing any more reassurance, he began to move, pulling out of you and pushing all the way back in, savoring the enveloping warmth of velvet between your legs.Ā
Already sensitive and still working your way down from your high, the little sounds you were making in rhythm with each of his movements sent every ounce of blood in his body straight to his dick.
Your moans and the sound of your voice asking him to come in you, replayed over and over again in his head, causing him to pick up his pace, desperately chasing his own high.Ā
You braced yourself for his release, hungry to hear that strangled groan you knew would escape his throat when he came.
āCāmon baby, I wanna feel you.ā You were stuck in such a fucked-out headspace that you hardly recognized your own voice as you begged him to finish.
But your words were exactly what he needed to hear for his hips to stutter and a gravelly whine to push past his lips as he spilled into you.
His warmth flooded you, sending your legs wrapping around him.
You pulled him further onto your body as his dick throbbed, sending its sticky heat spreading deeper into you.Ā
Subdued sounds of pleasure and relief filled the room as you both let out an assortment of sighs and moans at the gratification of raw, unrestrained love and desire.Ā
The setting sun sent shades of deep orange and dusty pink into the room, painting the walls and filling the space with an ambiance of peaceful quiet.
Bobās body fell against yours, naked limbs intertwined with one another as you both squeezed next to each other on your couch, his length still buried inside of you, a mess of release spilling onto your thighs, but neither of you cared.
The only thing on your mind was the comfortable weight of his body pressing into you, and his chest rising and falling calmly as his eyelids fluttered closed.Ā
āWe should get up and get cleaned up.ā You attempted to reason with himā and yourself, bringing a hand up to run through his hair.Ā
A huff of air was his only response as he hugged you tighter into him.
āI can make you dinnerā¦āĀ
You thought for sure the offer of a warm meal would entice him, but he didnāt budge.
āJust a quick nap,ā His voice faded into a deep breath as you played with his hair.
āAnd then dinner.ā He opened his eyes a little, peeking at you with a playful smile on his lips.Ā
You smiled back, nodding ever so slightly as his eyes fell closed again.Ā
You snuggled into his chest, fingertips still running through his hair when you heard a content, āI love you,ā leave him in a whisper before he drifted off.
Summary: There's only so long Bob can control the bad thoughts before they become too much for him. Luckily, he isn't alone.
Word count: 2.1k
Tags and warnings: Angst with a fairly happy ending, The Void, mentions of Bob's mental health (mainly anxiety, low self-esteem and fragmented self-talk), mutual attraction, no use of Y/N.
(Bob, I'm so sorry I keep writing miserable fics about you, you deserve to be happy. This is quite similar to one I wrote before, but with this one, I wanted to explore The Void as more of a quieter presence in Bob's mind.)
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Itās only a matter of time.
Theyāll realise what you are. What you really are. And one by one, theyāll leave.
Theyāll leave you alone. Like you deserve.
Clockās ticking.
He thought he was getting better. He really did.
Thought he had a better handle on the voice in his head. He keeps arguing with it, shoving it down, trying to ignoring it, but he's tired. God, he's so tired.
Tired of his own mind beating him down, again and again. Maybe it's right. That voice that slithers around him. Gentle at first, always so gentle. Luring him in, allowing him respite.
It's only a matter of time before it starts to tighten its grip. Pull him closer. Squeeze the air from his lungs. Leave him gasping and screaming. Begging.
He'd give anything to make it go away. He's sick of the pain it brings. But it doesn't matter how far he runs or where he hides. It's all the same. Because he can't outrun himself. Can't outrun what he is. This darkness that festers in him. Like a sickness. Rotting him from the inside out. Infecting everyone around him.
He wants to be alone. But he is alone. That voiceā¦It's his own. Thoughts and words picked up from other people ā people who should have been kinder, better ā but the voice is his. No matter what he does, he's destined to lose.
Soon they'll see. Wouldn't it be better if you left before they realise? You've been feeding them so many lies. They don't know you like I do. I see you for what you really are.
He tried to leave. He really did. But there's always an excuse to stay. A late night talk with Yelena, a training session with Ava, a silly inside joke that Alexei loves to make with him.
Always an excuse. He's so weak. He's going to hurt them. How long can he keep lying to himself? How long can he keep pretending that he isn't dangerous?
And then there's you. God, if he hurt you, he'd never forgive himself. The rest of them are like a family to him, but youā¦
He can't say what you are. If he lost thatā¦
But you will. You always hurt the ones you love.
So he does what he knows best. He retreats. Locks himself away in the furthest room of the Watchtower, away from concerned questions and worried eyes.
If you really cared for any of them, you'd leave. Disappear. Let them forget all about you. But you're a coward. You always have been.
He just wants it to stop.
Bob's been disappearing more and more lately, and it's becoming hard to ignore. You try to give him his space - he's quieter than the others and needs more time to himself - but it's becoming too much, even for him.
The Watchtower is an enormous building, even for the amount of people who occupy it, and some of the rooms furthest from the common area are gathering dust from lack of use.
You're willing to bet that's where Bob's hidden himself away.
You leave under the pretence of wanting to spend some time alone in your room. Whether anyone believes you or not remains to be seen, but depending on Bob's current state, you know that he likely won't appreciate the entire team descending on him like a flock of mother hens. Even just one of you is probably pushing it. But you need to know if he's okay. Call it selfish, but you really miss his company.
You keep as quiet as possible as you make your way across the building. Bob's hearing is sensitive at the best of times, and you don't want to alert him to your presence too early. You can't let him run away before you've even found him.
When you reach the end of the hall, you expect to find the door locked, but you're grateful to find that it opens easily. The room is dark, which doesn't come as a surprise. It's easier for him to hide this way.
Slowly, you close the door behind you, conscious of making any sudden sounds. You close your eyes, letting the silence wash over you. This is the last room. He has to be in here.
There. A sniffle, from the far corner of the room.
"Bob?" you call in a hushed voice.
Muted shuffling against the wooden floorboards. A stifled whimper.
Your stomach drops. Is he hurt?
"Bob?" you call again, soft and low. "Can you make another sound for me? So I know where you are."
You hold yourself still, poised for any minute sound. The silence is unnerving.
"Go away." His voice is hoarse, as if he's been crying.
The room is fairly small and sparsely decorated, and with some concentration, you're able to make your way around the furniture without too much of an issue. Faint lines of evening light fall through the cracks in the curtains, dimly illuminating your way.
Another muffled sniffle, and you've found him. A hunched silhouette on the floor, huddled against the wall.
"Bob?" You carefully crouch down in front of him. Not so close that you might startle him. "Are you hurt?"
A shuffling sound. Shaking his head, perhaps. If he's hurt, you need an answer. You try again.
"No- No, you need to leave. I need you to leave," he begs. "Please."
You squint in the low light, and as your eyes adjust, you begin to make out the shape of him. His head's lowered, chin tucked behind his knees as he hugs them tight to his chest.
Like a frightened child.
"Bob, I'm worried about you," you say gently. "We all are. I know you need your space, and that's okay. But this isn't healthy, you're isolating yourself."
You stretch your hand out to him, to comfort him in some small way.
"I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm going to stay right here with you, for as long as you need me to. Will you let me?"
He flinches as you touch his arm. His head snaps up suddenly, and in one swift movement, your back collides with the floor. The air's forced from you in one quick breath. Bob leans over you, heavy hands pressed to your shoulders. His eyes are wild. You've never seen him like this before. He's scaring you.
As quickly as that, he's gone. Retreats back into his corner liked an animal that's been spooked. He clutches tightly at his hair, whispered sorries tumbling from his trembling lips.
Carefully, so as not to startle him again, you pull yourself upright.
"Bob?" You keep your hands to yourself this time. "Bob."
Over and over, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
"Bob," you say again, firmly. Willing your voice to remain steady. "Listen to me. Please?"
His grip tightens. If you don't stop him, he's going to hurt himself.
"I know you didn't mean what just happened." Every word is chosen carefully. "You're scared. I know. But it's okay. I'm here with you."
His head shakes. You're not sure if he can even hear you.
"You- You have to leave," he mumbles. "Before he- Before I-"
There are parts of Bob that you still don't fully understand. Parts that he does his best to keep hidden. Everyone has secrets. But his can turn people into shadows with barely a thought.
The Void. All of Bob's pain - his rage, his sadness, his despair - brought to life by the Sentry serum. Sometimes it's it, sometimes he. But never I.
"You're not going to hurt me," you tell him. Fear still runs like a current through you, but you believe what you say. "I know you won't. Because you're strong."
A barely stifled sob slips from him, and you press on.
"You are. You're so strong. You don't want to hurt me, and you won't. And I won't leave you."
"But what if I do?" he whispers. "What if I hurt you? What if I lose control and- and-"
He shakes his head again.
"Please. Just- Just go."
Pushing through the thrumming anxiety, you reach for Bob's hands. He clutches harder at himself, reluctant to let go. So you stop trying, lightly running your thumbs back and forth across his skin instead.
"It's okay," you murmur, in an attempt to soothe him. "It's okay."
It takes some coaxing, but gradually, his grip loosens, and his hands slip from his hair. You gently guide them down so he doesn't hurt himself.
"If anything happened to you and it was my faultā¦"
He stops, swallowing another lump in his throat.
"I- I can't let that happen. Youā¦You mean too much to me."
It's the first time he's ever said anything like this. Bob's always been more of a listener than a talker, and it can be hard to tell what he's really thinking. But thisā¦
This feels like an admission. A confession.
Something you've been wanting to hear for a long time. What you've been desperately hoping for.
You take a breath, hoping that you can keep yourself together for a little while longer. For his sake.
"And you mean too much to me to let you fight through this alone," you tell him. "So let me help you. And it's not because I feel like I have to. It's because I want to."
You pause, giving your words the time to sink in. Hoping that Bob's letting them.
"I want to help you, Bob."
You want to keep talking, keep pushing, anything to make him give in and let you care for him. But you know that'll only scare him away. So you wait, sitting quietly in the dark with him for as long as he needs.
It's some time before Bob finally moves, and when he does, he all but collapses into your arms, clinging to you as if he's worried you'll disappear. He's heavy, and the angle is awkward and painful, but none of that matters right now. All you care about is that he's letting you in.
The light outside is gone completely by the time you and Bob leave. He trails after you in the dark, neither of you saying a word. He's exhausted after what he's been through, and you're not faring much better.
Bob's room is your first stop. Even if he knows the Watchtower as well as you - better, perhaps - you wouldn't feel right leaving him to find his way alone.
You're about to say goodnight when Bob reaches for you, a trembling hand clutching at your sleeve.
"I- I can't," is all he manages.
I can't be alone.
You place your hand over his, gentle and reassuring. "Can I stay with you tonight?" you ask softly.
You've learned from experience that wording what Bob wants as something you want makes it far easier to get a straight answer from him.
He quickly nods in reply. You give him a little squeeze, not letting go as you lead him into his room. He follows you readily without a word. You're already in your pajamas, and Bob doesn't even stop to undress - he just climbs right into bed with you.
Normally, he's hesitant around other people touching him, but he falls easily in your arms. Maybe he's too tired to care, or maybe you've finally proven yourself trustworthy enough. Either way, you're not about to question it.
"Promise you'll still be here in the morning?"
His voice is so small that you find yourself suddenly fighting the urge to cry.
"I promise," you murmur.
His hold on you tightens for a moment, before slowly, it begins to relax.
"Try and get some rest, okay? You're safe here. I'm not going anywhere."
It takes Bob a while before he settles - you can feel every minute twitch and warm sigh - but eventually, fatigue overwhelms him, and his breathing gradually starts to even out into quiet snores.
Your mind is still racing, and you let yourself breathe properly for what feels like the first time tonight - in slowly, out slowly. There's nothing to do right now except sleep. You rest your cheek against the top of Bob's head, trying not to think about soft his hair is.
Whatever's waiting for you can be dealt with in the morning. Right now, the only thing that matters is that Bob's safe. That's all you can ask for.
Summary: All Rhett had wanted to do was go out for a few drinks alone. But his plans quickly fall apart when he finds himself distracted by a pretty stranger.
Word count: 3.1k
Tags and warnings: Fluff, Rhett has an unexpected crush, first meeting, Rhett gets into a bit of a bar fight, mentions of alcohol, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N.
(Me? In love with a cowboy? Absolutely not. Sure, Rhett's rough around the edges, talks out of the side of his mouth and gets into fights at the drop of a Stetson, but heās also so sweet and a total romantic and embarrasses himself more times in the show than I can remember. Thank you as always to @getaapologist for encouraging my nonsense!)
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It's late one Friday evening when Rhett decides to drive into town. He needs out of the house for a while; wouldn't mind hearing himself think if he's completely honest. Having three generations of Abbotts under one roof can be a little stifling at times - and that's being polite about it.
A few beers sound nice. He's not so proud that he can't do things alone now and again. So he pulls on his boots and heads out in his truck. The stifling heat of the day has finally mellowed out into something more tolerable, and the breeze through the rolled-down windows is more than welcome after spending most of the day lugging hay bales around the ranch. He's grateful he doesn't have to try and fight with the AC - the old thing's rattling is borderline unbearable to listen to these days.
When he walks into The Buckle, he's immediately met with a wall of noise. Probably should have known better, been plenty of nights where he's been part of that wall. Still, he's here now. Might as well make the most of it.
He nudges his way as politely as possible through the groups of people dotted here and there around the bar. Place is busier than usual, now that he thinks about it. Almost like half the town's trying to blow off steam from the long work week gone by. The booths are all taken, they always do fill up early enough - a lot of rodeo fans trying to land themselves a cowboy for the night, or any man convincing enough to look like one. Rhett avoids eye contact. Won't make that mistake again.
There's an empty seat near the end of the bar. He's willing to bet the change in his wallet that there's something wrong with it. Everyone knows that if there's an empty seat left in The Buckle, it's not by accident. He decides to stand next to it instead. Better that than risk his ass when it inevitably breaks. If he's going to embarrass himself tonight, he'd rather not do it stone cold sober.
The plan is to have two drinks, three at a push. He'll take his time on the ride home, roll the windows down to keep himself alert. Empty road the whole way out to the Abbott ranch, no one'll be the wiser. Hell, he'll sleep in the cab of his truck if he has to - wouldn't be the first time. He scans the room as subtly as he can, trying to pinpoint any potential unwanted conversation - the Tillersons, namely. His poor head's already suffering from the sweltering heat of the day, he doesn't need their shit on top of it.
So far, so good. No one he recognises. Nothing beyond a quiet nod of acknowledgement, at least, and he's thankful for that. But for some reason, he finds himself faltering. Gaze flitting back to the same point, to the far side of the bar. He shouldn't stare - his ma would tell him she taught him better than that - but he can't help it. It's not often he finds himself distracted like this. His family love giving him shit like he's hooking up with someone new every other night, but it's not like that at all.
Every time he tries to make himself focus on something else - anything else - his attention's drawn back to you. There's someone sitting next to you, but they're completely absorbed in conversation with the person next to them. Your head's bowed slightly, as though you're looking at something he can't see from here, and a half-empty glass sits in front of you.
It looks like you're alone. Surely there'd be no harm in-
No. He needs to shut that thought down before it even has a chance to start. Odds are you're waiting for someone. Or they're here already. Maybe they're buying you another drink, or they're in the bathroom. There's no way someone as pretty as you could be here by yourself. He takes a bigger drink than he meant to, swallowing it with a grimace. This is stupid, the whole point of coming out was to get some time to himself. And now here he is, unable to concentrate on anything other than this stranger sitting across from him.
He finishes his drink, wincing as he sets the bottle down too hard. Even over the bustle of the room, the sharp sound draws your attention over to him.
Your eyes meet his. He needs to look away, stop staring, but he can't seem to make himself move at all. You give him a little smile, before ducking your head to take a sip of your drink.
He feels like an idiot. But you smiled at him. A real, genuine smile too- not one of those polite grimaces to save face. Lord knows he knows the difference by now. Or maybe he's just seeing what he wants to see.
He drums his fingers against the empty beer bottle, trying to make up his mind. What's the worst thing that'll happen if he does go over to you? Maybe you'll gently let him down and send him on his way with his tail between his legs. Maybe you'll chew him out for making assumptions, or your big bastard of a boyfriend will catch him and knock his ass into the dirt. All great options. He could really do without another busted nose.
But then he spys you looking over at him. And this time, when you smile, it's bigger. Warmer.
Fuck it.
Steeling his nerves, he makes his way across the room, taking his time as he does. Doesn't wanna come off as desperate - even though his heart's pounding harder than normal.
There's a look of surprise on your face when he manages to slip in beside you. But the smile's still there, and suddenly he doesn't feel just as worried.
He leans his elbows against the bar, hands firmly clasped in front of him. Gives the room another quick scan while he tries to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Rhett's no self-proclaimed Casanova by any means, but this isn't like him. He's not normally so nervous.
Must be something about you.
"I hope I'm not interruptin'," he says at last.
You shake your head, closing a small notebook that Rhett's only just noticed sitting in front of you. "Don't worry about it. It's not like I can even hear myself think with all this noise, anyway," you reply, slipping the book and a pen into your bag. "To be honest, I just needed out of the house for a while. Felt like I was about to go crazy."
Rhett laughs. "Preachin' to the choir here."
He turns towards you, holding out his hand.
"I'm Rhett, by the way."
You take his hand in yours, introducing yourself as well. He tries not to dwell on how soft it is compared to his own.
"I know who you are," you tell him, and there's something about the way you say it - he can't quite put his finger on it, but you sound almost shy.
"Well, now you've got me worried," he jokes with a lopsided smile. "Who you been talkin' to?"
When you pull your hand away, he sneaks a quick glance down. No ring. His gaze meets yours again, like nothing ever happened.
"I've been to some of your competitions," you explain. "You're good, by the way. Like really good."
Rhett's no stranger to a compliment - he works damn hard at what he does - but he's never been one to take praise well. Blame his Pops for passing down his stiff upper lip. But for some reason, it feels different coming from you. Almost like he wants to hear you say it again.
Would you get it together already?
"Thanks," he manages to force out, busying himself with trying to catch the bartender's attention.
He gestures towards your glass and holds up two fingers, before making another attempt at conversation. It's never been his strong suit, and he'd be the first to admit it.
"You new in town?" he asks. "Feel like I should've seen you around before now. Wabang's a pretty small place."
"I moved here just over a month ago," you reply. "It's been kinda slow-going, getting everything organised. Been living out of boxes longer than I'd like to admit."
You pull a face, as if you're embarrassed. Rhett has to stop himself from asking if you need any help with unpacking. You just met, it'd look weird. Luckily, the bartender sets two drinks in front of you both, providing an adequate distraction.
"I'm trustin' you with this," he teases, tapping his finger against the side of the glass.
You smile as you reach for a straw. "Fair warning, it's a little strong."
You weren't kidding. Rhett's immediately sucking in a breath through his teeth after the first taste.
"Oh, that's dangerous," he says with a grimace. "How many of these have you had?"
You just laugh, which doesn't seem like a good sign. He's about to ask again when you're leaning over, concentrated on something across the room.
"Oh, look, an empty booth!" You slip out of your seat, nudging at Rhett gently with your elbow. "We should take it before someone else does."
Rhett quickly grabs his drink and heads after you. This is going far better than he was expecting. Maybe his luck's starting to change. It's about time.
He slides into the seat across from you. You look so proud of yourself, and Rhett's finding it harder and harder not to stare. Blame the alcohol.
"Y'know, I was about to ask if you were here by yourself, but I think you practically kidnappin' me's answer enough," he quips, feeling strangely bold.
The offended look you level him with would have him worried if you weren't trying so hard to hold back a laugh. "Please. As if you didn't follow me willingly."
You've got him there.
"What does it matter, anyway?" you ask, taking another drink.
Rhett follows suit. It's a bad idea and he knows it. Whatever's in this thing is lethal.
"Well, to be honest with youā¦I guess I just find it hard to believe someone as pretty as you would be sittin' in a bar all alone on a Friday night. Don't make sense to me."
It slips out of his mouth before he even realises what he's saying. Your eyes widen, as if that was the last thing you were expecting him to say. Your gaze flicks to one side for a second, and the sudden discomfort on your face is hard to ignore.
"Oh, no," you mutter anxiously.
Rhett's heart sinks. He's taken it too far, of course he has. It was only a matter of time before he fucked it up. He's about to try and backpedal, apologise - whatever will fix his mistake - when you're tugging at his arm and turning your head to face the wall.
"Pretend we're talking," you tell him softly.
Rhett frowns, confused. "Why? What's-"
"I'll explain later," you interrupt, tone nervous. "I just need you to do this for me. Please?"
The look on your face is worrying him, but he decides not to press you any further right now. He leans closer to you, saying any old thing that comes to mind to make it look like you're completely engrossed in conversation.
"There you are. I was starting to worry you'd run off home," comes a voice. "Lucky I found you."
Rhett doesn't even need to see who's talking to know that he already can't stand him.
"Who's your friend?"
It's hard to miss how his voice sours on the last word. You're staring hard at a spot on the wall, still acting like you didn't hear anything.
"Hey. Sweetheart. I'm talking to you."
Rhett thinks he's been polite long enough. He glares up at the unwelcome party. He's a big guy - taller than Rhett by a few inches, broader too. He knows him. Murphy Something. A last name's not coming to mind, but he knows his family, and they're all trouble. Worse than the Tillersons - Murphy especially. Guy's been kicked out of half the bars in Wabang, and he never seems to learn from it.
"We heard you," Rhett says, with what little calm he can muster.
He's not about to start trouble. Especially not in front of you.
"Last I checked, pal, I wasn't talking to you." Murphy jabs an accusing finger in your direction. "I was talking to her."
Rhett gives him a tight-lipped smile. "And I'm talkin' to you," he replies, tone more clipped than he'd like.
He's trying his damnedest to keep his cool, but he's never been good at it at the best of times. And this asshole's really starting to get under his skin.
"You're not seriously gonna sit with a loser like him, are you?" he asks, as if Rhett's not even there.
Rhett gets to his feet then, taking a slow breath in through his nose as he does. This doesn't have to end in a fight. His fingers twitch reflexively all the same.
"She's not interested. So why don't you get outta here before you embarrass yourself any more than you already have, huh?"
Murphy rolls his shoulders back, making himself look taller than he already is. Rhett stands his ground. He's dealt with enough bulls in his line of work. He can handle this one.
"Like I said. I wasn't talking to you."
Rhett sucks his teeth. He's fighting a losing battle against his own temper right now. He slips out of the booth, taking a step forward, then another. Height difference or not, he makes damn sure he's staring this guy down.
"I told you. She's not interested. Now back off."
His tone is still calm, but his jaw's clenched tight enough to hurt. Murphy's loud, obnoxious laugh right in his face tips him too close to the edge.
"Or what?" he sneers. The boozy smell on his breath makes Rhett grimace. "What are you gonna do?"
Another step closer. Rhett's playing with fire.
"Somethin' I'm not gonna regret in the slightest," he says through gritted teeth.
"Big talk from a man who can hardly last ten seconds on a bull," Murphy spits. "I hope you fight better than you ride, Abbott."
A tug at his arm pulls Rhett back down to Earth for a second.
"Rhett, please, just leave it alone," you plead quietly. "You don't have to do this."
"Stay outta this, sweetheart," Murphy tells you in a patronising tone.
His hand inches towards yours, as if to pry you away from Rhett, and Rhett's tired of pretending to be the bigger man. He grabs Murphy's wrist, wrenching it back. He may be smaller, but he's stronger. And less drunk, which is definitely working in his favour. Before Murphy can attempt to fight back, Rhett's already moving. He twists his wrist, hard, shoving his arm up his back and slamming him down against the table. Murphy lets out a pained wheeze as the table's edge hits his middle, knocking the wind from him.
The sudden hush that falls over the room is eerie. Music still crackles from the old jukebox speakers, but Rhett knows the whole bar's staring at him now, afraid to move. He can't really bring himself to care.
He leans in, making sure that Murphy can hear him loud and clear. His grip doesn't let up for a second.
"Talk to her like that again, and I'll break your fuckin' arm. Got it?"
He starts pushing Murphy's arm further up his back.
"Got it?" he hisses.
It doesn't take long before Murphy cracks. "Okay, okay! Just get off me already, fuck."
Rhett lets him go then, stepping back to straighten his now rumpled shirt. His gaze doesn't once leave Murphy until he's shamefacedly stumbling out the door.
He takes a breath and runs a hand through his hair, pushing back a few strands that have fallen loose. Slowly, the chatter begins to pick back up, as if nothing had happened. Rhett's not sure if the bartender's happy to finally see the back of Murphy, or if she knows Rhett well enough by now to know that he's not one for getting into a fight without just cause. He's just grateful that he's not being thrown out on his ass as well.
When Rhett turns to you, he's full of anxiety. "Look, I'm sorry aboutā¦all of that," he says quietly. "I know you tried to stop me, and I understand if you want me to leave you alone. God knows I've embarrassed you enough."
To his surprise, you shake your head. "How about you buy me another drink and we'll forget the whole thing?"
Rhett doesn't need to be told twice.
One round turns into two, then three, and all too soon, the bartender's calling time. Rhett squints at his watch. Shit. So much for a couple of quiet drinks.
He wants to ask how you're planning on getting home, but even in his current state, he thinks better of it. Normally, he wouldn't care so much, but he doesn't want you to get the wrong idea about him.
While he's distracted with his racing thoughts, you're busy too - scribbling something into your notebook before tearing the page out.
"Here," you say. "I don't normally make a habit of handing my number out like this, butā¦"
You slide it across the table.
"You seem different, Rhett," you tell him. The sincerity in your voice isn't lost on him. "If I'm reading all of this wrong, you can just throw it away. But-"
"You're not," Rhett interrupts. "I promise."
You stare at him for a moment, before your smile widens. You slip the book back into your bag and slide out of the booth.
"Thanks for tonight."
You lean down, pressing a quick kiss to Rhett's cheek before you leave. He just watches you go, lost for words. Part of him wants to go after you, but he knows he shouldn't. Maybe it's the drink talking, but it feels like there might be more to all of this. More to you. He shouldn't throw it away just because he wants to pull you back and kiss you.
Not quite trusting himself, he waits another minute or so before he heads out. The sudden rush of cool air leaves him feeling dizzy, and he can't seem to stop himself from smiling.
Rhett's not the most optimistic at the best of times, but this? Somehow, this feels different.
And who knows? Maybe it's the start of something good.
Summary: A night of drinking leaves poor Major a little worse for wear in the infirmary. A confession leaves you reeling.
Word count: 3.4k
Tags and warnings: Fluff, Major is a sweetheart, brief mentions of drinking and background characters fighting, slight spoilers for Major's real name, reader is a nurse, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N.
(I've been reading Catch-22 and recently finished the mini-series. Given the state of my blog lately, I doubt anyone's surprised that I've written for Major. Forever destined to write for the little guys with next to no audience, I guess.)
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The entrepreneurial talents of one Milo Minderbinder never cease to amaze you. You have no idea how he manages the seemingly impossible, but manage it he does, and that evening, the army base has its first taste of alcohol in months. And not the cheap stuff either, he had explained, but single malt whiskey from Scotland.
"Nothing but the best for our boys fighting the good fight," he announces to the already rowdy mess hall with a broad smile, the sounds of laughter and clanking metal cups quickly filling the air.
Naturally, the infirmary is pandemonium within a few hours.
The tension in the barracks has been reaching new heights lately, especially with the mission count being raised yet again, so it was really only a matter of time before a fight broke out. And then another. And another. Before you knew it, you and the other nurses were run ragged, cleaning up bloody knuckles and icing bruised eyes.
All things considered, this is an easy shift. Everyone's still alive, for a start. You're always grateful for that.
The lightweights begin to trickle through next - although not without some assistance. Some wobble their way in on their own and need to be directed to a bed (or a bucket, whichever is of more pressing need); others are dragged in, draped across the shoulders of their comparatively more sober companions.
Major Major falls decidedly into the second category. He would have fallen through the door too, if the poor man keeping him upright didn't have such a good grip on him.
"Think you got room for one more?" he asks, jerking his head in Major's direction. "I'd bring him to his own bed, but I don't know if I could live with it on my conscience if anything happened to him. Poor fella's way passed his limit."
You finish drying your hands, pointing to one of the closest empty beds. "Set him down over there for me, will you?"
Major goes quietly, his head steadily nodding, as though he's keeping time to a song only he can hear. His eyelids are already drooping, and you're willing to bet he'll be unconscious once his head hits the pillow. Rolling him onto his side and letting him sleep it off seems like the best course of action. Still, best to give him a quick once-over, just in case.
You pull a spare stool up to the side of the bed, sitting down in front of him. Somehow, he's still upright, albeit very slumped. It's impressive, considering how much he's swaying.
"Evening, Major," you say, louder than you normally would. You feel like you've spent most of the night shouting, but the drunker they are, the less they seem to hear. "How are you feeling?"
"Dizzy," he mumbles, and then giggles to himself like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.
At least he's co-operative.
"Can you tell me how much you've had to drink?" you ask, pulling a small pad of paper and a pen from your uniform pocket.
He blinks at you, his brow set in a deep frown. From his expression, you would think you had asked him for top secret military intel. His gaze drops to his hands in his lap, fingers moving as he counts.
"Four," he finally says. "No. No, five. Seven?"
He looks to you to make sense of what he's just said. You're none the wiser.
"Seven what, Major?"
He shrugs then - an exaggerated movement that shoves his shoulders right up to his ears, almost knocking him off-balance. You reach for his arm, steadying him.
"Can you tell me your name?" you ask.
Surely he remembers his own name. It's the same as his last name. And his middle name. And his rank. Poor man.
He frowns again, lips moving silently.
"ā¦Caleb," he finally mumbles.
Well, what do you know. He does have a name. Maybe it's a running joke he and the others have going. You'll dig out his file later, when the chaos has died down.
Leaning in a little closer, you hold your hand up in front of Major's face.
"How many fingers am I holding up, Caleb?"
At the sound of his name, he starts, eyes wide and eerily focused. It lasts for the better part of a second before his gaze seems to cloud over again. He clumsily reaches out to take your hand, and you pull it away.
āNo, no, thatās cheating,ā you say with a quiet chuckle to yourself.
Major pulls a face at you. It's hard not to laugh when this grown man - and a major at that - is pouting at you.
He might feel like hell tomorrow, but so far, he's not exactly worrying you. Still, you don't want to take a chance on that and send him out on his own. You stand up, gently guiding him to lie down on his side.
"You get some sleep, alright? You'll be back to your old self in no time. If you need anything, you just call for me or one of the other-"
Major shakes his head suddenly, and for a worrying moment, you think he's going to be sick.
"Can I tell you a secret?" he asks softly.
His eyes are wide again. You've never really had the opportunity to look at him like this - he doesn't seem to find himself in the infirmary all that often - and it's a shame too, because he's really quite a handsome man. Brown curls swept back out of his face, and dark eyes that would have you believing they were brown until the light hits them just right. His cheeks and nose are flushed pink from drinking, his teeth worrying at his lip.
He beckons you closer, clumsily waving his hand and narrowly avoiding hitting you in the face.
"I think you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he confesses in an awestruck whisper.
You can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, and the smell of expensive booze is hard to ignore. His words catch you off-guard, and you find yourself feeling a little dizzy as well. His smile is wide and care-free as he stares up at you. Your heart definitely wasn't beating quite so hard a second ago, was it?
And then, with a few heavy blinks, he's out like a light. As if nothing had ever happened. It's still so loud in here. Did you imagine it?
Dazed, you leave a bucket and some water by his bedside, reluctantly moving on to the other beds that still need your attention.
He's gone the next morning. Most of them are. By the time you were able to catch your breath, it was long past lights out, and you were desperate to fall into bed and sleep the muscle pain off. Major's bed was on the way out the door - couldn't hurt to check in, could it? - but he was still very much asleep as you left.
You've been replaying his confession in your head over and over all morning. Surely it was just a slip of the tongue; whiskey-fueled words that mean nothing in the cold light of day. He could barely see two feet in front of him, and he certainly wasn't able to sit upright without wobbling. Still, the nurses are hardly strangers to lonely guys trying to shoot their shot, and having a girl on base is convenient. You're far from stupid.
But there's something about Major that tells you he's not that type. And of course you'd be lying if you said you didn't have a little crush on him. Sure, he's clumsy, forgetful, and he always seems to be landing himself in hot water at every opportunity - but there's something so endearing about him too. For starters, he's never been anything less than a gentleman to you and the others. And there was that time a few weeks back when he found you caught out in the pouring rain. He'd rushed to your side with all the grace of a newborn deer, and held his coat over your head until you were safely in the mess hall. He'd paused for a second, his cheeks and ears reddening from the exertion, before he'd all but run off again.
In that one second, you'd thought he might kiss you. Hoped for it, even. And if you were truly honest with yourself, you'd been hoping ever since.
You need to snap out of it. You barely know him. Maybe the loneliness of this place is getting to you too.
But then a thought occurs to you.
No one likes to say the Q word in the infirmary. Quiet. The second anyone does, chaos descends immediately. But you aren't being kept quite as busy, let's say, as you were the night before, so you decide to take a peek at Major's medical notes. At the top of the first page, in neat type, is his name.
Last name: Major.
First name: Major.
Middle name(s): Major.
You smile to yourself. His parents certainly had a strange sense of humour.
Something draws your attention further down the page. Another section, just underneath.
Other names.
And there it is - the name he told you last night. Caleb.
Heart racing a little faster, you place the file back and close the drawer.
"Does anyone know which one Major Major's office is?"
You slip out for ten minutes under the pretence that your notes from last night are missing a few details. Muriel had eyed you suspiciously as you left. She's always had an uncanny ability to sense bullshit from a mile away. It's one of the things you like about her.
Finding Major's office was easy. Getting into his office is a whole other story. And his assistant, Sergeant Towser, point-blank refuses to budge on the matter.
"So I can't go in there until the Major leaves," you say, making sure you understand the bizarre system that this office seems to run by.
"That's correct, ma'am," Towser replies.
"And once he's left, I can go in to see him?"
"Absolutely."
This is absurd. Surely Towser must be joking. But one look at his stony expression tells you otherwise.
"Do you want me to pass a message along?" he asks.
You shake your head. "Oh, no, donāt trouble yourself. Iām sure Iāll bump into him at some point."
Towser nods at you with a polite smile as he returns to the novel he's not so subtly hidden behind a stack of paperwork.
Stepping back outside into the hot afternoon sun, you try to figure out what to do next. You could go back to your station with no answers and spend the rest of the day distracted, orā¦
An idea comes to you.
Rounding the small building, you find what you were hoping for - a window, wide and low enough to the ground that it just might do the trick. The roller blind has been pulled all the way down, obscuring the room inside, but the window itself lies open. If you listen closely, you can hear a familiar voice muttering.
Carefully, you reach under the blind, searching for the cord. It gives easily with a tug, quickly sliding up and out of the way with a sharp snap as it reaches the top. Major jolts in his seat, almost falling out of it entirely in fright. The paintbrush in his hand clatters to the floor, and he scans the room in a panic, before his wide eyes finally land on you.
"Hello, Major," you greet cheerily, resting your arms on the windowsill.
He stares at you blankly, as if by chance you might be a figment of his imagination. Slowly, his gaze drifts to the intricately detailed model boat sitting on his desk, then back to you. The colour quickly drains from his face, and he's up like a shot, all but throwing himself in front of the boat to hide it from view.
"Oh! I was- I was just taking a little break from all of- You know-" He frantically scrambles to find something, eventually landing on a manual of some kind and holding it up. āThis. Work. So much work. Gotta get back to it."
He knocks his fist against the manualās cover, forcing a laugh that makes him sound as though he's been winded.
"Well, by all means, Major, donāt let me interrupt you," you reply.
He nods, a few too many times. You donāt move.
"I just wanted to stop by to see how you were feeling today."
"Me? Oh, Iām feeling much better. Thank you," he tells you, voice quivering.
He still looks a bit peaky, but considering how he was last night, you're surprised he's on his feet at all.
Time to start testing the waters.
"You boys sure had a lot to drink last night. The things I heard," you comment breezily.
Major tilts his head with a curious expression, but doesnāt take the bait.
You try again.
"You know, I thought I'd heard every swear word in the book by this point in my career, but apparently not. Some of you could do with having your mouths washed out with soap."
You shake your head, pretending to be offended, but there's a smile on your face.
"And as if that wasn't enough, I even overheard a fewā¦confessions."
You draw the word out, looking at him expectantly. His mouth opens and closes a few times, but nothing comes out. He reminds you of a goldfish.
"Why, I think I even heard one from you, Major."
At that, his face flushes a bright shade of red. Suddenly, he canāt seem to look at you anymore.
"Is that- No, that canāt be right. I wouldnāt- Surely, I wouldnāt do such a thing." He laughs nervously. "Why, thereās no one here that I- Well, I mean no offence, you girls are lovely, of course, but not-"
His mouth quickly shuts before he says something he might regret.
You drum your fingers along the windowsill, trying to figure out your next move. You thought perhaps he would have cracked by now, surely. Major Major is a notoriously clumsy man, and that includes with his words. He has something of a reputation for blurting things out at the most inconvenient of times - everyone knows that.
Unless he doesnāt rememberā¦
You decide to press on.
"Oh, come on now, you were pitching woo just as sure as any of the others, there's no use in denying it. I remember you saying toā¦"
His frown only deepens, and you're reminded of how he looked last night, when he was trying to answer your questions. He really doesn't seem to remember anything. You quickly change tack.
"ā¦Nurse Muriel that sheās the prettiest girl you've ever seen."
You hate to throw poor Muriel to the wolves like that, but you canāt possibly face the embarrassment of being turned down by a man with no recollection of what he said. Besides, sheād have no qualms at all with just sending him on his way.
Major looks as though heās in the middle of figuring out the entire world's secrets. Youāve never seen him so focused. Slowly, he starts to pace the floor, finger tapping against his mouth as he thinks.
"Nurse Muriel? No, now that canāt be right. I mean, sheās a lovely girl, don't get me wrong, but youāre far prettier than-"
He stops abruptly in his tracks, one of his boots scuffing against his floor. His back is to you, but you can see that tell-tale flush creeping the length of his neck, right up to his ears.
"You didnāt- You didnāt hear me say thatā¦did you?"
His voice is barely more than a whisper, and every word sounds so frightened. You're not quite sure if you're faring any better. Between the baking heat, and now this-
You decide to answer him in the only way you know how right now - by climbing through the window. Thereās no decent way of doing it, and all you can do is hope that no one walks by.
The sound of your shoes against the wooden frame alerts Major's attention, and almost as quickly as he turned to look, he's facing the other way again, fists clenched and shoulders pushed up to his ears.
You straighten yourself up, fixing your uniform as your breathing steadies.
"I heard every word," you say softly. "In fact, thatās why Iām here."
Major hasnāt moved a muscle. You carefully take a few steps forward.
"I shouldnāt have lied to you before. I was worried when you didnāt seem to remember. But what you said, when you were in the infirmary last nightā¦You said it to me."
You were hoping he would have said something by now. Anything. Normally, it's a feat in of itself to make him stop talking.
"I know you were drunk, and I didnāt want to get my hopes up. But I need to know." You pause, afraid of what you're about to say next. "Did you mean it?"
The seconds tick by agonisingly slowly as you wait for him to reply. The already humid air feels thicker now, harder to breathe. Slowly, he turns to you again, his eyes darting between you and the ground nervously.
"I meant every word of it," he says at last.
The relief that floods through you is enough to leave you lightheaded. But you can't stop there.
"You told me your name too," you remind him. "Itās Caleb, isnāt it? Caleb Major."
He blinks at you, as though he's just been pulled from a deep sleep.
"Never in my life did I think someone would ever call me by that name again," he says in a small, astonished voice. "I was starting to forget what it sounded like."
His words tug at your heart in a way you don't truly understand. But you're starting to realise that there's more to this clumsy, hapless man than anyone seems to give him credit for.
Words don't feel like they're enough. Without another thought, you close the distance between the two of you, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. He reaches for you as you try to pull away, his hand finding yours.
"Wait-"
His face is such a bright shade of red that you would worry he had a fever if you didn't know better. His hand trembles against yours.
"I can't- I can't just let you go without asking you on a date," he says shyly. "It wouldn't be proper of me. A man of my rank and all."
He pauses then, and you nervously wait for him to continue.
And wait.
And wait.
He seems to be tongue-tied again. He chews at his lower lip, scared eyes searching yours.
You take a little breath, gently squeezing his hand. Despite how careful you are, he flinches all the same.
"I finish at six tonight, you can stop by the infirmary to pick me up then," you tell him, taken aback by your own boldness.
It takes him a moment to register your words. Then he's nodding at you like a marionette.
"Just you try and stop me," he replies with a quiet chuckle. He stops suddenly, looking at you worriedly. "No, wait, please don't do that, I want to-"
"Caleb," you say, interrupting him. "I'll see you tonight. Okay?"
He stares at you for a long moment, before a bashful smile spreads across his face.
As much as you would love to stay, you're now very aware that your ten minutes ended a long time ago. You head for the window again, Major following behind.
The heel of your shoe catches against the windowsill as you try to manoeuvre yourself over it again, knocking you off-balance. Major is quick to react, reaching for your waist to steady you as you lower yourself to the ground. He doesn't let go, and you don't pull away. His hands are strong and sturdy against you, and you want nothing more than to lean in and steal another kiss from him.
He comes to his senses first, hands whipping away from you as though he's been burned. The moment's gone, but he still has that big smile on his face.
"6pm, don't be late," you tell him, as you reluctantly head on your way.
He nods. "Wouldn't dream of it," he replies, almost breathlessly.
It takes quite a bit of work to throw Muriel off the scent of what you were really up to, but you somehow manage to slip back into your workday relatively unscathed. And when 6pm rolls around at last, and you step outside to find Major - Caleb - waiting for you, hat folded under his arm and a bright smile on his face, you know all the trouble you went to was worth it.
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Summary: Strange visions plague your dreams. William cannot allow you to suffer such pain alone.
Word count: 2.5k
Tags and warnings: Smut (non-explicit, but very much there), religious themes, religious guilt, some kind of established relationship, no pronouns for reader. 18+! Minors, please do not interact!
(I saw this film in the cinema three times, and every single time, it broke my heart in a different way. The way William's queerness is handled so softly is so important to me. I wasn't going to ever post this, if I'm honest, but it felt like a waste of hard work. I don't personally believe that William was celibate by choice (if at all), and I've made sure that this fic is as gender-neutral as possible. Everyone has their own interpretation, and this is mine. Thank you as always to @getaapologist for your support with this, appreciate you!)
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By way of strange dreams come visions. Terrible, ghastly images that leave you trembling and gasping in the dark of the night. Strong arms instinctively reach for you each time, holding you close and murmuring assurances as you steady your breath, and lay still your pounding heart.
You should speak of them. These visions that plague your dreams and haunt your waking thoughts. Mother Ann would implore you to. But you cannot. For there is far more to what you see.
Each one is the same. A wolf ā dark in colour with streaks of grey by its ears ā prowls your dreams. It stalks after you in a frenzy, snapping at your heels; no matter where you run, or how you hide. It will always end the same. It looms over your prone form, rivulets of spit dripping from its vicious maw as its growls rise ever higher from its throat. Head lowered, hackles raised. Dark eyes boring into your soul. And when it strikes, it is with such bloodlust and rage that each and every time, you wake with a shriek, thrashing against the thin bedding as if your very life depends upon it.
And every time, he is there. William. Your dear companion, and even dearer part of your heart as the months and years go by.
You speak not a word to him; allowing him to comfort. Soothe. And yet not even he can rid you of this.
Only your eyes ā and those of God ā see the shame that dwells within your heart. For the sudden, fearful awakening is always followed by something much, much worse.
A feeling of release. The likes of which you have never in your life experienced, but you know it. The sin of Adam and Eve. And to have this overwhelming feeling, whilst William holds you to his heart in comfortā¦
It is unholy.
You must find resolve. Cast out this demon. For surely it must be a test of faith. God has chosen you, and you must not fail.
William returns from his daily toil that evening much later than you. He is nothing if not determined, oft to his own detriment; as he is now, he is rather worse for wear. Autumn is approaching fast, and the shortening days are filled with collecting firewood and provisions for the Wintertime.
He stops by your side, a soft kiss pressed to your temple. āHow fares my flower?ā he murmurs.
You smile in turn, leaning into his touch, before he steps away. Making quick work, he strips himself down to his drawers, clothes tossed aside as he seats himself at the dressing table on the other side of the room. He twists himself to and fro, as if trying to better see himself in the mirror.
With a little sigh, you rise and approach him. āWhat has happened?ā
His fingers trail along angry red welts that mark his shoulder.
āThorns,ā he replies. āI lost my balance and fell.ā
William is no stranger to injury, and you have a small cabinet filled with remedies for such things. You fetch one of the ointment bottles, holding it out to him. He looks up at you with an apologetic expression.
āWould you mind?ā he asks. āI canāt quite reach.ā
Dutifully, you set to your task, carefully applying the tincture to his wounds. Your gaze wanders, however briefly, and you attempt to keep your focus where it is needed. It is difficult to ignore the long scars that run the length of William's back. Faded as they are, your heart aches at the sight of them.
He tries to hold himself still, for your benefit, but each little hiss and wince of pain that escapes him leaves you feeling as though a pit of snakes nests within your stomach, and you make haste to finish soon.
āI will fetch you a clean shirt,ā you murmur, wiping your hands.
He reaches for you before you can leave his side, his hand encircling your wrist. His touch is soft; yet you feel as though you have been branded. It burns.
āCome,ā he says, tugging lightly. āSit.ā
You press your lips together tightly, fighting the urge to protest. Reluctantly, you allow him to gather you up, until you are seated in his lap. His arm slips around your middle, holding you close. Never have you felt so safe, and so trapped.
Slowly, he presses your head to his uninjured shoulder, his fingers tangled in your hair.
āYou are keeping things from me,ā he says softly.
His heart beats so calm and steadfast against your ear. Yours, by contrast, is a war drum.
āWhat ails you, flower?ā
Your hands clench into fists. Pain, as if from some invisible force, wracks through you. You wish nothing more than to scream, to cry, to throw yourself upon the mercy of the man who cradles you so gently, as if you truly were a delicate flower.
āYour sleep is disturbed, your appetite wanes. So little now do I hear your voice. I miss your birdsong.ā
You squeeze your eyes shut, tears threatening to spill. There is no one in the world who could ever doubt Williamās utmost devotion to his sister, but what remains is poured into you. To feel such a deep, profound love ā though a mere drop in the ocean compared to his love for Mother Ann ā is truly overwhelming. You can hardly bear it.
āWhatever it is, you can tell me. Your burdens are mine to shoulder too.ā
And oh, how he means every word. And how it tears at you ā claws at you like the frantic, violent beast that comes to you in your dreams.
Weary, you raise your head. To look him in the eye is too much, so you focus your attention elsewhere. On the slope of his nose, the soft set of his mouth, the greying hairs that rest at his templesā
Nausea washes over you, like a tumultuous wave in a storm. Sudden realisation threatens to choke the air from you ā how you wish that it would. But there is no escaping the truth.
The creature that stalks your dreams, that sets itself upon you night after night until you are wide-eyed and trembling in the dark. The terrifying feeling of sheer pleasure that erupts through you each and every time.
The wolf is William.
Or rather, it is your desire for him, manifesting itself in the strangest way. How it mocks you. Taunts you. It is cruel.
āWhatever is the matter?ā he asks, with such kindness that another nauseous wave washes over you.
How are you to ever look him in the eye again? You are undeserving. You sit here, unable to confess, unable to repent. Hiding in plain sight; no more than a sinful blight in the presence of virtue.
You cannot allow him to suffer as he does now.
āThere are things that I must tell you,ā you at last reply in a choked whisper. āThings that I have seen.ā
His brow knits in a slight frown as he takes in your words. āWhat kinds of things?ā
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you continue, āTheyā¦come to me. In dreams. Theseā¦visions.ā
The air feels stifling; each breath an ashen burn upon your lungs. How fitting, that the gates of Hell should find you here, in the midst of your shame.
"What I am about to sayā¦will surely cast me in a different light." Your voice softens. "Perhaps now you will see me for what I truly am."
There is an unbearable sadness in his eyes as he looks to you. Those eyes ā as dark as storm clouds ā study your every expression with great focus. Even now, his devotion is as plain as day.
You must make him see.
"I already do see you for what you are," he replies, low voice laced with quiet determination. "When I am lost at sea, you are my anchor, tethering me so that I may not find myself adrift in dangerous waters."
Each word is a sharp switch upon your upturned palms. When he smiles, you cast your gaze aside. You are undeserving of such a beautiful thing.
Carefully, his hand touches your chin, tilting your head up to him. "Do not spurn me, love. Speak."
Even when he commands you, it is done with affection. And yet, the nest of snakes seems to knot itself even tighter together. You feel ill.
"I find myselfā¦yearning. In ways that I should not. Sinful, unholy ways." You force yourself to meet his gaze ā the confounded look he levels you with is as sharp as a dagger to the heart. "For you, William."
Confusion gives way to realisation at last. His eyes widen, and you shrink under his scrutiny. Rarely is a silence between the two of you uncomfortable ā in spite of his strength, there is a quiet gentleness to William that few others possess. When the world is chaos, he is shelter. A haven. Safety.
You do not feel safe anymore.
For the briefest moment, his hold on you tightens ā blunt nails scratch at your scalp, fingertips twisting into the fabric at your hip. Then, as soon as that, he releases you. His grip relaxes, though you can still feel the phantom press of his touch, even in its absence.
How you wish for him to say something. Anything. You would beg, if you believed yourself deserving.
When he does again speak, he does not seem himself. "You were right to confess this to me."
There is a hollow look in his eyes, as though he is far away. He seems to look through you. His voice, too, is smaller.
"Permit me to take it from you."
Immediately, you shake your head. You will not allow him to carry this burden. Your burden.
You open your mouth to say as much, but he interrupts you before you even begin.
āYou will not deny me this.ā
He looks to you with such fervour in his eyes. He truly would move Heaven and Earth if it would mean that you would grace him with a smile. He holds your face, thumbs wiping your stray tears away with gentle reverence.
āDo not deny me.ā
His forehead presses to yours; the warmth of his breath ghosts across your lips. You are falling apart at the seams, destined to unravel in his devoted hands.
A whisper, barely a beat of a breath. āDo not deny yourself.ā
Spoken into the small space between you, yet it echoes in your ears as though it were screamed to the rafters.
He patiently awaits your answer, but words evade you entirely. You should fight. Run. Lock yourself away from him. You cannot let him rot too.
As if against your will, you finally nod. He wastes little time, fumbling at the fastenings of your clothes, careful hands pushing and tugging until at last, enough of you is bared to him that he may set to his task. It is not the first time that you have seen each other in such a state of undress, but thisā¦
This is different. There is no innocence to this. There is purpose, a weight to what is about to unfold. How much does a manās soul weigh?
When he touches you, all thought is lost. It is like lightning thrumming across your skin. You have never felt anything like it before in your life. You find yourself desperate to both squirm away and press yourself closer. It is dizzying.
Your pulse is a rolling thunder in your ears. Heat strikes you in flashes ā it is only just that something such as this should be called a sin. This feeling, that threatens to drag you under and drown you, could leave you destitute in your addiction to it, and you would welcome it. If life were this, and only this ā being brought to rapturous release again and again and again ā you would gladly forfeit your seat in Heaven in exchange.
Even God does not possess enough mercy for such an unrepentant soul.Ā And yet, in this single, glorious moment, you cannot bring yourself to care.
Not once does William's hand stop; he moves with such practiced ease that you dare to wonder how he became so well-versed. His other hand is firm against the back of your neck, the warmth of him blooming across your skin. His breaths are almost as harsh as your own, and the thought that he, too, is unraveling as quickly as you ā he without a touch ā is almost enough to drag you asunder.
He presses harder, and a keening cry slips from your lips ā you cannot stand this blissful torture for much longer.
He knows your mind too well. āDo not try,ā he implores in a hushed breath. āGive in. Please.ā
His pace quickens then, and the only thing you can do is obey. You allow yourself to give in, allow him to take this burden ā this sin ā from you and claim it as his own. Tremors rack through you as he holds you tight, only faltering when you beg it of him.
A beat, a shuddering breath. āThink no more of this.ā
He draws back then. You have never seen him in such a state. Cheeks flushed and lips parted, strands of his dark locks swept across his forehead. His gaze is heady, pupils blown wide. He is truly beautiful.
āYou are free of this sin.ā
Tears spring to your eyes once more. He is but a man; he cannot absolve you of such atrocity, and yet you let yourself believe his words. That you are free.
A gentle kiss is shared between you. Slow, unhurried. A mutual understanding.
This shall remain here.
And here, in your sanctuary, time seems to have slipped away entirely. He holds you close to his heart, the steady thud of it lulling you into a doze. A faraway call of your name rouses you some; strong arms help you the short distance to bed. You reach for him in your sleep-addled haze as he turns to leave.
āAllow me to dress, love,ā he says, a soft kiss pressed to your hand as he untangles himself from your weak grasp.
He returns to you shortly thereafter, climbing into bed and sliding his arms around you. His nose brushes against your neck, and a quiet sigh escapes him.
"Rest now," he whispers. "You are safe here."
And when you dream that night, the wolf is there to greet you once more. But it is different now. It follows after you with curiosity. You do not feel afraid. Tentatively, you reach out a hand, and it comes to you, pushing its head against your palm. Such power it holds, even in so small an action, and yet you are no longer wracked with fear. You feel safe ā as if the wolf has at last been sated.
You do not wake until the first rays of sunlight begin to stream through the window in the morn. William is still by your side, hair tousled and cheeks rosy from sleep. He stirs as you move closer to him, and the guilt that suddenly threatens to engulf you seems to melt away as his hand finds yours.
There will be time later to dwell. Right now, your only care is these fleeting moments spent with your beloved, before the day begins anew.
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Summary: An innocent moment of quiet stolen together in the car turns into something completely unexpected, but you certainly aren't complaining.
Word count: 1k
Tags and warnings: Smut (not explicit, but very much hinted at), fluff, established relationship, Bob using his Sentry powers, slightly confident Bob because Lord he deserves it, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. 18+! Minors, please do not interact!
(This was 100% inspired by the photos of Lewis at the Oscars. I have a whole gala fic in the works, but between work and studying, I don't know when it'll see the light of day, so I'm posting this little snippet from the same universe for now. Hopefully it makes sense as a standalone!)
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The car's new. Alexei's new baby. Much more expensive than the limo ā tinted windows, far more spacious, bulletproof. A much needed upgrade for the newly christened Avengers.
Bobās still trying to figure himself out. He doesnāt want to use his powers afterā¦well, everything. The Sentryās moment in the sun was over and done far too quickly, and no oneās been able to trace The Void back to him, so as far as the publicās concerned, heās just some guy.
Some guy who spends a lot of time around a group of superheroes. Itās strange being the centre of attention and completely ignored at the same time, but heās trying to get used to it.
The night of the gala, he ends up drinking just a little too much. Before the serum, it would have been enough to leave him in the hospital, but now? Heās tipsy. He feels warm all over. It's nice.
The company's even nicer, though, he has to admit. Youād said you were stepping out for some air, and he hadnāt exactly been subtle about following you. Heād tried, really he had ā but his inhibitions seem to have gone out the window along with his nerves tonight.
Even outside, the place was buzzing with people. Heād innocently suggested taking a breather in the car, and youād all too readily agreed.
He hadnāt meant for this to happen, he swears, but heās certainly not complaining. How could he? When the prettiest girl heās ever laid eyes on is sitting in his lap in the back seat, knees pressed to his hips and hands on his chest. His own settle on your legs, fingertips running light lines up and down. Head resting against the seat, he looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
āI donāt think Iāve ever seen you so relaxed,ā you say, hands smoothing out the slight wrinkles in his shirt.
He hums. Heās sensitive at the best of times, but now? Your touch feels like heat licking at his skin. If heās not careful, it could become addictive. Maybe he doesnāt care.
āIs that a bad thing?ā
You shake your head. āNo, of course not. Just wish I could see it more often. You deserve it.ā
His smile widens. You always seem to know what to say. He takes your hands in his, gathering them together against his chest and giving you the gentlest little tug. Heās always so careful with you, knows exactly the damage heās capable of. Would never dream of hurting you.
But even when heās gentle, heās still so strong. A squeak of a sound escapes you as you yield all too easily, finding yourself pressed flush against his chest.
āThereās my pretty girl,ā he murmurs, and thereās no mistaking the effect his words have on you.
A shuddered breath against his skin. His nose brushes yours. Youāre trembling in his hold, he can feel it. Every minute movement feels like waves crashing over him. Itās intoxicating.
He wants to take his time with you, cherish every single second. Every breath, every glance, every smile ā all of it. But thereās a part of him that wants to give in. Let that building urge take over. Leave you overwhelmed and at his mercy in the most delicious way.
His resolve is slipping.
So is yours, from the looks of it. But he has to be sure.
āYāknow, everyoneās probably wondering where weāve got toā¦ā
He deliberately trails off, holds your gaze. Waits.
You bite your lip. āWhatās ten more minutes?ā
And thatās all the answer he needs. He gives in, lets that feeling thatās threatening to overpower him take over. The mask falls away. He kisses you like heās never going to see you again. He canāt help himself ā he needs this. Needs you. The one thing that makes him feel safe when he feels like heās losing his grip on reality.
His hands slip under your dress, and you donāt stop him, pushing yourself closer as you thread your fingers through his hair. His thumbs press against your hips, anchoring you. A quick squeeze is enough to make you gasp, and his head is swimming. He might be obsessed with you. You do things to him that no one else ever has.
He should reward you.
Focus isnāt coming easy to him right now, but he pushes through, forces himself to concentrate. Find that one spot that'll make you see stars. And when he does ā oh, itās so worth it. Heās never heard that noise from you before ā a mix of sheer pleasure and shock. Youāre quick to pull away, disbelief written all over your face, his name whispered in a shaky breath. Your hands slide down to his.
āHow did you-ā you start to ask, but when your eyes meet his, you falter.
And it hits you.
āYour eyesā¦ā
He should feel scared, but he doesnāt. He feels confident. Powerful.
āWhat about them?ā he asks.
As if he doesnāt know. He waits for your mouth to open in reply before he strikes again. Hits that same point. Pulls that same noise from you.
His hands are still securely on your hips. You both know that. And he canāt help himself. He pushes further. Touches you everywhere he knows you like ā and not once do his hands move.
Heās never needed you more than he does right now, but he needs to see you fall apart first. Make a mess of you. Ruin you for anyone else.
Itās selfish, he knows that, but how can he help himself? Heās so head over heels for you.
And when you do finally break, when youāre so overwhelmed that you canāt take any more and it all hits you at once, heās mesmerised. Heās never seen anything as beautiful as you are right now.
He might have the powers of a God, but you? You make him feel so weak. He loves it. Loves the power you have over him.
It takes you a minute to catch your breath. He lets himself bask in it. Just you and him. He couldnāt ask for more.
Until youāre tearing at his suit like youāre possessed, exposing every inch of skin ā how could he possibly refuse you?
Taglist: @getaapologist @nomajdetective
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Summary: The squad are on a mission to get Bob to loosen up on a night out. Getting him drunk is one thing, but getting him to bed afterwards is a whole other challenge.
Word count: 4.5k
Tags and warnings: Fluff, mentions of alcohol, Bob and reader are married, Bobās a bit of a messy drunk (but heās very cute about it), squad shenanigans, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N.
(HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @getaapologist!! Iām so grateful to call you my friend and writing partner-in-crime! Seriously, youāve been an incredible support and inspiration, so hereās a little Bob Floyd to say thank you! I hope you have the best day, you deserve it!)
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Bobās not exactly one for partying. His idea of a āwild timeā is staying up past 11pm on a weeknight to finish a movie. Heās a man of routine, and he gets enough excitement as it is at work. So what if that might seem boring to some people? There are worse things he could be in life.Ā
The rest of his squad, on the other hand, are sick of it. They want him to go out and let loose with them, even once.Ā
Bob may be quiet, but heās stubborn. Contrary to popular belief, heās not as much of a pushover as he might look, and once heās made up his mind, it can take a lot of convincing for him to change it.Ā
So, they try a different tactic. They enlist your help.Ā
Itās Friday evening, and you, Bob and the rest of the squad are at Natashaās place for dinner. It was supposed to be a potluck sort of arrangement, but half the guys conveniently āleft their share at homeā, so takeout was very quickly ordered instead. Itās something you try to do together once a month when your schedules allow. Itās a nice way to catch up outside of the chaos of work. At least, it normally is. Maybe itās you, but something feels a little off tonight. It isnāt until Bradley calls Bob over to help pick a movie for everyone to watch after dinner that youāre finally clued in.
āListen. We need your help,ā Mickey whispers, leaning in to you.
You were right. There is something going on.
āWith what?ā you ask.
Javy peers over your shoulder, making sure that Bobās completely distracted before moving closer. āWe have a plan.ā
That answers nothing. āA plan,ā you echo. āAre you gonna tell me what it is, orā¦?ā
Natasha nudges Mickey out of the way as she lays out plates on the table. āThey wanna get Bob drunk,ā she says simply.Ā
Jake scoffs, offended. āUh, we wanna get Bob drunk, Phoenix. You included. Donāt make it sound so shady.ā
You let them bicker back and forth for a while before you cut in. āOkay, you wanna get Bob drunk. One, why? And two, what does that have to do with me?ā
āBecause he wonāt listen to us,ā Reuben replies.Ā
Youāre still not satisfied. āAnd what makes you think heāll listen to me?ā
Mickey raises his eyebrows in disbelief. āAre you kidding me? Youāre his wife. You have power that we lowly peasants can only dream of.ā
Natasha rolls her eyes. āLook, you donāt have to,ā she says. āItās just- Well, heās always way too busy taking care of everyone else-ā
She shoots a pointed glare at Jake, whoās conveniently helping himself to as much food as his plate will take to even notice.Ā
ā-to let himself have fun.āĀ
Mickey and Reuben stand on either side of her, giving you the most pathetic-looking puppy-dog eyes they can manage. Already, you can feel your resolve slipping. Damn, theyāre good.Ā
āOkay, fine. Iām in,ā you say, conceding defeat.Ā
Before any of them can celebrate, Natashaās immediately shutting it down.Ā
āCovert mission, guys, remember?ā she says, as if sheās scolding teenagers.Ā
Javy and Reuben both pretend to scratch their necks, as if they werenāt about to high-five.Ā
āWhat do you need me to do?ā you ask.
Jake vaguely gestures behind you. āWeāll fill you in on the details later,ā he mutters, before plastering a grin on his face as he raises his voice. āWhat took you guys so long?āĀ
A gentle hand touches your waist, and you smile to yourself as you lean into it.Ā
āWe were barely gone five minutes,ā Bob replies, confusion in his voice.Ā
āAnd somehow most of the foodās already gone,ā Bradley says, giving Jake a dirty look ā who gives him a smug smile with his mouth full of food in reply.Ā
The rest of the evening passes much more quietly ā mostly because Bobās too close within earshot for any more conspiring to be done. Although it doesnāt escape your notice when Jake starts snickering to himself about halfway through the movie. You sneak a glance over at him. Heās holding his phone close to his face as he types something. He tilts the screen slightly towards Mickey, who immediately tries to cover up his sudden laugh with an unconvincing cough. That wouldnāt be all that out of the ordinary ā if they didnāt both clam up the second they caught you looking over at them. They turn their attention back to the TV, but not before Jake taps his nose at you. Mickeyās mouth is pressed tightly shut as he tries to contain himself.Ā
Clearly they werenāt as subtle as they thought, since Bob mentions it in passing on the ride home.Ā
āWas it just me, or did everyone seem a littleā¦weird tonight?ā he asks.Ā
You clear your throat, caught off-guard. āWhat do you mean?ā
He shrugs. āI donāt know, I guess it felt likeā¦something wasnāt quite right? Maybe Iām imagining things.ā
āTheyāre always a little weird,ā you reply fondly, giving his knee a gentle pat.
He huffs a laugh at that. āYeah, I canāt argue with you there. Itās probably nothing.ā
He says no more about it after that, which youāre grateful for. You feel bad for not being entirely honest with him, but itās not like youāre keeping some horrible secret from him either. The guys are right ā itād be good for Bob to blow off some steam. God knows he deserves to, with how hard he works.
You decide not to say anything. Itāll be worth it, you know it will.Ā
The next evening, you and Bob are lying on the couch together, watching an old war movie. Well, heās watching it - and āwatchingā might not be the right word for it. Itās been a long-running joke for years that Bob cannot watch anything military-related and sit quietly - especially if itās old. With how exhausting his job is, youād think the last thing heād want to do when he gets home is look at more planes, but if anything, he finds it relaxing. Itās hard not to see how much he loves what he does. He even has a set of miniature fighter aircraft models heās been working on over the past few months. On more than one occasion, youāve had to go into the study to let him know what time it is ā if you didnāt, odds are heād still be in there until the early hours of the morning.
If youāre completely honest, you have no idea what heās talking about when he really gets going, but it doesnāt matter ā seeing him so happy makes you happy. And seeing how excited he gets, the way his eyes light up and how animated his hands are ā heās so cute. So you donāt mind if youāre struggling to keep up with him, itās more than worth it.Ā
Right now, he has his head in your lap, completely enraptured and mid-explanation, while you play with his hair, doing your best to follow what heās saying. Itās always so meticulously styled first thing in the morning, but by this time, his loose curls are winning the fight against whatever remnants of pomade are left.Ā
Your phone buzzes, pulling your attention away from him for a second. The screen lights up as you turn it over. One new notification.Ā
You have been added to Operation: Get Bob Smashed.
You quickly flip it over again, trying to pass off a laugh as a yawn. Bob shifts then, curious eyes looking up at you.Ā
āSorry, honey,ā he says, embarrassed. āWas I rabbiting again?ā
You shake your head, leaning down as best you can to press a kiss to his forehead.Ā
āDonāt be silly, I love listening to you,ā you reply earnestly. āJust a little tired after today, thatās all.ā
He hums quietly, seemingly content with your answer, and settles himself against you again, none the wiser as you unlock your phone.Ā
The plan is exactly how theyād described it to you ā they want to go out, get drunk, and make sure Bob gets just as drunk with them. No babysitting, no self-imposed managerial duties. They want him to have fun.Ā
Hangman
I love the guy, but itās like going out with your grandpa sometimes.
Coyote
Thatās cold, man.
Hangman
Am I wrong, though??
The invitation had been extended to you too, of course. You might have come into their lives a little later than Bob, but over the years, theyāve become like a family to you. You love going out with them, and any other time, you would have jumped at the chance, but you were insistent that tonight, it should just be the squad. Bobās already an overthinker as it is, and he ends up spending so much time trying to make sure that you understand every story and inside joke. Itās so sweet that he goes to all the trouble to make sure you feel included, but he gets so caught up in it all sometimes that he wonāt let himself relax.
Besides, just because you wonāt be there doesnāt mean youāll be missing all the fun.
Your role, as delegated by the group, is to simply get Bob out the door ā which is not as easy as it sounds.Ā
Itās taking longer than usual for him to get ready tonight, but youād expected that. It hadnāt taken all that much to persuade him to go out, but getting him out might be a whole other matter. Normally, heās so punctual; everythingās laid out exactly as and where he needs it, his showerās perfectly timed ā youād expect nothing less from a lieutenant ā but he really seems to be dragging his feet, and your resolveās starting to waver as a result.Ā
You want him to go out and enjoy himself, but it feels like youāre making him do something he doesnāt want to do for the sake of everyone else.
When you go to check on him, itās to find him standing in the middle of the bedroom, shoes in hand, staring down at them as if theyāre hiding some big secret from him.Ā
āHoney?ā you call from the doorway. āEverything okay?ā
He snaps to attention at the sound of your voice.
āHuh? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course,ā he replies unconvincingly. āIām justā¦ā
He holds his shoes up, as if that explains anything. It doesnāt.Ā
You sit down at the end of the bed, patting the space next to you. āSomethingās wrong,ā you say gently. Itās not a question.Ā
With a sigh, Bob sits next to you, setting his shoes on the floor. His eyes are glazed over. He looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and itās making you feel even worse.Ā
āI guessā¦I guess Iām just nervous,ā he admits. āAbout tonight.ā
Thatās not what you were expecting. You know somethingās not right, that much is obvious, but you figured it was because he was tired or concerned about having his routine thrown off. Heās always been a bit of a stickler like that.Ā
āWhatās got you nervous?ā you ask.
āI donāt know, Iā¦ā He trails off, staring down at his hands in his lap. āI guess I donāt think Iām all that much fun when it comes to things like this. Going out, I mean. And Iām worried that everyoneās gonna see that, and Iāll be letting them down.ā
He chews at his lip, his brow furrowed with worry. Just looking at him is enough to break your heart. You take his hands in yours.
āHey. Youāre plenty of fun. And Iām not saying that because I have to,ā you tell him, squeezing his hands gently before he has a chance to interrupt. āAnd the guys? They love you, Bob. Would they even bother if they didnāt?ā
He shrugs half-heartedly. āTheyāre just being nice.ā
You reach up to turn his face towards you. āSweetheart. Look at me.ā
His eyes finally meet yours, but itās not without some effort.
āThey love you,ā you say again, insistent. āTrust me. They want you to go out with them. So, no more overthinking, okay? Go and enjoy yourself. You deserve it as much as anyone else.ā
He stares at you for a moment, before finally nodding. You kiss the tip of his nose, and at last, he gives you a smile.Ā
Heās still a bit hesitant as he finishes getting ready, but he does seem more settled in himself as he leaves later that night, which is reassuring. Besides, you know him well enough by now that heāll enjoy himself once heās there with everyone. And some time to yourself for a few hours sounds nice, so itās a win-win, really.Ā
Itās about an hour after heās left that the first update arrives. Youāre cozied up on the couch, about to start a book youāve been meaning to read for what feels like forever, when your phone lights up.Ā
Itās a photo. Jake looks as though heās in the middle of one of his typical dramatic stories, if his facial expression and blurry hands are any indication. Mickey has his arm slung around Bobās shoulders, holding a drink with his head thrown back in laughter. Bob, by comparison, is very much still sober. His handās pressed to his mouth, as if Jakeās said something embarrassing ā which, knowing Jake, he no doubt has ā but even with his face partially covered, you can see the creases around Bobās eyes from where heās smiling.Ā
Payback
One drink down!Ā
You shake your head with a smile, saving the photo before going back to your book.
The next update is about forty-five minutes later - a message from Jake, followed by another photo.
Hangman
Okay, when was anyone gonna tell me that Bob can do shots??
You click on the photo. Bobās standing at the bar, with a shot glass raised as if in triumph. Heās not hiding his smile this time, and his cheeks are starting to turn rosy. Jakeās standing next to him, with an expression that would make you think his whole worldās falling apart.
You send a side-eye emoji in reply, with no context. You know exactly how Bob built a tolerance for shots, but youād rather let Jake suffer for a while first before you fill him in on the details.Ā
Now that youāve had a few messages, youāre finding it difficult to focus on reading. As silly as the whole idea might have seemed at the start, youāre invested now. So when your phone eventually lights up again, youāre quick to pick it up.
Fanboy
Your husbandās being sickeningly cute right now.Ā
Itās obvious this photoās been taken sneakily. You can see a little of Bobās shoulder, but itās what heās doing thatās the clear focus. His phoneās in his hand, with a picture of you on the screen.Ā
You donāt think you could help the smile spreading across your face if you tried as you type a reply.
Even after all these years, he still knows how to make you feel like youāre the most important person in the world.Ā
You
I picked a good one, didnāt I?
Thereās a bit of radio silence before the next message, and you can feel yourself starting to doze off. Youāre definitely going to have to reread the last few pages, you canāt remember a thing thatās happened.Ā
Coyote
You have to see this.Ā
This time, itās a video. Bob, Mickey and Bradley are standing by the jukebox in the bar, singing their hearts out. Itās not often that Bob sings, at least from your experience. Occasionally, youāll hear him humming under his breath or muttering the chorus of a song when he thinks you canāt hear him, but actual singing is a whole other thing.
Thereās no doubt about it, heās definitely drunk now. And the best part is that heās obviously having the time of his life. Itās not that Bob doesnāt know how to have fun, but with his job and how much of a worrywart he can be, itās not often that you see him this carefree.Ā
You can hear Javy trying to stifle his laughter as the camera shakes slightly, and youāre struggling to keep quiet too. Theyāre doing more shouting than anything else, but they look like theyāre having so much fun that it doesnāt matter how off-key they are.Ā
You need to experience this in person. Next time. Youāll make sure thereās a next time.
Youāre in the middle of getting ready for bed when the next update arrives. And the last one, from the sounds of it.Ā
Hangman
Oh man, Baby On Boardās hit his limit.
Itās rare that Bob ever really hits his limit; he usually ends up so focused on taking care of everyone else that he skips right into a premature hangover.Ā
Thereās a photo underneath, from Natasha. Sheās looking at the camera with a knowing smile on her face, cut off as she tries to fit everyone into the frame. Behind her sit Jake and Reuben, both of them pulling faces. Theyāve been drinking, sure, but they could still mostly pass for sober. And right in the middle of them is Bob, who looks as though he has no idea where he is. Heās staring right at the camera, but thereās a vacant look in his eyes, and his glasses are nowhere to be seen. His lips are parted, as though heās about to say something, and his cheeks and nose are tinged a soft shade of red.
Phoenix
I think itās time someone went to bed.
Fanboy
Your orders, Captain?
You smile to yourself. You couldnāt ask for a better group of people to trust your husband with.Ā
You
Heās dismissed. Bring him home.
About twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings. And rings, and rings, until youāre scrambling down the hall to make it stop before it ends up broken. As soon as the door opens, youāre met with a chorus of cheers, all too quickly shut down when you harshly shush them.Ā
āGuys. Neighbours,ā you remind them sternly, and they at least have the sense to look even a little guilty.Ā
āDelivery,ā Mickey sing-songs under his breath.Ā
Bradley steps forward with an apologetic expression, and your gaze lands on the poor thing clinging to his shoulders.Ā
āOh, honey, what have they done to you?ā you say, trying to stifle a giggle.Ā
āIn our defence, nothing he didnāt want,ā Jake pipes up.Ā
āBob had a point to prove tonight, apparently,ā Natasha adds.Ā
You step aside, letting Bradley guide Bob inside. He can still walk, at least; heās just a little unsteady on his own. Thatās a relief.Ā
āWhere do you want him?ā he asks.Ā
āBedroom would make my life a lot easier,ā you reply, rolling your eyes as Jake wolf-whistles.Ā
Thankfully, Bob goes down onto the bed without a fight. Now all you have to do is get him into it, which wonāt be easy.Ā
But first things first, you have a small drunk army waiting to celebrate with you in the hallway. As soon as you leave the bedroom, youāre being dragged into a group hug. With how excited they are, youād think theyād just come back from a real mission.Ā
You canāt blame them, though. This is big. After all these years, they did it ā they finally got Bob drunk on a night out. Itās no wonder theyāre as excited as they are.Ā
It takes some manoeuvring, but you manage to free yourself. āThanks for taking care of him tonight.ā
Natasha pulls a face. āYou might want to hold off thanking us until you see how bad the hangoverās gonna be.ā
You shake your head. āIām sure heāll be fine.ā
They all say their goodbyes in varying degrees of āquietā voices as you usher them out the door. Their job may be done for the night, but yours has just started.Ā
When you return, you expect to find Bob passed out. Instead, heās upright ā albeit very slumped, attempting to yank both his shirt and slacks off at the same time and getting absolutely nowhere with either one. His face is set in a very concentrated frown, as if heās working on something incredibly complicated.Ā
āGod, itās too warm in here,ā heās muttering to himself.Ā
You stand in the doorway, unable to look away from the disaster unfolding in front of you.Ā
He eventually figures out that one item of clothing at a time is the easier option, and so focuses on his shirt, dragging it up over his head and tossing it across the room. You suck in a breath. No one knows better than you what Bobās hiding under his uniform, but goddamn if it doesnāt still catch you by surprise. Youāre so distracted that it takes you a minute to realise that his glasses are gone. Again.
Bob doesnāt seem to have noticed either, judging by how hard heās wrestling with his belt. Maybe it would be best if you put him out of his misery and helped him. You crouch down in front of him, reaching for the buckle, when he lets out a sudden yelp, slapping your hands away and scrambling halfway up the bed.Ā
āHoney, whatās wrong?ā you ask, concerned.
God, you hope heās not about to throw up.
āNo- No, you canāt do that,ā he tells you, his words slurring together slightly. āIām sure youāre a lovely girl, but Iām- Iām married.ā
He holds up his hand, showing you his wedding band.
āHappily married. See?ā
You bite back a smile. āReally? How happy are we talking?ā
He scowls at you then, and you find yourself taken aback by it. Bobās never looked at you like that before. Itās unsettling, honestly.
āVery happily,ā he retorts. āAnd I donāt appreciate the implication.āĀ
The fact that he can still say any of those words in his current state, let alone know what they mean, is impressive. He shoves his hand into the back pocket of his slacks, clumsily fishing out his phone. It takes him a few tries to unlock it, and his frustration only seems to be growing each time he puts his password in wrong. Eventually, he manages it, and he holds it up to you to show you his screensaver. Itās a picture of you and him from a few months ago. The one you begged him to delete, if you remember right.
It was from the day you all went to the beach. Natasha had bought this ridiculously oversized sun hat, and the guys were having a great time making a game out of seeing how many of them could fit underneath the brim.
āIt didnāt look that big when I ordered it,ā Natasha had grumbled, which of course was met with a chorus of whooping and hollering.Ā
Bob had snuck off to set up his phone to record while the rest of them were busy arguing.
āItās easier this way. Means I can take screenshots,ā heād explained to you. āTrying to get them to behave for a photo? Itās a nightmare.ā
After a while, theyād all drifted off to do their own things. Natasha wanted to catch up on her book, and the guys were insistent on setting up a game of football. You had point-blank refused to join, not wanting to go home covered in bruises from constant elbows to the ribs, and Bob had stayed with you. As soon as everyone was distracted, heād leaned in to plant a big kiss on your cheek, and youād burst out laughing in surprise. His phone lay forgotten in the sand.
When youād gone through the photos together later, you remember complaining about that one, saying you didnāt like how you looked in it.Ā
āBut you look so happy,ā Bob had insisted.Ā
He promised heād delete it ā crossed his heart and everything ā but seeing it now, you couldnāt bring yourself to be mad at him even if you wanted to. He was right ā you do look happy. And you know how he feels about you. He tells you every chance he gets how beautiful he thinks you are.
Itās been fun riling him up, but itās probably best to quit while youāre ahead. Youāve never seen Bob so genuinely distraught. You find his discarded shirt, and lo and behold, his glasses are safely buried in the fabric. You pull them free, crossing the room and carefully placing them back where they belong. It takes Bob a second to even realise, blinking up at you owlishly before youāre suddenly being tackled to the bed. You donāt put up much of a fight. Even drunk, heās a force to be reckoned with.Ā
āSweetheart,ā he whines at you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His glasses are immediately shoved out of the way again. āMissed you.ā
You consign yourself to your fate, letting him sling a leg over yours as he cuddles closer. You can think of far worse ways to go.Ā
āMissed you too,ā you reply with a smile, kissing his forehead.Ā
He lets out a contented hum, brushing his nose against your neck.
āDid you have a good time?ā you ask.
You feel him shake his head. You have a mountain of evidence to the contrary that would hold up very well against him in court, but you decide to humour him.
āHow come? Did something happen?ā
He huffs a sigh, blowing hot air against your skin.Ā
āWasnāt the same without you,ā he mumbles, and if you didnāt know any better, youād say heās pouting.
Not five minutes ago, he was fighting with you, and now here he is, clinging to you like a koala bear. And even the argument was him trying to prove how much he loves you. Bob Floyd is a ridiculous man sometimes, but heās your ridiculous man.
You gently run your hand up and down his back in an attempt to placate him. āIāll come with you next time, honey, I promise.ā
āYouād better,ā he grumbles, but most of the fightās left him at this point. His breathingās growing longer and heavier, and you know you only have a minute at most before heās dead to the world. Leaving you trapped underneath him in the centre of the bed. With the lights still on.Ā
āBob. Sweetheart,ā you call softly, shaking him. He lets out a loud snort, jolting against you. āCome on, into bed.ā
You somehow manage to wrangle him into an upright position and under the covers before he collapses against you again. His arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Thereās a slight possessiveness to it that no one else would believe from such a sweet guy. There was a time when you wouldnāt have believed it either.Ā Youāre certainly not complaining, though.
You wait until youāre certain that Bobās dozed off before reaching for your phone. Taking a quick photo of you and your now-snoring husband, you send it to the group chat. Almost immediately, youāre hit with notification after notification. You put it on silent, setting it down on the bedside table as quietly as possible. The mayhem can wait until tomorrow.Ā
Bob mumbles something incoherent in his sleep as he all but shoves himself closer to you. Itās hard to stop yourself from smiling, as you let your eyes close as well.Ā
Operation: Get Bob Smashed was a complete success.
Taglist: @getaapologist @nomajdetective
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Summary: Sometimes all you want is some quiet time with your husband.
Word count: 1.6k
Tags and warnings: Nothing but soft, married, domestic fluff, Calvinās sickeningly in love with his wife (and a little bit of a tease), very mildly suggestive at the end, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N.
(Working my way through the Lewbubu roster, apparently! I havenāt seen Lessons in Chemistry yet as I don't have access to it, but Iāve seen clips and so many gif sets. God, heās cute. Did I write this fic for @getaapologist? ...Maybe.)
If you could have even one night in a week where Calvin didnāt sneak home from work in the early hours of the morning, or covered in Band-Aids, or absolutely reeking of something that had exploded on him in at work, it was considered a good week.Ā
Tonight, you were blessed with all three. No injuries, no horrible chemical smells and he was home in time for dinner. Wonders never ceased.
āIs this my birthday present?ā you asked. āBecause you're a little early, you know."
You stood at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables. Calvin was supposed to be helping, but had instead decided that standing right behind you with his hands tucked into the apron at your waist was a much more productive use of his time. You wouldnāt mind so much if he wasnāt so distracting. He never was particularly good at keeping still for very long.
āDamn, thatās my cover blown,ā he joked, pressing a kiss to your jaw with a smile.Ā
His breath tickled your neck, and with a shiver, you set down the knife you were holding.
āDonāt make me ban you from the kitchen, mister,ā you said, pretending to sound annoyed.
He laughed, giving you a quick squeeze before stepping back. āOkay, okay, Iāll behave,ā he replied, relenting. āWhat can I help with?ā
To the outside world, being able to cook dinner with your husband might not have sounded like the most exciting or glamorous way to spend an evening, but to you, it was everything. Besides, of all the words you could think of to describe Calvin Evans, dull was certainly not one of them. He was kind, and smart, and downright devoted to you. The way you would catch him staring at you sometimes - it was as if you had hung the stars in the sky.
He was perfect for you.Ā
And his eccentricities only added to his charm. Even if they did, on occasion, leave your curtains in ruins when his experiments got just a bit out of hand.Ā
Later that evening, you found yourself distracted, standing in the doorway of your bedroom. For once, Calvin was in bed before you, engrossed in the heavy textbook that sat in his lap. He quietly hummed to himself as he made notes across the pages. It was hard to keep the smile from your face as you watched him.Ā
āYou know, I really wish you wouldnāt do that,ā you said softly.Ā
He jumped at the sudden sound of your voice, so lost in his own world that he hadnāt heard you come in. The book fell to the wayside as he glanced up. Your smile only widened.
āNow, before you say anything else, this is my own copy,ā he said firmly, righting the book in his lap again. āI donāt do this to the books at work.ā
You stared at him expectantly, eyebrows raised, until he averted his gaze nervously.
āAnymore,ā he added under his breath.
You shook your head with a fond expression. āThatās not what I meant.ā
You climbed into bed next to him, nudging his shoulder with yours until he took the hint and put down his pen.
āWhat?ā he asked, with a slight tilt of his head. āIs it because Iām working in bed? Because Iām not working. This is just for fun.ā
You peered down at the thick textbook in disbelief. The pages were filled with nothing but equations and quadratics, with Calvinās occasional chicken scratch notes in the margins - it all might as well have been in a different language.Ā
āYou and I have very different definitions of the word āfunā,ā you told him, drumming your fingers along the page he had been scribbling on.Ā
āAnd thatās why we work so well together. You keep me guessing.ā
He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your cheek.
āMakes life more interesting,ā he murmured warmly.Ā
Ever the romantic.Ā
āThatās not what I meant either,ā you said. āBut since youāre not working, like you saidā¦ā
You closed the book over, pulling it out of the way before he could protest. He folded his hands in his now empty lap, bright gaze focused entirely on you.
āOkay, you have my full attention. What did you mean?ā
You chewed at your lip. It was always so much harder when he turned it around on you like this, but you were not to be deterred. You walked your fingers lightly across his chest, up along his neck, before giving his nose the gentlest tap. It immediately scrunched. Every time.
āWellā¦I havenāt seen you for most of the dayā¦ā you said, in as innocent a tone as you could muster. āAnd Iām still not really seeing a lot of you nowā¦ā
Calvinās eyes widened. Exaggerated, of course - he always loved playing along with your stories - but you could spy the faint pink colour creeping into his cheeks.
āIf I didnāt know any better, Iād say you were ogling me, madam,ā he replied in a mock-haughty tone, jutting his chin out as though he really was offended by the notion.
Madam. The pet name he always used in your pretend fights. The first time he had ever said it, your face had turned a very bright shade of red, and he had never let you live it down since.Ā
Well, two can play that game.Ā
āI am not ogling you, sir, Iām merely admiring the view,ā you countered. āOr I would be, if the view wasnāt being obscured by this.ā
You hooked your finger under the hem of his T-shirt, giving it a little tug.
A hint. Hoping heād take the bait.
Calvin let his mouth drop open slightly, pressing a hand to his cheek.Ā
āWhy, madam, Iāll have you know that Iām a married man,ā he said, pretending to be completely scandalised.Ā
He slipped his other hand under the covers to hide his wedding band, and you laughed.
āYour wife is a lucky woman,ā you replied, still smiling.Ā
āAnd Iām a lucky man.ā He reached for your hand, all pretence dropped as he kissed the back of it. āA very lucky man.ā
Even after all these years, he still knew how to leave you breathless.Ā
He pushed the covers away from him, sitting up on his knees. āYou really want me to take it off?ā he asked, his expression amused. āFine.ā
The way he said it, in such a casual, throwaway tone - it didnāt quite register at first. It was only when he was pressing you back against the headboard and sliding into your lap that you realised. Your breath hitched. Calvin had always been so unpredictable; made even more so by the way he looked. The way he dressed. His career. On the outside, he was the very picture of a shy, nervous man who would blush beet red if a pretty girl so much as bat her eyelashes at him.Ā
But you, his loving wife, oh, how you knew better.Ā
You knew all too well what lay beneath that well-dressed exterior.Ā
āI got you a front row seat, hope you donāt mind,ā he said, his voice dropping to a teasing lilt.Ā
He winked at you, and while it should have been cute, maybe even a little silly, your mouth suddenly felt very dry.Ā
He reached for the hem of his T-shirt, slowly pulling it up to reveal his stomach, then his chest. Another one of the many ways in which Calvin proved himself to be unpredictable was in how athletic he was. Almost every morning, he would go for a run around the neighbourhood, slipping back into bed just as you were waking up. He was an avid rower too, and could easily spend hours out on the water.
The first time you had seen him without his shirt, you had almost choked. Always finding new ways to surprise you.Ā
He took his time, deliberately drawing it out until you were practically squirming underneath him.Ā
āWhatās the matter?ā he asked, as if he didnāt know damn well what he was doing to you.Ā
You shook your head, letting your hands glide softly along the newly exposed skin, fingertips tracing lines against his ribs. He shivered then, and you smiled. It was nice to finally have the upper hand again, even if just for a moment.Ā
Finally, he pulled his shirt off entirely, tossing it to the floor. That one curl he could never quite manage to tame fell loose, lying against his forehead. He looked down at you, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.Ā
āWell?ā he prompted, placing his hands on his hips, as if heād just finished a run. āAre you happy now?ā
āWellā¦ā you started, running your hands along his arms. āItās definitely a good startā¦ā
Calvin blinked at you in confusion, then it dawned on him. āOh.ā
He nodded, brows knitting together, as if he were mulling over some great discovery. Then he levelled his gaze on you, sharp and focused.Ā
Dangerous.
āIt doesnāt really seem all that fair, now, does it?ā he said, his tone thoughtful.Ā
A light touch at the hem of your pajama shirt. A hint of his own.Ā
You pretended to look surprised. āConvince me,ā you countered, folding your arms tightly. Challenging.
As if you needed to tell him twice. He pulled you in for a kiss that stole your breath away, his hands sliding into your hair, tugging ever so slightly. Just enough to draw a gasp from you. You could feel him smiling, and you raked your nails down his sides until he shuddered. Not to hurt, just to redress the balance.Ā
He did, of course, manage to get his way in the end, but by that point, with you firmly seated in his lap, entirely distracted by how good he feltā¦Well, it hardly mattered anymore.Ā
Youāll agree to disagree, as you always do, and just call it a draw.Ā
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