🗲 Starting Patterns (John Walker/Reader, Bob Reynolds/Reader) - ☁️ - 1.9k
You'd met both John Walker and Bob Reynolds before, of course. But that was mostly in passing or in the middle of a fight. But, within the first few weeks of moving into the Watchtower, you found yourself connecting with them in small ways, starting with a plate of bacon and a cup of hot cocoa.
🗲 Starting Points: John (John Walker/Reader)- ☁️ - 2.8k
Breakfast has brought you and John back together, but this time John is acting strangely. It all starts with an unusual text message.
🗲 Starting Points: Bob (Bob Reynolds/Reader) - ☁️ - 2.3k
Ever since your first impromptu movie night with Bob, you've both made a habit of watching them together on a near-nightly basis. What started as impersonal slowly morphs into something else, something more intimate.
🗲 Swap Spit, Lock Lips - 🍆 - 8.3k (Outtakes)
The lines in your relationships with John Walker and Bob Reynolds had already become blurred, but you'd managed to keep one aspect intact - you'd only ever slept with them separately. However, when John wakes up and can't keep his hands off of you, that might not be true anymore.
🗲 I Want My Boyfriends to Kiss - 🍆🍆🍆 - 22.5k (Outtakes)
Your boyfriends have been acting strange recently, like they're hiding something from you. After you come to find out they have some secret plans involving you, them, and a whole lotta rope, you take it upon yourself to come up with a plan of your own to turn the tables on them.
(Ben Mears (Salem's Lot)/Miles Miller (Bad Times at the El Royale)
Masterlist
͙͘͡★ Tennis Shorts - ☁️😜 - 2.4k
Ben Mears just wants to go play some tennis with his friends. Unfortunately, his husband, Miles, likes his outfit a little too much…
͙͘͡★ Jockstrap - 🍆 - 1.8k
Miles really, really, really likes Ben's jockstrap, and he is more than willing to make up for making his husband late to play tennis.
͙͘͡★ Fairy Dress - ☁️😜🍆 - 8.5k
As Ben Mears has become more comfortable in his new life post-Salem's Lot, he's started to lose some of the filter between his mind and his mouth, much to everyone else's amusement. This leads to a Halloween party where Ben has only half a costume and Miles has a secret.
͙͘͡★ Bunny Costume - ☁️😜 - 1.2k
Miles comes home from mass, and he just knows that his husband is going to go nuts for his Easter outfit. Unfortunately, Ben just won't seem to look up at him. So Miles takes things into his own hands.
✿ Blade of Grass (Ben Mears (Salem's Lot)/Miles Miller (Bad Times at the El Royale) - ☁️🩹- 2.6k
On a very special night, Miles finds himself reflecting on the home that he and Ben have built over the years, the changes both big and small, and on the love that still burns bright within him.
✿ First Time (Two Bobs) (Bob Floyd (Top Gun: Maverick)/Bob Reynolds (Thunderbolts*) - 🍆🍆🍆 - 1k
The first time between the couple. Idk what to say more than that. It's just straight fucking.
✿ Two Bobs (Are Better Than One) (Bob Floyd (Top Gun: Maverick)/Bob Reynolds (Thunderbolts*) - ☁️ - 8.5k
At first it's just another boring night at the Hard Deck for Bob Floyd, one where he starts to regret letting Phoenix drag him out to. But when he notices a cute omega giving him a tentative smile from across the room, maybe the night won't be that bad after all.
(Bob Reynolds/Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader)
☙ Dark Maze - ☁️🍆 - 9.1k
You love going to pumpkin patches. Bob couldn't care less about them. But he loves being with you, so he willingly goes with you and the rest of the Thunderbolts to one without complaint. He's so good, in fact, that you take the opportunity away from any prying eyes to reward him (and yourself a little bit too, let's be honest here).
☙ Full Up - ☁️🍆 - 1.8k
You'd promised Bob during your escapade at the pumpkin patch that you'd let him fill you up. And Bob was going to hold you to that promise.
♥ Leave the Door Open (Bob Reynolds gen) - 🩹🩹🩹 - 6.6k
Things after the Void Incident are overall better for Bob Reynolds, but that doesn't mean it's any easier living in his head. A series of inconsequential events lead to an inevitable conclusion and a secret that Bob keeps from the others. Featuring the power of friendship and Alpine the cat.
♥ Rings A Bell (Ava Starr/Bob Reynolds/F!Thunderbolts!Reader) - 🍆🩹 - 5k
After seeing you take it, Bob is desperate to take Ava's strap. You try to warn him that it's quite the stretch, but he's determined that tonight will be the night. And with your and Ava's help, maybe he's right. And maybe he won't be the only one cumming on Ava's cock.
♥ Stealing Clothing (Bucky Barnes/Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader) - ☁️ - 5.3k
When Bucky realizes that his girlfriend can't wear his clothes, he takes it upon himself to start wearing hers. In secret. Fluff ensues.
Masterlist Banner & Dividers by @/strangergraphics
Summary: The first time between the couple. Idk what to say more than that. It's just straight fucking.
Tags/Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, A/B/O AU, first time, non-typical genitals, size kink, dirty talk, creampie, beta Bob Floyd, omega Bob Reynolds, clingy Bob R
A/N: The last fic didn't turn out the way I was expecting, so I wanted something to dedicate directly to @iristheplanet16. So here's some smut!
This is part of @abbottsdarling's pack universe. Male omegas in this AU have a small penis along with a vagina.
Sequel to Two Bobs (Are Better Than One).
"Bobby, fuck!"
The cry from the omega under him rang in Bob Floyd's ears, his already slow-moving hips jerking to a halt to let the other man adjust.
Despite not being in heat, Bob Reynolds was absolutely drenched, his slick running freely down his thighs and soaking the sheets beneath them. He'd insisted the lining of the bed was waterproof, but the beta had his doubts.
"See why I offered you lube?" Bob F teased, nosing the omega's jaw affectionately before laying a string of kisses along his collarbone.
"Yeah, yeah," Bob R said, his dismissive tone not quite covering the note of strain he was trying to hide behind glibness. The WSO made note of it anyway, holding his body rigidly still, refusing to cause an ounce more of discomfort than strictly necessary. "Mr. Big Dick over here. I have two alphas, you know. Three if you count Todd. Their knots are thicker than you."
A kind of mischievousness rose in Bob Floyd, the kind that rarely came out before but this wily omega always seemed to pull from him so effortlessly.
"They fuck you on their knots, baby?" he purred into Bob Reynolds' ear. "So greedy that you need to be stretched out to your limit? 'Cause this little pussy grippin' me so tight is telling a whole 'nother story." The way the other Bob couldn't quite bite back a whimper, his walls fluttering around the intruding beta cock made Bob Floyd grin in victory.
"Bobby," the omega moaned, his short nails biting into the beta's back, leaving little white crescent moons in their wake.
"Yes, angel?" the beta cooed in response, groaning a little when the other Bob clenched down around him.
"Please move," he pleaded. "Just…slow. Please."
With how much slick the omega was producing and out of sheer stubborn determination, it didn't take long for the two to find a rhythm. Bob Floyd kept it nice and easy - pulling out until the head of his cock was almost visible and sliding back inside all the way in one slow, purposeful motion. He tilted his hips a little differently each time, angling to find that sweet spot that would make his omega sing for him.
And sing, he did. Bob Reynolds' whole body tensed, back bowing so hard that his stomach muscles twitched. The gasp that escaped him was music to Bob Floyd's ears.
"Bobby!" he cried, his whole body shuddering as Bob F briefly pulled back and rammed forward again, checking to make sure it wasn't a fluke.
"That it, baby?" he murmured, chuckling when the omega wrapped his legs around his waist, trying to pull him impossibly closer. "What do you want?"
"You!" Bob R answered plaintively. "More! Please!"
And Bob Floyd obliged. How could he not when asked so prettily?
The beta pumped his hips fast but steady, careful to keep them at just the right angle. Bob Reynolds' cries filled the room along with the wet plap, plap, plap of their skin meeting over and over again. Shoving a hand between them, Bob F wrapped his hand around the omega's cute little cocklet. He was barely able to get in a few strokes before the man under him reached his peak, wailing as he shot thin ribbons of cum against the beta's chest and hand, pussy simultaneously drenching Bob Floyd's cock.
Bob worked him through it, milking every drop out of his lover before doubling down and focusing on chasing his own pleasure. It didn't take much. Just the feel of Bob Reynold's cunt fluttering around him and the sight of him, cheeks flushed and mouth open in orgasmic bliss, curls flared out on the pillow under his him like an angel's dark halo, was enough to send the WSO over the edge. He thrust once, twice, three times more, hips stuttering as he pumped the omega full with his release. Bob R cried out again, cocklet twitching in the beta's hand as if his body tried to cum again just from the warmth filling him.
They laid there for a while unmoving, neither having the energy to even shift onto their sides to be more comfortable. The beta rested his temple against the other man's chest, listening as Bob Reynolds' heartbeat slowed from a thundering gallop to a regular rhythm, his own breathing evening out at the same pace as if soothed by the other man's internal metronome.
By the time Bob Floyd was able to sit up without his legs feeling like jelly under him, the coolness of the air pricked their bodies, causing goosebumps to rise on the exposed flesh of his arms. But when he tried to sit up, the omega tightened the legs that had gone slack around Bob's hips, gripping him harder than the WSO thought the other Bob capable of.
"Don't," Bob Reynolds ordered, not bothering to hide the whine in his tone. "Please."
Bob Floyd was prepared to argue. He had a million reasons - the cum that was rapidly drying between them, the wet sheets that were in desperate need of changing, the stickiness of their sweaty skin touching, and, worst of all, the crushing weight of one surprisingly-heavy beta.
But he had no defenses against Bob Reynolds and those puppy dog eyes that he wielded like a precision weapon. All it took was one "Please, Bobby?" and a quiver of his chin and Bob Floyd folded.
"Don't worry, angel. I'm not going anywhere," he murmured, peppering kisses on every inch of skin he could reach - chest, neck, and jaw - quietly delighting in the little joyful giggles that escaped the man under him.
"Mmm, you better not," the omega joked, his words slurring at the edges as his eyes fluttered sleepily. "Best weighted blanket I've ever had."
Sleep came for them swiftly. Too fast for either Bob, leaving words they both longed to speak stuck in their mouths, three little words lingering on the tips of their tongues as oblivion overtook them.
Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics
Images in header are not mine.
Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!
Please do not repost or reproduce in any way. You do not have my permission to use this for AI scraping.
Another moodboard for the Lewships community. It's for a pretty new fic that absolutely captured my imagination - A Model of a Modern Major by @solarsentry. Kiki is SO good at fleshing out ships that I never would have thought of before. Never in a million years did I think I'd find Major Major x Rhett Abbott to be such a charming ship! But I can't stop thinking about them!
They are such different people who want seemingly polar opposite things - Caleb wants to be forgotten and Rhett wants to be remembered. But there's an other-ness about them that makes them feel compatible. That and they are both fairly quiet, introspective characters (even if I could 100% see Major Major being just as emotionally constipated as Rhett is).
I loved so much about it - Rhett's quiet affection, Caleb's complete obliviousness to everything (especially how he feels about others), Perry's actually subtle meddling, the journaling, Rhett not asking Caleb to go to the rodeo even though he wants him there so badly, and Caleb staying at the rodeo even though he's uncomfortable because it makes Rhett happy.
All images were found on Pinterest and do not belong to me.
With how I write, I usually end up with some scenes that don't actually end up making it in the end. But I hold onto them because I liked them, they just didn't fit what I was going for.
Bob Reynolds/John Walker/Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader
I Want My Boyfriends to Kiss - 🍆🍆🍆 - 22.5k
Your boyfriends have been acting strange recently, like they're hiding something from you. After you come to find out they have some secret plans involving you, them, and a whole lotta rope, you take it upon yourself to come up with a plan of your own to turn the tables on them.
A/N: With this one, it was difficult to keep the balance between vulnerability and delving into straight up hurt/comfort, particularly with Bob. John also spent a good amount of time really trying to wrest control away from the reader despite the entire fic being about him submitting.
Original opening:
John and Bob were up to something. Correction: John was up to something, and he had roped Bob in on it.
They weren't exactly subtle about it. You'd stopped counting the amount of times you'd walked into your bedroom to turn in for the night, only to find the two of them already there, dead silent and unable to look you in the eye.
At first, you thought maybe they'd finally acted on the tension that had been building ever since you all slept together that first morning. The way John had grabbed Bob and told him what to do to you? And the heat in Bob's eyes as he obeyed, looking to John for approval? Absolutely undeniable. And, if you were honest with yourself, it was hot as hell. There was some part of you that had wanted to see them kiss since John slammed Bob against the wall back in the vault.
Before you could overthink the situation (was it even really cheating if you were already dating both of them and actively having threesomes together?), Ava took it upon herself to intervene. Rather, she took the opportunity to spill the beans out of spite.
"They're planning something," Ava had said, apropos of nothing. She just walked up to you in the gym and laid it on the table like a cat would drop a dead bird at your feet. There was no question who she was talking about, so Ava didn't even waste her time to say their names. "Overheard their conversation in the kitchen this morning."
"I'm not sure I want to know…" you said hesitantly. After all, if it was something romantic like a surprise weekend getaway or a special date, you didn't exactly want that to be ruined for you.
"Oh, you do," Ava said confidently, giving you that smug side-eye that she wore so well. "Walker was talking logistics. I thought it was about a mission at first and wondered why he'd be strategizing with Bob of all people. Then he said something about you, some handcuffs, and positioning…"
Heat flooded your cheeks almost immediately, and you pressed your hands to your face as if willing your skin to cool down. Even though you knew both of you were alone in the gym, you couldn't help darting your gaze around the place just in case. This was turning out to be the kind of conversation you definitely did not want to be overheard. "Jesus Christ, Ava."
Ava only scoffed at you. "Don't be a prude. I've heard some of those naughty things you whisper to your little boyfriends when you think no one is paying attention: 'I'm still sore from this morning.' 'You looked so pretty last night underneath me.' 'If you're a good boy, I'm going to ride your fa-'"
"OKAY!" you interrupted, burying your burning face in your hands. You hadn't been this embarrassed since the time Alexei stumbled across you and John going at it in a supply closet after a debrief. Fortunately, you were both (mostly) clothed, but the fatherly advice he kept giving the both of you in public for weeks later more than made up for that small grace. "That is…more than enough, Ava! Thank you."
Ava's smirk was dangerously close to a genuine grin at this point. "So, do you want to know their plan or not?"
"Honestly, Ave, I'm not sure…"
"What if I said they were planning on surprising you with it?" That gave you pause.
Your eyes bulged in surprise before you fully processed the implications of her words. Then your eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "They wouldn't dare…"
"Oh, they would."
Bob froze immediately, a deer in the headlights, the sound combined with your sudden, unexpected movement momentarily stunning him. A pang of guilt wracked your chest at the brief glimpse of fear in his eyes, but you soothed yourself with the knowledge that soon, Bob would be underneath you, and you'd reward him generously for his cooperation.
John was the only one who snapped into motion. He grabbed the popcorn bowl, putting it firmly on the coffee table. His hands urged you to stand as he inspected the couch to make sure no wine had reached the plush material. It would be a pain in the ass to clean, and you felt a wave of gratefulness flood you at how quickly he prevented that.
"It's okay," John said soothingly, partially directed toward you but mostly directed at Bob, who hadn't moved an inch. He reached over, giving Bob's arm a gentle squeeze. "We're all okay. It was an accident, and everything is all right."
Before the guilt could squeeze tighter, like a snake coiling around your lungs, Bob snapped into motion. It was like all the time he was frozen in place, he was revving up, building energy, and had just let it loose. He stood up, immediately taking the wine glass from your hand and placing it on the table, all the while swearing a blue streak under his breath.
"Fuck, I'm so sorry!" Bob said, running a hand through his hair. "What do we need? What do you need? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" He wasn't manic, but he definitely was rambling like he was, all his thoughts flowing out of his mouth, filter nowhere to be found.
"Hey," you said calmly, cupping his face with your hands, forcing him to look you in the eye.
Everything was a blur of motion after that - John grabbing a stack of napkins to prevent any wine from dripping on the floor, Bob
John grabbed the stack of napkins off the table, handing you some and starting to dab the wine out of your clothing. Your outfit was beyond the help of a simple dry and stain remover, but at least you wouldn't trail wine all over your living room.
When Bob started muttering to himself under his breath, John whipped his head up.
"Bobby, go get us the paper towels." He gestured toward the roll across the room that you kept just in case of emergencies like this. Bob's eyes followed where John pointed, a sudden focus in them. He scurried over and grabbed them, br
Bob was muttering under his breath, a mix of curses and apologies spit out ad nauseam.
"Hey," you interrupted him, your voice a gentle admonishment. "Please don't finish that thought. It's not true." This wasn't Bob's fault at all. Guilt wrapped its way around your lungs, squeezing them like a boa constrictor.
Taking one of his hands in yours, you brought his knuckles up to your lips, pressing a soft kiss there.
When he didn't respond, you added, "I don't want to ruin our date night." It was unfair, but it worked. The idea of you feeling like you'd messed up the evening was enough to break whatever resolve John had that held him in place.
His expression visibly softened. John reached out, cupping your cheek in his free hand. Instinctively, you leaned into his touch.
"Of course," he murmured, leaning in to plant a tender kiss to your forehead. "And you didn't ruin anything," he whispered. "You never do."
For a second, you felt a pang of guilt for manipulating him, even if it was for something he'd enjoy in the end. But you pushed it down, opting instead to stretch up on your toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips.
"Thank you, baby." And you meant it genuinely.
John smiled down at you, his eyes crinkling and showing those smile lines you loved so much. "Anything for you, princess."
You smiled back, putting your hand over his and turning to plant a kiss on the palm of his hand before turning away. Bob was watching you both closely, and you were a little surprised to see a similarly tender look on his face. It was like watching you and John together made him feel...
At first, you almost admonished him, thinking it was purely sexual. But when he buried his face in your neck and inhaled shakily like he was drowning and you were oxygen, it became very apparent that wasn't the case. You wrapped your arms tightly around Bob, giving his torso a squeeze.
"You okay, baby?" you murmured as you kissed the side of his head. You tried to catch John's eye, but the other man had already swooped in, taking the items from Bob's hands placing them on the coffee table.
Bob nodded his head without looking up, gripping your back with his newly-freed hands.
"Words, baby," you said with huff of laughter at his antics. You raised your eyebrows questioningly at John when he came back over, but he shook his head and shrugged with a bemused expression on his face.
Bob pulled back just enough to speak, his warm breath tickling your skin.
"'M good," he mumbled. "Missed you."
You couldn't hold back a fond laugh. "Missed me? I saw you maybe an hour, hour and a half ago at dinner, silly."
Bob's brown curls brushed against your face as he shook his head, the locks tickling your nose. You must have made a face, because John laughed, a low, pleasing sound, one that you always savored.
"Too long. Missed you," Bob mumbled, his words muffled as he spoke directly against your skin, like pulling away to talk was too much distance. You rubbed his back, hand going up and down. Bob practically purred at your touch, humming with satisfaction.
Too much more of this and Bob would be in danger of slipping into subspace. That's if he wasn't already.
"C'mon, baby," you said to him, trying to take half a step backwards only to be thwarted by Bob tightening his arms around you. "We don't wanna miss out on movie night."
A daydream that I ended up cutting down to one sentence:
Bob would kneel at John's feet, whimpering at each strike. He'd squirm, trying to stay still like he was ordered to while also keeping his ass off the ground, the skin there reddened and extra sensitive from John's rough treatment. His cock would be hard and twitching between his legs, but he wouldn't touch it or do anything to relieve the pressure until John said so. Maybe he'd let Bob hump your leg until he came. Maybe he'd let Bob fuck your leaking hole after John used you for his own pleasure. Or maybe John would take mercy on Bob, roughly jerking the other man off while whispering in his ear just loud enough for you to hear about how only good boys get to cum…
John trying to be more dominant and throwing off my groove:
But you only gave him a moment before pulling back, your lips parting with an audible sound. When he tried to follow you again, intent on his mission to assault your mouth, you put your free hand on his chest to stop him. His eyes searched yours, trying to glean meaning there, but all he saw was a mischievous glimmer.
"What's the plan, darlin'?" he asked almost breathlessly, lips still spit-slick from your all-too-brief kiss. All ideas of handcuffs and rope and surprise domination seemed to have flown out the window all because of a little lace and Bob's bared flesh. You couldn't fight the smirk that curled your lips.
"What do you think the plan is, baby?" you asked coyly, running your finger along his collarbone playfully. He shivered when you ran it up his neck and jaw, tracing the surprisingly delicate shell of his ear, lingering on the freckle there you loved so much.
John glanced over his shoulder at Bob before looking at you with a grin on his face. Obviously he thought you and he were equals tonight, that you were both dominating Bob together. Oh, how very wrong he was.
"I think you want me to fuck you on the bed right next to him." John took a half step closer, crowding you again. Instead of trying to kiss you, he gestured with his head, nodding back at the man on the bed without using his words. Further riling up Bob seemed to be next on John's agenda for the evening. Far be it from you to protest.
"Make him listen to you cum on my cock without being able to lay a single finger on you or even see you." Bob, who had long ago gone quiet to listen to you and John talk, let out a choked sound at John's words. Your eyes snapped to look past John at the bed, but he kept his hand firm on your chin, keeping your gaze in place, his grin growing to almost Cheshire proportions.
"All he gets is the sound of our bodies and you screaming my name. And maybe, if he's good…we'll let him cum." Bob's breathing was audibly heavier, air blowing through the holes in his ball gag.
John tilted his head to the side, lifting his eyebrows as if to say 'Did I guess right?'
"As…tempting as that idea is…No."
John didn't look surprised in the slightest. Instead, his eyes lit up.
"You, on your knees..." Bob didn't make another peep. You'd told him to be quiet, so John was going to have to try harder.
"That's a good start," you commented dryly.
John hummed in agreement. "I know Bob prefers you on your back, but I'm pretty fond of the view from behind." There was a rustling sound coming from the bed. You moved to look over John's shoulder, and he didn't stop you this time. Bob was squirming, his legs starting to get tangled up in the sheets. If you'd've had more time, those would be tied down as well. You leaned back, nodding at John to continue.
"That way I can fuck that pretty cunt and watch your ass bounce on my dick." There was a sound from Bob, not quite a whimper. It was more like a squeak. Being unable to bite his lip to keep quiet was definitely becoming a problem for him.
"All the while you choke on Bob's cock. You'll try to stay in control, of course," he said with a smirk. "But I'll grab you by the hair and make you gag."
Bob may not have been able to speak, but the sound he let out was most certainly the words 'Nuh uh.'
"I don't think he liked that part as much," you noted and had to bite your lip to not laugh at the annoyed look on John's face.
"She likes choking on it, Bobby," he chided with more than a little attitude in his voice.
The noise Bob replied with was just as full of attitude.
"I think that's a hard no for Bob," you noted, stating the obvious, amusement clear in your voice.
"Hmpf. So stubborn" John huffed, rolling his eyes. When he spoke next, it was over his shoulder, aimed directly at Bob. "Okay, so she sucks your cock while I fuck her, and she doesn't get all sloppy and drooly while doing it."
You couldn't hold back a small giggle when Bob hummed his approval with a very clear 'Mmm hmm.' Stretching back up, you pressed another kiss to John's lips then another when he didn't immediately stop pouting.
"Only Bob can somehow figure out a way to still be a brat when tied up and gagged," John muttered under his breath. Letting out a breathy laugh, you gave John one last kiss, nipping playfully at his lower lip before letting the heels of your feet descend back to the floor.
"Next idea?" you prompted, threading your fingers through the hair at the base of John's neck, grinning at his unconscious shiver at the feeling.
"Maybe…" John paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. He was insanely adorable, moreso than he had any right to be, his chin wrinkling under his beard as he pursed his lips, jaw jutting forward enough to highlight his slight underbite.
You'd heard that people could be 'struck' by an idea before, but you'd never seen it so literally before as John's eyes widened, his body jolting like a bolt of electricity surged through it.
"Baby…" he breathed, eyes roaming your face with an intense expression. His hands were back on your hips, gripping them and pulling you against his chest. You knew whatever he came up with really got to him just from how be didn't comment on the undignified noise you let out.
"You know," he started coolly, his voice low and dangerous. "I could end this right now. Throw you over my shoulder, toss you on the bed, and have my way with you."
He paused, eyes raising to the ceiling like another idea had come to him, before adding, "Keep Bob tied up. Make him listen to me take you apart."
Bob, who had long ago gone quiet to listen to you and John talk, let out a choked sound at John's words. Your eyes snapped to look past John at the bed, but he took hold of your chin, keeping your gaze on him.
"Or I could go out and get the rope I had put away for tonight," John continued smoothly. His eyes were fixed on yours, pinning you in place. You couldn't move if you wanted to. "And spend the rest of the night making you cum over…and over…and over again until you pass out. Me and Bob taking turns."
There was no denying the effect his words had on you. And from the glint in his eyes, John knew what he was doing.
You could picture it - tied up on the bed, the blindfold now on your eyes instead of Bob's, chemise pushed up your body, breasts spilling out the top of your outfit, sobbing and shaking as John abused your clit, pushing you over the edge for the umpteenth time that night. It took everything in you to not press your thighs together for some much-needed friction on your throbbing clit.
At this point, you were surprised you weren't literally so wet that it was dripping down your thighs.
"So, what's it going to be?" You were aiming for sounding conversational, maybe even a little aloof, but judging by the sharp look on John's face, he didn't see it that way.
"So many options," he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. "How am I supposed to choose just one?"
"I think it's a fairly simple choice," you countered with a shrug.
"So," you murmured, trying to go for a smooth and seductive tone but sounding much more breathy than you intended. Your heart pounded in your chest hard enough that you wondered if John could feel it. "How're we going to do this?"
"Thought you were the one runnin' the show, princess," John teased, his voice low and making his chest rumble as he spoke.
"You have a choice," you practically whispered, looking up to meet his eyes directly. For a second, there was no pretense, no playing. You weren't a wicked seductress twirling him around your finger. You were his girlfriend, his partner, checking in with him, giving him the option to stop or to change the scene.
His answering smile was soft and crooked that way that it only got when he was being himself - Not Walker, not the U.S. Agent, not the fuck up Captain America. Just John. Your John. Your chest felt warm at the sight of it.
"Baby, I haven't had a single damn choice since the second I saw you in this little dress," he drawled, hands squeezing your flesh and pulling you impossibly closer. The bulge in his jeans was hard to miss as it rubbed against your thigh.
"You haven't even seen the best part of it," you teased, grinning up at him playfully.
"I gotta disagree with you there," John murmured, his eyes fixated on yours like he couldn't bear to look away. "The best part is what's under it, and I've seen that many, many times." Before you could say something smart, he quickly added, "Not that I'm complainin'. If Bob and I had it our way, you'd never wear clothes."
"That would be awfully cold, wouldn't it?" You reached up, booping him on the nose. John scowled at you playfully, and you couldn't help the little giggle that escaped your mouth. He started inclining his head. It was like he was drawn to your mouth.
"Mmm, pretty sure we could keep you plenty warm," John whispered against your mouth before capturing your lips in a kiss as warm and comfortable as sinking into a bath at the end of a long day. Your tongues slid against each other in a familiar dance, neither one of you taking the lead. You could have kept kissing him all day. But the sound of a familiar whine coming from the bed forced you two apart, wiping at your wet lips.
"Sorry, Bobby. I distracted her," John called over his shoulder. You took the moment to look past him at the bed. Bob's head was turned towards you both, like he could will a way to see through his blindfold. He was practically on his side, one arm stretched harder than the other, causing his back to arch. The muscles in his side were taut and flexed, but it didn't seem to be affecting him negatively. And judging by the still hard erection dripping with pre-cum, hearing you and John making out only spurred him to an even more heightened state of arousal.
"Just one more minute, baby," you soothed. "One more minute, and you'll get rewarded. I promise. Is that okay?"
When he nodded his consent, you let out a small sigh of relief before turning back to look at John. He'd taken a step back, putting some space between you. Not a lot. Just enough to be able to hold out both of his hands in front of him in surrender, waiting for you to cuff him.
Playfully, you poked his arm. He rubbed at it, pouting like your finger hurt him, but you knew better. "Thought you were straight, Walker."
"I am," he admitted, and you couldn't help but note that Bob instantly frowned. "But I'm…" John searched for the right words before breathing out a sigh that ruffled his hair. "I guess I'm flexible."
There was a glint in Bob's eyes at the word 'flexible,' one that John seemed to notice as well, judging by the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
"Flexible?" you teased, grinning at him. "Hear that, Bob? John's flexible."
"Hmm. Is that right?" Bob hummed. His voice was…different. Not worringly so, but enough that it gave you pause. Turning to look at him, your mouth opened in silent surprise. His eyes were stormy in that way he got when he was fully focused on you. Internally, you called it The Look. It was the same intense gaze that always seemed to end with his hands slipping under your clothes, his mouth wetting your skin, and his cock buried inside of you regardless of where you were. He gave you this same look the time he spontaneously went down on you in the command center, claiming it'd been too long and he needed to taste you or he'd explode. It was the same look he gave you on one of your more casual dates when you wore a new top that ended with you both in a bookstore bathroom, Bob's lips suckling your breasts, his fingers buried deep inside of you.
"How flexible?" Bob asked. His voice was suddenly deeper, a bit more raspy than normal. Both you and John turned your attention to the other man. Even from your angle, you could see it in Bob's eyes - The Look. It was the same look you'd seen before he spontaneously went down on you in the control room one day, or when you wore a low cut top on a casual date and he ended up pulling you into the bookstore bathroom, desperate to get his hands under your blouse and into your pants. But this time? It was focused on John.
"Uh, I'm not quite sure how to answer that question, Bobby," John confessed. He looked nervous, not quite able to hold Bob's intense gaze for long. But he kept flicking his eyes back up, catching little glimpses of his stare like he couldn't stand to look away for long.
God, I HATED cutting this:
This wouldn't be my first rodeo."
It was your turn to stare at him in shock. "You've…?"
John shrugged. "When you're a teenager hanging out with your friends in the woods, horny, bored, and drunk as hell…gotta occupy your time somehow. And there's the tours overseas. You get lonely, and sometimes you gotta scratch each other's backs." At your sharp look, John continued, "Olivia knew. We talked about it before I went on duty. I could mess around with my squad, and she could have sleepovers with her friend, Lisa."
"Ex-cuse me?!" you squeaked out, completely agog at his words. "Olivia likes women?"
John said your name with an admonishing tone, giving you a look that said he'd (correctly) predicted your thought process.
"We're not inviting my ex-wife into our bed," John said firmly.
"Why not?!" you demanded, voice closer to a whine than you'd ever admit to.
"Babe, we have to put a limit somewhere. And this is the kind of greed they talk about in the Bible."
Bob held his hands out in surrender when you turned to him for help. "Don't look at me. I'm a neutral party here.
"No, you're not," you protested. "You are a very invested party seeing as you would be involved."
"I think the bigger issue here is that you've asked John if he's interested in me, but no one's asked for my opinion."
John raised his eyebrow, and you snorted.
"Bob, I have eyes," you scoffed.
Bob gaped at you. "Hey, that's not-"
"Bobby, I've caught you staring at my ass enough times that I was tempted to send you a picture because they last longer," John drawled with a self-satisfied grin. Bob at least had the dignity to look a little embarrassed.
"It's, uh…you've got a nice ass," Bob muttered.
"Yeah?" John asked, his voice dipping noticeably lower. Bob bit his lip, and John's eyes dipped down to stare.
"Yeah," said Bob.
Alternate ending:
When his breathing started to even out, you propped yourself up on your arm to gaze down at him, watching his reactions more closely. John slowly opened his eyes, blinking to focus on your face.
"Hey, handsome," you murmured to him. His lips quirked up, giving you a lazy, slightly lopsided smile.
"Hey," he mumbled back, his voice just a hint of raspy. He paused, those beautiful, light blue eyes searching your face. "God, you're so beautiful."
You let out a rather undignified snort, which only made John's smile look even more dopey and Bob grin up at you as he wiped down the other man's stomach.
"You're such a dork," you said back, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. John anticipated your move, stretching up to catch your lips with his own. You couldn't help it; you sighed happily into the kiss. "You feeling okay?"
"Okay?" he asked with a little laugh. Moving his head, John looked up at Bob, who paused his ministrations to return John's hesitant smile. "I think I'm pretty fucking fantastic right now. Feel like I'm floating on a goddamn cloud."
Bob went back to cleaning up, biting back what looked to be a particularly smug grin.
"Same, honestly," you admitted, laying back down, resting your head on John's shoulder. The three of you sat in comfortable silence for a little while, the only sounds that of your breathing and the shuffling of the sheets as Bob shifted in the bed.
John suddenly hissed through his teeth when Bob gently wiped down his still-sensitive cock, and Bob planted a little kiss on his hip as an apology.
"Sorry," Bob murmured. "Need to clean you up."
"S'okay, Bobby," John answered, and you two went back to watching Bob until he finally laid down on John's other side. He folded the washcloth, handing it to you to wipe away any lingering wetness on John's face, which you gladly did.
"Are we gonna talk about this like adults?" Bob asked, glancing back and forth between you and John. He wasn't exactly cuddled up against John either, like he was nervous to be too forward now that there wasn't a scene to hide behind.
You grinned at him. "If you think I'm letting you two act like this never happened, you've got another thing coming. Right, John?"
There was no response from the blond. He was too busy watching Bob, his brow furrowed slightly as his eyes swept over the other man. The silence was long enough that Bob started fidgeting, one of his hands unconsciously taking a little section of the sheets between his forefinger and thumb and rubbing it back and forth. It was one of his most common stims, and the reason that the sleeves on most of his sweaters were frayed at the ends.
When John did speak, his voice was soft, gentle. It reminded you of the time you'd went to a petting zoo together, and a kitten was cowering in the corner, scared of all the strangers making noises. John had knelt down, extended his hand in offering, and spoke quietly to the kitten until it finally acquiesced, letting John give it some treats and a little scratch between its ears.
"We can do whatever we want, Bob. There aren't any rules around this," he said simply. "This can be a one time thing. Just a way to blow off steam. If you want, that is."
Bob didn't respond right away. He laid there, his expression one of deep thought as though he was trying to solve some deep philosophical conundrum. You stayed quiet. This wasn't your conversation to have. And John waited, not taking his eyes off the other man.
When he finally spoke, Bob looked John right in the eye. "But what do you want?"
"This was…pretty great," John admitted. You smiled, kissing John's shoulder, draping your hand across his torso to hug him closer. He slipped his arm underneath you, pulling you closer to him in a tight squeeze. "I wouldn't mind having more of this in the future. Maybe more." He ended his words with an upward lilt - not quite a question, but not quite a statement either.
Bob paused, seemingly to think again. But this time, his eyes stayed on John's face, staring as if he was hoping to find a way to read the other man's mind before he answered. Whether that was to judge if he was being truthful or if there was more to his words, you didn't know. But Bob must have found something there, because his expression relaxed slightly.
"I'd like…more too," Bob said awkwardly. He took a breath, licking his lips before continuing. "Can I…" As if he'd run out of steam mid-sentence, Bob stopped, his expression shifting to one you recognized well: self-deprecation. "Nevermind. Ignore me."
"No," John said immediately, reaching out and putting his hand on Bob's arm. "What were you going to say?"
Bob let out a laugh, but it rang hollow in your ears. Instinctively, you frowned, and you weren't surprised to see John do the same thing.
"Bobby…" he prompted.
"I was going to ask for a kiss," Bob admitted, but quickly added, "But it's probably too soon to ask for something like that, I get it."
"All of this is…new," Bob finished lamely, barely able to meet John's or your eyes.
"Yes."
Bob blinked, confused. "Yes…?"
"Kiss me," John said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
"Really?" Bob blurted out incredulously, and you had to bite your lip to hold back your laughter.
"I sucked your dick, Bob," John said plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He shot Bob a withering look. "We're way past having to ask permission for a kiss."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess when you put it that way…" Bob started, but John reached up, grabbing a fistful of Bob's hair, and tugged him down to where their faces were inches apart.
"I said 'kiss me,'" John repeated, his teeth slightly gritted. Bob took the hint.
When their lips met, it felt like the air went out of the room for the second time that night. Time didn't seem to exist. Everything was just your two gorgeous boyfriends, lips and tongues and teeth pressed together, and the breathy noises they made. They looked good together. Right. Like this was supposed to be. Even though both men had eked an orgasm out of you and you should be too tired to be turned on, heat pulsed between your legs anyway.
By the time Bob pulled back, they were both slightly out of breath, staring into each other's eyes.
"I could get used to that," you interjected, grinning when both men turned and looked at you with stupefied expressions.
"What?" you teased. "Forget I was here?"
Bob immediately looked offended, his jaw dropping in a silent gasp, that adorable wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as he furrowed them. But before he could say anything in response, John's other hand had slipped out from under you and fisted in your hair. You let out a gasp at the feeling that was closer to a moan than you'd like to admit and could feel your chest heaving against the cups of her chemise, two things which your boyfriends definitely noticed.
John pulled you down into a kiss just as passionate as the one he shared with Bob, leaving you wet and out of breath when he finally let you pull away. And judging from the way both men were already half-hard, you weren't the only one affected.
"The night isn't over, is it?" Bob asked. looking between the two of you, but it was less of a question this time and more of a statement.
"Not even close," John said with a grin. He used his grip on both of you and Bob to push your heads towards each other. "Now kiss."
Lace Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics
MDNI Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics
Images in headers are not mine.
Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!
Please do not repost or reproduce in any way. You do not have my permission to use this for AI scraping.
Bob Floyd/Bob Reynolds (side Bob Reynolds/Rocco Gauthier and some others)
Word Count: 8.5k
Summary: At first it's just another boring night at the Hard Deck for Bob Floyd, one where he starts to regret letting Phoenix drag him out to. But when he notices a cute omega giving him a tentative smile from across the room, maybe the night won't be that bad after all.
Tags/Warnings: A/B/O AU, fluff, lil bit of angst, Lewcest (obviously), beta Bob Floyd, omega Bob Reynolds, meet cute, the Dagger Squad shooting the shit, Hangman being annoying but right, dubious understanding of anything military-related, Bob R is already in a pack and has other mates, technically a reader character (the female alpha), lots of dialogue, my God so much dialogue, I don't even know what this fic has become
A/N: This started out as a drabble for @iristheplanet16 who requested something Bob Floyd or Bob Reynolds-related. So they're getting both! This universe belongs to @abbottsdarling who graciously let me play with their ideas.
The pack dynamics are where bonded pairs/groups are joined together. At this point, they're fairly simple. The bonded mates are William and Miles; Todd and Rhett; and Rocco, the reader, Jordan, and Bob.
The pack that had set foot in the Hard Deck that night were difficult to overlook to say the least. For one thing, there were almost enough of them to make up an entire baseball team. For another, they were all…well, they were undeniably attractive, something that didn't exactly escape Bob Floyd.
Bob wasn't the only one who noticed. The Dagger Squad had been eying them all night. That wasn't particularly unusual. They always made a habit of watching out for troublemakers. It was part of their unspoken deal with Penny - keep the peace at the bar and she'd overlook some past due bar tabs until payday. And also not throw Hangman out more than strictly necessary. The latter was much to the dismay of Nat, Rooster, and secretly Bob himself.
But it was hard to ignore such an unusual group, especially on a slower night where there was actually space to breathe at the usually overcrowded bar. Much of the night's entertainment had shifted from playing pool and chatting about the upcoming mission to speculating on this strange pack.
"$10 says the cowboy's the head alpha," Fanboy called out, putting a less-than-crisp bill down in the center of the table with the small pile of money that had formed throughout the night. Some of the crew nodded their agreement, but a good number remained visibly skeptical. Hangman looked thrilled.
"Happy to take your money, Garcia. My money's on the mobster," he quipped, throwing down a ten of his own and gesturing at an alpha with slicked back hair on the inside of the booth a few from the group had taken up residence in. He had his arm around the only female in the pack and was quietly chatting with a very animated man with an obnoxious gold chain and the kind of showy muscles that come not from hard labor like the ones under the sleeves of the alpha they'd deemed the Cowboy. This one that Bob quietly referred to as the Greaser had a small, barely perceivable smile and watched his mate with a fondness that made Bob's own heart ache. As much as he hated to, Bob had to admit Jake might just be right. And Bob wasn't even sure the cowboy was an alpha despite the rest of the group readily agreeing.
Mickey seemed to be having some doubts as well. He smiled at Hangman, but it came off as put on, the kind of confidence his erstwhile teammate never had to fake. After all, Jake Seresin was a neverending well of self-regard.
"What makes you think that? Yeah, the mobster is definitely an alpha, but he's not commanding the space the way the cowboy is." Nat, an alpha herself, turned to Bob and rolled her eyes.
Hangman grinned. It looked less inviting and charming the way it did when he flashed it at the single betas and omegas who came to the bar and more the smile of someone who knew they'd won the game before it even began. Fanboy's cheery grin visibly faltered.
"I tried to chat up the female," Jake admitted, much to everyone but his chagrin. Even Nat raised her eyebrows, but Hangman was too busy being smug to pay their surprised reactions any mind.
"That's a level of ballsy I didn't think even you were capable of, Seresin," Rooster shot at him, taking a lazy sip of his beer, face nonplussed even when Jake turned his Cheshire grin to the squad's only omega.
"What? You jealous, Bradshaw?"
Before Rooster could bite back, Payback cut him off.
"Get to the point, Bagman. At least give Mickey the courtesy of knowing why he's losing money tonight." When Mickey shot him a fake hurt look, Reuben just shrugged and grinned. They all knew that Fanboy's proverbial goose was cooked.
"Right, so where was I?" Jake drawled. He hadn't taken his eyes off Rooster, who was doing his best to ignore the obnoxiously cocky alpha who was blatantly peacocking for his attention. Again.
"They need to fuck and get it over with," Nat muttered into Bob's ear right as he took a sip of his (non-alcoholic) drink. He should've known to brace himself the second she leaned in conspiratorially, but her little asides routinely caught the WSO off guard. It took a kind of effort Bob had practiced as long as he'd known Phoenix, but he was able to swallow his mouthful of Sprite without sputtering or choking. His glass, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky.
Fortunately, Phoenix was on top of it, instantly mopping up the spilled drink with the kind of speed and efficiency that meant she'd already carefully weighed the pros and cons of her snide remark before it even left her lips. When the others turned towards them, concerned, Bob waved them off, wiping his mouth with a clean napkin Natasha handed him with a smirk.
"Anyway," Hangman said, finally turning to face Fanboy, "I was talking to the female of the group - definitely an alpha, by the way - and the greaseball glared at me like he wanted to blow my damn head off. He stormed over, put his arm around her shoulders, and told me in no uncertain terms to get lost."
"What did he actually say? The exact words used?" Coyote spoke up.
Jake only grinned more. "He told me to get my goddamn hands off his girl and fuck off."
Most alphas would be at least repentant about treading on another's territory as laughably outdated as that notion was, but Jake just laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Typical.
The squabbling only got louder, so Bob used his empty glass as an excuse to get away. His call for refill requests fortunately was ignored just like it normally was, so he didn't have to haul half a dozen various beers across the crowded bar. And he didn't have the voice of his mom in his ear, scolding him for not being a gentleman like he did when he didn't ask at all. It was a win-win all around.
That was one thing about being the quiet beta of the group. When he was younger, Bob resented how easily overlooked he was. 'A wallflower,' his sisters called him when he told them about how he was always passed over by his peers at school. 'A sweet, upstanding young gentleman,' his grandma declared him to be as she pinched his cheeks until they hurt. 'A late bloomer,' his pa deemed him when Bob didn't get the same growth spurt at the same time all the other boys did. 'Just like your dad,' his mom would say with a wistful smile, no doubt thinking about their younger years. He didn't like any of it.
But, grudgingly, Bob Floyd learned the benefits of being generally overlooked. Anything he did well always shocked and impressed the others around him. The few moments he'd let his wit out to cut like a fresh rapier, his opponents were always thrown off. And the few people who did notice him, like Natasha Trace and, eventually the entire Dagger Squad, were the kind of friends you made for life, the ones who saw Bob for who he was and liked him for it.
Which is why it surprised him when one of the omegas from this new pack looked straight at him from across the bar and gave him a faint smile. Bob had to fight the immediate urge to turn around, to see who else this man was looking at. But he saw the eye contact and the way the omega appeared briefly hesitant at Bob's lack of response. And his blatant staring. So quickly, Bob smiled back. It was perfunctory but natural. Not one of those he'd give in the hallway while passing any number of faceless, nameless officers he'd most likely never see again. It was genuine. And even across the room, the omega seemingly sensed the sincerity, and his face relaxed.
Whatever little moment was or wasn't happening got abruptly interrupted when another bar patron accidentally walked right into Bob, who barely avoided the man's drink spilling on him. He'd been in this situation more times than he could recall. Fortunately, this man that Bob quickly clocked as another beta, one with long brown hair and a gentle face, acted more concerned with Bob's state of being than the condition of his now half-spilled glass of white wine.
"I'm so sorry," the beta said, grabbing some napkins from a nearby table and checking Bob over for errant stains. "Don't know how I didn't see you. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Bob assured him with a smile. Fortunately, his dress shirt was just as clean and crisp as when he'd put it on after drills that afternoon. "No harm done. It happens all the time."
Their interaction was fairly short: the stranger apologized a few more times, tried to start mopping up the spill with his handful of napkins until Penny threw Bob a spare rag to use instead, and even turning down a free refill (a first that he could remember from Penny), declaring that the incident must be God telling him that he's cut off for the night. It didn't surprise Bob when the handsome beta walked back to the corner with that strange pack, right into the arms of a different small omega who immediately inspected him like he'd been in a serious accident as opposed to the human equivalent of a fender bender. Bob watched as the beta reassured his mate, nuzzling his forehead against the omega's cheek until the latter visibly relaxed.
"Weird evening, isn't it?" Penny asked when Bob finally stepped up to the counter, placing his empty glass there for a refill.
"Yeah, there's something about that pack," Bob admitted, watching as the bartender swept his old glass away in a motion as easy as breathing. "The squad's been taking bets about them all night."
"I meant the two spills in less than five minutes, both of which you were involved with," Penny said with a grin. Bob had the decency to blush, something that only made Penny laugh mirthfully. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I won't charge you a clean up fee."
Quick as a blink, the bartender turned to the soda fountain, filling up a brand new glass. She turned and set it down on the counter in front of Bob and popped a new straw in it in one fluid motion with the kind of easy grace that always secretly astounded the pilot.
"By the way, you left your jacket," Penny added, nodding over to a black lump of fabric in one of the bar chairs.
Confused, Bob picked up what appeared to be a much-loved but clean hoodie with the name of some band he didn't recognize splashed on the front. Bob Floyd didn't wear hoodies, preferring zip up sweaters instead. And he certainly didn't listen to the kind of music where the band spelled their name in letters so jagged and stylized that he could barely make out the words. But he could see why Penny thought it was his. Written on the label in bold, sharp script were three familiar letters - B O B.
Before he could do more than process the name, a voice came from behind him.
"Um…that's mine, actually."
It was a nice voice: low, quiet, and so soft around the edges that it was almost a hum. It was the kind of voice that was more used to rounding the ends of sentences into a question even when stating an objective fact. The kind of voice Bob could easily imagine murmured into his ear late at night, one he could feel through a rumble in a lover's chest pressed against his back.
Maybe it should've been a surprise when Bob turned around to see that omega from the new pack, the one who smiled at him from across the room. But for some reason? It wasn't.
His voice fit his appearance. Whether it was the mop of brown curls, the cozy and clearly well-loved sweater, or the openness in his face, one word came to Bob's mind: soft.
But there was more to this omega than that. There was some steel there. Even mated omegas tended to avoid being alone with someone unmated that they didn't know. Even a fairly harmless beta like Bob could prove a threat in a room full of liquored up and rowdy patrons. But this omega didn't even seem nervous about Bob himself, just about interrupting his conversation with Penny.
And when Bob spent too long staring at this handsome stranger, those eyes went from warm and friendly to flinty and hard. The tentative smile on his face stretched taut, as if putting on a gruesome mask of the kindness that was previously on his face.
Before the omega could ask, Bob quickly blurted out, "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to stare. It's just…" He gestured down at the tag and the faded name in Sharpie, his words failing him.
"Surprised someone still writes their name on the inside of their clothes as an adult?"
And a sharp sense of humor to boot. Bob added that to his mental tally of this omega who was becoming more fascinating by the minute.
"No," Bob said with an awkward little laugh. "No, it's not that. That makes sense if you're living with other people. Keeps you from getting your clothes stolen."
The stranger nodded, his stance becoming slightly less defensive even as he crossed his arms in front of him.
"I was just surprised is all," Bob continued, pointing at the tag. "Penny, the owner, thought this was mine."
The man across from him paused, blinking rapidly, a cute little crease of confusion forming between his eyebrows.
"Wait, but…" He pointed at the name tag on Bob's shirt, the one that said "FLOYD" in all capital letters.
"Last name," Bob explained. He extended his hand to shake before introducing himself. "Lieutenant Bob Floyd."
The other man paused, eyeing his outstretched hand hesitantly. This wasn't exactly a typical greeting to a mated omega, but Bob wagered this wasn't your typical mated omega anyway.
After a moment of hesitation, he took Bob's hand, giving him a firm but friendly shake. "Bob Reynolds. No fancy title. Just Bob."
Their hands lingered perhaps a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, and Bob had to ignore the way his heart pounded just a hair faster.
They talked for what felt like minutes but stretched out to over an hour. On the surface, the two Bobs had little in common beside their names. After all, what would a straight A student turned decorated Navy lieutenant have in common with a middle school drop out who spent most of his adult life struggling with addiction and housing insecurity even have to say to each other? Yet they continually found common ground.
"Vodka soda?" the Other Bob asked as Bob took a new glass of Sprite from Penny. At Bob's frown of confusion, Bob Reynolds gestured at the drink. "Drinking a vodka soda?"
"Oh!" Bob Floyd exclaimed, chuckling a little nervously under his breath. He was used to the teasing from his heavy-drinking friends, but experience didn't make the sobriety talk any easier. "No, just a Sprite." Pointing at the dark cola on the bar next to the other man, he added, "Rum and Coke?"
"Close," Bob R. said with a little laugh of his own. "Just hold the rum and replace the Coke with a Dr. Pepper. I've been clean for two years this coming February. Not breaking that for a shitty cocktail."
"Oh." Bob knew from the way the other man's face tightened just a fraction that he'd made the situation awkward just that much weirder from his reaction. So clearing his throat, he added, "Congratulations. That's a huge accomplishment."
When Bob R. waved away the compliment, Bob F. doubled down.
"No, seriously. That's impressive. I don't drink because I don't like the way it makes me feel and it tastes gross. But you're here at a bar, addiction ground zero. That must take a lot more self-control than it seems. You make it look easy." He spoke with such sincerity that it seemed to strike the omega speechless for a moment. The other man blinked a few times, eyes darting around like he was trying to process the words.
Bob gave him that space, let him sit in the compliment and figure out if he even wanted to respond to it. Unfortunately, he took a sip of his drink when the Other Bob found his words. And even though he'd learned how to keep it together with Phoenix, he had no defenses against this new Bob.
"Bars aren't that tempting to me. Now a crack den? That would be a problem. I'd be like a kid in a candy shop."
A few minutes later, Bob Reynolds apologized for making the lieutenant choke on his drink, but to Bob Floyd? It was worth it to make the other man laugh so hard tears pricked his eyes.
Naturally, conversation shifted towards their respective groups. The Other Bob was the first to offer up details about his pack.
"So, the beta that bumped into you? That's William," Bob R said, pointing out the man with the long, brown hair and friendly face. "And the omega in his lap? That's Miles. They're bonded. Joined the us together a few months ago."
All of the pack were introduced in turn, so Bob was able to put an actual name to the unofficial titles the Dagger Squad had dubbed them.
Bob R agreed that "Cowboy" was an appropriate nickname for the one called Rhett, not just because he wore a cowboy hat and boots. Finding out he was a former pro bull rider was a shock but nowhere near as much as finding out the cowboy was an omega.
"I thought he was maybe a beta," Bob admitted, trying not to stare at the man out of sheer curiosity. If the cowboy noticed how closely both of the men at the bar were watching him, Rhett gave no indication of it. "I've never seen an omega who's built like that."
When the other man's cheeks turned a brilliant shade of bright pink, Bob tactfully said nothing. But he found himself glancing at the seat of the tall omega's pants, idly wondering just how built this cowboy really was.
The well-dressed alpha sitting nearby was introduced as Todd, an unlikely pairing for a rough and tumble country boy like Rhett. But, according to Bob R, they joined the pack as a mated pair.
The three in the corner booth were all directly mated to the Other Bob, a revelation that didn't come as too much of a surprise from the casual way he'd noticed them touching the omega all night. Nothing untoward, of course. Just leaning against him, holding his hand, draping an arm across his shoulders. Little careless gestures that spoke of quiet companionship and a deep affection.
The muscular beta with the gold chain who was now visibly playing footsie under the table with his two alphas was Jordan. The only female in the pack was indeed an alpha like Hangman had claimed with a pretty name that suited her well. And the one with the slicked back hair, the alpha who'd confronted Hangman earlier, was introduced as Rocco.
"He's the head alpha," Bob R added, popping the de-shelled peanut the WSO offered him into his mouth.
Bob didn't mean to laugh. It just bubbled out of him, fast and sharp enough that he covered his mouth and glanced around to make sure he hadn't disturbed any other patrons. The Other Bob didn't question him, just watched patiently with a raised eyebrow and an amused quirk of the mouth. It hit Bob that the other man knew that he didn't have to ask, that Bob would explain himself. Phoenix had given him the same look innumerable times in the past few years they'd been partners. That thought was quickly brushed under the proverbial rug. He wasn't quite ready to ponder the meaning of that revelation and how it made the tightness in his chest that had been there since this mysterious pack entered the bar loosen just a fraction.
"Hangman was right," Bob said, gesturing at the preening alpha still at the center of attention of the Dagger Squad.
A few of his teammates caught his eye, shooting curious looks at him, some of them even openly gesturing at Bob R then back to him in silent question.
He ignored them.
Bob Reynolds gave a nervous wave and a bashful grimace in an approximation of a friendly smile. When he turned in his chair a bit to subtly put his back to the group, Bob Floyd didn't blame him.
"I'm guessing 'Hangman' is that blond alpha who looks like he thinks he's a king holding court in front of his subjects?" the Other Bob asked.
"Unfortunately, yes," Bob muttered, tossing an errant peanut shell in an empty Budweiser glass he'd designated for such a task. No need to get Penny on his ass for making another mess for her to clean. "He's more a court jester who thinks he's king. If we had a leader other than Mav, it wouldn't be him." Tilting his head, Bob gestured at lone omega in the squad who was sitting by the wall, too distracted by the temptation of the bar's piano to pay Hangman any mind. "More likely, it'd be Rooster. Or maybe Phoenix, but I don't think she'd be too pleased with me for saying so."
The Other Bob risked a look at the Dagger Squad, just long enough for him to register their faces, most of which were still eyeing the two Bobs at the bar with unabashed curiosity. Bob Floyd turned and looked himself, briefly catching Phoenix's eye and blatantly ignoring her raised eyebrows.
"Do they always stare like that?" Bob Reynolds asked with a wince, his voice slightly higher and creaking from embarrassment.
Catching Payback's eye, Bob Floyd's unamused stare was met with an impish grin and a wink. When Fanboy wolf whistled, Bob turned back to the Other Bob with an audible sigh, fighting down the urge to roll his eyes.
"Unfortunately," he deadpanned, taking another sip of his Sprite, for once wishing it was something a little stronger.
After a few moments of the kind of awkward silence that only comes when two people know their every move is being heavily scrutinized, Bob R spoke up.
"Are they always this…" He glanced around the room, blinking rapidly like he was searching for his next words which had suddenly taken flight from his brain. Bob returned the same polite patience the omega had given him just minutes before, letting him figure out what he wanted to say and not interrupting or pressing him.
When he found the word, the Other Bob wrinkled his nose as if dissatisfied with the results of his searching.
"This…nosy?"
"Absolutely," Bob said with zero hesitation. That awkward expression bled from Bob R's face, replaced by the kind of genuine amusement Bob F wasn't used to receiving from something he'd said. Hangman had once declared he had no sense of humor, but it wasn't Bob's fault he didn't like being unnecessarily mean for the sake of a joke. But if everyone responded to jokes as beautifully as Bob Reynolds, maybe he'd need to start making more.
"Makes sense why you guys were nicknaming some of us. Have you been watching us all night?" There was a twinkle in the omega's eyes that made Bob's stomach flip in the same kind of way as when Becky Wilson in 5th grade held his hand for three precious minutes during recess. The same one as when Melinda Davis kissed him after junior prom.
Bob Floyd was many things but a stuttering fool wasn't one of them. Usually. So he cleared his throat, composing himself before he answered.
"A little bit," he admitted. Even if his voice was steady, the tips of his ears burned hotter than an overheating F/A-18 engine.
The impish grin that spread across Bob Reynolds' face should've been classified as a military-grade weapon suitable only for use in active combat. Definitely not something to be used in the middle of a bar against an unarmed combatant. Bob Floyd's stomach wasn't the only thing flipping; his damn heart felt like it was doing jumping jacks in his chest.
"Explains the nicknames," the Other Bob said with just a hint of a drawl. There was a mischievous light in his eyes, almost like he knew what he was doing to the flustered beta across from him. "You guys debating on who's the cutest? Because I can make a good case for myself."
"Not exactly," Bob said wryly. He took another sip of his drink to whet his suddenly-dry mouth, hands still fiddling with the same peanut he'd been rolling back and forth for the past few minutes.
The Other Bob waited, eyebrows raised expectantly, his smile growing more dangerous by the second. Bob Floyd thought he caught the other man sneaking a glance at his ears which were bright red by now judging by how they burned with the kind of heat usually only registered on the surface of the sun. But, when he glanced up at Bob Reynolds' eyes to catch him looking, the omega was merely watching him back.
"We were…" he started, cutting himself off before continuing. "They were making bets. About your pack."
Bob R's eyebrows shot up even further, making his forehead crease in a way that the WSO struggled to not label as 'adorable.'
"Nothing weird," Bob F added quickly. "Things like who was going to win that game of pool. Or who'd finish their drink first."
The Other Bob nodded, but Bob Floyd couldn't help but notice a twinge of some expression he couldn't quite place cross his handsome face. Relief?Disappointment? Hard to tell.
"Not exactly the most exciting bets. I think my idea is way better."
Bob F nodded absently, finally popping that peanut in his mouth and slowly chewing.
"Hangman and Fanboy were betting on who the pack alpha is," he finally added, flicking the crushed peanut shell into his cup to join its conquered brethren.
That seemed to interest the Other Bob, who perked up, sitting taller in his chair.
"Oh, that's what you meant by 'Hangman was right.' Everything's making sense now." He tapped his forehead, just like the meme, causing Bob F to let out a snort of laughter he couldn't quite hold back. Bob R beamed at him, eyes crinkling at the sides with laughter.
Since the squad were still closely monitoring the duo at the bar, Bob pulled up a picture on his phone to introduce his teammates in turn. Words flowed out of him, but in all honesty, Bob wasn't quite sure what all he said. He was hyper focused on how the Other Bob pulled his chair closer to better see the phone screen.
Stillness, it seems, was not a natural state of being for Bob Reynolds. He shifted in his seat, shaking his leg and rocking back and forth in an almost imperceptible way that Bob Floyd hadn't noticed until they were practically pressed against each other. Their legs bumped a few times and the Other Bob's hand brushed his own when he'd point at something in the picture that Bob himself had never noticed before. His heart practically pounded out of his chest any time they touched. If the omega knew what he was doing to him, Bob sure as hell couldn't tell. So he kept talking regardless.
The only thing he specifically remembered saying was mentioning Nat's civilian boyfriend she'd been with for the past year or so. Later, he wondered to himself why he'd brought that up, but all he knew was that Bob Reynolds had seemed tense when Phoenix was brought up and that his smiles and quiet touches came much more frequently after.
"You guys seem really close," the Other Bob said. Bob Floyd risked a glance over at his teammates and let out a relieved sigh seeing they'd moved on from staring to yet another game of darts where Payday and Coyote teamed up against Hangman. From the look of it, things weren't going well for them on that front.
"I mean, yeah. We're around each other what feels like every minute of the day. Can't even use the latrine without the entire unit knowing about it. 'Least, that's what it feels like."
The laugh the Other Bob let out wasn't faked; it was genuine but with something that rang hollow underneath. "I definitely understand that. Everyone knows everyone else's business in a pack, after all."
Now it was Bob's turn to smile ruefully. His eyes dipped to his own hands, watching as if from a distance as his index finger traced the bottom of the glass back and forth, swiping through cool beads of condensation and letting the water break, sliding down his skin and onto the bar counter.
Thoughts lingered on the tip of his tongue, ones he'd left unspoken to anyone but his closest family. They'd welled up before so many times along with a fierce sense of envy so strong Bob had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat - when Maverick finally settled down with Penny and Amelia, when his baby sister introduced the family to her new mates, when Coyote's pack came for a surprise visit on shore leave.
By the time he looked back up, the Other Bob was also following his movements. When he stopped, the omega blinked and looked back up at him, the upturned tilt of his lips distinctly bittersweet. There was an understanding there. A lack meeting another lack, like the holes in their hearts saw through the facades they held up and recognized each other.
So, for once, Bob didn't think through what he said. He just spoke.
"It must be nice to have a pack. A…family."
Several seconds passed before Bob Floyd found the nerve to lift his head up to see the other man's reaction. Would that change how the omega saw him? Would such rank honesty earn him discomfort or even the kind of pity he felt lurking in the eyes of even his closest friends? But, no. The Other Bob didn't give him a sad smile and a pat on the back. He didn't squirm away from the WSO either.
If anything, Bob Reynolds looked confused.
"What?" Bob Floyd found himself asking, the words leaving his lips involuntarily, not caught or even delayed by the ever-present filter he normally pushed all his thoughts through.
"But you have a family."
Before Bob could protest, to say that he meant a non-blood family, a group of people that chose each other willingly, a round of raucous laughter erupted from the direction of the dart board. The Hard Deck might have been emptier than normal, but this was the kind of hooting and hollering that would've drawn the attention of the entire place even during peak times.
Both Bobs immediately turned in their seats to watch as Coyote and Payday knelt on the floor to do push ups as Hangman strutted around like…well, a rooster while the others jeered at the losing duo and cheered them on in turn. From the expressions of chagrin and dread on Javy and Reuben's faces, Bob knew without a doubt they'd be going at it for quite a while.
The breathy laughter to his right drew Bob's attention back to the omega next to him. Bob Reynolds let out a little snort, covering his mouth and practically giggling as if his own noise only tickled him further.
"They do this often?" he asked.
"Oh yeah," Bob answered, chuckling to himself as Jake put his boot on Javy's upper back, posing like Captain Morgan on the other pilot. He caught Bob's eye, holding a precise, showy salute and grinning at the WSO. At least until Javy shifted his shoulder forward, purposefully causing the cocky alpha to stumble to catch himself, which only made the Dagger Squad howl with laughter.
"Honestly, it's their fault for betting against Hangman at darts. I swear he leaves his bunk in the middle of the night to practice in the rec hall."
Turning back to the bar, Bob R fixed him with a look that Bob F could only describe as fond.
"There's always at least one troublemaker in a pack," the Other Bob said with a wistful smile. His words were so casual, taking a sip of his soda after like there was no weight to them at all. But they hit Bob Floyd all the same.
As if he was on autopilot, Bob pushed the button to turn his phone screen on, looking at the same picture that had greeted him for years. He could still smell the briny ocean spray lapping against the shore and feel that familiar California sun beaming down on the back of his neck, making his skin prickle in the way that let him know it was time to reapply sunscreen. Some 80s rock he vaguely recognized played in the background, but Bob could barely hear it over the grunts and yells and laughter as his squad loped around the beachfront. After a while, teams and scores and even winners were forgotten, replaced with the pure joy of tackles and touchdowns. Even Bob himself, initially turned off by the excess testosterone and macho posturing, got into it, scoring a goal where everyone cheered like it was a winning one. For once, he'd enjoyed being the center of attention, foisted up into the air by his comrades who chanted his name as he threw his head back, laughing.
Penny'd insisted on taking a photo. She'd said they needed a token, something to remember in the coming days and weeks of training for that mission none of them should've come back from but, by no small miracle, all of them did. The whole squad kept it as their lock screen for all this time. Girlfriends, boyfriends, and packmates got the honor of being their wallpaper, kept safe and secure behind a password. But the Dagger Squad were the first thing they all saw when they grabbed their phones in the morning and the last thing they saw as they went to bed at night.
As the screen went black, Bob Floyd was greeted with his own face. Only a couple of hours ago, he'd seen it in the mirror of the men's room as he looked up from washing his hands. Then he was met with a frown, one he quickly schooled into a neutral expression. It was just another night out, one he tagged along to because he had nothing better to do when Phoenix asked him his plans for the evening. That Bob in the mirror had lines on his forehead and a weariness in his eyes.
This Bob, the one reflected by his phone screen, couldn't be more different. Gone was the grimace, replaced with upturned lips, like the remnants of a smile tugged at his mouth. The lines on his face were still there, of course, but not as deep as they'd been before. And his eyes? Now those were the most different.
Bob Floyd wasn't unhappy. The exact opposite, actually. He was doing the job he loved with a team who both relied on him and cared about him, even if they didn't always notice when he left the table. But there was an emptiness inside of him. A loneliness he was loathe to name. But this Bob looked…lighter. Happier. Somehow more fulfilled. Like a conversation with a handsome stranger had buoyed his spirits in a way he didn't realize he needed until he saw the results himself.
For some reason, he felt the urge to turn and look at this unusual pack. Most of them paid him no mind, not the cowboy and his fancy alpha. Not the mild-mannered beta and his doting omega. And not the female alpha or the showy beta, who were too busy flirting to pay attention. But the greaser - Rocco, he corrected himself - caught his gaze and held it there.
Bob couldn't fight the feeling that this was an important moment, that his new friend's mate was passing judgment on him. Normally, he wouldn't care what some knothead alpha thought of him. His parents had told him long ago that gender is irrelevant to what kind of person you are. You can't blame your mistakes on it or let it encapsulate who you are. But something about that moment made Bob want to be a 'good beta' for the first time in his life. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
When the alpha raised his glass in a salute, a smirk firmly carved into his lips, Bob Floyd let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. He lifted his Sprite in turn, toasting this complete stranger for something he didn't quite understand. Maybe he would later.
The Other Bob's voice jerked him firmly back into reality.
Turning to face the omega, Bob mumbled an apology. "Sorry, what was that?"
"I said, 'so, what's yours?'" Bob R stated, his head tilting to the side slightly, just enough that he had to gaze up through his lashes to make eye contact.
"Mine?" Bob F asked, brow furrowing in confusion. "My what?"
"Your callsign," the Other Bob clarified. "Sorry. I know I'm rewinding the conversation back a few minutes. Before we got distracted by the ruckus."
"Ruckus is a damn good way to put it," Bob said. He glanced back at the head alpha across the room, but Rocco had turned his attention away from the two at the bar.
"So, there's Payback. And Rooster. And Phoenix. What are you? Specs?" Bob R grinned as he said it, visibly proud of himself for coming up with a nickname.
"Uh…not exactly."
Bob Floyd had answered this question many, many times. People responded usually with confusion ('No, your callsign, not your name'), more questions ('Did you…choose that yourself?'), or, even worse, disappointment ('Aww, man. I was hoping it was something cool'). But this response? It was a new one.
"Hmm," Bob Reynolds said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully while looking off into the distance. The gesture made his already-thin lips smush together into a solitary line, making it look like he had a comically long frown. The word 'adorable' floated through Bob Floyd's head for the second time that night.
After a few moments of hard pondering, the Other Bob turned to him, releasing his chin as he declared, "I like it."
Bob blinked, saying nothing at first. And when he did speak, it was just one word.
"…What?"
"I like it," the Other Bob said with even more conviction, nodding his head as if agreeing with his own assessment. "It suits you."
Bob Floyd couldn't help himself. He laughed. It was sudden and jarring, like his body had a mind of its own. Like it was pulled out of his lungs by sheer surprise.
Bob Reynolds eyed him with a raised eyebrow. "What's so funny?"
"Normally people are disappointed that my callsign is just…Bob. They expect something cooler."
The other man audibly scoffed. "What? Like Hangman? Wow. He must be so cool." He made a quick pumping gesture with his right hand, wordlessly calling the blond alpha a jerk off. "No, Bob is unique. I bet there isn't another pilot with that callsign. There are probably dozens of 'Hangman's. And, after all, you know what 'Bob' stands for, right?"
"If you say 'Baby On Board,' I'm going back to my -" Bob F started, shaking his finger at his fellow Bob.
"No, no," Bob R said, waving away the other man's concerns. "Nothing as lame as that."
"Then what?"
Bob Reynolds grinned.
"Big Ol' Balls, obviously."
When Bob Reynolds said his goodbyes and made his way back to his pack through the slowly emptying bar, he was hyper aware of the phone resting heavily in his right front pocket. He ran his fingers over the glass faceplate, feeling the tiny cracks in the touch screen, the ones Jordan insisted wouldn't be there if he'd just get a proper phone case. If he traced the name of the man he'd spent the last hour and a half with, give or take a few minutes, no one would know. Or even blame him.
The rest of his pack was suspiciously silent as he slid into the oval booth at the far end of the room, the one right next to the door. Everyone had made their way over to the table eventually, nearly filling it up. It wasn't an easy fit like it had been with just his bonded mates where he could stretch out over the worn brown vinyl, resting his head in one of their laps. But the way Miles chirruped happily, wrapping his arms around Bob and pulling him close, rubbing their noses together, more than made up for the lack of space.
"You tryin'a get us another beta?" Rhett asked with a grin. He'd long ago taken off the cowboy hat. Now the Stetson decorated the table in front of them, set amidst a veritable field of discarded and half-empty glasses.
At those words, Jordan perked up.
"We could use another beta. William helped get our numbers up, but you damn alphas outnumber us," he said, shooting fake glares at the three at the table who just chuckled in response.
"There are three omegas too," William added, pointing at Rhett, Miles, and Bob himself in turn.
Jordan dismissed him with a simple "psht" sound.
"There is never such a thing as too many omegas," he said as justification. Todd, who never missed an opportunity to cuddle with the nearest omega, nodded his head as if agreeing with some deep, sage wisdom. Rhett nudged him with his elbow, snickering when the alpha pouted at him, exaggeratedly rubbing his side as if dearly wounded.
"Can't disagree with you there," Rocco said, taking a swig of his beer before turning his eyes on Bob. Without even saying another word, Bob could feel his own face growing red. Rocco didn't even have to ask. From the smirk that tugged at his lips, he knew what Bob was thinking possibly even better than Bob knew himself.
As much as they so obviously wanted to, a stern look from Rocco quieted any more questions about the handsome stranger Bob had spent so much time chatting up. Everyone seemed mostly tired (or buzzed), so further talk was minimal, mostly just murmuring to the person next to them.
When William caught himself nearly falling asleep at the table, they collectively decided to call it a night. Miles and Jordan busied themselves organizing the glassware on the table, clean spills and stacking plates to make the night a little easier for the barkeep, while Todd made his way to the register to square up their tab.
It didn't take long before everyone filed out of the bar. Bob tried to catch a glimpse of his military counterpart, but, between his own packmates and the people settling up at the bar, there were too many people in the way. He could have sworn he saw that perfectly coifed hair swiveling to face them as they left, but he couldn't be certain.
The parking lot was mostly silent except for the buzzing of the neon lights in the Top Deck's windows, so any noise the pack made was amplified. From the words they exchanged to the keys jingling in the drivers' hands and especially to the gravel crunching under foot, Bob almost didn't hear Rocco when he started talking.
"Was he nice?"
"Hmm?" Bob answered, blinking and looking up at his mate. Rocco smiled down at him, one of those smiles that made him look devilishly handsome. That smile used to haunt his dreams before Bob had finally admitted his attraction to the alpha, but now it brightened his days and warmed his nights.
"Was he nice? The guy you chatted with."
"Oh? Yeah. Yeah, he was really sweet," Bob said, pushing his hands even deeper into his pockets as the cool night air nipped at his skin. Once again, he ran his fingers over the phone as if expecting it to buzz or ring at any moment. Or maybe he hoped it would.
"Sweet, huh?" Rocco said teasingly. He knocked his shoulder lightly against Bob's, who retaliated by leaning against him. From the way Rocco immediately put his arm around the omega, Bob didn't think he was complaining much.
His next words were quieter, spoken practically into Bob's ear.
"You feelin' better?"
Bob didn't mean to stop in his tracks, but Rocco jerked to a halt next to him, practically getting whiplash from the sudden pause in their walk. He wanted to deny it, of course. To tell Rocco that he had no clue what the alpha was talking about. But, looking up into the eyes of his mate, he knew that lying was useless. Rocco knew he'd been in a rotten mood all day, as much as Bob had tried to hide it.
He wasn't even sure why he'd been having a bad day to begin with. It could have been a million things. Or it could have been nothing. After all, it's like his therapist always said - depression doesn't always need a reason.
Hell, he wasn't even sure why he'd approached Bob Floyd to begin with. I mean, yeah, the guy had his hoodie, the same one Bob R had pulled on as soon as the crisp night air hit his bare arms. If Bob put his nose to it, he imagined he could still smell the beta's scent - clean and woodsy with just a hint of something sharp, like the one that lingered on his clothes the one time Todd had managed to convince him to fly on a plane despite his fear of heights. It was like gasoline or kerosene but not quite. The combination was odd, but Bob found that he quite liked it.
Their connection should have ended there. They'd touch hands as the WSO handed his hoodie back, Bob would think about it all night, and he'd look for the cute beta with big, blue eyes and aviator glasses every time they went to the Hard Deck from then on.
But talking to him just felt so…nice. He was nice. Bob Floyd was the kind of man who made every person he interacted with feel seen. He waited his turn to speak, and when he did, he made it clear he was listening, carefully logging little tidbits into some nebulous folder in his mind to reference later. And his life was so different from anything Bob Reynolds had ever experienced, full of dangerous missions, cocky pilots, and apparently some beach football. It didn't hurt that the WSO's eyes kept slipping to Bob's lips, his ears turning scarlet when Bob flirted back with him.
Somewhere in their conversation, the ache in Bob Reynolds' chest eased, leaving him feeling lighter than he'd been in days. And the new contact in his phone just meant this wasn't just a random chat between strangers. Maybe it was the start of something more.
"You okay, sweetheart?" Rocco's words brought him back to reality, back to the cold parking lot where his mate was waiting for an answer. None of the pack's vehicles had moved either. They waited for their alpha to lead the way. Or, more likely, they stayed to make sure nothing was wrong with Bob.
That thought felt like ice water over his head. Abruptly, Bob started walking towards Rocco's car, grabbing the alpha's hand to drag him along. Letting out a grunt of surprise, his mate followed wordlessly.
When they got to the car, Bob turned around to squarely face the other man.
"I'm okay, Rock," he said, meaning those words for the first time in the past week that he'd spoken them. "I'm okay."
Rocco fixed him with a stare, one Bob could never seem to hide from. It was like his alpha could see right through him, reading all the truths etched on his soul that he tried so desperately to keep to himself, not wanting to bother his packmates. After a few tense seconds, Rocco breathed out a little sigh of relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
"Okay," Rocco said. There was no pushing, no trying to get more information out of the omega. And Bob knew he wouldn't. His alpha trusted that he would open up in his own time.
The ride home was full of the regular noises: the hum of the engine, bits of scattered conversation, and a little off key singing.
When they pulled into their driveway and rolled to a stop inside the garage, Bob didn't even reach for the handle. He knew better by now. Long ago, Rocco had made it a habit to always open the door for his passengers. It was so ingrained into Bob that it took him a few seconds to realize that the alpha didn't move to exit the car.
"I do have one question," Rocco admitted almost sheepishly. He looked almost embarrassed to ask but bursting at the seams with curiousity, like he'd been chewing on his words the entire time they'd driven home."You know I won't press the issue. I don't need to know a damn thing about him until you're ready to talk. But it's kinda killing me. Can I…" His words trailed off, looking to Bob for permission.
When Bob nodded his assent, the alpha asked simply, "What's his name?"
Now that was a question Bob was more than happy to answer. Bob grinned up at his partner, smiling even wider when confusion and even a little bit of dread crossed his beloved's face. It was like he'd told the WSO; there was always one troublemaker in a pack, a fact Bob knew well from personal experience.
So, of course Rocco didn't believe him.
"You're fucking with me," he'd insisted. "There's no way that we went to a bar full of people, and you came out with a crush on the only other Bob in there. What's his name really? James? Tom? Lewis?"
It took pulling out his phone to show Rocco the new contact he'd entered in there just an hour ago, the one with the photo he'd startled the lieutenant when he snapped it so that the WSO more resembled a deer in the headlights than a decorated military officer.
When Rocco groaned in defeat, muttering "goddamnit, Bob" under his breath, Bob Reynolds laughed harder than he'd done in months.
Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics
Images in header are not mine.
Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!
Please do not repost or reproduce in any way. You do not have my permission to use this for AI scraping.
A BASEBALL TEAM YOU SAY? you know where im going with this.
So, no idea if this was the case - but I know in my own work I can basically decide how good I want it to be (almost). It's just painfully called, re-reading it over and over again for as long as you're willing to tolerate. But you can tell what stage you're at by all the little details you add until almost everything is saturated (but hopefully not too mch) with character details down to the smallest expression or quick background. This reads like you really did spend a month going through it over and over until you crammed it with as much detail as you could without it ever meandering or becoming boring. Like, it's so exciting seeing which character is coming next and how they briefly interact with people and no moment is wasted not to add something special to it. Okay onto the specific stuff
Aw I love all of Nat's and Bobs interactions and how you show their comfort and long-running jokes with each other. The glass thing and her weighing up doing it is so good.
Bob being polite and offering a round, knowing no one will take it up, is such a good detail OMG
And you just get Bob F so well, man! All the stuff about being overlooked is so right. He's such a good character *if* you really work hard on it - and is really shows that you did.
Ok so legit William is my favourite part of the fic, but I am biased. But God telling him he's cut off is such a good line. Please, who do i need to kill for a william focused fic in this verse? Say the word. they're dead. Also lol him having white wine - it so suits him but also, don't pretend you're fancy english Will! I know the street you're from xD they made fun of you for your hipster IPA didn't they? didn't they baby??
also human equiv of a fender bender is such a good line - and Will nuzzling to get his omega to calm down T_T
same with the voice more used to rounding sentences into questions
aw love Bob being a bit sensitive and hiding it with a joke. and Bob F not making a big deal out of it
yes the drink thing! what a good way to end the act.
MILLSHAKERS TRUTHERS UNITE.
ahhh our omega Rhett truth too. It's just the best, no ifs or buts.
Rocco head alpha? fuck you Rocco dad. Your boy did good.
I love how Dagger Squad arent as subtle as the pack for watching Bob! Really differentiates them
Also i should say, but the use of the two groups does *such* a good job of adding life to the bar. It feels full of people and not just two people sat alone. Like the background is so well encorporated without ever being too much or not enough. Legit one of the things im impressed most with.
OH. I should say at this point, at no point have I found having two bobs together to be awkward. you've done such a good job keeping the prose working.
Good boy Bob does not leave a mess for bar staff. Stan.
Another also - but I really appreciate the thing about Bob not being a stuttering fool. Like, everyone has their own interpretations, but in the film that's only him for a few seconds when he wasn't paying attention. so i love it being used as a sign of Bob R being special to him - also that Bob is quiet enough in this that he notices Bob F's overlooked qualities.
And again, Bob R being quiet but then you say he's restless, and differentiating the two! Such good little tidbits.
And totally Bob F has the feel of someone who is quite old school - wants a family and the whole pack life, but then went into the worst job for it and then denies that 'selfish' side to himself.
'not caught or even delayed on his ever-present filter' is A+ line
everyone having the same background is so cute, are you kidding me?? and again, the line about partners behind a password. SO GOOD.
oh god him seeing his reflection in the phone?? Amazing and so creative without being showy - just really natural.
Random aside, but the freefloaty paragraphs, where Bob is thinking of being lonely and then saluting rocco and going back into conversation - it flows really well. Seems like the sort of moment that's hard to judge when you wrote it yourself, but know that it worked seemlessly!
CALL HIM AND FIND OUT IF THE NICKNAME SUITS OTHER BOB
Miles just nuzzling everyone T_T my dude i love you stop being so cute.
Rocco being so considerate ;.; aw i love this version of him.
WILLIAM. Wake up. You're embarrassing us brits. this is why you drink IPAs not wine.
Aww Bob F looking like a deer :( and them all stopping to make sure Bob was okay.
DO YOU LIKE IT NOW JAMIE? You better fucking like it or I swear to god I will come over there and hit you with my shoe. It's so immervsive and gradually builds, with little revelations and going back and forth in style and speeds that it never gets boring. I hate you. fuck you its so good.
I WANT TO PRINT THIS AND PASTE IT ON MY WALL AND LOOK AT THIS WHEN I'M HAVING A BAD DAY, RES. I LOVE THIS REPLY SO DAMN MUCH! 🥹🥹🥹
With this fic, each section felt painstaking. The writing was interminably slow, and I do think part of that was filling out so much detail and also trying to make sure the reader could parse wtf I was trying to convey. When you've had these characters in your head for so long, it's so easy to just write for yourself entirely and make it to where no one understands wtf is going on. And that was my utmost thought going into this was "I have to make sure anyone can pick this up and understand most of what's happening." I'm so, so, so glad that it seems like that was mostly a success!
THEY'RE NOT JOINING THE METS, RES. THEY LIVE IN CALIFORNIA!
Thank you so much about Bob F's personality! Bob R does definitely make him nervous, but he's a fucking elite military weapons officer. The man can be a bit coy, but he's mostly just reserved.
LOL I told Lysa about your and Leah's enjoyment of Millshakers in this fic, because it is entirely Lysa's doing that they're a mated pair.
Oh my God, I didn't even think of an IPA for William! He absolutely would drink those! I think he was trying to go for something he wouldn't drink down so easily because he'd gotten a bit more tipsy than he'd intended to. (Also Rhett and Rocco would 100% make fun of his IPAs. But they both drink the kinds of beer I refer to as piss, so they can't really talk 🤣)
Love love love your notes. You notice such little things and always seem to point out one or two things that I spent a lot of time on or feel particularly proud of (the bit about Bob F's mental filter, the "human equivalent of a fender bender" line that I debated, comparing the Dagger Squad to Bob R's pack). And I always really appreciate it. And your notes in general make me look at the bigger picture when I'm writing, which is something I very rarely do. The entire emotional core of this fic came from your idea of tying together the two of them having a bit of a bad night because they were stuck in their heads.
Okay, okay. I don't think I hate it anymore! I was DEFINITELY super annoyed with it by the time I posted it, but there are sections I really like now. I'm so glad to know that the flow is okay and that the pains I took to make sure the Bobs were differentiated from each other paid off in the end. 🥰 You're the best, Res. And I hate you for it.
With the way I write, there usually ends up being some bits I cut out of fics. They just feel wrong or lead to a dead end. But I don't like getting rid of them. A lot of times, I can repurpose them later on in the fic...but sometimes I can't. But they're too juicy or too fun to throw away. So I've just been squirreling them in my writing folder for a later date. That date is today.
Starting, of course, with the Smoochieverse.
Bob Reynolds/John Walker/Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader
Swap Spit, Lock Lips - 🍆 - 8.3k
The lines in your relationships with John Walker and Bob Reynolds had already become blurred, but you'd managed to keep one aspect intact - you'd only ever slept with them separately. However, when John wakes up and can't keep his hands off of you, that might not be true anymore.
A/N: This was my first time writing John and Bob together, and my God, all they wanted to do was fight. I spent SO MUCH of this fic just telling them to calm the hell down. Their petty squabbling really sidelined quite a few moments.
You couldn't help your mind wandering, imagining what other little surprises these two had in store for you.
"You doing okay, angel?" Bob asked, his tone suddenly much more gentle. You opened your eyes, and he was much closer than you remembered. You didn't even hear him move. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking your skin in soothing circles. John had shifted as well, the arm that held you down having slid down to your waist, his hand warm against your stomach. The hand that was on your clit was gently rubbing up and down your bare side.
"Got quiet all of the sudden," John said. You turned your head as much as you could without dislodging Bob's hand to see your other boyfriend gazing down at you with concern in his eyes. He looked adorable - hair sleep rumpled, a line from a fold in the pillow sheet on his cheek, and a little frown that was closer to a pout than he'd ever admit. "Too much?" John asked, his tone gentle, a sharp contrast to the smug attitude from just a minute ago.
You shook your head minutely. "No. It felt wonderful. I just…" You bit your lip, taking a moment to find the right phrasing. "I was wondering what other kinks you two have up your sleeves that I don't know about."
John and Bob shared a look, and you couldn't help but feel like some secret understanding passed between them. They simultaneously turned their attention back to you, John giving you a short, sweet peck on the lips, his beard pleasantly rubbing against your skin.
"Obviously someone was doing a shitty job making you feel good if you were getting distracted," Bob jeered, smirking at John with a playful glint in his eyes. It was jarring how quickly he transitioned from doting boyfriend to horny menace.
John snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, and that's why she's soaking wet for me. Think you can do better, Bobby?"
Bob's answering grin was so sharp it could cut glass. "I know I can, Johnny."
John was apparently thinking something similar, because he leaned down and mock-whispered in your ear, "I think Bobby likes watching you, pretty girl. Look at him."
You opened your eyes obediently, catching Bob's heated stare as he gazed down at John's hand rubbing lazy circles around your clit. He was as beautiful as ever - sleep-mussed hair, too-big sweater that he insisted on wearing to sleep even if he got too hot, warm hand resting on your inner thigh, and the prominent tent at the front of his boxers that made your mouth salivate at the sight of.
Judging by the flexing muscles, John was trying to pull his arm away with no luck. He wasn't even budging Bob's rock solid grip. Looking back up, Bob's eyes glowed gold. He looked absolutely furious. The muscles in his jaw ticked as Bob clenched his teeth, his lower lip almost quivering in anger.
"What the fuck are you doing, you asshole?" Bob snapped back, easily pulling John's fingers out of you and pushing his hand away. "You're going to fucking hurt her being that rough. You didn't even prep her first!"
"She likes that!" John said, starting to raise his voice. "Did you hear her complaining? Or are you not used to hearing the sounds of her actually enjoying getting fucked?"
Bob's eyes started turning brighter gold, practically glowing. A light bulb in an adjacent room audibly shattered.
"Whoa!" you interrupted, flinging your arms out to gesture for them to stop. "Okay, that…that escalated quickly. Everyone calm down."
Judging by the flexing muscles, John was trying to pull his arm away with no luck. He wasn't even budging Bob's rock solid grip. Looking back up, Bob's eyes glowed gold. He looked absolutely furious. The muscles in his jaw ticked as Bob clenched his teeth, his lower lip almost quivering in anger.
"What the fuck are you doing, you asshole?" Bob snapped back, easily pulling John's fingers out of you and pushing his hand away. "You're going to fucking hurt her being that rough. You didn't even prep her first!"
"She likes that!" John said, starting to raise his voice. "Did you hear her complaining? Or are you not used to hearing the sounds of her actually enjoying getting fucked?"
Bob's eyes started turning brighter gold, practically glowing. A light bulb in an adjacent room audibly shattered.
"Whoa!" you interrupted, flinging your arms out to gesture for them to stop. "Okay, that…that escalated quickly. Everyone calm down."
"She's fine, Bobby. She's wet enough that she could take it," John said with the kind of tone you use to explain big concepts to a child. Bob glanced away from you just long enough to send John another annoyed look over your shoulder. "If you weren't sticking your fingers in her mouth like a weirdo, you could feel for yourself."
"She likes when I put my fingers in her mouth," Bob snapped back, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He kept his eyes on you though, the gold in them having faded back to the deep, stormy blue you were used to. "Baby, let me…" Bob's words trailed off as he pulled his thumb out of your mouth, quickly replacing them with his index and middle fingers. You let out another happy hum, closing your eyes as you sucked on his fingers, lathing them with your tongue, getting them nice and wet like you knew he wanted.
John shifted behind you. Judging by the shadow that loomed over you, blocking out the faint light that was making its way through your bedroom curtains, he was trying to catch a glimpse of your face.
"I'll be damned," he said with a faint note of surprise in his voice. "She hates it when I do that to her."
"Was she topping you when you tried?"
There was a pause before John answered, sheepishly. "Yeah. Now that I think about it, she was in control."
"Thought so. She only likes it when she's being submissive." You could hear Bob pause and lean a little closer to John like he was sharing a secret. "It really gets her going to have something in her mouth when you're in charge of her. I got her this gag that…"
With a pop, you pulled Bob's fingers out of your mouth and opened your eyes, glaring at the two men. "If you two are done sharing trade secrets, I'd really like to stop being teased and get fucked if you don't mind."
Grinning down at you, John complied. "Yes ma'am," he said, putting a little more pressure on your clit, starting to run little figure eights over the bundle of nerves.
Bob obeyed as well, using his split-slick fingers to circle your entrance before slipping one digit inside. A moan left his lips, sounding like it forced its way out of his chest at the feel of your wet heat around him.
"Wet?" John asked. He was still grinning, this time at Bob, amusement dancing in those bright blue eyes.
"Soaked," Bob confirmed, starting to pump his finger in and out of you. Unconsciously, you started moving your hips, rocking them in time to meet his thrusts.
That tension was already building in you again. Both of your boyfriends were touching you, bringing you pleasure simultaneously. It wasn't perfect - John was a little faster and more aggressive on your clit and Bob taking his time and focusing on slowly stretching you - but the visual alone was nearly enough to undo you. Bob was biting his lip in concentration, paying no mind to the strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes, too focused on building up a rhythm and watching your hips rise up to meet his thrusts. John's eyes were everywhere: watching every micro-detail of your face and drinking in your reactions, trailing hotly down your body, watching his own fingers move over your flesh, and staring at Bob's hand as he stretched you open, adding a second finger to your slick heat.
It didn't matter that John was speeding up and Bob almost seemed to be slowing down, not when John pressed a little harder on your throbbing clit and Bob curled his fingers to hit that spot inside of you that made you see stars with every rolling thrust. You could feel it again, the pressure in your stomach, a knot coiling there, each caress, each movement, each second bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Only for it to stop suddenly again.
You let out a cry of despair when John stopped moving, but he didn't seem to notice. He was too fixated on Bob.
"You're going too slow."
"Huh?" Bob asked, looking up at the other man, his pace also coming to a complete halt. If your mind wasn't reeling from the abrupt change in pace - the second of the fucking morning - you could have screamed in frustration. "What are you talking about?"
"Your fingers. She's never going to cum if you keep going that slow," John said, that smug, know-it-all-tone back in his voice.
It was Bob's turn to roll his eyes. "That would be a first."
"What? Her cumming? I can give you some tips if you need." Now John was just being a dick.
Bob scoffed. "Hardly. She's always finished when she was with me."
With a smirk, John replied, "You sure, Bobby?"
Before Bob could respond, you were sitting up in bed. Both men stared at you in surprise, especially when you started actually trying to leave. Hands came up from both of them to stop you, and you batted them aside, making to crawl out from between them on the bed.
Their words overlapped when they both started speaking at once.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where are you going?"
"Are you okay, angel? What's wrong?"
You stopped, turning and fixing both of them with a pointed glare. "If you two can't work together to get me off, I'm going to go to the bathroom and get myself off, thank you."
They spoke over each other again:
"Hey now, let's not be so hasty."
"Baby! I'm sorry! Please don't go."
Even though they had struggled to do anything in sync with each other before, both John and Bob grabbed for your arms at the same time, pulling you back by manhandling you and trying to draw you closer respectively.
"C'mon," said John as your back hit the pillows as they leaned you up against the headboard. "Sure, we fucked up. But we're a hell of a lot better than just using your own hand."
You opened your mouth to tell John that you'd prefer your hand to getting edged by a cocky asshole, but Bob started talking first. "She wouldn't have to use her hand."
John blinked at him in confusion. "Excuse me. What?"
"She, uh…" Bob glanced at you, instantly clocking the annoyed look on your face and stumbling over his words. "S-she wouldn't ha-have to use her hands. She has, um…she has toys in the bath…the bathroom."
"Toys," John deadpanned, obviously not processing what Bob was meaning.
"What he means," you said, crossing your arms. "Is that I have a dildo and a vibrator in the bathroom drawer."
John practically sputtered. "What?! Why?"
You shrugged. "Just because I'm dating both of you doesn't mean I don't need some alone time."
"Actually, that's exactly what that means," John corrected, arrogant as ever. "Baby, if he's not satisfying you, I am more than happy to -"
"Oh, fuck off," Bob exclaimed, interrupting his proposition.
John rounded on the other man. "How do you know she has those anyway?"
"Because I use them on her," Bob said simply.
Scoffing, John replied, "Yeah, because you go too slow to make her finish."
Bob rolled his eyes again, his annoyance with John strong enough to make him forget yours. "No, because I don't feel inadequate because she wants more than just my dick to make her feel good. You're missing out," he added. Before John could question him further, Bob answered. "If you've never used a toy on her, you've never got to watch close up how she falls apart on your cock. And sometimes I like her to finish a few times before we even get started."
"Jonathan." Craning your neck, you turned to glare back at the man who at least managed to look at least a little remorseful.
"Too far?" John asked, a self-deprecating deadpan tone in his voice.
Bob let out a low, amused laugh. "Ooh, you got the full first name, Walker. You're in trouble now."
Your fingers that were curled in Bob's hair tightened painfully, jerking his head back with a flick of your wrist. He gasped loudly, the sound half-surprise and half-moan, and you felt the bed dip as Bob involuntarily rolled his hips, seeking friction.
"Be good, Robert," you chastised, turning back to look him in the eye. There was a flash of gold there, but one raised eyebrow was all it took for Bob to blink, his irises returning to their regular deep blue hue.
"Yes," Bob panted, pausing to lick his lips before starting again. "Yes, ma'am."
Lace Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics
MDNI Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics
Images in headers are not mine.
Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!
Please do not repost or reproduce in any way. You do not have my permission to use this for AI scraping.
I've been in a writing rut lately. The only ideas I get are long, and I've been struggling to write at all, which just compounds things.
So…drabbles! Going to challenge myself to write less and do more! I'm jonesing for the Smoochieverse in particular (John Walker, I'm coming for that ass, I stg). I still have a shit ton of Lewcest ideas (this is at least 75% @hi-res-tm's fault), so there will be a good bit of that as well.
If anyone has any little drabble ideas they'd like to shoot my way, I can't guarantee I'll write it, but I'd love to give it a shot if it tickles my fancy!
(Look out for a post sometime this weekend of some fic outtakes. I have some juicy scenes that I just couldn't make work, but I loved them so much I held onto them!)
Bob Floyd/Bob Reynolds (side Bob Reynolds/Rocco Gauthier and some others)
Word Count: 8.5k
Summary: At first it's just another boring night at the Hard Deck for Bob Floyd, one where he starts to regret letting Phoenix drag him out to. But when he notices a cute omega giving him a tentative smile from across the room, maybe the night won't be that bad after all.
Tags/Warnings: A/B/O AU, fluff, lil bit of angst, Lewcest (obviously), beta Bob Floyd, omega Bob Reynolds, meet cute, the Dagger Squad shooting the shit, Hangman being annoying but right, dubious understanding of anything military-related, Bob R is already in a pack and has other mates, technically a reader character (the female alpha), lots of dialogue, my God so much dialogue, I don't even know what this fic has become
A/N: This started out as a drabble for @iristheplanet16 who requested something Bob Floyd or Bob Reynolds-related. So they're getting both! This universe belongs to @abbottsdarling who graciously let me play with their ideas.
The pack dynamics are where bonded pairs/groups are joined together. At this point, they're fairly simple. The bonded mates are William and Miles; Todd and Rhett; and Rocco, the reader, Jordan, and Bob.
The pack that had set foot in the Hard Deck that night were difficult to overlook to say the least. For one thing, there were almost enough of them to make up an entire baseball team. For another, they were all…well, they were undeniably attractive, something that didn't exactly escape Bob Floyd.
Bob wasn't the only one who noticed. The Dagger Squad had been eying them all night. That wasn't particularly unusual. They always made a habit of watching out for troublemakers. It was part of their unspoken deal with Penny - keep the peace at the bar and she'd overlook some past due bar tabs until payday. And also not throw Hangman out more than strictly necessary. The latter was much to the dismay of Nat, Rooster, and secretly Bob himself.
But it was hard to ignore such an unusual group, especially on a slower night where there was actually space to breathe at the usually overcrowded bar. Much of the night's entertainment had shifted from playing pool and chatting about the upcoming mission to speculating on this strange pack.
"$10 says the cowboy's the head alpha," Fanboy called out, putting a less-than-crisp bill down in the center of the table with the small pile of money that had formed throughout the night. Some of the crew nodded their agreement, but a good number remained visibly skeptical. Hangman looked thrilled.
"Happy to take your money, Garcia. My money's on the mobster," he quipped, throwing down a ten of his own and gesturing at an alpha with slicked back hair on the inside of the booth a few from the group had taken up residence in. He had his arm around the only female in the pack and was quietly chatting with a very animated man with an obnoxious gold chain and the kind of showy muscles that come not from hard labor like the ones under the sleeves of the alpha they'd deemed the Cowboy. This one that Bob quietly referred to as the Greaser had a small, barely perceivable smile and watched his mate with a fondness that made Bob's own heart ache. As much as he hated to, Bob had to admit Jake might just be right. And Bob wasn't even sure the cowboy was an alpha despite the rest of the group readily agreeing.
Mickey seemed to be having some doubts as well. He smiled at Hangman, but it came off as put on, the kind of confidence his erstwhile teammate never had to fake. After all, Jake Seresin was a neverending well of self-regard.
"What makes you think that? Yeah, the mobster is definitely an alpha, but he's not commanding the space the way the cowboy is." Nat, an alpha herself, turned to Bob and rolled her eyes.
Hangman grinned. It looked less inviting and charming the way it did when he flashed it at the single betas and omegas who came to the bar and more the smile of someone who knew they'd won the game before it even began. Fanboy's cheery grin visibly faltered.
"I tried to chat up the female," Jake admitted, much to everyone but his chagrin. Even Nat raised her eyebrows, but Hangman was too busy being smug to pay their surprised reactions any mind.
"That's a level of ballsy I didn't think even you were capable of, Seresin," Rooster shot at him, taking a lazy sip of his beer, face nonplussed even when Jake turned his Cheshire grin to the squad's only omega.
"What? You jealous, Bradshaw?"
Before Rooster could bite back, Payback cut him off.
"Get to the point, Bagman. At least give Mickey the courtesy of knowing why he's losing money tonight." When Mickey shot him a fake hurt look, Reuben just shrugged and grinned. They all knew that Fanboy's proverbial goose was cooked.
"Right, so where was I?" Jake drawled. He hadn't taken his eyes off Rooster, who was doing his best to ignore the obnoxiously cocky alpha who was blatantly peacocking for his attention. Again.
"They need to fuck and get it over with," Nat muttered into Bob's ear right as he took a sip of his (non-alcoholic) drink. He should've known to brace himself the second she leaned in conspiratorially, but her little asides routinely caught the WSO off guard. It took a kind of effort Bob had practiced as long as he'd known Phoenix, but he was able to swallow his mouthful of Sprite without sputtering or choking. His glass, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky.
Fortunately, Phoenix was on top of it, instantly mopping up the spilled drink with the kind of speed and efficiency that meant she'd already carefully weighed the pros and cons of her snide remark before it even left her lips. When the others turned towards them, concerned, Bob waved them off, wiping his mouth with a clean napkin Natasha handed him with a smirk.
"Anyway," Hangman said, finally turning to face Fanboy, "I was talking to the female of the group - definitely an alpha, by the way - and the greaseball glared at me like he wanted to blow my damn head off. He stormed over, put his arm around her shoulders, and told me in no uncertain terms to get lost."
"What did he actually say? The exact words used?" Coyote spoke up.
Jake only grinned more. "He told me to get my goddamn hands off his girl and fuck off."
Most alphas would be at least repentant about treading on another's territory as laughably outdated as that notion was, but Jake just laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Typical.
The squabbling only got louder, so Bob used his empty glass as an excuse to get away. His call for refill requests fortunately was ignored just like it normally was, so he didn't have to haul half a dozen various beers across the crowded bar. And he didn't have the voice of his mom in his ear, scolding him for not being a gentleman like he did when he didn't ask at all. It was a win-win all around.
That was one thing about being the quiet beta of the group. When he was younger, Bob resented how easily overlooked he was. 'A wallflower,' his sisters called him when he told them about how he was always passed over by his peers at school. 'A sweet, upstanding young gentleman,' his grandma declared him to be as she pinched his cheeks until they hurt. 'A late bloomer,' his pa deemed him when Bob didn't get the same growth spurt at the same time all the other boys did. 'Just like your dad,' his mom would say with a wistful smile, no doubt thinking about their younger years. He didn't like any of it.
But, grudgingly, Bob Floyd learned the benefits of being generally overlooked. Anything he did well always shocked and impressed the others around him. The few moments he'd let his wit out to cut like a fresh rapier, his opponents were always thrown off. And the few people who did notice him, like Natasha Trace and, eventually the entire Dagger Squad, were the kind of friends you made for life, the ones who saw Bob for who he was and liked him for it.
Which is why it surprised him when one of the omegas from this new pack looked straight at him from across the bar and gave him a faint smile. Bob had to fight the immediate urge to turn around, to see who else this man was looking at. But he saw the eye contact and the way the omega appeared briefly hesitant at Bob's lack of response. And his blatant staring. So quickly, Bob smiled back. It was perfunctory but natural. Not one of those he'd give in the hallway while passing any number of faceless, nameless officers he'd most likely never see again. It was genuine. And even across the room, the omega seemingly sensed the sincerity, and his face relaxed.
Whatever little moment was or wasn't happening got abruptly interrupted when another bar patron accidentally walked right into Bob, who barely avoided the man's drink spilling on him. He'd been in this situation more times than he could recall. Fortunately, this man that Bob quickly clocked as another beta, one with long brown hair and a gentle face, acted more concerned with Bob's state of being than the condition of his now half-spilled glass of white wine.
"I'm so sorry," the beta said, grabbing some napkins from a nearby table and checking Bob over for errant stains. "Don't know how I didn't see you. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Bob assured him with a smile. Fortunately, his dress shirt was just as clean and crisp as when he'd put it on after drills that afternoon. "No harm done. It happens all the time."
Their interaction was fairly short: the stranger apologized a few more times, tried to start mopping up the spill with his handful of napkins until Penny threw Bob a spare rag to use instead, and even turning down a free refill (a first that he could remember from Penny), declaring that the incident must be God telling him that he's cut off for the night. It didn't surprise Bob when the handsome beta walked back to the corner with that strange pack, right into the arms of a different small omega who immediately inspected him like he'd been in a serious accident as opposed to the human equivalent of a fender bender. Bob watched as the beta reassured his mate, nuzzling his forehead against the omega's cheek until the latter visibly relaxed.
"Weird evening, isn't it?" Penny asked when Bob finally stepped up to the counter, placing his empty glass there for a refill.
"Yeah, there's something about that pack," Bob admitted, watching as the bartender swept his old glass away in a motion as easy as breathing. "The squad's been taking bets about them all night."
"I meant the two spills in less than five minutes, both of which you were involved with," Penny said with a grin. Bob had the decency to blush, something that only made Penny laugh mirthfully. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I won't charge you a clean up fee."
Quick as a blink, the bartender turned to the soda fountain, filling up a brand new glass. She turned and set it down on the counter in front of Bob and popped a new straw in it in one fluid motion with the kind of easy grace that always secretly astounded the pilot.
"By the way, you left your jacket," Penny added, nodding over to a black lump of fabric in one of the bar chairs.
Confused, Bob picked up what appeared to be a much-loved but clean hoodie with the name of some band he didn't recognize splashed on the front. Bob Floyd didn't wear hoodies, preferring zip up sweaters instead. And he certainly didn't listen to the kind of music where the band spelled their name in letters so jagged and stylized that he could barely make out the words. But he could see why Penny thought it was his. Written on the label in bold, sharp script were three familiar letters - B O B.
Before he could do more than process the name, a voice came from behind him.
"Um…that's mine, actually."
It was a nice voice: low, quiet, and so soft around the edges that it was almost a hum. It was the kind of voice that was more used to rounding the ends of sentences into a question even when stating an objective fact. The kind of voice Bob could easily imagine murmured into his ear late at night, one he could feel through a rumble in a lover's chest pressed against his back.
Maybe it should've been a surprise when Bob turned around to see that omega from the new pack, the one who smiled at him from across the room. But for some reason? It wasn't.
His voice fit his appearance. Whether it was the mop of brown curls, the cozy and clearly well-loved sweater, or the openness in his face, one word came to Bob's mind: soft.
But there was more to this omega than that. There was some steel there. Even mated omegas tended to avoid being alone with someone unmated that they didn't know. Even a fairly harmless beta like Bob could prove a threat in a room full of liquored up and rowdy patrons. But this omega didn't even seem nervous about Bob himself, just about interrupting his conversation with Penny.
And when Bob spent too long staring at this handsome stranger, those eyes went from warm and friendly to flinty and hard. The tentative smile on his face stretched taut, as if putting on a gruesome mask of the kindness that was previously on his face.
Before the omega could ask, Bob quickly blurted out, "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to stare. It's just…" He gestured down at the tag and the faded name in Sharpie, his words failing him.
"Surprised someone still writes their name on the inside of their clothes as an adult?"
And a sharp sense of humor to boot. Bob added that to his mental tally of this omega who was becoming more fascinating by the minute.
"No," Bob said with an awkward little laugh. "No, it's not that. That makes sense if you're living with other people. Keeps you from getting your clothes stolen."
The stranger nodded, his stance becoming slightly less defensive even as he crossed his arms in front of him.
"I was just surprised is all," Bob continued, pointing at the tag. "Penny, the owner, thought this was mine."
The man across from him paused, blinking rapidly, a cute little crease of confusion forming between his eyebrows.
"Wait, but…" He pointed at the name tag on Bob's shirt, the one that said "FLOYD" in all capital letters.
"Last name," Bob explained. He extended his hand to shake before introducing himself. "Lieutenant Bob Floyd."
The other man paused, eyeing his outstretched hand hesitantly. This wasn't exactly a typical greeting to a mated omega, but Bob wagered this wasn't your typical mated omega anyway.
After a moment of hesitation, he took Bob's hand, giving him a firm but friendly shake. "Bob Reynolds. No fancy title. Just Bob."
Their hands lingered perhaps a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, and Bob had to ignore the way his heart pounded just a hair faster.
They talked for what felt like minutes but stretched out to over an hour. On the surface, the two Bobs had little in common beside their names. After all, what would a straight A student turned decorated Navy lieutenant have in common with a middle school drop out who spent most of his adult life struggling with addiction and housing insecurity even have to say to each other? Yet they continually found common ground.
"Vodka soda?" the Other Bob asked as Bob took a new glass of Sprite from Penny. At Bob's frown of confusion, Bob Reynolds gestured at the drink. "Drinking a vodka soda?"
"Oh!" Bob Floyd exclaimed, chuckling a little nervously under his breath. He was used to the teasing from his heavy-drinking friends, but experience didn't make the sobriety talk any easier. "No, just a Sprite." Pointing at the dark cola on the bar next to the other man, he added, "Rum and Coke?"
"Close," Bob R. said with a little laugh of his own. "Just hold the rum and replace the Coke with a Dr. Pepper. I've been clean for two years this coming February. Not breaking that for a shitty cocktail."
"Oh." Bob knew from the way the other man's face tightened just a fraction that he'd made the situation awkward just that much weirder from his reaction. So clearing his throat, he added, "Congratulations. That's a huge accomplishment."
When Bob R. waved away the compliment, Bob F. doubled down.
"No, seriously. That's impressive. I don't drink because I don't like the way it makes me feel and it tastes gross. But you're here at a bar, addiction ground zero. That must take a lot more self-control than it seems. You make it look easy." He spoke with such sincerity that it seemed to strike the omega speechless for a moment. The other man blinked a few times, eyes darting around like he was trying to process the words.
Bob gave him that space, let him sit in the compliment and figure out if he even wanted to respond to it. Unfortunately, he took a sip of his drink when the Other Bob found his words. And even though he'd learned how to keep it together with Phoenix, he had no defenses against this new Bob.
"Bars aren't that tempting to me. Now a crack den? That would be a problem. I'd be like a kid in a candy shop."
A few minutes later, Bob Reynolds apologized for making the lieutenant choke on his drink, but to Bob Floyd? It was worth it to make the other man laugh so hard tears pricked his eyes.
Naturally, conversation shifted towards their respective groups. The Other Bob was the first to offer up details about his pack.
"So, the beta that bumped into you? That's William," Bob R said, pointing out the man with the long, brown hair and friendly face. "And the omega in his lap? That's Miles. They're bonded. Joined the us together a few months ago."
All of the pack were introduced in turn, so Bob was able to put an actual name to the unofficial titles the Dagger Squad had dubbed them.
Bob R agreed that "Cowboy" was an appropriate nickname for the one called Rhett, not just because he wore a cowboy hat and boots. Finding out he was a former pro bull rider was a shock but nowhere near as much as finding out the cowboy was an omega.
"I thought he was maybe a beta," Bob admitted, trying not to stare at the man out of sheer curiosity. If the cowboy noticed how closely both of the men at the bar were watching him, Rhett gave no indication of it. "I've never seen an omega who's built like that."
When the other man's cheeks turned a brilliant shade of bright pink, Bob tactfully said nothing. But he found himself glancing at the seat of the tall omega's pants, idly wondering just how built this cowboy really was.
The well-dressed alpha sitting nearby was introduced as Todd, an unlikely pairing for a rough and tumble country boy like Rhett. But, according to Bob R, they joined the pack as a mated pair.
The three in the corner booth were all directly mated to the Other Bob, a revelation that didn't come as too much of a surprise from the casual way he'd noticed them touching the omega all night. Nothing untoward, of course. Just leaning against him, holding his hand, draping an arm across his shoulders. Little careless gestures that spoke of quiet companionship and a deep affection.
The muscular beta with the gold chain who was now visibly playing footsie under the table with his two alphas was Jordan. The only female in the pack was indeed an alpha like Hangman had claimed with a pretty name that suited her well. And the one with the slicked back hair, the alpha who'd confronted Hangman earlier, was introduced as Rocco.
"He's the head alpha," Bob R added, popping the de-shelled peanut the WSO offered him into his mouth.
Bob didn't mean to laugh. It just bubbled out of him, fast and sharp enough that he covered his mouth and glanced around to make sure he hadn't disturbed any other patrons. The Other Bob didn't question him, just watched patiently with a raised eyebrow and an amused quirk of the mouth. It hit Bob that the other man knew that he didn't have to ask, that Bob would explain himself. Phoenix had given him the same look innumerable times in the past few years they'd been partners. That thought was quickly brushed under the proverbial rug. He wasn't quite ready to ponder the meaning of that revelation and how it made the tightness in his chest that had been there since this mysterious pack entered the bar loosen just a fraction.
"Hangman was right," Bob said, gesturing at the preening alpha still at the center of attention of the Dagger Squad.
A few of his teammates caught his eye, shooting curious looks at him, some of them even openly gesturing at Bob R then back to him in silent question.
He ignored them.
Bob Reynolds gave a nervous wave and a bashful grimace in an approximation of a friendly smile. When he turned in his chair a bit to subtly put his back to the group, Bob Floyd didn't blame him.
"I'm guessing 'Hangman' is that blond alpha who looks like he thinks he's a king holding court in front of his subjects?" the Other Bob asked.
"Unfortunately, yes," Bob muttered, tossing an errant peanut shell in an empty Budweiser glass he'd designated for such a task. No need to get Penny on his ass for making another mess for her to clean. "He's more a court jester who thinks he's king. If we had a leader other than Mav, it wouldn't be him." Tilting his head, Bob gestured at lone omega in the squad who was sitting by the wall, too distracted by the temptation of the bar's piano to pay Hangman any mind. "More likely, it'd be Rooster. Or maybe Phoenix, but I don't think she'd be too pleased with me for saying so."
The Other Bob risked a look at the Dagger Squad, just long enough for him to register their faces, most of which were still eyeing the two Bobs at the bar with unabashed curiosity. Bob Floyd turned and looked himself, briefly catching Phoenix's eye and blatantly ignoring her raised eyebrows.
"Do they always stare like that?" Bob Reynolds asked with a wince, his voice slightly higher and creaking from embarrassment.
Catching Payback's eye, Bob Floyd's unamused stare was met with an impish grin and a wink. When Fanboy wolf whistled, Bob turned back to the Other Bob with an audible sigh, fighting down the urge to roll his eyes.
"Unfortunately," he deadpanned, taking another sip of his Sprite, for once wishing it was something a little stronger.
After a few moments of the kind of awkward silence that only comes when two people know their every move is being heavily scrutinized, Bob R spoke up.
"Are they always this…" He glanced around the room, blinking rapidly like he was searching for his next words which had suddenly taken flight from his brain. Bob returned the same polite patience the omega had given him just minutes before, letting him figure out what he wanted to say and not interrupting or pressing him.
When he found the word, the Other Bob wrinkled his nose as if dissatisfied with the results of his searching.
"This…nosy?"
"Absolutely," Bob said with zero hesitation. That awkward expression bled from Bob R's face, replaced by the kind of genuine amusement Bob F wasn't used to receiving from something he'd said. Hangman had once declared he had no sense of humor, but it wasn't Bob's fault he didn't like being unnecessarily mean for the sake of a joke. But if everyone responded to jokes as beautifully as Bob Reynolds, maybe he'd need to start making more.
"Makes sense why you guys were nicknaming some of us. Have you been watching us all night?" There was a twinkle in the omega's eyes that made Bob's stomach flip in the same kind of way as when Becky Wilson in 5th grade held his hand for three precious minutes during recess. The same one as when Melinda Davis kissed him after junior prom.
Bob Floyd was many things but a stuttering fool wasn't one of them. Usually. So he cleared his throat, composing himself before he answered.
"A little bit," he admitted. Even if his voice was steady, the tips of his ears burned hotter than an overheating F/A-18 engine.
The impish grin that spread across Bob Reynolds' face should've been classified as a military-grade weapon suitable only for use in active combat. Definitely not something to be used in the middle of a bar against an unarmed combatant. Bob Floyd's stomach wasn't the only thing flipping; his damn heart felt like it was doing jumping jacks in his chest.
"Explains the nicknames," the Other Bob said with just a hint of a drawl. There was a mischievous light in his eyes, almost like he knew what he was doing to the flustered beta across from him. "You guys debating on who's the cutest? Because I can make a good case for myself."
"Not exactly," Bob said wryly. He took another sip of his drink to whet his suddenly-dry mouth, hands still fiddling with the same peanut he'd been rolling back and forth for the past few minutes.
The Other Bob waited, eyebrows raised expectantly, his smile growing more dangerous by the second. Bob Floyd thought he caught the other man sneaking a glance at his ears which were bright red by now judging by how they burned with the kind of heat usually only registered on the surface of the sun. But, when he glanced up at Bob Reynolds' eyes to catch him looking, the omega was merely watching him back.
"We were…" he started, cutting himself off before continuing. "They were making bets. About your pack."
Bob R's eyebrows shot up even further, making his forehead crease in a way that the WSO struggled to not label as 'adorable.'
"Nothing weird," Bob F added quickly. "Things like who was going to win that game of pool. Or who'd finish their drink first."
The Other Bob nodded, but Bob Floyd couldn't help but notice a twinge of some expression he couldn't quite place cross his handsome face. Relief?Disappointment? Hard to tell.
"Not exactly the most exciting bets. I think my idea is way better."
Bob F nodded absently, finally popping that peanut in his mouth and slowly chewing.
"Hangman and Fanboy were betting on who the pack alpha is," he finally added, flicking the crushed peanut shell into his cup to join its conquered brethren.
That seemed to interest the Other Bob, who perked up, sitting taller in his chair.
"Oh, that's what you meant by 'Hangman was right.' Everything's making sense now." He tapped his forehead, just like the meme, causing Bob F to let out a snort of laughter he couldn't quite hold back. Bob R beamed at him, eyes crinkling at the sides with laughter.
Since the squad were still closely monitoring the duo at the bar, Bob pulled up a picture on his phone to introduce his teammates in turn. Words flowed out of him, but in all honesty, Bob wasn't quite sure what all he said. He was hyper focused on how the Other Bob pulled his chair closer to better see the phone screen.
Stillness, it seems, was not a natural state of being for Bob Reynolds. He shifted in his seat, shaking his leg and rocking back and forth in an almost imperceptible way that Bob Floyd hadn't noticed until they were practically pressed against each other. Their legs bumped a few times and the Other Bob's hand brushed his own when he'd point at something in the picture that Bob himself had never noticed before. His heart practically pounded out of his chest any time they touched. If the omega knew what he was doing to him, Bob sure as hell couldn't tell. So he kept talking regardless.
The only thing he specifically remembered saying was mentioning Nat's civilian boyfriend she'd been with for the past year or so. Later, he wondered to himself why he'd brought that up, but all he knew was that Bob Reynolds had seemed tense when Phoenix was brought up and that his smiles and quiet touches came much more frequently after.
"You guys seem really close," the Other Bob said. Bob Floyd risked a glance over at his teammates and let out a relieved sigh seeing they'd moved on from staring to yet another game of darts where Payday and Coyote teamed up against Hangman. From the look of it, things weren't going well for them on that front.
"I mean, yeah. We're around each other what feels like every minute of the day. Can't even use the latrine without the entire unit knowing about it. 'Least, that's what it feels like."
The laugh the Other Bob let out wasn't faked; it was genuine but with something that rang hollow underneath. "I definitely understand that. Everyone knows everyone else's business in a pack, after all."
Now it was Bob's turn to smile ruefully. His eyes dipped to his own hands, watching as if from a distance as his index finger traced the bottom of the glass back and forth, swiping through cool beads of condensation and letting the water break, sliding down his skin and onto the bar counter.
Thoughts lingered on the tip of his tongue, ones he'd left unspoken to anyone but his closest family. They'd welled up before so many times along with a fierce sense of envy so strong Bob had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat - when Maverick finally settled down with Penny and Amelia, when his baby sister introduced the family to her new mates, when Coyote's pack came for a surprise visit on shore leave.
By the time he looked back up, the Other Bob was also following his movements. When he stopped, the omega blinked and looked back up at him, the upturned tilt of his lips distinctly bittersweet. There was an understanding there. A lack meeting another lack, like the holes in their hearts saw through the facades they held up and recognized each other.
So, for once, Bob didn't think through what he said. He just spoke.
"It must be nice to have a pack. A…family."
Several seconds passed before Bob Floyd found the nerve to lift his head up to see the other man's reaction. Would that change how the omega saw him? Would such rank honesty earn him discomfort or even the kind of pity he felt lurking in the eyes of even his closest friends? But, no. The Other Bob didn't give him a sad smile and a pat on the back. He didn't squirm away from the WSO either.
If anything, Bob Reynolds looked confused.
"What?" Bob Floyd found himself asking, the words leaving his lips involuntarily, not caught or even delayed by the ever-present filter he normally pushed all his thoughts through.
"But you have a family."
Before Bob could protest, to say that he meant a non-blood family, a group of people that chose each other willingly, a round of raucous laughter erupted from the direction of the dart board. The Hard Deck might have been emptier than normal, but this was the kind of hooting and hollering that would've drawn the attention of the entire place even during peak times.
Both Bobs immediately turned in their seats to watch as Coyote and Payday knelt on the floor to do push ups as Hangman strutted around like…well, a rooster while the others jeered at the losing duo and cheered them on in turn. From the expressions of chagrin and dread on Javy and Reuben's faces, Bob knew without a doubt they'd be going at it for quite a while.
The breathy laughter to his right drew Bob's attention back to the omega next to him. Bob Reynolds let out a little snort, covering his mouth and practically giggling as if his own noise only tickled him further.
"They do this often?" he asked.
"Oh yeah," Bob answered, chuckling to himself as Jake put his boot on Javy's upper back, posing like Captain Morgan on the other pilot. He caught Bob's eye, holding a precise, showy salute and grinning at the WSO. At least until Javy shifted his shoulder forward, purposefully causing the cocky alpha to stumble to catch himself, which only made the Dagger Squad howl with laughter.
"Honestly, it's their fault for betting against Hangman at darts. I swear he leaves his bunk in the middle of the night to practice in the rec hall."
Turning back to the bar, Bob R fixed him with a look that Bob F could only describe as fond.
"There's always at least one troublemaker in a pack," the Other Bob said with a wistful smile. His words were so casual, taking a sip of his soda after like there was no weight to them at all. But they hit Bob Floyd all the same.
As if he was on autopilot, Bob pushed the button to turn his phone screen on, looking at the same picture that had greeted him for years. He could still smell the briny ocean spray lapping against the shore and feel that familiar California sun beaming down on the back of his neck, making his skin prickle in the way that let him know it was time to reapply sunscreen. Some 80s rock he vaguely recognized played in the background, but Bob could barely hear it over the grunts and yells and laughter as his squad loped around the beachfront. After a while, teams and scores and even winners were forgotten, replaced with the pure joy of tackles and touchdowns. Even Bob himself, initially turned off by the excess testosterone and macho posturing, got into it, scoring a goal where everyone cheered like it was a winning one. For once, he'd enjoyed being the center of attention, foisted up into the air by his comrades who chanted his name as he threw his head back, laughing.
Penny'd insisted on taking a photo. She'd said they needed a token, something to remember in the coming days and weeks of training for that mission none of them should've come back from but, by no small miracle, all of them did. The whole squad kept it as their lock screen for all this time. Girlfriends, boyfriends, and packmates got the honor of being their wallpaper, kept safe and secure behind a password. But the Dagger Squad were the first thing they all saw when they grabbed their phones in the morning and the last thing they saw as they went to bed at night.
As the screen went black, Bob Floyd was greeted with his own face. Only a couple of hours ago, he'd seen it in the mirror of the men's room as he looked up from washing his hands. Then he was met with a frown, one he quickly schooled into a neutral expression. It was just another night out, one he tagged along to because he had nothing better to do when Phoenix asked him his plans for the evening. That Bob in the mirror had lines on his forehead and a weariness in his eyes.
This Bob, the one reflected by his phone screen, couldn't be more different. Gone was the grimace, replaced with upturned lips, like the remnants of a smile tugged at his mouth. The lines on his face were still there, of course, but not as deep as they'd been before. And his eyes? Now those were the most different.
Bob Floyd wasn't unhappy. The exact opposite, actually. He was doing the job he loved with a team who both relied on him and cared about him, even if they didn't always notice when he left the table. But there was an emptiness inside of him. A loneliness he was loathe to name. But this Bob looked…lighter. Happier. Somehow more fulfilled. Like a conversation with a handsome stranger had buoyed his spirits in a way he didn't realize he needed until he saw the results himself.
For some reason, he felt the urge to turn and look at this unusual pack. Most of them paid him no mind, not the cowboy and his fancy alpha. Not the mild-mannered beta and his doting omega. And not the female alpha or the showy beta, who were too busy flirting to pay attention. But the greaser - Rocco, he corrected himself - caught his gaze and held it there.
Bob couldn't fight the feeling that this was an important moment, that his new friend's mate was passing judgment on him. Normally, he wouldn't care what some knothead alpha thought of him. His parents had told him long ago that gender is irrelevant to what kind of person you are. You can't blame your mistakes on it or let it encapsulate who you are. But something about that moment made Bob want to be a 'good beta' for the first time in his life. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
When the alpha raised his glass in a salute, a smirk firmly carved into his lips, Bob Floyd let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. He lifted his Sprite in turn, toasting this complete stranger for something he didn't quite understand. Maybe he would later.
The Other Bob's voice jerked him firmly back into reality.
Turning to face the omega, Bob mumbled an apology. "Sorry, what was that?"
"I said, 'so, what's yours?'" Bob R stated, his head tilting to the side slightly, just enough that he had to gaze up through his lashes to make eye contact.
"Mine?" Bob F asked, brow furrowing in confusion. "My what?"
"Your callsign," the Other Bob clarified. "Sorry. I know I'm rewinding the conversation back a few minutes. Before we got distracted by the ruckus."
"Ruckus is a damn good way to put it," Bob said. He glanced back at the head alpha across the room, but Rocco had turned his attention away from the two at the bar.
"So, there's Payback. And Rooster. And Phoenix. What are you? Specs?" Bob R grinned as he said it, visibly proud of himself for coming up with a nickname.
"Uh…not exactly."
Bob Floyd had answered this question many, many times. People responded usually with confusion ('No, your callsign, not your name'), more questions ('Did you…choose that yourself?'), or, even worse, disappointment ('Aww, man. I was hoping it was something cool'). But this response? It was a new one.
"Hmm," Bob Reynolds said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully while looking off into the distance. The gesture made his already-thin lips smush together into a solitary line, making it look like he had a comically long frown. The word 'adorable' floated through Bob Floyd's head for the second time that night.
After a few moments of hard pondering, the Other Bob turned to him, releasing his chin as he declared, "I like it."
Bob blinked, saying nothing at first. And when he did speak, it was just one word.
"…What?"
"I like it," the Other Bob said with even more conviction, nodding his head as if agreeing with his own assessment. "It suits you."
Bob Floyd couldn't help himself. He laughed. It was sudden and jarring, like his body had a mind of its own. Like it was pulled out of his lungs by sheer surprise.
Bob Reynolds eyed him with a raised eyebrow. "What's so funny?"
"Normally people are disappointed that my callsign is just…Bob. They expect something cooler."
The other man audibly scoffed. "What? Like Hangman? Wow. He must be so cool." He made a quick pumping gesture with his right hand, wordlessly calling the blond alpha a jerk off. "No, Bob is unique. I bet there isn't another pilot with that callsign. There are probably dozens of 'Hangman's. And, after all, you know what 'Bob' stands for, right?"
"If you say 'Baby On Board,' I'm going back to my -" Bob F started, shaking his finger at his fellow Bob.
"No, no," Bob R said, waving away the other man's concerns. "Nothing as lame as that."
"Then what?"
Bob Reynolds grinned.
"Big Ol' Balls, obviously."
When Bob Reynolds said his goodbyes and made his way back to his pack through the slowly emptying bar, he was hyper aware of the phone resting heavily in his right front pocket. He ran his fingers over the glass faceplate, feeling the tiny cracks in the touch screen, the ones Jordan insisted wouldn't be there if he'd just get a proper phone case. If he traced the name of the man he'd spent the last hour and a half with, give or take a few minutes, no one would know. Or even blame him.
The rest of his pack was suspiciously silent as he slid into the oval booth at the far end of the room, the one right next to the door. Everyone had made their way over to the table eventually, nearly filling it up. It wasn't an easy fit like it had been with just his bonded mates where he could stretch out over the worn brown vinyl, resting his head in one of their laps. But the way Miles chirruped happily, wrapping his arms around Bob and pulling him close, rubbing their noses together, more than made up for the lack of space.
"You tryin'a get us another beta?" Rhett asked with a grin. He'd long ago taken off the cowboy hat. Now the Stetson decorated the table in front of them, set amidst a veritable field of discarded and half-empty glasses.
At those words, Jordan perked up.
"We could use another beta. William helped get our numbers up, but you damn alphas outnumber us," he said, shooting fake glares at the three at the table who just chuckled in response.
"There are three omegas too," William added, pointing at Rhett, Miles, and Bob himself in turn.
Jordan dismissed him with a simple "psht" sound.
"There is never such a thing as too many omegas," he said as justification. Todd, who never missed an opportunity to cuddle with the nearest omega, nodded his head as if agreeing with some deep, sage wisdom. Rhett nudged him with his elbow, snickering when the alpha pouted at him, exaggeratedly rubbing his side as if dearly wounded.
"Can't disagree with you there," Rocco said, taking a swig of his beer before turning his eyes on Bob. Without even saying another word, Bob could feel his own face growing red. Rocco didn't even have to ask. From the smirk that tugged at his lips, he knew what Bob was thinking possibly even better than Bob knew himself.
As much as they so obviously wanted to, a stern look from Rocco quieted any more questions about the handsome stranger Bob had spent so much time chatting up. Everyone seemed mostly tired (or buzzed), so further talk was minimal, mostly just murmuring to the person next to them.
When William caught himself nearly falling asleep at the table, they collectively decided to call it a night. Miles and Jordan busied themselves organizing the glassware on the table, clean spills and stacking plates to make the night a little easier for the barkeep, while Todd made his way to the register to square up their tab.
It didn't take long before everyone filed out of the bar. Bob tried to catch a glimpse of his military counterpart, but, between his own packmates and the people settling up at the bar, there were too many people in the way. He could have sworn he saw that perfectly coifed hair swiveling to face them as they left, but he couldn't be certain.
The parking lot was mostly silent except for the buzzing of the neon lights in the Top Deck's windows, so any noise the pack made was amplified. From the words they exchanged to the keys jingling in the drivers' hands and especially to the gravel crunching under foot, Bob almost didn't hear Rocco when he started talking.
"Was he nice?"
"Hmm?" Bob answered, blinking and looking up at his mate. Rocco smiled down at him, one of those smiles that made him look devilishly handsome. That smile used to haunt his dreams before Bob had finally admitted his attraction to the alpha, but now it brightened his days and warmed his nights.
"Was he nice? The guy you chatted with."
"Oh? Yeah. Yeah, he was really sweet," Bob said, pushing his hands even deeper into his pockets as the cool night air nipped at his skin. Once again, he ran his fingers over the phone as if expecting it to buzz or ring at any moment. Or maybe he hoped it would.
"Sweet, huh?" Rocco said teasingly. He knocked his shoulder lightly against Bob's, who retaliated by leaning against him. From the way Rocco immediately put his arm around the omega, Bob didn't think he was complaining much.
His next words were quieter, spoken practically into Bob's ear.
"You feelin' better?"
Bob didn't mean to stop in his tracks, but Rocco jerked to a halt next to him, practically getting whiplash from the sudden pause in their walk. He wanted to deny it, of course. To tell Rocco that he had no clue what the alpha was talking about. But, looking up into the eyes of his mate, he knew that lying was useless. Rocco knew he'd been in a rotten mood all day, as much as Bob had tried to hide it.
He wasn't even sure why he'd been having a bad day to begin with. It could have been a million things. Or it could have been nothing. After all, it's like his therapist always said - depression doesn't always need a reason.
Hell, he wasn't even sure why he'd approached Bob Floyd to begin with. I mean, yeah, the guy had his hoodie, the same one Bob R had pulled on as soon as the crisp night air hit his bare arms. If Bob put his nose to it, he imagined he could still smell the beta's scent - clean and woodsy with just a hint of something sharp, like the one that lingered on his clothes the one time Todd had managed to convince him to fly on a plane despite his fear of heights. It was like gasoline or kerosene but not quite. The combination was odd, but Bob found that he quite liked it.
Their connection should have ended there. They'd touch hands as the WSO handed his hoodie back, Bob would think about it all night, and he'd look for the cute beta with big, blue eyes and aviator glasses every time they went to the Hard Deck from then on.
But talking to him just felt so…nice. He was nice. Bob Floyd was the kind of man who made every person he interacted with feel seen. He waited his turn to speak, and when he did, he made it clear he was listening, carefully logging little tidbits into some nebulous folder in his mind to reference later. And his life was so different from anything Bob Reynolds had ever experienced, full of dangerous missions, cocky pilots, and apparently some beach football. It didn't hurt that the WSO's eyes kept slipping to Bob's lips, his ears turning scarlet when Bob flirted back with him.
Somewhere in their conversation, the ache in Bob Reynolds' chest eased, leaving him feeling lighter than he'd been in days. And the new contact in his phone just meant this wasn't just a random chat between strangers. Maybe it was the start of something more.
"You okay, sweetheart?" Rocco's words brought him back to reality, back to the cold parking lot where his mate was waiting for an answer. None of the pack's vehicles had moved either. They waited for their alpha to lead the way. Or, more likely, they stayed to make sure nothing was wrong with Bob.
That thought felt like ice water over his head. Abruptly, Bob started walking towards Rocco's car, grabbing the alpha's hand to drag him along. Letting out a grunt of surprise, his mate followed wordlessly.
When they got to the car, Bob turned around to squarely face the other man.
"I'm okay, Rock," he said, meaning those words for the first time in the past week that he'd spoken them. "I'm okay."
Rocco fixed him with a stare, one Bob could never seem to hide from. It was like his alpha could see right through him, reading all the truths etched on his soul that he tried so desperately to keep to himself, not wanting to bother his packmates. After a few tense seconds, Rocco breathed out a little sigh of relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
"Okay," Rocco said. There was no pushing, no trying to get more information out of the omega. And Bob knew he wouldn't. His alpha trusted that he would open up in his own time.
The ride home was full of the regular noises: the hum of the engine, bits of scattered conversation, and a little off key singing.
When they pulled into their driveway and rolled to a stop inside the garage, Bob didn't even reach for the handle. He knew better by now. Long ago, Rocco had made it a habit to always open the door for his passengers. It was so ingrained into Bob that it took him a few seconds to realize that the alpha didn't move to exit the car.
"I do have one question," Rocco admitted almost sheepishly. He looked almost embarrassed to ask but bursting at the seams with curiousity, like he'd been chewing on his words the entire time they'd driven home."You know I won't press the issue. I don't need to know a damn thing about him until you're ready to talk. But it's kinda killing me. Can I…" His words trailed off, looking to Bob for permission.
When Bob nodded his assent, the alpha asked simply, "What's his name?"
Now that was a question Bob was more than happy to answer. Bob grinned up at his partner, smiling even wider when confusion and even a little bit of dread crossed his beloved's face. It was like he'd told the WSO; there was always one troublemaker in a pack, a fact Bob knew well from personal experience.
So, of course Rocco didn't believe him.
"You're fucking with me," he'd insisted. "There's no way that we went to a bar full of people, and you came out with a crush on the only other Bob in there. What's his name really? James? Tom? Lewis?"
It took pulling out his phone to show Rocco the new contact he'd entered in there just an hour ago, the one with the photo he'd startled the lieutenant when he snapped it so that the WSO more resembled a deer in the headlights than a decorated military officer.
When Rocco groaned in defeat, muttering "goddamnit, Bob" under his breath, Bob Reynolds laughed harder than he'd done in months.
Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics
Images in header are not mine.
Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!
Please do not repost or reproduce in any way. You do not have my permission to use this for AI scraping.
Moodboard number 2 for the Lewships community is for a fic that absolutely blew my mind when I read it - Sting by @lewmagoo. It's a Rhett Abbott x Reader x Miles Miller fic, and it is pure, filthy smut. I believe my first thought was "I want this printed on the inside of my eyelids," and re-reading it again? I stand by that. (I'd also like to point out that my bookmark notes for it are just "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.")
The plot (as much as there is) is that Miles broke the rules and touched himself when left alone. When Rhett discovers his deception, Miles has to be punished. By watching.
Everything about it is absolute perfection. Miles is whiny and needy. Rhett dominates but with a gentle hand, knowing what his partners can take and paying close attention to their needs. And the reader eggs both of them on perfectly.
I tried to reflect some of the strongest imagery in here - soiled underwear on the bathroom floor, Rhett's expert rope skills, tears of agony and arousal, the reader's pleasure when Rhett goes down on her…and, of course, a tearful Miles watching, aching to touch and feeling every second of his punishment.
(Apologies for using Owen season 3 Rhett for the image! I looked through so many Rhett ones and couldn't find anything that fit aside from the insanely clever one Leah used in her banner.)
All images were found on Pinterest and do not belong to me.
Something a little different. There's a challenge (that I am super late for) in the Lewships community to make some moodboards for fics you like.
The one I've chosen is a Cameron Cassmore x Harrison Knott fic called If I Stay Here, I'll Never Leave by @hi-res-tm (and here's part 2 if you want to read both). I have fallen head over heels in love with this fic and Res' depiction of the characters.
Selkie Harrison has somehow become even more of a manic pixie dream boyfriend AND a more developed actual character than Harrison ever was in Press Play. And Cameron is made even more complex and battling with being blissfully in love and wracked with an unshakable feeling that Harrison is slipping through his fingers and there's nothing he can do to stop it.
It's made me laugh my ass off and cry hard enough to have to go grab some conciliatory ice cream. Honestly, I can't do this fic enough justice. It is an absolute treat. This fic alone propelled this pairing up to one of my favorites. I just can't get it out of my head! Highly recommend!
Also, all images were either found on Pinterest or screenshotted by yours truly.
For some truly fantastic fanart of selkie Harrison, please check out the incredible, absolutely fucking adorable artwork by @willowwithin.
So for today's offering to the fanfic gods, is a moodboard for @lalalunawrites 'Fairy Dress'!
Admittedly i'm a little biased, seeing it takes place in the same verse that I write in - but Ben Mears and Miles Miller are low-key my favourite ship of all time. And a happy and healing Miles, who has a fulfilling social life and career? Everything. Completely everything to me. Luna has such a good flow to her prose and loads of creative details that makes her writing so, so fucking good. And him getting to explore a bit of androgeny but not changing his personality to do it is so precious. Unfortunately, I couldn't get Mark to fit into the moodboard but it's also my favourite Mark Petrie portrayal, even if its mostly in the deleted scene at the end <3 I think i've read this... 5 times now? If I need inspo for these idiots, this is where i'll often turn.
rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like)
i don't write so i'll use this as an excuse to show u more mii doodles 😆
no-pressure tag list (1 for each chibi here lol): @sleepyminyard | @sheyshocked | @xelyn-craft / @s0u1c0de | @hi-res-tm | @lalalunascope | @sandrasoapbox
Pairing: Ben Mears (Salem's Lot)/Miles Miller (Bad Times at the El Royale)
Word Count: 2.6k
Summary: On a very special night, Miles finds himself reflecting on the home that he and Ben have built over the years, the changes both big and small, and on the love that still burns bright within him.
Tags/Warnings: Fluff, mentions of past trauma (deaths, war, drug use, vampires), very fucking schmaltzy, domestic bliss, backyard as a metaphor for building a family
A/N: Based on the Lady Gaga song of the same name. Takes place in the Try As I May universe.
I was hoping to also write a little drabble based on another song on my and Res' Crossbearers playlist, but I didn't even get this out within a week for the prompt in the Lewcest community.
Dedicated as always to my partner-in-crime, @hi-res-tm, mainly as payback for making me cry with their Harrison/Cameron selkie fic.
It felt reductive to call the garden "beautiful," but that was the only word that came to Miles' mind that night.
When they moved into their home, it was Miles himself who brought up the idea of a garden. The backyard was enormous, taking up twice the square footage of the house itself. Which, for a two-story, three-bedroom, two-bath house, was saying a lot.
Ben didn't have any immediate ideas. His focus was more on getting the house settled: turning the basement into a safe space for Miles to go during his dissociative and panic episodes, replacing all the locks in the house with heavily reinforced ones, and, of course, making sure there were plenty of crosses in every room just in case.
Naturally, Miles was the same. At least at first. But after they were no longer sleeping on the floor and eating out of the same set of dishes every night, the back yard just wouldn't leave his mind.
There was a peace and freedom there, one he hadn't experienced since he was a small child on his parents' farm. Indoors felt so dark and constrictive in comparison. So in those tiny windows of time he had to himself, he spent it outside. Eventually, Ben did too, drawn by Miles' presence and buoyed by the gentle breeze and the warm rays of the Minnesota summer sun.
When they first moved in, the yard was almost as barren as their house had been. Overgrown hedges obscured the view from the inside. A few smaller evergreens sprouted up inconspicuously around the yard as if scattered by happenstance or blown there by the wind. The beginnings of what could have been a rock path spread only a few feet before it was seemingly abandoned. The only really striking feature was a singular, large Magnolia tree whose roots wormed their way under the already-rotting fence, turning the once-white planks into a crooked smile only a dentist could love.
Over time, it changed and grew until, a few years later, the yard was barely recognizable. One lone planter of flowers became a veritable forest of native flowering species that attracted hummingbirds, butterflies, and bees galore. A few cheap lawn chairs became a gorgeous long table and custom seats commissioned from a friendly neighbor to make sure everyone had a spot at their seasonal gatherings - lawn parties in the spring, barbecues in the summer, and bonfires in the autumn. The old shed that slanted to the side and shook with the lightest breeze was gradually replaced, piece by piece, Ship of Theseus-style until it more resembled a nice mini guest house than the dilapidated shack it started as.
Miles remembered every step, no matter how small. The rickety strawberry planter bordered by two much sturdier-looking ones was the first birthday present Miles had received since he was a child. Mark hastily made it in an afternoon and didn't even have time to sand or paint it before gifting his creation. It made Miles cry nonetheless. Even though Mark had given him a new planter for each subsequent birthday, each one better than the last, Miles refused to get rid of the original or move it from its seat of honor in their fairy garden.
The faint aroma of mint near the back door never failed to bring a smile to Miles' face. Ben took it upon himself to make a tiny plot of land next to the vegetable garden into an herb garden. The vision was simple; Miles or Mark could step out the back door for fresh basil leaves or sprigs of cilantro to quickly add to their cooking. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of not consulting anyone about what to plant and included mint, an error he paid heavily for. It was bad enough that the mint almost immediately started crowding out and killing the other herbs, but once it started to invade the adjacent vegetable garden, Ben was forced to do some unplanned landscaping. In the end, the once-herb garden had to be completely dug out and new soil smothered in layers of newspaper and mulch to ensure all errant mint was completely eradicated once and for all. Now, there was a standing herb garden that Ben carefully built, painted, planted, and tended to right outside the kitchen door. The only remnants of the ill-begotten mint was a single plant safely quarantined in its own little planter on the kitchen windowsill and the lingering scent of menthol that greeted whoever stepped into the backyard.
The trees marked some of Miles' favorite memories. The afternoons spent planning, buying, and planting saplings with Ben and Mark had been one of the first normal activities they'd done together as a family. Them sweating in the summer sun, sucking down ice cold lemonade by the glassful, and relaxing under the shade of the big Magnolia to admire their handiwork was the kind of normalcy Miles was formerly convinced only happened in movies.
Looking at them now, all those saplings had grown significantly, sprouting up to virtually identical heights. All except one. It was directly in the middle and noticeably about half a foot shorter than its compatriots. Maybe some other home owners would get rid of it or replace it for the sake of symmetry. Maybe they'd think it was an eye sore. But all Miles saw when he looked at that tree was Ben. His beloved had spent so many weeks trying to coax a dying sapling back to life. Miles had been willing to call it quits immediately. It seemed pointless; why put so much time and energy and effort into saving something that so obviously didn't want to be saved? Throw it in the garbage and go out and get a new one. Easy.
But Ben refused to give up on it. He did everything in his power to help it grow: did hours of research at the library, grabbed advice from all the fellow amateur gardeners around town, and talked. A lot. Each night, Ben would grab whatever he'd managed to write that day and read it to the sapling like it was a damn bedtime story. Later, Miles even caught Mark doing the same thing with his comic books. Ben had been convinced the love and attention (and plenty of carbon dioxide) would boost the little plant's growth. And he wasn't wrong.
The tree was fully in bloom just like its comrades, its flowers gleaming in the rivers of string lights hung throughout the yard. Petals were strewn like confetti across the ground, the vibrant whites and pinks glowing even brighter against the lush green carpet of grass.
Miles could acknowledge now that Ben had been right all along. That the tree always had the potential to overcome its circumstances given the right helping hand. And it made perfect sense to him that Ben was a better judge of that than he was.
A long time ago, his Nana had told him that nothing in this world was permanent. Monuments fell. Rivers ran dry. Mountains crumbled. It happened every day. But there were some things that were carved into our very souls that can last through lifetimes. Years from now, Ben Mears and Miles Miller will be long gone. But the tree that only Ben saw a kernel of hope in, the one he stubbornly refused to give up on, the one he knelt underneath and asked for Miles' hand, the same one that bore their initials encompassed with a heart? That tree would last for hundreds of years to come. And on the day it was gone? Their love will still live on. Energy can never can be created or destroyed. It just changes form.
Miles ran his hands over the grass beneath him, feeling the thick strands gently tickle his palms. He finally allowed his heavy lids to drift shut and gave into the temptation to just let the world wash over him. Those thoughts and precious memories, Miles let them go and breathed in the present.
A faint breeze caressed the exposed air of Miles' arms where he'd rolled up his sleeves, bringing with it the telltale scent of flowers, something omnipresent in their backyard and inescapable in the garden itself. There was no telling how many species of flowers they'd planted over the years. Miles lost track long ago. They were so numerous, Miles found it hard to differentiate between the heady blooms even with Miles' uncanny nose. He used to chase the scents, smelling individual blossoms to divine which one lingered in his mind. As fun as the hunt was, it was rarely fruitful. The wind seemed to blend the fragrances like an expert perfumer, combining them for just long enough for the scent to reach his nose, never to be experienced in the exact same way again.
The loud, incessant humming of cicadas slowly died away now that the sun had set, leaving behind the regular sounds of their neighborhood in the early summer. It must have been late indeed if Miles couldn't hear the various sounds of children playing along the sidewalks or even any TVs blaring a little too loudly. Not a single car seemed to be on the road either. The lack of normal city noises made it feel like Miles was back in the small towns of his youth where, once the sun had fully set, only the occasional lowing of cattle or distant sonorous croaking of bullfrogs could be heard. Ashford was a small city, but it was a veritable metropolis compared to back home. The quiet there was all encompassing. At least when someone wasn't setting off errant fireworks or shooting at God knows what, that is. So when the back door closed with a near-silent click, Miles heard it as clear as day. And the light, rhythmic crunch of grass was as loud as though the person walking up to him was calling his name from a distance. Not that there was any need to announce himself. There was no mistaking the cadence of that walk. Even if Miles forgot everything else, he'd know those footsteps anywhere.
"Thought I'd find you here," Ben said once he'd come to a stop a few feet away from where Miles sat in the shadows of their fairy garden.
Miles didn't fight the smile that pulled at his lips at the sound of Ben's voice. He didn't answer, though. He just hummed in response, a wordless acknowledgement of the other man's presence.
The silence between them was easy. No weight of unspoken words or secrets kept close to their hearts. Not anymore. Just the peace they'd brought to themselves and to each other.
Ben didn't ask if he could sit next to Miles. He just did. And, for once, Miles didn't care that Ben was getting stains on his nice pants. He just took comfort in the sound of the man he loved most in the world settling down next to him, even in the audible creak of his joints and the old man groan that slipped out.
The quiet pervaded. It seeped between them and around them, enfolding the two men in its peaceful embrace. For a second the question of what Ben was looking at surfaced in Miles' mind, but he let that thought go. That didn't matter. He was here. And that was enough.
"Any regrets?"
Ben's question didn't startle Miles, but it did surprise him.
Regret. Miles turned the word over and over in his mind, tracing its lines and edges carefully. Oh, there were many regrets. Thinking he was doing something noble by signing up to kill boys just like him overseas. Giving into cowardice when the manager of the El Royale presented him with the choice to blackmail or be blackmailed. Following the teachings of a man who would let the world burn if it meant he got what he wanted.
"Yes," he answered.
It was honest. He'd be lying if he said otherwise.
Three times Miles Miller sold his soul.
But one kiss on top of a small town movie theater made him start to feel whole again.
Letting his eyes flutter open, it didn't come as a surprise to find Ben watching him with an expression akin to awe. It didn't even make Miles blush or try to hide his face the way it used to. He sat in it. Let himself enjoy being seen. Being loved.
"I don't regret you."
The words came out quieter than Miles intended, barely audible even in the near silence of the night. Clearing his throat, he readied himself to repeat them louder.
Ben's hand stopped him. It covered Miles' own on the grass and squeezed, letting him know his words weren't carried away by the wind. They'd found their intended target.
"Same for me," Ben murmured.
The silence came back heavier this time.
Miles knew Ben's regrets like he knew the scars etched into his skin. His dad's cancer. His mother's breakdown. More personal, the barrier he created out of grief to shut people out like he did with his aunt and uncle. And that damned motorcycle that took away his wife, the only person who saw past it and thought he could be a better man.
Between the two of them, the world had been so ugly, full of death, sin, and shades of decay that painted their lives the mottled browns, yellows, and blacks of a nasty bruise. Against the odds, they made it beautiful. They took the palette life had given them and coaxed back the colors - delicate pinks, soaring blues, soft whites, and crisp greens. And, oh, did they paint with them.
"Would you do it all over again?" Miles asked. "All the…regrets?"
Ben's smile was immediate. He didn't hesitate with his answer either.
"Yes. In a heartbeat."
The certainty in his love's face stripped any words that lingered on Miles' tongue. This was no blithe answer, no platitude said to make Miles feel better. It was the look of a man who'd carefully weighed his heart, putting the pain and loss and guilt on the scale across from it and found that his love more than balanced out. It tipped the scales.
Against his will, Miles felt his throat tighten, that telltale tingling in his nose warning of impending tears if he continued down this path.
Ben didn't need him to say anything back. He simply reached down and felt around on the ground, searching for something. With a sharp tug, Ben held up a thick blade of grass to see it better in the light as he folded it to the right shape.
Taking his hand, Ben slid it onto Miles' ring finger, an echo of the motion he'd done just hours before in this very garden. The makeshift ring bumped against Miles' new wedding band, the one that already had a small blade of grass and a sliver of tree bark embedded deep inside the stone. If Miles' smile was wobbly and his eyes watered, Ben didn't let on for a single second.
"Miles Miller, will you marry me?" Ben asked, his voice deep and warm like the words came from his heart. Miles knew they did.
"Yes," Miles breathed in answer, words breaking on his tears. "Always and forever."
Their lips met again in their second kiss as a married couple, this time with no audience to witness and applaud their love. This time, the kiss was just for them. It was messy and damp from tears and maybe one of them tasted like the cigarettes he liked to sneak behind the shed. But it was all theirs. And, just like the strand tied around Miles' finger was just one blade in a sea of grass, so too was this kiss the first of thousands more in the garden of their lives together.
Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics
Images in headers are not mine.
Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!
Please do not repost or reproduce in any way. You do not have my permission to use this for AI scraping.
Summary: After seeing you take it, Bob is desperate to take Ava's strap. You try to warn him that it's quite the stretch, but he's determined that tonight will be the night. And with your and Ava's help, maybe he's right. And maybe he won't be the only one cumming on Ava's cock.
Tags/Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, smut, a little bit of hurt/comfort, AFAB reader, whiny/needy Bob, threesome, strap on, sex toys, anal sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, some pain/discomfort at first, safe words, condom use, breast play, light choking, mentions of chronic pain, mentions of blowjobs, f receiving anal sex, and cunnilingus
A/N: This is named after the Allie X song of the same name. Honestly, this throuple is so damn hot, and we desperately need more fics with Ava. And with a whimpery Bob.
This one is really for @theboardwalkbody and @avastarred. The former gave me the idea of an Ava/Bob/Reader threesome, and the latter motivated me to write it.
Bob was already a mess.
Holding his head in your hands, you got to see it up close and personal. Even though he was biting his lip, Bob was barely holding back the little whimpers he wanted to let out. It was hard to tell whether they were from pain, pleasure, or a mixture of both. Sweat beaded on his forehead already. You wiped it away and gently kissed his closed eyelids, lips coming away wet with unshed tears.
It's not like it was Bob's first time. You'd played with him before, you and Ava both. First a finger, then a few. He worked his way up to a plug that he wore around the Watchtower all day, fighting the erection that kept springing to life at the lightest breeze. He'd even taken a cock before, but those toys were much smaller than the one currently inside of him. You'd warned him that this one took some adjusting to, that no matter how prepared he thought he was, Bob wasn't ready.
But your boyfriend was nothing if not determined; he wanted Ava's cock.
He only caught mere glimpses of it as Ava fucked you open with her strap, utterly mesmerized as it disappeared inside of you over and over again with each snap of her hips. He'd watched with awe when you'd knelt between them, taking turns to suck both of them off, really only able to see the head as you stroked whichever cock wasn't currently in your mouth. He'd even felt it up against his when they fucked you at the same time, Bob deep inside your ass as Ava buried herself in your pretty pussy. And if his girlfriend was going to fuck him, he wanted the real thing. Or the silicone equivalent at least.
Both you and Ava had taken your time with him, slowly warming him up and stretching his tight little ass over multiple sessions to get this far. There'd been some failed attempts previously when you'd thrown in the towel and gotten yourselves off the old fashioned way. But today was the day, and your girlfriend's hips were pressed firmly against Bob's, that huge cock buried up to the hilt inside of him.
Even from your angle underneath him, you could see Ava's hands as she rubbed them up and down his back.
"How are you doing, my love?" Ava murmured, her voice impossibly tender in a way that made your heart ache.
"Need to say your safe word?" you asked. Bob just shook his head wordlessly, soft brown curls bouncing a little more vigorously than he probably intended.
Both you and Ava stayed still, giving him the time he needed to adjust. It was so difficult watching him struggle and not being able to touch and soothe him. But you knew from experience that Bob was in sensory overload, both from the overwhelming feeling of the massive toy inside of him and from his quickly-softening cock buried deep inside of you.
When Bob's breathing began evening out, Ava was the one who broached the subject again.
"Color?" she prompted gently. When Bob didn't respond, you could hear the frown on her face when she followed up. "Bob?"
"I…I don't know," he admitted, burying his face into your chest.
"That means 'yellow,' then," Ava said. You felt her start to move away, to pull out, but his hands shot out, moving almost inhumanly fast to grasp at her thighs to keep her there.
Bob didn't seem to hear the small, sharp inhale of breath from the woman on top of you both, but you did. Tilting your head to the side, you peered up at your girlfriend questioningly, concern written all over your face.
Today was a bad pain day for Ava, one of the ones where she didn't dare take off her suit. She'd once said that it felt like it was like her body was trying to fly apart, like her very molecules were billiard balls that scattered even when they weren't struck. And her Ghost suit was what she'd used most of her life to hold it all in. Even though Bob didn't grip hard, just the firmness of his touch was enough to make Ava flinch.
Ava bore it with a thin smile that told you everything you needed to know. Yes, it hurt, but it was bearable. She could breathe through the pain the same way Bob was doing.
"Please don't," Bob begged, his voice dangerously close to a whine. "Don't pull out. Not yet."
"All right, my love," Ava cooed, leaning down to plant a series of lingering kisses on his shoulders. "Take all the time you need. We're right here."
"We don't have to keep going," you offered, lightly running your fingers through his hair. "You've already gone so far, been so good for us."
"No."
When Bob lifted his head, you could swear you saw a flash of gold there. But it was gone before you could even blink. In its place was the same glint of determination you'd seen many times before, both in the battlefield and in your relationship with Bob. He'd made up his mind. Today would be the day.
At your look of concern, Bob's expression softened. "I'm okay. It's not too much for me."
You gazed into his eyes, your other hand coming up to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, nuzzling into your palm, not breaking eye contact for even a second. You could stop this. If you called out your safe word, the session would be over instantly, and you could try again later. Maybe you could even convince Bob to try a slightly smaller toy to warm him up better first. But, as much as you craved it, you knew better than to baby your boyfriend. He was tougher than the world gave him credit for. Hell, he was tougher than he gave himself credit for.
"You promise?" you asked, eyes darting back and forth between his stormy blue ones, as if you could divine the truth there for yourself.
"I promise," he answered almost solemnly, and you saw what you needed to see. He was telling the truth.
You pressed your lips to his in a much more tender kiss than the situation at hand called for, but it was perfect.
Ava seemed to wait for your little moment to end before she spoke again, her voice soft. "Take your time, Bob. Just tell me when you're ready for more."
He nodded his assent, and all three of you waited.
Slowly but surely, Bob's muscles relaxed. Starting with his shoulders, his body loosened, coaxed by your kisses and Ava's murmured encouragement until he gradually went limp on top of you.
Taking a few more deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, Bob nodded, giving Ava the go ahead. "Green. You can move. Just…slowly, please."
Ava pulled back incrementally until there were a few inches between Bob's ass and her hips, but she paused before sliding back inside. As if sensing her hesitation, Bob did the best he could to wiggle his hips. It was more like slowly adjusting himself, but Ava seemed to get the hint.
"You ready?" she asked.
Bob nodded his head. "Please," he urged. "I'm still green. Keep going."
Ava took her time, slowly working her cock back into Bob. He closed his eyes, and you could tell by the breathing pattern that he was doing his meditation breathing, the one his therapist taught him.
It was slow going. Ava took her time, gradually deepening her strokes, pulling out more and more and sliding back into him faster. And, aside from Ava having to take a small break to stretch after her hip started twinging, it was fairly smooth sailing.
That is until Ava twitched.
She didn't mean to do it. Even at her most teasing, Ava never fucked you at such an agonizingly slow pace. So when her muscles spasmed and she thrust into Bob much more roughly than before, you braced yourself, wincing in anticipation of his inevitable twinge of pain.
But that twinge never came. Instead, Bob gasped. And his cock inside of you throbbed.
"Fuck!" Ava swore, freezing in place. "Oh, Bob. I'm so sorry! That was a complete accident."
Bob looked like he wanted to respond but just couldn't, resting his head on your chest and taking in deep, shaky breaths.
"I think he's okay," you murmured, brushing some of his hair out of his face to get a better look at him.
"Sweetheart, are you all right?" Ava prompted, rubbing her hand up and down his back in soothing motions.
Not lifting his head, Bob nodded against your chest. He mumbled something, but it was too muffled to make out.
"What was that, sugar?" you asked him.
He lifted his head just enough to be understood.
"Again," Bob said, his voice dipping low and rumbling in a way that made your pulse flutter.
"Are you sure -" Ava started, but Bob took matters into his own hands. Shifting his body more firmly onto his knees, Bob rocked back hard enough to slightly throw Ava off balance when his ass met her hips. She quickly steadied herself by grasping at him - one hand on his waist, the other on his shoulder.
Your first instinct was to check on Bob, to make sure he hadn't pushed himself too far. But the shuddery moan he let out combined with the way his eyes rolled back in his head told you all you needed to know.
"Right there, baby?" you purred, cupping his face to better watch his every expression. His eyes already started to unfocus and his lips parted, that dazed look he always got when you and Ava played with his prostate already starting to show on his face.
"Yeah," he breathed. With what seemed like great effort, Bob lifted his gaze to yours. "'M good. Color's green."
"Ready for me to move?" Ava asked.
When Bob responded with "fuck yes," Ava's throaty chuckle sent shivers down your spine. It was like that simple sound reminded you where you were - under Bob and under her. From the dangerous glint in her eyes, Ava was more than ready to fuck you both into oblivion.
The first thrust made Bob inhale sharply, his whole body tensing again. The second thrust only made him tense a little. Not in pain, just a little stiff and unused to the feeling. The third thrust made his own hips twitch forward into you, his hardening cock hammering into that spot inside of you, forcing a moan past your lips.
"Yeah?" Ava asked. This time, she didn't really need an answer. The smug tone told you everything you needed to know. She knew what she was doing to the both of you.
"Fuck, Ava…" Bob groaned, pushing back into her strap, trying to take even more of her.
"No, I think I rather enjoy fucking you," Ava purred.
You wanted to say something. You tried to say something. Something witty or even just telling her to get the hell on with it, but your girlfriend seemed to anticipate your needs just like she always did.
Before the words left your mouth, Ava slammed her hips into Bob's, jolting him impossibly further inside of you. All you could do was hold on for the ride.
The three of you became one unit. It was like Bob was her proxy; each time she pistoned her cock into him, you could feel it pounding into your leaking core. Each grind of her hips caused Bob to rut into you, making your eyes roll back in your head. And each time her ungloved hand came down against the meat of Bob's ass, you felt it reverberate through his body into yours, making your clit throb in time with his cock.
If Bob was a mess before, he was a disaster now. He'd given up trying to kiss your lips or mouth at your breasts. His face was buried in your neck, which did little to muffle all the delicious noises Ava forced out of him, his breath hot and wet against your skin.
And you weren't much better. All you could do was lay there and take whatever Ava deigned to give you, whether it was pounding into you like it was her mission to fuck you into oblivion or to tease with light, shallow strokes that only made you and Bob both beg for more. There was no way of telling what you looked like. Despite Ava's threats, she hadn't installed a mirror on the ceiling of her bedroom, so you couldn't see how wrecked you were. But judging by the heat in Ava's gaze, focused on you with laser precision, you were also visibly falling apart.
When Bob's breath hitched and his cock pulsed inside of you, Ava caught your eye. Neither of you had to say it out loud. You both knew - Bob was close.
With a quick nod, Ava doubled down, grasping his hips and ramming into Bob. From the sharp, keening wail Bob let out, she was nailing his prostate. In turn, the head of Bob's cock pounded into your g-spot relentlessly. Pressure grew rapidly inside of you, tension rising further with each stroke of Ava's hips.
But it wasn't fast enough. Before you could reach your peak, Bob shuddered on top of you, letting out a cry as he came, filling you with rope after rope of his cum. Each one made him shake like it was forced out of him, hips spasming with each fresh wave that coursed over him.
When he was finished, Bob practically melted against you, his whole body turning into dead weight. With some effort, you and Ava managed to maneuver him off you, rolling him onto his side. Ava even helped lift his head so you could slip a pillow under it to support his neck.
As Ava busied herself disposing of the condom on her strap and grabbing some wet wipes, Bob's breathing slowly began to even out.
Turning to your side to face him, you reached out, brushing the damp curls off his brow.
"How are you doing, handsome?" you asked him. The radiant but sleepy smile he flashed you told you everything you needed to know, along with the almost dopey expression on his face, the result of that hit of endorphin overload from his orgasm.
"Tired. Words're hard," Bob murmured, letting his eyes slip shut as you gave him a kiss right on the tip of his nose. Draping your arm around him, you let Bob snuggle closer, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.
"Mmm, no wonder you're tired. Long day?" you teased, smiling when you felt the soft rumble of Bob's chest against your skin as he chuckled in response.
"Long somethin'," he muttered, peaking one eye open to look at you and grinning when you let out a little burst of laughter.
"But good?" you asked.
"Fuckin' amazing," he affirmed with a little nod, letting his eyes shut again. "Worth it."
You both lay there for who knows how long, the only movement the gentle rise and fall of your breathing and the circular motion of Bob's hand idly tracing some nebulous pattern into the skin of your stomach. His touch was so light, it was just shy of tickling but enough to make goosebumps rise on your cool flesh, your nipples hardening to peaks at the continued sensation. Despite the way your core throbbed from Bob's touch and from the echoes of him inside of you, he didn't appear to be trying to get a rise out of you. It was completely innocent, so you ignored the wetness you could feel building between your legs.
Until you felt another hand join his. At first, you thought Bob had somehow managed to shift himself enough to touch you with both hands, but the angle was wrong.
Blearily, you lifted your head, briefly watching the movements of both - a larger hand with long, thick fingers that traced over your flesh like it was an act of worship and another, smaller hand with slender, more dexterous fingers that touched you with a sense of familiarity and even ownership as it trailed up your body, tracing just under the curve of your breasts. There was no ignoring the heat that raced through your body or the way your nipples tightened almost painfully, raising high as if pleading for some merciful touch.
"You didn't cum."
It wasn't a question; it was a statement of fact.
As you turned your head to face Ava's heated gaze, you couldn't bring yourself to lie, to placate her, to say that Bob finishing was enough for you.
"No," you murmured, barely moving your lips. Her eyes slipped down to watch you form the word anyway. When she looked back up into your eyes, Ava didn't hide the pleased smirk on her face.
"You hear that, baby?" Ava said to Bob. When you glanced at your boyfriend, gone was the look of sleepy contentment. Bob was fully awake, his focus razor sharp, like a shark who had scented blood in the water and was ready to attack.
"That just won't do," Ava continued. Bob nodded his agreement, eyes only breaking away from yours to watch the rise and fall of your chest. "Can't leave our girl wanting, now can we?"
Before you could move, or think, or even breathe, Ava gripped your thighs and tugged sharply, pulling you further down the bed. Your head slipped off your pillow and thumped noiselessly against the mattress. You gasped. At first, it was from the sudden movement. But it turned shaky at the end when you felt something hard and slick against your slit.
"Ava," you practically whimpered, which only made her smirk spread into a smug grin.
"Don't worry," she teased, rubbing the head of the silicone cock through your slick folds. "Cleaned her all up for you."
"Can I…?" Bob cleared his throat, looking almost bashful when you both turned to him. "Can I help?"
"'Course, baby," Ava cooed. Reaching out, she brushed a strand of his hair behind his ear before pulling him into an all-too brief open-mouthed kiss. "We gotta take care of our sweet girl."
Before long, Bob's mouth was latched onto your breast, tongue swirling around the peak. The other wasn't lonely; Bob was rolling your nipple between his forefinger and thumb, lightly tugging at your skin enough to make you let out a shaky groan. You fisted your hand in his hair, not tugging or trying to direct him, just holding onto him.
Bob's eyes weren't closed or even monitoring you. They were focused on Ava, greedily watching as she lined up her cock, letting it nudge against your entrance.
Words weren't needed. Just a raised eyebrow in question and a nod of the head in answer, and Ava's cock slowly filled you.
You couldn't hold back your gasp at the feeling of being stretched, your walls gripping the silicone tightly as though trying to feel every ridge, every synthetic vein carved into it. Between Ava's girthy strap and Bob's thick, curved cock, it no longer hurt when either of them fucked you. Especially when you were as wet as you were now, slick soaking the already-lubricated phallus inside of you as it inched forward.
Soon enough, Ava's hips rested against yours. She paused there, letting you acclimate to her length. Deep, calming breaths were the key, but it was hard to fully expand your lungs with Bob's lips and hand putting pressure on your chest. With one exhale, you could swear you saw the bulge in your stomach where the dildo firmly rested inside of you.
"Fuck, you take me so well, baby," Ava practically purred, stroking her hand soothingly along your side. "Greedy little pussy could barely wait her turn, hmm?"
You nodded again, but that wasn't good enough for Ava this time. Rearing back, she let her hand come down on your flank, the clap of her flesh meeting yours ringing in your ears as you writhed in both pain and pleasure. You could swear it jostled her dick inside of you, jarring that sweet spot and making you see little pinpricks of light behind your eyes.
"Yes, ma'am," you gasped out, fisting the sheets under you as you fought to not buck against her even as your body longed for more friction.
"Good girl," Ava crooned, pulling partway out and looking down to admire the way your juices glistened on her cock before plunging it back inside of you.
She didn't hold back for long. When you started moaning instead of gasping at her thrusts, Ava picked up speed, pounding you into the bed.
The only time she stopped was to adjust her angle, leaning back onto the balls of her feet and pulling your hips up to meet hers. It took a few tries, but when you felt the tip hit that spongy spot inside of you, you couldn't bite back the cry that came out of you. Her face practically glowed with satisfaction at the sound, before she doubled down, furiously pistoning her cock in and out of you.
It didn't take long before that delicious pressure started building in you again, picking up right where you'd left off with Bob inside of you. His lips and hands on your breasts, the head of her strap pummeling your g-spot, and the sheer thrill of being taken apart underneath both of your partners ramped your pleasure up and up and up. It felt like a coil that was threatening to break loose inside of you, but it needed something more. One extra little thing to push you over the edge.
"So close," you pleaded, practically sobbing the words. "Please!"
Ava understood immediately. Even though you couldn't voice the words, she could.
"Touch her, Bob," she commanded through panting breaths. It wasn't often that Ava seemed anything less than cool and collected, but the beads of perspiration on her forehead and shortness of breath betrayed her effort.
And he obeyed, slipping two fingers slick with the spit he'd lathed over your aching breasts between your legs. They found your clit like they were magnetized to it, quickly falling into the circular rhythm he knew from experience you needed when you were this close.
Without meaning to, your eyes slipped shut. Normally, Ava would demand you look into her eyes as you cum. This time she said nothing, letting the sensations wash over you as she pounded your cunt for all it was worth, grunting as your hips met her clothed ones over and over again.
The coil tightened inside of you. You could practically feel the edge, like it was a mountain you stood on the precipice of, dangling your toes over the side. But even that wasn't enough, and your orgasm stayed just out of your desperate reach.
But then you felt it - Ava's hand. She stretched, reaching over Bob and squishing his hand between your bodies, and wrapped her fingers around the column of your throat. Your eyes fluttered open to meet her intense stare. She pinned you with her heated gaze, and the world seemed to narrow down to just that moment: her cock inside of you, Bob's fingers dancing on your clit, and Ava's delicate fingers folded around your even-more-delicate neck.
It took one word. When Ava ordered you to cum and tightened her hold on your throat, you flew over the edge, as if her words flung you over that proverbial mountain and you were free falling. Your orgasm hit you like a physical weight, punching the air out of your lungs as you wailed wordlessly, thrashing your body in ecstasy. Neither Bob nor Ava slowed down, eking every last ounce of pleasure out of you as you writhed.
You didn't feel when Ava stopped moving her hips or Bob removed his hand. You didn't even feel it when the strap pulled out of you, leaving a trail of your slick behind that Ava idly wiped on the sheets. You were somewhere else entirely, weightless and floating in the sea of your own afterglow.
When you finally opened your eyes, both Bob and Ava were there, smiling down at you, twin looks of deep satisfaction mirrored on their faces.
"Ahh, there she is," Ava murmured, stroking your hair out of your face. "She's back with us. Hello, my love."
You barely had the energy to smile, but you let yourself lean into her touch.
"You okay?" Bob asked with a touch of concern. That adorable furrow was threatening to appear between his eyebrows as he watched your face closely for any reaction.
"Green," you croaked, clearing your throat and trying again. "I'm still green."
Bob breathed a sigh of relief that was both audible and visible as his shoulders relaxed.
"Good. Thought we might've fucked the soul out of you for a minute there," he teased, making Ava chuckle. He glanced at her, and they shared an amused, tender smile before looking back down at you.
"Might've had an out of body experience," you admitted cheekily. "Pretty sure I saw God."
When you tried to shift up onto your elbows, both your boyfriend and girlfriend put their hands on you, forcing you to lie back down. Normally, you wouldn't stand for that. But this time you allowed it, relaxing back down on the bed. Your limbs felt surprisingly weak, even your arms, like your joints were made of Jell-O.
"Oh yeah?" Ava teased, booping your nose with her index finger and laughing under her breath at how you wrinkled it in mock disdain. "What did she look like?"
"Like my hot, surprisingly well-endowed girlfriend." Bob snickered at your words, and you both acted like you didn't see the way Ava ducked her head, hiding her face with her hair. For someone who had just dicked your brains out, she was awfully bashful.
"You doing good, baby?" you asked, looking up at Bob.
He grinned down at you, that kind of free, goofy smile he only shared with you and Ava in your most intimate moments making your heart skip a beat.
"Aren't I supposed to be asking you that?" Bob teased.
"Mmm," you hummed in agreement. "Maybe. But I'm used to taking Ava's strap. At least for the most part. This was your first time, though. How are you feeling?"
"Good." When you fixed him with an indignant look, it was Bob's turn to duck his head. "Also pretty exhausted," he finally confessed, snuggling up even closer to you, laying his head on your shoulder.
You half-expected Ava to be getting up and around. Normally, she liked to clean everything up before going to sleep. But the abandoned harness you glimpsed on the floor halfway across the room like it had been flung carelessly to the side told another story. So did the way she pulled the sheets up, covering your rapidly cooling body, gooseflesh already starting to form from the chilly room temperature.
"But not hurting?" Ava queried. The sharpness of her gaze as she watched Bob's face belied her relaxed body language. Only when Bob confirmed he only felt a little soreness but not pain did Ava look entirely at ease.
"Good," she said with a decisive nod.
"And you?" you asked, turning to face Ava fully. "How are you feeling, my love?"
"Better," she admitted. And you could see the truth in her words.
Earlier in the day, Ava was moving stiffly. Every step looked like it cost her something. It didn't surprise you when she'd disappeared and come back out with her old suit on.
Even though most of her pain was psychosomatic these days, something about that bodysuit always brought comfort. She didn't say it out loud, but you were fairly certain it was because Bill, her friend and foster father figure, made it for her. Ava had no reason to keep the outfit. The one Valentina commissioned for her was more comfortable after all. But it was just like that old, half-deflated teddy bear with the missing eye that Ava kept on her night table, the one that she meticulously dusted and always got into joking arguments about the color of its fur ("it was white!" she'd swear when you and Bob referred to it as "that grey bear.") Ava never said it, but you knew that the memories associated with it were what made it so special to her.
Bob gave her a small but real smile, reaching across to squeeze Ava's hand, letting his touch say all the words he couldn't.
"Good," was all he said, and it was enough for now.
It took some adjusting, but you all eventually found a sleeping position that suited you all. It was one of your favorites: you and Ava on your sides, her spooning you from behind, and Bob on his back, your arm draped across his chest.
"Think you'd like to do it again?" you asked Bob. He held your hand in both of his, bringing it up to kiss each of your knuckles individually. You knew he was vamping for time, but neither you nor Ava pushed him. He was giving your question real consideration.
"Yeah," Bob said suddenly. It almost startled you after he was quiet for so long. Fortunately, you didn't jump; Ava would've teased you mercilessly. "I think I'd really like that. If you wouldn't mind."
Ava's chuckle made her chest rumble, and the vibration carried pleasantly through your back. It was such a soothing sound, Ava's laugh. Something that was so rare when you were all first getting to know each other, but never wore out its welcome no matter how many times you heard it.
"We'll see how you feel about that in the morning, my darling."
Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics
Images in headers are not mine.
Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!
Please do not repost or reproduce in any way. You do not have my permission to use this for AI scraping.
(Ben Mears (Salem's Lot)/Miles Miller (Bad Times at the El Royale)
After miraculously escaping the horrors of 'Salem's Lot, Ben Mears, Miles Miller, and their ward Mark Petrie start a new life together in the small town of Ashford, Minnesota.
This is a series of vignettes of moments in that new life, all revolving around different pieces of clothing in the Miller-Mears' wardrobe.
͙͘͡★ Tennis Shorts - ☁️😜 - 2.4k
Ben Mears just wants to go play some tennis with his friends. Unfortunately, his husband, Miles, likes his outfit a little too much…
͙͘͡★ Jockstrap - 🍆 - 1.8k
Miles really, really, really likes Ben's jockstrap, and he is more than willing to make up for making his husband late to play tennis.
͙͘͡★ Fairy Dress - ☁️😜🍆 - 8.5k
As Ben Mears has become more comfortable in his new life post-Salem's Lot, he's started to lose some of the filter between his mind and his mouth, much to everyone else's amusement. This leads to a Halloween party where Ben has only half a costume and Miles has a secret.
͙͘͡★ Bunny Costume - ☁️😜 - 1.2k
Miles comes home from mass, and he just knows that his husband is going to go nuts for his Easter outfit. Unfortunately, Ben just won't seem to look up at him. So Miles takes things into his own hands.
Future Fic Ideas:
͙͘͡★ Ass's Head - 🍆 - Sequel to Fairy Dress. Ben gets Miles home from the Halloween party and wants to properly worship his queen.
͙͘͡★ Creature Costume - 🍆 - Ben indulges Miles' monstrous fantasy about the Creature from the Black Lagoon.
͙͘͡★ Cowboy Hat - 🍆 - Miles is always excited to go out to their cabin for the weekend, especially when he sees that Ben has started growing out some stubble. That means he might be receiving a "visit" from his favorite cowboy.
When she joined the Thunderbolts, she didn't mean to start dating both John Walker and Bob Reynolds. It just...happened. And she certainly didn't mean for them to be so good sharing her...and each other.
First Starts Mini-Series:
🗲 Starting Patterns (John Walker/Reader, Bob Reynolds/Reader) - ☁️ - 1.9k
You'd met both John Walker and Bob Reynolds before, of course. But that was mostly in passing or in the middle of a fight. But, within the first few weeks of moving into the Watchtower, you found yourself connecting with them in small ways, starting with a plate of bacon and a cup of hot cocoa.
🗲 Starting Points: John (John Walker/Reader)- ☁️ - 2.8k
Breakfast has brought you and John back together, but this time John is acting strangely. It all starts with an unusual text message.
🗲 Starting Points: Bob (Bob Reynolds/Reader) - ☁️ - 2.3k
Ever since your first impromptu movie night with Bob, you've both made a habit of watching them together on a near-nightly basis. What started as impersonal slowly morphs into something else, something more intimate.
🗲 Starting Positions (John Walker/Reader, Bob Reynolds/Reader) - 🍆 - TBA
There's a first time for everything, including in the bedroom.
I Want My Boyfriends To Kiss:
🗲 Swap Spit, Lock Lips - 🍆 - 8.3k (Outtakes)
The lines in your relationships with John Walker and Bob Reynolds had already become blurred, but you'd managed to keep one aspect intact - you'd only ever slept with them separately. However, when John wakes up and can't keep his hands off of you, that might not be true anymore.
🗲 I Want My Boyfriends to Kiss - 🍆🍆🍆 - 22.5k (Outtakes)
Your boyfriends have been acting strange recently, like they're hiding something from you. After you come to find out they have some secret plans involving you, them, and a whole lotta rope, you take it upon yourself to come up with a plan of your own to turn the tables on them.
🗲 I'm Way More Wicked Than You Thought - 🍆 - TBA
John Walker had a plan, one that was dashed to bits when you decided to take control that night. Now he has an even more devious one, and sweet, sweet revenge will be his.
Pairing: Ben Mears (Salem's Lot movie) x Miles Miller (Bad Times at the El Royale)
Word Count: 1.2k
Summary: Miles comes home from mass, and he just knows that his husband is going to go nuts for his Easter outfit. Unfortunately, Ben just won't seem to look up at him. So Miles takes things into his own hands.
Tags/Warnings: None, really. This is pure fluff with just hints at future/past smut.
A/N: Didn't mean for this to happen, but it is entirely @hi-res-tm's fault for writing a line about Miles with a bunny tail. (To be honest, this is probably my worst writing I've done in a long time, but the idea is cute and it's Easter, so I'm putting it out there.)
The Wardrobe Masterlist
Miles wasn't going to act like he didn't know what he was doing. He knew what he was getting himself into going home dressed like this.
To anyone else, it would be nothing special. He looked like the man he was; a Sunday school teacher who got into the spirit of Easter. But to Ben Mears? It was about to be open season.
He expected it as soon as he walked through the door, but Ben was busy thumbing through one of the birdwatching magazines Mark had gotten him as a joke while half-watching a VHS of an old Mets game. Miles wasn't exactly surprised to glance at the score and see that they were down quite a bit.
"Welcome home, sweetheart," Ben called as Miles walked through the door. "How was church?"
"Good!" Miles answered as he toed off his shoes into the rack Ben and Mark had built just for that purpose by the front door. "Easter Mass is always enjoyable. Good to see everyone."
"Who won the egg hunt?" Ben asked, still not looking up. Miles was simultaneously grateful that he had time to fish out his wallet and keys and put them away before his pants got ripped off…and also slightly offended that Ben hadn't even taken a look at him.
"Molly did! Gladys and I had to keep Theresa from trashtalking the other kids during the hunt, though."
Ben snorted. "Yeah, I bet you guys did. That's why she's banned from Molly's Little League games. I believe the official call was 'poor sportsmanship.'"
"Mmm hmm." Miles came up behind Ben on the couch, resting his hands on the other man's shoulders. Frustratingly, he didn't even look up then. Just reached up and ran his hand down Miles' forearm, a gesture of warmth and welcome that normally Miles would've loved. But his pulse was already thumping in anticipation, and Miles was growing restless.
So he dug his fingers in, starting to rub the knots that always formed in the writer's upper back. Ben let out a sinful groan, the tension in his shoulders immediately loosening.
"Fuck, baby. That feels incredible." It was only then that Ben stopped reading his magazine, letting it fall slack on the couch. His head slumped forward slightly, giving Miles more space.
"I need to do this more often," Miles hummed, his thumb circling a particularly bad spot where even his untrained hands could feel a little hard lump where only smooth muscle should be. Pressing down hard on it, Miles rubbed at the knot until it loosened and Ben let out a grunt of both pain and relief.
Rolling his shoulders to adjust to the sensation, Ben still didn't look back, even as he thanked Miles for his help.
It normally wasn't this difficult to get Ben to notice him. Usually, Miles couldn't even get a haircut or a new pair of pants without Ben using it as an excuse to pin him to a wall, boxing him in with his arms, and kissing him breathless. Honestly, it was like he had a sixth sense for it. Like there was a disturbance in the Force whenever Miles dared change his appearance even in the slightest. Apparently Easter was just a day for miracles: Jesus rose from the dead…and Ben Mears was oblivious to what his husband was wearing.
With a sigh, Miles gave in and dangled something in front of Ben that there was zero chance he could overlook.
"Can I have a kiss?" Miles asked coyly, batting his eyelashes even though Ben wasn't looking at him. "As payment for my services?"
The smirk that slid onto Ben's face was a familiar one. It was that kind of smug confidence that Ben usually only showed in the bedroom…or on the rare occasion the Mets won a game. Miles loved it on him. Normally, he was fairly self-effacing. Ben argued that was a good thing for a writer, especially one whose work (and reputation) was constantly besmirched by others. But Miles loved it when Ben got cocky.
"Sure thing, sweetheart," he practically purred, finally turning on the couch to look at his beloved.
It was Miles' turn to grin as Ben blinked rapidly at the sight. It was like his brain was trying to process what he saw.
"What?" he teased. "Do I have something on my face?"
Realistically, Miles knew he wasn't exactly 'dressed up'. In most relationships, even the horniest of spouses would see their significant other with some bunny ears, drawn on whiskers, and a little white, fluffy bow tie held with elastic around their neck and just think it was silly or even cute. Maybe even tease them a bit. But to Ben Mears? It was a siren call.
"I got to be the Easter bunny for the egg hunt," Miles explained, as if it really needed to be said. But his nerves had gotten the better of him, especially with the way Ben's eyes drank in his every feature like he was committing the image of Miles to eternal memory. He wiggled his pink, painted nose at Ben as the other man licked his lips.
"They…they didn't make you put on the full costume?" Ben asked hoarsely.
"Nope," Miles said, popping the 'p' with his lips. "The kids didn't like it." His grin only grew as Ben seemed to struggle for words, opening his mouth then closing it multiple times.
"What?" Miles taunted. "Is it scaring you, too?"
"Is there…is there a tail?" Ben was fully turned on the couch to face him, his eyes looking past Miles' hips as if he was hoping to be able to see a little ball of cotton firmly stuck to Miles' butt from there.
"Guess you'll never know," Miles said, adopting a tone of mock seriousness to his voice as he took a step away from the couch. Ben immediately reached out for Miles as if willing him to come back, to let Ben enfold him in his arms. As tempting an idea as that was, it was even more fun to tease. "I should get going."
"Going?"
Miles bit his lip to keep from laughing at the plain desperation in Ben's tone. As if he'd even be able to get out the door dressed like this. Mentally, Miles thanked his past self for insisting that their son go for tea with their neighbors after mass. Mark didn't need to see what was about to happen.
"Yeah," Miles said, keeping his tone casual, stepping even further away. "I don't want to be late."
"Late? Late for what?"
"A very important date."
At the word 'date,' the panic left Ben's eyes, as did the desperation. A different expression shifted across his face, one that sent a thrill through Miles' body. He was already stiffening in his pants, but the predatory look Ben was sending him sent a wave of arousal through him, one that nearly took his breath away.
"A date?" Ben practically growled. He shifted his legs underneath him as if preparing to spring into motion, ready to hunt his prey.
"Yeah, a date. You know - 'No time to say 'Hello,' goodbye. I'm late, I'm late, I'm late."
Normally, Ben would laugh at such a silly reference or at least make a joke of his own. But this Ben just narrowed his eyes. Breathing seemed to become harder as his pulse picked up, and Miles Miller found himself nearly starting to pant. There was no backing down now.
Miles ran.
And Ben? Ben chased.
It was rabbit season after all.
Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics
Images in headers are not mine.
Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!
Please do not repost or reproduce in any way. You do not have my permission to use this for AI scraping.
