Welcome to my Master List ❤️ I’m hoping you guys enjoy the craziness that is the huge long lists of fics that I’ve made over the past couple of months!
REQUESTS ARE CLOSED
MY SECOND MASTER LIST! (WHAT IM ADDING TO NOW!)
KINKTOBER ‘25 (MAINLY LEWIS PULLMAN CHARACTERS)
DRABBLE LIST (ONGOING! MAINLY LEWIS CHARACTERS BUT ALSO SEBASTIAN STAN IS THERE TOO HOPEFULLY)
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UPDATE SCHEDULE: Trying my best to post a few times a week, currently in school suffering ❤️🫶
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Please enjoy :D
BUCKY BARNES
Hole In The Earth
My Desire
Party 4 U
Girls Like You (Continuation of My Desire)
Forwards Beckon Rebound
Cradle
All The Small Things
BOB/ROBERT REYNOLDS (😇)/SENTRY(☀️)/THE VOID (🫥)
Carry The Zero (😇)
When The Sun Hits (😇)
Cherry Waves (😇)
Plainclothes Man (😇)
All The Rage Back Home (😇)
Sailor Song (😇)
I Wanna Get Lost With You (😇)
I Want You (Fever) (Part 2 of Plainclothes man) (😇)
Signs (😇)
It’s You I’m Thinking Of (😇)
Send The Pain Below (😇)
Spanish Sahara (😇)
Fable (Part 2 of Sailor Song) (😇)
The Greatest Light Is The Greatest Shade (😇)
Test Drive (🫥)
Velour and Velcro (😇)
Detonate (😇)
Sports Car (😇)
Affection (😇)
Entombed (Sequel to Test Drive) (😇/🫥)
Journal of Ardency (Sequel to Sports Car) (☀️)
Late For The Sky (😇)
At The Beach, In Every Life (Final Part of Sailor Song) (😇)
If I Believe You (🫥)
The Air That I Breathe (😇)
Lovers (😇/☀️)
Never Let Me Go (😇)
Only He Can Heal Me (😇)
Crying Lightning (😇/☀️)
Big Shot (😇)
Got You (Where I Want You) (😇)
Body Paint (😇)
I’ll Believe In Anything (😇/☀️)
I Do Love You (😇)
I’m On Fire (😇)
Instant Crush (😇/☀️)
Embrace (😇)
Nothing Matters (😇)
She’s Thunderstorms (😇)
Some Kind Of Love (😇)
Business (😇)
For Sure (Sequel to Some Kind Of Love) (😇/☀️/🫥)
Good Grief (😇/☀️)
The Dark Side (🫥)
Dawn: Making An Effort (😇)
Makes Me Want You (☀️)
Tonight, Tonight (😇/☀️)
Something Human (😇)
I Feel You (☀️)
Only Human (🫥)
Adore Me (😇)
Feel It All Around (😇)
Soak Up The Sun (😇)
A House In Nebraska (😇)
The Moon Song (😇)
Under Cover Of Darkness (🫥)
Spoiled (😇)
Night Sky (😇)
Kiss It Off Me (☀️)
Strangers (😇/☀️)
Self Control (😇)
Telescope (😇)
Stop The World Cause I Wanna Get Off With You (☀️)
Plainsong (😇)
You Caught The Light (☀️)
Little Golden Age (😇)
Smoke Signals (😇)
Oxygen (🫥)
Paper Crown (Featuring Bucky!) (😇)
Fire For You (😇/☀️)
Shake Me Down (☀️)
Ordinary Dream (😇/🫥)
Sundowner (☀️)
Claws (😇)
Sometimes (☀️)
RHETT ABBOTT
Purple Lace Bra
Moonlight Desires
Driver
No Angels
Tongue
My Favourite Game
Banquet
In The Heat Of The Moment
Boys On The Radio
BOB FLOYD
Supersonic
Glide
Fantasy
CALVIN EVANS
This Charming Man
MISC. (OTHER CHARACTERS THAT IM NOT WRITING ON A DAILY BASIS!)
✧ Synopsis: They fucked. Hard. Hormones went wild. Cravings escalated. And somehow, a tiny human happened.
✧ Warnings: Smut: oral, breeding, body worship, and absolutely sexy Bob Floyd, Big Dick Energy™ (Bob is fully owning it), Ultimate husband behavior: doting, teasing, worshipping you, Fluff overload: cuddles, kisses, and adorableness, Pregnancy hours: cravings, exhaustion, hormones, and baby brain, Attempted humor: chaotic, awkward, silly moments included, Cute chaos: messy hair, silly smiles, waddling, and general heart-melting moments
The whole ratatouille thing isn't that special. Grab any white boy's hair and you control him.
The dimly lit room cast shadows that danced across your bare skin as Bob Floyd knelt between your thighs, his face buried in your pussy. Your fingers were tangled in his sandy blond hair, gripping tightly as you arched your back, pushing yourself further onto his eager tongue.
“So pretty... Say it back, tell me you're pretty.”
Your back arched, moans spilling out as Bob found that sweet, perfect spot. Fingers tangled in his hair, you pulled him right where you wanted him, every inch of his face coated in your slick. His muffled groans pressed into you, vibrating through your sensitive core until your knees threatened to buckle.
Fights with Bob Floyd were dangerous, mostly because his apology involved snacks, cuddles, and the occasional four-hour tongue session.
“Atta girl...”
LORD TAKE M--
Your hips rolled against his face, shameless and deliberate. He tasted you everywhere-- your slick coated his cheeks, chin, and even fogged his glasses-- and you held his head in your hands like reins, guiding him exactly where you wanted. He ate you out with an intensity that made your knees shake.
The room was filled with the symphony of wet sounds and muffled praises. Bob's tongue swirling around your clit while he hummed contentedly like a man who had found heaven between his wife's legs. "So sweet..."
No one would’ve expected Bob Floyd to be like this. Not this needy, this shameless, this… talkative. His eyes were glued to you, lips and tongue busy, and yet he found words-- muffled, wet, and utterly devoted.
“Can I eat this pretty pussy forever?” he asked, voice husky and muffled against you.
You gasped at the audacity of it, but he wasn’t done. “Do you like how I worship this sweet cunt?” His moan vibrated against your folds, and it made your knees weak.
“Should I keep going until you squirt all over my face?”
And there it was-- Bob Floyd, the quiet, sweet, somehow deadly patient man you’d married, suddenly talkative in the best, filthiest way possible, leaving you shocked, moaning, and completely undone.
A loud, sharp squeal escaped you as your body jolted with a sudden orgasm. Bob’s face was drenched, glasses sliding down, and he looked up like he’d just completed the most satisfying task in the universe. “You okay, honey?” he hummed, completely smug.
His tongue traced every drop, hungrily licking you clean while your knees threatened to give out. He looked up, eyes sparkling, voice low and teasing: “I could get used to this, you know… you’re ridiculously easy to please.”
You yanked him away gently, resting his face on your thigh to give your overstimulated cunt a reprieve. Panting and shaking from your release, you grinned wickedly. “That was… cute, Bob, really,” you breathed, voice low and teasing. “But it’s barely even a warm-up. Next time, I expect effort.”
Bullshit.
He hummed softly, playful trouble in his eyes. “That so, m’love?” he murmured, crawling over you, lips exploring every inch. Your neck alone demanded ten kisses, and he happily obliged, making you arch and bite your lip with every one.
You tugged his face up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before pulling back and scoffing. “I’ve had spicier from you in my dreams.”
That sweet Bob smile twisted into something wicked. Towering above you, his shadow swallowed your body, voice husky and firm. “I will shift your womb, woman,” he murmured, like a king claiming his throne.
Lip between teeth, smirk in check. Who knew Bob Floyd could be this commanding? You did. Every night actually. You mentally sighed, rolled your eyes, and spread your legs anyway. Invitation clear, and very much appreciated.
Hips already rolling, you whispered between moans,“You keep talking like that and don't even think about pulling out.”
“That's exactly what I was aiming for, darlin'.”
“Oh~ you wanna breed me, Bob Floyd?”
“I do. If my gorgeous wife tells me I can.”
“Mm, needy husband now?”
“Only for you. I'm so lucky.”
“You gonna fill me up, Bob?”
“Every last drop if you let me.”
“I’ll let you fuck the life out of me, husband.”
“Yes ma'am.”
He didn’t even hesitate, sliding inside you with slow, deliberate precision. Every inch of him stretched and filled you, and your hips bucked instinctively, chasing the friction that already had your nerves alight. You gasped, nails digging into his back as the burn spread deliciously, unrelenting.
“Fuck…” you whispered through gritted teeth, eyes squeezing shut.
He smirked, pressing closer, letting you feel every inch of him. You whimpered, breath catching, and tried to adjust, but it only made it sharper.
Finally, all you could manage with a strained voice rough with both pain and pleasure, the words slipping out between sharp breaths, “Fuck you, Bob Floyd...”
---
“FUCK YOU, BOB FLOY-- AHHH! LET GO, WOMAN!” Hangman’s knuckles were white, teeth clenched as he hissed through gritted teeth.
Your hand was wrapped around his wrist like a vice, eyes blazing, veins screaming, and you pushed. Hard. Hangman had promised to “fill in for Bob” and now he understood exactly how naïve that statement was.
“Breathe! Just-- breathe!” he gasped, face turning red, eyes watering, and somehow still trying to keep his hand from being crushed into pulp.
You did not breathe. You cursed. The world, Bob, your parents, the human race, the concept of pain itself-- all of it.
“I WILL FUCKING KILL EVERYONE WHO THINKS THIS IS FAIR-- AHHH!” Your voice cracked, and Hangman’s wrist gave a sickening pop. He screamed like a man summoning every regret in his lineage. “FUCK YOU, ROBERT FLOYD! I HOPE YOUR SOUL GETS STUCK IN A TRAFFIC JAM FOREVER!”
“Oh god oh god oh god,” Hangman squealed as your grip tightened further.
"SHUT UP JAK--"
"MY HAND--"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU SAY THAT AGAIN IMMA RIP YOUR TONGUE OUTTA YOUR HEAD--"
"MY HANDDDD--"
His fingers were bending in ways nature never intended. He tried to push your hand off, failed, and felt an immediate, punishing crunch against his bones. Somewhere in there, he realized you had actually broken his hand.
You didn’t pause. You cursed the pain, you cursed the room, you cursed your own fucking uterus. “I HATE YOU, ROBERT FLOYD! I HATE YOU! I HATE-- AHHH-- EVERYONE!”
The midwives were trying not to die laughing while also coaching you, the alarms were blaring, the monitors were going wild, and Hangman was gripping the gurney for dear life, muttering under his breath, “Why-- why did I think this would be fun… why am I alive…”
You whimpered to Hangman, face pale and eyes red. "I'm gonna die, Jake..."
Hangman hissed back. "You try dying and watch me pull you back by your hair 'cause ain't no way you broke my hand for nothin'."
Then, with one final, monumental heave that could have powered a small city, a tiny, wailing human erupted into the world. You collapsed back, heaving, drenched in sweat, lungs burning, every fiber of your body screaming in betrayal-- and finally, just for a second, your eyes landed on the baby. Tiny, perfect, screaming… and completely oblivious to the chaos that had just birthed it.
And that’s when the doors flew open. Bob barreled in like a storm, chest heaving, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, eyes darting wildly. He skidded to your side, but his gaze didn’t land on the baby. No, it landed entirely, completely, utterly on you.
Your exhausted eyes met his, and all you could muster, rasping through the exhaustion and the pain and the fire of childbirth, was:
“Fuck… you… Robert Floyd.”
And then, blissful, merciful, chaotic sleep took you, leaving Hangman blinking at his mangled hand and the midwives snickering behind their masks, while Bob just hovered, chest heaving, looking like he might cry, faint, or start cursing himself for being late-- all at once.
---
Babies were supposed to be tiny miracles, little bundles of joy that made life sweeter, softer, and somehow brighter. Everyone said that, and everyone lied-- or maybe they just forgot the part about the in-between.
The in-between was where the magic tangled itself with chaos. Where the tiny heartbeat inside her made Bob grin like an idiot one minute and panic the next. Where his normally sweet, gentle wife turned into a storm god with a flair for dramatic sighs, random tears, and very specific midnight cravings.
It was supposed to be cute and tender, and sometimes it was. But mostly? It was weird. It was messy. It was adorable, infuriating, and completely impossible to ignore. And Bob? He was learning fast that loving a pregnant wife meant preparing for anything: sudden laughter, sudden rage, and the occasional, inexplicable need for three pickles stacked on top of a donut.
Pregnancy was a joy, yes. But the in-between… the in-between was pure, chaotic life.
First indication was… something that shouldn’t have happened.
I married the sweetest person alive, which is why it’s absolutely terrifying to see you sitting on the bathroom floor with a faucet in pieces.
-Bob Floyd
Bob had always considered himself a lucky man. Lucky enough to fly, lucky enough to live, lucky enough to somehow marry a woman as sweet as honey. Sweet enough to rival his own gentle, soft-spoken manners.
Which is why the scene in front of him felt like walking in on a felony he had not, in any universe, prepared for.
You sat on the bathroom floor like a guilty dog and an exhausted tenant at the same time. Knees up. Hands clasped. Eyes somewhere between “I’m fine” and “bury me.” And behind you… the sink. The brutally defeated sink. Its faucet lay on its side like it had tapped out of this mortal plane. A bucket caught the remaining drips, each drop loud enough to sound like judgment.
Bob leaned on the doorframe and blinked like he was rebooting his brain.
“…My love.”
You groaned into your palms. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Bob nodded very slowly. “Uh-huh.”
“It kept dripping,” you said, eyes flashing with the kind of rage poets wish they could bottle. “Every three seconds. Drip. Drip. Drip. Like it was mocking me. Like it was taunting me, Bob.”
He tried very hard not to smile. “So you… destroyed it?”
“I didn’t destroy it.” You pointed at the faucet with wounded dignity. “I liberated it. There's a big difference.”
“Right.” He stepped in and crouched beside you. “And how exactly did liberation happen?”
You sighed through your soul. “I tried to tighten it. Nicely. With kindness.”
“And?”
“It kept dripping.”
Bob inhaled like he already knew he didn’t want the next answer. “And then?”
“…I ripped it off.”
“With tools?”
You shook your head.
“With your hands?”
You whispered, “…maybe.”
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. You stared at him like daring him to continue was an act of mutiny.
“I’m not laughing at you,” he tried.
“You’re literally smiling, Robert.”
“Smiling isn’t laughing.”
“It’s betrayal.”
He sat next to you, shoulder bumping yours. “Baby, you can bench-press half the squad if you’re irritated enough. I’m honestly surprised the sink lasted this long.”
Your bottom lip betrayed you with a wobble. “I didn’t mean to break it. I was just… tired. And annoyed. And it wouldn’t stop. And I just--” Your voice cracked. “I snapped.”
Bob’s entire heart folded up like origami.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you into his chest. “It’s okay. People lose fights with plumbing all the time.”
“No one does that.”
“Sure they do,” he lied, rubbing your back. “How do you think plumbers make money?”
You sniffed. “I’m hazardous.”
“You’re adorable.”
“I’m a loser.”
“You’re my wife.”
“I broke a sink.”
“My wife broke a sink with her bare hands,” he corrected softly. “Honestly? That’s kind of impressive.”
You pulled back, red-eyed and dramatic. “You’re not mad?”
“Mad?” Bob smiled, warm enough to soften concrete. “Honey, I married a woman who terrifies Marines twice her size. A sink didn’t stand a chance.”
A tired laugh escaped you. You wiped your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to go full Hulk.”
“I know.” He kissed your forehead. “We’ll fix it.”
“We?”
“I’m never letting you near a wrench unsupervised again.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Fair.”
He helped you up, brushing off your knees. “Next time something drips, you call me.”
“And if you’re not home?”
“Then you sit there and stare at it until I get back.”
You groaned dramatically. “That’s torture.”
“Better than replacing the entire plumbing system.”
You bumped his shoulder as you walked out. “One time. I break one sink and suddenly I’m on a watchlist.”
Bob smiled and wrapped his arm around your waist.
“One time. And you did it adorably.”
---
Second was… another thing that made him pause.
Bob liked to tell people his wife loved him in a way that made him feel embarrassingly lucky. You hugged him like he mattered, listened like he was interesting, and smiled at him like you’d been waiting all day just to see his face.
Which is why the look you were giving him now made his stomach drop straight through the floor.
He’d barely stepped through the door when you stiffened, nose scrunching like something had slapped you in the face.
You had jerked back so fast he thought he’d startled you.
“Bob,” you whispered, eyes wide, “you smell… sharp.”
“…Sharp?” he repeated, half-baffled, half-worried.
You nodded, bracing a hand on the counter like you needed grounding. “Like… bright. Too bright. It’s cutting the back of my nose.”
“It’s just residual jet fuel,” he murmured, trying to keep things light. “You’ve hugged me after flights before.” then mumbled with a small pout, “...even said it smelled hot.”
“Not like this,” you breathed, shaking your head as if the very scent stung. “It’s everywhere. It feels like it’s… crawling.”
Bob felt something cold pinch the inside of his chest. You looked pale, off-balance, like your senses had turned against you.
“Hey,” he said softly, touching your arm with careful distance. “I’ll shower. Sit down, okay?”
You nodded, grateful and exhausted.
He cleaned up faster than he ever had in his life, scrubbing until he smelled like absolutely nothing. When he stepped out, wrapped in clean clothes and hope, he felt prepared.
Until he walked back into the living room and found you crouched by the door.
Sniffing his shoes.
“Sweetheart?” he asked, voice gentle as a hand on glass. “What’re you doing?”
You startled, cheeks heating up. “I just… wanted to see if it was the smell. Or me.”
“…By smelling my shoes?”
You nodded, looking embarrassingly earnest.
His confusion didn’t last. You looked tired. And overwhelmed. And a little scared of yourself.
He walked over slowly. “Does everything smell like that right now?”
“Not everything,” you muttered, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Just… you. And food. And soap. And coffee this morning? I almost gagged. I thought I was losing it.”
Bob’s heart twisted. He brushed his thumb across your cheek. “Let’s skip cooking. What sounds okay to you?”
You hesitated, guilt flickering in your eyes. “Nothing… normal.”
“Normal’s overrated,” he said. Quiet, certain.
You came back with tortillas, yogurt, and pickles.
He said nothing. Just watched the way your shoulders relaxed the second you tasted it, like your body finally eased up on its own war.
Bob sat beside you, steady and patient, his hand resting warm on your thigh.
“You’re not in trouble,” he said when he saw embarrassment flicker across your face. “You’re allowed to feel however you feel.”
You let out a weak laugh. “Even when I act like you’re a walking chemical spill?”
He shook his head, smiling softly. “Especially then.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder, your breathing slow and cautious but finally not strained.
Bob kissed the crown of your head.
Whatever was happening to you, he’d walk through it with you. Every odd craving. Every strange reaction. Every exhausted moment.
Even if you sniffed his shoes again tomorrow.
---
Third was… well, by then he knew something was up.
Never in his life had Bob done anything to deserve a tissue box thrown at him.
Yet here he was, ducking with a grace he didn’t know he possessed, as the plush rectangle sailed past his ear and smacked against the wall with a muffled thunk.
He barely had time to recover before the follow-up came: a sharp, precise kick aimed at his hip.
“Out!” the voice rang, soft but impossibly firm.
Bob stumbled back, rubbing his neck, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. “…Out?” he echoed, as if the concept itself was alien.
His wife-- gentle, sweet, usually the softest presence in the room-- was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression stormy but somehow still somehow luminous, like a thundercloud made of honey.
He blinked. “…For…?”
“You said I was fat,” you accused, voice trembling somewhere between mock outrage and actual indignation.
Bob’s jaw slackened. “…I-- no. I didn’t--”
“Liar!” you exclaimed, waving a finger like a conductor orchestrating a symphony of chaos. “You totally implied it! Your words are weapons, you know that?!”
He held up his hands slowly. “I… Bob Floyd, married to you, lover of chaos, appreciator of all things gentle… swear on everything I hold dear, I did not mean that.”
“Yeah? Well, intentions don’t matter!” you snapped, pointing at him like he was a trespasser in his own bedroom.
Bob froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “No. That… that’s not what-- what I meant at all! I meant… light! Light, brightness, warmth! You fill a room like sunlight! Light of my life--”
“Light? Fill??” you echoed, voice trembling with a mix of laughter and faux outrage. “Oh, sure, Bob. You love me so much you just happen to describe me as… expanding? Overflowing?”
“I-- no! Not overflowing! Not full in that way! I’m trying to say… you make everything better. You’re amazing! I--”
“Out!”
Bob backed away slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, confusion thick in his chest. “Okay. Out…” He shuffled toward the hall, shoulders hunched, dog tilting its head like it was witnessing some strange new ritual.
This week… this week had been weird. Unusually weird. Not just the kicked-out-of-your-bedroom weird, but the kind of weird that prickled at his gut.
And he knew it.
---
Bob stands in the hallway with the same expression he uses when the coffee machine breaks: calm, resigned, and fully aware this is how he dies.
Phoenix is planted in front of him like a stone statue someone accidentally gave sentience to. Completely blank face. Not a flicker. In her hand, held out like a cursed artifact, is a pregnancy test. It’s one of those aggressively pink ones with a giant cartoon smiley face on the screen, like the plastic is more excited about this than either of them.
They stare. They stare longer. Bob feels his soul leave his body, come back, and then leave again.
He drags in a breath. “Do you want me to die?”
Her deadpan somehow gets even flatter, which he didn’t think was medically possible. She thrusts the test closer, as if he hadn’t already burned the sight of it into his retinas.
“So that’s a yes,” he mutters.
Her brows finally twitch, the slightest offended micro-flinch. “Why would you die?”
He winces.
“Because no matter how I open my mouth right now, it’s gonna sound like I implied she gained weight, I don’t want to get folded like laundry in my own home.”
"Why are you panicking?"
“Because my wife is gorgeous and powerful and capable of lifting me like a foldable chair, and I don’t want to provoke that power.”
Phoenix just keeps staring. Still offering the smiley-faced doom stick.
"Nat, I am serious. she’ll say ‘what did you mean by that,’ and I’ll die before I figure out an answer.”
“This is a normal conversation. You’re the only one having a meltdown.” she smirks, clearly enjoying.
Bob tries to look calm. Truly. He does his best impression of a functional adult as he takes the pregnancy test from Phoenix, nodding like this is a grocery receipt and not a potential life-altering prophecy.
He holds it delicately, like it’s a bird egg or a live grenade.
“Cool,” he says, voice cracking in a way he hopes she didn’t hear. “So… uh… we just wait, right? No big deal.”
Phoenix stares at him. The human embodiment of a flatline.
Bob inhales. Slow. Dramatic. “Because if it’s positive then… that’s… that’s a whole human. A human that’s half me.” His eyes go wide. “Phoenix, that’s a crime.”
She blinks once. “Calm down.”
“I am calm,” he says, absolutely not calm. His hands are shaking like he’s holding a squirrel that might bite. “I’m so calm I might throw up.”
Phoenix watches him come undone with the emotional support of a brick wall. “You’re sweating.”
“Because this is terrifying!” He gestures wildly with the test, immediately realizing he might disturb its cosmic forces and freezing in place. “Sorry. Sorry. Don’t move the magic stick. Got it.”
He sucks in a breath like he’s trying to inflate his own courage.
“If this is positive, then-- then there’s a baby. A baby, Phoenix. A baby with my genes. Do you know how irresponsible that sounds?”
Phoenix’s expression doesn’t change at all. “You’ll be fine.”
“No, no, those are the words people say right before someone passes out.” He presses a hand to his chest. “My heart is doing parkour.”
“Breathe,” she says.
“I am breathing! That’s the problem, I can hear it.”
Phoenix finally, mercifully, reaches out and steadies his wrist so he doesn’t fling the test across the room. “Bob. It’s just a test. Two minutes.”
He nods, then shakes his head, then nods again, looking like he’s rebooting.
“Two minutes. Okay. Yeah. I can do two minutes. I can be a parent for two minutes.”
She corrects him. “That’s not what I said.”
“I know,” he says, already pacing in a tight anxious circle, clutching the test like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. “I’m spiraling. Just let me spiral with dignity.”
“You don’t have dignity.”
He stops. Squints at her. “That’s fair.”
---
Bob sits on the couch like someone propped him upright with broomsticks. Perfect posture. Eyes forward. Breathing shallow, like inhaling too hard might set you off.
In front of you both, the coffee table looks like a crime scene built out of snack food. Ice cream tubs sweating. Half-melted sundaes. Donuts. Chips. Something from Wendy’s that definitely wasn’t on the menu. It looks like Bob raided five stores, a gas station, and possibly a truck.
And right in the middle of it all, like Moses parting the edible Red Sea, sits that tiny pink pregnancy test.
Just existing. Haunting him. Mocking him.
The silence is suffocating. Well-- suffocating for him. You’re just staring at him with the expression of a woman prepared to commit violence with her bare hands.
Bob swallows. The sound is so loud it could be legally classified as a cry for help.
He coughs once, weakly, like he’s testing whether you’ll let him live. “So… uh… you okay?”
No reaction. Just those razor-sharp eyes, slicing through him like you're auditioning to be a guillotine.
He nods to himself. Stares forward again. “Cool. Cool-cool-cool.”
But his gaze keeps flicking toward the pink stick. Like it’s whispering to him. Like it’s telling him his life is over and diapers are expensive.
He finally caves. Slowly-- slowly-- he reaches for it, trying to slide it out of sight, out of mind, out of the universe. “Let’s… just put this away before it gives us both anxiety, yeah?” he whispers.
His fingers are an inch away when your hand shoots out.
You snatch the test with so much force he flinches like you just fired a weapon next to his ear. His soul leaves his body, returns, leaves again.
He recoils, rubbing the back of his neck, mortified. “Right. Yep. That’s yours. Sorry. My bad. I’ll just, uh… sit here and… stop touching things.”
He looks at you. Really looks.
You look furious. You look dangerous. You look like you might peel your husband like an apple.
And Bob, poor Bob, sitting among the ruins of a thousand calories, has the realization hit him again like a train:
All the mood swings. All the nausea. All the aggression.
He thought it might be a baby.
He thought you might be pregnant.
And judging by the way you’re staring at him, he absolutely should not have thought that.
He gives a tiny, strangled laugh. “I just-- I don’t know. You were… different. And I thought-- I thought maybe…” Another micro-flinch. “I wasn’t trying to say you were… y’know. Bigger. I love your body. All of it. Always. Forever. Please don’t kill me.”
You continue glaring.
He sinks two centimeters into the couch cushions.
“Cool,” he whispers hoarsely. “Loving this vibe. Totally calm.”
The test sits in your grip, pink, smug, and definitely about to ruin his life one way or another.
You stand up suddenly, pointing a finger right at Bob’s face like you’re about to assassinate his soul, your eyes blazing a little-- but there’s a tiny twitch at the corner of your mouth that betrays how ridiculous this all is.
Bob doesn’t flinch. He leans in just enough to meet your finger with a faint, adoring smile, letting it rest against his cheek. “Yes, ma’am,” he says softly, like a knight pledging allegiance. “Your majesty, I accept full responsibility for… literally everything.”
You hiss something incomprehensible, but he nods like he’s taking notes for future reference. “Uh-huh. Got it. Noted. I will never, ever, under any circumstance… forget this moment,” he murmurs, voice practically vibrating with affection and a dash of terror.
Then, as you turn to storm toward the bathroom, he carefully slides off the couch, following at a cautious, respectful distance.
He’d planted himself outside the bathroom like some loyal, malfunctioning security system. Arms crossed. Then uncrossed. Then crossed again because apparently that felt less stupid. His knee bounced so hard the hallway mirror vibrated, so he slapped a hand on it like “shh, don’t snitch.”
He tried to act casual. Casual, like a man who was not currently sweating through his shirt. He leaned on the wall. Immediately slipped a little because he forgot he’d just mopped yesterday. Straightened up like nothing happened. Cleared his throat for absolutely no reason. Then pretended to scroll his phone even though the screen was black because he hadn’t unlocked it.
At one point he crouched down to tie his shoe. He wasn’t wearing shoes.
He whispered to the door, “Take your time,” in the softest voice, and then added way too fast, “Not… too much time, but like, whatever time you need. No pressure. Zero pressure. Negative pressure. Vacuum.”
Silence.
He nodded to himself, pacing two steps left, two steps right, like a guard dog who read one too many self-help books about giving his partner space. And when he heard the faintest rustle inside the bathroom, he immediately froze in a pose that absolutely screamed I wasn’t listening through the door please ignore everything about me.
His heartbeat was doing drumline choreography. His face was lit up with that terrified-hoping-praying look he only ever got around her.
And still, he hovered. Trying so hard not to be in the way. Failing in the cutest way imaginable.
Bob had been “sweeping” the hallway for an hour-- or rather, standing there holding a broom like it was a piece of equipment he’d never been trained on. Every few seconds, he’d glance at the closed bedroom door, chest tight, mind running every possible scenario he didn’t want to think about.
When the door finally opened, you stepped out.
Your eyes were puffy, clearly from crying, but there was something calmer in your expression now-- like you’d finally stopped fighting some internal storm. That soft glow wasn’t dramatic or magical, just… you looking like someone who’d been through something heavy and decided to breathe again.
His whole body went still.
“Hey,” Bob said quietly. Not loud, not awkwardly high-- just that gentle, slightly nervous tone he always used when he wasn’t sure if everything was okay.
You gave him a small smile. The kind of smile that had made him fall for you the first time and every day since. Even now, with your face blotchy from tears, it hit him like a tidal wave.
Then, with a sniff and a shaky attempt at humor, you asked, “Do you… know how to deal with diapers?”
Bob blinked. Once. Twice.
He absolutely did not know how to deal with diapers. Or babies. Or… this. But he did what he always did when confronted with something terrifying-- he tried to give you a soft, steady presence, even if his insides were a mess.
“I-- uh… probably not,” he admitted with a little half-laugh, voice tight. He stepped closer, drawn in by instinct more than thought.
His mouth opened, but no words came out. You watched him closely, and he could see it-- that small flicker of worry in your eyes. Like you were bracing for disappointment. Like you thought maybe he didn’t want this. That he didn’t want you to go through this, or didn’t want the life it implied.
His face was frozen. His eyes full. His throat locked up.
And that silence-- that frozen moment-- made your expression fall.
But then you looked closer. Squinted a little. “Bob… are you crying?”
He swallowed hard. “No,” he whispered. But his voice cracked on the word, giving him away completely.
Before you could say anything else, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. Not a dramatic collapse-- just Bob holding on to you like you were the only stable thing in the world. His shoulders shook once, then again. Soft, quiet tears. Pure relief. Overwhelm. Hope.
You held him, your hand sliding into his hair, grounding him as he tried-- unsuccessfully-- to pull himself together.
“There, there Bob, I know diapers are expensive.”
After a long moment, he sniffed and pulled back, wiping at his eyes with the back of his wrist. They were a little red, a little puffy, but he didn’t try to hide it anymore.
“I’m happy,” he finally managed, breath trembling. “I’m really… really happy. I just--” He laughed weakly, embarrassment creeping in. “I genuinely have no idea what to do with diapers.”
It came out so honest, so Bob, that you couldn’t help it-- a soft laugh bubbled out of you, and he gave a shy, crooked smile at the sound.
You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the dampness away. “We’ll figure it out,” you said gently.
Bob nodded, breathing out a shaky exhale, eyes still shining but finally calm. “Yeah,” he said, voice soft, warm, certain because you were certain. “Yeah… we will.”
---
The plan was adorable. The execution, in theory, foolproof.
Unfortunately, they forgot who their friends were.
Hangman’s living room looks suspiciously like someone let a hurricane loose in a cowboy boot store, but whatever, you and Bob step over the boots, the magazines, and the cat toys like you didn’t come here to drop life-altering news on six fully grown children.
You slide the little gift box across the coffee table with the kind of hopeful flourish that deserves a soundtrack. It’s cute, pastel, tied with a bow. The perfect “let them figure it out and cry” moment.
Hangman opens it, peers in, and you can actually see the exact second this goes off the rails.
“Oh my god,” he breathes, starry-eyed. “You two bought a romper… for my daughter.”
Your brows twitch. Bob’s soul visibly leaves his body.
His “daughter” leaps onto the couch, hissing like a demon in polyester. Hangman’s already scooping him up. “Look how cute she’s gonna be!” he announces, tugging the romper over one struggling paw. The cat yowls like she’s being drafted into the ninth circle of hell.
“My little angel hates clothes,” Hangman says proudly as the cat tries to bite his thumb off. “She gets that from me.”
Phoenix is in the corner, arms crossed, grinning like she already saw the ultrasound photos and helped name the baby. She catches your eye, gives you a tiny nod that says I told Bob first, fight me.
The rest of the squad?
Fanboy: scrolling on his phone.
Payback: trying to untangle something from his shoelace.
Rooster: filming Hangman losing a battle with his own pet.
Coyote slipped into the bathroom yawning.
None of them have the faintest clue.
Bob clears his throat, the picture of exhausted fatherhood before it’s even started. “So… we’re actually… expecting.”
Fanboy doesn’t look up. “Expecting what?”
You blink. Bob blinks. Phoenix chokes on her drink.
Rooster tosses a fry in his mouth. “Food delivery? Because I could eat.”
Hangman is still getting mauled. “Guys, focus. My cat is adorable.”
There’s a long beat where you and Bob just stare at them, this collection of aviators who could disarm a missile at Mach 2 but cannot, apparently, understand basic human communication.
Phoenix finally claps her hands. “Pregnant, you idiots. They’re pregnant.”
The room freezes.
".....Bob Floyd you did the do?!"
Coyote’s face, popping out from the bathroom, lit up like someone had shoved a firework in his chest. “Wait… we’re uncles now? Like, real uncles?!”
Fanboy practically vibrated with glee, bouncing in place. “Bob Floyd… you did it first! First to get married, first to bring a baby into the squad… I-- this is so amazing! I can’t even!”
Rooster’s eyes were sparkling. “We get to hold the baby? We get to spoil it? We get to be the fun ones before they ruin it with rules?!”
Hangman, still nursing his mangled hand from earlier chaos, shook his head, trying to stay composed, but there was a grin tugging at his mouth. “Congrats, man. And yeah… you’re officially the benchmark. The baby’s going to be ridiculously spoiled, thanks to us.”
Coyote hopped from one foot to the other. “Tiny little humans running around! And we’re the uncles! We get to teach them chaos and bad jokes!”
Fanboy leaned close to Bob, voice soft with awe, practically bouncing on his toes. “This baby is about to be loved into oblivion. Honestly, it should feel honored.”
Bob and you just exchanged a glance, deadpan smiles barely holding back laughter. The squad was already completely smitten. Every squeal, every flail, every wide-eyed squeaky declaration of uncle-dom was pure love, and somehow-- somehow-- it made your hearts feel bigger just watching them.
You and Bob share the same deadpan expression, the one that hides both homicidal urges and fierce affection for these morons you somehow consider friends.
It’s always a blast telling life-shattering news to people whose combined IQ flickers like a cheap bulb.
---
Bob was the kind of husband who, when you sent him out to buy pickles at 3 a.m., came back with two jars of pickles, a pack of Oreos, a bottle of sparkling water, and three different types of cheese-- just in case you “needed a snack.” He was a little extra, but in the best way.
And you? You were a hormonal disaster wrapped in a pregnant glow that, one minute, made you feel like a goddess and the next, like a potato in a tank top. The “glow” was… debatable.
“Bob, I feel so fat,” you said one morning, glaring at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Your bump had popped out like a volleyball, and it was a shock every time you looked down and realized it wasn’t going away.
Bob was sitting on the edge of the bed, his mouth full of cereal. He paused, looking over at you with an expression that said, I know better than to say anything dumb right now. He put his spoon down slowly, his eyes softening with affection.
“No, babe. You’re beautiful,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You glared at him, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t say that.”
Bob blinked. “What?”
“You just said I’m beautiful. Which means you’re admitting I’m fat.” You crossed your arms over your chest, frowning at him. You knew you were being irrational, but at that moment, it felt like the logical conclusion.
Bob’s eyes widened. “No, no, no! That’s not what I--” He scrambled up from the bed and started to wave his hands frantically in front of him. “You’re not fat, babe. You’re carrying our baby, you’re glowing, and--”
“Stop, Bob,” you groaned. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but now I just feel like a balloon with legs. I’m not glowing, I’m miserable.”
Bob sat beside you on the bed, his hand resting on your back. “Okay, okay. Let’s compromise. You’re beautiful in every way, and this baby bump? Totally worth it. You’re literally growing a person.”
And then cupping your face, pecking you lips once, “And I know I don't understand you sometimes, but I will spend eternity trying to figure you out.”
You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you trying to win points for being a good husband? Because you are. You’re doing it.”
Bob smiled, obviously relieved. “I just love you.”
---
It starts innocent. Sweet, even. You and Bob are curled up on the couch, his hand on your stomach like he’s trying to decode Morse code from a blueberry-sized human.
Then Bob says, “What about… Mabel?”
You blink at him like he’s suggested naming the kid after a defunct tractor brand.
“Mabel? Bob, that’s the name of a woman who knits angry scarves.”
He looks mildly offended. “You like old names.”
“Vintage names, baby. Not… dust.”
And just like that, war begins.
Phoenix is the first casualty, because she walks in at the wrong time and immediately gets conscripted.
“What about something strong,” she suggests, stealing Bob’s coffee and ignoring his wounded gasp. “Something with presence. Like… Zara. Or Nova. Or Clementine. Something that sounds like she could steal my lunch money.”
Bob nods thoughtfully. You shake your head violently. “I’m not naming my child after a fruit OR a car.”
Cue Fanboy bursting in like he was summoned by the stupidity. “Name it after something cool. Something legendary.”
“Absolutely not,” Bob says.
“You didn’t even hear my suggestion.”
“Because you,” Bob says, “are about to name my child after a spaceship.”
Fanboy’s offended. “It was going to be Millennium, thank you.”
Rooster strolls in next, eating from a bag of chips like this is his Roman colosseum entertainment. “I say name the baby after me.”
“No.”
He shrugs. “Just putting greatness on the table.”
Hangman swans in with his cat under one arm, already exhausted by everyone else’s mediocrity. “If you want a powerful name, you should obviously go with Jake.”
You throw a pillow at his head. “I wouldn’t even name my toaster Jake.”
Hangman gasps like you’ve stabbed his patriotic spirit. “You wound me.”
The cat hisses. Probably in agreement.
Bob puts a hand on your thigh, calm and gentle, like he’s trying to restore order in a collapsing kingdom. “What about something meaningful? Something that feels like us.”
You soften for a second. “Like… June?”
His whole face lights up. And then Phoenix ruins it.
“She’s not being born in June.”
“It’s a name, Natasha.”
Fanboy pipes up, “If we’re breaking rules, can we name her after months in Klingon?”
“No.”
Hangman adjusts his cat, who is glaring at all of humanity. “Look, if you two insist on being boring, at least let the rest of us throw in middle names.”
Everyone starts shouting suggestions.
Rooster: “Blaze.”
Fanboy: “Starfire.”
Phoenix: “Please stop.”
Hangman: “Denim. Or Wrangler.”
You stare at them like you’re witnessing the end of civilization.
Bob leans in, murmuring just loud enough for you to hear. “We’re picking it ourselves, right?”
Your hand finds his. “Absolutely. They’re banned.”
Hangman lifts his cat’s paw like he’s making him wave. “She’s offended she wasn’t chosen as godmother.”
The cat swipes at him.
“See?” you deadpan. “Even your cat says no.”
The arguing continues for another ten minutes before everyone realizes the two of you are ignoring them and whispering quietly to each other, tossing soft names back and forth, testing how they sound, how they feel, how they fit.
And despite the noise, the chaos, the absolute incompetence of your beloved friends, the two of you land on a few that make you both smile.
Something yours. Something gentle. Something that feels like home.
Of course, the squad still thinks it was their idea.
They’re wrong. Obviously.
---
Midnight cravings were a whole other disaster.
Bob was not a fan of the 2 a.m. kitchen raids, but he did them anyway. You’d waddle into the kitchen in the dark, the refrigerator light flicking on, and Bob would stumble in behind you like a loyal puppy.
“My world, you’ve got to stop eating in the middle of the night. You’re gonna give yourself indigestion.”
You, on the other hand, were a woman on a mission. “Bob, I need chocolate-- and don’t say anything about the Oreos. I already ate those, too.”
Bob sighed dramatically. “You’re gonna be the first pregnant person to have a heart attack from eating sugar.”
“You’re not my mom,” you shot back, grabbing a jar of Nutella and a spoon. “Mind your business.”
“I’m just saying--”
“You’re just too cute,” you interrupted, with Nutella smeared on your cheek. “What would I do without you?”
Bob smiled softly, like he didn’t even mind that you’d eaten an entire pint of ice cream, some gummy bears, and had almost finished off the Nutella. “You’d probably make a mess without me,” he said, reaching out to wipe the Nutella off your cheek. “But I’ve got your back.”
---
“Wake up, husband. I need your back right now.”
It’s 3:07 a.m.
The world is quiet. Peaceful.
Then you shake Bob awake like you’re trying to resuscitate a startled walrus.
“Bobby,” you whisper. “I need something.”
His eyes open instantly. The man thinks you’re in labor forty weeks early. “What? What’s wrong? Are you hurting? Is it the baby? Say words.”
“I need,” you say, with solemn importance, “a grilled cheese dipped in… mango pickle.”
Bob stares at you like the universe just asked him to solve quantum physics. “Mango. Pickle.”
“And grilled cheese. Together.” You nod. “Please Robert. I can feel it in my soul.”
He rubs his face with both hands, muttering something so husband-coded it might legally qualify as prayer. But he gets up. Because he loves you. And because he’s too tired to argue with a pregnant person radiating sacred cravings energy.
He shuffles to the kitchen, hair sticking up like a confused baby chick, and begins assembling culinary war crimes.
The moment the pan sizzles, someone knocks on the door.
Bob jumps like he wasn’t expecting visitors during his personal episode of Chopped: Pregnancy Edition.
He opens it to find Phoenix, holding a toolbox. “I smelled burning from next door. Thought you were dying.”
You appear in the hallway. “It’s not cheese. It’s destiny.”
Fanboy nods solemnly. “I get it.”
“You knocked-up too?”
Phoenix walks in, sees the mango pickle jar, and freezes. “Are you two… cooking a felony?”
Bob stands at the stove, flipping the sandwich with the precision of a man resigned to weirdness. “She wants it. I’m making it. Please don’t judge me.”
“You’re flipping it like it’s a bomb,” Phoenix says.
“Feels like one,” he mutters.
The squad trickles in because apparently none of them sleep like normal humans. Also, they live right next door. Rooster rubs his eyes. Payback yawns. Hangman arrives last, holding his grumpy cat like a hostage.
Hangman leans over Bob’s shoulder. “That smells awful.”
The cat hisses.
Rooster winces. “Dude, don’t give that to her. She’ll throw up on your shirt.”
You glare at him. “I won’t.”
Bob slides the monstrosity onto a plate. “Everyone stop talking. She’s happy and that’s what matters.”
Fanboy claps softly like Bob just performed a magic trick.
Bob walks it over to you with the devotion of a man delivering a royal offering. You take one bite.
The entire room watches.
Your eyes widen. “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Bob sags against the counter, whispering, “Thank god.”
Hangman crosses his arms. “So are we all making you snacks at nightmare o’clock now?”
“No.” You smile smugly. “Just Bob.”
The squad collectively pats his shoulder like he’s been drafted.
Bob just smiles at you, tired and soft, his whole face saying he’d do it a thousand times if it meant you smiled like that again.
And for once, the squad doesn’t tease him.
Well… until Hangman mutters, “The baby's gonna have rotten tastebuds.”
The cat hisses at him.
Accurate.
---
Then there was the insomnia phase. It hit at around week 30. You couldn’t sleep to save your life, no matter what you tried. Not only did your body feel like it was carrying a small planet, but Bob also snored like a bear trapped in a cave.
You tried to ignore it at first, rolling over in bed to put your pillow over your ears. But that didn’t work. You tried nudging him to roll onto his side. That didn’t work either.
Finally, you gave up.
You shuffled out of bed, grabbing your pillow, and dragging yourself to the couch. It was going to be a long night.
But just as you settled in, hoping to catch at least a few hours of sleep, you heard it.
The sound of snoring-- louder, closer, and right in your ear.
You groaned and turned over, only to find Bob, with his eyes closed, his body curled around you. He had followed you out to the couch.
“Bob,” you muttered, half-amused, half-frustrated. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t open his eyes, but his hand reached out to pull you closer. “I can’t sleep without you.”
You sighed, rolling your eyes, but honestly? It was kind of cute. Very cute. Your husband was the epitome of cute.
“Bob,” you grumbled again, but it was less of an argument and more of a why are you so perfect tone.
Bob let out a sleepy hum, nuzzling into your neck. “If you’re not sleeping, I’m not sleeping,” he mumbled.
And even though you were exhausted, even though he’d just invaded your personal space in the middle of your insomniac meltdown, you couldn’t help but smile. He was, in fact, the ultimate husband material.
---
Pregnancy hormones were like turning a dial labeled “mildly flirty” all the way up to feral chaos. One second you were normal, the next you were the apex predator of lust, eyes locking onto Bob like he owed her an apology and a blowjob.
Girls’ night out was supposed to be wholesome. It was not. You were a few weeks pregnant and acting like a Victorian heiress fainting on a sofa. Hand on your debatable "flat" stomach, you sighed loudly enough to be heard three tables over.
“The baby is craving a vacation in the south of France.”
Natalie tch'ed mid–lip gloss application. “You’ve been pregnant for five minutes. The only trip you’re taking is to the bathroom.”
“Oh?,” you said, sipping your drink like a queen with medical delusions. “I'll have you know, I don’t control the baby’s desires, Nat. If the fetus wants a beach villa and a man named Laurent bringing us pastries, who am I to interfere?”
Reuben’s girlfriend snorted so hard she almost inhaled her straw. “Girl, how are you pregnant already? It’s only been what? Half a year? You didn’t even try to run out your warranty.”
You sighed. “If my husband wasn’t so stupidly fuckable, I would not be in this biological hostage situation.”
All three girls exploded like feral parrots.
“Not Bob Floyd!” Natalie slapped the table. “He looks like he asks permission to breathe near you.”
The third girl, Esha chimed in, already a little tipsy. “No, he looks like he sets a timer during sex. Like, ‘uh oh sweetie, I’ve hit my thrust quota for the day.’”
The table roared. Actual shrieking. A waiter turned around like he was checking if someone needed emergency services.
You stared at them. Pleasantly. Smiling. Meanwhile, your soul was halfway to the moon.
Because the truth was sitting in your throat like a grenade:
Excuse me, my husband has a cute face, a killer fat cock, and eats me like he’s fulfilling a sacred oath. I am pregnant because he is dangerously good at what he does.
But instead you just said, with the politeness of a woman trying not to commit violence:
“Haha. Totally. Vanilla. Definitely not rearranging my spine. Sure.”
They kept giggling. You kept sipping. Your child, allegedly craving France, was probably already judging these women.
Finally, you rolled your eyes and muttered, “Sorry my husband is perfect. As if that’s my fault.”
Natalie waved a hand dramatically. “Whatever, you’re glowing. That’s how I know the sex is still good.”
“Trust me, if the glow ever fades, you’ll hear him crying first.” you smirked into your drink. “And good honestly, I’d hate for all his effort to go unappreciated.”
Natalie huffs. “See, this is why you’re the married one and I’m in situationships with men who fear soap.”
“My guy’s idea of effort is remembering which side of the bed is mine.” another chimed in.
You, shaking your head, picked up the menu and immediately frowned, like it had personally betrayed you. Your eyes darted across page after page, each dish a tiny assault on your already fragile pregnancy brain. “Why… why are there so many options?” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face.
Natalie peeked over your shoulder, trying not to grin. “Uh… it’s a menu? You know… food?”
“No, Natalie. It’s a test. A trap designed to see if I can survive adulthood and motherhood at the same time. Look at this! Pasta! Risotto! Tiny salads! Enchiladas! And what if the baby hates the wrong one?” You jabbed a finger at the menu as if stabbing it for being cruel.
Esha tried to intervene, giving a sympathetic shrug. “It’s literally just food, you know…”
Also, baby brain.
“Just food?!” you snapped, voice rising like you were addressing a jury. “Do you even see what’s happening here? Each choice is a commitment. Every wrong pick could result in permanent regret. Or-- worse-- the baby judging me silently while it’s still forming in my uterus!”
Rueben's girlfriend leaned in, wide-eyed. “Uh… maybe the baby will just… like food?”
“Oh no. It’s not that simple!” you gasped, grabbing the edge of the table for support. “If I choose the shrimp risotto, the baby could have preferred chicken! If I pick the chicken, the baby may secretly wish I’d ordered the pasta! There’s no winning, I tell you. None. Absolute chaos!”
Natalie snorted, covering her mouth to keep from laughing. “Okay… I have to say, I did not expect to witness this level of dramatic culinary panic.”
You threw your napkin down in defeat, exhaling a long, exaggerated sigh. “God, I’m so mad... I’m going home to touch my husband’s tits so I won’t be mad anymore.”
Cue eyes rolling back to their brains.
Your phone buzzed on the counter. You picked it up, saw the name, and a grin spread across your face.
“Ooooh, a pretty boy calling me,” you murmured, cheeks warming.
“Who’s thiiiis?” you say with a smirk, your voice teasing even over the phone.
“Hmm… could it be your devoted husband calling to remind you how much he misses you?” Bob’s voice is playful, but there’s a soft warmth underneath.
You giggle, tilting your head. “Oh really? Is that what you’re calling yourself now? Devoted, huh?”
“Absolutely,” he says, chuckling. “And very concerned about my gorgeous wife being out on her own. Are you being good?”
“Good?” you laugh, resting your belly against the couch. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I might be a little… mischievous.”
“Mischievous?” he repeats, mock horror in his tone. “I can’t have that. I might have to come collect my troublemaker myself.”
You hum, delighted. “Oh, I think you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d love it more than anything,” he says, voice melting soft. “I miss you. I miss this-- hearing your voice, laughing with you, just… being you.”
“Hmm,” you sigh playfully, “you better hurry then, or I’ll have all the fun by myself.”
“Impossible,” he murmurs, a warm smile in his voice. “I’ll be there soon, and then all the fun will be ours. Count every second, m'love.”
You grin, feeling your heart swell. “I’m counting… and I’ll be waiting, hands and heart ready.”
Bob laughs softly, the kind that makes you feel safe and cherished. “That’s my girl. See you soon, my beautiful wife.”
“And you, my handsome, insufferably sweet husband,” you whisper before hanging up, already feeling him near.
You hang up, cheeks still warm from hearing Bob’s voice.
Your friends are frozen, deathpan, eyes barely twitching as they take you in.
“…So… we’re not enough for you anymore?” one murmurs, voice flat but just a touch heartbroken.
You giggle, leaning back and wiggling your fingers at them. “Oh, silly! You’ll always be enough. But… he’s just my perfect boy, okay?”
The twitch in their eyes grows just a little, betraying their amusement, and one of them huffs softly. “Absolutely disgusting.”
You laugh, pressing a hand to your belly, feeling all warm and fuzzy. “Disgusting? Girl, even talking to him isn't enough, I need to be inside his white blood cells and protect him.”
They groan in perfect unison, tiny smiles flickering, “Touch grass.”
You slam your hands on the table, making the cutlery rattle and your excitement practically vibrate through the room. “Touching grass isn't enough. I need to be fuckin' railed.”
The engine hums outside. You glance up-- Bob’s trusty navy blue truck.
You giggle, wave goodbye to your friends, and rise, swaying a little as you walk toward him.
He’s already out of the car, hurrying, eyes locked on you, a smile that melts you waiting at the curb.
You meet him halfway; he brushes a strand of hair from your face, you laugh softly, leaning into him.
From inside, your friends watch through the window, hands pressed to the glass, eyes wide, tiny twitches betraying their jealousy as they take in your perfectly lovey-dovey bubble.
“Absolutely unfair.”
“They’re literally showing off and it’s illegal.”
“Jealous doesn’t even start to cover it.”
---
You waddle inside, belly swaying slightly, the soft jingle of the front door announcing your arrival.
Bob follows behind, keys jingling in his hand, and the moment his eyes land on you… his grin brightens, then falters ever so slightly.
That look. The one that makes his heart skip and a warm, fluttery feeling spread through him. Playful. Mischievous. Softly dangerous in the most adorable way.
“Uh-oh,” he murmurs, his voice half-laugh, half-whisper. “What is my pretty wife plotting now?”
He can’t help it-- his grin grows, giddy and full of love, and he takes a small step closer, drawn to you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.
Even just standing near you makes his chest feel too full, and he silently vows: no matter what she’s planning… he’s exactly where he wants to be.
Bob barely gets another breath out when your hand lifts, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants with slow, intentional purpose.
He freezes. His smile flickers. His soul briefly leaves his body.
You look up at him with the most solemn, ceremonial expression known to man, like you’re about to pass down a royal verdict.
“Top me,” you declare, voice grave and steady. “I deserve it.”
It sounds less like a request and more like you’re announcing a sentence from the High Court of Horny Pregnant Wives.
Bob blinks once. Twice. His ears go pink.
“Sweetheart… you can’t just--”
But you’re still holding his waistband like it’s evidence.
And you look terrifyingly committed.
“I… I can’t dare,” he says, voice soft but firm. “There’s a bun in the oven, my love. That’s… that’s strictly off-limits territory.”
You tilt your head, eyes wide and soft, shimmering with a little pout. “Doesn’t my dark circles make me look… irresistible?” then with a offended gasp, “You’re telling me my exhaustion isn't attractive?”
He cups her face, looking into her eyes with all the warmth he feels. “Exhaustion? I don’t see it. I see the woman I love… more stunning than ever. Always.”
You giggle teethily, leaning into his touch, your belly brushing against him slightly, eyes wide and sparkling as you look up at him with all the adorableness in the world.
“Then fuck m--”
“Nope.”
“Come on, Bob… just a little…” you whisper, voice soft and teasing, tilting your head.
He freezes, his grin faltering as he sees that mischievous glint. “Absolutely not,” he says, voice firm but gentle, hands lingering on your sides. “It’s too… I don’t know, darling. Feels weird. And… the baby might be watching.”
Your expression freezes into a calm, terrifying stillness-- like a storm gathering. Bob swallows hard, already regretting ever thinking “no” was an option.
“Whatever… whatever my goddess wants,” he whispers, voice soft and shaky, eyes wide and full of helpless adoration.
You tilt your head slightly, letting the tiniest smirk play on your lips. His hands hover uncertainly, unsure whether to pull you close or just stay frozen, completely undone by your gaze.
“You’ve got me, haven’t you?” he murmurs, voice barely audible, like saying it aloud makes him even more vulnerable.
Your giggle is quiet but triumphant, brushing your belly lightly against him. His arms move almost automatically, wrapping you close, like a magnet drawn to your pull. Bob is utterly, hopelessly in love-- and completely yours.
Time passed, as it always does, and soon the chaos of bringing a tiny human into the world would test even the strongest hearts…
Your eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep and the haze of labor, only to catch the sight of Bob curled up beside you, his cheeks streaked with tears, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
He grips your hand like he’s afraid you might vanish, burying his face against it. “I… I can’t… we’re never doing this again!” he mutters dramatically, voice thick with emotion. “Never! You could’ve died! I-- God, I can’t… I can’t risk it ever again!”
You blink, still half-asleep, trying not to giggle at the sheer theatricality of him, the way he’s completely undone, completely vulnerable, and completely in love with you all at once.
“Pissing me the fuck off all by yourself, handsome?,” you whisper, squeezing his hand back gently, your lips twitching at his ridiculous, heart-melting panic.
Bob lets out a shaky laugh, burying his face in your hand again, whispering, “Never… never again,” though you know that in a week, he’ll be smitten and hopeless all over again.
Your gaze drifts lazily across the room, still heavy with exhaustion. On the other side, your dad leans in, gently handing you a cup of water. You manage a small, grateful smile as Bob hovers nearby, carefully helping you sit up.
A wince escapes you as your feet brush against the bed railing, and your dad immediately moves to the edge of the hospital bed, softly massaging them, as if trying to soothe every ache and worry away.
Bob instinctively leans closer to take over, hands hovering nervously, but your dad shoots him a sharp, almost-faulting glare, as if to say “this is your doing, young man.”
Your mom sits beside you, damp cloth in hand, gliding it gently over your sweaty forehead. Her voice is soft and steady, brimming with pride. “You did so well… so, so well,” she murmurs, brushing a stray hair from your face.
You close your eyes briefly, letting the mixture of care and love wash over you-- the quiet strength of your parents, the shaky devotion of your husband, and the overwhelming sense of everything they’ve all endured together.
“Look at those little hands! Already plotting world domination… or just snack time? Either works.”
Your eyes flutter open, heavy and hazy, and you take a slow, groggy blink. Across the room, a figure blocks part of your view-- Hangman, a little hunched over the crib, his hand in a cast from the labor chaos, but still smiling like nothing could bother him. Somehow, even injured, he radiates this strange, chaotic warmth.
A soft smile spreads across your lips, and you turn your head to Bob. “So… what did you name the baby?” you ask quietly, voice still thick with sleep.
Bob grins, brushing a stray hair from your forehead. “I named her Lila,” he says softly, pride and love threading through every syllable.
Your lips part, eyes lighting up. “A girl…” you whisper, the realization warm and strange all at once.
Bob nods, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. “Yep… and I named her all by myself. So you...” he smiles, “...can have all the fun naming the baby boy.”
Your heart stops. “Wait… baby boy?” you croak, eyes widening in shock.
Your gaze drops, and there it is-- Hangman standing carefully, cradling two babies in his arms. One sleeps peacefully, tiny chest rising and falling, while the other stares dead-on at Hangman’s face, eyes wide and unwavering.
Twins.
You blink, dumbfounded, then glance at Bob, who just smirks, shrugging like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Hangman, oblivious to the chaos he’s caused, gives a small, proud hum, adjusting the sleeping baby with one hand, the other still in a cast, but handling them both like it’s second nature.
Your lips curl into a mixture of awe, exhaustion, and laughter. “Twins,” you breathe, shaking your head, utterly overwhelmed, and secretly thrilled.
“Bob… I think the diaper budget just filed for bankruptcy.”
Summary: You’ve been teasing your best friend Todd for years, but at one wild college party, he finally takes control, and there’s no going back.
Warnings: Sex sex sex rough stuff loud sex idk i hate tagging these its pervy just read it ITS GOOD I SWEAR NOT TRIGGERING dude is a possessive MUNCH btw
A/N: this is once again very self indulgent i barely see Todd Stevens stuff and i needed it bad
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You’re sitting on the low stone wall outside the lecture hall, sunlight brushing your shoulders as you flip another page. The psych textbook is heavy in your lap, margins crammed with notes, but you don’t notice the weight of it. You’re too absorbed, eyes narrowed, mouth slightly parted in concentration. A familiar voice drawls behind you, low and teasing.
“If you concentrate any harder, that book’s gonna burst into flames.”
You flinch, snapping the book closed, and whip your head around. Todd Stevens is standing there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his letterman jacket, grinning like he’s caught you doing something forbidden. His hat was on backwards, and you knew he did that just for you. He knew how much it drove you crazy.
“Jesus, Todd,” you mutter, pressing the book against your chest. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”
He shrugs, a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. “Just didn’t think I’d ever see the day you loved somethin’ more than attention.”
His accent makes every word sound slower, deliberate, like he enjoys dragging it out, just to needle you.
You roll your eyes. “You wouldn’t know a love of learning if it hit you in the face.”
Todd leans down, close enough that you can smell his cologne and the faint trace of smoke clinging to his clothes. “Darlin’, I know when somethin’ deserves my attention. And right now, it ain’t that book.” He plucks it from your hands before you can react, holding it just out of reach.
“Stevens,” you warn, standing and reaching for it. He lifts it higher, grin widening.
“Psychology, huh?” He flips the book open without looking. “Explains why you’re always tryin’ to get in people’s heads.” His eyes flick to yours, gleaming. “Especially mine.”
You cross your arms, fighting a smile. “Maybe I just like proving how predictable you are.”
Todd leans closer, lowering the book until it brushes against your chest again. His voice dips, quiet enough for only you to hear:
“Predictable, huh? Funny. Don’t feel so predictable when you’re lookin’ at me like that.”
You’re still smiling at him, ready to snap back with something sharp, when Todd’s stomach growls loud enough to break the tension. He groans, dropping your book back into your hands. “Alright, enough with the mind games. Let’s get food before I starve to death.”
You’re about to agree when a shadow falls across both of you. “Hey, Stevens.”
You and Todd turn at the same time. A tall, broad-shouldered guy with a mess of red hair and a jaw that looks like it’s been chiseled out of stone looms over you. He’s easily six-four, the kind of build that makes people step aside without thinking. Todd straightens, his smile turning into something more guarded. “Eamon. What’s up, man?”
But Eamon barely glances at him. His eyes are on you, and his grin is easy, confident.
“Actually,” he says, voice carrying that casual arrogance of a guy who knows he’s good-looking, “I was hopin’ to talk to her.”
Todd’s jaw tightens. “Her?”
Eamon nods at you. “Yeah. You made some pretty sharp points in lecture today. About cognitive dissonance? Had me thinkin’ the whole walk over here, couldn’t get my mind off you.”
You blink, caught off guard for just a second- then warmth creeps into your chest at the sight of Todd’s expression. He’s trying so hard to keep his cool, but you can feel the irritation radiating off him. And you love it.
So you tilt your head, giving Eamon your best interested smile. “Thanks. Guess I was more awake than I thought.”
Todd cuts in, voice low. “She’s always got somethin’ to say.”
Eamon chuckles like he didn’t hear the warning under Todd’s tone. “That’s a good thing. Most people don’t. Makes her stand out.” His eyes linger on you a moment longer than they should, moving up and down your body before they land back on your face.
Todd shifts beside you, arms crossed now, his whole body angled toward Eamon like he’s ready to throw him back down the steps.
You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, pretending not to notice Todd’s glowering. “So what were you thinking about?”
Eamon scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little less smooth. “Well… I was wonderin’ if you needed somebody to study with?”
The question hangs between the three of you, heavy, while Todd’s silence grows sharper by the second. Todd finally uncrosses his arms, stepping forward, his voice edged with something darker.
“She doesn’t-“
You cut him off with a bright smile, tilting your chin toward Eamon. “What Todd was about to say is… I don’t need a study buddy.”
For half a second, Todd looks triumphant, shoulders loosening like he just won. Because Todd is your study buddy, nobody else. But then you shrug, and add, sweet as honey, “But I’ll be your date to your KNA party tonight.”
Todd’s head snaps toward you so fast you almost hear his neck crack.
Eamon’s grin spreads, slow and smug. “Yeah? That’s even better.” His eyes flick over you with an appreciation that makes Todd bristle. “I’ll make sure everybody knows you’re comin’ with me.”
Todd mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch, or maybe you just don’t let yourself catch it, because watching the storm build in him is too much fun. It’s been years of teasing, bickering, throwing guys in Todd’s face just to mess with him. It was all about the long game, trying to force him to admit how he feels about you. You know he’s in love with you, he knows you feel the same. But neither of you have ever admitted it to each other. So you stay in a weird lull of friends with something more lingering. You laugh lightly now, reaching out to brush Eamon’s arm, just a casual touch, but deliberate enough that you feel Todd stiffen beside you. The muscle in his jaw flexes.
“Sounds like a plan,” you say, letting your fingers linger for just a moment longer before pulling back.
Eamon nods, clearly pleased with himself. “See you tonight, then.” He shoots Todd a quick, almost dismissive nod before striding away, leaving the two of you standing in silence. Todd’s hands are balled into fists at his sides, his eyes locked on the space where Eamon disappeared.
Todd’s fists unclench only so he can drag a hand down his face. “You’re kiddin’ me,” he mutters, voice tight with that Southern drawl. “Outta all the people in this school, you pick him?”
You slide your book back into your bag, as calm as if he hadn’t just watched you agree to go to his own party with a guy who looks like he could bench-press a car. “What? He’s tall, he’s hot, he listens in class… what’s not to like?”
Todd shoots you a sharp look, his mouth pulling into a line. “Since when d’you go for redheads?”
You sling the strap of your bag over your shoulder, lips curving in a slow, taunting smile. “Since the redhead is over six feet and beefy? Obviously.”
Todd’s laugh is sharp, humorless. “And what’s not to like? Try everythin’. Eamon’s a meathead with a GPA hangin’ on by a thread. The only reason he’s still in this school is ‘cause KNA keeps coverin’ his ass. You’re supposed to be my study partner.”
You bite back a smile. “Mm, sounds like someone’s jealous.”
“Jealous?” He scoffs, but his ears have gone pink. “Darlin’, I’m just lookin’ out for you. Guy like that doesn’t know what to do with someone like you.”
You lean closer, your voice dropping. “Funny. You don’t seem to know what to do with me either.”
Todd stares, caught between flustered and furious, and you don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you push yourself up from the wall, brushing off your jeans.
“Now,” you say breezily, already walking a few steps ahead, “take me to get food before I really start concentratin’ hard enough to set somethin’ on fire.”
Behind you, Todd grumbles something about “unbelievable woman gonna drive me insane” but his footsteps fall right in line with yours, trailing you like he always does.
For a frat president, Todd Stevens is supposed to be the one in charge. But everyone who’s ever seen the two of you together knows the truth, you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, and he doesn’t even try to fight it.
————-
Todd lay flat on his back, staring at the cracks in the ceiling like they’d done him personal harm. His jaw ached from how long he’d been grinding his teeth. You. Eamon. The two names kept running together in his head, twisting tighter every time he thought about you laughing at that losers jokes, laying a hand on his arm like it was nothing.
It wasn’t nothing. Not to Todd. He knew exactly what you were doing. Hell, you’d been doing it for years. Flaunting one guy after another, always tossing him these sly little looks when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, like you were daring him to admit it out loud. To admit that you belonged to him and not a damn one of them.
And every time, he’d driven them off. Some quietly, some not so quiet. Because none of them were good enough for you. Never would be. Not like him. Nobody knew you as well as he did. Nobody but Todd knew your favourite foods, the specific way you like to sleep otherwise you’ll be restless all night, how you like your tea in the morning, and you hate coffee. A crash of laughter from the hallway snapped him out of it. His frat brothers were already rowdy, gearing up for the night’s party. Music pulsed faintly from the speakers downstairs, the whole house buzzing with the kind of reckless energy KNA was infamous for. Todd was about to drag a pillow over his face when he caught a voice rising over the others.
Eamon.
“I’m tellin’ you, she’s somethin’ else, man. Smart as hell, gorgeous, and she said she’s comin’ with me tonight. The dark hair don’t mess with me vibe she’s got kills me. Gonna make the whole house jealous.”
The words sank into Todd’s chest like a fist.
His best friend. His best friend. And Eamon was out there braggin’ about you like you were already his. Todd sat up slowly, elbows braced on his knees, a low fire burning steady in his gut. He didn’t know if he was gonna make it through the night without putting Eamon through a wall.
Todd stayed hunched forward, knuckles pressed hard against his knees, listening as the voices outside the door shifted. Another brother, sounded like Mason, one of the seniors, chuckled low. “Eamon, man… you really sure about this? Thought Todd and her had a thing.”
Todd froze, every muscle in his body going tight. Yes, we do have a thing, he thought to himself.
Eamon’s laugh was big, careless, rattling down the hall. “Nah. If they did, wouldn’t she be with him already? C’mon. Todd’s all bark. I ain’t worried.”
“Still,” Mason muttered, “you might wanna be careful. Everybody knows how he gets when it comes to her. He does not play about his woman.”
That only made Eamon laugh harder. “Please. His woman? Todd’s had years to make his move. Years. And what’s he done? Nothin’. Just sittin’ there, actin’ like her bodyguard. If I was him?” His voice dipped, cocky and smug. “I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her. Not with the way she looks at him. But soon, i’ll have her looking at me that way.”
Todd’s blood boiled. His chest heaved once, twice, before he pushed himself to his feet. You won’t be looking at anybody but him that way, that’s for sure. The fire in his gut was too big to sit with anymore.
He yanked open his door, leaning half into the hallway. “Eamon.” The laughter died down in an instant. Eamon turned, still grinning like he didn’t have a clue what kind of storm he’d just walked into. Todd’s voice cut through the noise, low and sharp, all trace of humor gone. “Need a word with you.”
The hall had gone quiet, all the usual pre-party noise fading into the background as Todd fixed his stare on Eamon.
“Need you to hear me real clear,” Todd said, voice low but cutting through the air like a knife. His drawl was stripped of all its usual easy charm, replaced by something flat, dangerous. “She’s my best friend. If you so much as look at her wrong, touch her wrong, talk to her wrong… I’ll kill you.”
A couple of brothers shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the two, but Todd didn’t waver. His gaze was locked, steady, serious.
Eamon didn’t flinch. In fact, he smirked, like Todd had just told him a joke. “Relax, Stevens. Didn’t know she brought her dad along with her to college.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’ll take care of her.”
The way he said take care left no doubt what he was hinting at. Todd’s fists clenched at his sides, his blood boiling so hot he could feel it pounding in his temples. The smug bastard brushed past him, heading down the stairs toward the party, tossing one last line over his shoulder.
“I’ll take extra good care of her.”
The brothers erupted into nervous laughter, trying to cut the tension, but Todd didn’t laugh. He stood there, chest heaving, eyes burning holes into Eamon’s back until he disappeared from sight.
—————-
The KNA house was alive with music, laughter, and the thrum of bass that shook the floorboards. It smelled like spilled beer and too much cologne, just another Friday night for the frat. But the moment you stepped through the door, conversation faltered. Heads turned. You made sure that tonight you’d be wearing something that would catch Todd’s attention. That would torture him. You were wearing Todd’s oversized KNA t-shirt that he had been missing and knew you took, falling off your shoulder, barely covering the cutoff shorts underneath. White sneakers. Hair loose and messy, like you didn’t even try. You’d known exactly what you were doing when you got dressed.
And Todd knew it too. He was across the room, leaning against the wall with a beer in hand, surrounded by a couple of brothers but not paying them any mind. His eyes locked on you instantly, hard and unrelenting. He waited for you to walk up to him, give your usual greeting. But you didn’t, instead you turned, looking for your date. He didn’t even blink when Eamon appeared at your side, his massive frame towering over the crowd, and you.
“Glad you came,” Eamon said, dipping down to press a kiss to your cheek before pulling you into a hug. You gave it right back, smiling up at him like you didn’t notice Todd’s jaw tightening from across the room.
You noticed. Of course you noticed.
Todd shifted his weight, knuckles whitening around the neck of his beer. He hadn’t looked away once, and you loved it. You weren’t here for Eamon, not really. You were here for this. For him.
You pulled out your favorite bottle of liquor from your bag, holding it up like a trophy. Todd finally moved, cutting across the room toward you with that slow, heavy stride that always commanded attention. When he stopped in front of you, the air tightened, humming with something unspoken.
“Look who decided to show up,” he drawled, eyes dragging deliberately down your outfit before moving back up. The tension crackled, so thick you could almost taste it. He mumbled something about looking for that shirt, but you didn’t care. Half your closet was his clothes, this was nothing new.
You smirked, ignoring the storm in his gaze as you set the bottle down on the nearest counter. “Well? One of you hurry up and make me a drink,” you ordered sweetly, flashing a smile at the nearest brother to your left. The poor guy scrambled to grab a cup, while Todd just stood there, his jaw flexing, his eyes burning holes through Eamon’s arm draped casually at your side. And you basked in it.
Todd didn’t stray far from your side. Even with half the house alive around him, he lingered, beer in hand, a permanent shadow to your little group. Every so often you’d force a shot into him, something you loved to do at these parties. You loved to see Todd drunk. Every time you laughed at something Eamon said, Todd’s eyes flicked over, sharp as knives.
You leaned against the counter, hip brushing Eamon’s arm as you reached for his beer. “Don’t mind if I do,” you teased, stealing a sip before passing it back.
Eamon chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re trouble.” He stared down at you, his eyes wandering everywhere they could.
“Guilty,” you said, smiling up at him through your lashes, your hand finding its way up his chest.
Out of the corner of your eye, Todd shifted, finally breaking. “Didn’t know you were into stealing beers now,” he muttered, tone dry, pulling your attention away from your date.
You smirked, turning just enough to look at him. “What? You jealous I didn’t take yours?”
“Maybe I just don’t like watchin’ you drink outta somebody else’s bottle.” His voice was casual, but his grip on the neck of his beer was anything but.
You grinned, leaning closer to Eamon just to twist the knife. “Relax, Todd. It’s just beer. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Eamon laughed, sliding his arm along the back of the counter, resting it on your lower back. It was so low it might as well have been on your ass. “You really know how to wind him up, don’t you?”
Todd’s eyes snapped to him, voice low and warning, watching his hand ghost above your ass. “Careful, Eamon.”
You cut in before the tension snapped, reaching out to lay your hand lightly on Eamon’s forearm. “Ignore him. He’s always like this.”
It was a lie, and Todd knew it. You’d never teased anyone the way you teased him. Not like this. The banter with Eamon was surface-level, playful enough to pass the time. But with Todd? Every word you threw at him was loaded, a game you both understood too well.
“You’re drunk,” Todd muttered, narrowing his eyes as he watched you polish off the cup someone had shoved into your hand.
“Tipsy,” you corrected, setting it down with a flourish. “There’s a difference.”
“Not when he’s the one feedin’ you drink after drink.” Todd’s glare landed squarely on Eamon, who only grinned wider.
“Aw, come on, Stevens,” Eamon drawled, lifting his own cup in a mock toast. “She’s havin’ fun. Don’t tell me you’ve got a problem with that.”
Todd’s jaw flexed, his beer untouched in his hand. His voice dropped low, only for you. “You really enjoy makin’ me crazy, don’t you?”
You gave him your sweetest smile, leaning close enough that he could smell the liquor on your breath. “More than you know.”
The music surged, laughter spilling around you, but it all blurred at the edges. For Todd, the only thing sharp and in focus was you, messy, tipsy, beautiful, and completely wrapped around his head. And he hated how much he loved it.
————-
The party had only gotten louder, thicker with heat and smoke, but somehow you and Eamon had drifted farther into the chaos, landing on the couch with half a dozen brothers piled around. You were laughing louder than usual, legs tucked up beneath you, cheeks flushed from too much liquor. The bottle you’d brought was already half-gone, and someone else kept topping off your cup. Todd hadn’t moved from his post by the wall. A blonde had sidled up to him, trying to catch his attention with too-bright smiles, but he barely registered her. His eyes never left you. You, perched on the couch beside Eamon, tossing your head back in laughter at some stupid joke one of the guys made. You, stealing another sip from Eamon’s drink. You, looser than he’d ever seen you, leaning into the cushions like you didn’t have a care in the world. You, who was supposed to be doing all this at Todd’s side like you always did. It wasn’t like you. You never let yourself go like this. Todd’s jaw worked, the beer he had been nursing sweating in his hand. Every second you leaned closer to Eamon twisted the knot in his chest tighter. He was worried you would go farther, touch him, kiss him. He didn’t know how he would react if he saw that happen.
And then he saw it. Eamon pulling a joint from his pocket, sparking it up with a grin, smoke curling in the dim light. Todd straightened immediately, the girl beside him fading into nothing as his eyes locked on the couch. His shoulders squared, the beer abandoned on the counter behind him.
Eamon took the first drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke before holding it out toward you.
“Your turn,” he teased, lips curled in a smug smile.
The other brothers egged you on, chanting, laughing, waiting to see what you’d do.
Todd’s blood thundered in his ears. His fists clenched as he started toward the couch, cutting through the crowd without hesitation, his eyes burning only for you. Todd shoved his way through the crowd, muttering curses under his breath as drunk bodies pressed in around him. His pulse pounded, every step heavier, faster. He’d never seen you like this, loose, reckless, laughing too loud with liquor shining in your eyes. You’d never touched weed before, and the sight of Eamon holding it out to you made his chest seize.
“Don’t you-“he started, but he was still too far for you to be able to hear him.
You took it with a grin, standing a little unsteady as you crawled into Eamon’s lap. The room whooped and cheered, brothers egging it on. Todd’s gut twisted. You brought the joint to your lips, inhaling deep until your chest rose high, the smoke curling out from between your fingers. Eamon encouraged you to keep on pulling, and you did until your lungs stung and you began to cough. Todd’s heart sank as you leaned forward, holding whatever smoke was left in you as your lips parted, and exhaled straight into Eamon’s mouth, the two of you nearly touching.
Eamon’s eyes burned hot, his grin curling wide as he tilted forward, closing the inch between you-
“Enough.”
Todd’s voice cut like thunder. He was there before the kiss landed, towering over the couch, eyes blazing. His chest heaved, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. You jumped, a bit startled, and blinked up at him, dazed, slow to process. Eamon only leaned back, smirk never leaving his face, as if daring Todd to do something about it. His hand settled against your ass as you sat in his lap, not pushing it too far, just testing the waters. But Todd’s gaze wasn’t on him. It was on you.
“You’re done,” he said, low and sharp, his accent roughened by the fury in his throat.
The air around the couch shifted, the brothers going quiet, waiting for what came next.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” Eamon chuckled, his hand braced on your hip as you wobbled in his lap. “Don’t listen to him. Stay right here.”
You giggled lightly as you stared at your date, nodding your head in agreement. Todd didn’t even glance at him. His hand shot out, firm around your wrist. He used his other hand to take the joint away, passing it off to somebody sitting next to you.
“Get up,” he ordered.
You stumbled when he yanked you to your feet, the cheers and whistles from the couch erupting again. “Hey! Todd!” you snapped, tugging against his grip. “What the hell, I was having fun!”
But Todd didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at you. His jaw was clenched, his chest heaving as he pulled you through the crowd, weaving between bodies with single-minded force.
“Stevens, leave her be, man! Don’t be a sore loser!” Eamon called after you, but it was no use.
Todd didn’t flinch. Didn’t acknowledge him. His grip on your arm stayed steady, unyielding, dragging you deeper through the noise.
“Let me go, Todd!” you protested, tugging hard. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong!”
Still, nothing. No reply. Just the hard line of his shoulders, the roughness of his hand around your arm, guiding you faster, sharper, until the party blurred into shouts and music behind you.
You stumbled again, nearly tripping on the stairs as he hauled you upward. “Todd, seriously, you’re being ridiculous!”
But the words were slurred now, your energy slipping. The liquor and smoke caught up to you all at once, dulling your fight. By the time he dragged you down the hall to his room, you’d stopped struggling, your head spinning too much to keep arguing.
Todd kicked the door shut behind him, finally letting go of your arm. You swayed where you stood, blinking hard, trying to focus. For the first time all night, the silence between you drowned out the party below. The door clicked shut and Todd turned on you, eyes blazing.
“What the hell was that?” His voice thundered, low and sharp, each word bitten off. “You’re too damn smart to be actin’ like that. Too smart to be sittin’ on Eamon’s lap, blowin’ smoke in his mouth like some cheap-“ He cut himself off, fists clenching at his sides. “You embarrassed yourself tonight. You embarrassed me.”
You blinked hard, the fog of liquor lifting just enough to let the heat of your anger rise. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he snapped, pacing like he couldn’t stand still. “You’ve never touched weed in your life and suddenly you’re sittin’ there cross-faded like it’s nothin’. You wanna ruin yourself, go ahead, but don’t you dare drag me down with you. I can’t believe i had to drag you around like that tonight, watch you so close!”
Your jaw dropped. “Ruin myself? Are you kidding me, Todd? You’re not my father, you don’t get to lecture me like that!”
He barked a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Somebody’s gotta do it, because clearly you can’t handle yourself tonight.”
“Oh, screw you,” you shot back, voice rising to match his. “You think you’re so high and mighty, always lookin’ out for me like I’m some damn child. Newsflash, Todd! I’m a grown woman. I get to do what I want. See who I want.”
His head snapped toward you, eyes sharp.
“Yeah, that’s right,” you pressed, stepping closer, fire building in your chest. “You drive away every guy I like. Every single one. Nobody’s ever good enough for me, according to you. You scare them off, and then what? You stand there with that smug look like you’ve done me some big favor?”
Todd’s jaw flexed, his nostrils flaring, but you weren’t done.
“You don’t get to decide who I talk to, who I kiss, who I-” Your voice cracked on the last word, fury and something else tightening your throat. The air between you was molten, both of you seething, both of you too stubborn to back down. You look around the room, anywhere but him, trying to find a reason to keep yelling.
You stepped closer, heat sparking in every word. “Oh, I see now! You wanna control me, huh? You don’t want me talking to guys? then why the fuck haven’t you made a move yet? Why haven’t you admitted the feelings you clearly have for me?”
Todd’s eyes went wide for just a fraction of a second, and you pressed forward, voice rising, shaking with anger and frustration.
“You want me, don’t you? You want me so bad you can’t even look at another guy with me without losing it! You want me all to yourself! You’re greedy, Todd!”
Your hands shot forward, shoving at his chest just enough to make the point, testing him. You reached up and knocked his hat straight off his head, but he didn’t budge. Even as you shoved at him, as hard as you can, he didn’t move. “If you want me so bad, then take me! Take me right here, right now, just like you have with all these other girls!”
Your voice cracked as you pointed toward his bed, the words sharp and accusing. “All those others! Every single one you’ve told me about! You’ve wanted me from the start, and you’ve let me play around with everyone else! enough, Todd!”
His eyes burned, the tension in his body coiling tighter than ever. He was frozen for a moment, just staring at you, chest heaving, fists clenching and unclenching like he wanted to grab you, shake you, maybe… something more. The air between you was electrified, screaming, charged, and dangerous. For the first time in forever, you weren’t just teasing him. You were daring him. Pushing him to break the line he’d been so careful to maintain. You shoved him one more time, harder than before, finally earning a reaction from him.
That was it.
Todd’s hands shot out, wrapping firmly around your wrists. In one swift motion, he spun you, pressing your back hard against the wall. The impact rattled through you, stunning you into silence. His face hovered inches from yours, his breath hot, his chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted a mile. The fury in his eyes wasn’t loud anymore, it was quiet, controlled, terrifying in its intensity.
You gasped, lips parting to throw more fire, but then his voice cut in, low and razor-sharp.
“Believe me,” he whispered, his drawl dragging every word slow, deliberate, “I’d love nothin’ more than to shut you up right now.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs. You could smell the liquor and weed lingering on your own breath, see the tight restraint in his eyes.
“But I’ve got more respect for you, and for myself, than to fuck my best friend while she’s drunk and I’m sober.” His grip on your wrists loosened slightly, though his body stayed caged around yours. “Now sleep it off. We’ll talk in the mornin’.”
The silence that followed was deafening, the air between you buzzing with everything unsaid. His jaw was tight, his eyes burning, and though every inch of him screamed to close the distance, to finally take what he wanted, he didn’t. He let you go. You stared up at him, wrists still tingling from the strength of his grip, chest rising and falling like you’d just run a sprint. His words circled in your head, sharp and clear despite the haze of liquor clouding everything else.
Respect. It was the last thing you’d expected him to say.
Your lips twisted into a crooked smile, though it lacked its usual bite. “You’re no fun, you know that?” you slurred, the words wobbling as much as your legs. “Could’ve… had me right there. Bet you’re dying wanting me so bad.”
You pushed off the wall, trying to stride to the bed, but your knees buckled and the room tilted. A low curse escaped Todd as he caught you under the arm, steadying you.
“Easy,” he muttered, guiding you gently. “Sit before you break your damn neck.”
You plopped down on the edge of the mattress, clumsy fingers fumbling with your jeans. “Too hot,” you grumbled, tugging them down without grace.
Todd’s jaw clenched and he immediately turned his head, eyes fixed on the far wall. “holy shit,” he breathed, ears burning.
Once you were under the covers, he tugged the blanket higher, careful, tucking it around your shoulders with a tenderness that contrasted every sharp word from earlier. You mumbled something incoherent, already half-asleep, your breathing evening out as the weight of the night finally pulled you under. Todd lingered a moment, staring down at you, your hair spread across his pillow, your features softened by sleep. His chest ached, the knot in it winding tighter and tighter.
Then, three sharp knocks rattled the door. Todd’s head snapped up, annoyed that this person could’ve woken you up from your sleep and caused even more problems. He strode over, yanking it open. Todd steps to the side, blocking the view of his bed to keep your privacy.
Eamon stood there, broad-shouldered and smug, reeking of smoke and beer. “Hey. Lookin’ for my date,” he drawled. “She in there? She okay? Can’t lock her away forever, Toddy.”
Todd’s expression didn’t waver. His voice dropped, low and lethal. “She’s not your date.”
Eamon’s smirk twitched, but Todd leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head just enough to make his point clear. “She’s mine. Always has been. Always will be.”
And before Eamon could spit out a reply, Todd slammed the door in his face. The muffled bass of the party thumped back into silence, leaving only the sound of your steady breathing filling the room as he laid on the couch, drifting off to sleep.
—————
Your head throbbed before your eyes even opened. The sunlight slicing through the blinds wasn’t doing you any favors either, and the second you tried to shift under the blanket, you realized two things immediately:
One, your jeans were gone. Two, this wasn’t your bed.
Blinking against the light, you sat up, hair a tangled mess around your face. Todd’s sheets clung to your bare legs, the scent of him thick in the pillow you’d apparently drooled on all night. Slowly, painfully, the pieces slotted back into place: the drinking, the joint, crawling into Eamon’s lap… Todd dragging you upstairs. The fight. The yelling. His hands pinning your wrists. His voice, low and restrained, saying things you never expected to hear. And then… nothing but black.
You groaned and pushed yourself out of the bed, tugging his blanket around your hips as you padded across the room. On the couch, sprawled out in yesterday’s clothes, was Todd. One arm thrown over his face, chest rising and falling steady, like even sleep hadn’t quite relaxed him. You crouched next to him, studying the faint crease between his brows. Then, with a wicked little grin, you reached out and flicked him right on the forehead.
“Ow!” Todd jerked awake, eyes snapping open. He caught sight of you kneeling beside him, blanket draped haphazardly, and scowled. “What the hell was that for?”
You smirked. “For being dramatic. And for sleeping on this sad excuse of a couch when you’ve got a perfectly good bed, idiot. You look like you lost a fight with it.”
He groaned, rubbing at his forehead where you’d flicked him. “It was either the couch or…” He cut himself off, eyes narrowing like he realized what he almost said. “Never mind. Couch was fine.”
You leaned your chin on the back of the couch, cocking your head. “Bet your neck disagrees.”
Todd shot you a look, still bleary, still grumpy, but he didn’t fire back right away. Instead, his gaze flickered over you, the mess of your hair, the blanket sliding off one shoulder, your legs bare under it, and he swallowed hard, turning away with a muttered, “Fuck…”
Todd was still rubbing sleep from his eyes, muttering under his breath, when you stood and shuffled toward his dresser. Blanket dragging behind you, you pulled open a drawer and started rifling through his mess of shirts.
“So…” you said casually, like it was nothing. “About last night.”
Todd froze. His grip tightened around the armrest. “What about it?”
You smirked over your shoulder. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You dragging me away from my fun, yelling at me like some overprotective dad, pinning me against your wall-“ you paused deliberately, watching the way his jaw flexed. “and then declaring me yours to Eamon at the door? I mean, Todd. If you were trying to make a point, you really could’ve just kissed me.”
He sat up straighter, scowling. “I didn’t- That’s not-“ He cut himself off, growling low, like even he didn’t know what he wanted to say.
You hummed like you were deep in thought, tossing him one of his old shirts before deciding against it and slipping it over your own head instead. “You always drive off any guy I look at, Todd. Always. And last night you looked ready to murder Eamon. So tell me, if I’m not yours, then what the hell am I?”
Todd rubbed a hand over his face, glaring at the floor instead of you. “You’re my best friend. That’s… That’s all it is.”
“Liar,” you shot back instantly, tugging open the drawer with his boxers now. You picked a pair, snapped the waistband just to watch him flinch, and started wriggling out of the blanket.
Todd turned away fast, muttering, “Jesus Christ, can you not?” but then, against his better judgment, his eyes slid back over his shoulder.
And you caught him. The second your gaze locked with his, he froze like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. You smirked slow, wicked, and instead of covering up, you made a little show of it, stretching the shirt down languidly, sliding into his boxers with a twist of your hips.
“You could just admit you like the view,” you teased, tugging the waistband into place before turning to face him full-on, arms crossed. “It’d save us both a lot of time.”
Todd’s throat bobbed, his face caught between murderously annoyed and completely undone. He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again.
Todd yanked open his dresser, still muttering under his breath like he was trying to steady himself. He grabbed a clean shirt, a fresh pair of jeans, throwing them on the bed in short, sharp movements.
“You gonna look away?” he asked without turning, voice clipped.
You plopped down on the edge of the mattress, crossing your legs, watching him like it was the most entertaining thing in the world. “Nope.”
He let out a tight, humorless laugh. “Figures.”
He peeled off his old shirt, muscles shifting under golden skin, every line of his back taut with restraint. He turned just enough to snatch his jeans off the bed, and when his head dipped as he put them on, you slid silently to your feet. By the time he noticed, you were already behind him.
“Todd?” you whispered, voice light, teasing.
He stilled, his whole body tensing as your hands brushed his sides, then slid slowly up his broad back. The muscles there flexed and jumped under your palms, and he let out the smallest, strangled sound, somewhere between a groan and a curse.
“Christ almighty,” he hissed, eyes squeezed shut, fighting himself as your fingertips traced over his shoulder blades. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”
“Why would I?” you murmured, nails grazing lightly down again. “I like seeing you crack.”
Todd spun then, catching your wrists, not harshly this time, but firm enough to stop your hands from wandering any higher. His face was inches from yours, eyes blazing, chest rising and falling fast.
“You’re stubborn,” he growled. “Stubborn as hell.”
Your lips quirked. “Takes one to know one.”
For a second, neither of you moved, both locked in that impossible standoff. Then Todd’s voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.
“You wanna know why we’re stuck here? Why this is a goddamn mess?” He leaned closer, gaze switching between your eyes and your mouth. “It ain’t just me who won’t admit it. You’ve got just as much blame. You feel the same, and you won’t say it either.”
The words hit harder than you expected, leaving you breathless, pressed close with nowhere to go. Your wrists were still held lightly in his hands, his chest nearly brushing yours. The fire in his eyes, the tension strung so tight between you both, it all cracked something loose inside you.
“Fine,” you blurted, voice rising with frustration. “You want me to admit it? I only ever dated those guys to get under your skin. To make you admit it first. I wanted you, Todd. Always you. But I’m too damn stubborn to say it out loud, just like you. You think I liked any of them? None of them were you!”
The words tumbled out faster and faster, your cheeks hot, your chest heaving. “I’ve been waiting for you to stop being so goddamn noble and just-“
You froze. He wasn’t arguing. He wasn’t fighting back. He was smiling. That soft, crooked grin that reached his eyes, that made your knees weak and your anger dissolve into something else entirely.
“Quit it,” you snapped, though your voice shook now. “I’m being serious.”
“I know,” he said, voice low and steady.
Then he tugged you gently, finally letting go of your wrists, pulling you closer. “Now come here.”
Your breath caught as his strong arms wrapped around you, solid and warm, fitting against you like he was made to hold you. The world outside the room didn’t matter, just the way your forehead brushed his, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, the steady thrum of his heart against your chest.
Todd’s lips hovered just shy of yours, his breath warm, his eyes moving down every few seconds like he might finally give in.
But he didn’t. He was teasing you. Your patience snapped. With a huff, you wriggled out of his arms. He blinked, startled, about to ask what the hell you were doing, until you shoved him, hard, and he stumbled back into the bed.
“Hey!” he started, but the word cut off as you climbed right into his lap, straddling him without hesitation.
His hands flew instinctively to your waist, steadying you, eyes wide. “Jesus,” he muttered, looking up at you like he’d just seen you for the first time. “Didn’t know you had this in you.”
You smirked, leaning down close enough for your lips to nearly brush his. “Guess you don’t know everything.”
Todd’s grip tightened, his expression shifting from surprised to something darker, more commanding. “Careful,” he warned, voice rough. “You aren’t gonna be the one in charge here.”
A shiver ran down your spine, heat curling through you at the promise in his tone. You bucked your hips softly, feeling his grow hard under his jeans, his words instantly turning you on. “Oh?” you challenged, but it came out softer, breathier than you intended.
That was all the invitation he needed.
He pulled you down, crushing his mouth to yours in a kiss that was hard, weeks, years, of pent-up tension finally breaking open. His hand slid up your back, the other anchoring firmly at your hip, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The kiss deepened fast, desperate and reckless, your mouths colliding as if you’d both been starving for this. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp, and Todd swallowed the sound with another hard kiss. You pushed at his chest and he was back against the bed, and for a split second you were grinning down at him, triumphant.
“Told you I’d be on top.”
That grin vanished when Todd surged up once more, rolling you under him in one quick, powerful move. His body pressed flush against yours, the weight of him pinning you for a heartbeat, before you shoved at his shoulders, twisting, and suddenly you were straddling him again, laughing breathlessly against his lips. It became a game, the two of you grappling in the sheets, kissing between stolen moments of shifting dominance. His shirt shirt on you was riding up, his boxers loose on your thighs, and with every turn his hands found more of your skin, your waist, your ribs, your thigh hooked over his hip. Your teeth grazed his lower lip and he groaned, flipping you one final time and holding you there. His mouth trailed down your neck, until he found the place just above your collarbone and sucked hard, drawing a moan from you as your nails dug into his bare back.
“Goddamn,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot. “You’re gonna mark me up, I swear.”
“You deserve it,” you whispered, tugging him down for another messy, open-mouthed kiss. “Have you felt what you’re doing to me?”
The sheets twisted around you both as the struggle continued, neither willing to give in, until Todd finally caught your wrists, pressing them to the mattress above your head with one hand. His body caged yours in, heat and strength overwhelming, and his mouth worked feverishly down your jaw.
“No more running,” he growled, voice low and ragged, his lips brushing your ear. “Not this time.”
His weight was heavy, suffocating in the best way, his lips grazing along the curve of your throat until you squirmed beneath him.
“Let me up,” you challenged, even though your voice cracked on the words.
Todd smirked against your skin, the stubble on his jaw scratching your neck as he pressed one slow, deliberate kiss to the hollow of your throat. “Not a chance. You had your fun.”
Your hips shifted beneath his, the friction making him hiss as you arched up into him. “You think you can just pin me and win? I’ll get out of this.”
“You won’t,” he said simply, confident, his voice husky.
Then he released one wrist, only to drag his hand down your arm, over your side, gripping your thigh and hauling it higher against his waist. The movement left you breathless, his body settling deeper against yours, every sharp edge of tension crashing into heat. Still wearing his jeans, Todd lifts his leg up higher, until it was pressed hard against your core. You bit his shoulder, half in defiance, half in desperation, and he groaned, his hand sliding into your hair to pull your head back so he could claim your mouth again. He pressed his knee into you harder until you whimpered into his mouth. The kiss was brutal, wet, all tongue and teeth, a battle neither of you wanted to lose. You nipped at his lip, he growled and deepened it, his hips pressing into yours until your protest melted into a gasp.
“Stubborn,” he murmured between kisses, forehead pressed to yours. “Always so damn stubborn.”
“So are you,” you shot back, but it came out softer this time, your voice shaky.
His thumb stroked over the curve of your hip, grounding, teasing. “Yeah. Guess that’s why we work,” Todd watched as you squirmed underneath him, desperately moving your hips so you could grind against his leg. “Aw, you need me that bad?”
Todd was taunting you, but you didn’t care. You nodded fast, eyes screwed shut as you moved your hips faster against his leg. The only noises coming out of you were small gasps and moans, as he encouraged you to keep going. Your head tilted, lips brushing his again. You stopped fighting him, you wanted him to take everything he wanted from you. Pinned beneath him, wrists trapped in one of his strong hands, you let your head fall back against the pillow, your chest rising and falling in surrender as you pushed yourself closer to orgasm against his thigh. It wasn’t enough.
“Fine,” you breathed, voice ragged, needy. “Do whatever you want. I can’t! I need you, Todd. Please.”
That word undid him. He groaned low in his throat, pushing his mouth back onto yours, the kiss deeper, desperate now that you’d finally given in. His tongue roamed the inside of your mouth as his free hand tugged at the hem of his shirt on you, bunching it up until the fabric slid higher and higher, baring your skin to him.
He broke the kiss long enough to look down at you, flushed, pupils blown wide, hair wild against his pillow. You never looked better to him than in this moment right here.
“Goddamn,” he muttered, voice dark and reverent all at once.
And then the shirt was gone, tossed aside, and his mouth was everywhere once more. He bit softly at your jaw, soothed the sting with his tongue, then moved lower, lips marking another trail down your neck. Hickies bloomed under his mouth, dark bruises over your pulse point, the hollow of your throat. Each time you gasped, he groaned against your skin like the sound was feeding him. Your back arched, pressing yourself closer as his kisses trailed lower still, across your collarbone, the swell of your chest. His teeth grazed the curve of your breast, then he bit gently, making you yelp before his mouth closed around your nipple, sucking hard.
“Mine,” he growled against your skin, nipping again just beneath the curve. “All mine.”
He finally pulled back just long enough to stare down at you, skin growing goosebumps at your newly exposed flesh. He was admiring his work, you were absolutely covered in mouth shaped bite marks and bruises. There would never be another question about who you are to Todd now. His muscles as he braced himself over you, eyes dark as he drank you in.
Your head hit the pillow again, a shaky laugh breaking past your lips as Todd kissed lower, slower, marking a trail down your stomach. Every brush of his mouth made your skin burn hotter, every pause made your pulse race faster.
“Todd…” you whispered, fingers sliding into his hair.
He glanced up at you, a wicked half-smile tugging at his mouth, before his hands slid firmly down your hips, holding you in place.
Then he went lower. Your breath hitched, back arching as the heat of his mouth finally found you over the fabric of his boxers. He placed small, chaste kisses to your clit through the fabric. You couldn’t take it, pulling his hair and pushing him more into you with a whine.
“Okay darlin relax i know.” He chuckled lightly, tugging down his boxers so slow you felt like you were about to explode.
His strong hands found the inside of your thighs once more, pushing your legs as far apart as they could go. Suddenly, you feel a finger slip inside you, a small stretch as he pushes inside you. Your eyes are already screwed tight, fingers fisting the sheets beneath you. The first sound that tore out of you as his mouth wrapped around your clit was helpless, raw, your fingers tightening in his hair as you gasped his name again. Soon you were grinding into his mouth, not caring whether he was able to breathe or not. You were chasing a high, moaning loud when another finger was pressed into you.
Todd groaned low in his throat, the vibration only making your legs tremble harder around his head. His grip tightened on the outside of your thigh, keeping you anchored to him as the movements of your hips became sloppy. He could feel it, you were about to cum. He sucked just a little bit harder, fingers moving quicker, and then it hit you. You practically screamed, grabbing one of Todds pillows to muffle your noises after wave of sensation broke over you. Every time you thought you couldn’t take more, he gave you just enough to prove you wrong. He didn’t stop. At first you were begging for more, and now you were begging him to stop, trying to push his head away, even crawl back from him mouth, but he wouldn’t let you. Your thighs shook, your chest heaved, and your voice broke into moans you couldn’t have stifled even if you wanted to. It was messy, desperate, consuming, everything you’d ever wanted but had been too stubborn to admit.
And Todd wasn’t letting up, not until you were undone beneath him, crying out his name into the pillow like it was the only word you knew.
“You taste like fucking heaven, darlin.”
When you finally collapsed back against the pillow, chest rising and falling hard, Todd kissed his way up your body. Each press of his mouth was slower now, reverent, almost apologetic for how thoroughly he’d just unraveled you. You tugged at him, desperate, pulling him up until his face hovered just above yours. Your lips brushed, the kiss tasting of sweat and heat and need.
“Please,” you whispered, raw and pleading in a way you never had before. “I need you.”
He braced himself above you, eyes searching yours one last time, giving you the chance to stop it. But when you arched up into him, wrapping your legs tight around his waist, he groaned and lowered himself down, your bodies finally, fully meeting.
The sound that escaped both of you as he pushed himself fully inside you with one thrust was near identical, half relief, half disbelief. it was finally happening.
It wasn’t gentle at first. All the stubbornness, all the bickering, all the pent-up years of wanting each other tore through in feverish movements, sheets twisting, hands gripping tight wherever they could find skin. His mouth found your neck again, leaving fresh marks as you clung to him, nails digging into his back.
“Goddamn,” Todd muttered against your throat, voice wrecked. “You feel-” He cut himself off with a groan, kissing you hard, swallowing every sound you made. “You feel so fucking good, so-so fucking tight.”
You barely had time to get used to him fucking into you before Todd pulled out of you, quickly rolling you onto your stomach without a word. You wriggled beneath him, surprised and defiant, managing to twist and shove until he held you down harder into the mattress.
“Think you’re in charge now?” he rasped, his hands roaming up and down your back, taking every opportunity to squeeze your ass.
“Maybe I am,” you shot back, breathless, grinding back against his exposed cock just to prove it. You wanted him back inside you, so badly. You felt empty without him there, and ache left behind only he could fix. It was hard to try and challenge him when all you wanted is for Todd to fuck you.
“Careful,” Todd warned, voice rough in your ear. “Gonna have to make it so you can’t talk back, hm?”
“God yes, p-please.” you panted, whining hard into the mattress.
Todd’s hands ghosted over your ass once more, a wicked idea popping into his head. “You know what Eamon said?”
You blinked back at him, dazed, drunk on him. “What?”
“He wanted to make sure this whole house knew you were with him last night.” Todd’s mouth curved in something between a smirk and a snarl. “But I’m about to do something he never could.”
Your brows knit, confused and breathless. “What could he not do?” Todd lowered his mouth to your ear, his grip on you unrelenting.
“Make you scream so loud everyone in this house knows who you belong to.”
Todd’s grip on your hips was unforgiving as he pulled you back against him, forcing you onto your hands and knees. The shift made you gasp, your arms trembling, the sheets twisting under your fists once again.
“Good girl,” he muttered, low and dark, leaning over you so close you could feel his breath on your ear. “Now let’s see how loud you get.”
You were already shaking your head, your pride refusing to give him the satisfaction, even as he sank back inside you. “You’re not that good,” you managed, voice breaking halfway through, struggling to take his full length all at once.
Todd’s laugh was rough, mocking, his hand sliding up your spine to press between your shoulders, making you arch for him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he rasped, his tone dangerous, “you’re about to eat those words.”
Every movement, every push and pull left you choking on broken sounds you couldn’t control. The harder you bit down on your lip to keep them in, and the harder he fucked you, the louder they came spilling out. His name tore free of you like a mantra, every syllable rougher, needier than the last.
Todd groaned, his head tipped back to the ceiling, clearly reveling in it. “That’s it. Louder.” He gave you no chance to argue, to resist. “Let them all hear who you belong to.”
You tried, God, you tried, to hold it back, the thought of every one of his frat brothers, your friends hearing you be ruined by Todd was mortifying, but he didn’t let you. His pace, his grip, his voice, it was too much. Soon your cries filled the room, skin slapping against skin echoing past the door, raw and shameless. Todd’s name was the only word you could manage, over and over again, until he was snarling it right back in your ear, dragging every ounce of sound out of you.
Soon your arms gave out from under you, collapsing onto the mattress with your cheek pressed to the sheets. You were trembling, your throat raw from yelling, sweat pooling against your skin. Todd was right behind you, his chest heaving, one hand sliding up your back again, gentler this time, soothing where before it was all control.
“Guess I win,” he murmured against your hair, smug and breathless, giving you a small break before he continued.
You were already wrecked, your arms trembling, your voice small from the sounds he’d forced out of you just before.
“God, listen to you,” Todd drawled, smug and sharp, leaning down so his words cut right against your ear. “So loud. So desperate. You wanted everyone to hear, didn’t you?”
Your breath caught, a loud whine escaping before you could stop it. He chuckled darkly, his pace unrelenting.
“That’s my girl. Scream it for me. Let the whole damn house know who’s got you like this.”
You whimpered his name, shaky and pleading, but he only moaned in satisfaction, eating it up. Then his voice dropped low, commanding, taunting:
“Cum for me one more time, darlin’. I know you have it in you. Give me one more.”
You shook your head frantically, your voice high and panicked. “I can’t, Todd. I can’t. I’m too sensitive, it’s too much!”
But he just chuckled, cruel and amused, tightening his grip as his pace stayed steady, merciless. “That wasn’t a request.” His voice dropped to a growl, all heat and authority. “You’re going to give me one more. Right now.”
“Todd!” you cried, your body arching despite saying you couldn’t again, his words clawing into your chest, breaking down your resistance.
“That’s it,” he goaded, tone dripping with smug praise. “There she is. My stubborn girl, finally giving me what I want. Louder, sweetheart. Let them all hear you come apart for me.”
You couldn’t hold it back, your voice broke, raw and shameless, his name tearing from your throat over and over again as your body obeyed him.
Todd leaned forward and groaned against your shoulder, his body pushing you down further and keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “Good girl,” he rasped, smug and triumphant, not easing up even as you collapsed forward onto the sheets. “Knew you had it in you.”
Your body was trembling, nerves fried, but Todd wasn’t easing up.
“Don’t quit on me now, darlin’. Not until I’m done with you. I’m almost done.”
You whimpered, nails clawing uselessly at the sheets, your legs shaking under the strain. Every sound you made only spurred him on, his pace sharp, his hands bruising at your hips as he used you to chase his own breaking point.
“God, you feel too good,” he ground out, low and desperate now. “Mine. Every damn inch of you.”
You cried his name for the last time, voice shredded, your body caving under him completely. He groaned at the sound, his control finally slipping as he drove harder, faster, his breath ragged against your skin.
“That’s it,” he bit out, harsh and hungry. “Give me everything, right now.”
Your cries rose into another ragged scream, and then his followed, guttural, his entire body seizing against yours as he finally lost it. He pressed into you with one last, shuddering thrust before his strength gave out. Both of you collapsed forward at once, Todd pulling you down with him, flipping you onto the bed so you were tangled together in the aftermath. His chest heaved against your back, sweat dripping, both of you ruined, wrecked, breathless. For a long moment there was nothing but silence, just your gasps and his heavy breathing, the sound of the party far away now. His arm slid firmly around your waist, anchoring you to him, as though he’d never let you slip away again.
“Hell,” he muttered against your hair, his voice hoarse but smug. “Told you I’d make sure everyone knew who you belonged to. How many times did you finish? Like four?”
Todd’s weight was still heavy against you, his chest pressed to your back, his arm locked firm around your waist. You were both drenched in sweat, tangled in the sheets, your heartbeat trying to settle after what he’d just dragged out of you.
You shifted slightly, just enough to glance back at him. His hair was damp, curls sticking to his forehead, his lips still parted from how hard he’d been breathing. You almost laughed at the sight—your perfect, controlled Todd, completely undone.
“Smug bastard,” you muttered, though there wasn’t much venom in your voice.
“Damn right,” he rasped, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder, his voice thick and rough. “Told you I’d take better care of you than that redhead ever could.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re mine,” he countered without hesitation, pulling you tighter against him. His words were sharp, possessive, but the way he tucked his chin against your hair, the way his hand smoothed over your stomach, it was softer than anything he’d said all night. For the first time, there was no game, no teasing, no pretending. Just you and Todd, raw and real in the messy aftermath.
But outside the door, muffled through the thin walls of the frat house, voices carried.
“…guess she was with Todd after all,” one of the brothers snickered in the hall.
A heavy thud followed. Eamon’s shove, his voice sharp. “Shut the hell up.”
Inside the room, you froze for half a second, eyes wide, but Todd just chuckled low in his chest. That smug, infuriating little grin spread across his face as he buried it into your messy hair.
“Good,” he murmured, voice still rough. “Now they all know.”
