chapter summary: your roommate is tired of watching you suffer.
warnings: 18+ for eventual smut, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
word count: 3.8k
The apartment smelled faintly like garlic, acrylic paint, and burnt coffee. In all fairness it was pretty indicative of your current lifestyle. You kicked the door shut behind you with more force than necessary, peeling your apron off your body with an exhausted groan as your keys clattered onto the tiny kitchen counter.
“If one more finance bro had called me sweetheart tonight, I would've become a felon.” From the couch, your roommate snorted without looking up from her laptop. “Tough shift?”
“Tough life.” You toed your shoes off near the door, wincing immediately as feeling returned to your feet. Eight hours of fake smiling, cocktail shaking, and pretending drunk men were charming had officially destroyed your will to live. Your roommate finally glanced up. “You made tips, though?” You held up a pathetic wad of bills. “Enough to either buy groceries or buy the new camera battery I need for tomorrow’s shoot.”
“Oof.”
“Yeah.” You opened the fridge anyway, as if the universe might’ve magically restocked it while you were gone.
Half a lime.
Wilted spinach.
Three eggs.
Two packets of soy sauce.
And baking soda.
You sighed and closed it again. "Ramen it is.”
“At least your shoot tomorrow pays.”
“Eventually,” you corrected, irritatedly scrubbing at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. “After editing. And revisions. And waiting for the client to remember I exist.” Your roommate watched you quietly for a second. You knew that look. “No.”
“I didn’t even say anything.”
“You’re about to.” She slowly closed her laptop. “You’re a beautiful woman with an art degree, and probably seventy-three cents in your checking account. But before you get offended-”
“Too late.”
“-I love you deeply, but I physically cannot watch you live like Oliver Twist anymore.”
You glared at her as the microwave started humming with your ramen. “I knew this was going somewhere stupid.” She had the nerve to look offended. “It’s not stupid.” She grabbed her phone from the coffee table. “You remember that app I told you about?” You stared. “No.”
“Yes you do.”
You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Are you talking about the sugar daddy app?”
“It’s not a sugar daddy app, I was simplifying.” She rolled her eyes dramatically and scooted over on the couch, patting the cushion beside her. “Just come look.”
“It’s prostitution, Dani.”
“It’s networking with benefits, and the app verifies their income.”
“That sentence made me lose years off my life.” Your ramen finally beeped. You retrieved and shuffled toward the couch clutching the steaming cup like it was the only stable thing left in your life. Your roommate immediately started scrolling. “It’s not all weird old men.”
“It’s definitely weird old men.”
“Some of them are just rich and lonely.” The app itself looked disturbingly elegant. Dark interface. Minimalist design. Sleek fonts. The app screamed expensive discretion.
An hour later, you were still on the couch. “I can’t believe I’m making a sugar baby profile,” you huffed. “Mutually beneficial companionship profile,” your roommate corrected.
“You sound indoctrinated.”
“You sound poor, for now.”
You glared at her while she sorted through photos in your camera roll with the concentration of a celebrity publicist. “No bikini pictures,” you warned.
“Yes, Mother Theresa.” She cackled while flicking through pictures. The final choices were… actually pretty good. One candid shot of you laughing, camera hanging around your neck. One dressed-up photo from a gallery event in front of some of your work, light makeup, black dress, and a soft smile. One close-up selfie with warm lighting that made your eyes look enormous. They were cute, pretty, a little sexy, but still you.
“Perfect,” your roommate said, tilting her head. “You’re going to destroy these men, or eat them alive.”
“I hope they all explode.”
“See? That’s the spirit.”
You groaned into your hands. The bio took even longer. Every draft sounded so painfully awkward, or like an application for a customer service position. Finally, after twenty agonizing minutes, you settled on something simple:
Photographer trying to make art and survive New York. I love quiet coffee shops, old movies, bookstores, live music, and conversations that actually mean something. Looking for transparency, kindness, and a connection that feels comfortable for both of us.
You stared at it. Then at your roommate. The glowing “publish profile” button seemed to mock you. “This feels wrong. I feel like my ancestors are judging me.”
“Your ancestors were lucky to make it to thirty and not die of dysentery. They would appreciate you living your life. Hit the button.” You laughed despite yourself. Before you could think too hard about it you pressed publish and the screen refreshed. The two of you sat there in silence for a few minutes and in that time you managed to completely psych yourself out. Your stomach dropped. “We need to delete it.”
“No we do not.”
“I’m serious, Dani, I can't do this."
A series of soft pings interrupted you both. Your roommate’s eyes widened theatrically “No fucking way.” She turned the phone toward you.
New messages received: 37
Dani squealed in absolute delight. “Thirty-seven messages in under ten minutes,” she breathed. “You absolute maneater.” You snatched the phone from her hands before she could start opening messages without supervision. You scrolled silently, your stomach twisting despite the snort you let out.
“What?”
“Someone named CryptoKingNYC just offered to pay my rent if I’ll ‘be sweet.’” Dani barked out a laugh. “Hard pass.”
“You think?” You opened another one:
You look like trouble. I like trouble.
“Ew.”
I can tell you’re submissive.
You stared at the screen in horrified silence.
“What does that even MEAN?” you demanded. Dani was fully folded over laughing now. “I don’t wanna know but he sounds like he hosts at least three podcasts.” You dropped the phone onto the couch cushion beside you. “This was a mistake.”
“No, this is educational. Keep going.”
Against your better judgment, you did. The app had apparently alerted every wealthy man within a fifty-mile radius that fresh meat had entered the building. And somehow they were all either divorced, near illiterate, or old enough to remember the moon landing firsthand. One man’s profile picture was just him standing beside a tiger. You were going to lose it. “I think this one’s a cult leader,” you whispered.
Dani leaned over your shoulder and the two of you dissolved into exhausted laughter against the couch cushions. You rubbed your eyes hard enough to smear your remaining eyeliner. This was absurd. Why were multimillionaires suddenly speaking to you like you were a rare collectible item?
You clicked into another profile.
68.
No photo.
Bio all about golf.
“Dani,” you said carefully. “I think this man was present for the invention of color television.”
“You’re being ageist.”
You groaned, dropping your head back dramatically against the couch. “Feels like I’m being hunted for sport.” Dani plucked the phone from your hands before you could launch it across the room “Ooh, wait. This one writes in full sentences.”
“That should not be impressive.”
“And yet."
You leaned over reluctantly as she opened the profile.
Matt M.
51
No picture of him.
Just a very blurred photo of what looked like a whiskey glass beside the sleeve of a dark suit jacket.
“Hm,” Dani murmured.
The bio was short.
Attorney seeking consistent companionship. Mutual respect, discretion, and honesty are important to me. I value intelligence, kindness, and good conversation more than appearances. Clear expectations benefit everyone involved.
You frowned slightly. "How weird. He sounds normal, if a little bit too serious.” If nothing else at least this one seemed interesting. You clicked into the message.
Good evening.
I hope your night’s treating you well. Your profile stood out to me because you seemed genuine, which feels increasingly rare on here.
I’d like to get to know you if you’re interested.
— Matt
Silence. Dani blinked, staring at you expectantly. You kept staring at the screen. No weird petnames or comment about your body. No creepy implication hidden between the lines. Just… polite.
“He writes like he pays all his taxes early,” Dani mused. You snorted while your thumb hovered uncertainly over the screen. The lack of photo should’ve made him feel sketchier. Instead it made him feel more private than secretive.
And the strangest part still was that he hadn’t mentioned your looks once. Nothing. After thirty straight messages from men acting like they were bidding on a mail order bride, the absence felt startling. Refreshing. “No,” you decided suddenly, tossing the phone onto the couch cushion beside you. “Absolutely not.”
Dani stared. “Wow. You like him.”
“I do not.”
“You did the thing. You get this little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re intrigued.”
“I’m not intrigued.”
“Right,” Dani said smugly, picking up and shoving the phone back into your hands, “Yet you’re still holding the lawyer’s message open. You should answer him.” Dani watched you expectantly, curled deep into the corner of the couch with your throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders. You looked back down at the phone in your hands. Matt’s message still sat open on the screen, painfully normal among the chaos surrounding it. No sleazy undertones or overinflated ego. It shouldn’t have felt as disarming as it did. “You know what’s weird?” you murmured.
“What?”
“He almost sounds…” You searched for the word. “Nervous.” Dani blinked. “You’re psychoanalyzing the lawyer already.” You ignored her and stared at the blinking cursor in the reply box. This was ridiculous. You didn’t belong on this app. Still, your thumbs started moving before you could overthink it.
Hi.
Honestly, you seem significantly less terrifying than everyone else here, so congrats on that.
And thank you. You seem genuine too.
— Sent reluctantly from my couch while questioning all my life choices.
The second you hit send, you groaned and dropped your head into your hands. You peeked through your fingers in time to watch the typing bubble appear. His response came a few seconds later.
I’m glad I'm less terrifying. The competition seems fairly intense. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think questioning your life choices on a couch is all that unusual.
I’ve done it myself many times.
You stared. The typing bubble appeared again.
To be transparent, I’m new to this.
I’m not interested in making anyone uncomfortable, and I’d prefer we meet somewhere public first to see whether we’re actually a good fit. Coffee or drinks, whichever you’d feel more comfortable with.
Okay. That actually made your chest loosen a little. You tucked your legs beneath you on the couch. “I fear he may be a functioning adult.” Dani snorted. You bit your lip before typing back.
Coffee sounds safer.
His response came almost immediately.
Coffee it is. There’s a place in Hell’s Kitchen called Loft that's pretty quiet in the afternoon. What does your availability look like this week?
You typed more carefully this time.
I’m free tomorrow after four, if that works for you?
The typing bubble paused longer this time.
Perfect, I should also probably give you my number instead of relying on this app.
A phone number appeared beneath the message and you replied with yours. Then, another notification slid across the top of the screen.
Payment received: $300.
You froze, and Dani peeked over your shoulder. Slowly, both of you looked at each other. “What the fuck,” you whispered. Another message appeared beneath it.
For the record, there’s no expectation attached to that. Consider it good faith.
It was the casualness of it, three hundred dollars sent over like it was nothing. Beside you, Dani stared at the screen with wide eyes.
“…Girl.”
By the time four o’clock rolled around the next day, you'd once again convinced yourself this was terrible idea. Possibly several terrible ideas stacked on top of each other wearing a trench coat.
Your photoshoot had gone well, but the exhaustion still clung to your bones as you pushed through the door of the coffee shop with your camera bag hanging heavy against your shoulder.
Loft was warm and quiet. Soft jazz hummed somewhere overhead beneath the muted sound of conversation and clinking ceramic cups. The place smelled like espresso and cinnamon, with lovely dark wood counters and display cases filled with specialty pastries.
You spotted an empty two-person table near the window and sat down carefully, trying not to look like you were one spook away from fleeing the country. Your phone buzzed.
Matt: I’m a few minutes away. I apologize for the delay.
You: No worries. I just got here.
You frowned at the screen before putting your phone down. A snag on your long sleeve top caught your attention and you picked at it nervously.
“Excuse me.”
Your head lifted automatically. And your brain immediately stopped functioning. Oh. The man standing beside the hostess stand was absurdly handsome. Not in an overly polished manner, but sharp. Dark suit, tie loosened slightly at the collar. He had such broad shoulders and a strong jaw dusted with faint greying stubble. A face that looked unfairly good even with visible exhaustion carved beneath it. He was certainly older, but in a way that only made him more attractive. Like time had enhanced him instead of draining him.
And then you noticed the cane. The hostess touched his arm lightly, speaking quietly to him, and he nodded once before turning his head slightly toward the café, red lenses catching the light. Not looking but listening. Ah.
Why he hadn’t commented on your appearance. Why there’d been no profile picture. Why his messages felt so strangely attentive without being visual.
You watched him thank the hostess softly after she gestured vaguely in your direction. He smiled politely and then he walked directly toward you anyway. There was the faintest hesitation near another table, but he was confident in his stride. Your pulse raced with nerves. When he reached the table, he tilted his head slightly. He said your name.
“Hi,” he said, voice warm and low and distractingly beautiful. “You must be my...." He stopped himself and a tiny smirk tugged at his mouth. “Sorry. I realized midway through that I don’t actually know how to finish that sentence without sounding ridiculous.”
A startled laugh escaped you and he visibly relaxed. “You’re Matt,” you managed.
“I am.” He folded up the cane and set it carefully on the edge of the table before offering a hand toward you. “And apparently significantly less terrifying than the rest of this app.”
His hand was warm. Large. Your brain short-circuited briefly during the handshake and you could practically hear the computer reboot chime in your head. You chuckled weakly in response to his quip.
His smile deepened slightly and transformed his entire face. His crows feet became rather prominent with the movement. Oh, he has dimples too. “May I sit?”
“Yeah- Yes, obviously," you squeaked. Smooth.
Matt sat across from you with practiced ease, folding his hands loosely atop the table. The man radiated competence, no ego. Just quiet certainty. “Well,” Matt said after a moment, sounding faintly amused. “I think we’ve successfully completed the hardest part. Actually showing up.”
You laughed again. And once more, that tiny visible release in his shoulders. Like he’d been hoping for that. A server appeared and took your orders, and for a few minutes the conversation stayed easy. He asked about your day. Both of you were born and raised in the city, and he talked about growing up in Hell's Kitchen.
Matt listened in a way that felt so intimate. You never got the impression that he was just waiting for his turn to speak or distracted. It was disorienting. “And you’re a lawyer?” you asked eventually. “I’m afraid so.”
“You say that like it’s terminal.”
“Some days it feels terminal.”
You snorted into your coffee. “Funny.”
“I’ve been told I’m occasionally funny.”
“By your employees?”
A soft laugh slipped out of him then, and for one terrifying second you forgot what this meeting was supposed to be. Suddenly it just felt like… coffee with a beautiful older man who made you laugh.
Matt cleared his throat lightly after a moment. “So,” he said carefully, posture straightening just slightly, “We should probably discuss the reason we’re both actually here.”
There it was. Your stomach tightened a little, and you hummed in agreement. Matt seemed to notice your nerves immediately because his tone gentled. “There’s no pressure attached to any of this,” he said. “I’d rather be overly clear than make any assumptions.” You nodded slowly. “Okay.”
He folded his hands again. “I’m not particularly interested in something… performative and flashy.” A faint pause. “Or purely physical.” You flushed at that addition.
The honesty of it caught you off guard. “I work a lot,” he admitted. “Too much, probably. I don’t really have room in my life for a conventional relationship right now.”There was something distant in his voice suddenly. “But,” he said after a second, “I miss having someone around.”
Matt continued carefully. “I’d ideally like something consistent with someone I enjoy spending time with.” A tiny self-conscious smile touched his mouth. “Someone willing to accompany me to events occasionally so I stop being interrogated by colleagues.”
You smiled and huffed a quiet laugh.
“And in terms of the arrangement itself…” He exhaled softly. “If we decided we’d like to continue seeing each other, I’d prefer a consistent allowance rather than making things feel transactional every time we spent time together.” His hand tightened slightly on the edge of the table.
Your heart skipped a beat and Matt tilted his head slightly then. “There’s one practical thing I should ask,” he said gently. “Are you currently seeing anyone else through the app?”
“No,” you answered honestly. A subtle shift crossed his expression, not relief exactly, but something almost sheepish. “I’m not either,” he admitted. “And if this progressed, I think I’d prefer exclusivity. But that would obviously need be a mutual decision.”
You stared at him for a second too long. Because this was supposed to feel sleazy and transactional. Instead, somehow, it felt strangely… safe. You wrapped both hands more tightly around your coffee cup, staring down at the ruined foam art for a second longer than necessary. Matt waited. “I should probably be transparent too,” you admitted.
“I appreciate that.”
The corner of your mouth lifted slightly. “Of course you do. You’re a lawyer.”
“I’m trying very hard not to sound like one.”
“Well, you’re failing a little.” A soft laugh escaped him. It was like every time you teased him and didn’t immediately run away, he relaxed another inch. You shifted in your chair. “I’m not really…” You searched for the right wording. “I’m not someone who does this kind of thing.” Matt nodded once immediately. “I assumed.” The answer startled you. Was it that obvious you were out of your depth here? “You did?”
“You don’t approach this like someone overly comfortable with it.” Heat crept into your face. “Oh.”
“I didn’t mean that critically,” he added quickly.
“No, it’s okay.” You huffed out a small laugh. “You’re right.” You glanced down again, thumb tracing the rim of your cup. “I went to art school,” you said after a moment. “Photography and painting. Only the first one actually helps pay the bills.”
Matt leaned back slightly, listening with complete focus. “And I love it,” you admitted quietly. “I really do. I know everyone jokes about useless art degrees, but it’s the only thing that’s ever felt right to me.” You swallowed lightly before continuing. “But making enough money from it consistently is…” You laughed once under your breath. “A nightmare, honestly.” Student loans, equipment costs, unpaid gallery submissions. Constant uncertainty. You didn’t elaborate on all of that because somehow you got the feeling he already understood enough.
Matt was quiet for a second. “What do you enjoy most?”
You found yourself answering before you could get self-conscious. Portraits. Street photography. Live music sometimes when you got lucky and landed a gig. Painting was usually landscapes, sometimes abstract. “You talk about it differently than most people talk about work,” he observed softly. You blinked. “What do you mean?”
“There’s affection in it.”
You looked down at your coffee, thankful he couldn't see how much that affected you. “Well,” you muttered lightly, “it’d be concerning if I went into debt for something I hated.”
Matt smiled faintly at that before his posture straightened again slightly, business returning. Like he was carefully guiding both of you back toward safer ground before the chemistry underneath the conversation could surface any further.
“So,” he said gently, “in terms of expectations.” You nodded. He folded his hands loosely atop the table again. “I’d cover all dates, dinners, travel, events, things of that nature,” he explained carefully. “And if there’s an occasion that requires specific attire, I’d obviously handle that as well.”
The matter-of-factness of it made your stomach flip a little. Not because it sounded controlling, it just sounded so natural to him. Like taking care of someone was instinctive. “I don’t expect constant availability,” he said quickly. “You have your own life, work, priorities. But ideally…” A slight pause. “I’d like consistency."
You nodded slowly. “What kind of consistency?” He considered the question carefully before answering. “Maybe seeing each other a couple times a week? Dinner, lunch occasionally. Events when necessary.” His mouth twitched slightly. “Possibly spending time at my apartment eventually, if you were ever comfortable with that.”
“Once or twice a week sounds reasonable,” you answered. Matt nodded once, visibly relieved that you were in agreement. “And if at any point you felt uncomfortable,” he added, “I’d want you to tell me immediately.” God. This man was exhausting.
Then Matt cleared his throat lightly. “There is one thing I should warn you about.” You blinked. “I’m probably going to draft an actual contract.”
You stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. He looked momentarily offended. “In my defense,” he said, fighting a smile now, “clear written agreement prevents misunderstandings." You laughed again, and this time Matt smiled openly in response. It was faint, but real. “I’d include things like confidentiality, expectations, allowance, termination clauses,” he explained, visibly slipping into professional mode to hide his own embarrassment, "nothing hidden."
“You saying ‘termination clauses’ on a coffee date is maybe the least sexy thing anyone’s ever done.”
God. That low rough laugh again. You were in trouble. Matt adjusted slightly in his seat before speaking again. “If you’d like,” he said carefully, “I could have something drafted by tomorrow. You could come by my office and read through it before deciding anything.”
anon: I saw ur requests were closed so this isn't a request but I wanted to know ur thoughts on dex's SO getting a necklace (or piece of jewelry) with his name or initials on it? Idk if it would be more fun to show it to him or to not say anything and wait for him to notice bc he will immediately clock it lol
Oh he’d notice immediately. Your mind anon...
This is a little nsfw I hope that's alright!
warnings 18+ (mdni) for suggestive content, gn!reader, kinda switch!dex
wc 500
He did a double-take when he saw it. Didn’t want to assume you were wearing it for him at first (especially if your name happened to start with a D, too). But he was possessed completely by how the metal initial looked contrasting your skin and pointed it out to test the waters.
“Is that new?” he’d ask, taking the hanging metal letter between two fingers.
“Yeah, do you like it?” your voice conveyed mischief and he knew he was being teased.
Which meant the initial was for his name. The nickname only you really referred to him as now.
Dex used the charm he was holding onto as leverage to pull you closer so he could steal a kiss off your lips.
He was on his knees on the kitchen floor for you in that same breath, his hand sliding under your thigh to rest it on his shoulder as the letter nestled between your collarbones glinted at him under the dim lights.
If you wore the necklace casually around the house, he had to get his tasks done before you woke up because it drove him crazy. His eyes would follow your figure, completely enamored by the fact that you chose to carry him with you everywhere you went–even to do mundane tasks like laundry.
And if you wore it to run errands, he’d ask to accompany you. Somehow this was the pinnacle of domesticity to him–proof that you belonged to each other. Grocery shopping with his initial over your heart gave him a greater adrenaline rush than when he was out on missions.
Dex would bite it between his teeth when you rode him, too. His lips against your neck, tongue catching the salty taste of sweat that gathered there from effort, trailing down until he reached the charm sitting pretty on your chest.
You’d tease him over that too, panting out a chuckle and grinning down at him knowing you’d found a way to put him in his place. His eyes were blown out with lust when he pulled back slightly to look at you. Wanting. Worshiping.
It gave you an idea.
After a particularly rough mission, Dex was finally back in bed with you. He was kissing up your body when you touched his shoulders to make him pause.
“I have something for you,”
You reached into the bedside table drawer, and pulled out a velvet box. When you opened it for him, his breath stuttered at the sight of it. A matching necklace with your first initial hanging off the chain.
He dipped his head so you could hook the chain around his neck and you tried to bite back a smile at how much it excited you.
“We match now,”
He delighted in how they tangled together when you hugged him, or when he could feel it pressing against his chest underneath his compression kevlar gear.
Pull on his necklace to choke him please, he would love it. He'd smirk as his lungs lost air, his gaze on you going lazy and dull. Don't let up, he's right where he wants to be.
Dex was already smitten, but your matching jewelry would take it over the top.
a/n well well well i got a little carried away but tysm anon for asking such a lovely question!
Summary : Dex is finally home, but his son doesn’t understand why his very scary daddy is so clingy with Mommy.
Pairing : DDBA! Benjamin Poindexter x reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : FLUFF!!! Dad!Dex, Mom!Reader, canon-typical danger referenced, assassination attempt referenced, parenting, you and Dex has a son called Leo, attachment issues, clingy! Dex, husband! Dex, fatherhood, domestic, North Star! Reader. (let me know if I missed anything!)
Word Count : 2.9k
Requested by : anon
Notes : This can be read as a standalone fic, but it’s also connected to What Makes a Good Man. All you need to know is that this takes place between DDBA season 1 and season 2. You and Dex have been married since his FBI days, and you have a son named Leo, conceived during a conjugal visit. Enjoy!
Leo had never met his daddy before Dex broke out of prison.
At least not in any way that made sense to a four-year-old.
For most of Leo’s life, Daddy had been a name in your bedtime story. A photograph tucked inside a book. A man Leo knew through your sadness, your smiles, and the way you sometimes touched your wedding ring when you thought no one was looking.
Then, suddenly, one night after the assassination attempt on Fisk’s ball, Daddy was real.
Daddy was tall. Daddy had a missing tooth and very serious eyes. Daddy wore a baseball cap when he went outside and crouched whenever Leo spoke to him, like whatever Leo had to say mattered more than anything else in the world.
Leo loved him. That part was fine. Accepting him as a fixture in his life was easy peasy.
Children had a way of accepting miracles without asking them to explain themselves. Daddy was home, so Leo held his hand. Daddy could fix broken toys, so Leo brought him broken dinosaurs. Daddy listened very carefully to the difference between a stegosaurus and an ankylosaurus, so Leo decided Daddy was smart.
And Leo loved Daddy because they had one thing in common: they both loved you.
Leo loved that Daddy loved Mommy. That was not the problem.
Honestly, Leo thought it made perfect sense. Mommy was amazing. Mommy smelled like books and soap and the cotton she wore to the library. Mommy knew where the plasters were, remembered which dinosaur was which, and always did the voices properly during bedtime stories. Mommy could tell when Leo was sad.
So, of course Daddy loved Mommy. Obviously.
Daddy loving Mommy was not confusing. But Daddy being attached to Mommy like a very large, very serious sticker was the confusing part.
Because since Daddy had come home, he had been very… clingy (he learned that word from your best friend, Uncle Jonathan). Leo noticed it immediately. Daddy stood too close to Mommy in the kitchen. Daddy followed Mommy down the hall when you went to get laundry. Daddy held on to Mommy’s waist whenever she walked past him, like he had to check she was still real. Daddy kissed Mommy’s forehead. Daddy kissed Mommy’s hand. Daddy kissed Mommy’s shoulder when she was making coffee, which made Mommy say, “Dex,” in that voice that meant you were pretending to be annoyed but were actually not annoyed at all.
And at night, Daddy was worse.
At night, when Leo was supposed to be asleep, Daddy slept in Mommy’s bed. Apparently it was also Daddy’s bed now, but Leo wasn’t ready to accept that.
And Daddy didn’t just sleep beside Mommy, but he was practically glued to Mommy!
Leo had seen it from the hallway more than once, when he was supposed to be asleep across the hall. You would be propped against the pillows, reading under the warm gold light of the bedside lamp, and Dex would be wrapped around your waist like he had been hired to keep you from floating away. His face would be half-buried against your chest, one arm heavy over your stomach, mouth pressing sleepy little kisses to your collarbone every few minutes.
You let him do it. You even smiled when he did, because you loved it.
Sometimes you put your fingers in his hair and scratched gently, and Daddy would go so still that Leo knew he liked it very much.
Leo understood affection. Leo understood love.
Leo didn’t understand, though, why Daddy was allowed to sleep with Mommy every night when Leo had to sleep by himself.
Because Leo had a room. Mommy had a room. Rabbit had a place in the dollhouse. The dinosaurs had their chest. Mommy’s library books went in her tote bag, even when you sometimes forgot three of them on the kitchen table. Shoes went by the door.
Everything had a place.
Except Daddy, apparently. Daddy’s place was just wherever Mommy was. He didn’t even have his own room!
This bothered Leo for days.
Not in a jealous way. More in a sad, practical way. Everyone needed a place. So one afternoon, Leo marched into the guest bedroom that had slowly become your office, pointed at the pull-out sofa bed and your desk, and announced, “Daddy, this can be your room.”
Dex looked up from where he had been fixing the loose hinge on the door. “My room?”
Leo nodded, very seriously. “You need one.”
Dex glanced toward the hallway, where you were making tea in the kitchen, then back at Leo. He looked confused. “I… have a room.”
Leo frowned. “Where?”
Dex said it like it was obvious. “With your mom.”
Leo went completely still. His little face folded into pure confusion. “With Mommy?”
Dex’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”
Leo stared at him like Daddy had just explained the laws of the universe incorrectly.“But that’s Mommy’s room.”
“It’s our room.”
Leo blinked.
You appeared in the doorway with two mugs just in time to watch your son’s entire worldview collapse.
Leo looked at you. Then at Dex. Then back at you.
“Mommy shares her room?”
You bit your lip.
Dex, unhelpfully, looked deeply pleased with himself, smug despite the fact that his competition was literally his own son. “Yes,” he said. “With me.”
Leo’s mouth opened. For once in his tiny life, he had no argument ready. He didn’t even know people could share rooms!
One night, though, when the apartment had gone dark, Leo climbed out of bed with his blanket dragging behind him and tiptoed down the hall. His night-light had been on, but the corner near the wardrobe still looked too shadowy, and Rabbit had fallen off the bed twice, which is probably a bad sign.
Your bedroom door was half-open.
Inside, you were trying to read.
Keyword trying, because Dex was not helping.
He was curled around you beneath the blanket, his arm around your waist, his cheek pressed against your chest. Every time your eyes moved back to the page, his mouth brushed against your skin in a lazy little kiss, like he couldn’t help himself.
“Dex,” you murmured, the book still open in one hand. “You’re distracting me.”
His voice came muffled against your skin. “Hmm.”
“I am trying to read.”
“So read.”
You lowered the book.
Dex lifted his head just enough to look at you, and Leo saw that gentle thing happen to Daddy’s face again. The thing that only happened around Mommy. Leo decided this was very sweet.
Unfortunately, Leo was also a very rule-oriented kid, so he also found it very hypocritical.
“Mommy?”
Dex went still immediately.
You looked toward the door, your eyebrows furrowing. “What is it, sweetheart?”
Leo stood in the doorway in his pyjamas, clutching his blanket with both hands. “I’m scared of the dark. Can you come sleep with me?”
Your eyes changed from curious into sympathetic. It meant Leo already knew you were about to say something disappointing and feel bad about it later.
“Oh, baby,” you said. “You’re getting bigger now. You need to try sleeping by yourself, okay? Being independent is important.”
Leo stared at you. It was very close to his father’s death stare when his eyes moved, very slowly, To Dex.
Dex, who was still wrapped around your waist.
Dex, whose face was still half-buried against your akin.
Dex, who had made no attempt to move, explain himself, or pretend he was not clinging to you for dear life.
Leo frowned. “But Daddy’s bigger than me.”
You froze. Dex’s eyes finally opened properly.
Leo pointed at him, deeply offended by the hypocrisy happening in front of him. “He should be independent first!”
What followed in the next few seconds was terrible, perfect silence.
Then you made a laugh-like sound into your hand, trying to hide it but failing.
Dex lifted his head slowly. Leo stood his ground.
He had Dex’s stubborn little mouth. Dex’s serious eyes. Dex’s absolute confidence when he believed he was right.
And unfortunately, he was right.
“Leo,” you said carefully, trying very hard to remain a responsible parent. “Daddy is…”
You looked down at Dex. Your husband looked up at you, daring you to finish that sentence.
You couldn’t.
Because what were you supposed to say?
Daddy spent seven years missing Mommy?
Daddy has attachment issues?
Daddy is a six-foot fugitive who becomes emotionally unstable if Mommy is too far away?
Daddy is emotionally dependent but we’re working on it?
Leo blinked at you, waiting for an answer, but your husband beat you to it.
“I am independent,” Dex defended himself, clearing his throat.
Dex looked down at his own arm around your waist as if discovering it there for the first time, because at this point, it was muscle memory. Then, he looked back at Leo.
“I’m protecting her.”
You chuckled, and Dex shot you a look, almost a pout.
Leo didn’t look convinced. “From what?”
Dex opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
You bit your lip to stop a laugh
That was when Leo knew he had found weakness.
He stepped farther into the room, dragging his blanket behind him like a tiny judge entering court. “There’s no bad guys in here.”
Dex’s face went serious. “There could be.”
You smacked his shoulder lightly. “Don’t scare him.”
Dex rolled his eyes, because he knew his son. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.”
Leo climbed onto the end of the bed without permission, still frowning at his father, which was funny, because it just looked like Dex and mini-Dex having the world's cutest standoff.
“If Daddy can sleep with Mommy because he’s scared of bad guys,” Leo said, “then I can sleep with Mommy because I’m scared of the dark.”
You stared at him. Dex stared at him.
Leo stared back, deeply satisfied with his own logic. It was, unfortunately, airtight.
Your resolve lasted maybe half a second. “Oh, sweetheart,” you sighed, already defeated. “Fine. I’ll come with you.”
Leo’s face lit up immediately.
You pulled the blanket back and started to climb out of bed. Dex, because he was your husband, moved at the same time. He was already sitting up, hair mussed, expression serious, one hand reaching for the edge of the blanket like it was obvious that he was coming, too.
Leo noticed, and his little smile vanished.
“No.”
You paused halfway out of bed, with one foot on the floor.
Dex looked at his son. “No?”
Leo tightened his grip around your hand and stood very straight, blanket dragging behind him like a tiny king issuing a royal decree. “Daddy can’t come.”
Dex blinked. You pressed your lips together.
“Why not?” Dex asked, and there was just enough offence in his voice to keep you amused.
Leo frowned at him, still deeply wounded by the audacity. “Because Daddy needs to practice to sleep by himself.”
You turned your face away because if you looked at Dex, you were going to laugh.
Dex stared at Leo.
Leo stared back with the calm, righteous confidence of someone who had caught a grown man breaking his own rule.
“I can sleep by myself,” Dex said, eyebrows furrowing.
Leo’s eyes dropped very pointedly to your side of the bed, where Dex had been wrapped around you two seconds ago. “You don’t.”
You made a small, helpless sound.
Leo tugged your hand, already pulling you toward the door. “Come on, Mommy.”
You let him lead you, biting your lip so hard it hurt.
Dex stayed in bed, visibly offended, the blanket pooled around his waist, looking like an assassin who had just been grounded by his four-year-old. As a result, he scoffed.
It was small, but Leo heard it.
“Daddy,” Leo said, scandalised.
Dex stared at him. “What?”
“That was rude.”
Dex closed his eyes.
For a second, you thought he might actually argue. Dex liked arguing when he thought he was right, and Dex almost always thought he was right. But then he looked at you, and the annoyance in his face tamed into something much more helpless.
Leo saw it.
Daddy loved Mommy so much. Leo liked that Daddy loved Mommy.
He did.
It made the house feel cozy.
But rules were rules.
“It’s one night, baby,” you said softly.
Dex’s teeth clenched.
He didn’t like it, that much obvious.
But Leo was watching him with solemn expectation, and Dex had been trying very hard to be good at fatherhood. Good at breakfast. Good at bedtime. Good at not moving the dinosaur chest even though he clearly still wanted to. Good at letting Leo win small things because he was his son.
So Dex exhaled through his nose. “Fine.”
Leo brightened.
Dex pointed lightly at him. “But Mommy comes back after you fall asleep.”
Leo frowned. “No. Mommy sleeps in my bed.”
Dex’s expression went flat.
“All night?” Dex asked, very annoyed now.
Leo nodded. “All night.”
Dex looked at you like betrayal had entered the marriage.
You smiled sweetly. “It’s only fair.”
“Hmmm,” Dex sighed.
“Yes,” Leo said. “Because Daddy is learning.”
Dex looked deeply unimpressed. Still, he leaned across the bed and kissed your temple. His mouth lingered against your skin, warm and reluctant, his hand coming up to cup your cheek like he was already annoyed about missing you from two rooms away.
Leo sighed loudly. Dex looked at him.
“You kiss Mommy a lot,” Leo said.
You laughed for real then.
Dex’s mouth twitched. “I’m married to her.”
Leo considered that.
“Does married mean Daddy is always cuddling mommy?”
Dex shook his head, trying to wrap around why his son was so argumentative about you. Oh right. He was his son. “No.”
Leo looked at you. “I think yes.”
Dex opened his mouth, but you reached over and patted his cheek.
“Don’t argue with him,” you said, still smiling. “He’s already won.”
Dex looked offended, but he kissed your palm anyway.
Then he leaned down and rested one large hand on top of Leo’s head. “Be good,” he said, even though he knew Leo was already a very good kid.
Leo nodded. “Be brave.”
Dex breath hitched.
Leo repeated very seriously, “Be brave, Daddy.”
Dex looked at him for a long moment, and then his voice went smaller. “I’ll try.”
So you carried Leo back to his room, even though he was big enough to walk, because sometimes being scared of the dark meant you got carried. His room smelled like clean laundry, picture books, and plastic dinosaurs. The night-light cast amber stars over the walls, and the dinosaur chest sat at the foot of the bed, exactly where Leo wanted it.
You curled yourself around him in his little bed as best you could. It was too small for you, so your knees bent awkwardly and one foot stuck out from under the blanket, but Leo looked pleased.
Your arm went over his tummy.
“Mommy?” he whispered.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Daddy loves you a lot.”
Your hand moved slowly through his hair. “Yes,” you whispered. “He does.”
“He kisses you all the time.”
You smiled in the dark. “I noticed.”
“Is that because married?”
You were quiet for a second. Then you said, “Partly.”
Leo thought about that.
“Does Daddy get scared when you’re not there?”
Your hand paused only briefly, but he felt it. To avoid thinking too much, you kissed his forehead.
“Sometimes.”
“But he’s big.”
“Yes.”
“And he has to learn.”
You laughed into his hair. “Yes. Apparently he does.”
Leo nodded, satisfied.
For a while, there was only the hum of the apartment and the faint noise of New York outside the window. Leo’s eyes grew heavy. Your hand kept moving gently through his hair until sleep pulled him under.
At some point, you fell asleep, too.
You meant to wait until Leo was settled and then secretly go back to your room. You really did. But Leo was warm, the bed was soft enough, and the apartment was silent. Your eyes closed for just a second.
Before you knew it, pale morning light was slipping through the curtains.
Leo woke first.
For a moment, he only blinked at the light on the wall. Then he noticed you still curled awkwardly around him, asleep with one arm across his middle.
Then, he noticed your hand.
It had slipped over the edge of the bed sometime in the night and… someone was holding it.
Leo lifted his head.
Daddy was on the floor.
Dex was asleep beside Leo’s bed, back against the wall, one knee bent, one arm resting on the mattress. His fingers were tangled gently with yours. He must’ve come into his room sometime in the night, found your hand, and fell asleep.
He hadn’t climbed into the bed.
So, while he may have tried to stay in his own room, he had definitely not slept by himself.
Leo stared.
Dex looked different asleep. Still serious somehow, but softer around the mouth. His black T-shirt was wrinkled. His hair was messy. He looked uncomfortable on the floor, but he was holding Mommy’s hand like it was the only place his hand belonged.
Leo looked at you. Still asleep. He looked at Daddy again. Still asleep.
Then Leo slowly reached for Stegosaurus.
He lifted it close to his mouth so he could whisper without waking either of you.
“Daddy is not independent,” Leo told it.
Stegosaurus, wisely, didn’t argue.
Leo nodded to himself. Then, after a moment, he added very softly,
“But he’s learning.”
—end.
Dex taglist : @itsdynotdaddy @diabolicallydownbad @doesanyonereadthis @meicore @pixie2k5 @bibiishin @starlitflora @pearlstiare @glorybeat @stardustworlds @castawaybarnes @supervampireflame @not-the-teen-witch @billybonesxx @ultimatewolverine @treetrees-world-of-imagiation @bitch-spaghetti-o @lostinthes4uce @cotton-eee @weallhaveadestiny @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @moonbug333 @yujyujj @mattdexx @lostfallenangelsblog @bloomsberryfairy @flimsysquid @abbotfan @leonetta2014 @ficcharsimpsblog @odairtrqsh @ugh-whytho @riverjane-d (Let me know if I missed anyone. If you want to be added, please ask/messege! it gets lost in the comments sometimes!)
Summary: Don’t let your divorce stop you from having mind-blowing sex with your ex-husband… just make sure your paths never cross at work.
Classification: Smut +18 | Ex-spouses with ongoing sexual/romantic entanglement, p-in-v penetration, oral elements implied through context, fingering/clitoral stimulation, squirting, creampie, sensory details, bondage, light breath play/choking, dominance/submission dynamics, teasing/edging elements and overstimulation, mild branding/marking kink and complicated power imbalance in a workplace context.
Word count: 5,6k
Divider by me :)
You’d tell anyone you knew never to fuck a cop, never to keep one sitting on speed dial and never to press call the second your plane touched down in his city or show up at his door past midnight like he was some bad habit you could pick back up whenever it suited you, but nobody ever said you absolutely had to practice what you preached…
After all, he had always been the exception to every rule you made for yourself, including the smart ones.
The kitchen was bathed in the warm, amber glow of the ambient lights, the scent of a simmering dinner still lingering in the air, though it had long been forgotten. Your bag lay abandoned by the front door and your clothes were a discarded trail of fabric leading across the linoleum floor to where you now sat pinned against the cold granite of the countertop.
You were completely naked, your skin warm and sensitive. One of your arms was stretched high above your head, wrist locked tight in a pair of heavy steel handcuffs that David had clicked shut around the handle of the upper cabinets. The metal was cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the searing heat of his body holding you in place.
David, still smelling of the city and the grit of his shift in the Harford County Narcotics Task Force, was positioned between your thighs. He had you folded perfectly, just the way he always liked, with one of your legs hiked high, calf resting heavily over his shoulder, while your other leg was hooked firmly around his waist. The position left you completely open, exposed and vulnerable to him.
As he pushed his cock forward and past your entrance, the sensation was overwhelming. You were incredibly tight, walls gripping him with a desperate intensity because despite the distance and complications between you, you hadn't let another man touch you. You were reserved only for him.
You both looked down together, breaths hitching in unison as you watched his thick, rigid cock slide slowly, inch by agonizing inch, into your soaking wet pussy.
The sight of the penetration and the way your flesh stretched and molded around his girth, made you gasp. You looked up at him, eyes hooded and heavy with lust and whispered in a sultry, teasing drawl, "Welcome home."
His gaze snapped to yours, blue eyes darkening with hunger. He reached up, fingers brushing your wrist as he tightened the handcuff just a fraction more, securing you firmly to the cabinetry.
"That's my line," he rasped, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your chest.
He began to move his hips, the motion slow and tentative, as if he were rediscovering every curve of your interior. You kept your eyes locked on the point of contact, mesmerized by the friction and the wet, slapping sound of your bodies meeting. David, however, couldn't look away from you. His eyes drifted down to the wedding ring that dangled from a delicate chain around your neck, resting right between your breasts, metal shimmering under the warm lights. He was still wearing his own ring, a silent testament to a bond that neither of you had truly managed to break.
As he drove deeper, the pleasure spiked, sending a jolt through your spine that made your head thud softly against the top of the cabinets. You closed your eyes, your breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches as you tried to focus on breathing, though the sensation of him filling you made it nearly impossible.
David’s large hand came up to grip the leg resting on his shoulder at the thigh, his fingers digging into your soft skin. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your ankle and the tenderness of the gesture made a pathetic, needy whine escape your throat.
"Being inside you is my home," he murmured against your skin, voice thick with emotion. "I hope you feel that."
You could only nod, head lolling back against the cabinets as he continued to fuck you, pushing all the way in until there was no space left between you. He didn't rush, he savored the tightness, the way you clung to him and the sheer eroticism of the scene.
The warm light reflected off the glistening moisture where your pussy met his girth, the lubrication making every slow slide feel like silk. You were trapped, folded and dominated, yet the intimacy was suffocatingly sweet. Every time he bottomed out, you felt the weight of him, the raw power of his body and the undeniable truth that no matter where you went, this desperate, sensual collision in a quiet kitchen was the only place you ever wanted to be.
The slow, tentative pace eventually changed, evolving into something more urgent and possessive. David’s free hand left your thigh and slid upward, fingers wrapping firmly around your throat. He didn't squeeze to hurt but the pressure was commanding, tilting your head back and exposing the line of your neck as he crashed his lips against yours. It was a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, your tongues tangling in a desperate dance that mirrored the friction between your legs. You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled and needy but he didn't slow down to enable it.
He fucked you with a renewed intensity, hips driving forward with a rhythmic force that threatened to slide you right off the granite. Your free hand scrambled across the cold countertop, fingers splaying wide as you gripped the edge to anchor yourself against the power of his thrusts. Every time he bottomed out, the impact sent a shudder through your entire frame, body vibrating from the sheer depth of him.
He was driven by a frantic sort of hunger.
He didn't know when he’d see you again because you were a ghost in his life, a beautiful haunting that appeared and disappeared at will. If he was lucky, you might stay until the morning but the probability was high that you’d be gone before he even woke up. That desperation fueled him, making every slide of his cock into your soaking pussy feel like he was trying to brand you from the inside out.
As he pulled back slightly, his gaze dropped back down to the ring dangling between your breasts. The metal shimmered against your sweaty skin, colliding softly against your chest with every heave of your breath. Your nipples had peaked, hard and sensitive, reacting to the cool air of the kitchen and the heat of his body. Your breathing accelerated into ragged gasps and the whining in your throat grew louder, echoing the wet, slapping sound of your pelvic bones colliding. Slap. Squish. Slap. The lubrication was excessive now, a thick, slippery slick that coated his shaft and leaked onto the countertop.
"I know, baby. I know what you want," he groaned, his voice a gravelly rasp.
The hand that had been on your neck moved, thumb finding your clit with pinpoint accuracy. He began to circle the swollen nub, applying a firm, rhythmic pressure that made your world tilt. You melted instantly, a violent shudder racking your spine as the dual stimulation of his cock filling you and his thumb teasing your peak pushed you toward the edge.
Suddenly, he withdrew. He slid out of you slowly, the vacuum of your tight walls creating a wet, popping sound as he fully exited. You both watched, breathless, as he held himself just an inch away, tapping the head of his thick, glistening cock against your opening and clit. A string of clear, viscous slick stretched between the two of you, a glistening bridge of arousal that snapped as he pushed back in.
He forced you to look at him, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that felt like it could strip you bare all over again. He captured your lips in another deep, tongue-heavy kiss, this time pulling you flush against him, eliminating every millimeter of space.
"Try not to rip out the cabinet door, will you?" he murmured against your lips, a ghost of a smirk playing on his mouth.
You smiled, a smartass retort forming on your tongue but before you could utter a word, he slammed out and back into you. At the same moment, his fingers reached up to pinch and roll one of your hardened nipples. You let out a deep moan that vibrated in your throat, eyes rolling back as the pleasure became an all-consuming wave. This was the only cure for the day you'd had, the raw, unfiltered dominance of the only man who truly knew your body.
"Nobody else in Baltimore to fuck, huh?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, teasing rumble as he trailed kisses down your jawline.
Above you, the handcuffs rattled violently against the cabinet, the steel clinking as you strained against the restraint, itching to wrap your arms around him and pull him even deeper. Your free hand reached out, clutching at his shoulder, nails digging into his skin.
"Only one who knows how," you moaned, voice breaking.
The pace accelerated into a blur of heat and friction. The sound of body slapping echoed through the quiet kitchen, a combination of the rhythmic, wet thud of his hips hitting your inner thighs, the squelch of your pussy gripping his cock and the heavy sound of your combined breathing. He was fucking you raw, movements becoming more primal, driving into you with a force that left you breathless and trembling, the wetness between your legs turning into a frothy lather as he continued to claim you.
The friction intensified, the rhythm now changing to frantic. David’s hips became a blur of motion, driving into you with a relentless force that made the kitchen cabinets groan under the strain. You were locked in a feverish kiss, tongues battling for dominance while your breathing began to falter. The air in your lungs seemed to vanish, replaced by a mounting, electric tension that coiled tight in the pit of your stomach, radiating downward toward the point where you were fused together.
As the orgasm began to crest, David shifted his grip. He reached up, palm curling around the wedding ring dangling against your skin and clutching one of your breasts in a firm, bruising hold. He pressed the metal and your flesh hard into his palm, massaging them closer to your heart. He wanted the imprint of that ring, the symbol of what you once were and what he still claimed you to be, to be branded into your skin by the sheer pressure of his desire.
Your lips parted in a silent plea for release that escaped you. Your foreheads met, skin slick with sweat and together you both looked down. You watched the sight of his thick, glistening cock disappearing completely into your soaking wet folds, the skin of your pussy stretched taut and glistening with a lather of arousal.
"Come on, I know you have it...breathe," he commanded, voice low.
The combination of his voice, the visual of his cock burying itself inside you and the agonizingly perfect friction triggered the collapse. You gasped for air, a sharp, jagged intake of breath that broke into a series of high, needy moans. Your body suddenly shuddered with it, your internal walls clamping down on him in a series of rhythmic, involuntary spasms. Your pussy twitched and pulsed around his cock, gripping him with a desperate tightness that nearly brought him to his knees.
He forcefully kept his hips moving, driving through the waves of your climax, refusing to let you simply drift away. Every time he withdrew almost entirely, the vacuum of your orgasm triggered a release and you began to squirt, jets of clear, hot fluid spraying across his pelvis and the floor with a wet, splashing sound. Squelch. Splash. Slap. The sound of the lubrication and the squirting became a symphony of filth, the air smelling of sex and salt.
"I'll never get tired of seeing you cum," he groaned, voice thick with a primal hunger. “Fucking love to see it.”
The sight of you unraveling, body shaking and leaking all over him, pushed him over the edge.
His cock gave a sudden throb deep inside your walls and with a deep-chested groan, he finally broke. He slammed himself into you one last time, pinning you against the cabinets as he began to cum.
You felt the hot, thick pulses of his seed erupting from him, filling you up in heavy, rhythmic bursts. The sensation was that of a flood of warmth that seemed to reach your very core. David’s entire body shivered, his muscles locking up as he poured himself into you, his breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cabinet beside your head, chest heaving against your breasts once he finally released his grip.
You stayed there for a long moment, suspended in the afterglow, the only sound the heavy, synchronized thumping of your hearts and the dripping of fluids onto the floor. Your hiked-up leg remained there, though it now trembled from the intensity of the release. Your hand moved from his shoulder, sliding up to the nape of his neck, nails running through his hair as you felt the last of his cum fill you to the brim.
As the silence of the kitchen returned, you felt the cold steel of the handcuffs biting into your wrists. You knew there would be angry marks to hide the following morning, bruises that would serve as a map of this encounter but as you felt the heavy, warm weight of him still inside you, you didn't care.
You hoped he stayed branded inside you, a secret, liquid mark of his possession that you would carry with you wherever you disappeared to next.
David couldn’t stop thinking about it almost a month later, which pissed him off more than he cared to admit, because he was sitting in the middle of an active investigation surrounded by cops who expected him to be paying attention, expected him to be chasing leads and to be doing literally anything besides staring through the glow of his computer screen while his chair rocked lazily from side to side beneath him.
The task force had spent days chasing a surname that seemed to exist everywhere and nowhere at the same time, buried beneath dead ends, sealed records, reluctant witnesses and databases that returned absolutely nothing useful and every road they took somehow circled back to the same frustrating conclusion: somebody was protecting somebody else and nobody wanted to talk or cooperate.
They were stuck and all he could clearly think about was…sex.
“Any luck?” Gordon’s voice cut through the room as he abandoned his desk and walked toward the printer.
David blinked and sat forward, forcing himself back into the present. “No.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw and shook his head. “I’m thinking we should make some calls.”
Across the room Gordon slapped the side of the printer after it refused to cooperate for the third time. A second later the machine groaned to life. “Calls to who?”
David’s gaze drifted away from the desk phone and landed on his personal cellphone instead.
He shrugged. “We’re wasting time trying to guess.” His thumb moved the mouse through photographs, names, reports and connections on his screen, trying to find something they’d missed while staring at the same evidence for days. “There might be someone I could ask.”
Gordon grabbed the fresh page from the printer and started scanning it. “Your buddy in intelligence?” He watched as David shook his head. “Wouldn’t it go against protocol?”
David laughed without humor. “Fuck protocol. We’re stuck.” He leaned back again. “We want the same thing…It’d be a favor I won’t have to pay back.”
Gordon considered that for a moment, eyes moving across the growing list of dealers, suppliers, runners and associates cluttering the page in his hand.
Finally he sighed. “Make the call.”
David nodded and reached for his phone but the movement stopped halfway once Scott walked into the office looking like he’d just swallowed something unpleasant.
His shoulders hung lower than usual, while his expression was that of annoyance and resignation. “The feds are here.”
The room around them went quiet as he pointed toward the conference room before turning around again, already moving towards it because nobody asked questions or needed to.
David exchanged a look with Gordon before pushing himself off his chair and following the rest of the task force down the hallway.
The conference room was already full by the time they arrived. Half the unit was sitting around the tables or against them while the other half leaned against walls staring forward as several people in suits stood at the front beside the whiteboard that had become a graveyard of photographs, names, timelines and theories.
David walked in last, feet faltering once his eyes locked onto yours and for a second, the entire room disappeared.
You stood at the front beside other federal agents and Andrea Smith herself, head of the Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force, posture straight, expression unreadable and hands folded neatly in front of you like you belonged there.
Like you owned the room…and this wasn’t the first time you’d been standing across from him while holding all the cards.
His jaw tightened which you noticed, because nobody in that room knew him the way you did. They didn’t know how quickly irritation settled into the corners of his mouth or the difference between David being angry and David trying very hard not to be.
This wasn’t anger yet but it definitely was disappointment that came from realizing somebody had been sitting on information they probably should’ve shared a long time ago.
Andrea cleared her throat once everyone settled.
“It seems our investigation has crossed jurisdictional lines. I’ll be giving the FBI the lead and I expect everyone here to cooperate so we can continue moving this case forward together.”
Murmurs spread through the room but Andrea ignored them and stepped aside as you stepped forward. For the briefest second your eyes met David’s again before your attention moved to the rest of the room.
“I want to reassure everyone that we’re not here to take over your case or claim credit for work you’ve already done. We’ve simply been assigned to prevent this investigation from moving into areas that exceed your jurisdiction.”
“And those are?” Scott asked from somewhere behind David.
You didn’t hesitate. “Confidential.” Several groans answered that but you continued. “We’re operating as a joint federal task force.”
You motioned toward the agents beside you. “Organized crime and drug enforcement, financial crimes and safe streets.” Your gaze swept across the room already preparing for the reactions. “I’m Special Agent in Charge…McDougall.”
The room went silent. David’s expression didn’t change but Gordon turned so fast his chair nearly tipped over while a few other heads moved between the two of you, the same sudden realization spreading through the room.
You continued. “I’m assigned to the Public Corruption Unit and you’ll be answering to me.”
Eyes continued to drift toward David with varying degrees of subtlety but when half a room of cops tried to be discreet at exactly the same time it stopped being subtle altogether, becoming its own loud, awkward thing that settled over the room. The shift in attention was immediate and impossible to miss. Men who had spent years reading witnesses, suspects, informants and each other were suddenly pretending they weren’t looking directly at him.
David felt every second of it. Still, his eyes never left you.
You let the silence sit for a moment, long enough to make everyone uncomfortable without letting it turn into a spectacle.
“I know this isn’t ideal,” you said, your voice level and controlled, your attention moving around the room now instead of lingering on him. “Nobody likes finding out their case has a ceiling they didn’t know was there. That’s not a reflection of your work, it’s a reflection of how far this thing goes.”
Your hands remained clasped together in front of you. “What you’ve built here matters. The names, the patterns, the connections and the dead ends–” You paused. “Especially the dead ends…We need all of it.”
You reached back and tapped the whiteboard behind you.
“From this point forward your chain of command remains intact for everything that stays inside your jurisdiction. The moment something crosses into ours, it comes through me first. Not around me, not after the fact…but first.” Your eyes swept across the room again. “I’m not asking anyone here to trust us…I’m asking you to work with us while you decide whether you do.”
You took a step back which was the universal signal that the speech was over. “Any questions?”
David nearly rolled his eyes before the sentence had fully left your mouth because he knew what was coming. In his peripheral vision Scott’s hand was already halfway in the air.
You pointed at him. “Go ahead.”
Scott sat forward slightly. “Any relation to…” His finger pointed toward David and the room somehow became even quieter.
“Yes.” You didn’t hesitate.
If cooperation was going to happen, you knew some things were better handled immediately rather than letting rumors do the work for you. You’d made peace with that possibility years ago when you decided not to change your name.
“He’s my ex-husband.”
A slow ripple of realization moved through the room. Several heads turned as pairs of eyes dropped to David’s left hand and to the wedding band he still wore, then to yours which was bare.
The silence thickened again so you cut through it before it could settle. You tilted your head. “Do you also want to know my blood type?”
Scott blinked with a scoff. “What the hell would I want–”
“You came up with one stupid question.” You shrugged. “I was checking to see if you had another.”
A few snorts escaped around the room. Scott looked offended while Gordon looked like he was trying not to laugh and failing miserably at it.
You didn’t give anyone the opportunity to continue. “We’ll be set up in that room over there.” You pointed toward an office near the back. “So you can keep using this space freely.”
Then you turned toward your own team. “Try not to step all over these gentlemen’s work…Get to it.”
The room finally started moving again, chairs scraped, papers shuffled and people stood while conversations started in low voices and the spell broke. At least for everyone except David, because while everyone else was thinking about jurisdiction disputes, federal oversight and whatever fresh headache had just landed on their desks, he was thinking about you.
Specifically how the hell he’d let this happen without seeing it coming.
His gaze found yours again and for a second it looked like you might actually walk up to him and speak but then a ringtone sliced through the noise.
You grabbed your phone and answered quickly. “Mcdougall.” A second later your posture straightened. “Yes, ma’am.”
You turned away and headed for the hallway, the conversation already pulling your attention elsewhere.
David watched you disappear through the doorway before finally pushing himself upright.
“You in bed with the feds?” Scott’s voice stopped him halfway across the room.
David turned slowly and could see that the look on his face wasn’t accusatory so much as deeply curious which somehow made it worse. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
The response came automatically, so sharp that it made several nearby heads turn.
Scott raised an eyebrow. “Ex-wife by the looks of it…I’m wondering how your current wife feels about that statement.”
“What?” For the first time all afternoon David genuinely looked confused.
Gordon finally walked over and without a word, pointed toward David's wedding band. His jaw tightened as he followed their gazes before looking between them again, but mostly at Scott.
“You do ask stupid questions.” David shook his head and walked away before either of them could continue.
A few minutes later you stepped back into the room, phone still in your hand after ending the call. The conversation around you continued uninterrupted as most people had already returned to work, except for your ex-husband who was already moving towards you.
“Talk for a second.”
There wasn’t even the slightest attempt to make it sound like a question. He didn’t stop or wait to check whether you’d agree. He simply kept walking and the assumption that you’d follow him was still firmly intact after all these years.
To your mild annoyance, you did.
He reached an empty interrogation room near the end of the hallway and held the door open for you. The second you stepped inside, he followed and shut it behind you both, letting the click of the latch echo in the small room.
You opened your mouth immediately, clearly prepared to smooth things over before the conversation could become an argument but David beat you to it.
“Is this what that night was?” He asked, the implied accusation as clear as nothing else could’ve been. ”Merely getting info out of me?...That was a low blow.”
The claim landed harder than either of you expected, because David was angry enough to reach for whatever explanation hurt the most and you could see him doing it in real time, trying to force pieces together into a version of events that made sense to him, one where he hadn’t been blindsided in front of his own task force, one where he hadn’t spent the last month remembering you in ways that made him feel like a complete idiot.
You stared at him for a second before a humorless laugh escaped you, the sheer absurdity of it catching you off guard. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t get shit out of you because we were too fucking busy having sex.”
His jaw flexed. “No,” he shook his head. “I’m sure you made it fit somehow in there.”
Your eyebrows shot upward. “Yeah, definitely. I think it was somewhere between the third and the fourth round…Was it before or after we fucked in the hallway on the way to the shower?” You asked sarcastically.
He threw his arms to the side. “Sure. I don’t fucking know…you always were a great multitasker.”
You rolled your eyes. “Fuck you.”
His laugh came out sharp and immediate.
“You did and that’s my fucking problem. You did a month ago and now you’re fucking me again, except this time I’m clothed and at work which makes it way less fun, by the way.” he shook his head, running a hand over his head in frustration. “I should’ve known.”
There was the real problem and it surprisingly wasn't the FBI and the jurisdiction nightmare sitting outside that door. It was you and the fact that you’d shown up after all that time and he’d simply opened the door without a second thought.
“Known what?”
His eyes locked onto yours.
“You hate Baltimore! You always have, even when we were married. You couldn’t wait to get back to Quantico,” He motioned towards you. “That night you showed up at the house and I just…I let you in. I didn’t question why you were there, and I should’ve. I’m a detective, for crying out loud…It’s my fucking job.”
The statement almost made you laugh because it was true, absurdly so. “You didn’t ‘let me in’ David, you just never asked for the keys back, which means it’s still my house.”
In all the years since the divorce, through every argument, every period of silence and every failed attempt at pretending you were finished with each other, it had never once occurred to him to ask for those keys back.
“Then why did you ring the doorbell?” He asked, frustration slipping through the cracks.
You shrugged. “I don’t fucking know. What if you had company? Excuse me for being considerate.” A dry laugh escaped you. “I’m so sorry, that’s always been my greatest flaw.”
The answer visibly offended him. His face twisted, like you’d said something genuinely unreasonable.
“I’m not seeing anyone, much less bringing them into our home,” he pointed.
The words hung between you heavily and neither of you dared correct his words, you simply nodded as something in you gave way and the fight bled out at once, your voice softening before you even fully realized it had.
“I was wrong for that, okay? It’s your space…and we agreed to keep it that way. I should’ve just gotten a hotel room–”
The second the apology appeared, David’s expression changed enough for you to recognize the discomfort immediately. He hated apologies from you, always had, especially when he didn’t deserve one. He let out a slow breath as he shook his head and stepped closer.
You continued. “I was here for work but I swear it wasn’t about your case. I didn’t even know it was yours when I agreed to it and when I found out, I–”
His hand came up, settling against your neck and jaw with a familiarity that neither of you thought twice about. His thumb rested near your cheek as his expression softened.
“Okay, that’s enough. I’m sorry–” he said, bringing your face to his in a deep searing kiss.
The apology barely registered past the contact of his mouth on yours, the words dissolving into the space between breath and impact and whatever resistance you still had left in you didn’t even pretend to last because your hand was already catching the front of his shirt, pulling him back in like instinct had taken over where restraint should’ve been.
The apology actually surprised you more than the kiss did. It always did with him, that sudden shift from bite to something almost careful and honest, as if he didn’t know how to stay angry at you for longer than it took to get close enough to forget why he started it.
“You’re an asshole,” you said in between kisses as his lips curled into a smile.
That smile made it slower and linger instead of resolve, muscle memory was doing half the work for him while the rest of him kept dragging the moment out, refusing to let it end cleanly.
“I know…I know, baby,” he mumbled as he went in for more, tilting your head up for better access. “But you could’ve called.”
His mouth pressed back onto yours soon after, he was trying to make a point without words.
You exhaled into it without meaning to, the sound swallowed between you as he moved closer, crowding the space without actually moving you anywhere else, just pinning the moment in place with nothing but presence and the familiar arrogance of someone who knew exactly what he was doing to you and didn’t care.
Years of habit were overriding every sensible thought either of you should have been having and for a few reckless seconds it became dangerously easy to forget where you were, that there were federal agents, detectives and task force members less than fifty feet away.
Only then did reality return and you pushed firmly against his chest to create distance as you stepped back and he didn’t try to stop you, just watched while you couldn’t help but lick your lips subtly.
“I fucking hate you.” It came out entirely without conviction.
His grin widened as he moved to sit on the edge of the desk nearby and crossed his arms. “You hate that you don’t.” He paused. “And I don’t like how easily ‘ex-husband’ slipped out…so watch your mouth while we’re at it.” he cautioned playfully.
Your brows lifted while a reluctant smile threatened to appear. “Excuse me? Are we not divorced? I mean, we’re not great at it but–”
“I didn’t say that.“ he shrugged. “I said I don’t like how it sounded.”
You laughed under your breath. “Well, too bad. I remember you in court when it happened…and I didn’t put a gun to your head to sign those papers.” You shrugged.
The smile disappeared from his face. “No, I know.” His voice was quieter now, not revealing even a fraction of what crossed his mind every time he remembered that courthouse, every signature, document and opportunity he could have stopped it but didn’t. “...Would’ve told you to make sure you didn’t miss.”
The honesty of it caught you off guard. You looked away first. “I have to go.”
His eyes tracked your movement as you stepped toward the door. “Hate to see it.”
Your hand almost reached the doorknob before you stopped, turning back as professionalism slid back into place. “And just in case you were too busy thinking about sex out there while I was talking, I’m your boss now…a helpful indicator being that we’re both dressed and vertical,” you pointed out, making sure your bedroom tendencies and dynamics didn’t bleed into your jobs.
David nodded once. “Yes ma’am.”
You narrowed your eyes as he looked entirely too pleased with himself and your hand finally settled on the doorknob.
“I love you” he waited, seeing as you still weren’t moving. “Say it back.”
“I’m on the clock and your superior...I’ll say it at lunch.” You pulled the door open, the hallway noise immediately spilled back into the room.
“As long as I get to slide home tonight.” He said under his breath as he got up and followed.
You shook your head as you stepped through the doorway, fighting a smile that absolutely did not belong on the face of a Special Agent in Charge.
David let the door close behind him and knew two things with complete certainty. The first was that working under his ex-wife was going to be a disaster and the second was that by the end of this assignment, he’d be getting down on one knee again…whether it was to sate his primal hunger, sucking the honey right from the source or to propose again, he didn’t know.
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
Bridgerton/Regency AU | Dex x fem!Reader where Lord Benjamin Poindexter duels every man who flirts with you and leaves a trail of dead suitors in your wake.
TW: implied stalking, suggestive sexual themes, parental verbal abuse, duels/murder, obsessive jealousy, dark romance, but daddy, I love him! vibes
Lord Benjamin Poindexter, Duke of Arrowhead, is a violent man.
And somehow, somehow, you are the problem because you like it.
You are the daughter of a viscount. Unfortunately, you are also a romantic to the point of self-destruction. You want a love match, the kind poets lose sleep over. Your father, unfortunately, wants you married to Lord Daniels, a man thirty years your senior with fine manners, excellent prospects, and the emotional texture of damp bread.
Worse, Lord Daniels looks at you as though you are already his property. Not a woman with thoughts, wants, or a heart of your own, but rather just a pretty vessel meant to warm his bed, bear his heir, and behave while doing it.
And god forbid you have hobbies! He treats your love of plants like a defect, like a girlish little habit he intends to prune out of you after the wedding.
So when you try to make your father understand that you cannot marry Lord Daniels, he does not listen. He calls you a selfish bitch.
You get into a screaming match with him after that. You tell him he is selling you off. He tells you that you are ruining your own future.
By the time you start crying, you’re running out of the house.
You are not running forever, of course. You are not foolish enough to think you could survive alone outside your father’s house, let alone in the wild.
You just need space from your family.
So you run into the woods behind the estate, skirts damp, gloves dirtied, face hot with rage, needing only to be alone for a little while.
And that is where you meet Lord Poindexter.
Every woman in Mayfair knows of him but none of them truly knows him. Your mother once said he was “a fine match, of course,” then immediately followed it with, “Though there is something rather severe about him.”
Severe is one word. Dangerous is better.
He is hunting alone when he finds you, rifle in hand, coat across his shoulders. He frightens you, a little.
But then he lowers the rifle the moment he sees your tears. “My lady.”
“Your Grace.”
His eyes move over you, like he is cataloguing every sign of distress and deciding who must be punished for it.
You should curtsy and leave. Instead, you talk.
You tell him about Lord Daniels. About your father. About marriage without love. You tell him you would rather disappear into the woods than be handed over to a man who thinks your hobby is an inconvenience.
“I think I would like to marry a man who knows the difference between a daisy and a dahlia,” you say, bitterly.
That earns you another almost-smile. “Daisies,” he says.
“What?”
“You like daisies?”
You blink, thrown by the gentle edge of the question.
“Yes,” you say. “My favourite, in fact. They are not grand, but they survive almost anywhere. People overlook them because they are common, but I think that is rather unfair.”
Dex looks at you. He looks and looks and looks.
“My lady,” he says finally, “I do not think Lord Daniels deserves you.”
Your breath catches in the cold air. “You hardly know me, Your Grace.”
His eyes do not move away from yours. “Not yet.”
Hello?
What the hell do you mean, Lord Poindexter?
Because what is that? Who says that in the woods to a crying viscount’s daughter he has known for less than an hour? A madman, maybe. A loaded pistol in human form.
He escorts you to the threshold of your home, kisses your gloved fingers before he leaves, and you spend the whole night staring at your ceiling and thinking about him like an idiot.
The next morning, Lord Daniels is dead because he had been challenged to a duel.
Apparently, he has been shot through the heart at dawn by Lord Poindexter.
Oh, Lady Whistledown is frothing at the mouth.
The entire ton becomes rabid, because even the scribe doesn’t know why the Duke of Arrowhead challenged him to a duel. Some say Daniels owed him money. Some say Daniels insulted him at cards. Some say there was an argument over hunting rights. The men insist it must have been something respectable and masculine, because God forbid a duke shoot another lord over a girl he met weeping in the woods the day before.
But you know Dex loaded that pistol for you.
By afternoon tea, Lord Poindexter comes calling, telling your father that he would like to court his daughter.
He brought the biggest bouquet of daisies you had ever seen.
Your father grinds his teeth and hesitates, because Lord Poindexter has just killed your intended.
But also…
He is a duke.
A rich duke.
A handsome duke.
A rich, handsome duke who has come calling with flowers for your mother’s daughter, who, as your mother very gently reminds your father, has not exactly been cooperative with any of the men your father has presented to her.
So eventually, he is allowed into the drawing room.
Your father looks like he is swallowing a knife. Your mother looks like she is watching a scandal unfold in real time.
And Dex looks only at you. He gives you the daisies like the dead man between you is merely an unfortunate scheduling matter.
From there, it snowballs.
Lord Benjamin Poindexter becomes devoted to you in a way that makes every ballroom feel like a crime scene waiting to happen.
He appears at social events he would once have avoided. He stands at the edge of every room in black gloves, watching you like the rest of the ton is background noise. He asks you to dance, and people are speechless, because the Duke of Arrowhead famously does not dance at balls.
Except now he does.
With you, and only you.
He is not charming with anyone else, though. Other ladies still try to speak to him (again, handsome, rich, duke). They flutter their lashes and smile and ask about his estate, his hunting, his views on town.
He gives them nothing.
Then you walk up and mention that your new fern cutting is struggling, and suddenly this man is leaning in like you have declared war on France.
“What kind of fern?”
“Maidenhair.”
“How much light does it need?”
And you talk and talk and talk, and the other ladies stare because this is not the Duke of Arrowhead they know. This man remembers the layout of your greenhouse, even when he claims he has never been there. He remembers the variety of your roses. He knows the shade your orchids prefer.
He remembers everything.
And God help every Lord who even attempts to talk to you.
A lord compliments your figure too boldly?
Duel, shot through the head.
A viscount laughs about Lord Daniels and your “unfortunate effect on men”?
Duel, shot in the bowels and bled to death.
A gentleman grips your waist too hard at a ball, and you come crying to Dex because you feel ruined?
Duel. Shot through the liver at dawn so he feels the pain as the light drains from his eyes.
There are dead lords behind you now. Injured lords. Ruined lords. Men leaving London for their “health.” Men avoiding your side of the ballroom as though you are cursed.
And maybe you should be horrified.
But there is a terrible and satisfying feeling curling inside you every time Dex’s eyes tunnel across a room because another man has made a pathetic attempt to court you.
You feel… flattered.
Your mother is like, “He cannot continue challenging every gentleman who causes you discomfort.”
Your father is like, “He is making you impossible to marry.”
And you are like…
Is he?
Or is he making me impossible to marry to anyone but him?
Because Dex is not stupid.
He knows what this does. Every duel ties your name tighter to his. Society begins to understand your honour as his territory, your reputation as his concern.
He wants the whole ton to know that touching you, wanting you, and embarrassing you comes with consequences.
Yes, he wants you ruined if ruined means no one else can have you. And the night Dex actually ruins you, it happens at Lord Ashcombe’s ball.
Ashcombe has been secretly admiring you all season like a man too stupid to notice the bodies piling up behind him. He asks for a dance with you and says it would be rude to refuse the host.
And you know Dex is watching.
Usually, you would say no. But today, you were feeling particularly brave and you wanted to test the limits of Dex’s affections. So you say yes.
Dex becomes murderously jealous almost immediately.
Dex watches Ashcombe’s hand settle at your waist and crushes the wine glass in his hands. You smile and pretend not to hear the shatter.
The moment the dance ends, Dex pulls you out to the garden and corners you there.
The wisteria hangs heavy overhead, purple and soft and romantic in the most damning way. The music from the ballroom is muffled behind glass. Your heart is still racing from the dance, from the thrill of knowing you provoked him and he came exactly as you knew he would.
“What was that?” He demanded.
And you pout, because apparently you have lost all sense of self-preservation. “Perhaps I am tired of waiting for a proposal.”
His jaw tightens. “You think I will not ask?”
“You have not even asked my father for my hand.”
And oh.
Oh, that wounded him. “I will.”
See, you don’t understand that yet. Dex is not delaying because he doubts his love for you. He is delaying because he is who he is. Because in his head, before he asks your father and puts the ring on your finger, he must clear the field.
He must eliminate every man who wants you and every lord who thinks he still has a chance.
And yes, that is deranged, but he enjoys hunting his romantic rivals for sport. He loves the fact that he gets to prove, again and again, that wanting you is dangerous unless you are him.
But then you ask with sad lashes, “How do I know you’re not lying, Your Grace?”
And Dex goes very still.
Then he kisses you.
His hands are on you at once, crushing your silk dress, dragging you closer. He kisses you like he is furious you ever doubted him. Like your mouth is the only argument he needs.
You should stop him.
You could.
You do not.
Instead, you kiss him back and sigh a triumphant yes, knowing no other man will have you now.
Eventually his hands bunches up your skirts and rips your undergarments. You gave a breathless little panic gasp, knowing no lady should let a man touch her like this before marriage.
Dex turns you carefully, presses you forward until he bends you over the garden wall, one gloved hand braced beside yours, the other holding you at the waist like he is both keeping you steady and making a claim.
“You want to know,” he murmurs, voice rough against your ear, “what husbands and wives do?”
Your breath catches.
“I need to hear you say it, Your Grace,” he says. Dex’s mouth brushes the shell of your ear, and you know that is not your title yet. You do not have a duchy. But it is the title you will take if he marries you.
When, you remind yourself, not if.
“Y-yes, Your Grace,” you managed.
“That’s my good girl,” he breathes, gloved hand tightening at your waist.
So Dex fucks you there beneath the wisteria, with the ballroom glowing behind the windows and your fingers trembling against old stone. He takes you, letting you adjust to his size as he ruins you completely and makes you understand exactly what he means to give to you once you are his wife.
He talks to you through it in that low voice, telling you this is what he will give you on your wedding night, and every night after, telling you he would not ruin you if he did not intend to keep you, telling you no other man will ever know you like this because no other man will live long enough to try.
You hate that it works.
You hate that every possessive word goes through you like fire. You hate that you believe him most when he is like this.
And when you fall apart for him, he holds you and kisses your temple through it, ever so gentle.
He destroys your reputation with the tenderness of a man arranging flowers.
By the time it is over, your legs are unsteady, your mouth is swollen, your skirts are a scandal, and Dex is still pressed close behind you.
Then, you turn your head and see Lord Ashcombe at the edge of the path.
He looks pale and absolutely destroyed by what he has walked in on.
You glanced at Dex in a panic, but he is just casually buckling up his trousers and smiling.
That's when you realised that Dex wanted you two to get caught.
He knew Ashcombe slipped into this part of the garden to smoke, that’s why he dragged you here, of all places! This was a trap. This was the hunting for sport he loved so much.
This was Dex proving his love in the most deranged way possible: by ruining you just enough to make Ashcombe understand he had already lost.
Dex adjusts your skirts while challenging him to a duel for your honour.
By dawn, Ashcombe is dead.
By noon, Dex comes calling again with more daisies.
Your mother sits down very slowly. Your father says no when Dex asks for your hand.
Dex only raised an eyebrow like it was a minor obstacle.
So he leaves and comes back with a deed. He has bought you the largest greenhouse in the country.
A scandalous duke with dead men in his wake gives you a kingdom of flowers and expects your father to keep saying no?
Please.
Your father’s protests are running thin. Your reputation is half-shredded. Your mother is exhausted. The ton already speaks of you as though you are his. Men no longer ask for your hand because they enjoy having all their organs where they are.
So finally, your father agrees.
Dex proposes in the garden with daisies everywhere, because of course he does. Because the man is unwell and romantic and terrifying and yours.
He kneels in the dirt like a duke who has never cared less about being a duke.
And you say yes with your whole stupid romantic heart.
Lady Whistledown writes of speculation like the ink has been laced with laudanum. Your mother cries. Your father looks like he’s biting through bullets. The remaining eligible men of London quietly celebrate surviving the season.
And Dex looks at you at the altar like every dead lord was simply the road he took to reach you.
You wanted a love match?
Congratulations.
You got a love match with a body count.
—
note: reminder! This is a hear me out, so no taglist. Also, eventual full fic of this, yay or nay? (Might take me a year at this point lol)
summary: bob has a bad habit of letting his subconscious thoughts flood his sleep with dirty visions of you, but what happens when he accidentally shows you one of them while practicing his telepathic abilities.
content: 18+, cursing, smut, descriptions of sexual activites, wet dreams let’s gooo, we got some fluff in this one, pining lots of pining, kinda really corny at times sorry!, takes place after the events of the movie, angst if you squint, sad boy bob feeling a bit of self-pity, comforting!reader, mentions of the other thunderbolt characters bc i think its cutie that they’re like a big family
word count: 4.7k
author’s note: i tried to make the readers job as vague as possible bc i don’t know shit about shit and i don’t need y’all coming for me. sorry for ending this the way i did, but i thought i’d try something new and write a fic that isn’t straight up boot-nasty style fucking… also it would’ve been like 10k words and ya girl was getting antsy
Bob’s name rang across his own mind, repeated in your soft voice. It wrapped him in a smooth silk ribbon, begging him to give in to the sweet temptation of your moans.
Over and over again you called out to him while he hovered over you. His thrusts were deep and all consuming, as his hands found their way over the supple expanse of your bare skin— familiar and foreign all at once.
He could feel the heat bubbling at his core, threatening to spill into the consolation of your body spread before him.
And then, all at once, his hold on your hips gave way, and the warm skin beneath his touch began to feel far more flimsy, and cool to the touch.
He grasped for your body, hungry to feel the fullness of your flesh at his fingertips only to be met with a handful of polyester.
His comforter.
His fist was pulling at the olive green duvet adorning his bed, and his hips were thoughtlessly rutting against the mattress.
Without opening his eyes, he buried his face into the pillow wedged underneath his head, huffing a defeated sigh into it as the realization struck him.
He was dreaming about you, again.
And not just any dream, but a pathetically disgusting wet dream. One that had drool pooling at the corner of his mouth and his dick twitching in his pajama pants.
Rolling onto his back, he opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.
The sunlight filtering through the curtains and the distant sounds of morning traffic from far below created a lovely backdrop of self-loathing, as he shook his head in disbelief at his own subconscious.
This was the third time in two weeks that he had dreamt of you in a less than suitable scenario— which was incredibly inappropriate given your strictly professional relationship.
He had absolutely no business dreaming about your naked body underneath his, and the sweet little moans that might slip past your lips in bed.
He felt like some sort of sick, deprived freak for even having those thoughts about you. You’d been nothing but kind to him from the moment you met. You were his co-worker, or perhaps more-so his employee, but either way, your relationship was meant to be professional.
Bucky had enlisted your help. He’d known you during his short stint in politics and knew you were just who they needed to negotiate with Valentina.
With your PR and legal experience you became a somewhat glorified manager for the new avengers, working as a protective barrier between them and De Fontaine.
What began as brief meetings and hesitant extensions of trust between you and the crew of rag tag superheroes, became shared jokes over takeout and collaborative conversations about their future.
You’d grown closer with each member of the Thunderbolts over months of keeping a constant presence in the tower, but your connection with Bob was almost immediate.
You noticed him right away— the way he purposefully carried himself in such an invisible manner.
In meetings, everyone was always so loud, fighting to be heard. Yelena, Alexei, John— even Bucky and Ava who could sometimes sit in silence— had no issue raising their voices to get their point across. But Bob was always quiet, watching idle and content as everyone else brought their opinions to the table.
After your first, and incredibly chaotic, scheduled meeting, you pulled him aside.
“Did you have anything to add?”
Your question wasn’t sarcastic or antagonizing, but instead filled with silent observation and curiosity.
Besides your initial introduction, that was the first time you’d spoken to him directly, and the way your eyes peered up at him, almost made him melt into the floor.
“No.” He wrinkled his brows and shook his head, with a polite grin on his lips.
“You sure? Everyone had quite a lot to say, I’d be more than happy to write down any conditions or stipulations that you have.” You didn’t take your eyes off of him as you spoke.
He just stared, carefully shaking his head, still in a daze of intimidation while unintentionally taking notice of the differing hues in your eyes.
“Questions? Anything?” You kept talking and he thought he might combust.
“No, I think I’m good.” He was smiling kindly despite the frantic thoughts running through his mind. He couldn’t pinpoint why he was so nervous talking to you. Maybe it was because he could smell the faint aroma of your perfume and hear the gentle melodic beating of your heart.
“Well if you think of anything let me know. It’s what I’m here for.”
With those last words you offered him a close-lipped smile and left the room.
A few days after that encounter, he came face to face with you yet again.
This time, the crew was preparing for a press briefing.
They all sat in some conference room of a swanky hotel waiting for reporters and journalists to fill the ballroom before being paraded in front of them and forced to answer juvenile questions about how they planned to protect the city.
Valentina had scheduled it, but of course you were there to stand behind the scenes and make sure nothing went awry.
And just his luck, you had somehow gravitated across the room to stand right next to Bob, shoulders nearly touching at the close proximity.
It was easy to see his foot tapping incessantly against the freshly vacuumed carpet. You watched for a solid minute as his shoe rapped repeatedly on the floor before you finally broke the prolonged silence inhabiting the space between you,
“You’re just as deserving to be here you know?”
You could tell he was nervous.
Everyone else was bored and dreading the press conference ahead of them, ready to put on fake smiles and give their best bullshit answers, but Bob was terrified.
It wasn’t necessarily the public speaking aspect that fuelled his apprehension, but more so his rather unfortunate history with New York City as a whole.
“Yeah, like I didn’t try to take out the entire city three months ago.” His sarcasm hit your ears but his eyes refused to meet yours.
“Yeah but you also found your way back to yourself, that’s impressive.” You spoke quietly, nudging his shoulder with your own.
“You’re powerful, but you also represent what’s real. I admire you for that.” He finally glanced over at you as your simple compliment hit him with an impenetrable weight.
You had a pleasant look in your eyes, one of reassurance and understanding. It had a way of making all of the nerves in his body dissipate, while simultaneously releasing a million butterflies in his stomach.
After that brief exchange, he began noticing how often you went out of your way to be close to him: always greeting him first when you walked into a room, picking the seat next to his every chance you got, constantly drumming up conversation to get to know more about him.
He chalked it up to your naturally charming demeanor— nothing more, nothing less. Although there was always a voice in the back of his head trying to trick him into thinking there was something else hiding in the way you spoke to him— something flirtatious.
But it was all innocent. It had to be. Just two people with an overtly friendly professional relationship.
Until the first time he woke up a sweaty, heaving mess after having an extremely dirty dream about you.
It happened the night you grabbed his thigh.
Of course the second you touched him like that, his subconscious tapped into a dormant corner of his brain that needed you in a deeper way— a more intimate way.
What started as a meeting to discuss a trademark infringement, ended with everyone sharing anecdotes from past jobs over Thai takeout.
John was in the middle of telling some long drawn-out story when Ava interrupted him with a witty remark that sent everyone into a laughing fit.
Bob had never heard such a sudden unsolicited sound escape you.
You were always so intentional with everything you did; the volume of your voice, the measurement of your delivery, your word choice. It was all so put together and careful. So when he heard the laugh that bubbled up from deep in your chest, he looked over at you in awe.
And as if the sound alone hadn’t stunned him enough, the way your hand shot out to his leg completely rewired the chemistry of his brain.
Your palm was resting on his thigh, fingertips just barely curled against his jeans as you attempted to tether yourself back to earth from laughing so hard.
Everyone else was too busy laughing or talking over one another to notice your hand on his thigh. But Bob was completely frozen, just staring down to where your touch met his body, cursing the denim that kept him from feeling your skin on his.
7 seconds.
That’s how long your hand stayed on his leg. He knew because it was the longest 7 seconds of his life, yet somehow not long enough.
As you came down from your high, nothing but tiny giggles fizzing off your lips, you gently slipped your hand from his thigh, as if nothing happened.
That night he dreamt about you beneath him, sunk onto your knees, taking his cock down your throat.
He felt completely ashamed and yet indisputably smitten when he woke up. It was all just a figment of his imagination— your sweet lips wrapped around him, humming sweet nothings with his dick on your tongue.
And it would’ve been fine if it happened once.
It could’ve been something he brushed off and tried to forget about every time your paths crossed, but it didn’t just happen once.
It had been nearly two weeks since that first dream, and here he was rolling out of bed, guilty yet again, of letting wildly unprofessional visions of you slip into his mind while he slept.
He’d be remiss to say he couldn’t help it, but with the way the two of you were constantly interacting and chit chatting in a way that teetered between co-workers and something more, he thought maybe there was a chance you harbored some sort of feelings for him too.
But every time he thought his crush could be reciprocated, his own doubts knocked him down a peg.
Friends— you were definitely just friends. But God did he want it to be more, and God did he have to stop having these dreams.
So today, his mission was to avoid you completely.
Facing the mirror as he brushed his teeth, he silently begged the universe to give him a break, hoping and praying he wouldn’t run into you at any point.
He needed a reset— needed to retrain his brain into thinking of you as a friend and absolutely nothing more. And given the way he couldn’t even look you in the face sometimes without being dragged back into a distant memory of one of his wet dreams, a few days without any interactions might be the best thing for his psyche.
His plan started off great, he didn’t see you once the entire morning— didn’t even hear a mention of your name.
It would’ve been a perfect day, free from thoughts of you, until his afternoon training with Yelena sent him into somewhat of a downward spiral.
They’d been working on telepathy for weeks.
He was still trying to figure out how to balance his powers and emotions. His constant fear that tapping into The Sentry’s powers would invite his less desirable entity into the mix, held him back from trying anything too risky, but Yelena had finally convinced him to start small and focus on his mental abilities.
It began with Telekineses, spending days on end trying to manipulate objects with just his thoughts. He felt an unbelievable wave of accomplishment on the fourth day when he sent a coffee mug levitating in the air.
Then it progressed into him using that same line of power to communicate without speaking aloud. It shocked him how quickly he was able to place his own voice in Yelena’s head, sending her words and phrases through nothing but eye contact.
Now she wanted him to try projecting an image into her mind instead of just words. And the idea of it didn’t feel too far off from what he’d already achieved, but he was massively mistaken after trying and failing multiple times to show Yelena a simple memory.
He just couldn’t figure out how to bridge the gap between telepathically amplifying his voice into her mind, and conveying an image. He tried the whole afternoon, and each time he failed it pushed him closer to the brink of utter frustration.
He’d been on a roll. Weeks of working toward the reappearance of his superhuman abilities with a hope that he could be in control, but now it felt like it was all crumbling down around him just because of one stupid hiccup.
With the pit in his stomach swallowing him whole at hearing Yelena tell him they should stop for the day and pick up tomorrow, all he wanted was to see your smile— compassionate and tender offering him an inkling of mercy— but he was quickly reminded of his initial goal for the day. He was supposed to be staying away from you, keeping you out of his mind.
So why were you the only thing he could think about after such a gruelling training session? Why couldn’t he get lost in a good book, or mindlessly watch a movie to keep the constant thoughts of you at bay? No matter how hard he tried, you were there. But perhaps the persistent notion of you filling his head was the only thing keeping him from sinking into a hole of deplorable self-pity. He was standing at the edge though, spending the rest of the day in a never ending cycle of self-doubt.
His bad mood resulted in him turning down the invitation to join everyone for dinner at the deli down the street. They gave him a hard time for saying no. Alexei even reminded him about the pile of old tattered board games that sat on the tables, and how Bob beat everyone at uno the last time they went.
The memory brought a smile to his face, but he waved them on, ensuring he was just tired, when in reality he didn’t have the energy to be faced with strangers who were excited by seeing the “new avengers” out in the city. He felt like a failure— undeserving of the attention and confused about his role alongside the others.
So while everyone left with hungry bellies and excited hollering about a game of Yahtzee, Bob stayed stationary on the couch, glued to the cushions underneath him, his eyes desperately scanning the book in his hands as he seeked a shift in his headspace.
20 minutes of words jumbled in his brain, with the plot of the novel turning to unrecognizable mush the more he read, and he was ready to toss the book to the floor.
Until the elevator doors opened.
You.
He didn’t even have to look in your direction to know the sound of your voice as you greeted the almost empty room.
“Hello… anybody home?”
The sarcastic edge to your words gave way to the undeniable smile in your voice.
Bob turned to watch as you walked into the room, your head on a swivel as you searched for someone— anyone— until your eyes met his.
“Did everyone leave you behind to fend for yourself on a Friday night?”
You approached him with a wide grin stretching across your cheeks like you were happy to see him, and it was the exact remedy he was looking for to cure his bad day blues.
“Everyone went to dinner, and I decided to stay back." He sat up taller on the couch, correcting the slouch in his posture and shifting his body to face you.
“Must be a good book then huh?” Your attention moved to the object in his hands.
“Oh, yeah…” His eyes wandered down to the pages beneath him, the same ones he had been trying to make sense of, re-reading them repeatedly, when all he could think about was you.
“Well I was dropping by to bring this to Walker.”
You waved a manilla envelope in the air. It was sealed with an air of confidentiality to it.
“He didn’t think I could get my hands on it, wanted to see the look on his face when I gave it to him…”
You placed the envelope on a nearby table as you spoke.
“can you make sure he gets it when they get back?” You took a few small steps closer to Bob as you cocked your head to the side.
“Yeah, of course.” He should say more. He’d been wanting to see you all day— to talk to you. But he was at a loss for words.
“Well, I’ll head out so you can have the evening to yourself.” You began turning your back toward him when his next words caused a pause in your movement,
“You don’t have to go.” His voice sounded louder than he anticipated as it carried across the room.
You stared at him, a subtle smile on your lips as you stood still in the middle of the room.
“I just- you came all the way down here, you can stay for a little while if you want.” He felt foolish, extending an invitation for you to stay and do what exactly? Even he didn’t know. He just didn’t want you to leave.
“And honestly, it would be nice to have some company.” He decided to go with a version of the truth. Still in a slump from his failed attempt at superhero-ing, he could use your presence to bring some much needed light into his evening.
He fidgeted with the book in his lap, looking anywhere but your face as you took too long to reply. He was almost bracing himself for rejection as he dog eared the same page over and over again with his thumb.
“Rough day?” The words left you in a simple extension of consolation.
He didn’t have to vocalize his frustrations for you to know he was feeling off. You’d gotten to know Bob pretty well, and his unusually low energy was apparent to you from the moment you walked into the room.
“Yeah actually.” He let out a sigh while tossing his book onto the coffee table in front of him.
That was one thing about you and Bob’s relationship, he felt like he didn’t need to hide from you. You radiated such a gentle kindness, it made him feel at ease.
“I did some training with Yelena today and I feel so stuck in my head about it.”
“What happened?”
You were standing near the arm of the couch now, and something about having you so close helped him to relax for the first time all day.
“We’ve been working on telepathy and I can’t figure out how to project my memories…” He started to explain, running a hand through his hair as the words tumbled from his mouth.
“I can speak to her, but I just can’t show her things and-”
“Speak to her? Like you can say something to her with just your mind?” You didn’t mean to interrupt, but Bob so rarely spoke about the abilities given to him from the sentry serum.
“Yeah.” He looked up at you, his eyes the warmest shade of blue you’d ever seen, his stare gentle.
His obvious frustration at recalling earlier events was replaced by a dopey grin as he watched your face light up in amusement over the mention of his powers.
“Can you do it right now? With me?” The curiosity in your voice as you leaned forward was so cute, he’d do anything you asked him to.
“Like this?”
His voice echoed in your mind, but his lips didn’t move.
“Holy shit!” You couldn’t help the excitement that burst from you at the welcomed intrusion.
Of course you knew he had supernatural abilities, but to you he was always Bob, never The Sentry or The Void, so experiencing something so otherworldly in such a casual setting was a bit unnerving, in the best way.
“I feel like I’m so close to being able to communicate an image or memory but I just can’t get there.”
You could hear the disappointment creeping back into his voice as he continued explaining his dilemma, He craned his head back, staring toward the sky like there was a nonexistent answer written on the ceiling in invisible ink.
“Try.”
His eyes shot in your direction, confusion painted on his features at hearing the word leave your lips.
“I feel like I’m probably not as intimidating as a former Red Room assassin.” You tried to reason with him, hoping he’d give it another shot. You hated to see him so defeated.
“C’mon, it’s low stakes. Just more practice.” You leaned in even further over the arm of the couch, batting your lashes and smiling sweetly.
Good God.
“Yeah. Okay.” He nodded as he felt you sit next to him before the words had fully left his lips.
You sunk onto the couch cushions, turning your body toward his with anticipation fueling your movements.
“So how do we do this? Do I need to like… focus on being receptive? Should I close my eyes?” You watched him carefully, eyes entirely too focused, causing him to shift in his seat.
“You can do whatever you want.” A soft laugh trailed in his response at your excited desperation to help.
“Okay.” You closed your eyes.
You were sitting in front of him, eyes closed, eyebrows slightly knit together, body angled toward him, and he almost forgot why you were sitting so close to him in the first place.
“Here,” you peeked an eye open, carefully reaching for his hands, intertwining them with yours.
“Maybe this will help.” Your eyes were closed again, concentration evident in the twitch of your lips.
He shut his eyes, afraid that if he kept them open he’d get carried away studying your face instead of focusing on the task at hand.
Focus, focus, focus.
The room was silent— so quiet he could hear your steady breaths, one after the other.
Trying his best to deliver a thought to you— the same one he’d been envisioning in training, a memory from a trip he took in college— a serene moment: mountains in the distance, a river running at his feet, pine trees overhead. But he couldn’t stay centered on that moment, not with your hands holding his.
Your skin was so soft, and your fingers curled against his so delicately.
Your touch was heavenly— so light and soothing. It was just like in his dreams. Your skin under his touch, warm and sensitive and so, so soft. His hands roaming your body, holding onto your hips while you lay beneath him, your flesh molding perfectly at his fingertips. Your head thrown back on his pillow and the sweet sounds of your pleasure filling the room…
A sudden jolt at his hands pulled him from his trance.
His eyes shot open only to see you already staring at him, mouth parted.
You were still holding onto his hands, tighter than before, and the once quiet cadence of your breath was now amplified and much more erratic.
Oh.
Oh.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” Bob shot up from the couch, taking a few steps back to create space between you.
“Jesus Christ- I’m sorry that was not-” His hands ran anxiously through his hair, pulling at the roots in frustration.
He just showed you a vision from one of his wet dreams… about you.
Shame and humiliation ran rampant throughout his body, he couldn’t even look at you— still sitting speechless like a deer in headlights on the couch.
You hadn’t moved a muscle, you were just there, processing, or maybe judging. Probably feeling immensely violated— rightfully so— and all he could do was panic. He was disgusting, he was perverted, you probably hated him-
“You did it.” His thoughts paused at the sound of your voice.
He looked at you, sitting calmly on the couch, biting back a smile from your lips.
“What?”
“You did it. It worked.” A smile. You were smiling.
He just sent an extremely explicit fabrication of the two of you fucking, into your brain, and you were smiling at him.
“I didn’t mean to show you that. I- Shit, I’m sorry.” There was nothing else for him to do but avoid eye contact and apologize profusely.
“Hey. It’s okay. Really. It just surprised me” You were speaking slowly— sincere. Trying to calm him down.
He wanted to escape his own body at that point, the embarrassment was too much to handle. He was seconds away from dropping to the floor and crawling underneath the coffee table.
“I didn’t mind it… If that makes you feel any better.” Your voice barely reached above a whisper as you looked down at your hands that were once warmed by his touch, the evidence of a smile still lingering on your lips.
He stopped breathing. Head spinning at your meek confession.
“I like you, you know?” Another quiet admission from your lips.
“I thought maybe you’d eventually ask me on a date or something, but this works too.” Your voice bloomed into a playful tenor of sarcasm as Bob's eyes met yours.
A date? He had spent this entire time carefully dancing around his feelings for you when he could've just asked you out.
“We can go on a date.” The words toppled out of his mouth, running into each other as they rushed from his brain to his lips.
“We should go on a date.” He was nodding, still spewing his inner dialogue with his eyes wide in revelation.
You laughed, deep and abrupt, and the sound of it was music to his ears. Even more beautiful then that first time he'd heard it with your hand resting on his thigh.
“Do you want to try again?” The question left you slightly exasperated, a residual chuckle still stirring in your voice.
He looked at you with a hint of confusion, still in shock that this conversation was playing out in real time.
You nodded your head toward the spot next to you on the couch, silently inviting him to take a seat.
“I mean just to see if you can do it again...” You shrugged nonchalantly but there was something mischievous about the way you were smirking at him that pulled him back to the couch.
The second he landed on the cushion next to you, your hands slid into his with ease.
“I don’t know if I can.” Nerves suddenly scattered across his body as he realized this was new territory. You were sat even closer to him now— your body more receptive and relaxed.
“Oh now you’re shy?" It was a delicate nudge— a playful taunt that rolled flirtatiously off your tongue, adding to the fire burning at Bob's cheeks.
“Show me more. I want to see.” Your thumb rubbed back and forth over the top of his hand, a comforting gesture, but it caused the heat to spread to his chest.
“Okay.” The word floated from him and he couldn’t tell if he spoke it aloud or directly into your mind.
You didn’t close your eyes this time. Instead, you watched him, staring intently, your lashes fluttering with every slow blink of your lids.
His gaze fell to your lips, thinking about what they’d feel like against his. Remembering how plump and swollen they’d looked in his dreams when they were muffled around his cock.
He hadn’t even noticed how his chest started heaving at the thought, his breath now quick and shallow as it left his body.
Then your eyes drifted to his mouth. Both of you switching between eye contact and stealing glances at each other’s lips as you leaned in, weight shifting on the couch until you were inches away-
“Brought you back a pastrami on rye!” Yelena’s voice cut through the room, sending your bodies into an unexpected retreat to either side of the couch.
"Didn't expect to see you here." Yelena's comment was casual, completely unassuming as she came into view, taking a seat on the couch, right in-between you and Bob.
You stood swiftly, greeting everyone and making your way to the envelope waiting where you left it on the table across the room. The reason you were here in the first place— a simple envelope reminding you that you had indeed not shown up with the intention of confessing your feelings for Bob Reynolds and nearly fucking him on the couch in the very public living space of the tower.
"I was bringing this for you." You picked up the piece of mail, handing it to Walker as you made your way to the elevator.
You didn't stay to see his reaction or even attempt to give him a hard time for doubting your ability to retrieve it, instead you said a few quick goodbyes and made a swift exit of the building.
Bob watched as you left.
Of course he wanted you to stay longer, wanted to sit in the same room as you for a few more minutes even if it meant sharing your presence with everyone else.
But judging by the grin you couldn't wipe off your lips and the way his eyes were lit up like a love-sick puppy, it was for the best that you left before anyone could question why the two of you were so giddy.
But it was safe to say his infatuation induced haze followed him well into the night, even gracing him with yet another dream about you when he finally drifted off to sleep.
Summary: Life is finally feeling perfect, you have the most wonderful husband and the most beautiful baby girl, sure there were still struggles but you knew you could get through them slowly and surely as a family
Warning: this is mainly fluff but Bob has anxiety and worries a lot, Reader and sentry have some… fun 👀 (but nothing explicit but it’s spicy)
Uhhh this has been in the works for fucking ever!! I meant for this to be post in January but I couldn’t write it how I thought the idea deserved so i guess it took 5 months lol
I am glad it worked out this way because this fic means a lot to me and I love it so dearly and because it took so long I now have the privilege to post it on my One year Thunderbolts anniversary, it’s been exactly a year since I saw this wonderful movie and this is my way of celebrating
Dad!Bob reynolds I love you so very much
-Iris/Mars 💛🖤💛
Words: 3.7k
It’s been 4 months, 13 days and 9 hours since your life has been forever changed for the better. Your life finally had a sense of completeness, like you are finally free of your former life
4 months ago your daughter Daisy was born. It took a while but you had finally settled in a comfortable rhythm where you and Bob had a routine that worked. You would take care of the baby and Bob would take care of you. If the baby needed changing you would do that, if you needed to eat, Bob would make you a meal. Obviously Bob would still care for his daughter, It just wasn't his main role, his main priority was you and your wellbeing. Though this wasn’t the normal way of navigating these early stages, this is just what works best for the two of you.
Though you would still always try to encourage Bob to participate in activities. You knew all about his childhood and how he came from a long cycle of abuse, he had always been very open about that to you since the beginning. But when you first brought up wanting to start a family Bob had opened up. He had explained all his fears about being a father and how he was worried about what may happen due to effects of the Sentry and the Void.
So for the past few months you both have been taking small steps to help him with these various anxieties.
~~~
“Honey, I want to try something simple tonight. Can you just be in the room for bed time?” You asked looking up at your husband who was quietly cleaning up dinner.
Bob cleared his throat. “Ummm… what would that entail? Like just so i’m… prepared or not prepared per say, just so I can- know exactly what to expect.” Bob asked, as his face contorted in a wince. He knew he sounded so pathetic being worried about putting his own daughter to bed, he just couldn’t stop the swarm of thoughts racing through all the scenarios that he could screw up..
“Nothing hard Bob, just change her into pajamas, sing and rock her to sleep then set her down. Easy as can be” You reassure, placing a hand on his back and rubbing comforting circles.
Bob nodded slowly, running it over in his head, thinking of ways to avoid potential disasters he could cause. “Ok… Ok! Yeah this will work” Bob said more to himself, trying to psych himself up.
“You got this ‘dad’” You tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek. And as on cue Bob’s face heated up.
“I know I just can’t stop wor-” Bob starts to explain, starting a spiral of panic and overthink but you instantly shut that down by pressing a brief but loving kiss to his lips.
“I know baby,, I know exactly why you worry and why you are so cautious with her but I still think you are more careful and in control than you believe you are..” You try to reassure.
Bob lets out a pained noise “ I know… but just what if I’m not.. What if- I could never forgive myself if something happened to her” Bob whispered, the pain evident in his eyes as he thought of the possibilities.
“And this is why we are being slow and careful and working our way up. “You remind, gently wrapping your arms around Bob’s waist.
Bob looks down at you and lets out a deep sigh “I don’t deserve you… and Daisy. I’m so incredibly lucky” Bob admits, pressing a kiss to your hair.
“Though you don’t agree… we are lucky to have you too” You say looking up to press another kiss to his lips before pulling away.
“Now let’s go put this little miss to bed” you coo, stepping away from Bob and going to grab Daisy out of her highchair.
Bob follows you both into the nursery where he practically melts watching you take care of her and change your daughter into a little cat onesie for her to sleep in.
“Here let's do something, Bob, go sit in the rocking chair” You instruct pointing to the rocking chair in the corner. Instantly Bob does what he is told and settles down, albeit a little confused.
You carry Daisy in your arms and go to sit on Bob’s lap so you are parallel to his lap and he can easily hold you while you hold Daisy. “There, now I'm holding her and you are holding me. It's a win-win-win.” You softly tease.
Bob just nestles his face in the crook where your neck meets your shoulder “all perfect to me” Bob sighs against your skin.
You lean your head against his chest before softly clearing your throat then begin to softly sing as you watch your daughter’s eyes flutter close.
God Bob couldn’t have asked for a better wife. He never thought he would get this kind of life, he always kind of assumed he was gonna die alone in an alleyway. Then once the whole Sentry project came to be, he thought no one would want him as an unstable, all powerful being. But you proved him wrong. You showed him how to be loved properly, how he is allowed to have good things in his life, how he can ask for help if he needs it, how he doesn’t have to please everyone especially if it hurts him. You treat Bob as a person and not something to use. You love Bob for exactly who he was, flaws and all. The same went for the Sentry and Void, sure you were a bit more cautious of them but they were still your husband so you treated them as such.
You were also the perfect mother. Bob had never wanted kids, always been too scared of the responsibility and how his mental illnesses would affect them. Then he became scared of how the sentry serum would affect any children. But once you brought up how badly you wanted a baby, there was no way Bob could say no to you not after seeing how your eyes shined the whole conversation. So after many tests that came to the conclusion the baby wouldn’t be affected by the serum and trying for a couple of months you were pregnant.
While Bob had been thrilled by the news, it was the Sentry who was most excited. He loved seeing you pregnant, all round and full of his baby. It was like a claim he had on you that said ‘this is my wife, my baby, mine’ and god he couldn’t wait to get you all full of his baby again~
This was what Bob had been thinking about while he held you in his arms, watching you care for your darling daughter.
“Love you~” You softly sing, finishing up the last lyric before bending down to press a forehead kiss to your now sleeping baby girl. You then press a kiss to your husband’s cheek “don’t worry I love you too”
Bob wordlessly pulls you closer in a sort of subtle claim, like he has to have you as close as possible. You glance up and catch the shimmering gold in his eyes trying to take over the blue. “Oh no” tease, playfully rolling your eyes while carefully getting up out of Bob’s lap to put Daisy away in her crib.
Bob quickly follows after right on your heel. “Why ‘oh no’?” he questions, raising a brow. Because he couldn’t resist, he wrapped his arms around your waist, physically unable to have you out of his grip.
You suppress a snort not wanting to wake up the baby. “You, I saw the gold in your eyes, whatever you were thinking about got you all excited~” you whisper, trying to ignore his wandering hands on your body that are trying to distract you.
“What, can’t a man just appreciate his gorgeous, sexy wife~” Bob or well the Sentry groaned against your neck.
“Mmm… now is this Bob speaking or one of the others?” You ask, dragging him out of the nursery by his hands.
“Well, we are all Bob, but if you want to differentiate us, then you usually call me the Sentry” Sentry huffs, but more than happy to be dragged around by you.
“Mmm I see” You humm, “So what brought you out Sen?” You ask, raising a suspicious eyebrow.
“Love when you call me that~” he murmurs while pressing kisses against your neck. “But, if you want to know, I was just thinking all about how good a mother you are. How gorgeous you looked round and full of my baby. I thought about how badly I want you like that again~” Sentry groaned as he nipped and kissed your skin in between sentences.
“I- I forgot you have a… a raging breeding kink as the Sentry” You try to joke, but the stutter in your words gave away how much he was affecting you.
“Seems you forgot how much you love it as well” Sentry purred in your ear giving it a slight tug with his teeth.. “Besides, I’m still Bob, he has just as much of one as I do, but I on the other hand am not a coward to show it. To act on it” He whispered, pressing you against the wall so you can feel the hardening erection in his sweatpants. Your breathing begins to quicken as you start to feel like putty in his hands, Sentry reveals in the state he causes for you, how much you are affected by the Sentry.
‘God, you seem to have forgotten how much you like having me around… haven't been out to play since the baby came~ “Senry hums. “Bob doesn’t trust us with the little one, but you.. he knows just how well I can take care of you~” He caresses your cheek causing you to shiver.
“I’ve missed you so much baby~ Missed touching you, holding you, tasting you~” Sentry murmurs before licking a strip along your neck. “Bob is criminal for keeping you away from me for so long… he’s too afraid of doing something to the baby, when he knows full well I’m the reason the baby is here” Sentry lets out a low wanting breath “And I will be the reason there’s another…” He promised before grabbing your face harshly pulling you in for a deep, passionate, needy kiss.
You let out a low groan at the sensation, hand gripping on to his shoulder, just wanting him so bad. But eventually sense came rushing in breaking though the lust clouding your brain.. “Sen… we can’t, it hasn’t been that long…” you warn, trying and failing to push him away.
“Why not? It hasn’t been that long since what?” Sentry mumbled not really focusing on what you were saying, too distracted in the way you taste, the way you feel pressed against him. “Because if you are talking about since I’ve last seen you, I’m aware it’s been fucking forever, Bob has kept me away from you for months” He groaned bitterly at the reminder of the separation. His hold on your hips tightened as if worried something was going to take you away from him.
“No, not that. I mean since I’ve given birth… I may not be all healed..Down there” You whisper, cheeks flush feeling embarrassed.
The realization sunk in leaving him stilled for a second, then he just smirked “oh well… so sad, I just have to eat you out instead, whatever shall I do” Sentry deadpanned with an eyeroll as if this issue is beneath him. Before you could react he picked you up wrapping your legs around his waist and walked into the bedroom. He tossed you on the bed and moved to crawl over you.
For the briefest of moments his eyes shift back to blue as Sentry looks down at you sprawled underneath him and then he pauses, absolutely in awe of you. He couldn’t believe how lucky he is, that he gets to be here in this position with you. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear, lost in thought and the feel of you as his hands trail down your body beneath his hands. Despite him being a literal god, he will worship you like you are his reason for breathing.
“Hey golden boy~ I thought you said you were gonna eat me out, ummm kinda need my clothes off for that” You taunt with an eyebrow raised, taking any opportunity to tease him.
His eyes flash a brilliant gold no trace of blue, your words bring back to the present. “Mmm, needy girl feeling impatient~” Sentry mock pouted “I’m going to make you regret being sassy with me~” He all but sneered and you couldn’t hold back your grin of excitement.
~~~
Bob glanced down at you asleep in his arms, absolutely dead to the world, he can’t help but be amused. You are always out for hours whenever Sentry takes over. Based on the lingering taste in his mouth he had a very clear idea of what happened and honestly he’s just sad he can’t remember it.
He sits up trying not to disrupt you as he gently plays with your hair spread across his lap. Then he hears it.
Through the baby monitor on the bedside table, Daisy lets out a piercing cry causing Bob to instantly freeze. He glances down at your sleeping form starting to stir from the noise but taking longer to get up as a sign of your exhaustion. Without thinking Bob quickly moves to shut off the monitor returning the room to silence aside from Daisy muffled cries a few doors down.
Bob gently moves your head out of his lap and creeps towards the bedroom door to head towards his crying daughter. As he walks he tries his hardest to clear his head of all anxieties and to calm his breathing. He’s got this, he knows he does. This is his daughter for god sake, he knows exactly why she’s crying like this. She's hungry, earlier during dinner she was being fussy and refusing to eat so you decide to just feed her later. Bob just wishes his mind would stop overthinking this simple task.
Once in the nursery he goes over to his crying daughter and gently picks her up. “Hi sweetheart” Bob softly coos, holding Daisy to his chest as he goes to prepare a bottle for her. The motions feel like second nature with how many times he has watched you do it.
Once the bottle is prepared Bob sits down in the rocking chair across the room, “there we go sweetie, just like that.” He whispers, admiring her as she quiets down and watches her eat. “Not so hard huh.” He swipes his finger delicately across her cheek. “For me it’s a bit hard…” Bob pauses, hearing the slightest sound. His head snaps up searching for any sign of movement, he scans across the room for what could have made the noise but eventually decides it was nothing.
Bob turns his attention back to Daisy and watches as her eyes start to droop, falling asleep in his arms. “Anyway, I tend to overthink the simplest of things, I’m so used to being a fu- screw up that I always assume the worst is going to happen.” He softly explains. “And usually the worst would happen, you see I had a…. A hard life let’s just say until I met your mommy, but with her… god with her life has been the best it ever has. With her I’m not just Bob the screw up, to her I'm just Bob, I'm her Bob, her husband and it’s honestly my favorite thing… well that and being a dad.” He rambled, a smile growing on his face as he talked about his amazing wife.
“But anyway, I’m still not used to the fact that life is over, I’m no longer in that bad situation and I have a wonderful life with you and mommy. But I get so overwhelmed and have so much anxiety when it comes to you, I’m so scared of doing the wrong thing and that something bad will happen, and I'll be my usual screw up.” Bob paused and took a deep inhale. “But I’m working on it, and it’s all thanks to your momma, without her I couldn’t have done any of this. I wouldn’t be sober, well I’m technically sober because of the serum but she would be the reason I got sober anyway,” Bob softly chuckles at his tangent.
“What I’m trying to say is my life is great and it’s all thanks to your mom, she gave me a place to belong, this wonderful life and most importantly she gave my beautiful daughter” He bopped daisy nose, “and for that I'm forever grateful.” He bends down and presses a kiss to the top of her head.
Eventually Bob straightens up and carefully brings Daisy back to her crib once he knows she is fully asleep and will stay asleep. Silently Bob made his way back into the bedroom and back to bed, he curled under the covers and gently maneuvered you so you were resting against his chest. You stirred and pushed your hands under his shirt, wrapping your arms around him, snuggling into him, and pressing kisses against his sternum. “Hi baby…” You whisper sleepy looking up at him with the most love and affection in your eyes.
“Oh! Hi darling… Did I wake you?” Bob asked in a voice so soft and only reserved for you. You just shook your head, still pressed against his body but still looking up at him with all this love and affection. Bob gives you a curious look, confused to where all this is coming from –but honestly he’s not complaining– You just shrug, answering his unsaid question and press a kiss to his lips. Bob, still confused, gives in and starts kissing you back until you both drift off to sleep.
~~~
You start to stir at the sound of your daughter’s cry through the baby monitor but it abruptly turns off. You were about to get up to go check on her but then felt your husband's big hands move you so were no longer resting on him and instead just laying on the bed as he got up.
glancing over and seeing he turned off the baby monitor had a jolt of panic run through you. You know it must have been Bob who turned it off and he probably has his reasons, the main one most likely being that he wants to give you the chance to sleep but it still makes you uneasy to have the monitor off while Daisy is in the other room. You reach across the bed and turn on the monitor where you can see Bob reach down into the crib and pick up a crying Daisy. You let out a tired sigh and get up out of bed.
Walking down the hallway, you make your way into the nursery knowing exactly why she’s being fussy. Daisy didn’t eat much at her normal dinner time,she wouldn’t latch on to you and you were too tired to fight her on it so you decided to feed her later. You know there are supplies for a bottle in there but you also know that this is one of the many things Bob is nervous to do with your daughter. Besides Daisy prefers to be breastfed not bottlefed so this would just be easiest to put her back to sleep.
Just as you were about to walk in to get her but stopped at the sight in the room, Bob, still shirtless and in boxers, curled up on the rocking chair, feeding and talking to your daughter. From your view he doesn’t even look nervous, he looks like this is something he does all the time, he looks like a dad
. You can just barely hear the words he’s whispering to Daisy while she drinks from the bottle. You push open the door a little bit to try and see him better and your heart practically leaps out of your chest when his head snaps up at the barely audible sound the door makes. You move out of his sightline and hope he doesn’t see you. Bob shifts his attention back to Daisy and resumes their ‘conversation’
You return to your spot watching them from the doorframe, just admiring the view. Your heart melts as you watch how gentle he is, how he is practically an expert at this despite only ever really observing. What really gets you is the kind words he is whispering to your sleeping daughter, how he’s telling her all about what a good person he thinks you are and how much you have changed his life for the better.
These words aren’t new, you hear similar words to this all the time from him. He tells you how much he loves you, how you have improved his life, how good a mother you are, you hear this plenty but something about hearing him say it to someone else without knowing you are hearing it just makes it way more meaningful for some reason. The words just further your disbelief in how you got such an amazing life with the perfect man for you.
You get so wrapped up in watching them that you forget where you are and startle when Bob starts to get up and puts Daisy back in her crib. You rush back to your bed and crawl back into your original position as if you hadn’t moved. A few moments later Bob creeps back into the room, trying his hardest to be as silent as possible to not disturb you. Once in bed he settles in beside you, moving you so you are back against him. You get an overwhelming feeling of love for this man, for your daughter, for this life and you can’t help but think your life is complete
summary: it was supposed to be simple – you only had to water Bob's plants and feed his fish while he was gone. you weren't supposed to find a ring in one of his drawers.
cw: fluff, kind of a character study, sweet and caring bob, absolutely whipped boyfriend bob, talks of marriage and views on it, light angst, relationship and commitment talk, both parts are on the same wavelength, it's more fluffy than those tags make it look I swear, implied intercourse, domesticity
a/n: ough this one. loverboy bob yesss. jumping head first into things yessss. marriage was a though subject to tackle especially with bob imo but I really wanted to try it out!
Bob drops his bags to his feet and hugs you tight before he leaves. Tight and suffocating, the way he would if he was leaving for six months. You wonder how intense he would have made it if it had actually been six months.
It’s only a matter of a couple of weeks – it’s not much for what the mission involves, but for codependent, emotionally attached Bob, it feels like the most challenging thing he has ever had to do, and he’s more afraid of being away from you than he is for the actual mission, he’s pretty sure.
He leaves you one of his hoodies and promises he will do his best to find the time to call you.
The second day, he calls you at eleven in the evening. You stay on the phone for almost three hours, listening as he tells you about every single detail of the trip and about the so-called “classified” mission plans he’s not supposed to tell anyone about. He complains about how demanding and overbearing Valentina is for a good quarter of the call, and tells you how much he misses you already for half of it.
You tell him how chaotic being in the Watchtower feels without his calming presence around, tell him how nothing changes the fact that John and Ava can't stop fighting.
You hear it in his voice when he starts to feel tired, too familiar with how softly honest he gets when the exhaustion starts to weigh on him. It takes him a few tries to explain what he means, repeating his words with a warm chuckle when he stumbles over them and makes a mess of the syllables.
He doesn’t fight it when you advise him to hang up and get some sleep.
His lucidity resurfaces when he remembers he forgot to ask you to water the few plants he has managed to keep alive, and to feed the fish he got after his psychiatrist told him having an animal to take care of could help him care for himself at the same time. Like two sides of the same coin – take back what you’ve been given, treat others the way you would like to be treated or something.
So you have a mission of your own, and you take it very seriously – you take pictures and research his plants to know how often you should water them, and you carefully read the instructions of the fish food to know how much is enough and how much is too much. It becomes a routine as the days pass, and you take a picture of the fish to send to Bob, snapping when it opens its mouth to eat the particles before they reach the bottom of the aquarium.
Bob usually texts back asking how you’re doing, and when he doesn’t have the time to, he responds with an assortment of emojis; a smiley face, a fish, a thumbs up and a heart. Which you’re sure, looking for the emojis just takes as long as a full conversation.
It feels weird not having him around the Watchtower, but as long as you’re kept busy, the days pass and don’t seem to drag, and if your schedules match, he’s just a video call away. It is at night that it particularly hurts, when you get in bed and he never joins you, when you wake up in the middle of the night and he’s not here to cling to. Instead, you hug and bury your face into his hoodie, or sleep in his bed when you happen to miss him too much.
On the tenth day, the fish food runs out. Only a few specks fall out of the holes, and the fish hurries and catches them in no time, swimming around afterward like he’s expecting more. “I hope there’s more somewhere or we’re both fucked, buddy” you mutter to the fish, letting the empty container rest beside the aquarium. If there is any logic behind this and Bob has backup food somewhere, it shouldn’t be far from the aquarium.
You try the first drawer. It’s a mess. Tangled cords and cables, crumpled takeout menus, a pair of broken headphones, a bag of your favorite candies that he offers you when you’re feeling down. It makes you smile and your heart aches a little.
There is loose change at the bottom of the drawer, buttons, and things you can’t even comprehend. But there’s nothing that resembles the fish food, so this drawer is out.
The second drawer is more organized. Notebooks, the console controller he’s been meaning to try to fix for ages, a stack of papers that look like past prescriptions, painkillers, and a small, forest green velvet box tucked in the corner. The fish food still isn’t there and you’re about to close the drawer, until you freeze when your gaze rests over the corner of the drawer again when the information hits the right place in your brain. You know you shouldn’t or you will ruin something, you know what it is even before you reach for it, but your hand runs faster than your brain and you have to make sure, and you’re not sure you’re even truly processing the information. You stare at the box for a while as it rests in your hand.
Unopened, neat and pretty, the velvet soft.
And you know it should remain like this.
You try reasoning yourself, try to come up with reasonable reasons why a box like this would be there except for the obvious reason, telling yourself not to open it, like it’s a forbidden artifact holding an ancient curse. But everything leads back to reality, and once you lift the lid, you know it was everything you expected – it couldn’t have ever been anything else and it was stupid to think otherwise in the first place.
Bob bought a ring.
You close the box just as soon as you open it, like it’s suddenly burning your hands, putting it back right where it was.
You forget to feed the fish.
Bucky has to shake you out of your thoughts during dinner that evening. When the rest of the team asks how Bob is doing, you respond briefly and don’t elaborate the way you usually would, too shaken by your discovery, standing somewhere between excitement and dread, turning it all around your head. You chew on your food while John’s voice drowns into your ears, only imagining Bob going to the jewelry store, dawned by the responsibility to take a decision on which ring to pick. Wondering how long it has been in this drawer, how he plans on doing it all. Hearing his voice in your head already, stumbling over the proposal because he’s talking too fast, face flushed red while he tries to explain how much he loves you. Wondering if you’re even ready for something this big.
You love him; of course you do, but you hadn’t even begun to think about this aspect of the relationship.
You stray away from contacting Bob too much the next day; you stick to texts only, because you know you will struggle pretending that there isn’t something gnawing at your brain if you hear his voice, or worse, if he sees your face.
You get a text while you’re out shopping for the fish food with Yelena, and when you see it pop up onto your screen with Bob’s name, you don’t bother opening it, immediately shoving your phone into your pocket with a small sigh. When you glance back at Yelena, you know by the look on her face that she knows something’s not right.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, putting back the can of food she had been holding.
You consider pushing it away, but you’re pretty sure you need friendly advice on this. “Do you think Bob is thinking about marriage?”
She makes a face like she had been expecting everything except this. “Wow. Like, eventually, or right now?”
You give her a light shrug and tear your gaze away from her, pretending to look through the different varieties of fish food though you’ve been knowing which to pick for a while already. “I don’t know”
She doesn’t follow right away, like she’s thinking about it.
“I mean, if you proposed to him, he would say yes right off the bat without even thinking about what it implies.” she declares, knowing how deep he’s in for you. She had been suffering from his heartache before he gathered the courage to confess his feelings for you, after all. “I’m not sure about the real thing. I mean, maybe not right now. Too much commitment for him, especially with what he has gone through and his life at the moment”
You nod. It aligns with your train of thought.
“But eventually, definitely” she affirms. “I’ve never seen someone so lovesick, it kinda disgusts me sometimes” she grins, only meaning to tease you. You grin back at her and give her a playful nudge of your elbow, shaking your head with a laugh when you pick up the fish food from the shelves.
When you’re in line for checkout, you open Bob’s texts.
I got those crispy fried stuff you like at lunch today
I miss you
It makes you stupidly smile, and you send in your response before it’s your turn on paying.
I miss you too, babe
Your conversation with Yelena somehow eases your worries for the next few days; it makes the apprehension of Bob coming back less daunting, and your excitement grows with each day that passes.
He comes back on the fifteenth day – sooner than expected, by two days, because the mission got wrapped up sooner than planned, and he’s relieved; because he gets to go home, and because he knows he would have ended up hurting Valentina if he had to spend those extra days with her.
You figured he would talk a lot; about the trip, the mission in itself, the environment, his progress on using his powers. It’s usually when you want to kiss him most, when he’s proud of himself and when he goes on about something that excites him, but this time, he doesn’t bother with words when you close the door to his bedroom behind you. He kisses you, gentle and slow, like he’s savoring what he’s been deprived of for weeks, hands resting over your hips when he backs you up against the door and comes even closer. Your arms wrap around his neck, hand in his hair, and the snowball rolls and you end up under him in his bed while he kisses you like he wants to consume you whole, his hand trailing down your body until it slips under your clothes.
You kiss along his jawline when he lies back beside you when you’re done, his face prettily flushed, his breathing still uneven while he stares at the ceiling with that dazed, blissed out expression you love bringing on his face.
“Missed that too, right?” you ask with a teasing grin, hand resting over his throat while you kiss his cheek a couple more times.
His eyes close with contentment, an internal laugh running through him. “Oh yeah.”
Your fingers brush away the hair sticking to his face, and he smiles when he watches you, kissing you one last time before he reluctantly pulls himself upright, quickly rearranging the clothes he had barely shed, too eager earlier to bother taking them off.
You do the same before getting comfortable still lying on his bed, cheek resting over his pillow, listening as he tells you about his last day on the mission and about the trip back home while you watch as he starts unpacking his travelling bag – he knows if he leaves it in a corner of his room he will let it rot and won’t touch it for weeks, and he’s been working on this kind of stuff in therapy – facing problems instead of running away from them.
It gets you thinking. About your own personal current problem. Bob still has no idea you know about the ring, and you feel like you’re lying to him by not letting him know.
Lying to the man who sleeps wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear in the night. Lying to the man who loves so desperately and honestly that sometimes it scares you only because you don’t know how someone can feel something that deeply and handle it.
It feels unfair to hide it from him and to think about pretending to be shocked when the time eventually comes and he proposes; you know you will feel awful knowing you hid this from him.
You stop him before you get lost in his words and stop listening to him altogether. “I need to talk to you about something”
Bob perks up, his narrative already dropped. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” he puts the shirt he’s holding back in the bag, walking back to the bed when he sees the look on your face, sitting in front of you.
Your head shakes and you give him a small smile. “No, everything’s fine. It’s just– I ran out of fish food the other day” Bob’s head turns towards the tank like he’s expecting you to tell him the fish is dead. “He’s okay,” you grin, seeing the soft relief over his face when he looks back at you. “But it’s– I figured you’d have more somewhere and I looked through your stuff, and…” you trail off, but there’s no use beating around the bush. “I found the ring.”
His soft, worried frown turns into an expression you can’t quite decipher. Then, his mouth gapes just slightly, and you witness every stage of his thought process hit him in real time. Confusion, questioning, realization, horror. His mouth moves, no sound coming out as he searches for his words, unable to get anything intelligible out.
“Oh my god,” he eventually whispers as he turns around and gets up from the bed again, a hand covering his face as he paces around processing the information, rubbing over his eyes.
You get off the bed and join him, carefully resting a hand over his arm, trying to quiet his frantic desperation. “It’s okay, Bob.”
“It’s not even–” he gestures around aimlessly, his gaze everywhere but on you, still looking for his words. “Fuck”
He lets out a small, frustrated sigh. “It’s– I was manic when I bought it. I felt like I was doing so great, I was finally starting to have control over my powers and things were so good between us and– and I guess I got carried away, you know how it gets” he explains frantically, brow furrowed. The words settle and still between you, and suddenly, it all makes sense.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything, I just… it’s crazy, I know” he huffs out humorlessly. “I mean, I’d want to marry you, I know it, but we haven’t been dating for that long and I don’t even know if you would wanna get married, and I don’t want to trap you into this or something, or pressure you into something you don’t want” he rants, a nervous laugh punctuating it, his eyes squeezing shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose like an ache has developed there suddenly. He doesn’t say anything for a few, the room getting awfully quiet suddenly, but you know there’s more, it’s obvious over his face, so you let it sit.
“I don’t even know if I want to, really. Or if I’ll ever be in the right place to” he admits in a small chuckle, voice softer in confession. “It just went so great with my parents, so,” he scoffs, voice pained with sarcasm, his hands falling to his sides again.
You take a hold of them, and for the first time since you dropped the bomb, Bob’s gaze meets yours, like your touch is steadying him. His eyes are filled with worry and apprehension of your reaction, explaining why he felt the need to justify himself this intensely.
“It’s okay,” you nod. “We don’t have to think about this right now. We have all the time in the world to figure it out and to know what we want for sure.” his eyes set to where your hands are holding his, his gaze softening with vulnerability, and his hand squeezes around your fingers softly. “We can love each other the same even if we never get married. It’s… really, it’s just a formality”
He nods, gaze still down. One of your hands slides away from his to brush beneath his chin and have him look back at you. “I love you and I’m happy with you either way, you know that, right?” his mouth pinches into a sheepish smile, and he nods, eventually reciprocating the grin over your face.
A sense of relief washes over his face, and he brings you closer to hug you to his chest. “I love you too” he murmurs, the tension in his limbs easing a bit, the thumping of his ribcage still frenzied against your ear.
You sit together over the edge of his bed when you pull apart, grabbing his travelling bags to help him unpack. There’s a soft expression over his face, gratitude hitting him as he watches you move and neatly fold his clothes before you pass them over to him so he can sort them into piles to put away later. You both move in comfortable silence, until something hits Bob suddenly.
“Are you disappointed?”
You look back at him, a confused expression etched over your face. “Of what?”
He shrugs lightly, busying himself by digging through his toiletry bag. “You could have been expecting me to propose and now you’re disappointed that I can’t do it”
“Oh– no, Bob” you assure him immediately, hand resting above his. He gazes back at you, uncertainty masking his face again. “I don’t think it’s something I’d want right now. I’m not opposed to it eventually, but it’s not an absolute necessity either. Our happiness doesn’t have to depend on that, I’d love you the same whatever we decide to do”
Your words lodge themselves somewhere beneath the panic and self-consciousness and all the ugly little fears he carries in his brain, those about being difficult to love, even more on a long term aspect, and those about being abandoned.
You can see him trying to believe you, trying to let the reassurance sink in instead of immediately searching for hidden disappointment behind it.
“Yeah?” he asks quietly after a moment, like he needs to hear it again to be sure.
Your thumb strokes over the back of his hand. “Yeah.”
His gaze lingers on your face, studying you carefully, looking for any hint of hesitation or disappointment.
There’s none.
You kiss his cheek before you get up from the bed and take the pile of shirts to put it away in his closet, and he progressively visibly relaxes, more at ease now that this whole thing isn’t dawning on the both of you anymore.
“Hey, uh… do you like the ring at least?” Bob asks gingerly, though with less nervosity than if he had asked earlier, a faint grin over his face. “I had such a hard time making a decision. I mean, now that you know, we can get it changed if we ever decide to get married one day”
You break into a soft laugh and nod. There’s a gentle beaming smile over Bob’s face when your hand slides into his hair. “I love it. It’s really pretty. And very careful of what I like”
He nods, a sheepish, proud smile over his face.
It’s his first time turning a rushed decision into something right, at least.
And now his fear of the future isn’t as clouded as it used to be.
—
every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated♡
Summary: You're a secretary at Hastings Research Lab who has a secret obsession with science as well as the brightest scientist in the country: Calvin Evans. One day you decide to be brave and drop a gift at his door, which immediately puts you in his sights.
Word Count: 3k
Warnings: emetophobia TW (puking), social anxiety??, some self doubt that comes from being a woman in the 50s, PURE FLUFF
A/N: Don't ever ask me to actually talk about chemistry because I need that stuff explained to me like I'm five, but I can live vicariously through reader. I am open to writing a little more from this story though 0.0 This is for my husband, Calvin.
Working as a secretary at a research lab was surprisingly thrilling, or at least it was to you. Sure, being in charge of fetching coffee for men with huge egos and taking phone calls wasn’t a dream, but it was the…everything else that made it worth it—the science. You had no university degree of your own, as it was highly discouraged in your family, but that didn’t stop you from finding it all incredibly fascinating.
Prior to working at Hastings, you never imagined you’d be the kind of person who cared about chemistry, of all things, but that swiftly changed. All men loved to hear themselves talk, so you were constantly overhearing their conversations about their projects and hypotheses. A lot of it was theories, of course, but you slowly found yourself learning something you wouldn’t have otherwise. Whether or not you did anything about it wasn’t really a question at the moment, but you did keep a small notebook with you just in case.
You got along with the other ladies just fine, or at least you tried. You put in effort to engage in conversation and attend Fran’s events, but you were naturally predisposed to keeping to yourself. You were a solid employee but didn’t quite fit in all the way, placing you in a weird liminal space where you were hardly noticed until you were needed. It didn’t help that your curiosity towards science was slowly growing, and you daydreamed in the cafeteria by yourself more often than not.
This all happened in tandem with your infatuation with Calvin Evans. He was one of the brightest minds in the entire country and a recluse at that. You’d read everything about him and the work he’s done, and while it took using a dictionary to understand half of it, it was still incredibly interesting. People hardly ever saw him except in small intervals, like when he came running in in the morning or when he stopped by the vending machine at lunch for a pack of almonds. You often wondered how he managed to run every day and stay upright, considering he had the diet of a mouse.
Every other woman at Hastings had a crush on him, although based on what they said, they only ever used the words “handsome” and “smart.” It’s not that he wasn’t handsome; in fact, he was attractive to an unfair degree. However, you contemplated whether anyone here, especially those who worked longer than you, ever bothered to ask him a single, genuine question. As someone who tended to keep to herself, you couldn’t help but wonder if he needed a friend, if he needed help, or if he needed something other than almonds to eat.
What an odd thing to daydream about.
One day, you found yourself wandering towards his lab. It was locked, and there were signs all over the door warning people to stay away. He reminded you of a vampire from horror books and films - creatures who mustn’t be disturbed in the daytime. It was amusing. Through the door, you heard the very clear cacophony of jazz music, which was odd because you didn’t think a scientist like Calvin Evans listened to such things while doing serious work. Yet every time you passed by that door, you heard it.
You took note: Calvin Evans likes jazz music.
When your curiosity became too much to bear, you decided to be bold. There was a stack of records that once belonged to your grandmother, which you inherited after her passing. Among them were a few jazz vinyls that you still liked to play whenever you missed her. They were precious, yet there was something in your heart pulling you to share them as if it were her in the afterlife.
That night, you wrote a well-crafted note:
Dear Dr. Evans,
My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m a secretary here at Hastings. Believe it or not, I am a fan of your work and couldn’t help but notice that you have a love for jazz music. My grandmother listened to jazz frequently, and she left me her collection after she passed. I try to listen to them as often as I can, but unfortunately, they don’t get nearly as much love as they deserve. Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but I felt called to share some of her music with you. Perhaps it’ll help with your scientific endeavors.
Y/N
You wrapped one of your grandmother’s jazz records and took it to Hastings the next day. When you knew Calvin was in, you approached his lab with bated breath, wavering. You wavered at the door for a moment before sliding the thin package under the door with the note on top, and then waited with your heart in your throat. You heard his footsteps, saw the sight of his shadow under the door, followed by the crinkling of the package. It was then that you slowly backed away, but when you heard the door unlock, you dashed around the corner with a gasp.
Yes, you were fully aware that you were behaving like some schoolgirl.
The door eventually closed, and you exhaled in relief. Whatever music was playing before stopped with a soft scratch, and then shortly after, you heard the familiar sound of Duke Ellington filling the air. A soft smile lit up your face as your heart swelled.
Calvin Evans accepted your gift.
That day at lunch, you spotted Dr. Evans by the vending machine as usual, except this time he appeared to be searching for something - or someone. His brow was furrowed, his blue eyes scanning the area intensely with a sudden curiosity that he didn’t usually spare. You glanced at him between bites of your food, and when his attention lingered on you, you looked down at your meal and nothing else. At first, you thought he saw through you, but when you finally looked up again, he was gone.
Of course, he doesn’t know who I am.
But if you thought your secret would stay that way forever, then you were mistaken.
The following day, you were called into Calvin’s lab, which had all of the secretaries clucking like chickens as they wondered why Dr. Evans would be asking to see you. Of course, none of them knew about your little gift, and you didn’t need them thinking there was anything else going on. You took a notepad and pen with you to seem less conspicuous, though you had a feeling you wouldn’t need them.
When you approached Calvin’s door, you were internally panicking. His lab was such a forbidden, sacred space, and you had only ever been observing him from afar, so this was novel for everyone involved. Everything you knew about him was from magazines and what you heard from peers. You were simply operating out of marvel and an internal feeling you couldn’t quite shake.
You knocked softly on the door, and following the sound of footsteps, it unlocked and swung inward. On the other side was Dr. Calvin Evans, dressed in a lab coat over a white shirt and slacks. For a brief moment, you were taken aback by his handsomeness, which was even more apparent up close. His brown curls were styled out of his face, and his blue eyes were as deep as the sea.
“Dr. Evans,” you greeted lightly.
“Ms. Y/L/N, the jazz enthusiast,” he stated.
Your cheeks warmed. “I’d say my grandmother was the enthusiast, but I do have an appreciation for it.”
He looked over his shoulder warily before stepping aside. “Come in.”
With tentative steps, you entered Dr. Evans’ lab, half curious and half afraid of imposing.
“Don’t mind the mess,” Calvin said.
Lucky for him, you were less concerned with the mess and were simply admiring your surroundings. Despite working at a research lab, you very rarely entered the labs themselves, but even from the glimpses you’ve caught, this one took the cake. The counters were stacked with beakers, flasks, test tubes, and other glass containers meant for experiments, as well as several other tools you had no name for. Papers, books, and even leftover almonds littered the workspace. You also spotted a record player with the familiar sleeve of your grandmother’s record beside it. Even so, you gravitated towards the far wall with tall chalkboards full of chemistry equations that you only half-understood.
“Fascinating,” you whispered.
“Oh, are you familiar?” Calvin asked over your shoulder.
“Vaguely.”
Calvin hummed. “I didn’t know any of the secretaries had an interest in science.”
You scoffed, turning to face him.“You’re looking at the only one here, I think, but don’t be fooled. I’m not as smart as any of the scientists here, especially not you. It’s just a way to pass the time.”
He watched you as if you were a peculiar thing to be studied, which was extremely different from how the other men looked at you. When the others weren’t busy making demands and actually looked at you, it was never at your eyes, but at some part of your body they craved. That’s what you were, a craving or a thing to ogle at. On the other end, when Calvin Evans looked at you, it was only into your eyes, and with a level of attention and interest that was refreshing.
With a shake of his head, he grabbed your grandmother’s record from the table and brought it over to you.
“I just wanted to thank you for sharing this with me. I don’t know what I did to receive your kindness, but I appreciate it. There’s been a lack of surprise around here, and this was…a lovely surprise.”
You took it from him with a smile, turning it over. “Did you enjoy it?”
You didn’t realize you’d never seen Calvin Evans smile until he did it to you, and it was the sweetest thing you had ever seen. It stirred something in your chest in a way you didn’t expect.
“I did. It was fantastic,” he replied in earnest.
With this encouragement, your boldness returned.
“Well, I have plenty more back home. If you’d like, I can bring you another,” you offered shyly.
Calvin blinked a few times in surprise, his eyes lighting up. “I’d really like that, actually. If you don’t mind, of course.”
“No, I don’t mind at all.”
The two of you stood there, smiling and holding each other’s gaze awkwardly, when suddenly Calvin scowled in discomfort. He sniffled and cleared his throat, blinking a few times as he took a few steps back.
You eyed him warily. “Are you okay, Dr. Evans?”
He cleared his throat again and coughed, his face going red. “Ms. Y/L/N. Does your perfume have benzaldehyde?” he choked out.
Your hand flew to the side of your throat, where you applied your perfume this morning.
“Ummm, I…I wouldn’t know. Is that…is that a problem?” you stammered.
“I’m incredibly allergic.”
Calvin stumbled backwards, frantically searching for something before bending over to throw up in a trash can. With a gasp, you instinctively walked forward to help him, but he waved you away.
“Don’t…Don’t come any closer. You’ll make it worse,” he said frantically before throwing up again.
You were utterly mortified, stuck between wishing you could aid him somehow but not wanting to hurt him. Out of all the things to be allergic to, it had to be something so obscure, didn’t it? Of course, this would happen to you.
“Oh, my God. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” you stammered. “I’ll…I’ll get you some help!”
You dashed for the door, taking one more glance at a very sick Dr. Evans before disappearing.
As soon as you got home that day, you threw out that perfume. You felt so guilty about causing that allergic reaction that you avoided Dr. Evans for the next day. Luckily, the weekend came shortly after, so you didn’t have to worry about seeing him at all. You took that time to research benzaldehyde at the library so you could avoid it in the future. It was a cherry-like aroma that not all perfumes had, but even then, it was better to be safe than sorry. You bought rose oil as a replacement, seeing as it was softer and more natural anyway.
You wanted to make it up to Calvin somehow, although you had a feeling he might not want to speak with you at all. He allowed you into his lab only for you to make him physically ill and contaminate his workspace. Regardless, an apology was the least you could do, and it would eat away at you if you didn’t try. So you chose to take him some food. You usually made enough dinner for leftovers anyway, so one morning you packed an extra container of lasagna. And seeing as you told him you’d let him borrow another record, you wrapped up one of your favorites with a remorseful note attached.
Dear Dr. Evans,
I want to extend my sincerest apologies for making you so ill the other day. I cannot even begin to describe how utterly embarrassed I am, especially after you allowed me into your lab. I didn’t know what benzaheldyde was or that one could be allergic to it, but I’m well educated now. I even threw out my perfume as soon as I got home. However, I’ll make sure to keep my distance to avoid disturbing you again.
As an apology, I’ve included some homemade food along with another record, just as I promised. This one is one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy it.
Y/N
Just like last time, you approached Calvin Evans’ door, the warning signs even more apparent to your eyes. Through it, you could hear the sound of jazz music and the clinking of glass. You stood there once more, contemplating whether or not to present these items to him yourself, only to let anxiety win. Instead, you stacked everything before the door with the note resting on top, and knocked three times. You started backing away, but he must have bolted for the door, because you barely had enough time to flee before he opened it. You were barely slipping around the corner when he called out.
“Wait!”
You froze like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and your heart hammering against your ribs. You carefully took a peek around the corner to see Calvin Evans, holding your gifts with the note open in his hand. He quickly scanned his gaze over it before meeting your eyes.
“Did you really throw out your perfume?” he asked.
You nodded, stepping out into the hallway fully. “I did. I…I use rose oil now.”
A soft smirk curved on his lips as he furrowed his brow. “That’s…That’s really thoughtful, Ms. Y/L/N. May I ask why you’re running away?”
You sighed heavily. “Because I feel terrible about it, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to see me. Like when people eat bad food and can’t eat it again for years.”
Calvin fixed you with an odd look. “You’re comparing yourself to bad food?”
A giggle rumbled in your throat. “It was the closest thing I could think of.”
As if wanting to prove you wrong, Calvin set your gifts down on a nearby counter and walked towards you. Your heart beat so fast with each step, it may as well be a hummingbird’s wings. He stopped just a few feet away from you, just enough to feel his body heat against your skin. His blue eyes flitted between yours curiously, and that soft smile never wavered.
Calvin took a deep breath before nodding. “Roses.”
“Yes, roses,” you whispered.
He shifted his weight seriously. “I wouldn’t compare you to bad food, Ms. Y/L/N. I wouldn’t compare you to food at all. That’s pretty insulting.”
You huffed. “You would be the first man to think that, Dr. Evans.”
His expression dimmed slightly, a glint of anger passing over his eyes, but not for you.
“Yes, well, I find it insulting and demeaning, especially towards someone who is clearly more interesting than most people in this building.”
You gave him a strange look as your face warmed. You almost didn’t believe that he was complimenting you so openly.
“Are you talking about me, Dr. Evans?”
Calvin chuckled. “Of course I am. Who else would I be talking about?”
“I don’t know. I guess I find it surprising, considering we’ve interacted so little.”
“That’s why it’s even more significant that you already stand out to me.”
Your heart fluttered in your chest. “Usually that’s a bad thing. At least when I do it.”
“Yet nothing’s stopped you from dropping gifts at my door and learning chemistry in secret,” he replied.
You scoffed. “I wouldn’t go that far. You’d be surprised how much you can learn just from eavesdropping. They don’t expect a woman to actually understand anything, let alone one that keeps to herself.”
“Yet, you do.”
“I do. I find it intriguing,” you responded matter-of-factly.
Calvin grinned in a youthful, boyish way that made his eyes glitter. He traced his gaze over your face as if trying to make sense of you or memorize you, you weren’t sure which. But always, always your eyes and face, nothing more.
He scratched the back of his neck and said, “Well, it seems I have a new record to listen to and some lasagna to eat… You eat at the cafeteria, right?”
“I do, yeah.”
“Is it…okay if I sit and eat with you today?” he asked hesitantly. “I’d like to give you my honest thoughts on both, and maybe answer any chemistry questions you might have.”
You brightened from within from the sudden excitement, like a sunrise cresting over the horizon. Calvin Evans never ate at the cafeteria, let alone with another person.
“Oh, yes, of course,” you replied eagerly.
He nodded enthusiastically. “Great. Great, I’ll see you later, then.”
“See you later.”
Calvin walked back to his lab as you slowly started to back away. At the door, he took one last glance in your direction, and the two of you exchanged warm smiles before he sealed himself inside. The entire walk back to your desk, you couldn’t stop grinning or thinking of the way he looked at you.
Hii! I love you so much. Can you please write a really smutty poly!mauraders with a fluffy ending? (Ignoring wormtail because I'm still mad at him.) If not it's okay, I just love your writing! 🫶
competition | poly!marauders
pairing: poly!marauders (james, remus, and sirius) x fem!reader
warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), anal, not proofread
a/n: everyone in my inbox always tells me how much they love when i make the boys bicker, especially in the bedroom, so i hope it's okay that i threw that in here a bunch :) i also don’t know if this is as smutty as you wanted, but i hope it’s okay!
────── ☾ ──────
Remus flicked the ashes of his cigarette out of the bedroom window, smoke leaving his lips along with a chuckle. "Yeah, right."
Sirius shrugged as he took a drag from his cigarette. "The results speak for themselves."
James, who didn't smoke because it would taint his athlete lungs (as he so humbly put it), propped one leg up as he backed up against the bed frame, adjusting his position on the floor. "You fucking wish."
"I could do that if I tried. You're not special, Pads. I just don't because I know it would be too much for a girl, especially around the full moon," Remus said.
"Oh here he goes again with his rough sex werewolf shit," James threw his hands up in the air, getting a laugh from Sirius.
"Never made a girl squirt though, have you? You stay jealous, Moons," Sirius challenged.
"Surely you know that we do not believe you," James said.
Sirius sighed, leaning back onto his mattress, propping himself up on his elbows. "Well, when her cum shot all over my face, it did feel pretty fuckin' unbelievable."
"Just because virgins think you're good in the sack doesn't mean you are," Remus chimed back in, "how are they supposed to know that there's so much better out there?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Sirius said, leaning back up and tilting forward in Remus's direction, "I didn't realize you have a history of fuckin' making virgins squirt. I didn't realize this topic was so familiar to you, how dare I."
"It can't be that hard to make a virgin squirt, Sirius, I'm feelin' like that's pretty easy," James said.
"The real challenge is with experienced girls," Remus said, blowing more smoke out of the window, "You think you're all that? Get back to me when you make someone impossible to please come. Not even to squirt, just to come."
Sirius diverted his gaze from Remus to James, who looked to Remus, who looked back at James, who then turned to Sirius. "That a challenge?" Sirius asked.
"Maybe it is."
"Well if I'm gonna try, you're gonna try, you fucking asshole," Sirius told Remus.
"What, is James just off the hook? We all know he can't do it anyways."
James threw his hands up again. "I can do it."
"Okay, so pick a girl," Sirius said, raising his brows in challenge.
In a mocking voice, Remus joked, "but how will we ever find a girl that sex god Sirius Black can't please?"
"You think Y/N would do it?" James asked.
"You don't think that might ruin our friendship?" Remus questioned.
"Let's review," James said, standing up and beginning to count his points on his fingers, "one, we've all been friends with her for forever, so she trusts us. Two, we all know she's got experience, and we know there's a bunch of guys who haven't been able to make her come. Three, she doesn't strike me as someone who would get attached and ruin our friendships over sex. And four, perhaps the most important of all: she's hot and we all wanna fuck her."
"How the fuck do we even broach that subject?" Sirius asked, "are we supposed to ask her to let us fuck her as a competition? Do we just try to kiss her and see where it leads? This is Y/N for fucks sake."
"Correct," Remus responded, "it`'s just Y/N. I feel like it'll be way easier to ask her than some other random girl."
"Oh, Sirius has no problem asking random girls for sex," James joked, though he was serious.
"The only reason we're friends with Y/N is because she turned you down, do you remember that, Jamie?" Sirius shot back.
"She didn't turn me down, jackass, she was in a relationship. Otherwise, I would have for sure gotten to hit that."
"Big bad James and his big bad muscles on the big bad Quidditch team, ok then," Remus joked, "irresistible to all girls. Oh wait! Except for one."
"If you're jealous of my body, Moons, just say it. This," he gestured down his torso, "takes a lot of work."
"You're really talking yourself up when my skinny ass gets more girls than you do, and more boys too, for that matter. I'm sorry, which one of us has had sex with the majority of your Quidditch team? Oh, not you? Weird," Remus responded.
“You know that fraternization on the team would be frowned upon, why would you say that when you know-“
“Oh relax,” Remus cut James off.
“Doesn’t matter how many guys you get, Moons, you still can’t make Y/N come.”
“What are we, just going off the honors system here? I already don’t believe Sirius made someone squirt, you two want me to believe you if you just say you did it? Where’s the proof?” James questioned.
“Proof? What do you want us to do, suck her cum up in a syringe, you fucking weirdo?” Remus replied.
“No no, it’s a fair point,” Sirius chimed in, “I don’t believe half the shit you tell me anyway.”
“Ok, so what do you wanna do then? Fuck her at the same time?” Remus asked.
James and Sirius exchanged a long glance.
“You two aren’t serious.”
James and Sirius both shrugged.
“I’m not fucking her with you two idiots in the room ruining it,” Remus said.
“Oh, I beg to differ,” Sirius said, “I’d only make it better. For her especially.”
“Would not.”
“Would too.”
“You think you’re such a fucking sex god-“
“It’s not a little weird to fuck the same girl at the same time? What are we gonna do, take turns?” James asked.
“She’s got three holes,” Sirius said.
“Okay, but the entire point of fucking her is to see who can actually make her come, idiot,” Remus said, “so obviously that doesn’t matter. I’m not sticking my dick somewhere that I’ll be able to feel one of yours, guys.”
“Why not?” James asked genuinely.
“Because, because-“
“Because, because, come on, Rem, it’s only weird if you make it weird. I’ve seen your dick before.”
“Me changing in front of you is not the same as us fucking someone at the same time.”
“The thought of watching her get railed by one of us doesn’t do anything for you?” James asked.
Remus blinked, unable to cohesively think of a rebuttal. “I mean.”
“Mhm,” Sirius nodded.
“Okay, so it’s agreed, we’re all gonna fuck her with the rest of us there so we have proof we aren’t lying, and we’re gonna see who can make her come,” James said.
“What if we can all make her come?” Remus asked.
“Then whoever does it first?” James tried.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, I mean what if she comes harder for one of us? Once she comes it’s gonna be too easy to make her come again. Like that’s not a good gage,” Sirius said.
“No no, we share space equitably. No one hogs any part of her. Whoever makes her come first, wins,” Remus said.
“Wins what, exactly?” Sirius said.
James shrugged. “Let’s let her decide.”
────── ☾ ──────
Your gaze diverted between the three boys in front of you, your book laying open in your lap as you adjusted your cross-legged position on the common room couch. “Are you joking?”
“Nope,” said Sirius.
You processed for a few moments. “Okay, and what exactly do you get if you make me come first?” you asked.
James dipped his head and smirked. “We were uh- we were actually gonna let you decide that one.”
You raised your brows. “You were, were you?”
“…Yeah.”
You nodded your head up and down, thinking and processing. “And you all just assumed I’d say yes?”
“Honestly I don’t think we ever got that far,” Remus admitted.
“Right, right,” you said, “right.”
“You can say no, you know,” Sirius said.
You turned toward him. “I know.”
“So are you saying no?” he asked.
“No,” you replied, quicker than you anticipated.
“Are you saying yes?” Sirius pressed.
You pondered Sirius’s question. “Can I have a day or two to think about it?”
“Of course, of course,” James said.
Luckily you had plans in Hogsmeade the next day, which gave you an opportunity to give the boys an answer.
When Dorcas and Mary left the Hog’s Head early to “work on some overdue assignments,” you were left alone with the boys.
“So I have an answer for you,” you said.
“Already?” Remus said.
“Yeah, already, jackass.”
“And?”
“I’m down.”
All three boys exchanged glances. “Yeah?”
“Don’t act so surprised. You said no strings, you guys are hot, and fuck if I don’t need a good orgasm. The boys around here don’t do it for me, as you well know.” You’d tipsily told them several times how none of the boys at school could make you come.
“And you think we can?”
“If you’re really gonna try this hard, I think at least one of you has a shot. With all the sex you have? Please. If one of you can’t make me come, no one can. It’s worth a shot, and three tries is better than one.”
“Oh, so you’re using us?” Sirius joked.
“Mm, only because you guys wanted to use me first,” you lightheartedly shot back.
“Fair enough,” Sirius surrendered.
The conversation quickly shifted when butterbeers and pumpkin juices arrived, and all attention turned toward drinking games and late-night escapades.
As you walked through the cool-breezed, darkened streets of Hogsmeade, you took note of the lack of people around. You were sure the boys didn't notice.
"Where are you going?" Remus asked, watching you drift toward an alleyway.
You made a come-hither motion at the boys as you stepped into the alleyway, scanning quickly for any sign of life and finding none.
"What are you-" you grabbed Remus's face, cutting him off with a kiss. Without a second thought, Remus's hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him on instinct.
Both you and Remus were experienced enough to turn the kiss into a heated exchange quickly. You bit his bottom lip, and in turn, he took the moment of disconnection to slip his tongue into your mouth.
He took steps forward, backing you up until your back collided with the outer brick siding of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. Remus pulled away, thinking he had slammed your body into the wall too hard, but you immediately pulled him back. His body had no choice but to respond immediately, his hand holding the side of your jaw in place as his lips traveled down to the side of your neck.
The gap of his face in front of yours allowed you time to open your eyes and see Sirius and James watching the exchange intently.
"Guess Remus is going first then?" you teased.
"No, no, that's not the arrangement," Sirius said, "we all said no hogging. We all get equal shots. Move the fuck over."
Sirius grabbed your throat and pulled you forward into a kiss, causing Remus to stumble to the side in defeat.
Remus gestured to James to do what was just done to him to Sirius, but James wasn't one to fight for attention. James was one to wait until he was wanted, and until you were begging from attention from him. He would wait his turn patiently.
"Heathens," he snickered, "let her breathe for 2 seconds, would ya?"
Sirius pulled away, but his hand remained on your throat. "I'm sorry, I don't see you winning right now, do I? Shut up and maybe you'll learn something."
He resumed kissing you, and his hand dropped from your throat, tracing down your body until it landed between your legs. He pulled away to look into your eyes. You gave him a "yes" nod to signal that you consented to his touches.
That was the moment Remus decided he was done standing there like an idiot.
He dropped to his knees directly beside Sirius, tracing his fingers tauntingly slowly up your thighs, aiming for under your house-colored skirt.
Sirius noticed his efforts, and their hands collided directly on your underwear.
Like petulant little boys, you felt Sirius smack Remus's hand away, then Remus's hand smack him back, and then Sirius pulled his hand out from under your shirt and smacked Remus on the side of the head.
"Ass," Remus said his body moving sideways, causing his hand to leave its place under your skirt, "what the fuck was that for?"
"No one said we have to play fair," Sirius replied, shoving his hand back under your skirt and cupping between your thighs.
You barely reacted apart from a small gasp.
"You really are a tough one, huh?" Sirius teased, his hand falling for a moment.
Smirking, you responded, "you wanna make me come? You're gonna have to put in the work. Unless you think you can't handle it? Too busy fucking girls and not women?"
"Working me up is only gonna make this more intense for you," Sirius taunted, "you're playing a dangerous game."
"Don't listen to him, he's a cocky fuck," James laughed from behind Sirius.
You shifted your hips and let out a small moan. Sirius thought his words were really working you up, until he looked down to see that Remus had not only snuck his way between your legs while you and Sirius were talking, but that his head disappeared under your skirt.
Sirius decided to let Remus do some of the hard work before he chimed back in to bring you to the edge, so he stepped back, crossing his arms and sighing as he stood next to James. "At least flip the skirt up for me, gorgeous."
You pulled your skirt up, bunching it up and tucking it into its own waistband, leaving Remus visible, and when he pulled away to breathe, your core as well.
Remus flicked his tongue over your clit, one hand on your hip hooking a thumb around the fabric of your underwear to keep it to the side. Your fingers intertwined into his soft curls, keeping him in place as he moved his tongue faster and faster.
"You're kinda good at this," you spoke breathily, earning a moan of acknowledgement, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.
James decided to step in, standing to your side and turning your face toward him to finally take his turn at a kiss. The kiss was slow and passionate, the intimacy of it making you even wetter for Remus between your legs. His glasses fogged up due to the heat radiating off of your body.
When James pulled away, he kept a hand under your chin to keep your eyes on him instead of Remus. Remus's unoccupied hand began to take over his tongue's spot, circling your clit as he moved his face further back, teasing your entrance.
You let out a moan, staring into James's eyes. James nodded when you made the noise. "Good girl, that feel good?"
"Mhm," you responded, moaning again.
Remus's tongue began to fuck into you, his hand still working your clit. You used your hand to press his face further into you, refusing to give up the pleasure. You so rarely were properly pleasured by men, since they were typically unfamiliar with how to actually work their way around a woman's body, but you had a feeling that at least one of these three had to know what they were doing. You hoped it would be all of them.
As far as who you wanted to win, well, you didn't really have a preference. Honestly, all of them were hot, and you would be happy coming for any of them. Of course, there was a little bit of stake in the game. They allowed you to pick the prize for whoever won. You hadn't told them yet, but the prize would be you. Consistent sex-capades with the one girl around who could truly do it for them? That's a prize in itself.
You knew they had a lot of sex. You knew they slept with a ton of people, but you also knew that they were usually the ones giving the pleasure, not receiving it. The prize? That would change.
"Fuck, Jamie," you moaned, still staring into his eyes as Remus ate you out.
Remus pulled away, his hand never stopping as he said, "that's not fucking fair, I'm the one doing the work down here. He didn't even earn his name."
"And you think you did?" James challenged.
"She's only moanin' cus of me," Remus shot back.
"Well, you clearly haven't made her come, and you've been down there long enough," James said, "my turn."
Remus had the same thought as Sirius, and opted to let James do some of the work as well.
He sighed and backed up, and James dropped to his knees.
Despite being on his knees, James gripped the back of your thighs, hoisting you up so that your thighs were resting on his shoulders. You squealed in surprise at his strength.
"You're strong," you said.
"You have no idea," he responded, gripping your ass and pushing you into his face, immediately beginning to move his tongue at a rapid pace, his head shaking back and forth from the speed.
"Oh fuck," you moaned, throwing your head back and knocking it against the brick, "fuck, just like that."
Sirius approached again, standing directly behind James an pushing his head further into you. He leaned over James and kissed you, swallowing to whimper that followed.
James refused to stop, eating you out like he was starving. Each time you made a noise that Sirius found hot, he pushed James's head harder into you. James didn't let out a single noise of protest.
You looked down and spotted Sirius's hand on James's head, forcing him to increase the pleasure his mouth was giving you, and it caused your core to flex.
"Fuck," you gasped, "oh my god, James, fuck."
"Earned his name, I see," Sirius teased, turning to Remus.
Remus pretended to act annoyed, but anyone could see his dick straining against his pants for dear life. Even if the name you moaned wasn't his, it was still hot nevertheless, and he knew it would be his name when he was the one making you come. He had no doubts. Why not let James and Sirius have a little fun first?
Part of the reason you were so hard to make come was that man didn't understand that just eating out or just penetration wasn't enough for you. These boys had no idea that as long as they remained kneeling between your legs, they were already way off.
It took ten minutes of James eating you out before he took a breath. "Fucking hell, are you close?"
You giggled. "I don't know, am I?"
Remus caught on. "You need to be fucked, huh?"
"Okay fuck you, she might actually be close," James said, but stood up anyways.
"Didn't you guys pick me because you knew it wouldn't be easy?" you asked.
James gripped your chin and pulled your face against his, trapping you in a heated kiss to remind you that he could, in fact, make you feel good.
“Up,” Remus said, snaking his arms around your thighs, prompting you to jump and wrap your legs around his hips.
You watched in the gap between your bodies as Remus pushed everything below the waist down, exposing his long, slender cock.
He gently pressed his forehead against yours, looking between your bodies as well as he lined himself up with your entrance. He waited a moment for you to revoke consent, but when you didn’t, he pushed himself into you.
You tilted your head back as he bottomed out, barely giving you any time to adjust before he started fucking you.
You locked your legs behind him, crossing your feet to keep you in place. He kept his hands under your thighs to hold you up as he fucked you, his lips trailing down to your jawline.
“Shit, Remus,” you moaned.
The use of his name only egged him on more, causing him to start fucking into you faster. “Good fucking girl, I can feel you squeezing me,” he whispered into your air.
You whined and whimpered as his cock pumped in out of you, and Remus was beginning to lose control.
You squirmed momentarily, and Remus grabbed your hand in his own, moving it over your head and pinning it against the brick wall. “Stay fucking still.”
You saw a window of opportunity, and arched your back. “Or what?” you breathily asked.
Remus nearly growled, immediately dropping your hand and wrapping his fingers around your throat. He snapped his hips harshly, not caring about the competition anymore, just caring about fucking you the hardest you’ve ever been fucked. His hand pressed your neck into the brick, rendering you unable to move your head. In tandem with deep thrusts, he repeated, “stay. Fucking. Still.”
You obeyed.
You opened your eyes and spotted James, who was covering half of his face with his hand, breathing deeply to maintain self control. The eye contact only added to your arousal, because James’s eyes were trained on you so intensely that you almost couldn’t handle it.
Your hands explored Remus’s body, feeling muscles on his arms that you couldn’t see in the light of day on his relatively skinny frame. You pawed at his hips, involuntarily trying to push each thrust even further into you.
Sirius approached you two, his cock in hand as he gently stroked himself. “Let her off the wall.”
Remus, sweaty and losing breath, removed his lips from sucking your jawline to look at Sirius. “I’m fucking occupied.”
“Let her off the wall,” Sirius repeated, “I didn’t say you had to stop fucking her.”
Remus dipped his head into the crook of your neck. “I fucking hate you,” he said, directed as Sirius, but he remembered the terms he agreed to, and knew he was hogging you. So he moved his hands to your thighs again, and stepped backward from the building, his cock still in you.
The shifting of his hips as he moved was causing stimulation without Remus even trying.
Remus turned so that your back was to Sirius, and he resumed fucking you, slower this time. His arms moved you slightly up and down to aid in his thrusts, his hips moving the best he could without you pressed against the wall.
Sirius pressed your back against his chest, his head dipping into the crook of your neck as he began to kiss your shoulder, your neck, and your jawline, until he turned your head sideways and kissed you.
You allowed your body to fall into him, Remus’s thrusts causing you to jerk upward every few seconds. Sirius fought to hold your head against his, but honestly you moving due to getting fucked only made him harder.
“You ever done this back here before?” Sirius whispered to you.
“Mhm,” you responded, barely able to speak from how hard Remus was thrusting into you.
Sirius spit into his hand and rubbed it up and down his cock, preparing himself.
“Stop for a second,” Sirius told Remus.
“Fuck no,” Remus said, lost in pleasure.
“Stop for a second or this could hurt her, dumbass,” Sirius clarified.
Remus stopped thrusting and pressed his forehead to your collarbone, catching his breath for a second and trying to stay still until he could resume movement.
Sirius lined himself up, wrapping one hand around your stomach, and using the other hand to hold your ass up as he slowly pushed himself into your ass.
You leaned your head back onto his shoulder, allowing him to take his time stretching you.
“Would you fucking hurry up?” Remus snapped, clearly annoyed.
“You can wait 10 more seconds,” Sirius replied, trying to focus on restraint.
“Shouldn’t have to, selfish fuck.”
“I’m selfish? Who just stood here fucking her without me or James getting-“
“Just fucking get to it,” Remus was losing control by the second.
“That’s what I’m doing, thank you very much.”
“It’s just like you to be cocky while you’re literally sticking your dick in-“
“Well maybe if you stopped fucking distracting me then I-“
“Would you two please shut up and fuck me?” you chimed in.
Sirius was finally bottomed out, and he tested the waters by thrusting only an inch or two at a time. Once he started a normal pace, Remus began his own relentless pace again, barely even acknowledging that Sirius was there.
When Remus thrusted in, jerking you backward, Sirius would take the opportunity to thrust forward as well, the two boys not having to move a ton because you were being tossed between their cocks, the movements giving you makeshift thrusts.
“James,” you said.
He perked up, somewhat shocked that you said his name while sandwiched between his two best friends.
“Yeah?”
“I need you to touch me,” you said.
Remus and Sirius both looked up to acknowledge what was happening, but ended up looking up directly at each other.
They stayed watching each other for a moment, their breaths staggered and their faces glistening from sweat.
Sirius reached past you and grabbed the back of Remus’s head, pulling him in.
Sirius and Remus’s lips collided directly next to you, and the sight of them kissing as they both fucked you almost did you in.
Almost. James approached your other side, not daring to interrupt the hotness of the kiss, and he placed his own soft kiss on your temple.
“You want me to touch you?” he teased.
“Please, Jamie,” you were not above pleading to get what you want.
James ran his hand down your body, which was still bouncing up and down, slowly dragging between your breast area and down your stomach. He stilled just under your skirt’s waistband.
“Ask me for it again,” James said.
“Please touch me, James, I need it so bad.”
His hand moved lower.
“How bad? You need me to make you come?”
“I need it, I wanna come, please Jamie, please.”
“Atta girl,” he said.
He kissed you as he began circling your clit with his finger. You moaned into the kiss, garnering the attention of Sirius and Remus, who breathily pulled away from one another to watch your body react to now being touched.
You leaned back against Sirius, your moans escalating in both frequency and volume.
“Oh m- fuck, I’m gonna come,” you moaned.
Sirius and Remus both began to fuck you harder, but you stopped them quickly.
“No, no, do what you were doing,” you said, “don’t escalate. Fuck me like you were.”
The boys both resumed their previous pace, and you felt the knot begin to form in your stomach.
James applied a slight bit more pressure to your clit, and you knew you were in for it.
“I’m coming, I-“
You came hard, your wetness completely coating Remus’s cock as your orgasm washed over you. It was so intense, likely from your body not being used to men making you come like this, that your legs started to shake. You would have fallen if it weren’t for two boys holding you between them.
James gradually slowed his hand down, kissing you through the orgasm to help calm you down.
Remus couldn’t help himself but join you. He hit your cervix with three brutal thrusts as he allowed himself to come, his head resting on your shoulder as he took a breath.
After you and Remus had calmed down, Sirius pulled out of you, allowing Remus to place you down. You stayed clinging onto Remus, not convinced that your legs would work after being hoisted up for so long.
Sirius had already taken a step back to finish himself off, roaring lowly as he came and painted a brick on the wall white.
That left James, who looked completely pleased and content.
“You didn’t-“
“Oh, I did,” James said, looking down.
You spotted the wet patch between his legs, and realized that James came without any stimulation of his own, but just from watching all of you and doing to you what he did.
Remus finally pulled out of you, stepping back from you and running his fingers through his hair. “Fuck.”
After a few minutes of everyone resetting and catching their breath, it was Sirius who finally asked, “so? Who won?”
“Clearly me,” James said, “she asked me to touch her, and that’s what did her in.”
“I’m sorry, whose cock was hitting her g-spot?” Remus smiled.
“It was the DP that did it, obviously, idiots,” Sirius defended himself.
They all turned to you.
“Tie.”
“No no no, it’s not a fucking tie,” Sirius said, walking back over to you, “which one of us did it for you? You have to pick one.”
“No I don’t,” you shrugged.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t, Sirius,” you said, “I’m allowed to decide it’s a tie. I’m not in your little competition, I don’t have to follow any rules. It’s a tie.”
“But-“
“You were all fucking me at the same time, what did you expect?”
“So- so who gets whatever the winner gets, then?” James asked.
“All of you, I guess.”
“Yeah? And what do we all get?” Remus asked.
“Well, you all just came, so I guess you gotta wait,” you responded.
James raised his brows. “The prize is a blowjob? From you?”
“Yeah,” you said, “as many as you want, whatever you want with me, whenever you want, yeah.”
Remus smirked. Sirius chuckled and smiled wide, and James was still in disbelief.
jake seresin x reader x bradley bradshaw (wc 5.6k)
summary: when Jake, your ex boyfriend, comes back into town he doesn’t like to find that Bradley is stepping on his toes. he decides to show you who you really belong to
warnings: smut, 18+ content, swearing, descriptions of violence, blood
author’s note: whew okay here we go. this originally started out as a Jake fic and just evolved okay. i would like to clarify that I didn’t set out to make Jake the bad guy. maybe he’ll redeem himself. inspired by ‘Darlin’ by Chase Matthew so give it a listen!
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Bradley's palm curves around your hip and gives it a squeeze before he steps away from the bar. He dips his head down as he does so to accommodate for the noise level of the room, his nose brushing your hair. "Well I better be off. I'll see you later, darlin'. Tell your mama I said hi."
The gesture is friendly and innocent. Habitual in the way a friend would reach out to another. You don't think twice about it.
You smile warmly up at him, leaning into him before he takes his leave. "I will, Bradley. Drive safe."
No sooner than he's gone, his empty spot is replaced at the bar top.
"Why's he call you darlin'?"
Jake's voice makes your heart drop in your chest.
His palms are braced on either side of you against the bar top as he leans down over you. You couldn't escape if you wanted to. Instead you turn in your seat to face him, your eyes already narrowed back indignantly at his accusing ones. You cross your arms in front of your chest without even thinking about it.
"Jacob."
Your once warm smile is replaced by something more straight faced and cold. No one would guess that your heart rate has just picked up tenfold.
"Matter a' fact, how's he know your mama?"
There's a snarl no-so-hidden in his cowboy pretty grin. Something biting and mean and—jealous.
Bingo.
"You know he's just a friend," you answer flippantly, already turning your stool back around.
Jake catches it before you make it very far, jerking it back around so that you're facing him once again. Now you're almost nose to nose, and you can see every shade of green in his eyes.
"Is that what you wanna call it?" Jake asks, sounding like his feathers are more than just ruffled. His tone is a bit cocky, a bit pissed.
Your relationship with Jake is complicated to say the least. The two of you have been on and off again for months now with no end in sight. You fight, you break up, you get back together, and then you just end up doing it all over again. And even when you're broken up, you're not really broken up. You're still his drunk call at 2am, and when you dress up for a night out, making him jealous is always on the forefront of your mind.
Really, Bradley is just a friend. He was just a friend. A familiar face that you're comfortable enough to run to when you don't know what else to do. Comfortable enough that you may or may not have made out with a few times.
Okay so you really don't know what Bradley is. Just that he's nice, warm in ways that Jake isn't.
He was there when Jake wasn't.
"I'm not calling it anything because it's nothing," you insist. "You're being crazy."
And that really pushes his buttons.
He tisks, blowing air through his teeth in exasperation. "Crazy," he repeats, shaking his head as if the word itself has offended him. "No, what's crazy is that there are rumors going around this town that my girl is going out pretending to be someone else's."
You bite your tongue but don't say anything. You hope he doesn't catch onto the nervous way you swallow.
"Not so crazy now, huh, darlin'? "
You don't respond to his accusation but you don't deny it either. Jake knows you're playing him.
Instead you try to steer back the conversation. "Last time I checked, I wasn't your girl."
Last time you checked, the two of you were freshly broken up and Jake was half way across the country. If you're being honest, you can't even remember the reason the two of you broke up. You probably didn't even know what the reason was at the time. The two of you do so much screaming that it gets hard to tell.
Jake fixes you with a look. "We both know damn well you're always going to be my girl."
Oh.
Now is probably a bad time to finally note how good he looks. His face is fuller than the last time you saw him, healthier and flushed with color. There's a hint of a five o'clock shadow that he doesn't usually allow to grow and his eyes are brighter. His body is fuller too, the strong build of his chest practically strains against his white t-shirt.
"So what's ole boy got that I don't? What's he do that I don't? Because baby, last time I checked, you liked being railed in the back of my Chevy."
Immediately your face flashes red. Not only because there are plenty enough people around to hear him—and did hear him—but because the memory is too engrained in your mind to forget.
You're off of the stool and dragging him towards the closest door in seconds. You pass Natasha in the process, and you know you'll be hearing about this later. Her sharp gaze doesn't miss anything. The swinging door of the ladies room rattles as it closes behind you.
Jake smirks when you let him go. "Oh sorry. Am I only allowed to say that when the door's closed?"
He's definitely not sorry.
You jab a finger into his chest, hard, and you revel in the satisfaction that comes with his huff of surprise. "Look, I know we keep trying and trying, but we don't work. I mean it when I say I've moved on, Jake, and it's about time you do too. So go bitch about your broken heart somewhere else."
Jakes grabs ahold of your elbow before you can turn away and yanks you close to him. His grip on your arm is tight enough to bruise. Rather than fight him, because you know it would be useless, you glower, breathing heavily through your nose. At nearly half a foot taller than you are, Jake seemingly towers over you. The pissed off look in his eyes makes them an even harsher green; a green that has held you captive since the day you met.
"Since when do you go around telling our friends that I'm 'trash' ?"
For a moment he has you, and you stop actively trying to tug your arm away. Your eyes lock in a stand still with his. His green eyes challenge you with quiet intensity, daring you to own up to all of your smack talk.
"That I'm just a fuckboy, right?' He presses.
You couldn't deny that there had been multiple occasions when one too many beers got your mouth moving and the Dagger Squad was on the receiving end. Phoenix and Coyote specifically. Phoenix knew when to keep her mouth shut.
Coyote on the other hand... Really, you should know better than the mouth off to Jake's best friend.
It's no use trying to deny it.
"Let go. We're not fighting over this," you growl, snapping your eyes out of the trance he'd locked you in, trying to pull your elbow away from him.
Instead of releasing you, he pulls your body closer as he walks you backwards so that you're chest to chest and pressed against the bathroom wall. You can feel his heart thumping hard against his ribs.
"But that's all you ever wanna to do, isn't it? All you ever want to do is fight." His hand that is holding your hip to his own slides down to grip the back of your thigh and hikes your leg up around his side, putting your center directly in contact with the bugle in his jeans. Reflexively, your hips rut up into him. He chuckles, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Oh, that's what you wanted, huh?"
You're about to snap at him, tell him you're not some whore that he can just fuck the attitude out of, but then he leans down and licks a trail from the juncture of your neck all the way up to your ear. The hot heat of his mouth sends the warm leak of arousal straight to your core.
Your fingers fist into his now wrinkled t-shirt, doing your best to shove him away. To his credit, he draws away just slightly. Jake is man enough to give you some space.
"Let go, Jacob."
"C'mon," he invites—challenges, the corner of his mouth twisting up into a rueful smile. "For old times sake."
You press your knee up into his crotch and feel how hard this interaction has made him. "You think I'm in love with you, Seresin?"
"Yeah, actually. I think you're pretty obsessed with me." His smirk is relaxed and cocky. Too cocky for someone who has been MIA for six months.
You growl and lean into his face, taking it upon yourself to undo the distance you'd created earlier. "I don't even fucking like you. You're nothing to me. You're a nobody."
To his credit, Jake doesn't seem bothered by your harsh rebuke. If anything, it spurs him on. Because it means to some degree, you still care.
That's the thing about Jake. It doesn't matter how pissed off he makes you, how much of a jerk he is, how much you tear him apart in front of your friends for the hell that he's put you through, you will always hold something for him. Hatred maybe, but as long as there's still a little bit of a spark, you're always going to let him back in.
"Then why're you still here?" He urges.
He's right.
You could leave. You could shove him away like you mean it and walk right out of the bar, call Bradley to pick you up in an instant. He wouldn't stop you. You wouldn't hear from him for another six months and then someway, somehow, you'd end right back up in this situation.
"I hope you brought a condom," you respond instead.
Jake scoffs, leaning in closer to you. "Why? We both know you like it raw, baby."
"I don't know where your dick has been," you retort. And before he can open his mouth, you continue, "Lord knows you didn't go six months without getting it wet."
Instead of replying, Jake hikes your knee up further over his hip, bunching your dress up further over your hips. "How about instead of insulting me, you spread your legs and let me get to work?"
It's not a suggestion because before you can open your mouth, his fingers are pushing aside your panties and sliding right against your clit. Your hips jerk at the brief sensation but Jake wastes no time getting to the point.
You bristle involuntarily when his fingers abruptly enter you. His middle and index finger slide right into your weeping cunt without resistance, forcing apart your silky walls. You don't mean to whimper but it's been so long since someone's touched you like Jake has.
"All that fuss and you're dripping," Jake huffs. "I've barely even touched you."
A snarling thought forms in your mind at his cockiness but nothing comes out except another breathy gasp. His fingers slide all the way in, down to the second knuckle, and your walls clench around him. His hands are big and all you can think about is how much bigger his cock is.
"She ain't got much to say now, does she?" Jake purrs. You can feel the tips of his fingers rubbing along your walls. "I think you missed me."
Your pussy clenches around his fingers in response and he chuckles before pressing them further inside. "Fuckin' sucking me in," he huffs, and you can feel the ridges of his knuckles slide against the slick walls of your cunt as he allows your spasming muscles to pull him in.
His thumb finds your throbbing clit and finally, you find your voice. "Jake— Jake, I'm gonna come," you say breathlessly, the fist that you'd had balled in his shirt moving to push his hand away. "Please, I can't—"
Without warning, Jake hikes your knee up further around his waist and presses his thumb firmer against your clit. The sudden onrush of stimulation almost makes you cry.
"You're almost there, baby. I can feel you squeezing me. Just let me make you feel good," he encourages, refusing to let up despite your pleas.
When your hips involuntarily buck up, Jake holds you in place, and all you can do is let him as your head falls back against the wall. His two fingers curl inside of you and that's all it takes. Molten fire shoots through your belly and electrifies your spine.
The orgasm lasts what seems like forever. Your body is flushed and tingling and entirely over stimulated. "Okay, okay, Jake please," you whine breathlessly. You have to forcibly push him away so that you can recover from the aftershocks without being drawn into another orgasm.
Your pussy spasms as Jake slowly removes his fingers, his other hand still supporting your now limp body against him. You flinch at the over stimulation as his thumb gives one last swipe over your clit before he removes his hand.
And then, without his green eyes leaving yours, he draws his two fingers up to his mouth and sucks. They glisten against the wet press of his mouth, and his throat bobs as he swallows.
You're not sure if it's you breathing heavy or him, but the level of arousal in the room is audible. You feel something drip inside of you. Literally.
At your evident fixation, Jake pulls his fingers from his mouth and smiles. His prefect pretty boy smile is devilish. He leans in close and his smile twists into a smirk.
"I'll see you around, darlin'."
And then he's gone, pressing through the bathroom door and leaving it swinging behind him as if he's got no shame in being caught. The retreating click of his boots echos on the hard wood floor of the Hard Deck as he walks away.
A hand catches the door just as it stops swinging. "You did not," Phoenix hisses, and it's more of an incredulous statement than a question.
Instead of answering her, you cross your arms, as if the action will collect some of your lost dignity. "You knew he was back in town?"
It's her turn not to answer you. You cock an eyebrow. Finally, she sighs exasperatedly. "He asked me if you were seeing anyone."
"Of course he did," you mutter, leaning over the sink to look into the mirror and try to swipe away your smudged lipstick. The adrenaline running through you is starting to fade into that familiar, frustrated ache.
"Please tell me you didn't say anything about Bradley."
Phoenix leans against the doorframe, watching you pull yourself together with that analytical gaze that makes her such a good pilot. Her gaze isn't judgmental—just tired.
"I told him you were busy. I told him you were seeing someone else—which you were, until ten minutes ago," she emphasizes. "But you know Jake. Tell him he's not cleared for landing, and he just takes it as a challenge to clear the runway himself."
You turn around and lean back against the cool tile of the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. "How long is he in town?"
Phoenix looks away.
"No," you breathe.
"Orders came through last week," Phoenix confesses quietly. "And he's not just passing through this time. He's stationed here at Miramar for the foreseeable future."
The air in the bathroom suddenly feels thin, like you've just shot up 14,000 feet. You've spent six months building a life that didn't involve constantly looking over your shoulder or waiting for midnight phone calls.
You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to ward off your sudden impending migraine and also physically shut out Phoenix's words.
"Of course he is. It's not like he has anything better to do than move across the country to come and fuck up my life," you mutter, more to yourself than anyone.
Phoenix sighs, shifting so that she's leaning against the bathroom sink, facing you. She crosses her arms, her shoulders sagging just a little. The dim overhead lights of the bar bathroom hum above her, casting a shadow across her troubled face.
"Look, I didn't tell him about Bradley to start a dogfight. I told him because I thought that it would actually make him back off for once. Give you some breathing room."
You let out a humorless, miserable laugh and drop your hands from your face. "When has Jake Seresin ever seen a full flight pattern and backed off? It's like an open invitation to him."
You look at your wrinkled dress in the mirror and can still feel where his hands were on your hips, tight enough to bruise. Your skin feels sticky with sweat and filthy from the tiles of the bathroom wall. And worst of all, the deep, throbbing ache between your thighs is a humiliating reminder of how effortlessly he dismantled six months worth of personal growth within just five minutes.
Phoenix must be able to read the look on your face because she removes herself from the sink and walks over, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "I'm not judging you for whatever happened. I know Jake. I know you two loved each other at some point. I know it's not easy," she reassures you gently. "But I also know that somewhere out there is a guy who would drop everything in an instant to come and get you."
Bradley.
Bradley, who had so sweetly inserted himself into your life when you needed him and never left. Bradley, who kissed you softly and then tickled you with his mustache until your chest ached from laughing. Bradley, who only left the bar after you'd reassured him repeatedly that you were gonna be okay without him.
You needed to call Bradley.
You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. "Gosh, Nat. He's probably halfway down the highway by now."
Phoenix doesn't budge. "It doesn't matter. He'll come get you. Just call him."
After a moment of hesitation, you nod and retrieve your phone from your purse. You scroll through your contacts until you find Bradley's name in your call history.
Brad <3 (incoming call) 4:13 pm
As your thumb hovers over his name, Phoenix steps away to give you some space. "I'll walk out first and make sure Jake is distracted. Just stay in the bathroom until Bradley gets here. Try not to let him see you leave."
As Phoenix slips out of the door, you press the call button and lift the phone to you ear listening to the steady, rhythmic ringing as the call goes through. Every second feels like and eternity, like at any moment, Jake will walk right back in and catch you red handed.
On the fourth ring, the line clicks open.
"Hey, there, pretty girl," Bradley's voice crackles through the speaker, sounding relaxed and steady. The engine of his Bronco rumbles steadily in the background. "Everything okay? I just got onto the main road."
The sound of his voice—safe and familiar, completely unaware of the disaster that just unfolded in the bathroom—makes a lump form in your throat.
"Hey, Bradley," you start, doing your best to keep your voice from crackling. Your nose is doing that thing where it starts to burn and your eyes are prickling with unshed tears. "Yeah, um, just a change of plans... Are you... can you turn around and come get me?"
There's a brief pause on the line, the heavy hum of his truck's engine the only sound filling the silence before he speaks again.
"Turn around?" he asks, his tone shifting from relaxed to alert. "Yeah, baby, of course I can. But, hey—are you sure you're okay? You sound like you're about to cry."
Bradley knows you. He knows the exact pitch of your voice when you're stressed or trying to hide something.
"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine," you lie, pacing around the small bathroom with your phone pressed to your ear so that you can hear him clearly over the background noise. "It's just... The bar got really crowded and there's a lot of people, and I just... I really want to go home now."
"Did something happen?" Bradley's voice has dropped into a tone that says he's on edge and is about to come flying back down the road if you don't convince him that you're okay within the next ten seconds. "Are you safe?"
"Bradley, listen to me. I'm safe, I promise," you say quickly, raising your voice so that it sounds more confident than you feel. The last thing you need is for him to come storming into the Hard Deck looking for a fight. "Nothing happened. I just really want to go home."
You hear the distinct rhythmic click of his turn signal and the aggressive crunch of his tires as he does what you can assume to be a U-turn in the middle of the highway.
"Alright. I'm turning back now," Bradley says, his voice firm and grounding. "I'll be there in five minutes. Make Phoenix or one of the guys wait with you, okay? Don't stay by yourself."
"Okay," you answer softly, some of the tension finally leaving your body. "Thanks, Bradley."
"Don't worry about it, pretty girl. I'll see you in a few minutes."
"Okay, bye."
The line clicks dead and you lower the phone from your ear, taking a deep breath as you do so. Bradley's coming, but the hard part isn't over yet. You have about three minutes to figure out how to get past Jake and out of the bar before Bradley decides to come get you himself.
You take another deep breath and push open the bathroom door.
Immediately, you spot Phoenix just a few feet away. She's at a table with Bob and a couple of the other guys, looking engaged in a conversation, but every so often, she looks back over at the bathroom door.
When her eyes lock with yours, she subtly nods her head over to the other side of the bar.
Jake is exactly where you hoped he wouldn't be.
He's perched leaning with one arm on top of the jukebox and beer in his other hand. Coyote and Omaha are standing there beside him, talking loudly, animatedly retelling some sort of story. Jake laughs, his perfect white teeth flashing in a cowboy pretty smile. He looks completely unbothered and totally immersed in the conversation.
But the second you step into his line of sight, his head turns. Those piercing green eyes lock onto you and hold your gaze. He tracks your movement through the bar with a predatory stare.
You look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he's completely unmoored you, and make a beeline for the front doors of the bar.
Head up. Eyes straight. Keep moving.
As you pass the jukebox, you can feel Jake's eyes burning holes into the side of your face. You almost make it past him, when his slow, southern drawl cuts through the room.
"Gonna leave without saying goodbye, darlin'?"
You stop, your heart pounding out of your chest. Ignoring him in front of the Dagger Squad will only make this whole thing look worse. Slowly, you turn around to face him.
"I'm tired. I just want to go home, Jake."
Jake chuckles, stepping away from his jukebox kingdom. His white t-shirt hugs his swollen biceps as he walks towards you. He looks you straight in the face and smiles. He's dangerously handsome and he knows it.
"Is that right?" he asks, his voice sounding innocently curious. "That's funny. You didn't seem all that tired a few minutes ago. You actually seemed pretty awake to me."
Your face burns, but before you can snap back, the sound of a truck parking just outside draws your attention. Through the open windows of the bar, you see Bradley's blue Bronco park right out front.
Jake's eyes flicker to the window at the same time that yours down. The amused, dangerous smile on his face falters just a fraction. He looks back at you.
"Well, look at that. Your ride's here."
"Yeah," you say, already turning for the door, feeling relief flash through you. "He is. See you around, Jake."
You don't wait to see if he follows you. You turn on your heels and push through the heavy front doors, the cool night air hitting your face like a breath of fresh air.
Bradley's truck is idling, the blue Bronco sitting right out front. Through the windshield, you can see Bradley sitting in the driver's seat, his hands tapping impatiently against the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the front exit anxiously. The moment he sees you, the tension in his shoulders visibly drops.
You pull the passenger door open and climb inside. The cool blast of the air conditioner is a stark contrast the the sweaty atmosphere of the bar. You shut the door quickly, cutting off the noise of the bar entirely.
Bradley immediately reaches over to take your jacket, his eyes searching your face. He reaches out, his large, gentle hand catching your chin, turning your face so that he can get a good look at you.
"Hey, hey," Bradley says softly, his brow furrowed with concern. "You're all frantic. What's going on?"
"Nothing, I—" but before you can even get the words out, Jake Seresin waltzes out of the front doors of the Hard Deck, his cowboy boots clicking as he walks. He's got that look on his face. The one that says he's looking for trouble.
Bradley is jumping out of the drivers seat before you can even think to stop him.
You yelp.
"Bradley, please—" you lunge for his arm across the console but he's quicker, and you only weakly manage to catch the edge of his t-shirt before he's storming out of the car.
You scramble out of the passenger seat, your hands clawing at the handle of the passenger door faster than you knew you were capable of moving.
Bradley, however, is quicker. He meets Jake halfway under the dim glow of the bar's porch lights, effectively cutting off Jake's path to the truck.
“Fuck off, Seresin," Bradley growls, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register than you've never heard from him. His board shoulders are squared, his feet planted firmly in the gravel.
Jake stops where he is, but he doesn't step back. He just stops a few inches from Bradley, capitalizing on the few inches he has on the brunette aviator. You can see him thinking, as he sucks his tongue to the front of his teeth and cocks his head.
"Relax, Bradshaw," Jake drawls, voice dripping with a sickening amount of southern sweetness and effortless confidence. He tilts his head towards the Bronco, his pretty green eyes flashing in malicious amusement. "Just coming out to make sure my girl gets home safe. Didn't know she called a taxi."
"Your girl?" Bradley asks, his tone incredulous. "You go AWOL for six months and then decide that you're just going to inject yourself back into her life? I'll tell you something, Bagman. You're good but you're sure as hell not that good."
Jake lets out a sharp, amused laugh. His eyes are sharp and cold. He leans in as his voice drops low. "Oh I think I am that good, Rooster. But don't take it from me. Why don't you ask her."
Jake straightens and turns his glinting green eyes to you. "Darlin'," he drawls. "Why don't you tell Bradshaw here just how good I am? Or should I?"
Bradley's entire body goes rigid. His jaw clenches so tight that you see the muscles jump in his neck. Your heart drops.
"Shut up, Jake."
The disgusting implication lands exactly where Jake intendeds it to.
"You keep your fucking hands off of her," Bradley seethes, his voice sounding unsteady for the first time tonight. He steps so close into Jake's space that they can probably feel each other's breath on their faces.
"Am I lying, baby?" Jake asks, his dripping a confidence that says he knows you won't say otherwise. He tilts his head, his green eyes daring you to look Bradley in the eye and deny it. "Go ahead. Tell him how good I felt."
You're crying at this point, hot tears rolling down your face. "Jake, stop it!" you beg, you voice cracking as you say it.
Bradley finally turns his head towards you. The look on his face breaks your heart.
His brown eyes, usually so warm and steady, are searching yours with a quiet, desperate plea. He's begging you to deny it. To lie. He doesn't care if you lie at this point. Just don't tell him it's true.
"You know, Phoenix told me you were seeing someone," Jake continues, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "She conveniently forgot to mention it was Bradshaw. But hey, I get it. Old habits die hard, don't they."
With a low, animalistic growl, Bradley reaches his breaking point.
He lunges, his right fist coming into contact with Jake's jaw with a sickening crack. The sheer force of the blow sends Jake stumbling backwards. The only reason he doesn't fall to the ground is because he stumbles, catching himself on the porch railing just in time.
"Bradley! Stop it!!" you shout, rushing after him as he advances towards Jake.
Jake is on his feet by the time Bradley reaches him, and he doesn't waste the opportunity. The moment Bradley is within range, Jake swings. Bradley sees it coming soon enough to at least brace himself. The blow clips the edge of his jaw, hard, but if anything, it only makes him angrier. He lunges again. This time, the punches don't stop.
"Jake!!" you shout, and this time your frantic voice is enough to send the front doors of the Hard Deck flying open.
“Hey! Hey! Hey!" Coyote exclaims, as he takes in the scene unfolding before him. "That's enough!!" he shouts. Payback, Fanboy, and Phoenix are right on his heels, racing down the steps to break up the brawl.
Bradley has successfully pinned Jake against the side of the Bronco, his forearm pressed hard against Jake's throat as he draws his fist back to swing again. Bradley's face is contorted into a look of pure, unrestrained fury. Jake's face is red and bloody, but he's still looking at Bradley with a malicious glare in his eyes.
Before Bradley's fist can land, Fanboy and Payback are yanking him off of Jake. It takes both of them, but somehow they manage to move Bradley's massive frame. Bradley fights against their grip, his boots digging into the gravel as he thrashes, still spitting insults.
"Don't you ever fucking touch her again!!" Bradley roars, his voice raw. "You hear me?! I'll fucking kill you!!"
Coyote helps Jake to his feet, shaking off the other pilot despite his insistent protests. "I'm cool, man. I'm cool."
Jake leans over and spilts a glob of blood into the gravel. Despite the dark purple bruise already forming where Bradley first hit him and the blood and dirt covering his clothes, Jake looks over at Bradley and smirks.
"I hope you got all that out of your system, Bradshaw. Because I'm not fucking going anywhere," Jake says, and his voice carries out across the parking lot. "I'll see you in the air tomorrow."
And then with the press of Coyote's urging hand on his shoulder, he turns and walks back into the bar, using his hand to wipe the blood from his face as he goes.
Jake doesn't look back as the heavy wooden doors of the Hard Deck close behind him, leaving nothing behind him but the tense, heavy silence of the parking lot.
"Get out of here, Rooster," Payback says quietly, finally letting go of his grip on Bradley's arm. Bradley just stand there for a moment, his chest still heaving. All the fight has left his shoulders, and now he just stands there in the parking lot looking utterly broken.
Without a word, Bradley, turns on his heels and walks straight back to the Bronco. He doesn't wait for you. He just climbs into the driver's seat and slams the door shut so hard that the entire frame rattles.
You stand in the gravel of the parking lot, completely frozen.
Phoenix appears at your side. "Go home," she states sternly. "Get in the car. No matter now mad he is, he'll take you home."
You swallow, and then softly you nod. "Okay, I'll call you when I get home."
Slowly, you walk towards the car and get in.
Bradley starts puts the car into reverse and pulls out of the parking lot without a word. He's still breathing heavy, his eyes fixed dead ahead as he pulls out onto the road.
There's blood all over him. His knuckles are split and theres a mixture of his own and Jake's blood drying on his hands. His bottom lip is also split and bleeding, the crimson red color smeared across his face. The cut made by Jake’s academy ring on his eyebrow is the most worrying. It's open and actively bleeding, dripping down his face and onto his ruined t-shirt.
He doesn't speak for a long time. The anger that was keeping his shoulders tensed earlier is back, as well as the agonizing silence of the parking lot.
"Bradley..."
He doesn't respond to the sound of his name. He doesn't want to listen to you explain yourself right now.
But Bradley isn't stupid. And above all else, Bradley knows Jake Seresin.
Being in love with Scott Miller isn’t for the faint of heart — especially when you have to watch him fall for someone else.
▸ PAIRING & WC: Scott Miller x F!Reader — 2.6K
▸ WARNINGS: Implied sex (no graphic descriptions), fwb to lovers, idiots in love, un-unrequited love basically, hurt/comfort
▸ A/N: first actual scott fic i wrote (and with plot!), pls go easy on me. thank you dear shay @lunexiax for giving me this opportunity to finally test him out <3 if you see similarities in the miscomm between this and right to love, no you didnt (jk i outlined for that one and thought the vibes would kinda fit scott too). more scott to come!!!
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Scott Miller is not the kind of guy you marry — hell, he’s not even the kind of guy you date. The closest he’ll ever get to wedlock is his marriage with his job. For as long as you can remember, he’s always been the numbers guy. Calculating the probability of success and conducting risk analyses to see if something is worth the effort.
With you, he has determined from day one that, while your friendship is worth investing in, a real relationship with you is not.
Scott is your best friend, your partner-in-crime. The two of you have been glued to each other’s sides for as long as you can remember. He’s a few years older than you and you grew up chasing after his footsteps, and he never seemed to mind. You never curbed that habit.
Not when you ended up graduating from the same university, with a major that complemented his future career. Not when you recruited for StormPAR because he was leading investor relations there. Not when you decided to pack up your life and move to the midwest to chase tornadoes.
In the first week of your three-month research project for the new sensors, you and Scott had a little too much to drink. One kiss led to another and suddenly you’re falling into bed with him.
Scott hesitates initially, his words about how relationships and women are a pain echo in your mind — so you find yourself blurting out we can keep this simple, no strings.
He only grunts in agreement before he slides into you. His mouth is hot, distracting, and the unsaid agreement is signed with the burning ache between your legs.
So you buried your feelings, swallowed your ego, and took what he could give you.
Because, for Scott, you’ll eat the crumbs if it means you get to keep the taste of him on your tongue.
It should be fine — this arrangement. You get him and he gets company every night, particularly when you’re in the middle of nowhere surrounded by crazy weather fanatics. Theoretically, it should be fine.
But you never expected the addition of a new variable — Kate.
Kate is… perfect. She’s gorgeous, sweet, and terribly smart. Within days of joining the team, she’s leading them to the greatest tornadoes, giving them the opportunity to collect prime data they’ve never been able to capture. She’s quick as a whip and she seems to get along with everyone — whether it’s the prissy, uptight StormPAR guys or the wild, free-flying tornado enthusiasts.
Once again, it should be fine, except you’ve never seen Scott so bothered by someone. She’s different, you can see it. The way he watches her, frowns at her. He calls her dandelion. You’ve always only had your name, he’s never had a cute pet name for you. You can’t help but wonder what he thinks about when he sees her.
If she is what he sees now when he fucks you. Even when you’re in bed with him, his mind is sometimes far away. He absentmindedly traces your bare shoulder, keeping you close even if his attention seems elsewhere.
You can’t watch him be silently enamored with someone else so you start leaving at the end of the night.
He doesn’t stop you.
One day, when your friend tells you about an opening for a data analyst position, you entertain it — even if it means you have to move to New York.
Because, while you love Scott, you also can’t bear to watch him fall for someone who isn’t you.
As you’re leaving his room one night, he finally stops you. He’s still naked in his bed, sheets pooled around his hips, as he catches your hand. The look on his face is indifferent when he asks you why you don’t stay; he is asking out of curiosity, not out of desire.
You’re shrugging on your shirt, back turned towards him. “I have to get up early tomorrow. I’ve got an interview.”
Maybe you shouldn’t have revealed that, but you’re exhausted and the honest answer slips.
“An interview? With who? For what?” He sounds more alert now.
“Just a job.”
“You’ve already got a job,” Scott presses, forcing you to face him with a tug of his hand. His brows are furrowed.
“I don’t know. I might want to try something different.”
He blinks at you for a moment, gears turning in his mind. “Something different,” he echoes slowly.
“It’s not a big deal,” you brush him off, “I don’t even know if I’ll get it. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
Scott, again, doesn’t say a word.
It seems so… easy for him to let you go. You know it isn’t on him to love you the same way you do him; that’s not a fair ask. But you also have enough pride to know when to take a step back.
Creating physical distance is not the challenging part; it’s dealing with the emotional toll. Every time you have to avoid your silently-designated spot next to him at bars or how you opt to take Javy’s car instead of his, a piece of your frail heart chips away. You don’t come over uninvited anymore, instead sliding under your own covers for the first time in weeks.
Scott’s not a fool. Of course, he notices but he still doesn’t say anything.
On the other hand, he actually starts talking more with Kate, private chats in the corner of a bar or early mornings over coffee. Sometimes his gaze would flick over to you, harden, and ultimately return to her. That used to be you, but you left that space empty for someone else to fill.
Then you finally get the call.
“I got the job,” you tell him quietly that night.
You told yourself this would be the last time. One last night with him before — for the first time in your life — you allow your paths to diverge. Scott in Oklahoma, you in New York.
The two of you are side by side in bed, you’ve slipped on his t-shirt, drowning in the cotton and his familiar storm-stained scent. You allow yourself to indulge in your last night.
Scott doesn’t look at you, his eyes zeroed in on the blank television screen of the crappy motel room. “Do you want it?”
No, no, you don’t. You want to stay here — with him and the rest of the team. But this is also a great opportunity, both for your career and the survival of your heart. “I think so.”
He whips around to face you, eyes flashing with what you think is irritation. “You think so? You’re not even sure?”
“Well, it’s a big jump, but I might take it,” you swallow.
“You shouldn’t do it unless you’re absolutely sure.”
You roll your eyes at him. “I’m never absolutely sure about anything.” Except for the fact that I’m in love with you and that it would destroy me if I stay and watch you fall in love with Kate.
“Then don’t go. Stay here.”
His words are cold and stiff. It’s calculated. You are an asset to the team. It would be a pain to hire a new analyst in the middle of tornado season and get them fully trained to do what you do. Maybe you could stay just another month until all this is over, maybe you can get them to postpone your start date.
But could you really do it? Could you stand by the sidelines and swallow your feelings long enough to last until the bitter end?
Sighing, you know your answer. “I’m not going to lie. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t think I can be here anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
It’s now or never. If you’re leaving anyway, you might as well confront him — if you can’t have him, then at least Kate could.
“I’m not stupid, you know. I can see it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re in love.”
The pin-drop silence that ensues is deafening. Your heart thunders against your eardrums; you can hear the hitch of his breath.
“I’m not—” he stops himself, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
With a deep sigh, you extract yourself from his side. Your fingers pick at the worn linen. “I’ve never seen you like this before, Scott. And listen, I get it if you want to end all this, whatever we’re doing.” He frowns. “Kate is wonderful, so I understand.”
Scott’s furrow only deepens. “What the hell are you going on about?”
“You and Kate,” you say, tongue heavy like lead in your mouth. “You guys make a good pair. I’m happy it’s working out, but I just can’t be here to watch that happen so I’m going to take the offer and move to New York. I know it’s tough to replace my work during this time, I’ll try and stay until the end of the season, but afterwards—”
“Fuck that,” he snaps, “like hell you’re leaving. What do you mean you can’t be here anymore? What are you going on about with Kate?”
Maybe he thinks you’re badmouthing her. “She’s great! I’m happy for you. I’m just—” your chest constricts. “I’m in love with you. Shit. I’ve been in love with you, Scott. I can’t do this no-strings thing anymore. I thought I could take it, whatever scraps you’ll let me have, but I can’t. Especially not when you’re falling for someone else.”
Scott pinches the bridge of his nose and he looks more than pissed off as he looks at you. “Who said anything about falling for someone else? Also, you’re in love with me? Since when?”
A groan slips past your lips. “This is so humiliating. Can we drop it?”
“Oh, no, you started this, so you answer my question. Since when have you been in love with me?”
“Forever! Fucking forever alright. Is that what you want to hear?” You grumble, “I was in love with you before… this even started.”
You see his tongue press against the inside of his cheek, his blue eyes sharp. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’re my friend, Scott.”
“Apparently not if you didn’t fucking tell me,” he glares.
“Would it have changed anything?”
Disbelief colors his face. “It would’ve changed everything. Are you kidding me? You’ve been in love with me all this time and you didn’t tell me?”
Is the thought of you loving him really that repulsive? He’s got his hands balled into fists on the sheets, jaw clenched like he would rather be anywhere but here. While the possibility of him rejecting you has always crossed your mind, you didn’t think that he would have this visceral a reaction. Gone are your chances of maintaining a cordial relationship after you leave.
He’s right. This changes everything.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I shouldn’t have—” your breath snags in your throat again, your eyes sting with unshed tears. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want this to change anything between us. We’ll stay friends.”
“We can’t stay friends,” he scowls. Your heart sinks.
You press the heel of your palms against your eyes, praying the tears away. The last thing you want to do is cry in front of him. “I can’t— I’m gonna go. I need to—”
“No, you’re staying right here so I can kiss some fucking sense into you.”
For a second, you can’t hear past the rushing in your ears, the frantic urge to leave. But when his words settle in and your brain slowly digests each individual syllable, you pull your wet hands away from your eyes. Scott swallows thickly when he sees your face.
“You think what — that I was in love with Kate?” He scoffs but there’s no weight to his words. He almost sounds weak. “What gave you that idea?”
You balk at him. It’s your turn to be confused. “You— you’re literally always watching her! You call her dandelion for god’s’ sake! Who gets a cute nickname like that?”
“That’s because I’m bad with names! You know this. You know me. It took me a while to remember her name — and I keep watching her because she’s like this little circus freak. Who the hell guesses storms by looking at goddamn flowers?”
You open your mouth, then promptly shut it again. Speechless.
“And that job? I can’t fucking believe you even thought about leaving. Leaving all this. Leaving me. You know damn well I’d never let that happen. If you really wanted it — and you were leaving for yourself, then sure, do it, but you’re out of your mind if you don’t think I’ll be following you to the ends of the earth.”
Your lungs stutter against your ribs. “What?”
Scott turns to face you, hands sliding up to cup the back of your neck. He forces you to look at him. To really look at him. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been fucking in love with you.”
You feel the desert in your throat when you croak out, “Since when?”
“Forever.”
“Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“You were the one who said you wanted to keep it no strings! I thought you didn’t want to date.”
“That’s because you’re always going on and on about how women and relationships are a pain!”
Scott lets out a frustrated breath, as if you’re the fool in this situation. “Except when it comes to you! Jesus, you’re never a pain. You’re the best part of my day. I think about you all the goddamn time. Sometimes, I want you to stop doing this tornado chasing thing because it’s dangerous and I want you in a safe fucking bubble where nobody, nothing can touch you. But you’re passionate and I fucking love that and I fucking love you.”
“But you— what— this can’t be happening.”
“You’re a goddamn idiot.”
Your lips press together. “You love me and you’re calling me a goddamn idiot? Really?”
“That’s because you are. Fuck. I can’t believe I wasted all this time. I can’t believe I even let you take that interview,” Scott grouses, mostly to himself. “I need you to get it through your thick skull that I don’t want anyone else. It’s always been you. You think I’d let anyone tail me around like you did?”
A pinched pout forms on your lips, mostly to stop yourself from crumbling. “I just thought you felt bad for me.”
“You somehow managed to be the smartest person on this team and the biggest idiot,” he mumbles. “I love you. I’m not letting you out of my sight, you hear me. Need you in my car every day. Next to me every time we go out. I need you in my bed every night and I don’t want you leaving either. We’ll share one room from now on.”
You sniffle, “That’s very fiscally responsible of you.”
Scott chuckles, “Well, I’ll take any excuse to keep you next to me. Can’t have you getting bored with me.”
“Please,” you roll your eyes with a smile, “if we’ve survived this long without getting sick of each other, what’s forever, right?”
The reality of what you’ve just said slams into you like a truck. Heat floods your insides.
“I mean—”
“Is that a proposal?” He smirks. Before you can dig a bigger hole for yourself, Scott leans over and presses his lips against yours.
Sweet, slow, steady.
“Because I’ve got a ring with your name on it back at home. I’ve been itching for a reason to finally take it out.”
“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, cheeks warm.
“Yeah, well, you love me anyway.”
That, you can’t deny.
+ sam: you know how excited i was to write this and i hope it didnt disappoint. ily queen thank you for always matching my freak and my yap mwah!!
scott is yearning for (taglist): @unabashedlyinlovewithyou @eiaf4uwn @thebabykashmere @nbhrhn @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @pinksplace @stanmarvelous @coffinlolz
a/n: Here’s my little “get well soon” gift for @kryptidfiles !! Imagine this wrapped in a huge bow with flowers sticking out from every side. EVERYONE GO FOLLOW HER BLOG and I hope you enjoy!!
Summary: You made the mistake of turning sex into casual conversation with your coworker and accidentally start the worst HR violation of your life.
Classification: Smut +18 | coworkers to lovers, several smut scenes, alcohol consumption, rude/arrogant Scott Miller, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, rough groping, protected and unprotected sex, doggy style, missionary, squirting, ass smacking, marking/bruising, praise, dom/sub dynamics, workplace boundary issues and emotionally repressed idiots in love.
Word count: 9,2k
There was a difference between good sex and great sex, the same way there was a difference between getting fucked and being made love to...
Good sex was what you expected from anybody decent enough to make it that far with you. It was the kind people talked about casually with their friends, the kind that came up over drinks after someone asked, “So, was he good?” Good sex happened on Tuesdays after work with the guy from Hinge who insisted on taking you out somewhere too expensive for a second date. You split a basket of fries, drank half a beer because you still had work in the morning, drove home with exhaustion sitting heavy behind your eyes, then let him fuck you well enough to sleep for four uninterrupted hours.
Good sex was practical and predictable. It convinced your body you were living a normal life.
Great sex was different. Great sex happened after work parties when your mascara was already smudged and your heels were in your hand by midnight. It happened on weekends with nowhere to be the next morning. You never talked about great sex because it sounded exaggerated the second you said it out loud, like you were overselling a man nobody else would understand. Great sex made you cum or at least brought you close enough that your stomach tightened every time you remembered it afterward. You thought about great sex while driving long stretches of empty highway, your hands steady on the wheel while your mind wandered somewhere warmer.
Great sex stayed in your body for days. You caught yourself replaying parts of it absentmindedly while standing in line for coffee or brushing your teeth before bed.
Then there was getting fucked…
There was no cleaner way to define it. It lived somewhere between fantasy and urban legend, passed around between women in half-serious conversations that always dissolved into laughter. Everybody claimed to know someone who’d experienced it but nobody could explain it properly. Getting fucked was the kind of sex that distracted you in the middle of the day badly enough to make you stop what you were doing and change your underwear. It sat dangerously close to the limits of what sex could actually be before the whole thing collapsed under its own weight.
If a guy treated you too much like an object, it fell apart immediately.
If you didn’t orgasm, it didn’t count.
If you weren’t still thinking about him six months later at red lights and in grocery store aisles and during lonely hotel nights, then it wasn’t that either.
Getting fucked sat at the very top of the scale, lit up like something obvious and somehow most men still missed it completely.
Being made love to was worse and more dangerous, honestly.
For somebody like you, it could become embarrassing fast. Storm season kept you on the road for months at a time, bouncing between states, sleeping in motels with stiff sheets and weak air conditioning. Off-season meant office buildings, weather models glowing across multiple monitors, long meetings about funding, new equipment and data collection. Your life moved constantly and men liked that at first. A woman who was smart, busy, gone half the year, financially stable and difficult to pin down.
Men loved the idea of you because it excused the fact they never had to give very much. Most of them thought they were in love but really, they just liked access to somebody they found impressive.
Before all of that, you used to think being made love to meant passion…intimacy. That it was slow sex with somebody who knew your body so well they could pull an orgasm out of you patiently and confidently, like it mattered to them as much as breathing did. You imagined hands lingering at your waist, sleepy conversation afterward, somebody brushing your hair away from your face before kissing you again.
Instead, you ended up underneath men who mistook enthusiasm for intimacy. You stared at ceilings while they grunted above you, listened to them breathe your name like they were performing something instead of feeling it. Sometimes you felt your stomach turn from the boredom alone, your body rocking mechanically with theirs while your mind drifted somewhere else entirely to storm reports, grocery lists and whether you needed to change your oil before the next drive west.
You never let them finish once you realized you hated it, that was the one thing you refused to fake. You pushed them off, sat up and reached for your clothes while they blinked at you in confusion. You told them it wasn’t going to work, sometimes you said it gently and other times you just didn’t bother. Either way, you watched realization settle over them while they sat there flushed and humiliated, their ego bruised worse than their feelings ever were but somehow your harsh words still made them cum…
Needless to say, after a while, you stopped having sex altogether.
You were in your rental house after a long day spent staring at storm data and listening to Javi ramble about whatever breakthrough he thought he’d made this time. It was late, the entire house felt heavy and warm, every light dimmer than usual and lately, you weren’t alone nearly as often as you used to be.
Scott sat at your dining table with your laptop open, shoulders slightly hunched, completely absorbed in columns of numbers and radar models. You’d known him for two years and he’d been your partner for one of them.
People were right about him. He was direct to the point of rudeness, arrogant enough to make most people defensive within five minutes and mean when he thought someone deserved it but unlike most men in your field, Scott had learned how to admit when he was wrong, far from gracefully or happily but still, he did it.
The two of you were impossibly stubborn in almost identical ways, so sharing space with him sometimes felt like being trapped in a room with a sharper version of yourself. Separately, you were both good at what you did but together, you were nearly impossible to beat.
You couldn’t pinpoint when “coworkers” had turned into Scott walking into your house without knocking, helping himself to your fridge and sitting at your table like he paid rent.
“Best orgasm you’ve had during sex?” His voice came from across the room, casual and flat, like he’d asked you about rainfall percentages. He didn’t even look away from the laptop while he said it.
You’d forgotten he was meeting you there before the two of you drove to the bar together, which was why you were still walking around in sleep shorts and a bra, trying to find something decent enough to wear without looking like you’d spent an hour trying.
You took a sip from the beer he’d already pulled out of your fridge and nearly snorted into the bottle. “You think men do that?” you asked as you disappeared into your bedroom.
“To you?” Scott finally looked up. His eyes tracked your movement automatically while he reached for the beer the two of you were apparently sharing now. “I hope so.”
He took a drink as his eyes followed your movement.
You walked back into view holding two dresses on mismatched hangers. “You’re a fucking idiot,” you said plainly. “And maybe a pervert.”
Scott pointed at you immediately. “You’re changing in front of me. I could probably keep count of your bras at this point and I don’t. That actually makes me less of a pervert.”
You disappeared back into your room. He could hear hangers scraping against the closet rod while you searched through clothes with growing irritation.
“Just because it doesn’t make you hard doesn’t make you not a pervert,” you called back, your voice muffled through the wall.
“How do you know I’m not?” he shot back instantly, sounding almost offended by the assumption.
Silence followed but about a minute later, you walked back out wearing a dress he’d never seen before. It was simple, fitted enough to make his eyes stop for a second before continuing downward automatically. You crossed the room toward him, letting your heels drop onto the hardwood before slipping them on one at a time.
“You’re not attracted to me, Scott,” you said flatly.
He looked up slowly then, his eyes dragging over the length of the dress with enough attention to make most people nervous. On you, it just made you impatient.
“You seem awfully confident about that.”
“I am.” You adjusted the strap on your shoulder before glancing toward his laptop screen. “So don’t say shit that makes me sound stupid.”
Scott looked back at the laptop fast enough to make the movement obvious. He pretended to scroll through data he’d stopped reading the second you started undressing in the next room.
“I’m ready,” you said. “Good to go?”
“Need five minutes,” he muttered.
You walked behind him toward the front door, tapping his shoulder as you passed. “The data will still be there tomorrow. C’mon, Scotty.”
The teasing grin in your voice made something in his jaw tighten. You disappeared outside before he could even think of an answer.
Scott closed the laptop harder than necessary and stood, quietly adjusting himself through his jeans with the irritation of a man betrayed by his own body. He shut off the lights one by one and grabbed your keys from the counter before locking the door behind him.
The porch light was off so you couldn’t see the tent in his jeans. Thank fuck for that.
“Scotty was an eight-year-old with chubby cheeks,” he muttered while locking the deadbolt. He glanced over at you waiting by the passenger side of his truck. “It’s Scott.”
“It’s whatever I decide it is,” you replied easily.
He rolled his eyes and walked down the porch steps, unlocking the truck with a sharp click.
“Come open my door.”
“Since when do you need me to do that?” he complained, already circling the hood anyway.
“Since you got comfortable commenting on my bras.”
Scott stopped in front of you to stare before reaching around your waist to pull the handle open. The movement brought him close enough to smell your perfume underneath detergent and beer.
You smiled to yourself while climbing into the passenger seat because for once, Scott didn’t have anything smart to say.
Talking about sex with your coworkers was probably the least professional habit you could develop but professionalism stopped mattering after twelve-hour drives, shared motel rooms, gas station dinners at midnight and enough close calls together to make normal boundaries feel unnecessary. There were barely any women in the field to begin with, which meant the few of you that existed clung together fast and Scott, despite being deeply irritating most of the time, was easier to talk to than most people.
Brutally honest people usually were.
At some point, conversations that started as jokes during long drives turned into real discussions about relationships, sex, exes and every disappointing person either of you had ever slept with. It happened slowly enough neither of you noticed the line moving until it was already somewhere far behind you.
HR would’ve had a heart attack.
That night, you learned Scott Miller did not do good sex. If good sex existed to him at all, it involved two people fully clothed and standing on opposite ends of a room.
The bar was more crowded than you expected, packed wall to wall with storm chasers, meteorologists, researchers and people who somehow always smelled faintly like dust and gasoline no matter how clean they looked. Whenever women in the field found each other, there was an unspoken tendency to group together immediately, so you spent most of the night at the bar talking with another researcher from Oklahoma while music pounded so loud you felt it vibrate through the floor beneath your heels.
Eventually Javi appeared beside you carrying drinks you absolutely weren’t going to refuse. He handed one over before leaning closer, lowering his voice.
“What’s wrong with Scott?”
You blinked at him. The question caught you off guard enough to make your brows pull together immediately because nobody ever asked about Scott. People either tolerated him, argued with him or avoided him entirely. Whatever problem Scott had, he usually fixed it himself before anyone could notice it existed.
Your eyes scanned the crowd automatically until you found him near the back corner of the bar with a soda in his hand. Of course he wasn’t drinking, he stood half-shadowed against the wall looking deeply unimpressed by the concept of social interaction…and staring directly at you.
Your eyes narrowed slightly until Scott finally got the message and looked away first.
You turned back to Javi. “Do you mean tonight or in general?” you asked dryly. “Because I’m pretty sure he was dropped as a child, but you’d have to ask his mother for confirmation.”
Javi frowned harder. “I mean tonight. He looks tense and it’s making me uneasy.”
“It’s Scott. He always looks tense.”
“More than usual.” Javi glanced over his shoulder carefully. “Tell him to relax for once…and to make some friends. That’s literally why we came here.”
You pointed at yourself immediately. “Why am I responsible for that?”
Javi shrugged like the answer was obvious. “Because you speak ‘Scott’ fluently. Translate what I just said into something he’ll actually understand.”
Your gaze dropped to the drink in your hand. “You’re bribing me.”
“And that drink cost me twenty-five dollars,” he replied. “So yes. Go.”
You snorted into the rim of your glass. “Pretty sure stress is what’s making you bald, by the way…not Scott’s burning gaze.”
Javi adjusted his baseball cap defensively. “Just go talk to him.”
You shook your head, already grinning despite yourself and pushed through the crowd toward the back of the bar, which Scott noticed immediately.
The music got louder the closer you got to him, voices bleeding together into useless noise, so instead of trying to shout over it, you reached forward and hooked one finger through the belt loop of his jeans.
“Outside,” you said simply, tugging once as you moved toward the exit.
Scott followed without argument, that alone should’ve concerned you more than it did.
The plan was for him to ask what you wanted once you got outside. Instead, somewhere between the crowded bar and the exit door, he got distracted watching you walk ahead of him. Your dress moved against your hips every few steps, exposing flashes of leg skin under the low bar lights and the muscles in your bare back moved subtly every time you pushed through another cluster of people.
Inevitably, Scott’s eyes dropped lower before he caught himself.
By the time the two of you stepped outside into the cooler night air, he still hadn’t said a word.
You finally let go of his belt loop once the two of you were far enough from the entrance that the music had dulled into muffled bass behind you. You turned to face him properly, folding your arms across your chest as you looked up at him.
“What’s your current issue?” you asked.
“Current?” Scott repeated, brows pulling together.
You nodded once like the question made perfect sense.
“When’s the last time you had sex?”
A startled laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged carelessly, shoving one hand into the pocket of his jeans. “What? Are you the only one allowed to ask those questions?”
You laughed again, this time shaking your head as you pointed at him. “Yes. Obviously.”
Scott snorted.
“And those are long-drive questions,” you continued, motioning vaguely toward his truck behind you before pointing back toward the crowded bar. “Not ‘parking lot outside a packed bar’ questions.”
“You still need to answer.” He shrugged again. “Those are the rules.”
“Have I ever told you how stupid those rules are?”
“First time I’m hearing complaints since you’re the one who made them,” he replied with a grin.
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered under your breath before taking another sip of your drink.
Scott stayed quiet as he just watched you over the rim of his own soda, patient and expectant in a way that immediately irritated you because he clearly thought he was getting an answer eventually.
“Are you seriously gonna make me answer?”
“I can’t make you do anything,” he said calmly. “But I can wait. I still have to drive you home.”
You looked up toward the entrance of the bar. Through the windows you could still see people packed together under neon lights, laughing too loud, talking over each other about work, storm patterns and equipment failures. You’d already reached the point of the night where conversations started blending together into white noise.
“Can we leave now?” you asked.
Scott didn’t answer verbally. He just pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the truck with a click, then held his hand out toward your drink.
“Get in and lock the doors,” he said as he took the glass from you and turned back toward the bar to return it.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you called after him while walking directly to the passenger side and doing exactly that.
Honestly, you didn’t mind answering the question. The problem was that once you actually thought about it, you realized you weren’t entirely sure how long it had been. It had been long enough that you had to start considering technicalities and long enough that the answer became embarrassing and unfortunately, thinking about sex while sitting alone in Scott’s truck immediately led your brain somewhere unhelpful…
Scott eventually climbed back into the truck and shut the door behind him. He didn’t start driving right away, he just sat there in the dark, one hand resting on the wheel while the dashboard lights cut sharp shadows across his face…waiting, because the thing about car questions was that silence usually came first.
“A year and a half,” you blurted out finally. “Give or take.”
Scott’s head turned toward you so fast it almost looked painful. “No,” he said immediately. “I don’t believe that.”
You laughed in disbelief and looked toward him. “Believe whatever you want, Scott. I answered the fucking question. That’s the game.”
“A year and a half?” he repeated, staring at you like you’d confessed to murder. “What the hell do you even do on weekends?”
“Currently?” you replied dryly. “Sit in your truck while you annoy me.”
“No,” he said, already turning the key in the ignition. “You’re irritated because you’re sexually frustrated.”
You barked out another incredulous laugh.
“And you’ve been sexually frustrated since I met you,” he continued as he shifted the truck into reverse. “Which explains why you piss me off every single fucking day.”
“Excuse you?” You turned toward him fully now, half laughing from sheer disbelief. “First the bra comments and now this? What’s next? Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?”
“Put your seatbelt on.” The command came out flat and automatic.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Scott. I’m not drunk enough to–”
The words died in your throat the second he reached across you.
His arm slid in front of your chest while the truck reversed smoothly with his other hand still turning the wheel. His forearm brushed against the underside of your breasts accidentally…or maybe not so accidentally and your breath caught hard at the sudden closeness. Scott grabbed the seatbelt beside your shoulder, pulled it across your body in one sharp movement, then clicked it into place at your hip without looking away from the rear window once.
You drove home in complete silence.
No radio or conversation, just the steady sound of tires against asphalt and the occasional flick of the blinker while Scott kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. You’d heard every version of his voice over the last two years, sarcastic, irritated or sharp enough to make grown men defensive in meetings but hearing him tell you to put your seatbelt on while his arm pressed across your breasts had done something deeply unfortunate to your brain.
This was entirely your fault. You were the one who made sex an acceptable topic between the two of you, you were the one who turned it into a game, into background conversation during long drives and late nights. Somewhere along the way home, your definition of good sex had rewritten itself around that precise moment.
For most people, that probably counted as foreplay, but for you? It counted as a serious fucking problem.
By the time Scott parked outside your house, your thoughts had spiraled so badly that you barely registered the truck stopping. You stayed seated even after he cut the engine, staring forward blankly while the silence settled heavier around you.
Scott got out first without saying anything and walked around the front of the truck toward your side.
The passenger door opened. You looked up just in time to feel him lean in and reach across you again, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric stretched over your waist as he unclipped the seatbelt. The contact lasted maybe a second but that was already too long.
Only then did you finally move. You climbed out quickly, making an effort to keep close to the truck instead of brushing against him, then headed straight for your front door while digging through your purse for your keys even if it was practically empty and somehow that made it worse. You found lip balm…receipts…some loose cash, everything except what you actually needed.
Scott followed behind you quietly.
You still hadn’t found the keys when his arm appeared beside you, reaching around your body with frustrating familiarity. He’d had your keys the entire night, he usually did whenever the two of you went out together because you constantly lost track of them.
The metal clicked softly as he unlocked the door for you.
Your breath stalled as Scott stood so close behind you that you could feel the heat coming off him through the thin fabric of your dress. His chest nearly touched your back, one arm still braced near your shoulder while he turned the lock. It boxed you in completely, your body caught between the door and him and the worst part was that it felt good.
The sharp heat low in your stomach made that painfully obvious.
Good sex, apparently, was standing fully clothed on your own porch while your coworker unlocked your front door…all while standing right behind you.
The lock finally clicked open. You pushed the door open and stepped inside fast to put distance between you before turning back toward him.
Determination sat stiffly in your chest now…You were staying dressed. Whatever this weird tension was had to be alcohol-fueled, temporary, deeply stupid or preferably all three and gone by morning.
Unfortunately, Scott looked unfairly good standing on your porch under weak yellow light.
At some point he’d taken off his cap, you didn’t know when and hadn’t realized until now. Why did he look dreamy!? His hair was messy from running his hands through it all night and the expression on his face had settled back into that unreadable calm that somehow made things worse.
“Night, Scott,” you said quickly, then shut the door directly in his face…very determined to remain dressed.
“Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?” That sentence replayed in your head later for one humiliating reason: Scott Miller had never been the kind of man to hand off work he could do himself.
You’d been wrong earlier, completely wrong.
Great sex didn’t happen on weekends or after parties or during long-awaited moments with somebody you trusted. Sometimes it happened five minutes after you slammed your front door in a man’s face and tried convincing yourself you still had common sense.
You stayed standing by the door after closing it, palms warm against the wood, waiting to hear his truck start. You expected the familiar sound of the driver’s side door opening, shutting and the low rumble of the engine before he pulled away but nothing happened.
At first you told yourself you were imagining the silence because you were still too aware of him…then a full minute passed…followed by another and then three more.
Five long, miserable minutes where your brain refused to focus on anything except the fact Scott was still outside your house.
You opened the door expecting embarrassment or maybe annoyance, maybe him realizing he forgot something. Instead, he was still standing there in the same position with that same unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans like you hadn’t just shut the door on him…five minutes ago.
You stared at each other for a second too long.
You never figured out what exactly snapped first. Pride, self-control or curiosity…maybe all of it at once again.
One second he was standing on your porch and the next you were grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him forward hard enough to make him stumble into you as your mouth crashed against his.
The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the fragile determination to stay dressed shattered. You didn't just invite Scott in, you practically hauled him across the threshold, pulling him into a kiss that tasted of alcohol and months of suppressed frustration. It was messy and desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues that left you both breathless.
You stumbled backward, the friction of your bodies fueling a fire that had been simmering for far too long. As you navigated the space, your heels clicked erratically against the floor until you kicked them off with frantic movements, one flying toward the wall and the other sliding away as you backed into the dining area.
You hit the edge of the heavy wooden table and Scott didn't miss a beat. He gripped your waist with bruising force and hoisted you up, the sudden elevation making you gasp into his mouth. He didn't stop kissing you but his path shifted, lips sliding down your jawline to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands were everywhere, frantic and demanding, sliding up the fabric of your dress and bunching it up around your waist until your thighs were bare and shivering against the cool wood.
You felt his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, tugging them down with a sharp, decisive motion until you could kick them off, exposing you to the air. As he lowered himself, his mouth found the swell of your breasts through your dress, biting lightly against the fabric on his way down between your legs.
"You don't need to do that," you managed to moan, your voice trembling as he moved your weight, sliding you toward the edge of the table until you were perched precariously, your legs naturally falling open.
"Shut up," Scott muttered against your skin, his voice a low, arrogant growl that sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit as he finally settled himself firmly between your thighs, the heat of his body radiating against your wetness.
Then, he dipped his head. The first touch of his tongue was a shock of heat, it was wet and precise. He dove right in, tongue licking upward from your perineum to your clit in one long, sweeping stroke. You arched your back as a loud moan escaped you since it had been so long since you’d felt anything this raw, this focused. You were starving for it and Scott was feeding off of you with a primal intensity that blurred everything else out.
He used his hands to grip your hips, pulling you closer to the edge so he could bury his face in you as he kneeled. He began to lap at you with a rhythmic, punishing speed, his tongue flattening out to cover as much surface area as possible before narrowing into a sharp point to flick relentlessly against your clit.
The sensation was overwhelming. You began to squirm, hips jerking instinctively against his mouth as your fingernails clawed at the tabletop. You weren't just enjoying it, you were unraveling.
"Fuck…Scott...please," you whimpered, though you didn't know what you were asking for.
He responded by changing your position. He pushed you flat onto your back on the table, the hard wood pressing into your spine and hauled your legs up, draping them over his broad shoulders. The position left you completely exposed, your pussy flared open and glistening in the dark room.
He didn't stop the oral but added more by sliding two fingers deep inside you, stretching you open while his tongue continued to hammer away at your clit. The combination of the internal pressure and the external friction was too much. You were shaking, breath coming in short, jagged gasps as your feet drummed against his back.
He could tell you were close, encouraging him to increase the pressure, fingers curling inside you to hit your G-spot while his tongue sucked your clit into his mouth, creating a vacuum of pleasure that felt like it was pulling your entire soul out through your cunt.
“Holy s-shit!” Your head thrashed from side to side, a loud, unrestrained scream tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit you like a freight train. It was violent and all-consuming, your internal muscles clamping down hard on his fingers as waves of intense pleasure crashed over you, leaving you whimpering and twitching on the table.
As the peak slowly subsided, Scott didn't pull away immediately. He stayed there, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, slowly lapping the remaining juices from your pussy. He cleaned you thoroughly, his tongue lingering on every inch of your swollen cunt until you were completely spent, lying limp and shivering on the table, finally satisfied.
He straightened slowly from between your legs, chest rising hard with uneven breaths that matched your own. His mouth was swollen and wet when he licked across his lips absentmindedly, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made heat crawl back under your skin even while your body still twitched from the orgasm.
From your place sprawled across the dining table, you stared up at him in stunned silence. Your thighs were still trembling now against his sides and you were almost certain your expression looked ridiculous, wide-eyed and dazed in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to look around another person in years.
Scott held a hand out toward you and you took it automatically.
He helped you sit up first before guiding you carefully off the table, one hand steady on your waist while your legs struggled to cooperate beneath you. The second your feet touched the floor, your knees nearly gave out entirely.
Scott wiped his mouth with his palm. “Goodnight,” he said and the gentleness of it caught you off guard more than anything else that night had.
His hand slipped away from your waist and the two of you just stood there for a second, staring at each other while trying and failing to breathe normally again.
Then Scott turned and walked toward the front door.
You stayed frozen in place while he opened it and left your house without another word. A few seconds later you finally heard the sounds you’d been waiting for earlier, the truck door opening, shutting and the engine starting before he drove off into the night.
You tried walking toward your bedroom afterward and immediately realized your legs barely worked. You ended up half stumbling down the hallway, one hand dragging along the wall for balance because your entire lower body still felt weak and oversensitive.
Great sex…that had been unbelievably, painfully great sex.
You thought about it constantly afterward. In the shower, during calls and meetings, while sitting in traffic or lying awake at night staring at the ceiling with your thighs pressed together. You didn’t mention it to your friends or talked to Scott about it, even during the long stretches of silence that filled the truck during drives. The two of you understood what happened without discussing it directly, you’d crossed a line and both of you seemed aware that talking about it too much would probably drag you over it again.
The following mornings, you waited for him outside on your porch instead of letting him walk into your house like usual. Mostly because you’d spent the entire week masturbating to the memory of him between your legs on your dining table before getting ready for the day and you didn’t trust yourself to survive seeing him inside your kitchen before sunrise.
For one solid week, you slept perfectly. No insomnia or late-night work spirals, no pacing around rooms or answering emails at one in the morning just to keep your brain occupied. Whatever tension usually sat under your skin had disappeared completely and now it sat between you both instead.
Every drive felt heavier, the silence stretched longer and every sharp inhale from him made your stomach tighten unexpectedly until eventually you got sick of pretending neither of you noticed it.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” you interrupted suddenly.
Scott glanced toward you briefly, eyes leaving the road for barely a second before returning forward. “Do you want to?” he asked.
“I don’t,” you admitted. “I feel like you do though.”
“You’re right.”
You snorted quietly and looked back down at the laptop balanced across your knees.
“I thought you liked being right.” Scott added.
“Fucking love it,” you replied automatically before grimacing. “Usually.”
Silence settled again until you broke it. “Okay,” you sighed eventually. “Maybe one thing.” You turned to him properly this time. “I wasn’t that drunk that night. Actually, I wasn’t drunk at all. I had that one beer before we left my place and the rest were mocktails.”
Scott turned his head enough to study your face for a second. “I wouldn’t have touched you if you were drunk,” he said flatly. “I’m an asshole, not fucking stupid.”
You leaned back against the seat slowly. “Even that’s changed.”
His brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“The coffee for starters,” you said. “The lunches, too. You stopped buying disgusting gas station sandwiches and now we actually eat dinner out like normal people.” You gestured vaguely toward him. “You used to hand me coffee with five sugar packets on the side because you couldn’t remember how I took it. Now it’s magically perfect every fucking morning.”
Scott adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.
“I thought eating around other people would make this less weird,” he admitted. “And I got tired of sugar packets all over my truck.”
“Our truck,” you corrected automatically before pointing at him accusingly. “And nothing about this is normal, Scott! You ate me out on my dining table!”
“Stop yelling at me.” His tone stayed frustratingly calm.
“Why?” you shot back. “Is it making you hard?”
Scott shifted in his seat hard enough that you noticed instantly. Both his hands locked tighter around the steering wheel while he stared straight ahead at the road. The tension in his jaw became visible because unfortunately for him, you weren’t wrong.
The last week had changed things. You looked less exhausted and less tightly wound. You hadn’t snapped at him once during work and he hadn’t gotten a single unhinged one a.m. email from you all week because for the first time since he’d met you, you were actually sleeping.
“So when are we doing it again?” he asked finally, against every ounce of common sense he had left.
NEVER…that should’ve been the answer. It was the logical answer, the responsible one, the answer two coworkers with already questionable boundaries should’ve landed on immediately.
It just wasn’t the truth.
You had always maintained that getting fucked couldn’t happen in motel rooms. It didn't matter how good the sex was, the second cheap carpet, bad lighting and a rattling air conditioner got involved, the whole thing dropped several levels automatically.
Motel sex could be great, sometimes even memorable but it couldn’t be that, so the next time it happened definitely wasn’t in a motel room.
The weather that day had turned bad enough to keep everyone grounded but not dangerous enough to send your team chasing storms through three different counties. There was heavy rain, low visibility and too much lightning for comfort but not enough rotation to justify going out.
At some point, without either of you actually saying it outright, waiting the storm out in Scott’s apartment became the plan instead of sitting cramped inside the truck for hours pretending the tension between you didn’t exist.
You still couldn’t pinpoint who made the first move once the elevator doors closed behind you.
One second you were standing beside him soaked at the edges from the rain, listening to distant thunder through the concrete parking garage and the next, Scott’s hand was inside your pants like it belonged there.
You gasped hard into his mouth as his fingers slid against you immediately, already somewhat familiar with exactly what made your hips jerk forward. The kiss that came after barely counted as one, it was messy and distracted, interrupted constantly by your breathing and the quiet sounds you kept failing to swallow down.
The elevator ride lasted less than a minute but by the time the doors opened onto his floor, your orgasm was already hitting you in sharp waves around his fingers while your forehead pressed against his shoulder to keep yourself standing.
If you weren’t already fucked, you were about to be.
You’d been inside Scott’s apartment before. A handful of times after late nights working or when weather reports needed reviewing somewhere quieter than a crowded diner. You remembered the big windows first, stretching across the living room area with a full view of the skyline in the distance. Tonight they framed heavy gray clouds and rain pouring so hard that it blurred the city lights into smears of white and yellow.
Scott barely gave you time to look around because the second the apartment door shut behind you, his hands were on you again. He walked you toward the living room with rough impatience, pulling your pants down from behind while you stumbled against the edge of an armchair. Your underwear followed immediately after, dragged down together in one quick motion before pooling around your ankles.
The air in Scott’s apartment was heavy, charged with the static of the storm raging outside. The gray light of the overcast sky filtered through the windows but the atmosphere inside was scorching.
"Kneel," he commanded as he pointed toward the armchair, his voice a low, authoritative rumble.
You didn't hesitate. The tension that had been building between you for weeks, the unspoken glances and lingering touches, had finally snapped. You sank to your knees on the plush seat, your heart hammering against your ribs. You leaned forward, gripping the headrest with both hands, body already trembling in anticipation. You were completely exposed to him, your ass tilted back and waiting.
Scott disappeared for a moment, leaving you in a silence broken only by the distant roll of thunder. When he returned, the sound of a foil packet tearing echoed in the room. You heard the metallic click of his belt unbuckling and the slide of a zipper.
The anticipation was agonizing. You heard him roll the condom on, followed by the wet sound of him spitting on the head of his cock to make the entry smoother.
He stepped up behind you, heat radiating against your backside. He lined himself up and then, with one powerful, decisive surge, he thrust deep inside you.
You let out a sharp, strangled whine, your fingers digging into the fabric of the headrest. It had been so long since you’d felt a man inside you and Scott was massive. The initial stretch was borderline painful, a blunt force that filled every millimeter of your tight, starving pussy. You blinked rapidly, tears pricking your eyes as your body struggled to accommodate his size, your breath hitching in your throat.
Scott didn't give you time to adjust. He reached forward, his large hands clamping onto your hips with bruising force and yanked you backward, pulling you deeper onto his cock until there was no space left between you.
"I wanna see you," you moaned, your voice broken and desperate, trying to twist your torso around to look at him.
He didn't let you. Instead, he leaned in and sank his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, a sharp bite that made you moan despite your best efforts. His hand moved from your hip to your jaw, gripping it firmly to keep your head pinned forward.
"Just focus," he rasped calmly against your skin, the contrast of his steady voice and his firm grip sending a shiver of submission down your spine.
He let go of your jaw and began to thrust. He didn't start slowly, he hit you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity. The apartment was suddenly filled with the sound of your sudden, loud moans and frantic curses. You collapsed forward, your chest pressed against the headrest, your body jarring with every hit.
As he hammered into you, Scott reached around, his hands finding your breasts. He didn't bother undressing you further, he grabbed your boobs firmly over your clothes, squeezing and kneading them with a rough, possessive grip that matched the violence of his hips.
"I'm gonna fuck you on every surface of this apartment," he growled. "You'll be seeing a lot of me."
The sex quickly became raw and primal and so, so fucking good. The sound of skin slapping against skin, mixed with the wet, rhythmic thud of his pelvis hitting your ass filled the room, competing with the roar of the thunder outside. Every thrust shook your entire frame, quaking your body from your head to your toes. You were whimpering loudly now, the pain of the initial stretch having completely melted into an overwhelming, white-hot pleasure you never thought you could feel.
Your eyes watered, staring out into the distance of the room, the world blurring as the friction built. It was fast, harsh and so perfect that you found yourself wanting to bite the armchair, your teeth sinking into the fabric as your back arched violently. You were unraveling, the long period of abstinence making you hypersensitive to every inch of him.
"I'm right there, keep going! Scott, please! Don’t fuckin’ stop." you whined, voice echoing through the apartment.
He didn't, he instead increased the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter and more frantic, drilling into you with an obsession that felt like he wanted to merge his body with yours. The thunder peaked with a deafening crash that seemed to trigger something inside you.
Suddenly, your internal muscles spasmed. A wave of heat exploded from your core and you felt a sudden, uncontrollable gush of fluid. You were squirting, something that had never happened to you before, the hot spray soaking the armchair and your own thighs. You began to shake uncontrollably, your legs giving out as you sobbed out of pure pleasure into the headrest.
Scott let out a guttural groan, the feeling of you flooding around him driving him over the edge. He loved it, hell, he was obsessed with the way you were falling apart under him. He kept going, ignoring your tremors, continuously driving himself into you as you peaked into a mind-blowing, screaming orgasm that left you completely breathless.
With a final, deep thrust, he groaned loudly, coming hard into the condom.
The momentum stopped abruptly. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you frozen, chests heaving in unison.
Slowly, he withdrew, the wet sound of his exit punctuating the silence with an obscene pop.
You both watch the rain lash against the glass, the gray light illuminating the wreckage of your passion. You took a long, shuddering breath, body still twitching from the aftershocks as your pussy twitched around nothing, back arching further needily, earning a smack from him.
"Holy fuck," you both breathed simultaneously, the weight of the encounter settling over you in the heavy, humid air.
There was no going back after that day. Not to abstinence, not to disappointing hookups or to pretending sex was something casual and forgettable that fit neatly between work schedules and storm reports.
Once Scott got his hands on you, everything else lost appeal embarrassingly fast.
What started as isolated incidents quickly turned into a pattern neither of you seriously attempted to stop. It was a terrible idea professionally, obviously, but somehow the two of you functioned better afterward. Meetings became easier, long drives felt lighter and you argued less viciously because the tension always had somewhere to go now instead of festering under your skin for weeks.
You started going home together most nights under the excuse of saving gas money. Then showering together afterward became another practical decision because apparently water bills mattered too now. Somewhere between shared coffee in the mornings and him keeping spare clothes for you at his apartment, things moved quietly into something neither of you had planned for and the worst part was that it worked.
The sex stayed incredible. Sometimes rough enough to leave hickeys along your skin and fingerprints fading across your thighs and hips by morning, or other times slow enough that you ended up tangled together for hours afterward while thunderstorms rolled outside the windows. Every now and then he fucked you hard enough to leave you shaking afterward, staring blankly at the ceiling while he stood in the kitchen making you food like that was a normal sequence of events but eventually you realized it wasn’t just about that anymore.
You started having actual dates without calling them dates, it was dinner after work that lasted until restaurants closed around you. You went grocery shopping together because both of you were too exhausted to go separately and you began falling asleep on opposite ends of his couch while weather models played quietly on television screens neither of you were really watching.
Off-season made it worse.
Without constant travel, motel rooms and adrenaline keeping you both distracted, there was finally time to explore whatever this thing between you had become. You drifted naturally between your house and his apartment depending on whose place seemed closer to the office that day. Half your belongings somehow ended up at his place and vice versa. You texted each other constantly during meetings despite sitting twenty feet apart, phones hidden beneath desks while coworkers talked around you.
Scott started bringing your coffee to your desk already made exactly how you liked it before you even decided you needed one. You started buying his preferred cereal without asking if he wanted any. He slept better with you in his bed and you stopped grinding your teeth in your sleep when he stayed over.
So naturally, being made love to finally happened exactly the way you once thought it would and it wasn’t some exaggerated version of romance men convinced themselves they were capable of after two drinks and mediocre conversation.
It sort of snuck up on you. It was Scott pulling you into his lap while both of you were exhausted after work, kissing your shoulder absentmindedly while you read through data on his laptop. It was him waking you up slowly on Sunday mornings with his hand sliding under your shirt and nowhere either of you needed to be. It was sex that lasted forever because he knew your body well enough to take his time with it, knew exactly what made you gasp, what made your legs tense and what made you hide your face against his neck when the pleasure became too much.
He paid attention and it made all of the difference. Scott learned your body like he learned storm patterns, thoroughly and obsessively, until touching you became instinct to him and it showed…
The morning light filtered through the curtains of your bedroom in soft, golden slats, painting the sheets in hues of amber and cream. The house was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of your shared breathing and the distant chirp of birds welcoming the dawn. You were tangled together, skin on skin, the warmth of the duvet trapping the heat of your bodies in a private, humid cocoon.
There was no rush, no storm to outrun and no urgency born of desperation. There was only the heavy, sweet weight of Scott pressing you into the mattress. You were both fully naked, your limbs entwined in a lazy, possessive knot.
Scott began slowly, his lips tracing a path of fire across your collarbone. He wasn't just kissing you, he was tasting you, tongue swirling against your skin in slow circles that made you shiver. He moved lower, mouth finding the sensitive curve of your breast as you let out a soft, airy moan. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly while his thumb and forefinger pinched the other peak, twisting it just enough to send a jolt of electricity straight to your core.
You arched your back, your fingers sliding into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The friction of his chest against your breasts was intoxicating, the rough hair of his torso grazing your sensitive skin.
He shifted, sliding his body up so he could look into your eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with an intensity that felt more overwhelming than any of the rougher encounters you'd had. He didn't move to flip you or push you into a different position, instead, he settled between your thighs in a classic missionary stance and pushed inside. There was no latex barrier this time, no clinical snap of a condom. It was raw, wet and absolute.
The sensation of his bare skin sliding against yours was a revelation. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt the full, throbbing heat of him filling you completely. It felt different, more intimate and permanent. The lack of a barrier made every ridge of his cock feel amplified, every pulse of his blood echoing against your own internal walls.
He didn't start with the punishing pace of the past. Instead, he began to rock, his movements slow and agonizingly deep. He pressed his palm flat against your stomach, pushing down firmly to tilt your pelvis, ensuring that every thrust hit the deepest part of you.
"Gripping me like a fucking vise…so perfect." he groaned, his voice a gravelly morning rumble that vibrated through your chest.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles to pull him even deeper. You were lost in the rhythm, the slow, sliding friction creating a build-up of tension that felt like a tightening coil in your belly. You ran your hands through his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp as you moaned into the first rays of the morning sun.
The intimacy was suffocating in the best way possible. As he continued to rock, his movements grew slightly more urgent, the slow glide turning into a passionate, driving force. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours, tasting the salt and sweetness of your skin while he continued to pinch and tease your nipples, hand roaming your curves with a familiarity that spoke of a deep, obsessive knowledge of your body.
It didn’t take long for your breath to become shallow, chest heaving as the pleasure began to peak. You could feel the walls of your pussy clenching around him, milking him with every deep stroke. Your body tensed, toes curling into the sheets as a wave of heat crashed over you. You cried out, a long, melodic sound of surrender, as your orgasm ripped through you in slow, pulsing waves that left you shaking beneath him.
Scott didn’t slow his pace as his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. He continued moving, the intimacy of the connection almost too much to bear.
"Want to be done?" he whispered, his voice strained, muscles trembling with the effort of holding back.
You looked up at him, eyes hazy with pleasure and affection. The thought of him pulling away felt wrong because you wanted everything. You wanted the weight, the heat and the mark of him.
You shook your head with an escaped whimper, pulling his face down to yours. "Don’t you dare pull out…’want you to come inside." You breathed.
The request broke the last of his restraint. Scott let out a guttural sound, a mix of a groan and a sob and began to drive into you with a renewed, primal intensity. It was a desperate, loving hunger. He hammered into you, movements strong and deep, each thrust a claim and a promise.
As he reached his limit, his grip on your hip tightened, fingers digging into your skin. He thrust one last time, burying himself as deep as physically possible and you felt the hot, thick bursts of his cum flooding into you. The sensation of him filling you from the inside out was the most intense feeling you had ever experienced, a physical manifestation of the bond that had grown between you.
In the height of his release, as his body shuddered violently against yours, he gasped out the words he had been holding back.
"I love you," he choked out, the confession raw and unplanned.
The world seemed to stop for a heartbeat. You felt a surge of emotion that rivaled the intensity of the orgasm, a warmth that started in your chest and radiated to your fingertips. You tightened your hold on him, pulling him down for a deep, searing kiss.
"I love you too," you whispered against his lips.
He collapsed onto you, heart drumming a frantic rhythm against your own, both of you spent and glowing in the morning light, finally and completely entwined.
A few years ago, you would’ve hated the idea that Scott Miller of all people would end up teaching you everything worth knowing about sex. It would’ve bruised your ego badly, especially considering how seriously you once took those stupid categories and scales in your head before Scott showed up and ruined all of them completely.
Good sex stopped mattering.
Great sex became expected.
Getting fucked became routine enough that you lost count somewhere along the line, usually around the third orgasm of the day and definitely before he started dragging you into his lap halfway through work calls just because he felt like bothering you…with his hands and dick.
But somehow, even after all the rough sex and ruined schedules, Scott still managed to make love to you exactly the way you once imagined it should feel.
So if somebody offered you the chance to go back and do it all over again, you would without hesitation.
You were an absolute HR nightmare now and what a fucking delight that was!
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
Look at him just chewing the FAWK out of that gum 😭 (wait chew me next)
here me out– dad!scott loves Lacey there's no doubt about that. so imagine for one of her birthday parties, it's princess themed or something along those lines and reader does her make-up. And Lacey decides she wants Scott to match her but SHE wants to do his makeup. I can picture him squeezing his butt into her kid chairs in her room, knees basically touching his chest from how big he is. Then there's Lacey still having to get on her tip-toes poorly applying eyeshadow and smearing a thick glob of lip gloss onto him. well he loves his daughter oh-so much and agrees to keep it on during her party where javi, Kate, etc. all proceed to laugh at him. I can picture Scott getting soooo defensive saying something like "you got something to say about MY baby's BEAUTIFUL masterpiece?"
This ended up being really long but yeah feel free to write something like this 😂
pairing: dad!scott miller x f!coparent reader
synopsis: lacey does scott's makeup for her birthday party, and he won't let anyone say a bad word about it.
content: pure fluff, pushover dad scott, kate and tyler cameo hehe, javi is here too but that's a given, i've given lacey a best friend
word count: 1.7k
taglist: @everydaydreamer, @wildflowersandvibranium, @clarkentluvr, @magicwithaknife, @winterschildren8, @laniec03, @peachiestevie, @snowyathena, @only-dot-nicky, @hoodharlow, @whosmev, @rynwritesstuff, @only4fun11, @kryptidfiles, @adoringanakin, @jam1eslov4, @ac12299688, @she-sounds-hidieous, @dracuula98, @1eliana123-blog
author's note: we'll put lacey at 4 years old here bc she's little miss yappa yappa yappa (affectionate). this isn't scottreader as much as it is just scott being a dad but i loved it nonetheless!!!
dad!scott masterlist ☆ main masterlist ☆ join my taglist
Scott Miller wears many hats: Scott Miller the Meteorologist, Scott Miller the Asshole, Scott Miller the Founder, and his favourite — Scott Miller the Father.
Scott Miller the Father gets dressed in a generic fantasy king outfit and shows up to his co-parent’s house with a smile on his face and neatly wrapped gift for his daughter, Lacey.
Scott Miller the Father follows your careful instructions for getting the house ready to accommodate fifteen children and their parents — from packing goodie bags to decorations to setting up party games in the backyard.
Scott Miller the Father sets up the grill and listens as his daughter follows him around, tiara perched on her head while she rambles about her excitement, talking about all the fun she’ll have with her friends who are coming. She shows him the sparkly bits of her dress and twirls so he can see how it fans out around her.
“Mommy even did my makeup like hers, see,” she points out, closing her eyes so that Scott can see the pink and purple eyeshadow blended over her lids, shimmering slightly in the light.
“How pretty,” Scott smiles when she opens her eyes again. “You really are the most beautiful princess ever, aren’t you?”
Scott’s heart definitely skips a beat when she giggles shyly at his compliment.
And then her eyes light up, the tell-tale sign that an idea had lodged itself in her little brain.
This is how Scott finds himself wedged in an uncomfortable plastic kiddie chair, knees up to his chest when she decides she wants all of them to match makeup — to show everyone they’re a family. She’s opted to do it herself, foregoing makeup brushes in favour of smearing bright glittery pigment across his lids while humming to herself, hand pressed into his thigh as she leans up on her tiptoes so she can reach his face. She looks at you, then her reflection in the mirror, then back to Scott.
“Like this mommy? Is this good?”
“Oh it’s perfect, you’re doing very well sweetheart,” you respond. “Wipe your fingers off before you pick a new colour,” you remind her as you watch her fingers beeline for a bright blue in the eyeshadow palette.
You see the corner of Scott’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything. He waits patiently, eyes closed as she pats and smears, occasionally wiping away the excess. When Scott’s eyelids are sufficiently glittery, and his cheeks are blushy enough she finishes off with a healthy swipe of lip gloss across his lips: sparkly, pink and bubblegum flavoured.
“Do you like it Daddy?” she asks, holding the mirror up to his face.
Scott doesn’t miss a beat.
“Of course I do, it’s so colourful!”
She cheers, applauding quickly. “I can’t wait for all my friends at the party to see it.”
Sensing his hesitation, her smile falls slightly.
“Are you gonna take it off Daddy?”
You can already tell by the slight wobble in her lip that Scott’s going to cave and you’re not surprised when he responds: “Of course not, princess. I can’t wait for everyone to see it,” with a slightly forced smile as he heaves himself out of the kiddie chair. He lifts her up, twirling around with her while she giggles and claps.
You watch them dance through the living room as you wait for the first of the guests to arrive, taking stock of the decorated room. It had only taken an entire night of blowing up balloons and wrangling them into arches, but Lacey’s kingdom is perfect. Bright and fantastic and everything she asked for.
The first guest to arrive is Lacey’s best friend Shelley, a sweet shy girl who Lacey had latched onto on her very first day in daycare and hadn’t left alone since. Her parents drop her off, offer an apology for not being able to stay, while her older brother yells for them to hurry up or he’ll miss his soccer game.
“Be glad you just have the one,” her father says while the girls beeline to Lacey’s room to play with her toys. “Just not enough hours in the day to manage them,” he sighs as he hands you her gift. You guys see him off, arms crossed as you watch him peel out of the driveway.
“Christ, I do not look forward to her teenage years,” you laugh as you bump the door closed. The muffled sounds of the girls playing drift down the hallway as you and Scott make the most of your final half-hour of peace before the rest of the guests are supposed to arrive.
You watch Scott’s hands twitch as he brings them to his face, then slowly lower them as he remembers his predicament.
“Jesus, I don’t know how you guys walk around with this shit on your face all the time. My lips are so sticky,” he complains.
“You do also have like five times the normal amount of makeup on your face,” you laugh. “Do you want me to fix it? Take a little of the lip gloss off at least.”
You already have your thumb on his bottom lip, pressing gently as you swipe when he wraps a gentle hand around your wrist.
“It’s fine. It’s just a day,” he shrugs. “Most of it’s probably going to come off on whatever I eat anyway.”
You leave it alone, the two of you opting to go through the plan for the day again: timing for games, cake, and making sure one of you is always available to watch kids on the trampoline. There’s a pit in your stomach as you think about the logistics of managing that many children and parents who would be more concerned with socialising than keeping an eye on their kids, but you’re not left with much time to keep thinking about it when you hear a decisive knock on the door, Javi, Kate and Tyler’s muffled voices floating through to you.
“Lacey, come say hi to uncle Javi,” Scott yells while you let them in.
You hear the sound of Lacey urging Shelley to come with her, and then the soft patter of feet down the hallway until Lacey appears in the living room with Shelley’s hand in hers.
“Hi Uncle Javi! Shelley this is my mommy’s friend Uncle Javi, but he’s also my daddy’s boss I think.”
Shelley gives Javi a shy wave, nodding as Lacey moves on.
“And then this is his friend Aunt Kate, but my mommy also has a friend called Aunt Cate so I have two Kates not just one Kate and then this is her boyfriend.” The two girls giggle at the word boyfriend as Lacey gestures to Tyler. “His name is Uncle Tyler and he has a big big big truck and he drives it really fast and it’s always dirty outside. Shelley likes big trucks,” Lacey explains as Shelley nods feverishly besides her.
“Did you bring it Mr Tyler?” Shelley asks, hands clasped and eyes wide.
“Sorry girls. I left her back at home. ‘Sides, not sure your dad would let you guys anywhere near it.”
The girls immediately lose interest, turning back to Javi.
“Uncle Javi why do you have a silly hat?”
Both girls tilt their heads, regarding his jester’s hat with curiosity. The bells jingle as he tilts his head this way and that.
“I’m a jester,” he says.
“What’s a jester?” Shelley asks, brows furrowed.
“It’s like… a clown? I’m here to make the princess laugh and make sure she’s having fun today,” he explains.
They both light up almost immediately, Lacey’s hand immediately slipping into Javi’s.
“Come play Transformers with us Uncle Javi, but you can’t be Bumblebee because that’s Shelley’s favourite and I’m Optimus Prime already so you have to be Megatron.”
“Lacey, you have to ask Uncle Javi if he wants to play Transformers,” Scott sighs, even as Javi leans down to pick her up.
“But why? He said his job is to make sure the princess has fun.”
A bell on Javi’s hat jingles as she flicks it.
“Because he’s a grown up jester, and he might wanna sit with the grown ups,” you offer.
“Why? Grown ups don’t even play.”
The scowl on her face is enough to draw laughs from the adults, and the lines between her brows just deepen as her and Shelley shrug at each other.
“How about this,” Javi starts, gently lowering Lacey to the ground. “You guys go get your Transformers and we can play out here. Then I can play and hang out with the grown ups.”
The girls are off without a second thought, skipping away hand-in-hand.
“You need to stop spoiling her,” Scott says as he watches them disappear down the hallway.
“You have no room to talk looking like that,” Javi snorts.
“There something wrong with the way I look?”
Scott’s arms are crossed, perfectly glossed lips pressed together in a thin line as he scowls at Javi.
“Not wrong, per se. Just very…” Javi trails off, looking over at Kate and Scott who are suddenly very interested in the balloon arches around the living room.
“Artistic. My daughter had an artistic vision, and as her father it’s my job to encourage it and providde her with good creative outlets.”
“Artistic vision? Creative outlets? Being a dad really does wonders,” Kate laughs, placing Lacey’s gift in the designated gift corner.
Scott just rolls his eyes, then bites his tongue when you shoot him a withering look.
“It’s cute. You have a heart,” Kate continues, a mischievous smirk on her face.
“I don’t know why we invited them,” Scott mumbles. “They’re not even my friends.”
“Lighten up Scotty, glitter and blush don’t go well with a frown,” you laugh, elbowing him gently.
He clicks his tongue, then excuses himself to answer the door when he hears the doorbell ring. You steel yourself, preparing for the sheer levels of energy that you’re going to be responsible for as the rest of the day goes by, and then smile when you hear Scott explaining, once again, that his makeup is a Lacey Original Artwork.
He would most definitely be having a longer day than you.
Summary: You've lucked out with the perfect neighbor, a kind and overly helpful WSO. He puts up Christmas lights, lends his lawn mower, and grabs your morning paper. But what happens when he's out of peppermint tea one night?
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings & Notes: Robert "Bob" Floyd x gn!reader, extremely fluffy, food mentions, heavy making out, shirtless Bob, only referred to as Robert for the series, unrealistic expectations of next door neighbors, 18+ as always. This idea hit me like a bus while walking the dog (where I almost was hit by a bus) and has been fully unable to leave my brain since then. Cozy, sweet, overly helpful Neighbor!Bob is literally all I want for Christmas. And he's my holiday present to all of you!
robert from next door | if only the neighbors knew
“I have a ladder you can borrow.” You look up from the box of Christmas lights you’re detangling in the garage to see your neighbor standing in the opening to the street. Coffee mug in hand as he watches you loop out another knot. He’d noticed your garage open that morning, too early for a Saturday, and came to investigate or possibly offer assistance. If there is one thing Robert Floyd does best, it’s help his neighbors.
You had moved into the tidy bungalow just under a year ago, placing a potted fern on the doorstep and painting over the dated beige walls. It was finally starting to feel like a home. Now with the holidays approaching (as reminded by the entirely too jolly Santas everywhere in town) you were excited to start new traditions in your humble home. And it started with putting twinkling lights on the house, lights currently tangled in the cardboard box you haphazardly threw them in twelve months ago.
Threading out another knot, you give him a playful smile. “How do you know I don’t have a ladder?”
“Lucky guess?” He’s not going to admit he’s scanned and memorized nearly every inch of your garage.
The day after the moving truck came and went, you were thrilled when your first new neighbor rang your doorbell. While you had expected some middle aged woman with a plate of brownies and a plea for babysitting, you were pleasantly surprised at the man in a flight suit (Lt. Robert Floyd according to the stitching) with the striking blue eyes who stood there instead. He didn’t have brownies, but he happily gave you the lowdown on the neighborhood as you sat amongst moving boxes drinking lemonade out of paper cups.
As the months passed, an easy friendship had developed amongst neighbors. In the morning before making his way to base, Robert would scoop up your morning paper and walk it up the seven steps to your porch. The paper boy always threw it short. And despite numerous pleas to leave it be - you didn’t mind the short walk - every morning when you went for the paper, there it sat neatly on your mat along with any misdelivered mail.
And when he wasn’t saving kittens from trees in his free time, Robert was a shining example of a great neighbor. Driving his truck for a trip to get plants at the nursery, lending his mower when yours broke in the heat of July, cleaning your gutters when the leaves fell…you shouldn’t be surprised he’s now offering up his ladder so you can enjoy your Christmas lights. Looking down at the tangled mess, you hadn’t even thought about how you were going to get them actually on the house. Nails? Did you even own nails?
Not even an hour later you’re standing on the sidewalk facing your home with a hot cup of coffee in your chilly hands. Propped up on a ladder with detangled lights in one hand - and a tool belt around his waist like your personal Mr. Fix It - Robert hums to himself as he hammers nails into the trim before wrapping the first strand of lights in place.
You had accepted his ladder graciously, but mentioned you needed to hit the hardware store first for nails. With a nod of his head he left your garage and you continued on the lights. It was a tedious project, but rewarding once the final strand lay flat against the concrete floor. You were digging around in boxes for tools when your neighbor reappeared. He had a ladder and his tool belt, a full box of nails clutched in his large hand. Cheeks warm, you assured him you would buy your own. He let out a playful pfft.
“Nonsense. It’s Saturday, the hardware store will be packed. Consider them an early Christmas gift.”
You couldn’t help but smile. “Let me at least trade you for them? A cup of coffee?”
“Do you still have those Kona beans?” His ocean blue eyes are hopeful.
Your smile widened as you nodded. The overpriced beans you had expensively shipped every month were a favourite of the weapons systems officer. Last month you had hosted the homeowners association meeting (for the first and hopefully only time) and Robert had raved about the coffee you served. He was used to the basic stuff they made on base, his own home brewing not much better. Your coffee was the best.
When you came back to the garage after whipping up a carafe - hot mug in hand - you shouldn’t have been surprised to see your neighbor already up the ladder, deep into the project.
You holler up to him. “Robert, get down! You don’t need to do that!”
But he waves you off, insisting that he had already started and might as well finish the job. He would just drink your delicious coffee once he was done. And so you were relegated to the sidewalk to make sure everything looked straight from the street.
From this distance you could admire him innocently. The military-issue wire frames that catch the morning sun. Broad shoulders under the neat canvas barn coat he recently replaced when the corduroy collar ripped. His strong hands shielded from the chilled wind under his workman’s gloves. Because someone like Robert Floyd follows safety precautions and owns workman’s gloves.
At this angle you can see the slight smile on his lips as he strings lights along your porch. For the next hour you watch him put up lights, him occasionally turning back and asking you how they look.
“Are you sure they’re straight?” You promise him they are, but he meticulously checks his work anyway. He wants your house to look perfect.
The wind has tinged both your cheeks a deep pink and the cold is starting to seep through boots. Robert has nailed the last of your lights to the trim and deemed them faultless. He comes down the ladder and walks to stand beside you to admire his handiwork. Hands on hips - with that damn tool belt still astride his waist - he turns to you beaming at a job well done. It’s impossible not to beam back, thinking how long it would have taken you to do even a job half as good.
“Thank you for putting up the lights. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.” He isn’t sure whether your cheeks are red from the cold or something else. “I’m so lucky to have you as a neighbor.”
His smile is permanently stuck at your compliment. He opens his mouth to make a joking comment about the coffee you owe him - anything for more time together - when he feels the telltale buzz in his pocket. Pulling it reluctantly out after shedding a glove, he sees it’s Phoenix and is only semi-annoyed. They have lunch plans, which he’s running late for. And while he’s sure his front seater would approve of him blowing her off for the neighbor he can’t stop talking about, he’s a better friend than that.
Turning back to you, where you’re enjoying your freshly strung twinkling lights, Robert rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I have to head out…lunch plans. Rain check on that coffee?”
Nodding through your disappointment, you help him gather up his ladder and assure him that coffee is his whenever he wants.
The following morning you pad toward your front door, eyes bleary from a deep sleep. The house was cold and you pull your robe tighter around you. Through the glass panel in the door you can see your paper on the mat, as always, ready for you to consume over coffee and toast. As you open the oak door and scurry to shut it with the paper secured, something - or rather someone - catches your eye.
Robert stands in the doorway of his own bungalow, calmly watching the neighborhood. The thick fair isle sweater covering his wide shoulders looks incredibly cozy, and he nurses a mug between both hands. He exists in that moment without worry, and you’re envious.
His placid expression is broken when he feels your eyes, turning his head to see you, bedhead and newspaper clutched in your fist. His lips turn in a warm smile and he raises one hand in a slow, friendly wave. Your heart flutters, utterly taken away with how surely he carries himself, how sweetly he treats others. An emotion quickly squashed when you realize you are still standing in a bathrobe and knobby socks, flying back inside and shutting the door with heated cheeks.
As you go about working on your Sunday chores, you keep picturing Robert’s face, that small happy smile you can’t get out of your head.
Later that night, after hours of tossing and turning in the sheets unable to find peace, you finally trudge down the hall into the living room, settling under blankets on the plush couch with a cup of chamomile. You’ve lost details of the plot of the movie you started, brain racing as your fingers fidget with the mug.
The faint trill of your phone on the coffee table breaks you from your thoughts.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s Bo-Robert…from next door?” You yawn a hello while checking the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. “I just wanted to check if everything was alright? Noticed your lights were on.”
A warm feeling spreads through your chest at his concern. Picturing him peering out his kitchen window with the striped cotton curtains, filling up his own kettle, distressed that your house lights were on so late. You’d like to think he wore tartan pajamas, neatly buttoned. Those would suit him.
You settle back into the cushions as you reply. “Everything’s fine. Just couldn’t sleep.”
His thoughtful nod can practically be heard through the phone.
“Better question is, what are you doing up so late?”
The whistle and clink of boiling water and china crash over the line. A sigh pulled from his lips before responding. “I was going to make myself a cup of tea while I finished some reports, but appears that I am out.”
You glance down at your own mug of tea. It’s late, but not that late.
“What kind of tea do you like?” He muses on about his lack of preference - an equal opportunity tea lover - before admitting he was looking forward to a cup of peppermint. You make your way to the kitchen, phone pressed to your ear as you both open your cupboards. Your voice feels small as you offer, “I think I might have some.”
A silence lingers on the line. An unspoken late night implication that neither of you knows what to make of it. Your fingers flip through boxes of tea that take up too much cupboard space. Pomegranate, green, oolong. You don’t even drink tea that often. But right as you think you have too many white teas, you see the striped box of peppermint tea, one lone bag waiting for its turn.
You empty the box and walk to the window in your kitchen, where you can see the faint light on through his curtains. You clear your throat. “Look out your kitchen window.”
To your disappointment, Robert does not wear tartan pajamas to sleep. Although you are delighted to see his shirtless chest, defined from years of Navy training. He waves at you through your respective kitchen windows, holding up his mug of hot water. You lift up the tea bag, and his face splits into a toothy smile.
Before you can offer to bring it to him, he’s already turning toward his front door, speaking into the phone, “I’ll be over, just a minute. Need to find my coat.”
By the time there’s a soft knock on the door, you’ve turned on the kettle and gotten a fresh mug for him. You open the door, greeted by the tip of his nose and ears a merry red, the cold kissing his features. He’s been outside all of a minute. You usher your neighbor in, watching him observe how you’ve put up garlands and festive knickknacks in the entry since his last visit.
He slips off his boots, bare feet settling on the cold hardwood, and fingers the collar of his canvas barn coat. In his rush to come over he’d thrown his coat on forgetting his bare chest. It feels obnoxious to be half naked in your home, so he keeps his coat on and follows you to the kitchen.
“Peppermint still good?” You tease, the packet of tea leaves in your hand. He nods, slightly distracted by how cozy you look in your soft loungewear and the robe from this morning. Dunking the bag into the hot water, you search for a topic to pass the steeping time. But when you turn to talk to him, words catch in your throat because he’s right there.
Eyes so blue the sky is jealous. Shy smile so friendly it warms the room. Your thoughts dirtily flit to the tool belt around his waist on the ladder, fingers adeptly wielding a hammer. Fingers that brush yours in the proximity. He’s so close and your brain blanks as bodies simultaneously take action.
Your mouths find each other effortlessly, bodies pressing together as if they know the moves the two of you were just figuring out. The low-lying tension building for the past year breaking the surface as the dark of the house gives you both the bravery needed. His hands are cold as they find your waist, your hands too warm on his chilled jaw.
His mouth is all soft lips and hard pressure, the faint hint of toothpaste in his taste. It’s exactly as you imagined, but better.
Lips become more desperate the longer you connect, your back suddenly against the counter as he presses into you. This moment has been building since he’d watched you first walk up the front steps with that too big moving box. A hand slips into his sun-bleached locks he always has so perfectly combed. He moans into your mouth, a sinful noise in the quiet kitchen.
Before sense can interrupt, you’re reaching for the zipper of his coat, revealing every inch of his toned pale chest as the zipper slowly comes down. You slide a hand over the skin, a low gasp slipping out at the strong muscle. You’ve been attracted to his mind for so long, it feels unfair his body should be attractive too.
He shrugs out of the barn coat and follows you to the lowly lit living room, where the couch is softer on your back than the counter edge. Sitting side by side, knees knocking, he’s more hesitant to touch you in this context. Despite his body screaming to explore every inch of his pretty neighbor’s mind and body, he knows he’s basically barged into your home and immediately stuck his tongue in your sweet mouth. You get to set the pace.
“This okay?” His hand encompasses your knee, thumb rubbing smoothly through the fabric. You nod, tilting your head toward him to continue kissing. He’s warmed up now, your home and body bringing him to temperature. Robert smiles into your kiss. You can’t get enough of him, wanting to consume him fully. He’s delicate with you in the most delicious of ways; gentle kisses pressed to your soft lips before sliding his tongue across to politely ask for access.
Your mouth can’t open fast enough.
You place you hand on his hip, enjoying the warm skin and lean muscle beneath your fingertips. Groaning lightly into your mouth, he blindly reaches for your hips to bring you into his lap. His tongue takes its time to taste you, learn every intricacy of your flavor. Administration so thorough your eyes roll back in your head. The sounds escaping you music in the darkened room.
Fingers dance across skin, finding purchase on thighs, shoulders, chests. You can’t get close enough to him, resting one hand on the back of his neck as your swollen lips press harder to his. Robert loves the way your thighs straddle him as he leans against the couch cushions, his warm, large hands along your back bringing you closer to him. Your sharp inhale as one hand toys with the waistband of your lounge pants.
When his lips trail down your neck, praising the delicate skin, you can’t hold back your declaration any longer. “I…I’ve wanted this for a while.”
His lips pause, brow furrowed. “This?”
“You.”
That gratified smile will forever be imprinted along your neck. “I’ve wanted you since the day you moved in.”
The whimpers that rip through you when he nips the thin skin behind your ear have him grabbing your chin and swallowing your sounds. Reveling in the shared passion you’ve both had simmering beneath the surface. Can’t help his hips rutting up into yours, glorious friction he’s been craving satisfied. You giggle through a moan against his lips.
“So, we could have been doing this all year long? What a shame, lieutenant.”
You ground down in his lap, running your own tongue along his lips and savoring his taste. Thoughts of what he tastes like after his peppermint tea have you wrapping your arms tighter around his bare shoulders. Behind his head, outside the window, the faint glow of the Christmas lights he strung up shines in the winter night. How did you find this perfect man, and how is he your neighbor?
You express your gratitude for him with your mouth along his jaw, licking along the skin while he deliciously whimpers in your ear.You can only take so much before you’re sealing your lips over his again, inhaling his every breath.
As lips finally reach exhaustion - brains well past tired as the clock strikes a new hour - Robert and you pull apart with content smiles. Already cold without his warmth, you immediately lean back into him. He’s practically a furnace now under your ministrations. Unspoken words pass between as you invite him to sleep on your couch with you. A throw blanket produced from the nearby chair as the two of you tangle your limbs. There’s something comforting in the way he rests your head upon his arm, your knee upon his thigh. Again, it’s like your bodies know the actions like they’ve been waiting for you to finally figure them out.
You’ve just settled your head upon his warm chest when a thought strikes you, prompting you to lean up to look at those sleepy cerulean eyes. The small curious smile he gives you melting your heart.
“Did you still want your tea?”
He shakes his head with a chuckle, using the last of his energy to tuck the blanket tighter around your body. “It’s okay. I got what I really wanted.”
Your heart feels two sizes too big as he presses a kiss to your temple before sleep takes you both.
When the winter sunrise streams through your curtains the next morning, you refuse to get up. Perfectly warm wrapped up in the thin throw and your neighbor’s arms, you are purely too content. When Robert blinks open his eyes and gazes at your face, he sees the same placid smile he wore the morning before. The same one he’s had since you moved in next door.
Despite both being all too happy to remain entangled on the couch, sharing small kisses on any skin within reach, the responsibilities of Monday morning dawn and you must get up. Reluctantly you release him, watching him fold the throw neatly upon the sofa arm before helping you stand. Warmth blossoms down your spine the more you’re in Robert’s presence, the little things he does meaning so much to you. Especially as he strides through your home shirtless, musing about the whereabouts of his coat on the kitchen floor.
Your eyes flit to the cold mug of abandoned peppermint tea as you offer him coffee. But he’s intent on getting home for his flight suit, the drive to base longer than he’d like. Of course, he would ideally spend the morning drinking your expensive delicious coffee and listen to you go on about the neighbors down the street with the atrocious holiday decorations. If you’d let him, he would spend every morning like that for the rest of time. But his admiral would put him in drills all week if he was any later.
You walk him to the door, robe pulled tight across your chest to keep out the cold. He’s pulled on his boots for the short walk and wraps his arms around you in an intimate embrace, disappointed this perfect night must come to an end. You bury your nose in his jacket-covered chest to enjoy the last of his herbal and citrus scent, hands reluctantly slipping from his middle. He turns to leave and both your hearts pang.
When Robert reaches the end of your path, he bends down and picks up the paper, thrown too short as always. He turns around and retraces his steps, walking back up the steps and straight up to where you reside in the doorway still. Fingers brush as he hands you the newspaper, saving you the walk as he always does. Only this morning he tips his head to press a kiss to your lips.
You’re already adding peppermint tea to your shopping list as you walk back into the house. Just for him.
summary: bob floyd was in a pickle. his ma and pa were expecting him to bring someone home for his older brother’s wedding. are you up for the challenge of being his fake girlfriend for the week? or will it ruin your friendship?
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, oral fem and male receiving (bob eating it from the back), male masturbation, roommates/friends to lovers (my fav trope sue me), no use of y/n
word count: 14.3k
a/n: bob is a total mama's boy in this, but in such a good way. can you guys tell i just love bob so much? i hope you enjoy!
masterlist
your call sign: bee
In a month, Bob was expected back in Montana for his older brother's wedding. But he stared at the most recent missed call from his Ma and grimaced. How was the wedding already so close? And how had he dropped the ball this badly?
A few months earlier...
"Ma, yes, I'm still coming," Bob spoke into the phone pressed against his cheek and shoulder. His hands were folding his fresh laundry as it lay out on his bed.
"And your older brother needs to know if you're bringing someone with you, honey. There's no shame in coming home alone again..." his mother said in a sweet voice, but Bob knew what the underlying tone meant. All his life, he never had anyone to bring home. It was like an ongoing joke inside his family at this point. No high school or college girlfriends seemed acceptable at the time, but now he was a Navy pilot and couldn't get a girl? Well couldn't get the girl he really wanted.
Before he even thought about what he was saying, he blurted out a response, "I'm bringing someone."
What.
"What?! Robert Floyd, you better not be messing with me!" his mother squealed over the phone. "Jim!" Bob had to pull the phone away from his ear with a grimace as his mother shouted for his father. "He's bringing someone!"
"About time," he could hear his father's gruff voice on the other end of the call. "Was gettin' worried about him out there in California. That boy's not built for the beach."
"Oh, you hush! Honey, I'll go ahead and let Mark know. I love you!" his mother's excitement could be felt through the phone, her voice all high and pitchy.
"Bye Ma, I love you," Bob huffed out. What did he just do?
"How's she doing?" Bob jumped at the sound of your voice, quickly turning to you. You lounged against the door frame of his bedroom, wearing nothing but a sports bra and some running shorts. He hadn't expected you to be home from your run with Phoenix so soon.
"Ma? Oh, uh, yeah, she's good. She's good, nothing new, y'know," he fumbled through a response, trying to not to look at the way the beads of sweat ran down your neck.
You hummed at him, "That's good. Are you still up for Thai food tonight? The new place on 4th?"
Of course, he was. When you first mentioned it last weekend, he had almost jumped at the opportunity. Sure, he liked Thai food, but sitting across from you and sharing a meal was what Bob really cherished. "Yep! Yeah, that sounds good. Ready in an hour?"
"You read my mind, Bobby," you said with a grin as you backed into your room across from his.
Present time…
“What’s wrong?” you saw the scowl on Bob’s face as he stirred the pasta like he had a personal vendetta against it.
“Huh? Oh, um, just thinking about my brother’s wedding,” he said like even the thought made him sick.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you said as you prepped the various vegetables on the countertop around you. “I love weddings. The outfits, the candles, the flowers! I can’t wait to get married. And I don’t want to have a big wedding, y’know? But like more of a backyard, summer barbecue type of vibe. Oh! And I want all my bridesmaids in different color dresses!”
Bob watched you as you described your perfect wedding, mentally taking notes. The way you had set down the knife to wave your hands around was adorable. You were always so animated, unafraid to show your emotions.
“But Bobby, the best part about weddings is…” you left the ending open for him, ushering him to fill in the blank.
“The cake?” he questioned. To be honest, he was trying to appeal to your sweet tooth.
“I mean, yeah, that’s pretty high up there. But no, it’s the look right before the first kiss. So many people say it’s the first look or the actual kiss, but for me it’s that moment where everyone knows what’s coming next and the purest emotions are on the bride and groom's faces,” you explained in pure joy and awe, like you had experienced this feeling yourself. It was sweet to watch. Your wonder and love for the simple things were something Bob loved about you.
“But, why is that moment better than the first look?” he asked innocently.
You sighed wistfully. "Just that moment when you can see the excitement on the groom's face, and he can barely contain himself. And the bride is usually so bashful, but always so excited. It's just so sweet, Bobby."
It did sound sweet. If Bob and you were getting married, he doubts he'd be able to contain his eagerness before the first kiss. No, he'd be way too focused on you to even listen to the officiant of the ceremony. Surely, he'd forget what to say, and he'd be a mess through his vows.
Bob was quiet for a minute or two, and you wondered what was going on in his head. You saw the way he had a small smile on his face, like it was hidden and just for him at this moment. And the way his shoulders relaxed, going more and more slack as time passed.
"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" you asked him with a teasing smile.
"Yeah, maybe," he chuckled and went back to stirring the pasta. Bob wanted to stay in this moment forever with you. It was so domestic. Cooking together in the kitchen you shared, laughing and throwing each other playful looks, talking about weddings. Maybe one day you'll talk about your wedding. Anything you wanted for the big day, Bob was sure to agree.
Living with you had been both the best and worst thing for Bob. A few months into the program, your lease was about to let up, and you were scrambling to find a new place. Bob hadn't known you prior to the mission that brought you all down to San Diego, but you had become close very quickly. Being two of only a few backseaters in the squad, you and Bob had spent a lot of time together in training and going over mission briefs. He had met a handful of WSOs in his time in the Navy, but knowing you was like a breath of fresh air. You never diminished your position or your knowledge, even when other pilots would question your place in the military. It was a learning curve for him to be around at first; seeing you go toe-to-toe with cocky pilots was daunting. He learned that's where your call sign came from, Bee. You were sweet, but could sting when you wanted. Soon, he got used to it, becoming more confident in himself in turn.
When you joked about bumming it on Phoenix's couch until you found a new place, Bob chimed in, "You can stay at mine. I have a spare bedroom, never really got around to using it."
"Wait, really?" you asked, fully turning your body towards him. You always did that, too, gave your full attention to whoever you were talking to. It was a bit intimidating. Bob was only now getting used to it, but still felt his heart beat pick up.
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind having a roommate," he said with a soft smile.
"Oh, Bobby, I could kiss you right now!" you said with a big grin, squeezing his forearm. He wished you had.
It wasn't until you had fully moved in that Bob realized the full consequences of his actions. You were horrible to live with.
Not in the way that you left dishes in the sink to "soak" all week, or you forgot to switch your laundry out for hours on end, or even in the way that you would blast music loudly at 2 in the morning. No, you didn't do any of those things. In fact, you always cleaned up after yourself, and Bob too, taking his plate right from his lap before he could protest. You cleaned the whole apartment, top to bottom, on Sundays. Your music carried throughout the hallways as you moved from room to room. Best of all, you baked! Every week! Trying a new recipe and being a little messy was your favorite way to unwind from a hectic work week, and lucky for Bob, he was your taste tester. Sure, you brought in your treats for the entire squad on Mondays, but Bob got to sit at the counter and watch you work. You would always gravitate towards him during this time, either letting him try the new brownie batter before you added more sugar or asking him how many chocolate chips are too many.
You were a great roommate. Always so courteous and kind. Anyone would be lucky to share a space like this with you. But it was torture actually living with you.
Too many times, Bob has caught a glimpse of you walking around in nothing but a shirt and some panties. To be fair, it was almost always after you had showered and were walking to your room. But as Bob watched you track down the hallway, he cursed himself for offering up the room in the first place.
And since moving in and getting closer, you had become even more touchy than usual with him. You were quick to give out hugs and other normal affectionate gestures to everyone on the squad, Bob included, even when he had only known you for a few weeks. But now, it was like Bob's personal space was your personal space. You always pressed into him when maneuvering around the small kitchen. Bob always held his breath, feeling you up against him, reaching for the oregano or paprika. Recently, too, your hand would work its way into his windswept hair after long days at the beach. The way your nails would drag against his scalp made him want to groan every time.
But worst of all were busy nights at the Hard Deck. On multiple occasions, barstools would fill up quick, only leaving the squad with two or three seats. It was fine for most of the night, with everyone so invested in the latest match of pool between Bradley and Jake. But after a few hours, you needed a break and always found your way into Bob's lap.
"I can get up, so you can sit," Bob stammered out the first time you sat on his lap. The rest of the squad shared amused looks, careful to hide them from both of you.
"It's okay, Bobby, I know you wanna sit too. Plus, you're comfy," you said, wiggling around trying to find the best position like he actively wasn't about to combust.
A bump of your hip snapped the man back into your kitchen. "Everything okay over there, space cadet?" you asked, tilting your head to look at him better.
"Mhm, yeah. I'm okay," he said in a small voice, the smile on his lips not quite reaching his eyes.
Furrowing your brows, you wondered what was making Bob so distant tonight. "You know you can always talk to me, right?" you offered with a small smile. People say that but rarely mean it. But you meant it, and you wanted him to know that. He just nodded his head and continued stirring the boiling pasta. "Okay, Bobby. I'm here when you want to talk," you said as you rubbed up and down his back. You swore you saw a chill run up his spine.
You watched the way his face continued to fall as you worked on dinner. Bob was always quieter than you, so gentle and sweet. But you hoped whatever was bothering him would go away, or that he would talk to you about it at least. As the night continued, he gave you those small smiles, and your worry just grew.
જ⁀➴
"Why don't you just ask Bee?" Phoenix questioned as she grabbed the drink Penny put on the bar top. The Hard Deck was busy with patrons in all corners of the joint.
"I can't just ask her!" Bob squeaked out; he felt his cheeks flush at the thought of it.
"Why not? Because you have a crush on her? Come on, Bob," she teased him with a shit-eating grin on her face. She watched him slump against the bar as if she had just punched him in the gut. "If you won't take me, then why not Bee?"
Bob sighed, given that they had this conversation almost every day. Before training, after training, and even during training. Even the clear blue skies weren't safe from Natasha's questions. "It's not like I don't want to take you. But my parents know you. They're expecting me to bring someone home, y'know."
"Someone to give them grandchildren," Phoenix cackled as Bob groaned loudly. Penny placed his fizzy soda on the bar with a smile, knowing all about the man's debacle. Natasha thanked her, and they made their way back to the squad.
"Don't say that! I don't even, I can't even think- Oh jeez, Phoenix. No more talking about this. I've decided." The pilot swore she had never heard his voice that pitchy before. Bob shook his head as he wove through the crowd of people.
Once they had settled back into the fray of the squad, Natasha finally took to giving actual advice, not just teasing her back-seater. "I think you should just be honest, tell her. It's Bee."
"Oh yeah, let me just tell her I've been in love with her for months on end now. She's gonna think I'm a creep! Luring her into my apartment, making her live with me," he half shouted, half whispered at her. "And I also said, I didn't want to talk about this. Especially with her right there." Bob glanced at you laughing freely with Bradley, head thrown back. Your energy was contagious to the people around you, as he saw Bradley and Mickey spotting matching smiles. Bob found himself smiling to himself, too.
"She wanted to live with you, idiot. And I'm not saying confess your love. Just ask for this favor. You don't have to give anything away if you don't want to," she said matter-of-factly. If only it were that easy. Within minutes of you being in his childhood home, Bob would surely fold and show all the feelings he's been trying so hard to hide. One conversation and approving nod from his mother, and he'd propose on the spot.
The pair were too entrenched in their conversation to see you making your way over. You didn't mean to snoop, but you couldn't help overhearing snips of their chatter.
"I just don't know what I'm going to do. I have to tell Ma I'm not bringing anyone," Bob muttered, dragging a hand down his jaw.
"To the wedding?" You whipped around and saw Bob's eyes almost pop out from behind his glasses. Phoenix, however, let a mischievous glint dance on her face as she watched the two of you. Directing your attention back to Bob, you continued, "Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But if you need someone, I'll go."
Natasha let out the biggest cackle you had heard; it even caught a few of the other aviators' attention. She looked to Bob, who seemed to be frozen in time, and decided she would do her best friend a solid.
"His family is expecting a girlfriend. That's why Bob is having such a hard time," she explained. But you just furrowed your brows further at this.
"I'll be your girlfriend," you said. At this, Bob nearly fell off his barstool. "I mean, I can be your pretend girlfriend for a week. I'm really good with parents and family and stuff. And we know each other well, too! I'm sure we'd be a convincing couple. So, yeah. If you need someone." Suddenly, you felt awkward under his gaze. You definitely gave it away. Who just proclaims they'd be someones fake girlfriend?
You met Jake's gaze from across the pool table and saw him biting down on his bottom lip, trying to suppress the grin on his face. Flashing a 'Help me!' face in his direction, the blonde man made his way over to you.
"Offering your fake girlfriend services again, Bee?" he asked with a raised brow. Both Phoenix and Bob shot him quizzical looks. "Bee came out to dinner with my folks when they were in town a few weeks ago. They were on me about not settling down, but she quelled those fears. Swear I've never seen my mom fall in love faster."
"Really?" Bob asked, looking between both of you. "You met his parents?" A flash of hurt crossed his face. You had missed it completely, but both Hangman and Phoenix caught the distress on his face.
"That's perfect! Right, Bob? Bee would be great," she hit his arm, trying to snap him out of what Jake had just said. The three of you looked at Bob, waiting for his response.
He nodded slowly before responding, "Yeah, I mean, if you're okay with missing the full week. I'd love to take you." Natasha grinned at his recovery, mentally noting to pat him on the back about it later.
"I can talk to Maverick about it tomorrow. I'd love to come," you said bashfully. Jake smiled knowingly at your response. He locked eyes with Natasha and winked. The woman just rolled her eyes but got the signal.
"When was the last time I beat you in pool Hangman? I think my trophy needs a little dusting off," she challenged, gaining the attention of the squad and taking it off Bob and you.
"Looking for a rematch? I'm happy to oblige," Jake said in a sickeningly sweet tone. He stepped closer so only she could hear the next part of his sentence, "I'll win this game, just like I'll win our bet."
"In your dreams, Seresin," she scoffed. "Rack 'em!"
જ⁀➴
Jake's couch had become a second home to you at this point. Its cushions surely remembered the way you would slump into them every weekend. Being Jake's back-seater was a challenge at first; you were never one to back down, and neither was Jake. It wasn't until you both had figured out that instead of going up against each other, you could turn your focus on the pilots around you. So as time went on, you bonded over your love for college football, dad rock, and surprisingly, the Great British Bake Off.
"Oh come on, Tom! No one is going to win with a ganache like that," Jake exclaimed from the end of the couch. There was no quippy response from you, and Jake raised an eyebrow in your direction. You had been like this all week. Mopey and weird. Your usual trash talk to other pilots or Maverick was replaced with a stone-cold face. It was just as intimidating, but Jake knew something was up.
Clutching the throw pillow in your arms, you couldn't even focus on the monstrosity that was Tom's cake on your screen. No, all that ran through your head was how you were going to contain yourself around Bob and his family. In just two days.
With a whack, fabric came flying on top of your head.
"Ow! Jake!" you exclaimed, immediately putting your arms up to protect yourself from further attacks.
"Jake! Don't Jake, me," he sassed you, only making the pout in your lips grow deeper. "What is going on with you? Is this still about Baby on Board?"
"Don't call him that," you grumbled, taking your pillow and whacking him across the chest.
He just rolled his eyes and continued, "Seriously, you need to get it together. Baby on Board and his family are expecting a perfect girlfriend, and right now, you're this."
You scowled at him as he chastised you. "Jake, that's mean. I just," you sighed before continuing. "I just don't know how I'm going to do this. A whole week? He'll know!"
Your dramatics were nothing new to Jake, but when it came to Bob, it seemed like you dialed it up tenfold. "This opportunity has been placed in your lap. I think you should take advantage of it, embrace it," he suggested.
"That's easier said than done," you mumbled.
This upcoming week made you queasy just thinking about it. It wasn't that you didn't want to go to meet Bob's family. No, you wanted all of it. But not like this. From the first day you met Bob, you knew you were in for it. His cute glasses and sweet smile almost had you confessing by the end of the first week.
When he asked you to move in with him, you had happily agreed. But as the arrangement unfolded, you realized what kind of agony would be in store for the near future. The way he always carried in all the groceries, not letting you lift a finger. How he always drove you, never letting you sit behind the wheel, no matter what kind of day he had. And he was so handy around the apartment, too. One day, the garbage disposal in your kitchen stopped working, and just as you were about to call someone, Bob brought over his tool kit and got down on his knees. It was way more attractive than it needed to be.
But these little daily pains were nothing compared to what you had walked in on about a month ago. You were about to go on your daily run with Phoenix when she called you from the car to cancel. Turning your keys and walking back into the house, you slipped off your sneakers and began padding down the hallway towards your room.
Just as you were about to head into your room, there was an odd sound. At first, you thought it was the apartment, settling, or something that people always say when a building makes noise. But as you paused, clutching your shoes and phone close to you, you knew it was something else. It was him.
His moans were unmistakable, so vocal and loud. And you froze. For a few seconds, you just stood there, listening. Listening to Bob falling apart. The schlepping of his hand against himself was unmistakable. The rocking of the bed, too. You had to peel yourself away from this. Away from his noise. So that's what you did.
You tried to forget it. But a part of you wanted to remember, as horrible as that sounds. You hadn't been able to look Bob in the eye for a few days after, and when you did, the heat in your tummy would start again.
The thought of sharing this week with Bob was more daunting than any mission you had ever faced.
"Hey! Are we going to watch this episode, or are you just going to sit and stew the whole night?" Jake's voice snapped you out of your thoughts.
"Sorry, just a little worried still," you said quietly. Jake had never seen you like this before, so in your own head.
He slid down the couch and placed an arm around your shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. Everything will be okay, I promise. Your biggest worries right now should be if Tom can figure out his presentation for the judges."
You giggled at his teasing. "Fucking, Tom," you murmured under your breath.
"Yes, fucking, Tom! God, he's selling it!" Jake boomed next to you, throwing you into another fit of laughter. "Seriously, Bee. Don't worry too much about this week."
"I will be texting you live updates every hour, I hope you know," you said with a grin.
"Wow, only hour updates. I was expecting every 5 minutes," Jake teased, poking into your sides. You just swatted his hands away, fighting off a smile.
જ⁀➴
Stepping onto the packed dirt and smelling the fresh Montana air was a relief to Bob. The picturesque mountain ranges were illuminated by the strong moonlight, and the sky was lit up by thousands of twinkling stars. It was something to get lost in, and that's exactly what Bob found as he turned to look at you. "It's so beautiful," you said, eye going a little wide, and your voice was quiet. Bob figured it was from your hours of traveling, maybe partly from the awe of the view.
Without looking away from you, he responded, "Very beautiful."
Bob's moment of peace with you was interrupted by a swift closing of the front door and a cheery voice. "Bob! Oh, honey, you made it safe!" an older, but spry woman ran up to Bob. You looked at the pair as they embraced and caught a look at them, side by side. Bob was much larger than the woman, towering over her. His arms stood out against her frame as your eyes trailed across his large muscles and hands without even realizing what you were doing. And his nose, it was the same as the woman who stood next to him. The cute button was something you always caught yourself looking at when tracing the map of his face.
A squeal snapped you out of your daze, and you were quickly met with a tight hug and a rushed introduction of Bob's mother's name, Pam. "Oh wow! You must be Bee! You are so gorgeous. I don't know why Bob kept you hidden from us for so long." She leaned back a bit and took you in, dragging her hands across your frame and face. You giggled at her ministrations.
"Thank you for having me this week. I'm so excited to get to know you all," you said with a sweet smile.
"Oh, we are so happy to have you, Bee! Such a cute little nickname, you don't mind?" she asked, but continued on anyway. "We were a little worried about Bob for a while there. Honestly, never thought he would-"
Bob's eyes widened, knowing the long list of stories his mother could tell you. "Alright! Alright, let's not talk about all that just yet," he cut her off with a blush that dusted his cheeks.
"Honestly," you started, gaining the attention of both Bob and his mother. "Bob is the best thing that's ever happened to me. You raised such a kind and thoughtful man. I'm so thankful for him." Your eyes met his as you spoke, sharing a look of genuine care. Pam caught the way you looked at her son and smiled knowingly.
"Well, you two had better head on up to bed. Your Pa is sleeping, but he'll be up bright and early. And everyone will be over tomorrow night to meet you, Bee," Pam said, finally letting you out of her grasp. Instead, she placed a hand on your lower back to guide you inside.
You turned to grab some of your bags to take inside, but instead saw Bob balancing all of your luggage in his hold, just the same as when you left the apartment and at the airport. He shot you a look, telling you to head inside. You rolled your eyes, but mouthed 'thank you' as you kept walking with his mother.
She led you to a small bedroom upstairs in the rustic-looking house. It was cosy, a queen bed with golden colored quilt, a small adjoining bathroom, and a small window with lace curtains. She gave you another quick hug and whispered 'goodnight' before heading back down the stairs to bed.
Bob set down your bags and let out a deep breath.
"You okay? Wanna shower first? You had a long day," you said, a hand coming to his shoulder and rubbing it sweetly. He melted into your touch, unconsciously leaning into you.
"No, no. You go first, I'll be okay," Bob said softly, trailing off a bit towards the end. You had been traveling since that morning, and you could tell how tired the man in front of you was. Your flight was a few hours long, and since his family didn't live in Bozeman or Billings, Bob had to rent a car and drive 3 more hours out to the small town.
"Bobby, go shower and get ready for bed. I'll unpack and lay out the clothes for tomorrow." You took your hands and placed them on both sides of his shoulder, pushing him into the bathroom as he chuckled lowly.
Bob gave you a tired, but grateful look before he closed the bathroom door carefully. Today had been long, but seeing the way you interacted with his mother made it all worth it.
Stepping under the warm stream of water, Bob felt his muscles relax instantly. He didn't want to take long in the shower, knowing you were waiting for him, but he also needed a few moments to himself. Reflecting on your day together, Bob felt himself getting half hard at the thought of you.
On the plane ride over, you had fallen asleep against his shoulder, your body angling into his. With your odd positioning, your tits were pressed right up against him for the majority of the flight. It took everything in him to keep his gaze straight ahead on the action movie playing on the little screen in front of him and not your soft, full chest.
His right hand drifted down, gripping himself firmly.
And your hair. You had been tucked right under his chin, and the scent of your shampoo was overwhelming. Sometimes, Bob would catch a whiff of it floating down the hallway after your showers, but now it was coming at him in waves. He felt like such a creep, but what was he supposed to do? Push you away from him? Bob didn't know the next time you would get so close to him.
Now, his cock stood proud under the stream.
In the car ride over, you had made it a point to keep him company since it was so late at night. Finding a radio station that played old country music, you began to sing along to almost every song that played. After the fourth song, Bob knew it wasn't a fluke that you knew all the lyrics so well. You explained that your college roommate was from Wyoming and was constantly playing her music in the dorms.
Bob knew he needed to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn't help the way he looked over to your figure sitting beside him. Your lips moving along to whatever song was playing, your thighs pressed up against the leather seat of the truck, and the way your hand would occasionally find its way to his upper back, rubbing soft, smooth circles into it, all drove him to glance over at your sweet face.
His pace was steady now.
Bob felt so dirty, touching himself like this with you, only a thin wall away. But he knew if he didn't do it now, he wasn't sure when he would get a chance this week. So he hunched over the corner of the shower, trying to focus on anything but you. But like every time before this one, Bob's mind only wandered to thoughts of you.
What would you look like with water cascading down your tits? Or how your back would arch into the tile of the shower as he fucked you from behind. Best of all, how your face would twist with pleasure as he drilled into you, making you cum all over his thick cock.
That's what always got him to finish. Thinking about you, your pleasure. He caught the groan in his throat before it sounded, instead biting down on his free fist, whining lowly.
After cleaning up fully, Bob looked around the bathroom and realized he hadn't brought any clean clothes in with his. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he stepped out sheepishly.
At the creak of the bathroom door, you looked up from your place on the ground. You were met with Bob's nearly bare form. Water droplets from his hair were dripping down his shoulders, finding their way down his chest and waist. As you tracked one of the droplets, your eyes stopped when they met his waist. Bob's v-line was even better than you had imagined, and you had thought about it a lot.
He had an aversion to taking his shirt off around others, and that was reasonable. Especially in front of a bunch of macho, testosterone-fueled Navy men. But you had always wondered what he looked like under the kaki uniform he wore so often. Seeing it up close almost had you drooling.
"Forgot a change of clothes," he explained in a quiet voice. You just hummed, not trusting your voice. Pushing up off the ground and padding over to the dresser, you opened a drawer, and Bob found all of his clothes folded and set perfectly. His heart warmed at the thought of your delicate fingers working across all the clothing he had packed for the week. You had obviously taken care of his stuff first, as your luggage was still open on the floor.
Bob grabbed a change of clothes and kept his voice at the same quiet tone, "Thank you, Bee." You smiled up at him, staring a bit too long. But quickly, you fumbled to grab your nightwear from your bag and made your way into the bathroom.
Bob dropped the towel from his waist and began to dress. He didn't miss the way your eyes trailed down his body, and honestly, it made his stomach flip. Just as he was about to lie down and call it a night, he realized you hadn't discussed the bed situation. Bob would never want to make you uncomfortable, so he shuffled down the hall and found his way into the spare linen closet, grabbing a fluffy comforter and some blankets to lie down on the floor beside the bed.
Not too long after, you emerged from the bathroom and furrowed your brows at the sight of the empty bedroom, expecting to see Bob knocked out on the bed from such a long day.
"Down here," Bob's voice startled you as his hand shot up in a lazy wave from the other side of the bed.
"Bob? What are you doing?" you asked the man, walking over to see him laying down on the makeshift bed he had set up on the hardwood floor.
He rubbed the back of his neck, not quite meeting your eyes. "Didn't want to make you feel like we needed to share the bed or anything like that."
"We've literally fallen asleep on the couch together," you said, narrowing your eyes as a teasing smile made its way to your face at his chivalry. "I don't mind sharing the bed at all, Bobby. And that can't be comfortable."
"No, no. Ma's got the best blankets. Feels like a cloud," Bob explained with a soft smile.
You narrowed your eyes at the man before speaking, "With you back? Do you remember earlier today when we got off the plane?"
Bob recalled the moment of weakness. He had stretched out a bit too far after sitting for hours on end and felt a tug throughout his body, wincing a little. You had fused over him for the next 30 minutes, almost refusing to get in the car if you couldn't drive. But Bob, of course, got his way.
He looked as if he was about to argue with you. Bob was hardheaded sometimes, but you knew just the right thing to say to knock him out of it.
"Plus, if your mom comes to wake us up and she sees you sleeping on the floor, everything would be ruined," you offered. Seeing a look of recognition flash across his face, he nodded slowly, like he was considering your words. "Come on, Bobby. I'll help you fold everything and put it back."
You giggled as he sprang up from the floor, a hand already coming down to his lower back.
"I knew your back was going to hurt! Comfy my ass," you said, smacking him lightly across the chest. He just smiled at you, joining in with some soft chuckles that warmed your heart.
Curling into bed, you felt sleep hit you almost immediately. Letting your eyelids droop, part of you wanted to stay up and think about tomorrow. To pick Bob's brain about who might show up. Worry about what they would think of you. But the sound of Bob's voice made your heart slow and breathing even out.
"G'night, Bee. Thank you again for coming with me," Bob told you, not even sure if you were lucid enough to hear him.
"Anything for you, Bobby. Goodnight," you said in the softest voice he thinks he's ever heard from you. Your words slurred a little and were definitely muffled by the pillow, but he still heard you. He saw your eyelashes flutter across your cheeks as you settled into sleep. The way your mouth opened slightly, lips parting so delicately. How your body seemed to curl into itself, making you look so small and fragile.
Wishing to hold you close to his chest like earlier today on the plane or to grasp your hand to hold in his sleep, Bob just stayed up for a few minutes longer to watch your sleeping form. Soon enough, his thoughts of you became muddy and distant as sleep took over, claiming you both now.
જ⁀➴
Bob had awoken to soft beams of sunlight streaming through the lace curtains. Everything was quiet, and Bob let himself lie for a moment, taking in the peace. Just as he was about to stretch and get up, he looked to his side and saw you.
Your cheek was still flushed up against the pillow, and your hair was in a bit of a mess as it rubbed on the fabric. It wasn't rare that Bob got to see you relax, but it was rare to see you completely void of all concerns. Usually, you were still holding some type of resistance in your shoulders or furrowing your brows slightly, even when lying across the couch at the end of the day. But now, you looked completely free. He smiled a bit at this.
Like you had sensed him mentally tracing the outline of your nose or the apples of your cheeks, suddenly your eyelashes fluttered, and you opened your eyes.
"G'morning, Bobby," you half mumbled-half whispered into your pillow. You weren't sure he understood you until hearing his telltale chuckle that was seemingly reserved for you.
"Morning, Bee," he said softly, voice a little deeper than usual. You chalked it up to the morning hours, but it still made your tummy flip. "Did you sleep well?"
"Mhm," you hummed. Bob saw that you made no effort to move from your comfortable position and chuckled again.
He often teased you for being so out of it in the mornings, but Bob had never seen you so unguarded. On the weekends you had off from training, you would usually pad into the kitchen, eyes still a little puffy and your movement still a little soft. There was one time Bob had to quickly intervene before you poured your coffee into your cereal bowl instead of your mug. But right now was different.
"Don't laugh," you grumbled. "Need like five more minutes. Or maybe ten."
Just as Bob was about to say okay and lie back under the covers with you, he heard a familiar pattern of steps making their way up the hallway.
"I'm afraid you're not going to get that, Bee," he spoke, seeing your brows fold in on themselves at his words. But soon, the bedroom door opened, and Pam was rushing to hug you good morning.
"I can see Bob has been soft on you, letting you sleep in," she joked as you shot up in the bed to meet her embrace. "We Floyds are early risers! Better start building the habit now."
"Oh, I know. Bob's up every morning at the crack of dawn, it feels like. Always hear him trying to be so quiet around the apartment," you said with a yawn as she drew away from you. Bob's cheeks heated at the thought of you being so in tune with his morning routine.
"Well, I won't rush you this morning, but breakfast will be ready in 20 minutes. Then we'll head into town afterwards, alright, Bee?" she said with a fond smile on her face. You nodded your head, saying a quick thank you as she closed the door and left.
The room was silent for a few seconds as you and Bob shared a small smile and knowing look at what had happened. "I'm only getting up early for her this week, Floyd. Don't expect any new habits when we're back home," you joked, a teasing smile on your face.
"Oh, I know. Wouldn't want to disrupt your morning routine of inside-out jeans and backwards shirts," Bob said with full seriousness as he pushed the covers off his body.
"Whatever that happened like one time," you said, pursing your lips. Hearing his laughter fill the air made your face flush with embarrassment. "One time! It was one time!"
Your protests at his teasing had no effect. Instead, Bob's laughter seemed to increase ten-fold as he doubled over in the bed.
"Bob, stop! It was one time!" you whined now. "You said it wasn't that bad."
His laughter subsided as he began to speak, "I know, I know." There was a silence that lasted for a few seconds until he spoke again, "But it was so funny, Bee." With that, Bob burst out laughing again as you half groaned, half laughed loudly.
From the kitchen, Pam smiled to herself, hearing her son's laughter carry throughout the house.
જ⁀➴
That night, like Pam had promised, Bob's extended family was over. Honestly, Bob was a little worried for you. His family could be a lot, and given that this was the first time he had brought anyone home, he expected everyone to poke and prod at you. But as his family filed into the house, your bright smile had never faltered.
Sometime after dinner but before dessert, Bob had lost you in the crowd of Floyds. He had walked through the house about ten different times at this point, looking for you, but you were nowhere to be found. Seeing the worried look on his face, his father gently grasped his son's shoulder to gain his attention.
"She's outside," he said lowly. Bob nodded and walked with purpose towards the back porch. His mind racing, thinking of all the possibilities that would've pushed you to escape outside. Were you crying? Was this all too overwhelming? Did someone ask you a rude question? Had you finally gotten sick of him? Sick of this role you were playing?
Right as he was about to push the door open, Bob paused. He saw you outside, but you weren't alone.
Gathered around you in the grassy field was a gaggle of small children, all laughing and smiling. Bob couldn't tell exactly what you were playing with the children, but after one of his younger cousins ran up to you and tapped your hip, he understood immediately. Bob smiled to himself, seeing you take off into a run as all the children screamed joyfully.
"She's sweet. Reminds me of your mother." Bob was snapped out of his trance as his father spoke. "Good job, son," he added, hand coming to clap softly on Bob's back.
Bob felt his heart race watching you. He knew you were perfect, living with you and being best friends had proven it to him. But he had never seen you like this, so carefree and thoughtful. Sure, there were nights when Jake or Bradley would get a bit too carried away at the Hard Deck, and you would be right by their side, taking care of them. But it wasn't even close to this.
Bob saw you chase around the children, never gaining too fast on the younger kids, but still giving the older ones a run for their money. He watched as all the kids gravitated towards you, all of their smiles and laughs being thrown your way. And Bob understood this feeling deeply. He had always felt a pull towards you. It came out in various ways, like always finding your eyes when Coyote would say something outrageous during training. Or bursting out into synchronized laughter whenever Jake would ultimately lose another game of pool to Nat. And his favorite was the way you would find your way over to Bob whenever you were in a large group. You could talk to Jake or joke around with Bradley, but whenever the full Dagger Squad was together on a crowded night at the Hard Deck, you were glued to Bob's side. These moments let him know that you were undeniably in each other's orbit.
Finally, Bob pulled open the door and walked out to you and your new friends.
"Uncle Bob!" one of the children exclaimed. You whipped around, seeing Bob walking up to you with a small smile on his face.
"Thought I lost you in there," he joked. You smiled, not speaking but walking closer to meet him in the middle. He met your kind eyes, but upon looking into them further, he squinted a little at you. Just as he was about to step back, you lunged forward.
"Tag! You're it!" you blurted out, giggling as you sprinted in the opposite direction. The children seemed to follow your example, all shrieking and laughing as Bob took off.
Suddenly, you heard little cries of your name. Turning around, you saw Bob gaining on you. Before you knew it, his hands grasped your waist, picking you up a few inches off the ground, bringing you into his chest.
Tucked close into him now, you felt his breath on the back of your neck. The heaving of his chest against your back had you squirming. "Can't get away that easily," his voice close to your ear. Biting down on your lip, careful to not let the whine out, you felt your tummy flip at the position he had you in.
You had come outside to escape, yes. But not from Bob's never-ending list of uncles or aunts. From him.
During dinner, he had been nothing but kind to you. Caring. Attentive. And it had been like that all day. From when you left the house and went into town with him and his mother, you hadn't as much as blinked before Bob made sure you didn't have to lift a finger. Sure, he had done this to a certain extent back in California, not letting you open the door or always opening glass jars for you when in the kitchen together. But today was a different level.
Pam insisted on getting you a pair of real, genuine cowgirl boots. She marched you into "Jesse's Boots & Shoes" and immediately sat you down on one of the little benches. After gathering what seemed like half the merchandise in the store, she came back to you with stacks of boxes full of different types of boots.
As you began to bend down to untie your shoes, Bob suddenly appeared in front of you. On his knees.
"I got it, don't worry," he said, before delicately unlacing your shoes. His large, warm hand flew up underneath your calf, and the other shimmied off your shoe. Then he looked up with that sweet smile and repeated the whole process on your other foot. You could've sworn you saw Pam snap a picture.
Later in the day, you made it back to the house and were helping Pam fix up some lunch. She handed you a big yellow onion and a kitchen knife, but before you could even take hold of the wooden handle she had outstretched to you, Bob had rushed into your view. Stealing the onion out of your right hand and gently pushing you out of the way of the cutting board, you looked at him incredulously.
"I know how watery your eyes get. I got it, just go sit down," he offered with that same sweet smile.
"I can cut one onion, Bobby," you said, playfully trying to grab the onion from his hand. He just raised his hands above his head, ensuring you wouldn't be able to reach him.
"I got it, Bee. Don't try to argue," he challenged, raising his brows. Huffing, you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the small smile that was creeping on your face.
Pam once again snapped a picture. This time, giggling to herself a bit like she knew this was going to happen.
The third time was right before everyone had arrived. You were upstairs, checking your hair one last time and making sure your outfit looked okay, when you noticed you had forgotten to put your necklace on this morning.
After retrieving the delicate piece from the bathroom, Bob had seemingly appeared. Seeing the jewelry in your hand, he walked forward with purpose, holding out his palm. You raised an eyebrow at his actions.
"Seen you do it a million times," he started. "Let me."
You nodded, not trusting your voice once again, dropping the piece into his hand. Softly, his free hand came down to your hip, guiding you to turn around.
Then, you felt his arms go around your shoulders, not touching, but there. It was so quiet in that moment. The only noise you could hear was the creaking of the old house and Bob's soft breathing close to your ear. It was distracting. Maddening, after the day you had.
Clasping the necklace around you, his hands dropped. Turning back around, you were met, once again, by the same sweet smile.
"You look beautiful, Bee," he told you before backing out of the room. "I'll be downstairs whenever you're ready."
Driven outside, you had wanted to sit on the porch for a bit. Think about what this weekend really meant for you. For Bob. For your friendship. But your plans were quickly interrupted after feeling a little tug on your leg and hearing a quiet invitation to a game of tag.
"Robert Floyd, you'd better let go of that girl! We've got apple pie coming out the oven!" Pam's voice drew you back into the heart-racing position you were in. Bob was quick to set you down, smoothing his hands over your hips in an effort to fix the creases in your dress that his hold had caused. But you saw the raging blush that crossed his face and burst out into a fit of giggles, and soon, all of his younger cousins were doing the same thing.
"I think this might be your inside-out jean moment," you teased with a smile, seeing the blush turn to a darker shade.
"Not funny," he said sternly, but you could tell he was trying to hold back a laugh.
"Mm, I recall saying something earlier this morning like that." You grinned at him, walking closer to the house, but your body was still fully facing the man in front of you. "But Bobby, it's so funny!" you laughed, throwing your head back. Bob couldn't help but smile, even if it was at the expense of his own actions.
What neither Bob nor you realized was the crowd of onlookers peaking through the windows, watching as Bob Floyd was struck with a look of love.
જ⁀➴
You had been right. The look before the first kiss was the best part of a wedding. Bob doesn't remember the last time he'd seen his older brother so giddy.
You, on the other hand, had missed it completely. Looking at the man who sat next to you instead. You saw the way the corners of Bob's mouth pulled upwards, smiling brightly.
The week had gone smoothly, both of you getting away with touches that were a little more lingering than usual or looks that called for a deeper conversation. To Bob's family, this looked like restraint, manners, and control. To you, this was torture, heartache, and suppression. You didn't know how many more instances of Bob's big hand on the small of your back you had in you before you broke completely. His gentle guidance and care throughout the week had been something that you reveled in. Returning to California, returning to normalcy, it all seemed so distant.
Sipping some champagne, you sat with Bob at the reception. Stringed bulbs lit up the night. Bright colors popped from all of the flowers that seemed to be placed on every table. And sweet music filled the air, inviting everyone to dance.
Bob studied your face under the night sky and limited lighting. You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Dread filled his heart, though. The thought of this week just being a glimpse into what life would be like if he got up the courage to ask you to be with him weighed heavily on his heart.
Going to bed with you every night was something Bob didn't even know he was missing, but now he craved it so deeply. Being able to talk to you and share his thoughts with you right before bed. Getting to hear you ramble on, either about your worries or joys, was something he began to love more than anything. The way your voice would begin to taper, become gentle, when you were truly tired and ready for sleep. How you supported your face under your small palm while talking with him in the dark. How your eyes would become glassy and glazed over as you finally hit the pillow. These moments became precious to him.
"All couples! Head to the dance floor now! Tell your partner how much you care about them, and let's dance!" The DJ's voice broke Bob's train of thought. Without thinking, he rose out of his seat and offered you a hand.
Sheepishly, you took it, letting him guide you.
A soft, slow melody filled the air as you began to take your place with Bob. His hands brushed your hips, stiff, like he was in middle school, and it was his first time slow dancing. You chuckled a little under your breath.
"What's got you laughing now?" he asked, soft and sweet. Eyes searching yours with intensity you had only seen from him this week.
You looked at him for a moment and just grinned, like you knew something he didn't.
"Just so stiff, Bobby. Relax," you told him, pushing into his space a little more. Your hands found their way around his shoulders, palms settling on the broad plain of his back. Now, your face met his chest, and you melted into him.
Bob felt the sway of your hips and the light movement of your feet. If it wasn't for you, he would've stood still, not knowing what to do with you like this. Sure, he had danced like this before. But it was never this intimate. This deep. This connected.
At any moment, Bob felt like he was going to let the words spill out of him. Tell you how he was really feeling. It seemed so easy.
The way you interacted with his family. Cooking with his Ma, talking about college sports with his Pa. Even the way you talked with his brother and sister-in-law. Though it was brief, you made an immediate connection. You and his sister-in-law, chatting away like you had grown up together. And he didn't miss the way his older brother shot him a look of surprise, but approval.
But it wasn't just about them. It was also about the way you just fit so well into his life. Sure, you weren't an early riser, and Bob had learned this weekend that you weren't the best with large animals, but he didn't mind. If being with you meant slow mornings where you would coax him back to bed, hands grasping for him to come lie with you beneath the sheets, he'd be okay with that. More than okay. And if the biggest animal you owned was a chocolate lab, that would be okay by him, too.
Slowly, his large hands came around your waist, more secure and grounded. And Bob closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. Taking in this moment with you was the most important thing to him.
You danced under the twinkling lights and stars, no concern for the people around you. No concern that this was fake, that it was all pretend. Because right now, it felt real.
Hearing the thump of Bob's heart calmed you. It was grounding you, just like the gentle guitar in the background. You swayed like that for a while, but eventually the pounding of his heart and the steadiness of his figure became all too much. While the music swelled, so did your chest. Heaving up and down at a much more rapid pace.
Bob, feeling the sudden shift in your energy, pulled back, but just slightly. Still close enough to hear the hitch in your breath, to see the quiver of your bottom lip.
Your eyes blinked rapidly. Looking up at Bob seemed like an impossible task. But with a gentle touch to your chin, you did.
"Bee?" he asked softly. Concern written across his face.
"I'm sorry," you said, even quieter. With slow moments, you pressed your lips to his.
Your lips were softer than he imagined. The way your lips slotted between his was like second nature. And before you could pull back, he learned in deeper. Taking the hand that was under your chin and pressing it into the back of your head. Meeting you in the kiss, he pressed closer to you, and you felt the strong hold he had on your hip.
Bob wanted so badly to lick into your mouth, to mix your spit. But he restrained himself upon feeling the slight jump below his waist.
The solid kiss made your tummy turn in a way you didn't think was possible. Something deeper took hold of you as you melted, once again, into the man in front of you. The heaving of your chest was still present, but now it was fueled by want rather than anxiety.
Pulling away slowly, your breathing was heavy. Your eyes searched his, trying to see what he was thinking. What would his reaction to your impulsivity be?
Before your question could be answered, you were being pulled by one of Bob's cousins, urging you to go line up for the bouquet toss.
Bob watched as you were ripped away from him. His hand came up to grab onto you, but his fingers slipped against the fabric of your dress. Your eyes widen, head whipping around to look at him. But just as quick, you broke your gaze.
જ⁀➴
As soon as the door to the guest bedroom clicked shut, you immediately began apologizing.
"Bobby, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, and I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking," you said, hands coming up to your face in an attempt to hide from him.
"Bee," Bob tried to cut in, but you could barely hear him over the sound of your racing heart and rambling words."
"I didn't mean to ruin this. Ruin this weekend and make you feel uncomfortable. Ruin what we have. Our friendship," you kept going, stomach now turning at the thought of losing Bob from your life.
"Bee," he started again, but still you weren't hearing a thing he said.
Your hands now rubbed nervously down your dress, like you were trying to wipe off what had happened earlier that night. "I'm gonna go take my stuff and sleep in the bathroom or something. You don't have to share a bed with me tonight. And if you want me to move out, I will. I'm sorry, I just, I don't know-"
"Bee!" Bob's voice startled you into silence. He stepped closer to you, reaching for your hands, trying to quell your nervous energy.
Bob's hand closed around your wrists. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you looked at your best friend.
"Tonight," he started, hand rubbing softly against yours. "What did the kiss mean?"
He took a deep breath as you just stared at him.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," you said, feeling tears well up in your eyes.
"I'm not mad, and I'm not uncomfortable. I just," he took another deep breath before continuing. "I just want to know what it meant to you. Why you did it."
A tear slipped down your cheek at his soft-spoken words.
"I love you," you said quietly as more tears fell from your eyes. "I kissed you because I love you. Because I'm in love with you. I'm sorry, Bobby."
You felt your world crumbling around you. Years of friendship, laughter, and good memories all seemed to blur past you. Surely, when you got back to California, Bob would ask you to move out. The thought made you sick to your stomach.
Bob stared at you, silent. He felt like he was dreaming. All week, he had been trying to tell you how he felt. Been trying to get the words out. And here you were, saying everything he was thinking.
His hands quickly came up to your face, wiping the tears away. You couldn't look at him, eyes closed and body closing in on itself.
"Bee, will you open your eyes, please. I just want to talk to you," Bob pleaded. "I need to tell you something. Need you to look at me."
You shook your head, starting to feel like everything was all too much. Of course, he was still being sweet to you. After everything, after all of what you said and did. The thought made more tears come to your eyes.
"Please, please look at me," he asked again, thumbs now stroking your cheeks. Bob could see the internal debate you were having as your lips pushed deeper into a pout.
But after a few seconds, you opened your eyes. Blinking away the last bit of tears, you tried to look at the man in front of you.
As soon as your eyes met his, Bob smiled at you sweetly. "I love you. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner. And I'm sorry about this week. I should've told you how I was feeling, but I thought everything would go okay. That we could just go back to being normal after all this."
Your shoulders relaxed with his admission, your mouth opening just a bit to look at Bob in awe.
"But we can't," you said, voice still small. It made Bob's heart ache thinking about all that you were feeling this week, knowing he was feeling the same way.
"No, I don't think we can." His eyes dropped to your lips for a split second. If you weren't watching him so closely, you would've missed it.
Something in your stomach turned at the thought of kissing him again. Your chest began to rise and fall much like it had earlier.
Still holding your face in his hands, Bob leaned in slowly. Slow enough to let you pull away if this was something you didn't want. Slow enough that seconds felt like minutes.
Finally, your lips met for the second time that night. Less rushed than before and softer. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.
The kiss was sweet. Bob's heart was racing out of his chest, having you like this. He was content letting your lips brush up against each other in a soft manner. But each time you kissed, he got hungrier. It wasn't until you let a soft sound slip past your lips and into his that he pressed into you harder.
Suddenly, Bob was walking you backwards into the bed. You felt one of his hands leave your face and come down to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him.
"This okay?" he asked breathlessly as you nodded, not trusting your voice.
With that, Bob got to work on the zipper at the back of your dress. He felt your hands in his hair, on his arms, pulling him in closer. Finally, the dress dropped and you let it fall to the floor.
Bob's eyes scanned your body. Wearing the prettiest set of black lace underwear and a matching bra, he felt his stomach turn. You were perfect.
Quickly, his hands were all over your body as you fell back with him on the bed. Feeling his hard length grind down on your barely clad heat had you biting down on your lip. Bob worked his mouth against your neck, looking for the spot that would make you moan against him. His licking and biting made your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him even closer if possible.
"Please, Bobby. Need you," you whispered. His head shot up to take you in. Your eyes were blinking quickly, like you were struggling to keep them open. Your mouth parted slightly, like you couldn't take deep enough breaths. Your hair splayed out around you, like you were an angel come down from heaven.
"Want me to touch you?" Bob asked as you whined, head nodding. "Gonna have to be quiet for me, okay? I wanna help you."
"Okay, I'll be good. Promise," you said, eyes searching his. Waiting for his movements to change. Waiting for him to help you feel good.
His hands moved from your hips down to your heat. Only one hand cupping it at first, while the other worked at the back of your bra. Pushing into your underwear, Bob's big hand began to feel you everywhere. His thumb quickly found your clit, and you thought you were seeing stars as he rubbed it softly.
You felt the tightness of your bra loosen, and Bob's other hand quickly moved to take it off you completely. Seconds after, his mouth came down to your pebbled nipple, swirling his tongue around it, sucking it into his mouth.
Your jaw dropped at the feeling. His kisses and ministrations made your hips jump up into his hand. "Need more, wanna feel your fingers," you said softly, trying to keep your promise to him.
Popping his lips from your tits, Bob looked at you with darkened eyes. "Being so good for me. I can feel you, so wet for me," he praised you, but still, his hand made no effort to move further into your heat.
Your brows furrowed at this, and you propped yourself up to look at the man lying above you. "Bobby, please," you whispered, kissing his cheek sweetly.
There was no way he could resist you when you asked so sweetly. His hand made its way towards your opening, stretching your underwear a bit. Bob played with you a bit more, and you whined into the pillow next to you.
"Sorry, honey," he whispered into your ear. "Just love your little pussy so much."
Your jaw dropped at his dirty words and at the feeling of two of his fingers stretching out your heat. They felt so thick, and Bob knew exactly what he was doing, moving them with expert precision. Pushing in slow and deep, reaching your spot almost immediately, your back arched off the bed into his touch.
Bob watched as you crumbled at his touch. It had to be a dream. The way your tits heaved up and down made him dizzy. Your face, now driven into the pillow next to you, silencing your noises, made his cock jump from beneath his trousers. You lying on the bed, almost completely naked, and he still fully dressed, made him bite down on his lip hard.
He was trying to take his time with you. Be gentle. Get to know your body. But every noise that escaped you and every look of longing you shot him made his resolve crumble. He could spend hours like this, with you at his disposal to play with. But sweat beaded down his forehead in restraint. Bob had to know what your tight pussy felt like around his cock.
A hand on his bicep pulled Bob from his thoughts. He felt your pussy clench up at his fingers, and he instantly moved his thumb back up to your clit. The reaction was immediate. Your body curling off the body and into him, Bob leaned into you, taking one of your tits into his mouth again, sucking harshly this time.
"Oh, fuck," you whispered as your orgasm ran through you. You never knew your orgasms could be so intense, but with Bob's constant attention to your body, you had never felt better.
Delicately, he pulled his fingers from your entrance and leaned down to kiss you sweetly.
"You're so beautiful," Bob said breathlessly. Then he brought his fingers up to his mouth, and you felt your pussy throb all over again at the sight of him licking your slick from his fingers. "Taste so good, too," he said, popping his fingers from his mouth. "Can I taste you?"
You nodded, but apparently, this wasn't enough for him anymore.
"Wanna hear you," Bob spoke softly. "Killing me, not being able to hear all your cute noises."
"Sorry," you said bashfully. "Yes, please."
"Don't gotta say sorry. Doing so good for me, my beautiful girl." Bob leaned in to kiss you again, making you feel his want and warmth as he licked into your mouth. His mouth traveled down your body, stopping to suck dark marks into your throat and all over your tits. But you didn't stop him, not really caring about how you would cover them up in the morning. His nips and licks were much more convincing than anything your brain told you.
Finally making his way down to your heat, Bob pushed your underwear to the side. Licking a broad stripe with his flat tongue, he tried to feel all of you. Your thighs worked to close around him, but his strong hands came up to grip them just hard enough to remind you of his strength, but not hard enough to hurt you. Continuing, he kissed all over your heat, much like he had just licked into your mouth. The movements made you dizzy.
Focusing on your clit, you felt one of his hands leave your thigh and dive into your heat again.
"Bobby," you whined. Quickly slapping a hand over your mouth, remembering what you had promised him. He looked up at you, chuckling a bit at your movements. But the vibrations against your heat only made you squirm and cry out more.
Removing his mouth from your heat, he kissed your thighs sweetly.
"Need me to help you, honey?" he asked, voice low and eyes dark as they looked at you.
"Mhm, please," you whispered, still moving your hips against his fingers.
He smiled at your movements. "So needy," he whispered more to himself than anything. "Didn't think you'd be that way."
Your tummy flipped at his admission. Even if he hadn't explicitly said it, just thinking about Bob touching himself to the thought of you made your pulse race like crazy.
Pulling your underwear away from your heat, Bob tossed them across the room. His hands now moved to your waist, picking you up effortlessly, flipping you on your tummy softly.
Your neck craned back, a puzzled look on your face. But he was already meeting you half way, coming up to kiss you again and ask a question.
"This okay, honey?" Bob asked, one hand coming to raise your hips. Another guided a pillow beneath them. Your stomach turned at the thought of what he was about to do.
"Yeah, it's okay," you whispered. He smiled at this, placing a sweet kiss on the crown of your head. But soon, his hand was pushing your head into the pillow, tucking your hair behind your ears, making sure you were comfortable. But still, his hand came down to guide you into the plush surface beneath you.
Not seeing Bob and only feeling him was something you never thought you would love. But the way his hands dragged down your body, fingers toying with your body, and firmly kneading your ass made your breathing sharp and shallow. Bob made his way down to your heat once more, licks more confident and sure now.
Sure enough, you whined into the pillow underneath you, pushing your hips back into Bob as he continued to work at your entrance. His tongue pushed in and out of you, sucking harshly. Hands spreading your ass, allowing him to kiss you better, get deeper.
It was quick for you to feel the familiar tug in your tummy return, ready to snap at any moment. Snaking a hand under your tummy and to your clit, Bob worked diligently to make you feel good, rubbing tight, small circles.
Your hand flew back, trying to grasp at anything you could. Your fingers found his golden locks, and you gripped them tightly as you came for the second time that night.
After a few last licks, Bob kissed up your back, letting his body sink into you a bit. It wasn't until his kisses reached your neck that you felt his hard length straining against your ass.
"So good, honey," he whispered, placing sweet kisses against your hair once more. "Gonna go get a towel to clean you up, okay?"
Soon, he moved to shift off the bed. But you shot up, grabbing his forearm.
"What's wrong?" Bob asked, concern evident on his face as he looked at you. He wondered if it had been too much. He had indulged a little bit, but he thought that you were feeling good. Or maybe he was pulling away too soon, maybe you wanted to cuddle a bit more before he got up. But what you said next made his heart jump.
"Wanna feel you. Do you not want to?" you spoke softly, forehead creasing in on itself.
Bob smiled at your question, coming back into your space, pressing his lips to yours. You smiled into the kiss, too. Something about them was so sweet and gentle, but so deep and longing at the same time.
"Course I do, just didn't want to push anything," he spoke, pulling away a bit. "And, I don't have anything here. I didn't bring any condoms," Bob whispered the last bit, like it was a secret.
"I'm clean and on birth control," you offered with a small smile that Bob swore would be the death of him.
"Me too," he said, immediately backtracking at the sound of your giggles. "I mean clean. No birth control."
Your smile grew wider at his words. Even when Bob didn't mean to, he made you laugh, always making you feel good.
"Can I see you? Think it's a little unfair you're still dressed," you teased him. Even with the faint glow of the moon and the soft bedside lamp, you were able to see the way Bob's ears turned pink.
Without a word, he began to unbutton his shirt. Scooching toward him on the bed, your hands made quick work of his belt, button, and zipper. Bob would've laughed at your eagerness if he weren't feeling the exact same way. Kicking off his pants and underwear and whipping the shirt off over his head, Bob stood before. Your tongue peeked out a bit at the sight of him.
His abs are sculpted and molded to perfection; you were able to gawk at them more openly now than a few nights ago. As your eyes traveled further, you saw his V-line, prominent and defined. And his length stood proud in front of you. Chills ran down your spine at the thought of taking all of him. You leaned down, falling on your elbows before him. Kissing his pink tip, your tongue began to kitten lick at his head.
Bob groaned audibly at the sight in front of him. Your ass up, mouth working against his length, and eyes looking up at him for approval. This wasn't real, surely. Any minute now, he would wake up in bed, spoiled underwear once again. But as you moved to take his length further in your mouth, Bob couldn't deny what he was feeling.
Knowing that if you sucked his length much longer, he wouldn't last, Bob softly grasped your head in his hands, moving you away from his length and instead onto the bed like you once were.
Lying back on the bed, you watched as Bob moved over your body. Settling on top of you, you found yourself face-to-face with him. Smiling at him, your eyes met, and you couldn't help but laugh a bit to yourself.
"What's got you so happy?" Bob asked, leaning down to kiss your neck as you let the giggles flow freely. He smiled at you, the kisses sweet rather than searing like they were before.
"I just love you," you whispered. Bob's head shot up, dopey grin now on his face.
"I love you," he whispered back. Leaning down to kiss you again, you thought about how you would never get used to this. Just a few hours ago, you were anxiety-ridden with thoughts of losing your best friend to a dumb mistake. Now, all your nerves were still on fire, but for a different reason. Bob's lips worked against yours until you felt your tummy flip again, and it seemed he felt the same way; one of his hands moved down to grip his length. Guiding himself to your heat, you felt Bob shudder in your embrace, but his lips never left yours.
Bob groaned against your lips as he pushed into you. Only a few inches at first, seeing the way your body would react to him. Your chest heaved, and your eyes screwed shut at the unfamiliar feeling. But your hands pawed at his chest and back, trying to bring him closer to you.
"Doing okay, honey? Feel good?" Bob asked, watching your face for any signs of discomfort.
You whinnied a little as you answered, "Feels good. So good. You're so big."
"You can take it, can't you, honey?" Bob asked, pushing a bit more into you as your jaw dropped at the feeling. He was now kissing up and down your throat again, unable to keep himself away from your soft, dewy skin for too long.
The man felt you pulsed around him. Your heat seemingly needing more from him. Before Bob could ask, you spoke in a breathless whisper.
"More, please. I can take it."
With that, he pushed into you fully. Balls settling against your ass, pelvis meeting yours. His arms came around under your back, bringing you tight into his embrace. Bob made sure to hold onto you, made sure he was taking care of you.
When he started moving, it was filthy. The sounds couldn't be masked as he moved in and out of your heat at a steady pace, deep enough to be hitting your spot in just the right way. Your bodies began to sweat and shine under the soft bedroom light.
You tried biting down on your lip, tried to not let the sounds escape you, but it was no use. The way that Bob moved above you drew out soft, airy noises. Bob saw that you struggled to control yourself and fully feel pleasure, so he took matters into his own hands.
Placing a large hand over your mouth, Bob met your eyes. They shot wide open at first, maybe a flicker of embarrassment, but soon they became droopy again as you focused more on his thrusts into you.
"It's okay, honey," he leaned down to talk near your ear. "Know it feels good. Just gonna help you a little."
You nodded at his words, clenching around his length again. Your moans were now muffled behind his big hand. The feeling of Bob asserting himself over you made you dizzy. You knew he was confident and could take charge if need be, but this was something else. Bob worked with precision, seemingly adjusting to your every move. It wasn't long until his other hand left its spot on your hip and made its way down to your heat once more, circling your clit in what you now learned was your favorite way. His big thumb moved in tandem with his thrusts, and you opened your eyes to look at the man above you.
Bob, seeing the way your eyes glossed over, kissed your lips, briefly moving his hand before placing it back and speaking, "It's okay, I got you. Wanna feel you cum around me."
With that, the knot in your tummy unraveled. Shaking against Bob, you pushed your body as close to his as possible. Still working into you, Bob felt the way you squeezed his length and couldn't hold back anymore, coming to his high with you.
Slowly, Bob moved his hand from your mouth and instead stroked your hair, placing a kiss on your hairline. You smiled at his actions, despite being exhausted from your rigorous activities.
"I love you," Bob told you. He watched as you relaxed against the bed, shifting slightly to hold you better.
"I love you, Bobby. Thank you for inviting me this week," you said sweetly, sharing another kiss with him as he was still nestled inside you, neither of you moving to get up just yet.
He smiled at your words. Thinking back to this week and all that had happened, Bob was grateful you were by his side. From his rambunctious family to the quietness of rural Montana, you fit in perfectly. Bob couldn't wait to bring you back, properly this time.
જ⁀➴
Like always, you and Bob went along with the squad's outstanding Saturday night plans at the Hard Deck, not caring that you had just gotten back to California a few hours prior. Jake grinned at the sight of you walking into the Hard Deck, hand in hand with Bob. He watched as Bob carefully guided you through the crowd of people, delicately holding onto your waist and shielding you from the rowdy patrons.
"Well, well, well," Jake teased as soon as you had both made your way over to the pool table full of aviators. "Looks like my plan worked."
Bob's brows furrowed at this, immediately looking to you.
"No way, Bagman, you aren't getting the credit for this," Phoenix chimed in, abandoning the game of pool.
Now it was your turn to look at Bob with confusion on your face.
"I was the one who sold Bee about the parents thing," Jake argued. You felt your face flush at his admission of your white lie.
"Well, I was the one hyping Bob up for weeks about getting her to come," Phoenix fought back. Bob closed his eyes, not thinking he could survive the look of amusement on your face.
Suddenly, both of your pilots turned to you.
"So who did it?" Phoenix asked. Both you and Bob looked at each other, puzzled.
"Oh come on," Jake said exasperatedly. "You know what were talking about. Who made the first move?"
The squad was silent, watching both you and Bob under a microscope, it seemed. A slight tilt of Bob's head in your direction made Jake cry out triumphantly, pumping his fists into the air.
"I knew it! I knew it! Suck it, Phoenix," Jake whooped as onlookers watched with amusement at his antics.
"Knew it?" Bob asked, almost scared for the answer.
Jake grinned at the both of you. "Yup!" he said, popping the ending syllable in a way that made Nat's eye roll even farther back into her head. "I knew Bee would make the first move. She's gutsy! No offense, Baby on Board."
"Jake," you chastised, but knew the nickname was all in good fun now.
"Where's my twenty dollars? My wallet seems to be missing something," Jake faux-questioned, turning his attention to Phoenix.
Digging into her back pocket and sifting through her wallet, she slapped a crisp twenty-dollar bill into Jake's outstretched hand with a groan. Jake almost giggled in delight, a sound you had only heard come out of him once or twice.
"I just want to say," he started, raising his glass to the group, "that I, Jake Seresin, best pilot among us, was instrumental in ending our suffering. That is, watching these two dance around each other forever like little lovesick puppies."
The group groaned at his statement, but raised their drinks nonetheless. You giggled into Bob's shoulder, and he smiled widely at the sound. His eyes found yours and saw a playful look on your face. Before he knew it, you leaned into his space, pressing your lips to his.
The group watched as he melted into your touch, half-cheering and half-whistling.
Pulling away slightly, you smiled at the man next to you. Bob's cheeks were now dusted with pink, but he still wrapped a hand around your waist, bringing you close into his hold.
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