Some Stories Stay With Us Forever

Worse, Lord Daniels looks at you as though you are already his property. Not a woman with thoughts, wants, or a heart of your own, but rather just a pretty vessel meant to warm his bed, bear his heir, and behave while doing it.

And god forbid you have hobbies! He treats your love of plants like a defect, like a girlish little habit he intends to prune out of you after the wedding.

So when you try to make your father understand that you cannot marry Lord Daniels, he does not listen. He calls you a selfish bitch.

You get into a screaming match with him after that. You tell him he is selling you off. He tells you that you are ruining your own future.

By the time you start crying, you’re running out of the house. 

You are not running forever, of course. You are not foolish enough to think you could survive alone outside your father’s house, let alone in the wild.

You just need space from your family.

So you run into the woods behind the estate, skirts damp, gloves dirtied, face hot with rage, needing only to be alone for a little while.

And that is where you meet Lord Poindexter.

Every woman in Mayfair knows of him but none of them truly knows him. Your mother once said he was “a fine match, of course,” then immediately followed it with, “Though there is something rather severe about him.”

Severe is one word. Dangerous is better.

He is hunting alone when he finds you, rifle in hand, coat across his shoulders. He frightens you, a little.

But then he lowers the rifle the moment he sees your tears. “My lady.”

“Your Grace.”

His eyes move over you, like he is cataloguing every sign of distress and deciding who must be punished for it.

You should curtsy and leave. Instead, you talk.

You tell him about Lord Daniels. About your father. About marriage without love. You tell him you would rather disappear into the woods than be handed over to a man who thinks your hobby is an inconvenience.

“I think I would like to marry a man who knows the difference between a daisy and a dahlia,” you say, bitterly.

That earns you another almost-smile. “Daisies,” he says.

“What?”

“You like daisies?”

You blink, thrown by the gentle edge of the question.

“Yes,” you say. “My favourite, in fact. They are not grand, but they survive almost anywhere. People overlook them because they are common, but I think that is rather unfair.”

Dex looks at you. He looks and looks and looks.

“My lady,” he says finally, “I do not think Lord Daniels deserves you.”

Your breath catches in the cold air. “You hardly know me, Your Grace.”

His eyes do not move away from yours. “Not yet.”

Hello?

What the hell do you mean, Lord Poindexter? 

Because what is that? Who says that in the woods to a crying viscount’s daughter he has known for less than an hour? A madman, maybe. A loaded pistol in human form.

He escorts you to the threshold of your home, kisses your gloved fingers before he leaves, and you spend the whole night staring at your ceiling and thinking about him like an idiot.

The next morning, Lord Daniels is dead because he had been challenged to a duel. 

Apparently, he has been shot through the heart at dawn by Lord Poindexter.

Oh, Lady Whistledown is frothing at the mouth.

The entire ton becomes rabid, because even the scribe doesn’t know why the Duke of Arrowhead challenged him to a duel. Some say Daniels owed him money. Some say Daniels insulted him at cards. Some say there was an argument over hunting rights. The men insist it must have been something respectable and masculine, because God forbid a duke shoot another lord over a girl he met weeping in the woods the day before.

But you know Dex loaded that pistol for you.

By afternoon tea, Lord Poindexter comes calling, telling your father that he would like to court his daughter.

He brought the biggest bouquet of daisies you had ever seen.

Your father grinds his teeth and hesitates, because Lord Poindexter has just killed your intended.

But also…

He is a duke.

A rich duke.

A handsome duke.

A rich, handsome duke who has come calling with flowers for your mother’s daughter, who, as your mother very gently reminds your father, has not exactly been cooperative with any of the men your father has presented to her.

So eventually, he is allowed into the drawing room.

Your father looks like he is swallowing a knife. Your mother looks like she is watching a scandal unfold in real time. 

And Dex looks only at you. He gives you the daisies like the dead man between you is merely an unfortunate scheduling matter.

From there, it snowballs.

Lord Benjamin Poindexter becomes devoted to you in a way that makes every ballroom feel like a crime scene waiting to happen.

He appears at social events he would once have avoided. He stands at the edge of every room in black gloves, watching you like the rest of the ton is background noise. He asks you to dance, and people are speechless, because the Duke of Arrowhead famously does not dance at balls.

Except now he does.

With you, and only you.

He is not charming with anyone else, though. Other ladies still try to speak to him (again, handsome, rich, duke). They flutter their lashes and smile and ask about his estate, his hunting, his views on town.

He gives them nothing.

Then you walk up and mention that your new fern cutting is struggling, and suddenly this man is leaning in like you have declared war on France.

“What kind of fern?”

“Maidenhair.”

“How much light does it need?”

And you talk and talk and talk, and the other ladies stare because this is not the Duke of Arrowhead they know. This man remembers the layout of your greenhouse, even when he claims he has never been there. He remembers the variety of your roses. He knows the shade your orchids prefer. 

He remembers everything.

And God help every Lord who even attempts to talk to you.

A lord compliments your figure too boldly?

Duel, shot through the head.

A viscount laughs about Lord Daniels and your “unfortunate effect on men”?

Duel, shot in the bowels and bled to death.

A gentleman grips your waist too hard at a ball, and you come crying to Dex because you feel ruined?

Duel. Shot through the liver at dawn so he feels the pain as the light drains from his eyes. 

There are dead lords behind you now. Injured lords. Ruined lords. Men leaving London for their “health.” Men avoiding your side of the ballroom as though you are cursed.

And maybe you should be horrified.

But there is a terrible and satisfying feeling curling inside you every time Dex’s eyes tunnel across a room because another man has made a pathetic attempt to court you.

You feel… flattered. 

Your mother is like, “He cannot continue challenging every gentleman who causes you discomfort.”

Your father is like, “He is making you impossible to marry.”

And you are like…

Is he?

Or is he making me impossible to marry to anyone but him?

Because Dex is not stupid.

He knows what this does. Every duel ties your name tighter to his. Society begins to understand your honour as his territory, your reputation as his concern. 

He wants the whole ton to know that touching you, wanting you, and embarrassing you comes with consequences.

Yes, he wants you ruined if ruined means no one else can have you. And the night Dex actually ruins you, it happens at Lord Ashcombe’s ball.

Ashcombe has been secretly admiring you all season like a man too stupid to notice the bodies piling up behind him. He asks for a dance with you and says it would be rude to refuse the host.

And you know Dex is watching.

Usually, you would say no. But today, you were feeling particularly brave and you wanted to test the limits of Dex’s affections. So you say yes.

Dex becomes murderously jealous almost immediately. 

Dex watches Ashcombe’s hand settle at your waist and crushes the wine glass in his hands. You smile and pretend not to hear the shatter. 

The moment the dance ends, Dex pulls you out to the garden and corners you there. 

The wisteria hangs heavy overhead, purple and soft and romantic in the most damning way. The music from the ballroom is muffled behind glass. Your heart is still racing from the dance, from the thrill of knowing you provoked him and he came exactly as you knew he would.

“What was that?” He demanded. 

And you pout, because apparently you have lost all sense of self-preservation. “Perhaps I am tired of waiting for a proposal.”

His jaw tightens. “You think I will not ask?”

“You have not even asked my father for my hand.”

And oh.

Oh, that wounded him. “I will.”

See, you don’t understand that yet. Dex is not delaying because he doubts his love for you. He is delaying because he is who he is. Because in his head, before he asks your father and puts the ring on your finger, he must clear the field.

He must eliminate every man who wants you and every lord who thinks he still has a chance.

And yes, that is deranged, but he enjoys hunting his romantic rivals for sport. He loves the fact that he gets to prove, again and again, that wanting you is dangerous unless you are him.

But then you ask with sad lashes, “How do I know you’re not lying, Your Grace?”

And Dex goes very still.

Then he kisses you.

His hands are on you at once, crushing your silk dress, dragging you closer. He kisses you like he is furious you ever doubted him. Like your mouth is the only argument he needs. 

You should stop him.

You could.

You do not.

Instead, you kiss him back and sigh a triumphant yes, knowing no other man will have you now. 

Eventually his hands bunches up your skirts and rips your undergarments. You gave a breathless little panic gasp, knowing no lady should let a man touch her like this before marriage.

Dex turns you carefully, presses you forward until he bends you over the garden wall, one gloved hand braced beside yours, the other holding you at the waist like he is both keeping you steady and making a claim.

“You want to know,” he murmurs, voice rough against your ear, “what husbands and wives do?”

Your breath catches.

“I need to hear you say it, Your Grace,” he says. Dex’s mouth brushes the shell of your ear, and you know that is not your title yet. You do not have a duchy. But it is the title you will take if he marries you.

When, you remind yourself, not if.

“Y-yes, Your Grace,” you managed.

“That’s my good girl,” he breathes, gloved hand tightening at your waist.

So Dex fucks you there beneath the wisteria, with the ballroom glowing behind the windows and your fingers trembling against old stone. He takes you, letting you adjust to his size as he ruins you completely and makes you understand exactly what he means to give to you once you are his wife.

He talks to you through it in that low voice, telling you this is what he will give you on your wedding night, and every night after, telling you he would not ruin you if he did not intend to keep you, telling you no other man will ever know you like this because no other man will live long enough to try.

You hate that it works.

You hate that every possessive word goes through you like fire. You hate that you believe him most when he is like this.

And when you fall apart for him, he holds you and kisses your temple through it, ever so gentle. 

He destroys your reputation with the tenderness of a man arranging flowers.

By the time it is over, your legs are unsteady, your mouth is swollen, your skirts are a scandal, and Dex is still pressed close behind you.

Then, you turn your head and see Lord Ashcombe at the edge of the path.

He looks pale and absolutely destroyed by what he has walked in on.

You glanced at Dex in a panic, but he is just casually buckling up his trousers and smiling. 

That's when you realised that Dex wanted you two to get caught.

He knew Ashcombe slipped into this part of the garden to smoke, that’s why he dragged you here, of all places! This was a trap. This was the hunting for sport he loved so much.

This was Dex proving his love in the most deranged way possible: by ruining you just enough to make Ashcombe understand he had already lost.

Dex adjusts your skirts while challenging him to a duel for your honour. 

By dawn, Ashcombe is dead. 

By noon, Dex comes calling again with more daisies.

Your mother sits down very slowly. Your father says no when Dex asks for your hand.

Dex only raised an eyebrow like it was a minor obstacle.

So he leaves and comes back with a deed. He has bought you the largest greenhouse in the country. 

A scandalous duke with dead men in his wake gives you a kingdom of flowers and expects your father to keep saying no?

Please.

Your father’s protests are running thin. Your reputation is half-shredded. Your mother is exhausted. The ton already speaks of you as though you are his. Men no longer ask for your hand because they enjoy having all their organs where they are.

So finally, your father agrees.

Dex proposes in the garden with daisies everywhere, because of course he does. Because the man is unwell and romantic and terrifying and yours.

He kneels in the dirt like a duke who has never cared less about being a duke.

And you say yes with your whole stupid romantic heart.

Lady Whistledown writes of speculation like the ink has been laced with laudanum. Your mother cries. Your father looks like he’s biting through bullets. The remaining eligible men of London quietly celebrate surviving the season.

And Dex looks at you at the altar like every dead lord was simply the road he took to reach you.

You wanted a love match? 

Congratulations.

You got a love match with a body count.

—

Bob’s name rang across his own mind, repeated in your soft voice. It wrapped him in a smooth silk ribbon, begging him to give in to the sweet temptation of your moans. 

Over and over again you called out to him while he hovered over you. His thrusts were deep and all consuming, as his hands found their way over the supple expanse of your bare skin— familiar and foreign all at once. 

He could feel the heat bubbling at his core, threatening to spill into the consolation of your body spread before him.

And then, all at once, his hold on your hips gave way, and the warm skin beneath his touch began to feel far more flimsy, and cool to the touch.

He grasped for your body, hungry to feel the fullness of your flesh at his fingertips only to be met with a handful of polyester. 

His comforter. 

His fist was pulling at the olive green duvet adorning his bed, and his hips were thoughtlessly rutting against the mattress. 

Without opening his eyes, he buried his face into the pillow wedged underneath his head, huffing a defeated sigh into it as the realization struck him.

He was dreaming about you, again.

And not just any dream, but a pathetically disgusting wet dream. One that had drool pooling at the corner of his mouth and his dick twitching in his pajama pants. 

Rolling onto his back, he opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. 

The sunlight filtering through the curtains and the distant sounds of morning traffic from far below created a lovely backdrop of self-loathing, as he shook his head in disbelief at his own subconscious. 

This was the third time in two weeks that he had dreamt of you in a less than suitable scenario— which was incredibly inappropriate given your strictly professional relationship.

He had absolutely no business dreaming about your naked body underneath his, and the sweet little moans that might slip past your lips in bed. 

He felt like some sort of sick, deprived freak for even having those thoughts about you. You’d been nothing but kind to him from the moment you met. You were his co-worker, or perhaps more-so his employee, but either way, your relationship was meant to be professional.

Bucky had enlisted your help. He’d known you during his short stint in politics and knew you were just who they needed to negotiate with Valentina.

With your PR and legal experience you became a somewhat glorified manager for the new avengers, working as a protective barrier between them and De Fontaine. 

What began as brief meetings and hesitant extensions of trust between you and the crew of rag tag superheroes, became shared jokes over takeout and collaborative conversations about their future. 

You’d grown closer with each member of the Thunderbolts over months of keeping a constant presence in the tower, but your connection with Bob was almost immediate. 

You noticed him right away— the way he purposefully carried himself in such an invisible manner.

In meetings, everyone was always so loud, fighting to be heard. Yelena, Alexei, John— even Bucky and Ava who could sometimes sit in silence— had no issue raising their voices to get their point across. But Bob was always quiet, watching idle and content as everyone else brought their opinions to the table. 

After your first, and incredibly chaotic, scheduled meeting, you pulled him aside. 

“Did you have anything to add?” 

Your question wasn’t sarcastic or antagonizing, but instead filled with silent observation and curiosity.

Besides your initial introduction, that was the first time you’d spoken to him directly, and the way your eyes peered up at him, almost made him melt into the floor. 

“No.” He wrinkled his brows and shook his head, with a polite grin on his lips.

“You sure? Everyone had quite a lot to say, I’d be more than happy to write down any conditions or stipulations that you have.” You didn’t take your eyes off of him as you spoke.

He just stared, carefully shaking his head, still in a daze of intimidation while unintentionally taking notice of the differing hues in your eyes.

“Questions? Anything?” You kept talking and he thought he might combust.

“No, I think I’m good.” He was smiling kindly despite the frantic thoughts running through his mind. He couldn’t pinpoint why he was so nervous talking to you. Maybe it was because he could smell the faint aroma of your perfume and hear the gentle melodic beating of your heart. 

“Well if you think of anything let me know. It’s what I’m here for.” 

With those last words you offered him a close-lipped smile and left the room.

A few days after that encounter, he came face to face with you yet again.

This time, the crew was preparing for a press briefing.

They all sat in some conference room of a swanky hotel waiting for reporters and journalists to fill the ballroom before being paraded in front of them and forced to answer juvenile questions about how they planned to protect the city. 

Valentina had scheduled it, but of course you were there to stand behind the scenes and make sure nothing went awry. 

And just his luck, you had somehow gravitated across the room to stand right next to Bob, shoulders nearly touching at the close proximity. 

It was easy to see his foot tapping incessantly against the freshly vacuumed carpet. You watched for a solid minute as his shoe rapped repeatedly on the floor before you finally broke the prolonged silence inhabiting the space between you,

“You’re just as deserving to be here you know?” 

You could tell he was nervous. 

Everyone else was bored and dreading the press conference ahead of them, ready to put on fake smiles and give their best bullshit answers, but Bob was terrified.

It wasn’t necessarily the public speaking aspect that fuelled his apprehension, but more so his rather unfortunate history with New York City as a whole.

“Yeah, like I didn’t try to take out the entire city three months ago.” His sarcasm hit your ears but his eyes refused to meet yours. 

“Yeah but you also found your way back to yourself, that’s impressive.” You spoke quietly, nudging his shoulder with your own.

“You’re powerful, but you also represent what’s real. I admire you for that.” He finally glanced over at you as your simple compliment hit him with an impenetrable weight. 

You had a pleasant look in your eyes, one of reassurance and understanding. It had a way of making all of the nerves in his body dissipate, while simultaneously releasing a million butterflies in his stomach. 

After that brief exchange, he began noticing how often you went out of your way to be close to him: always greeting him first when you walked into a room, picking the seat next to his every chance you got, constantly drumming up conversation to get to know more about him. 

He chalked it up to your naturally charming demeanor— nothing more, nothing less. Although there was always a voice in the back of his head trying to trick him into thinking there was something else hiding in the way you spoke to him— something flirtatious. 

But it was all innocent. It had to be. Just two people with an overtly friendly professional relationship.

Until the first time he woke up a sweaty, heaving mess after having an extremely dirty dream about you. 

It happened the night you grabbed his thigh. 

Of course the second you touched him like that, his subconscious tapped into a dormant corner of his brain that needed you in a deeper way— a more intimate way.

What started as a meeting to discuss a trademark infringement, ended with everyone sharing anecdotes from past jobs over Thai takeout. 

John was in the middle of telling some long drawn-out story when Ava interrupted him with a witty remark that sent everyone into a laughing fit. 

Bob had never heard such a sudden unsolicited sound escape you.

You were always so intentional with everything you did; the volume of your voice, the measurement of your delivery, your word choice. It was all so put together and careful. So when he heard the laugh that bubbled up from deep in your chest, he looked over at you in awe. 

And as if the sound alone hadn’t stunned him enough, the way your hand shot out to his leg completely rewired the chemistry of his brain. 

Your palm was resting on his thigh, fingertips just barely curled against his jeans as you attempted to tether yourself back to earth from laughing so hard. 

Everyone else was too busy laughing or talking over one another to notice your hand on his thigh. But Bob was completely frozen, just staring down to where your touch met his body, cursing the denim that kept him from feeling your skin on his.

7 seconds. 

That’s how long your hand stayed on his leg. He knew because it was the longest 7 seconds of his life, yet somehow not long enough. 

As you came down from your high, nothing but tiny giggles fizzing off your lips, you gently slipped your hand from his thigh, as if nothing happened.

That night he dreamt about you beneath him, sunk onto your knees, taking his cock down your throat. 

He felt completely ashamed and yet indisputably smitten when he woke up. It was all just a figment of his imagination— your sweet lips wrapped around him, humming sweet nothings with his dick on your tongue. 

And it would’ve been fine if it happened once.

It could’ve been something he brushed off and tried to forget about every time your paths crossed, but it didn’t just happen once. 

It had been nearly two weeks since that first dream, and here he was rolling out of bed, guilty yet again, of letting wildly unprofessional visions of you slip into his mind while he slept. 

He’d be remiss to say he couldn’t help it, but with the way the two of you were constantly interacting and chit chatting in a way that teetered between co-workers and something more, he thought maybe there was a chance you harbored some sort of feelings for him too. 

But every time he thought his crush could be reciprocated, his own doubts knocked him down a peg.

Friends— you were definitely just friends. But God did he want it to be more, and God did he have to stop having these dreams.

So today, his mission was to avoid you completely. 

Facing the mirror as he brushed his teeth, he silently begged the universe to give him a break, hoping and praying he wouldn’t run into you at any point.

He needed a reset— needed to retrain his brain into thinking of you as a friend and absolutely nothing more. And given the way he couldn’t even look you in the face sometimes without being dragged back into a distant memory of one of his wet dreams, a few days without any interactions might be the best thing for his psyche. 

His plan started off great, he didn’t see you once the entire morning— didn’t even hear a mention of your name.

It would’ve been a perfect day, free from thoughts of you, until his afternoon training with Yelena sent him into somewhat of a downward spiral.

They’d been working on telepathy for weeks. 

He was still trying to figure out how to balance his powers and emotions. His constant fear that tapping into The Sentry’s powers would invite his less desirable entity into the mix, held him back from trying anything too risky, but Yelena had finally convinced him to start small and focus on his mental abilities. 

It began with Telekineses, spending days on end trying to manipulate objects with just his thoughts. He felt an unbelievable wave of accomplishment on the fourth day when he sent a coffee mug levitating in the air. 

Then it progressed into him using that same line of power to communicate without speaking aloud. It shocked him how quickly he was able to place his own voice in Yelena’s head, sending her words and phrases through nothing but eye contact. 

Now she wanted him to try projecting an image into her mind instead of just words. And the idea of it didn’t feel too far off from what he’d already achieved, but he was massively mistaken after trying and failing multiple times to show Yelena a simple memory. 

He just couldn’t figure out how to bridge the gap between telepathically amplifying his voice into her mind, and conveying an image. He tried the whole afternoon, and each time he failed it pushed him closer to the brink of utter frustration. 

He’d been on a roll. Weeks of working toward the reappearance of his superhuman abilities with a hope that he could be in control, but now it felt like it was all crumbling down around him just because of one stupid hiccup. 

With the pit in his stomach swallowing him whole at hearing Yelena tell him they should stop for the day and pick up tomorrow, all he wanted was to see your smile— compassionate and tender offering him an inkling of mercy— but he was quickly reminded of his initial goal for the day. He was supposed to be staying away from you, keeping you out of his mind. 

So why were you the only thing he could think about after such a gruelling training session? Why couldn’t he get lost in a good book, or mindlessly watch a movie to keep the constant thoughts of you at bay? No matter how hard he tried, you were there. But perhaps the persistent notion of you filling his head was the only thing keeping him from sinking into a hole of deplorable self-pity. He was standing at the edge though, spending the rest of the day in a never ending cycle of self-doubt.

His bad mood resulted in him turning down the invitation to join everyone for dinner at the deli down the street. They gave him a hard time for saying no. Alexei even reminded him about the pile of old tattered board games that sat on the tables, and how Bob beat everyone at uno the last time they went. 

The memory brought a smile to his face, but he waved them on, ensuring he was just tired, when in reality he didn’t have the energy to be faced with strangers who were excited by seeing the “new avengers” out in the city. He felt like a failure— undeserving of the attention and confused about his role alongside the others. 

So while everyone left with hungry bellies and excited hollering about a game of Yahtzee, Bob stayed stationary on the couch, glued to the cushions underneath him, his eyes desperately scanning the book in his hands as he seeked a shift in his headspace.

20 minutes of words jumbled in his brain, with the plot of the novel turning to unrecognizable mush the more he read, and he was ready to toss the book to the floor.

Until the elevator doors opened. 

You.

He didn’t even have to look in your direction to know the sound of your voice as you greeted the almost empty room. 

“Hello… anybody home?” 

The sarcastic edge to your words gave way to the undeniable smile in your voice.

Bob turned to watch as you walked into the room, your head on a swivel as you searched for someone— anyone— until your eyes met his.  

“Did everyone leave you behind to fend for yourself on a Friday night?” 

You approached him with a wide grin stretching across your cheeks like you were happy to see him, and it was the exact remedy he was looking for to cure his bad day blues. 

“Everyone went to dinner, and I decided to stay back." He sat up taller on the couch, correcting the slouch in his posture and shifting his body to face you. 

“Must be a good book then huh?” Your attention moved to the object in his hands. 

“Oh, yeah…” His eyes wandered down to the pages beneath him, the same ones he had been trying to make sense of, re-reading them repeatedly, when all he could think about was you. 

“Well I was dropping by to bring this to Walker.”

You waved a manilla envelope in the air. It was sealed with an air of confidentiality to it. 

“He didn’t think I could get my hands on it, wanted to see the look on his face when I gave it to him…”

You placed the envelope on a nearby table as you spoke.

“can you make sure he gets it when they get back?” You took a few small steps closer to Bob as you cocked your head to the side.

“Yeah, of course.” He should say more. He’d been wanting to see you all day— to talk to you. But he was at a loss for words.

“Well, I’ll head out so you can have the evening to yourself.” You began turning your back toward him when his next words caused a pause in your movement,

“You don’t have to go.” His voice sounded louder than he anticipated as it carried across the room. 

You stared at him, a subtle smile on your lips as you stood still in the middle of the room.

“I just- you came all the way down here, you can stay for a little while if you want.” He felt foolish, extending an invitation for you to stay and do what exactly? Even he didn’t know. He just didn’t want you to leave. 

“And honestly, it would be nice to have some company.” He decided to go with a version of the truth. Still in a slump from his failed attempt at superhero-ing, he could use your presence to bring some much needed light into his evening.

He fidgeted with the book in his lap, looking anywhere but your face as you took too long to reply. He was almost bracing himself for rejection as he dog eared the same page over and over again with his thumb.  

“Rough day?” The words left you in a simple extension of consolation. 

He didn’t have to vocalize his frustrations for you to know he was feeling off. You’d gotten to know Bob pretty well, and his unusually low energy was apparent to you from the moment you walked into the room.

“Yeah actually.” He let out a sigh while tossing his book onto the coffee table in front of him.

That was one thing about you and Bob’s relationship, he felt like he didn’t need to hide from you. You radiated such a gentle kindness, it made him feel at ease.

“I did some training with Yelena today and I feel so stuck in my head about it.” 

“What happened?” 

You were standing near the arm of the couch now, and something about having you so close helped him to relax for the first time all day. 

“We’ve been working on telepathy and I can’t figure out how to project my memories…” He started to explain, running a hand through his hair as the words tumbled from his mouth.

“I can speak to her, but I just can’t show her things and-”

“Speak to her? Like you can say something to her with just your mind?” You didn’t mean to interrupt, but Bob so rarely spoke about the abilities given to him from the sentry serum.

“Yeah.” He looked up at you, his eyes the warmest shade of blue you’d ever seen, his stare gentle.

His obvious frustration at recalling earlier events was replaced by a dopey grin as he watched your face light up in amusement over the mention of his powers. 

“Can you do it right now? With me?” The curiosity in your voice as you leaned forward was so cute, he’d do anything you asked him to. 

“Like this?”

His voice echoed in your mind, but his lips didn’t move. 

“Holy shit!” You couldn’t help the excitement that burst from you at the welcomed intrusion.

Of course you knew he had supernatural abilities, but to you he was always Bob, never The Sentry or The Void, so experiencing something so otherworldly in such a casual setting was a bit unnerving, in the best way. 

“I feel like I’m so close to being able to communicate an image or memory but I just can’t get there.”

You could hear the disappointment creeping back into his voice as he continued explaining his dilemma, He craned his head back, staring toward the sky like there was a nonexistent answer written on the ceiling in invisible ink.

“Try.”

His eyes shot in your direction, confusion painted on his features at hearing the word leave your lips. 

“I feel like I’m probably not as intimidating as a former Red Room assassin.” You tried to reason with him, hoping he’d give it another shot. You hated to see him so defeated.

“C’mon, it’s low stakes. Just more practice.” You leaned in even further over the arm of the couch, batting your lashes and smiling sweetly.

Good God. 

“Yeah. Okay.” He nodded as he felt you sit next to him before the words had fully left his lips.

You sunk onto the couch cushions, turning your body toward his with anticipation fueling your movements. 

“So how do we do this? Do I need to like… focus on being receptive? Should I close my eyes?” You watched him carefully, eyes entirely too focused, causing him to shift in his seat.

“You can do whatever you want.” A soft laugh trailed in his response at your excited desperation to help.

“Okay.” You closed your eyes.

You were sitting in front of him, eyes closed, eyebrows slightly knit together, body angled toward him, and he almost forgot why you were sitting so close to him in the first place. 

“Here,” you peeked an eye open, carefully reaching for his hands, intertwining them with yours.

“Maybe this will help.” Your eyes were closed again, concentration evident in the twitch of your lips.

He shut his eyes, afraid that if he kept them open he’d get carried away studying your face instead of focusing on the task at hand. 

Focus, focus, focus. 

The room was silent— so quiet he could hear your steady breaths, one after the other.

Trying his best to deliver a thought to you— the same one he’d been envisioning in training, a memory from a trip he took in college— a serene moment: mountains in the distance, a river running at his feet, pine trees overhead. But he couldn’t stay centered on that moment, not with your hands holding his. 

Your skin was so soft, and your fingers curled against his so delicately. 

Your touch was heavenly— so light and soothing. It was just like in his dreams. Your skin under his touch, warm and sensitive and so, so soft. His hands roaming your body, holding onto your hips while you lay beneath him, your flesh molding perfectly at his fingertips. Your head thrown back on his pillow and the sweet sounds of your pleasure filling the room…

A sudden jolt at his hands pulled him from his trance. 

His eyes shot open only to see you already staring at him, mouth parted.

You were still holding onto his hands, tighter than before, and the once quiet cadence of your breath was now amplified and much more erratic. 

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” Bob shot up from the couch, taking a few steps back to create space between you. 

“Jesus Christ- I’m sorry that was not-” His hands ran anxiously through his hair, pulling at the roots in frustration. 

He just showed you a vision from one of his wet dreams… about you. 

Shame and humiliation ran rampant throughout his body, he couldn’t even look at you— still sitting speechless like a deer in headlights on the couch.

You hadn’t moved a muscle, you were just there, processing, or maybe judging. Probably feeling immensely violated— rightfully so— and all he could do was panic. He was disgusting, he was perverted, you probably hated him-

“You did it.” His thoughts paused at the sound of your voice.

He looked at you, sitting calmly on the couch, biting back a smile from your lips.

“What?” 

“You did it. It worked.” A smile. You were smiling.

He just sent an extremely explicit fabrication of the two of you fucking, into your brain, and you were smiling at him.

“I didn’t mean to show you that. I- Shit, I’m sorry.” There was nothing else for him to do but avoid eye contact and apologize profusely. 

“Hey. It’s okay. Really. It just surprised me” You were speaking slowly— sincere. Trying to calm him down.

He wanted to escape his own body at that point, the embarrassment was too much to handle. He was seconds away from dropping to the floor and crawling underneath the coffee table. 

“I didn’t mind it… If that makes you feel any better.” Your voice barely reached above a whisper as you looked down at your hands that were once warmed by his touch, the evidence of a smile still lingering on your lips.

He stopped breathing. Head spinning at your meek confession.

“I like you, you know?” Another quiet admission from your lips.

“I thought maybe you’d eventually ask me on a date or something, but this works too.” Your voice bloomed into a playful tenor of sarcasm as Bob's eyes met yours.

A date? He had spent this entire time carefully dancing around his feelings for you when he could've just asked you out.

“We can go on a date.” The words toppled out of his mouth, running into each other as they rushed from his brain to his lips.

“We should go on a date.” He was nodding, still spewing his inner dialogue with his eyes wide in revelation.

You laughed, deep and abrupt, and the sound of it was music to his ears. Even more beautiful then that first time he'd heard it with your hand resting on his thigh.

“Do you want to try again?” The question left you slightly exasperated, a residual chuckle still stirring in your voice.

He looked at you with a hint of confusion, still in shock that this conversation was playing out in real time.

You nodded your head toward the spot next to you on the couch, silently inviting him to take a seat.

“I mean just to see if you can do it again...” You shrugged nonchalantly but there was something mischievous about the way you were smirking at him that pulled him back to the couch.

The second he landed on the cushion next to you, your hands slid into his with ease.

“I don’t know if I can.” Nerves suddenly scattered across his body as he realized this was new territory. You were sat even closer to him now— your body more receptive and relaxed.

“Oh now you’re shy?" It was a delicate nudge— a playful taunt that rolled flirtatiously off your tongue, adding to the fire burning at Bob's cheeks.

“Show me more. I want to see.” Your thumb rubbed back and forth over the top of his hand, a comforting gesture, but it caused the heat to spread to his chest. 

“Okay.” The word floated from him and he couldn’t tell if he spoke it aloud or directly into your mind.

You didn’t close your eyes this time. Instead, you watched him, staring intently, your lashes fluttering with every slow blink of your lids. 

His gaze fell to your lips, thinking about what they’d feel like against his. Remembering how plump and swollen they’d looked in his dreams when they were muffled around his cock.

He hadn’t even noticed how his chest started heaving at the thought, his breath now quick and shallow as it left his body. 

Then your eyes drifted to his mouth. Both of you switching between eye contact and stealing glances at each other’s lips as you leaned in, weight shifting on the couch until you were inches away-

“Brought you back a pastrami on rye!” Yelena’s voice cut through the room, sending your bodies into an unexpected retreat to either side of the couch.

"Didn't expect to see you here." Yelena's comment was casual, completely unassuming as she came into view, taking a seat on the couch, right in-between you and Bob.

You stood swiftly, greeting everyone and making your way to the envelope waiting where you left it on the table across the room. The reason you were here in the first place— a simple envelope reminding you that you had indeed not shown up with the intention of confessing your feelings for Bob Reynolds and nearly fucking him on the couch in the very public living space of the tower.

"I was bringing this for you." You picked up the piece of mail, handing it to Walker as you made your way to the elevator.

You didn't stay to see his reaction or even attempt to give him a hard time for doubting your ability to retrieve it, instead you said a few quick goodbyes and made a swift exit of the building.

Bob watched as you left.

Of course he wanted you to stay longer, wanted to sit in the same room as you for a few more minutes even if it meant sharing your presence with everyone else.

But judging by the grin you couldn't wipe off your lips and the way his eyes were lit up like a love-sick puppy, it was for the best that you left before anyone could question why the two of you were so giddy.

Uhhh this has been in the works for fucking ever!! I meant for this to be post in January but I couldn’t write it how I thought the idea deserved so i guess it took 5 months lol

I am glad it worked out this way because this fic means a lot to me and I love it so dearly and because it took so long I now have the privilege to post it on my One year Thunderbolts anniversary, it’s been exactly a year since I saw this wonderful movie and this is my way of celebrating

Dad!Bob reynolds I love you so very much

-Iris/Mars 💛🖤💛

Words: 3.7k

It’s been 4 months, 13 days and 9 hours since your life has been forever changed for the better. Your life finally had a sense of completeness, like you are finally free of your former life

4 months ago your daughter Daisy was born. It took a while but you had finally settled in a comfortable rhythm where you and Bob had a routine that worked. You would take care of the baby and Bob would take care of you. If the baby needed changing you would do that, if you needed to eat, Bob would make you a meal. Obviously Bob would still care for his daughter, It just wasn't his main role, his main priority was you and your wellbeing. Though this wasn’t the normal way of navigating these early stages, this is just what works best for the two of you.

Though you would still always try to encourage Bob to participate in activities. You knew all about his childhood and how he came from a long cycle of abuse, he had always been very open about that to you since the beginning. But when you first brought up wanting to start a family Bob had opened up. He had explained all his fears about being a father and how he was worried about what may happen due to effects of the Sentry and the Void.

So for the past few months you both have been taking small steps to help him with these various anxieties.

~~~

“Honey, I want to try something simple tonight. Can you just be in the room for bed time?” You asked looking up at your husband who was quietly cleaning up dinner.

Bob cleared his throat. “Ummm… what would that entail? Like just so i’m… prepared or not prepared per say, just so I can- know exactly what to expect.” Bob asked, as his face contorted in a wince. He knew he sounded so pathetic being worried about putting his own daughter to bed, he just couldn’t stop the swarm of thoughts racing through all the scenarios that he could screw up..

“Nothing hard Bob, just change her into pajamas, sing and rock her to sleep then set her down. Easy as can be” You reassure, placing a hand on his back and rubbing comforting circles.

Bob nodded slowly, running it over in his head, thinking of ways to avoid potential disasters he could cause. “Ok… Ok! Yeah this will work” Bob said more to himself, trying to psych himself up.

“You got this ‘dad’” You tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek. And as on cue Bob’s face heated up.

“I know I just can’t stop wor-” Bob starts to explain, starting a spiral of panic and overthink but you instantly shut that down by pressing a brief but loving kiss to his lips.

“I know baby,, I know exactly why you worry and why you are so cautious with her but I still think you are more careful and in control than you believe you are..” You try to reassure.

Bob lets out a pained noise “ I know… but just what if I’m not.. What if- I could never forgive myself if something happened to her” Bob whispered, the pain evident in his eyes as he thought of the possibilities.

“And this is why we are being slow and careful and working our way up. “You remind, gently wrapping your arms around Bob’s waist.

Bob looks down at you and lets out a deep sigh “I don’t deserve you… and Daisy. I’m so incredibly lucky” Bob admits, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Though you don’t agree… we are lucky to have you too” You say looking up to press another kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“Now let’s go put this little miss to bed” you coo, stepping away from Bob and going to grab Daisy out of her highchair.

Bob follows you both into the nursery where he practically melts watching you take care of her and change your daughter into a little cat onesie for her to sleep in.

“Here let's do something, Bob, go sit in the rocking chair” You instruct pointing to the rocking chair in the corner. Instantly Bob does what he is told and settles down, albeit a little confused.

You carry Daisy in your arms and go to sit on Bob’s lap so you are parallel to his lap and he can easily hold you while you hold Daisy. “There, now I'm holding her and you are holding me. It's a win-win-win.” You softly tease.

Bob just nestles his face in the crook where your neck meets your shoulder “all perfect to me” Bob sighs against your skin.

You lean your head against his chest before softly clearing your throat then begin to softly sing as you watch your daughter’s eyes flutter close.

God Bob couldn’t have asked for a better wife. He never thought he would get this kind of life, he always kind of assumed he was gonna die alone in an alleyway. Then once the whole Sentry project came to be, he thought no one would want him as an unstable, all powerful being. But you proved him wrong. You showed him how to be loved properly, how he is allowed to have good things in his life, how he can ask for help if he needs it, how he doesn’t have to please everyone especially if it hurts him. You treat Bob as a person and not something to use. You love Bob for exactly who he was, flaws and all. The same went for the Sentry and Void, sure you were a bit more cautious of them but they were still your husband so you treated them as such.

You were also the perfect mother. Bob had never wanted kids, always been too scared of the responsibility and how his mental illnesses would affect them. Then he became scared of how the sentry serum would affect any children. But once you brought up how badly you wanted a baby, there was no way Bob could say no to you not after seeing how your eyes shined the whole conversation. So after many tests that came to the conclusion the baby wouldn’t be affected by the serum and trying for a couple of months you were pregnant.

While Bob had been thrilled by the news, it was the Sentry who was most excited. He loved seeing you pregnant, all round and full of his baby. It was like a claim he had on you that said ‘this is my wife, my baby, mine’ and god he couldn’t wait to get you all full of his baby again~

This was what Bob had been thinking about while he held you in his arms, watching you care for your darling daughter.

“Love you~” You softly sing, finishing up the last lyric before bending down to press a forehead kiss to your now sleeping baby girl. You then press a kiss to your husband’s cheek “don’t worry I love you too”

Bob wordlessly pulls you closer in a sort of subtle claim, like he has to have you as close as possible. You glance up and catch the shimmering gold in his eyes trying to take over the blue. “Oh no” tease, playfully rolling your eyes while carefully getting up out of Bob’s lap to put Daisy away in her crib.

Bob quickly follows after right on your heel. “Why ‘oh no’?” he questions, raising a brow. Because he couldn’t resist, he wrapped his arms around your waist, physically unable to have you out of his grip.

You suppress a snort not wanting to wake up the baby. “You, I saw the gold in your eyes, whatever you were thinking about got you all excited~” you whisper, trying to ignore his wandering hands on your body that are trying to distract you.

“What, can’t a man just appreciate his gorgeous, sexy wife~” Bob or well the Sentry groaned against your neck.

“Mmm… now is this Bob speaking or one of the others?” You ask, dragging him out of the nursery by his hands.

“Well, we are all Bob, but if you want to differentiate us, then you usually call me the Sentry” Sentry huffs, but more than happy to be dragged around by you.

“Mmm I see” You humm, “So what brought you out Sen?” You ask, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

“Love when you call me that~” he murmurs while pressing kisses against your neck. “But, if you want to know, I was just thinking all about how good a mother you are. How gorgeous you looked round and full of my baby. I thought about how badly I want you like that again~” Sentry groaned as he nipped and kissed your skin in between sentences.

“I- I forgot you have a… a raging breeding kink as the Sentry” You try to joke, but the stutter in your words gave away how much he was affecting you.

“Seems you forgot how much you love it as well” Sentry purred in your ear giving it a slight tug with his teeth.. “Besides, I’m still Bob, he has just as much of one as I do, but I on the other hand am not a coward to show it. To act on it” He whispered, pressing you against the wall so you can feel the hardening erection in his sweatpants. Your breathing begins to quicken as you start to feel like putty in his hands, Sentry reveals in the state he causes for you, how much you are affected by the Sentry.

‘God, you seem to have forgotten how much you like having me around… haven't been out to play since the baby came~ “Senry hums. “Bob doesn’t trust us with the little one, but you.. he knows just how well I can take care of you~” He caresses your cheek causing you to shiver.

“I’ve missed you so much baby~ Missed touching you, holding you, tasting you~” Sentry murmurs before licking a strip along your neck. “Bob is criminal for keeping you away from me for so long… he’s too afraid of doing something to the baby, when he knows full well I’m the reason the baby is here” Sentry lets out a low wanting breath “And I will be the reason there’s another…” He promised before grabbing your face harshly pulling you in for a deep, passionate, needy kiss.

You let out a low groan at the sensation, hand gripping on to his shoulder, just wanting him so bad. But eventually sense came rushing in breaking though the lust clouding your brain.. “Sen… we can’t, it hasn’t been that long…” you warn, trying and failing to push him away.

“Why not? It hasn’t been that long since what?” Sentry mumbled not really focusing on what you were saying, too distracted in the way you taste, the way you feel pressed against him. “Because if you are talking about since I’ve last seen you, I’m aware it’s been fucking forever, Bob has kept me away from you for months” He groaned bitterly at the reminder of the separation. His hold on your hips tightened as if worried something was going to take you away from him.

“No, not that. I mean since I’ve given birth… I may not be all healed..Down there” You whisper, cheeks flush feeling embarrassed.

The realization sunk in leaving him stilled for a second, then he just smirked “oh well… so sad, I just have to eat you out instead, whatever shall I do” Sentry deadpanned with an eyeroll as if this issue is beneath him. Before you could react he picked you up wrapping your legs around his waist and walked into the bedroom. He tossed you on the bed and moved to crawl over you.

For the briefest of moments his eyes shift back to blue as Sentry looks down at you sprawled underneath him and then he pauses, absolutely in awe of you. He couldn’t believe how lucky he is, that he gets to be here in this position with you. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear, lost in thought and the feel of you as his hands trail down your body beneath his hands. Despite him being a literal god, he will worship you like you are his reason for breathing.

“Hey golden boy~ I thought you said you were gonna eat me out, ummm kinda need my clothes off for that” You taunt with an eyebrow raised, taking any opportunity to tease him.

His eyes flash a brilliant gold no trace of blue, your words bring back to the present. “Mmm, needy girl feeling impatient~” Sentry mock pouted “I’m going to make you regret being sassy with me~” He all but sneered and you couldn’t hold back your grin of excitement.

~~~

Bob glanced down at you asleep in his arms, absolutely dead to the world, he can’t help but be amused. You are always out for hours whenever Sentry takes over. Based on the lingering taste in his mouth he had a very clear idea of what happened and honestly he’s just sad he can’t remember it.

He sits up trying not to disrupt you as he gently plays with your hair spread across his lap. Then he hears it.

Through the baby monitor on the bedside table, Daisy lets out a piercing cry causing Bob to instantly freeze. He glances down at your sleeping form starting to stir from the noise but taking longer to get up as a sign of your exhaustion. Without thinking Bob quickly moves to shut off the monitor returning the room to silence aside from Daisy muffled cries a few doors down.

Bob gently moves your head out of his lap and creeps towards the bedroom door to head towards his crying daughter. As he walks he tries his hardest to clear his head of all anxieties and to calm his breathing. He’s got this, he knows he does. This is his daughter for god sake, he knows exactly why she’s crying like this. She's hungry, earlier during dinner she was being fussy and refusing to eat so you decide to just feed her later. Bob just wishes his mind would stop overthinking this simple task.

Once in the nursery he goes over to his crying daughter and gently picks her up. “Hi sweetheart” Bob softly coos, holding Daisy to his chest as he goes to prepare a bottle for her. The motions feel like second nature with how many times he has watched you do it.

Once the bottle is prepared Bob sits down in the rocking chair across the room, “there we go sweetie, just like that.” He whispers, admiring her as she quiets down and watches her eat. “Not so hard huh.” He swipes his finger delicately across her cheek. “For me it’s a bit hard…” Bob pauses, hearing the slightest sound. His head snaps up searching for any sign of movement, he scans across the room for what could have made the noise but eventually decides it was nothing.

Bob turns his attention back to Daisy and watches as her eyes start to droop, falling asleep in his arms. “Anyway, I tend to overthink the simplest of things, I’m so used to being a fu- screw up that I always assume the worst is going to happen.” He softly explains. “And usually the worst would happen, you see I had a…. A hard life let’s just say until I met your mommy, but with her… god with her life has been the best it ever has. With her I’m not just Bob the screw up, to her I'm just Bob, I'm her Bob, her husband and it’s honestly my favorite thing… well that and being a dad.” He rambled, a smile growing on his face as he talked about his amazing wife.

“But anyway, I’m still not used to the fact that life is over, I’m no longer in that bad situation and I have a wonderful life with you and mommy. But I get so overwhelmed and have so much anxiety when it comes to you, I’m so scared of doing the wrong thing and that something bad will happen, and I'll be my usual screw up.” Bob paused and took a deep inhale. “But I’m working on it, and it’s all thanks to your momma, without her I couldn’t have done any of this. I wouldn’t be sober, well I’m technically sober because of the serum but she would be the reason I got sober anyway,” Bob softly chuckles at his tangent.

“What I’m trying to say is my life is great and it’s all thanks to your mom, she gave me a place to belong, this wonderful life and most importantly she gave my beautiful daughter” He bopped daisy nose, “and for that I'm forever grateful.” He bends down and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

Eventually Bob straightens up and carefully brings Daisy back to her crib once he knows she is fully asleep and will stay asleep. Silently Bob made his way back into the bedroom and back to bed, he curled under the covers and gently maneuvered you so you were resting against his chest. You stirred and pushed your hands under his shirt, wrapping your arms around him, snuggling into him, and pressing kisses against his sternum. “Hi baby…” You whisper sleepy looking up at him with the most love and affection in your eyes.

“Oh! Hi darling… Did I wake you?” Bob asked in a voice so soft and only reserved for you. You just shook your head, still pressed against his body but still looking up at him with all this love and affection. Bob gives you a curious look, confused to where all this is coming from –but honestly he’s not complaining– You just shrug, answering his unsaid question and press a kiss to his lips. Bob, still confused, gives in and starts kissing you back until you both drift off to sleep.

~~~

You start to stir at the sound of your daughter’s cry through the baby monitor but it abruptly turns off. You were about to get up to go check on her but then felt your husband's big hands move you so were no longer resting on him and instead just laying on the bed as he got up.

glancing over and seeing he turned off the baby monitor had a jolt of panic run through you. You know it must have been Bob who turned it off and he probably has his reasons, the main one most likely being that he wants to give you the chance to sleep but it still makes you uneasy to have the monitor off while Daisy is in the other room. You reach across the bed and turn on the monitor where you can see Bob reach down into the crib and pick up a crying Daisy. You let out a tired sigh and get up out of bed.

Walking down the hallway, you make your way into the nursery knowing exactly why she’s being fussy. Daisy didn’t eat much at her normal dinner time,she wouldn’t latch on to you and you were too tired to fight her on it so you decided to feed her later. You know there are supplies for a bottle in there but you also know that this is one of the many things Bob is nervous to do with your daughter. Besides Daisy prefers to be breastfed not bottlefed so this would just be easiest to put her back to sleep.

Just as you were about to walk in to get her but stopped at the sight in the room, Bob, still shirtless and in boxers, curled up on the rocking chair, feeding and talking to your daughter. From your view he doesn’t even look nervous, he looks like this is something he does all the time, he looks like a dad

. You can just barely hear the words he’s whispering to Daisy while she drinks from the bottle. You push open the door a little bit to try and see him better and your heart practically leaps out of your chest when his head snaps up at the barely audible sound the door makes. You move out of his sightline and hope he doesn’t see you. Bob shifts his attention back to Daisy and resumes their ‘conversation’

You return to your spot watching them from the doorframe, just admiring the view. Your heart melts as you watch how gentle he is, how he is practically an expert at this despite only ever really observing. What really gets you is the kind words he is whispering to your sleeping daughter, how he’s telling her all about what a good person he thinks you are and how much you have changed his life for the better.

These words aren’t new, you hear similar words to this all the time from him. He tells you how much he loves you, how you have improved his life, how good a mother you are, you hear this plenty but something about hearing him say it to someone else without knowing you are hearing it just makes it way more meaningful for some reason. The words just further your disbelief in how you got such an amazing life with the perfect man for you.

You get so wrapped up in watching them that you forget where you are and startle when Bob starts to get up and puts Daisy back in her crib. You rush back to your bed and crawl back into your original position as if you hadn’t moved. A few moments later Bob creeps back into the room, trying his hardest to be as silent as possible to not disturb you. Once in bed he settles in beside you, moving you so you are back against him. You get an overwhelming feeling of love for this man, for your daughter, for this life and you can’t help but think your life is complete

Bob drops his bags to his feet and hugs you tight before he leaves. Tight and suffocating, the way he would if he was leaving for six months. You wonder how intense he would have made it if it had actually been six months.

It’s only a matter of a couple of weeks – it’s not much for what the mission involves, but for codependent, emotionally attached Bob, it feels like the most challenging thing he has ever had to do, and he’s more afraid of being away from you than he is for the actual mission, he’s pretty sure.

He leaves you one of his hoodies and promises he will do his best to find the time to call you.

The second day, he calls you at eleven in the evening. You stay on the phone for almost three hours, listening as he tells you about every single detail of the trip and about the so-called “classified” mission plans he’s not supposed to tell anyone about. He complains about how demanding and overbearing Valentina is for a good quarter of the call, and tells you how much he misses you already for half of it. 

You tell him how chaotic being in the Watchtower feels without his calming presence around, tell him how nothing changes the fact that John and Ava can't stop fighting.

You hear it in his voice when he starts to feel tired, too familiar with how softly honest he gets when the exhaustion starts to weigh on him. It takes him a few tries to explain what he means, repeating his words with a warm chuckle when he stumbles over them and makes a mess of the syllables. 

He doesn’t fight it when you advise him to hang up and get some sleep. 

His lucidity resurfaces when he remembers he forgot to ask you to water the few plants he has managed to keep alive, and to feed the fish he got after his psychiatrist told him having an animal to take care of could help him care for himself at the same time. Like two sides of the same coin – take back what you’ve been given, treat others the way you would like to be treated or something.

So you have a mission of your own, and you take it very seriously – you take pictures and research his plants to know how often you should water them, and you carefully read the instructions of the fish food to know how much is enough and how much is too much. It becomes a routine as the days pass, and you take a picture of the fish to send to Bob, snapping when it opens its mouth to eat the particles before they reach the bottom of the aquarium.

Bob usually texts back asking how you’re doing, and when he doesn’t have the time to, he responds with an assortment of emojis; a smiley face, a fish, a thumbs up and a heart. Which you’re sure, looking for the emojis just takes as long as a full conversation.

It feels weird not having him around the Watchtower, but as long as you’re kept busy, the days pass and don’t seem to drag, and if your schedules match, he’s just a video call away. It is at night that it particularly hurts, when you get in bed and he never joins you, when you wake up in the middle of the night and he’s not here to cling to. Instead, you hug and bury your face into his hoodie, or sleep in his bed when you happen to miss him too much.

On the tenth day, the fish food runs out. Only a few specks fall out of the holes, and the fish hurries and catches them in no time, swimming around afterward like he’s expecting more. “I hope there’s more somewhere or we’re both fucked, buddy” you mutter to the fish, letting the empty container rest beside the aquarium. If there is any logic behind this and Bob has backup food somewhere, it shouldn’t be far from the aquarium. 

You try the first drawer. It’s a mess. Tangled cords and cables, crumpled takeout menus, a pair of broken headphones, a bag of your favorite candies that he offers you when you’re feeling down. It makes you smile and your heart aches a little. 

There is loose change at the bottom of the drawer, buttons, and things you can’t even comprehend. But there’s nothing that resembles the fish food, so this drawer is out. 

The second drawer is more organized. Notebooks, the console controller he’s been meaning to try to fix for ages, a stack of papers that look like past prescriptions, painkillers, and a small, forest green velvet box tucked in the corner. The fish food still isn’t there and you’re about to close the drawer, until you freeze when your gaze rests over the corner of the drawer again when the information hits the right place in your brain. You know you shouldn’t or you will ruin something, you know what it is even before you reach for it, but your hand runs faster than your brain and you have to make sure, and you’re not sure you’re even truly processing the information. You stare at the box for a while as it rests in your hand. 

Unopened, neat and pretty, the velvet soft. 

And you know it should remain like this. 

You try reasoning yourself, try to come up with reasonable reasons why a box like this would be there except for the obvious reason, telling yourself not to open it, like it’s a forbidden artifact holding an ancient curse. But everything leads back to reality, and once you lift the lid, you know it was everything you expected – it couldn’t have ever been anything else and it was stupid to think otherwise in the first place. 

Bob bought a ring. 

You close the box just as soon as you open it, like it’s suddenly burning your hands, putting it back right where it was.

You forget to feed the fish.

Bucky has to shake you out of your thoughts during dinner that evening. When the rest of the team asks how Bob is doing, you respond briefly and don’t elaborate the way you usually would, too shaken by your discovery, standing somewhere between excitement and dread, turning it all around your head. You chew on your food while John’s voice drowns into your ears, only imagining Bob going to the jewelry store, dawned by the responsibility to take a decision on which ring to pick. Wondering how long it has been in this drawer, how he plans on doing it all. Hearing his voice in your head already, stumbling over the proposal because he’s talking too fast, face flushed red while he tries to explain how much he loves you. Wondering if you’re even ready for something this big.

You love him; of course you do, but you hadn’t even begun to think about this aspect of the relationship.

You stray away from contacting Bob too much the next day; you stick to texts only, because you know you will struggle pretending that there isn’t something gnawing at your brain if you hear his voice, or worse, if he sees your face.

You get a text while you’re out shopping for the fish food with Yelena, and when you see it pop up onto your screen with Bob’s name, you don’t bother opening it, immediately shoving your phone into your pocket with a small sigh. When you glance back at Yelena, you know by the look on her face that she knows something’s not right. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, putting back the can of food she had been holding. 

You consider pushing it away, but you’re pretty sure you need friendly advice on this. “Do you think Bob is thinking about marriage?”

She makes a face like she had been expecting everything except this. “Wow. Like, eventually, or right now?”

You give her a light shrug and tear your gaze away from her, pretending to look through the different varieties of fish food though you’ve been knowing which to pick for a while already. “I don’t know”

She doesn’t follow right away, like she’s thinking about it.

“I mean, if you proposed to him, he would say yes right off the bat without even thinking about what it implies.” she declares, knowing how deep he’s in for you. She had been suffering from his heartache before he gathered the courage to confess his feelings for you, after all. “I’m not sure about the real thing. I mean, maybe not right now. Too much commitment for him, especially with what he has gone through and his life at the moment”

You nod. It aligns with your train of thought.

“But eventually, definitely” she affirms. “I’ve never seen someone so lovesick, it kinda disgusts me sometimes” she grins, only meaning to tease you. You grin back at her and give her a playful nudge of your elbow, shaking your head with a laugh when you pick up the fish food from the shelves.

When you’re in line for checkout, you open Bob’s texts.

I got those crispy fried stuff you like at lunch today 

I miss you

It makes you stupidly smile, and you send in your response before it’s your turn on paying. 

I miss you too, babe

Your conversation with Yelena somehow eases your worries for the next few days; it makes the apprehension of Bob coming back less daunting, and your excitement grows with each day that passes. 

He comes back on the fifteenth day – sooner than expected, by two days, because the mission got wrapped up sooner than planned, and he’s relieved; because he gets to go home, and because he knows he would have ended up hurting Valentina if he had to spend those extra days with her.

You figured he would talk a lot; about the trip, the mission in itself, the environment, his progress on using his powers. It’s usually when you want to kiss him most, when he’s proud of himself and when he goes on about something that excites him, but this time, he doesn’t bother with words when you close the door to his bedroom behind you. He kisses you, gentle and slow, like he’s savoring what he’s been deprived of for weeks, hands resting over your hips when he backs you up against the door and comes even closer. Your arms wrap around his neck, hand in his hair, and the snowball rolls and you end up under him in his bed while he kisses you like he wants to consume you whole, his hand trailing down your body until it slips under your clothes.

You kiss along his jawline when he lies back beside you when you’re done, his face prettily flushed, his breathing still uneven while he stares at the ceiling with that dazed, blissed out expression you love bringing on his face. 

“Missed that too, right?” you ask with a teasing grin, hand resting over his throat while you kiss his cheek a couple more times. 

His eyes close with contentment, an internal laugh running through him. “Oh yeah.”

Your fingers brush away the hair sticking to his face, and he smiles when he watches you, kissing you one last time before he reluctantly pulls himself upright, quickly rearranging the clothes he had barely shed, too eager earlier to bother taking them off.

You do the same before getting comfortable still lying on his bed, cheek resting over his pillow, listening as he tells you about his last day on the mission and about the trip back home while you watch as he starts unpacking his travelling bag – he knows if he leaves it in a corner of his room he will let it rot and won’t touch it for weeks, and he’s been working on this kind of stuff in therapy – facing problems instead of running away from them. 

It gets you thinking. About your own personal current problem. Bob still has no idea you know about the ring, and you feel like you’re lying to him by not letting him know.

Lying to the man who sleeps wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear in the night. Lying to the man who loves so desperately and honestly that sometimes it scares you only because you don’t know how someone can feel something that deeply and handle it.

It feels unfair to hide it from him and to think about pretending to be shocked when the time eventually comes and he proposes; you know you will feel awful knowing you hid this from him.

You stop him before you get lost in his words and stop listening to him altogether. “I need to talk to you about something”

Bob perks up, his narrative already dropped. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” he puts the shirt he’s holding back in the bag, walking back to the bed when he sees the look on your face, sitting in front of you. 

Your head shakes and you give him a small smile. “No, everything’s fine. It’s just– I ran out of fish food the other day” Bob’s head turns towards the tank like he’s expecting you to tell him the fish is dead. “He’s okay,” you grin, seeing the soft relief over his face when he looks back at you. “But it’s– I figured you’d have more somewhere and I looked through your stuff, and…” you trail off, but there’s no use beating around the bush. “I found the ring.”

His soft, worried frown turns into an expression you can’t quite decipher. Then, his mouth gapes just slightly, and you witness every stage of his thought process hit him in real time. Confusion, questioning, realization, horror. His mouth moves, no sound coming out as he searches for his words, unable to get anything intelligible out. 

“Oh my god,” he eventually whispers as he turns around and gets up from the bed again, a hand covering his face as he paces around processing the information, rubbing over his eyes. 

You get off the bed and join him, carefully resting a hand over his arm, trying to quiet his frantic desperation. “It’s okay, Bob.”

“It’s not even–” he gestures around aimlessly, his gaze everywhere but on you, still looking for his words. “Fuck”

He lets out a small, frustrated sigh. “It’s– I was manic when I bought it. I felt like I was doing so great, I was finally starting to have control over my powers and things were so good between us and– and I guess I got carried away, you know how it gets” he explains frantically, brow furrowed. The words settle and still between you, and suddenly, it all makes sense. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, I just… it’s crazy, I know” he huffs out humorlessly. “I mean, I’d want to marry you, I know it, but we haven’t been dating for that long and I don’t even know if you would wanna get married, and I don’t want to trap you into this or something, or pressure you into something you don’t want” he rants, a nervous laugh punctuating it, his eyes squeezing shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose like an ache has developed there suddenly. He doesn’t say anything for a few, the room getting awfully quiet suddenly, but you know there’s more, it’s obvious over his face, so you let it sit. 

“I don’t even know if I want to, really. Or if I’ll ever be in the right place to” he admits in a small chuckle, voice softer in confession. “It just went so great with my parents, so,” he scoffs, voice pained with sarcasm, his hands falling to his sides again. 

You take a hold of them, and for the first time since you dropped the bomb, Bob’s gaze meets yours, like your touch is steadying him. His eyes are filled with worry and apprehension of your reaction, explaining why he felt the need to justify himself this intensely. 

“It’s okay,” you nod. “We don’t have to think about this right now. We have all the time in the world to figure it out and to know what we want for sure.” his eyes set to where your hands are holding his, his gaze softening with vulnerability, and his hand squeezes around your fingers softly. “We can love each other the same even if we never get married. It’s… really, it’s just a formality” 

He nods, gaze still down. One of your hands slides away from his to brush beneath his chin and have him look back at you. “I love you and I’m happy with you either way, you know that, right?” his mouth pinches into a sheepish smile, and he nods, eventually reciprocating the grin over your face. 

A sense of relief washes over his face, and he brings you closer to hug you to his chest. “I love you too” he murmurs, the tension in his limbs easing a bit, the thumping of his ribcage still frenzied against your ear.

You sit together over the edge of his bed when you pull apart, grabbing his travelling bags to help him unpack. There’s a soft expression over his face, gratitude hitting him as he watches you move and neatly fold his clothes before you pass them over to him so he can sort them into piles to put away later. You both move in comfortable silence, until something hits Bob suddenly.

“Are you disappointed?”

You look back at him, a confused expression etched over your face. “Of what?”

He shrugs lightly, busying himself by digging through his toiletry bag. “You could have been expecting me to propose and now you’re disappointed that I can’t do it”

“Oh– no, Bob” you assure him immediately, hand resting above his. He gazes back at you, uncertainty masking his face again. “I don’t think it’s something I’d want right now. I’m not opposed to it eventually, but it’s not an absolute necessity either. Our happiness doesn’t have to depend on that, I’d love you the same whatever we decide to do”

Your words lodge themselves somewhere beneath the panic and self-consciousness and all the ugly little fears he carries in his brain, those about being difficult to love, even more on a long term aspect, and those about being abandoned.

You can see him trying to believe you, trying to let the reassurance sink in instead of immediately searching for hidden disappointment behind it.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly after a moment, like he needs to hear it again to be sure.

Your thumb strokes over the back of his hand. “Yeah.”

His gaze lingers on your face, studying you carefully, looking for any hint of hesitation or disappointment.

There’s none.

You kiss his cheek before you get up from the bed and take the pile of shirts to put it away in his closet, and he progressively visibly relaxes, more at ease now that this whole thing isn’t dawning on the both of you anymore.

“Hey, uh… do you like the ring at least?” Bob asks gingerly, though with less nervosity than if he had asked earlier, a faint grin over his face. “I had such a hard time making a decision. I mean, now that you know, we can get it changed if we ever decide to get married one day”

You break into a soft laugh and nod. There’s a gentle beaming smile over Bob’s face when your hand slides into his hair. “I love it. It’s really pretty. And very careful of what I like”

He nods, a sheepish, proud smile over his face. 

It’s his first time turning a rushed decision into something right, at least.

And now his fear of the future isn’t as clouded as it used to be.

—

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The elevator doors open onto the emergency department.

You step out.

And there he is.

Frank is standing at the central desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, listening to one of the residents ramble about a consult.

For a moment neither of you move.

It's been six years.

Six years since graduation.

Six years since the worst fight of your life.

Six years since the man who once knew every stupid thing about you walked out of your apartment and never looked back.

His eyes find yours.

The resident keeps talking.

Frank doesn't hear a word.

You can tell.

You know him too well.

His face goes completely blank.

Which somehow hurts more.

"Dr. Langdon?"

The resident says it twice before Frank blinks.

"What?"

The resident points toward you.

"New cardiology attending."

You almost laugh.

Attending.

The title sounds ridiculous considering the way your stomach just dropped into your shoes.

Frank swallows.

Then nods once.

Professional.

"Welcome to PMTC."

Not welcome back.

Not it's been a while.

Not even hello.

Just that.

You hate how much it stings.

"Thank you."

The silence stretches.

The entire department seems to notice.

People glance between the two of you.

Something is obviously wrong.

Nobody knows what.

Frank breaks eye contact first.

"Excuse me."

Then he walks away.

The rumors start immediately.

Because hospitals are worse than high schools.

By the end of the week people have figured out three things:

One.

You and Langdon know each other.

Two.

Neither of you seem particularly thrilled about it.

Three.

The tension is so thick people could probably slice it with a scalpel.

It gets worse when you're forced onto a trauma case together.

A twenty-three-year-old arrives after a motorcycle accident.

Massive cardiac contusion.

The entire team moves fast.

Frank is leading the emergency side.

You handle the cardiac complications.

For thirty minutes everything is fine.

Then Frank overrides one of your recommendations.

You stare at him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm stabilizing him."

"By ignoring cardiology?"

"I'm following the numbers."

You cross your arms.

"The numbers don't show everything."

Frank laughs.

Not a happy laugh.

The kind he only uses when he's angry.

"Still think you're the smartest person in every room?"

The words hit harder than they should.

Because once upon a time you were.

Together.

Valedictorian and salutatorian.

The pair nobody could beat.

Until everything fell apart.

You lower your voice.

"Some things never change."

His jaw tightens.

"No."

For a second something flashes across his face.

Hurt.

Old and familiar.

"No, apparently they don't."

The fight follows you home.

It follows him too.

Because that night Frank sits alone in the physician lounge staring at a vending machine.

And all he can think about is you.

At ten years old, beating him at spelling bees.

At sixteen, arguing over class rankings.

At nineteen, asleep on his shoulder in the library.

At twenty-one, kissing him in the rain after finals.

At twenty-six, screaming at him in a med school hallway.

The last memory is the one that stays.

The one neither of you ever recovered from.

A week later you're both trapped in an elevator.

Because of course you are.

The universe hates you.

The elevator shudders.

Stops.

The emergency phone crackles overhead.

Maintenance says it'll be twenty minutes.

Twenty.

Entire.

Minutes.

Frank leans against the wall.

You stare at the doors.

Neither of you speaks.

"You never answered my calls."

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them.

You freeze.

Slowly turn.

"What?"

His eyes meet yours.

"You disappeared."

Something sharp twists inside your chest.

"You left first."

Frank laughs bitterly.

"That's not what happened."

"Really?"

The years of anger come rushing back.

"You told me I was selfish."

"You were."

You stare.

He immediately regrets saying it.

But it's too late.

The damage is done.

"You know what?" you say quietly. "Forget it."

"No."

Frank pushes away from the wall.

"No, because we've spent six years pretending we don't care."

His voice cracks slightly.

"And I am tired."

The confession hangs between you.

You hate that it affects you.

You hate that you still know exactly what his tired sounds like.

"You think I wanted this?" you ask.

"I don't know what you wanted."

"I wanted you."

The words slip out.

The silence afterward is devastating.

Frank's entire expression changes.

Like somebody punched the air from his lungs.

Because for the first time in six years—

Neither of you is angry.

Just two people who loved each other for most of their lives and never learned how to stop.

The elevator remains stuck.

And for the first time since you arrived at PMTC, Frank looks at you the way he used to.

Like you're still his favorite person.

Working as a secretary at a research lab was surprisingly thrilling, or at least it was to you. Sure, being in charge of fetching coffee for men with huge egos and taking phone calls wasn’t a dream, but it was the…everything else that made it worth it—the science. You had no university degree of your own, as it was highly discouraged in your family, but that didn’t stop you from finding it all incredibly fascinating. 

Prior to working at Hastings, you never imagined you’d be the kind of person who cared about chemistry, of all things, but that swiftly changed. All men loved to hear themselves talk, so you were constantly overhearing their conversations about their projects and hypotheses. A lot of it was theories, of course, but you slowly found yourself learning something you wouldn’t have otherwise. Whether or not you did anything about it wasn’t really a question at the moment, but you did keep a small notebook with you just in case. 

You got along with the other ladies just fine, or at least you tried. You put in effort to engage in conversation and attend Fran’s events, but you were naturally predisposed to keeping to yourself. You were a solid employee but didn’t quite fit in all the way, placing you in a weird liminal space where you were hardly noticed until you were needed. It didn’t help that your curiosity towards science was slowly growing, and you daydreamed in the cafeteria by yourself more often than not. 

This all happened in tandem with your infatuation with Calvin Evans. He was one of the brightest minds in the entire country and a recluse at that. You’d read everything about him and the work he’s done, and while it took using a dictionary to understand half of it, it was still incredibly interesting. People hardly ever saw him except in small intervals, like when he came running in in the morning or when he stopped by the vending machine at lunch for a pack of almonds. You often wondered how he managed to run every day and stay upright, considering he had the diet of a mouse. 

Every other woman at Hastings had a crush on him, although based on what they said, they only ever used the words “handsome” and “smart.” It’s not that he wasn’t handsome; in fact, he was attractive to an unfair degree. However, you contemplated whether anyone here, especially those who worked longer than you, ever bothered to ask him a single, genuine question. As someone who tended to keep to herself, you couldn’t help but wonder if he needed a friend, if he needed help, or if he needed something other than almonds to eat. 

What an odd thing to daydream about.

One day, you found yourself wandering towards his lab. It was locked, and there were signs all over the door warning people to stay away. He reminded you of a vampire from horror books and films - creatures who mustn’t be disturbed in the daytime. It was amusing. Through the door, you heard the very clear cacophony of jazz music, which was odd because you didn’t think a scientist like Calvin Evans listened to such things while doing serious work. Yet every time you passed by that door, you heard it. 

You took note: Calvin Evans likes jazz music. 

When your curiosity became too much to bear, you decided to be bold. There was a stack of records that once belonged to your grandmother, which you inherited after her passing. Among them were a few jazz vinyls that you still liked to play whenever you missed her. They were precious, yet there was something in your heart pulling you to share them as if it were her in the afterlife. 

That night, you wrote a well-crafted note:

Dear Dr. Evans,

My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m a secretary here at Hastings. Believe it or not, I am a fan of your work and couldn’t help but notice that you have a love for jazz music. My grandmother listened to jazz frequently, and she left me her collection after she passed. I try to listen to them as often as I can, but unfortunately, they don’t get nearly as much love as they deserve. Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but I felt called to share some of her music with you. Perhaps it’ll help with your scientific endeavors.

Y/N

You wrapped one of your grandmother’s jazz records and took it to Hastings the next day. When you knew Calvin was in, you approached his lab with bated breath, wavering. You wavered at the door for a moment before sliding the thin package under the door with the note on top, and then waited with your heart in your throat. You heard his footsteps, saw the sight of his shadow under the door, followed by the crinkling of the package. It was then that you slowly backed away, but when you heard the door unlock, you dashed around the corner with a gasp. 

Yes, you were fully aware that you were behaving like some schoolgirl.

The door eventually closed, and you exhaled in relief. Whatever music was playing before stopped with a soft scratch, and then shortly after, you heard the familiar sound of Duke Ellington filling the air. A soft smile lit up your face as your heart swelled. 

Calvin Evans accepted your gift.

That day at lunch, you spotted Dr. Evans by the vending machine as usual, except this time he appeared to be searching for something - or someone. His brow was furrowed, his blue eyes scanning the area intensely with a sudden curiosity that he didn’t usually spare. You glanced at him between bites of your food, and when his attention lingered on you, you looked down at your meal and nothing else. At first, you thought he saw through you, but when you finally looked up again, he was gone.

Of course, he doesn’t know who I am.

But if you thought your secret would stay that way forever, then you were mistaken.

The following day, you were called into Calvin’s lab, which had all of the secretaries clucking like chickens as they wondered why Dr. Evans would be asking to see you. Of course, none of them knew about your little gift, and you didn’t need them thinking there was anything else going on. You took a notepad and pen with you to seem less conspicuous, though you had a feeling you wouldn’t need them. 

When you approached Calvin’s door, you were internally panicking. His lab was such a forbidden, sacred space, and you had only ever been observing him from afar, so this was novel for everyone involved. Everything you knew about him was from magazines and what you heard from peers. You were simply operating out of marvel and an internal feeling you couldn’t quite shake. 

You knocked softly on the door, and following the sound of footsteps, it unlocked and swung inward. On the other side was Dr. Calvin Evans, dressed in a lab coat over a white shirt and slacks. For a brief moment, you were taken aback by his handsomeness, which was even more apparent up close. His brown curls were styled out of his face, and his blue eyes were as deep as the sea.

“Dr. Evans,” you greeted lightly.

“Ms. Y/L/N, the jazz enthusiast,” he stated.

Your cheeks warmed. “I’d say my grandmother was the enthusiast, but I do have an appreciation for it.”

He looked over his shoulder warily before stepping aside. “Come in.”

With tentative steps, you entered Dr. Evans’ lab, half curious and half afraid of imposing. 

“Don’t mind the mess,” Calvin said.

Lucky for him, you were less concerned with the mess and were simply admiring your surroundings. Despite working at a research lab, you very rarely entered the labs themselves, but even from the glimpses you’ve caught, this one took the cake. The counters were stacked with beakers, flasks, test tubes, and other glass containers meant for experiments, as well as several other tools you had no name for. Papers, books, and even leftover almonds littered the workspace. You also spotted a record player with the familiar sleeve of your grandmother’s record beside it. Even so, you gravitated towards the far wall with tall chalkboards full of chemistry equations that you only half-understood. 

“Fascinating,” you whispered.

“Oh, are you familiar?” Calvin asked over your shoulder.

“Vaguely.”

Calvin hummed. “I didn’t know any of the secretaries had an interest in science.”

You scoffed, turning to face him.“You’re looking at the only one here, I think, but don’t be fooled. I’m not as smart as any of the scientists here, especially not you. It’s just a way to pass the time.”

He watched you as if you were a peculiar thing to be studied, which was extremely different from how the other men looked at you. When the others weren’t busy making demands and actually looked at you, it was never at your eyes, but at some part of your body they craved. That’s what you were, a craving or a thing to ogle at. On the other end, when Calvin Evans looked at you, it was only into your eyes, and with a level of attention and interest that was refreshing. 

With a shake of his head, he grabbed your grandmother’s record from the table and brought it over to you.

“I just wanted to thank you for sharing this with me. I don’t know what I did to receive your kindness, but I appreciate it. There’s been a lack of surprise around here, and this was…a lovely surprise.”

You took it from him with a smile, turning it over. “Did you enjoy it?”

You didn’t realize you’d never seen Calvin Evans smile until he did it to you, and it was the sweetest thing you had ever seen. It stirred something in your chest in a way you didn’t expect. 

“I did. It was fantastic,” he replied in earnest.

With this encouragement, your boldness returned.

“Well, I have plenty more back home. If you’d like, I can bring you another,”  you offered shyly.

Calvin blinked a few times in surprise, his eyes lighting up. “I’d really like that, actually. If you don’t mind, of course.”

“No, I don’t mind at all.”

The two of you stood there, smiling and holding each other’s gaze awkwardly, when suddenly Calvin scowled in discomfort. He sniffled and cleared his throat, blinking a few times as he took a few steps back.

You eyed him warily. “Are you okay, Dr. Evans?”

He cleared his throat again and coughed, his face going red. “Ms. Y/L/N. Does your perfume have benzaldehyde?” he choked out.

Your hand flew to the side of your throat, where you applied your perfume this morning.

“Ummm, I…I wouldn’t know. Is that…is that a problem?” you stammered.

“I’m incredibly allergic.”

Calvin stumbled backwards, frantically searching for something before bending over to throw up in a trash can. With a gasp, you instinctively walked forward to help him, but he waved you away.

“Don’t…Don’t come any closer. You’ll make it worse,” he said frantically before throwing up again.

You were utterly mortified, stuck between wishing you could aid him somehow but not wanting to hurt him. Out of all the things to be allergic to, it had to be something so obscure, didn’t it? Of course, this would happen to you.

“Oh, my God. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” you stammered. “I’ll…I’ll get you some help!”

You dashed for the door, taking one more glance at a very sick Dr. Evans before disappearing.

As soon as you got home that day, you threw out that perfume. You felt so guilty about causing that allergic reaction that you avoided Dr. Evans for the next day. Luckily, the weekend came shortly after, so you didn’t have to worry about seeing him at all. You took that time to research benzaldehyde at the library so you could avoid it in the future. It was a cherry-like aroma that not all perfumes had, but even then, it was better to be safe than sorry. You bought rose oil as a replacement, seeing as it was softer and more natural anyway. 

You wanted to make it up to Calvin somehow, although you had a feeling he might not want to speak with you at all. He allowed you into his lab only for you to make him physically ill and contaminate his workspace. Regardless, an apology was the least you could do, and it would eat away at you if you didn’t try. So you chose to take him some food. You usually made enough dinner for leftovers anyway, so one morning you packed an extra container of lasagna. And seeing as you told him you’d let him borrow another record, you wrapped up one of your favorites with a remorseful note attached.

Dear Dr. Evans,

I want to extend my sincerest apologies for making you so ill the other day. I cannot even begin to describe how utterly embarrassed I am, especially after you allowed me into your lab. I didn’t know what benzaheldyde was or that one could be allergic to it, but I’m well educated now. I even threw out my perfume as soon as I got home. However, I’ll make sure to keep my distance to avoid disturbing you again. 

As an apology, I’ve included some homemade food along with another record, just as I promised. This one is one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy it.

Y/N

Just like last time, you approached Calvin Evans’ door, the warning signs even more apparent to your eyes. Through it, you could hear the sound of jazz music and the clinking of glass. You stood there once more, contemplating whether or not to present these items to him yourself, only to let anxiety win. Instead, you stacked everything before the door with the note resting on top, and knocked three times. You started backing away, but he must have bolted for the door, because you barely had enough time to flee before he opened it. You were barely slipping around the corner when he called out.

“Wait!”

You froze like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and your heart hammering against your ribs. You carefully took a peek around the corner to see Calvin Evans, holding your gifts with the note open in his hand. He quickly scanned his gaze over it before meeting your eyes.

“Did you really throw out your perfume?” he asked.

You nodded, stepping out into the hallway fully. “I did. I…I use rose oil now.”

A soft smirk curved on his lips as he furrowed his brow. “That’s…That’s really thoughtful, Ms. Y/L/N. May I ask why you’re running away?”

You sighed heavily. “Because I feel terrible about it, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to see me. Like when people eat bad food and can’t eat it again for years.”

Calvin fixed you with an odd look. “You’re comparing yourself to bad food?”

A giggle rumbled in your throat. “It was the closest thing I could think of.”

As if wanting to prove you wrong, Calvin set your gifts down on a nearby counter and walked towards you. Your heart beat so fast with each step, it may as well be a hummingbird’s wings. He stopped just a few feet away from you, just enough to feel his body heat against your skin. His blue eyes flitted between yours curiously, and that soft smile never wavered.

Calvin took a deep breath before nodding. “Roses.”

“Yes, roses,” you whispered.

He shifted his weight seriously. “I wouldn’t compare you to bad food, Ms. Y/L/N. I wouldn’t compare you to food at all. That’s pretty insulting.”

You huffed. “You would be the first man to think that, Dr. Evans.”

His expression dimmed slightly, a glint of anger passing over his eyes, but not for you.

“Yes, well, I find it insulting and demeaning, especially towards someone who is clearly more interesting than most people in this building.”

You gave him a strange look as your face warmed. You almost didn’t believe that he was complimenting you so openly.

“Are you talking about me, Dr. Evans?”

Calvin chuckled. “Of course I am. Who else would I be talking about?”

“I don’t know. I guess I find it surprising, considering we’ve interacted so little.”

“That’s why it’s even more significant that you already stand out to me.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. “Usually that’s a bad thing. At least when I do it.”

“Yet nothing’s stopped you from dropping gifts at my door and learning chemistry in secret,” he replied.

You scoffed. “I wouldn’t go that far. You’d be surprised how much you can learn just from eavesdropping. They don’t expect a woman to actually understand anything, let alone one that keeps to herself.”

“Yet, you do.”

“I do. I find it intriguing,” you responded matter-of-factly.

Calvin grinned in a youthful, boyish way that made his eyes glitter. He traced his gaze over your face as if trying to make sense of you or memorize you, you weren’t sure which.  But always, always your eyes and face, nothing more. 

He scratched the back of his neck and said, “Well, it seems I have a new record to listen to and some lasagna to eat… You eat at the cafeteria, right?”

“I do, yeah.”

“Is it…okay if I sit and eat with you today?” he asked hesitantly. “I’d like to give you my honest thoughts on both, and maybe answer any chemistry questions you might have.”

You brightened from within from the sudden excitement, like a sunrise cresting over the horizon. Calvin Evans never ate at the cafeteria, let alone with another person.

“Oh, yes, of course,” you replied eagerly.

He nodded enthusiastically. “Great. Great, I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later.”

Calvin walked back to his lab as you slowly started to back away. At the door, he took one last glance in your direction, and the two of you exchanged warm smiles before he sealed himself inside. The entire walk back to your desk, you couldn’t stop grinning or thinking of the way he looked at you. 

Remus flicked the ashes of his cigarette out of the bedroom window, smoke leaving his lips along with a chuckle. "Yeah, right."

Sirius shrugged as he took a drag from his cigarette. "The results speak for themselves."

James, who didn't smoke because it would taint his athlete lungs (as he so humbly put it), propped one leg up as he backed up against the bed frame, adjusting his position on the floor. "You fucking wish."

"I could do that if I tried. You're not special, Pads. I just don't because I know it would be too much for a girl, especially around the full moon," Remus said.

"Oh here he goes again with his rough sex werewolf shit," James threw his hands up in the air, getting a laugh from Sirius.

"Stay jealous, Prongs. Stay jealous," Remus replied.

"Never made a girl squirt though, have you? You stay jealous, Moons," Sirius challenged.

"Surely you know that we do not believe you," James said.

Sirius sighed, leaning back onto his mattress, propping himself up on his elbows. "Well, when her cum shot all over my face, it did feel pretty fuckin' unbelievable."

"Just because virgins think you're good in the sack doesn't mean you are," Remus chimed back in, "how are they supposed to know that there's so much better out there?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sirius said, leaning back up and tilting forward in Remus's direction, "I didn't realize you have a history of fuckin' making virgins squirt. I didn't realize this topic was so familiar to you, how dare I."

"It can't be that hard to make a virgin squirt, Sirius, I'm feelin' like that's pretty easy," James said.

"The real challenge is with experienced girls," Remus said, blowing more smoke out of the window, "You think you're all that? Get back to me when you make someone impossible to please come. Not even to squirt, just to come."

Sirius diverted his gaze from Remus to James, who looked to Remus, who looked back at James, who then turned to Sirius. "That a challenge?" Sirius asked.

"Maybe it is."

"Well if I'm gonna try, you're gonna try, you fucking asshole," Sirius told Remus.

"What, is James just off the hook? We all know he can't do it anyways."

James threw his hands up again. "I can do it."

"Okay, so pick a girl," Sirius said, raising his brows in challenge.

In a mocking voice, Remus joked, "but how will we ever find a girl that sex god Sirius Black can't please?"

"You think Y/N would do it?" James asked.

"You don't think that might ruin our friendship?" Remus questioned.

"Let's review," James said, standing up and beginning to count his points on his fingers, "one, we've all been friends with her for forever, so she trusts us. Two, we all know she's got experience, and we know there's a bunch of guys who haven't been able to make her come. Three, she doesn't strike me as someone who would get attached and ruin our friendships over sex. And four, perhaps the most important of all: she's hot and we all wanna fuck her."

"How the fuck do we even broach that subject?" Sirius asked, "are we supposed to ask her to let us fuck her as a competition? Do we just try to kiss her and see where it leads? This is Y/N for fucks sake."

"Correct," Remus responded, "it`'s just Y/N. I feel like it'll be way easier to ask her than some other random girl."

"Oh, Sirius has no problem asking random girls for sex," James joked, though he was serious.

"The only reason we're friends with Y/N is because she turned you down, do you remember that, Jamie?" Sirius shot back.

"She didn't turn me down, jackass, she was in a relationship. Otherwise, I would have for sure gotten to hit that."

"Big bad James and his big bad muscles on the big bad Quidditch team, ok then," Remus joked, "irresistible to all girls. Oh wait! Except for one."

"If you're jealous of my body, Moons, just say it. This," he gestured down his torso, "takes a lot of work."

"You're really talking yourself up when my skinny ass gets more girls than you do, and more boys too, for that matter. I'm sorry, which one of us has had sex with the majority of your Quidditch team? Oh, not you? Weird," Remus responded.

“You know that fraternization on the team would be frowned upon, why would you say that when you know-“

“Oh relax,” Remus cut James off.

“Doesn’t matter how many guys you get, Moons, you still can’t make Y/N come.”

“What are we, just going off the honors system here? I already don’t believe Sirius made someone squirt, you two want me to believe you if you just say you did it? Where’s the proof?” James questioned.

“Proof? What do you want us to do, suck her cum up in a syringe, you fucking weirdo?” Remus replied.

“No no, it’s a fair point,” Sirius chimed in, “I don’t believe half the shit you tell me anyway.”

“Ok, so what do you wanna do then? Fuck her at the same time?” Remus asked.

James and Sirius exchanged a long glance.

“You two aren’t serious.”

James and Sirius both shrugged.

“I’m not fucking her with you two idiots in the room ruining it,” Remus said.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Sirius said, “I’d only make it better. For her especially.”

“Would not.”

“Would too.”

“You think you’re such a fucking sex god-“

“It’s not a little weird to fuck the same girl at the same time? What are we gonna do, take turns?” James asked.

“She’s got three holes,” Sirius said.

“Okay, but the entire point of fucking her is to see who can actually make her come, idiot,” Remus said, “so obviously that doesn’t matter. I’m not sticking my dick somewhere that I’ll be able to feel one of yours, guys.”

“Why not?” James asked genuinely.

“Because, because-“

“Because, because, come on, Rem, it’s only weird if you make it weird. I’ve seen your dick before.”

“Me changing in front of you is not the same as us fucking someone at the same time.”

“The thought of watching her get railed by one of us doesn’t do anything for you?” James asked.

Remus blinked, unable to cohesively think of a rebuttal. “I mean.”

“Mhm,” Sirius nodded.

“Okay, so it’s agreed, we’re all gonna fuck her with the rest of us there so we have proof we aren’t lying, and we’re gonna see who can make her come,” James said.

“What if we can all make her come?” Remus asked.

“Then whoever does it first?” James tried.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, I mean what if she comes harder for one of us? Once she comes it’s gonna be too easy to make her come again. Like that’s not a good gage,” Sirius said.

“No no, we share space equitably. No one hogs any part of her. Whoever makes her come first, wins,” Remus said.

“Wins what, exactly?” Sirius said.

James shrugged. “Let’s let her decide.”

────── ☾ ──────

Your gaze diverted between the three boys in front of you, your book laying open in your lap as you adjusted your cross-legged position on the common room couch. “Are you joking?”

“Nope,” said Sirius.

You processed for a few moments. “Okay, and what exactly do you get if you make me come first?” you asked.

James dipped his head and smirked. “We were uh- we were actually gonna let you decide that one.”

You raised your brows. “You were, were you?”

“…Yeah.”

You nodded your head up and down, thinking and processing. “And you all just assumed I’d say yes?”

“Honestly I don’t think we ever got that far,” Remus admitted.

“Right, right,” you said, “right.”

“You can say no, you know,” Sirius said.

You turned toward him. “I know.”

“So are you saying no?” he asked.

“No,” you replied, quicker than you anticipated.

“Are you saying yes?” Sirius pressed.

You pondered Sirius’s question. “Can I have a day or two to think about it?”

“Of course, of course,” James said.

Luckily you had plans in Hogsmeade the next day, which gave you an opportunity to give the boys an answer.

When Dorcas and Mary left the Hog’s Head early to “work on some overdue assignments,” you were left alone with the boys.

“So I have an answer for you,” you said.

“Already?” Remus said.

“Yeah, already, jackass.”

“And?”

“I’m down.”

All three boys exchanged glances. “Yeah?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You said no strings, you guys are hot, and fuck if I don’t need a good orgasm. The boys around here don’t do it for me, as you well know.” You’d tipsily told them several times how none of the boys at school could make you come.

“And you think we can?”

“If you’re really gonna try this hard, I think at least one of you has a shot. With all the sex you have? Please. If one of you can’t make me come, no one can. It’s worth a shot, and three tries is better than one.”

“Oh, so you’re using us?” Sirius joked.

“Mm, only because you guys wanted to use me first,” you lightheartedly shot back.

“Fair enough,” Sirius surrendered.

The conversation quickly shifted when butterbeers and pumpkin juices arrived, and all attention turned toward drinking games and late-night escapades.

As you walked through the cool-breezed, darkened streets of Hogsmeade, you took note of the lack of people around. You were sure the boys didn't notice.

"Where are you going?" Remus asked, watching you drift toward an alleyway.

You made a come-hither motion at the boys as you stepped into the alleyway, scanning quickly for any sign of life and finding none.

"What are you-" you grabbed Remus's face, cutting him off with a kiss. Without a second thought, Remus's hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him on instinct.

Both you and Remus were experienced enough to turn the kiss into a heated exchange quickly. You bit his bottom lip, and in turn, he took the moment of disconnection to slip his tongue into your mouth.

He took steps forward, backing you up until your back collided with the outer brick siding of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. Remus pulled away, thinking he had slammed your body into the wall too hard, but you immediately pulled him back. His body had no choice but to respond immediately, his hand holding the side of your jaw in place as his lips traveled down to the side of your neck.

The gap of his face in front of yours allowed you time to open your eyes and see Sirius and James watching the exchange intently.

"Guess Remus is going first then?" you teased.

"No, no, that's not the arrangement," Sirius said, "we all said no hogging. We all get equal shots. Move the fuck over."

Sirius grabbed your throat and pulled you forward into a kiss, causing Remus to stumble to the side in defeat.

Remus gestured to James to do what was just done to him to Sirius, but James wasn't one to fight for attention. James was one to wait until he was wanted, and until you were begging from attention from him. He would wait his turn patiently.

"Heathens," he snickered, "let her breathe for 2 seconds, would ya?"

Sirius pulled away, but his hand remained on your throat. "I'm sorry, I don't see you winning right now, do I? Shut up and maybe you'll learn something."

He resumed kissing you, and his hand dropped from your throat, tracing down your body until it landed between your legs. He pulled away to look into your eyes. You gave him a "yes" nod to signal that you consented to his touches.

That was the moment Remus decided he was done standing there like an idiot.

He dropped to his knees directly beside Sirius, tracing his fingers tauntingly slowly up your thighs, aiming for under your house-colored skirt.

Sirius noticed his efforts, and their hands collided directly on your underwear.

Like petulant little boys, you felt Sirius smack Remus's hand away, then Remus's hand smack him back, and then Sirius pulled his hand out from under your shirt and smacked Remus on the side of the head.

"Ass," Remus said his body moving sideways, causing his hand to leave its place under your skirt, "what the fuck was that for?"

"No one said we have to play fair," Sirius replied, shoving his hand back under your skirt and cupping between your thighs.

You barely reacted apart from a small gasp.

"You really are a tough one, huh?" Sirius teased, his hand falling for a moment.

Smirking, you responded, "you wanna make me come? You're gonna have to put in the work. Unless you think you can't handle it? Too busy fucking girls and not women?"

"Working me up is only gonna make this more intense for you," Sirius taunted, "you're playing a dangerous game."

"Don't listen to him, he's a cocky fuck," James laughed from behind Sirius.

You shifted your hips and let out a small moan. Sirius thought his words were really working you up, until he looked down to see that Remus had not only snuck his way between your legs while you and Sirius were talking, but that his head disappeared under your skirt.

Sirius decided to let Remus do some of the hard work before he chimed back in to bring you to the edge, so he stepped back, crossing his arms and sighing as he stood next to James. "At least flip the skirt up for me, gorgeous."

You pulled your skirt up, bunching it up and tucking it into its own waistband, leaving Remus visible, and when he pulled away to breathe, your core as well.

Remus flicked his tongue over your clit, one hand on your hip hooking a thumb around the fabric of your underwear to keep it to the side. Your fingers intertwined into his soft curls, keeping him in place as he moved his tongue faster and faster.

"You're kinda good at this," you spoke breathily, earning a moan of acknowledgement, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.

James decided to step in, standing to your side and turning your face toward him to finally take his turn at a kiss. The kiss was slow and passionate, the intimacy of it making you even wetter for Remus between your legs. His glasses fogged up due to the heat radiating off of your body.

When James pulled away, he kept a hand under your chin to keep your eyes on him instead of Remus. Remus's unoccupied hand began to take over his tongue's spot, circling your clit as he moved his face further back, teasing your entrance.

You let out a moan, staring into James's eyes. James nodded when you made the noise. "Good girl, that feel good?"

"Mhm," you responded, moaning again.

Remus's tongue began to fuck into you, his hand still working your clit. You used your hand to press his face further into you, refusing to give up the pleasure. You so rarely were properly pleasured by men, since they were typically unfamiliar with how to actually work their way around a woman's body, but you had a feeling that at least one of these three had to know what they were doing. You hoped it would be all of them.

As far as who you wanted to win, well, you didn't really have a preference. Honestly, all of them were hot, and you would be happy coming for any of them. Of course, there was a little bit of stake in the game. They allowed you to pick the prize for whoever won. You hadn't told them yet, but the prize would be you. Consistent sex-capades with the one girl around who could truly do it for them? That's a prize in itself.

You knew they had a lot of sex. You knew they slept with a ton of people, but you also knew that they were usually the ones giving the pleasure, not receiving it. The prize? That would change.

"Fuck, Jamie," you moaned, still staring into his eyes as Remus ate you out.

Remus pulled away, his hand never stopping as he said, "that's not fucking fair, I'm the one doing the work down here. He didn't even earn his name."

"And you think you did?" James challenged.

"She's only moanin' cus of me," Remus shot back.

"Well, you clearly haven't made her come, and you've been down there long enough," James said, "my turn."

Remus had the same thought as Sirius, and opted to let James do some of the work as well.

He sighed and backed up, and James dropped to his knees.

Despite being on his knees, James gripped the back of your thighs, hoisting you up so that your thighs were resting on his shoulders. You squealed in surprise at his strength.

"You're strong," you said.

"You have no idea," he responded, gripping your ass and pushing you into his face, immediately beginning to move his tongue at a rapid pace, his head shaking back and forth from the speed.

"Oh fuck," you moaned, throwing your head back and knocking it against the brick, "fuck, just like that."

Sirius approached again, standing directly behind James an pushing his head further into you. He leaned over James and kissed you, swallowing to whimper that followed.

James refused to stop, eating you out like he was starving. Each time you made a noise that Sirius found hot, he pushed James's head harder into you. James didn't let out a single noise of protest.

You looked down and spotted Sirius's hand on James's head, forcing him to increase the pleasure his mouth was giving you, and it caused your core to flex.

"Fuck," you gasped, "oh my god, James, fuck."

"Earned his name, I see," Sirius teased, turning to Remus.

Remus pretended to act annoyed, but anyone could see his dick straining against his pants for dear life. Even if the name you moaned wasn't his, it was still hot nevertheless, and he knew it would be his name when he was the one making you come. He had no doubts. Why not let James and Sirius have a little fun first?

Part of the reason you were so hard to make come was that man didn't understand that just eating out or just penetration wasn't enough for you. These boys had no idea that as long as they remained kneeling between your legs, they were already way off.

It took ten minutes of James eating you out before he took a breath. "Fucking hell, are you close?"

You giggled. "I don't know, am I?"

Remus caught on. "You need to be fucked, huh?"

"Okay fuck you, she might actually be close," James said, but stood up anyways.

"Didn't you guys pick me because you knew it wouldn't be easy?" you asked.

James gripped your chin and pulled your face against his, trapping you in a heated kiss to remind you that he could, in fact, make you feel good.

“Up,” Remus said, snaking his arms around your thighs, prompting you to jump and wrap your legs around his hips.

You watched in the gap between your bodies as Remus pushed everything below the waist down, exposing his long, slender cock.

He gently pressed his forehead against yours, looking between your bodies as well as he lined himself up with your entrance. He waited a moment for you to revoke consent, but when you didn’t, he pushed himself into you.

You tilted your head back as he bottomed out, barely giving you any time to adjust before he started fucking you.

You locked your legs behind him, crossing your feet to keep you in place. He kept his hands under your thighs to hold you up as he fucked you, his lips trailing down to your jawline.

“Shit, Remus,” you moaned.

The use of his name only egged him on more, causing him to start fucking into you faster. “Good fucking girl, I can feel you squeezing me,” he whispered into your air.

You whined and whimpered as his cock pumped in out of you, and Remus was beginning to lose control.

You squirmed momentarily, and Remus grabbed your hand in his own, moving it over your head and pinning it against the brick wall. “Stay fucking still.”

You saw a window of opportunity, and arched your back. “Or what?” you breathily asked.

Remus nearly growled, immediately dropping your hand and wrapping his fingers around your throat. He snapped his hips harshly, not caring about the competition anymore, just caring about fucking you the hardest you’ve ever been fucked. His hand pressed your neck into the brick, rendering you unable to move your head. In tandem with deep thrusts, he repeated, “stay. Fucking. Still.”

You obeyed.

You opened your eyes and spotted James, who was covering half of his face with his hand, breathing deeply to maintain self control. The eye contact only added to your arousal, because James’s eyes were trained on you so intensely that you almost couldn’t handle it.

Your hands explored Remus’s body, feeling muscles on his arms that you couldn’t see in the light of day on his relatively skinny frame. You pawed at his hips, involuntarily trying to push each thrust even further into you.

Sirius approached you two, his cock in hand as he gently stroked himself. “Let her off the wall.”

Remus, sweaty and losing breath, removed his lips from sucking your jawline to look at Sirius. “I’m fucking occupied.”

“Let her off the wall,” Sirius repeated, “I didn’t say you had to stop fucking her.”

Remus dipped his head into the crook of your neck. “I fucking hate you,” he said, directed as Sirius, but he remembered the terms he agreed to, and knew he was hogging you. So he moved his hands to your thighs again, and stepped backward from the building, his cock still in you.

The shifting of his hips as he moved was causing stimulation without Remus even trying.

Remus turned so that your back was to Sirius, and he resumed fucking you, slower this time. His arms moved you slightly up and down to aid in his thrusts, his hips moving the best he could without you pressed against the wall.

Sirius pressed your back against his chest, his head dipping into the crook of your neck as he began to kiss your shoulder, your neck, and your jawline, until he turned your head sideways and kissed you.

You allowed your body to fall into him, Remus’s thrusts causing you to jerk upward every few seconds. Sirius fought to hold your head against his, but honestly you moving due to getting fucked only made him harder.

“You ever done this back here before?” Sirius whispered to you.

“Mhm,” you responded, barely able to speak from how hard Remus was thrusting into you.

Sirius spit into his hand and rubbed it up and down his cock, preparing himself.

“Stop for a second,” Sirius told Remus.

“Fuck no,” Remus said, lost in pleasure.

“Stop for a second or this could hurt her, dumbass,” Sirius clarified.

Remus stopped thrusting and pressed his forehead to your collarbone, catching his breath for a second and trying to stay still until he could resume movement.

Sirius lined himself up, wrapping one hand around your stomach, and using the other hand to hold your ass up as he slowly pushed himself into your ass.

You leaned your head back onto his shoulder, allowing him to take his time stretching you.

“Would you fucking hurry up?” Remus snapped, clearly annoyed.

“You can wait 10 more seconds,” Sirius replied, trying to focus on restraint.

“Shouldn’t have to, selfish fuck.”

“I’m selfish? Who just stood here fucking her without me or James getting-“

“Just fucking get to it,” Remus was losing control by the second.

“That’s what I’m doing, thank you very much.”

“It’s just like you to be cocky while you’re literally sticking your dick in-“

“Well maybe if you stopped fucking distracting me then I-“

“Would you two please shut up and fuck me?” you chimed in.

Sirius was finally bottomed out, and he tested the waters by thrusting only an inch or two at a time. Once he started a normal pace, Remus began his own relentless pace again, barely even acknowledging that Sirius was there.

When Remus thrusted in, jerking you backward, Sirius would take the opportunity to thrust forward as well, the two boys not having to move a ton because you were being tossed between their cocks, the movements giving you makeshift thrusts.

“James,” you said.

He perked up, somewhat shocked that you said his name while sandwiched between his two best friends.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to touch me,” you said.

Remus and Sirius both looked up to acknowledge what was happening, but ended up looking up directly at each other.

They stayed watching each other for a moment, their breaths staggered and their faces glistening from sweat.

Sirius reached past you and grabbed the back of Remus’s head, pulling him in.

Sirius and Remus’s lips collided directly next to you, and the sight of them kissing as they both fucked you almost did you in.

Almost. James approached your other side, not daring to interrupt the hotness of the kiss, and he placed his own soft kiss on your temple.

“You want me to touch you?” he teased.

“Please, Jamie,” you were not above pleading to get what you want.

James ran his hand down your body, which was still bouncing up and down, slowly dragging between your breast area and down your stomach. He stilled just under your skirt’s waistband.

“Ask me for it again,” James said.

“Please touch me, James, I need it so bad.”

His hand moved lower.

“How bad? You need me to make you come?”

“I need it, I wanna come, please Jamie, please.”

“Atta girl,” he said.

He kissed you as he began circling your clit with his finger. You moaned into the kiss, garnering the attention of Sirius and Remus, who breathily pulled away from one another to watch your body react to now being touched.

You leaned back against Sirius, your moans escalating in both frequency and volume.

“Oh m- fuck, I’m gonna come,” you moaned.

Sirius and Remus both began to fuck you harder, but you stopped them quickly.

“No, no, do what you were doing,” you said, “don’t escalate. Fuck me like you were.”

The boys both resumed their previous pace, and you felt the knot begin to form in your stomach.

James applied a slight bit more pressure to your clit, and you knew you were in for it.

“I’m coming, I-“

You came hard, your wetness completely coating Remus’s cock as your orgasm washed over you. It was so intense, likely from your body not being used to men making you come like this, that your legs started to shake. You would have fallen if it weren’t for two boys holding you between them.

James gradually slowed his hand down, kissing you through the orgasm to help calm you down.

Remus couldn’t help himself but join you. He hit your cervix with three brutal thrusts as he allowed himself to come, his head resting on your shoulder as he took a breath.

After you and Remus had calmed down, Sirius pulled out of you, allowing Remus to place you down. You stayed clinging onto Remus, not convinced that your legs would work after being hoisted up for so long.

Sirius had already taken a step back to finish himself off, roaring lowly as he came and painted a brick on the wall white.

That left James, who looked completely pleased and content.

“You didn’t-“

“Oh, I did,” James said, looking down.

You spotted the wet patch between his legs, and realized that James came without any stimulation of his own, but just from watching all of you and doing to you what he did.

Remus finally pulled out of you, stepping back from you and running his fingers through his hair. “Fuck.”

After a few minutes of everyone resetting and catching their breath, it was Sirius who finally asked, “so? Who won?”

“Clearly me,” James said, “she asked me to touch her, and that’s what did her in.”

“I’m sorry, whose cock was hitting her g-spot?” Remus smiled.

“It was the DP that did it, obviously, idiots,” Sirius defended himself.

They all turned to you.

“Tie.”

“No no no, it’s not a fucking tie,” Sirius said, walking back over to you, “which one of us did it for you? You have to pick one.”

“No I don’t,” you shrugged.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t, Sirius,” you said, “I’m allowed to decide it’s a tie. I’m not in your little competition, I don’t have to follow any rules. It’s a tie.”

“But-“

“You were all fucking me at the same time, what did you expect?”

“So- so who gets whatever the winner gets, then?” James asked.

“All of you, I guess.”

“Yeah? And what do we all get?” Remus asked.

“Well, you all just came, so I guess you gotta wait,” you responded.

James raised his brows. “The prize is a blowjob? From you?”

“Yeah,” you said, “as many as you want, whatever you want with me, whenever you want, yeah.”

Remus smirked. Sirius chuckled and smiled wide, and James was still in disbelief.

“I haven’t come that hard in months,” Remus said.

————————————————————————

Bradley's palm curves around your hip and gives it a squeeze before he steps away from the bar. He dips his head down as he does so to accommodate for the noise level of the room, his nose brushing your hair. "Well I better be off. I'll see you later, darlin'. Tell your mama I said hi."

The gesture is friendly and innocent. Habitual in the way a friend would reach out to another. You don't think twice about it.

You smile warmly up at him, leaning into him before he takes his leave. "I will, Bradley. Drive safe."

No sooner than he's gone, his empty spot is replaced at the bar top.

"Why's he call you darlin'?"

Jake's voice makes your heart drop in your chest.

His palms are braced on either side of you against the bar top as he leans down over you. You couldn't escape if you wanted to. Instead you turn in your seat to face him, your eyes already narrowed back indignantly at his accusing ones. You cross your arms in front of your chest without even thinking about it.

"Jacob."

Your once warm smile is replaced by something more straight faced and cold. No one would guess that your heart rate has just picked up tenfold.

"Matter a' fact, how's he know your mama?"

There's a snarl no-so-hidden in his cowboy pretty grin. Something biting and mean and—jealous.

Bingo.

"You know he's just a friend," you answer flippantly, already turning your stool back around.

Jake catches it before you make it very far, jerking it back around so that you're facing him once again. Now you're almost nose to nose, and you can see every shade of green in his eyes.

"Is that what you wanna call it?" Jake asks, sounding like his feathers are more than just ruffled. His tone is a bit cocky, a bit pissed.

Your relationship with Jake is complicated to say the least. The two of you have been on and off again for months now with no end in sight. You fight, you break up, you get back together, and then you just end up doing it all over again. And even when you're broken up, you're not really broken up. You're still his drunk call at 2am, and when you dress up for a night out, making him jealous is always on the forefront of your mind.

Really, Bradley is just a friend. He was just a friend. A familiar face that you're comfortable enough to run to when you don't know what else to do. Comfortable enough that you may or may not have made out with a few times.

Okay so you really don't know what Bradley is. Just that he's nice, warm in ways that Jake isn't.

He was there when Jake wasn't.

"I'm not calling it anything because it's nothing," you insist. "You're being crazy."

And that really pushes his buttons.

He tisks, blowing air through his teeth in exasperation. "Crazy," he repeats, shaking his head as if the word itself has offended him. "No, what's crazy is that there are rumors going around this town that my girl is going out pretending to be someone else's."

You bite your tongue but don't say anything. You hope he doesn't catch onto the nervous way you swallow.

"Not so crazy now, huh, darlin'? "

You don't respond to his accusation but you don't deny it either. Jake knows you're playing him.

Instead you try to steer back the conversation. "Last time I checked, I wasn't your girl."

Last time you checked, the two of you were freshly broken up and Jake was half way across the country. If you're being honest, you can't even remember the reason the two of you broke up. You probably didn't even know what the reason was at the time. The two of you do so much screaming that it gets hard to tell.

Jake fixes you with a look. "We both know damn well you're always going to be my girl."

Oh.

Now is probably a bad time to finally note how good he looks. His face is fuller than the last time you saw him, healthier and flushed with color. There's a hint of a five o'clock shadow that he doesn't usually allow to grow and his eyes are brighter. His body is fuller too, the strong build of his chest practically strains against his white t-shirt.

"So what's ole boy got that I don't? What's he do that I don't? Because baby, last time I checked, you liked being railed in the back of my Chevy."

Immediately your face flashes red. Not only because there are plenty enough people around to hear him—and did hear him—but because the memory is too engrained in your mind to forget.

You're off of the stool and dragging him towards the closest door in seconds. You pass Natasha in the process, and you know you'll be hearing about this later. Her sharp gaze doesn't miss anything. The swinging door of the ladies room rattles as it closes behind you.

Jake smirks when you let him go. "Oh sorry. Am I only allowed to say that when the door's closed?"

He's definitely not sorry.

You jab a finger into his chest, hard, and you revel in the satisfaction that comes with his huff of surprise. "Look, I know we keep trying and trying, but we don't work. I mean it when I say I've moved on, Jake, and it's about time you do too. So go bitch about your broken heart somewhere else."

Jakes grabs ahold of your elbow before you can turn away and yanks you close to him. His grip on your arm is tight enough to bruise. Rather than fight him, because you know it would be useless, you glower, breathing heavily through your nose. At nearly half a foot taller than you are, Jake seemingly towers over you. The pissed off look in his eyes makes them an even harsher green; a green that has held you captive since the day you met.

"Since when do you go around telling our friends that I'm 'trash' ?"

For a moment he has you, and you stop actively trying to tug your arm away. Your eyes lock in a stand still with his. His green eyes challenge you with quiet intensity, daring you to own up to all of your smack talk.

"That I'm just a fuckboy, right?' He presses.

You couldn't deny that there had been multiple occasions when one too many beers got your mouth moving and the Dagger Squad was on the receiving end. Phoenix and Coyote specifically. Phoenix knew when to keep her mouth shut.

Coyote on the other hand... Really, you should know better than the mouth off to Jake's best friend. 

It's no use trying to deny it.

"Let go. We're not fighting over this," you growl, snapping your eyes out of the trance he'd locked you in, trying to pull your elbow away from him.

Instead of releasing you, he pulls your body closer as he walks you backwards so that you're chest to chest and pressed against the bathroom wall. You can feel his heart thumping hard against his ribs.

"But that's all you ever wanna to do, isn't it? All you ever want to do is fight." His hand that is holding your hip to his own slides down to grip the back of your thigh and hikes your leg up around his side, putting your center directly in contact with the bugle in his jeans. Reflexively, your hips rut up into him. He chuckles, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Oh, that's what you wanted, huh?"

You're about to snap at him, tell him you're not some whore that he can just fuck the attitude out of, but then he leans down and licks a trail from the juncture of your neck all the way up to your ear. The hot heat of his mouth sends the warm leak of arousal straight to your core.

Your fingers fist into his now wrinkled t-shirt, doing your best to shove him away. To his credit, he draws away just slightly. Jake is man enough to give you some space.

"Let go, Jacob."

"C'mon," he invites—challenges, the corner of his mouth twisting up into a rueful smile. "For old times sake."

You press your knee up into his crotch and feel how hard this interaction has made him. "You think I'm in love with you, Seresin?"

"Yeah, actually. I think you're pretty obsessed with me." His smirk is relaxed and cocky. Too cocky for someone who has been MIA for six months.

You growl and lean into his face, taking it upon yourself to undo the distance you'd created earlier. "I don't even fucking like you. You're nothing to me. You're a nobody."

To his credit, Jake doesn't seem bothered by your harsh rebuke. If anything, it spurs him on. Because it means to some degree, you still care.

That's the thing about Jake. It doesn't matter how pissed off he makes you, how much of a jerk he is, how much you tear him apart in front of your friends for the hell that he's put you through, you will always hold something for him. Hatred maybe, but as long as there's still a little bit of a spark, you're always going to let him back in.

"Then why're you still here?" He urges.

He's right.

You could leave. You could shove him away like you mean it and walk right out of the bar, call Bradley to pick you up in an instant. He wouldn't stop you. You wouldn't hear from him for another six months and then someway, somehow, you'd end right back up in this situation.

"I hope you brought a condom," you respond instead.

Jake scoffs, leaning in closer to you. "Why? We both know you like it raw, baby."

"I don't know where your dick has been," you retort. And before he can open his mouth, you continue, "Lord knows you didn't go six months without getting it wet."

Instead of replying, Jake hikes your knee up further over his hip, bunching your dress up further over your hips. "How about instead of insulting me, you spread your legs and let me get to work?"

It's not a suggestion because before you can open your mouth, his fingers are pushing aside your panties and sliding right against your clit. Your hips jerk at the brief sensation but Jake wastes no time getting to the point.

You bristle involuntarily when his fingers abruptly enter you. His middle and index finger slide right into your weeping cunt without resistance, forcing apart your silky walls. You don't mean to whimper but it's been so long since someone's touched you like Jake has.

"All that fuss and you're dripping," Jake huffs. "I've barely even touched you."

A snarling thought forms in your mind at his cockiness but nothing comes out except another breathy gasp. His fingers slide all the way in, down to the second knuckle, and your walls clench around him. His hands are big and all you can think about is how much bigger his cock is.

"She ain't got much to say now, does she?" Jake purrs. You can feel the tips of his fingers rubbing along your walls. "I think you missed me."

Your pussy clenches around his fingers in response and he chuckles before pressing them further inside. "Fuckin' sucking me in," he huffs, and you can feel the ridges of his knuckles slide against the slick walls of your cunt as he allows your spasming muscles to pull him in.

His thumb finds your throbbing clit and finally, you find your voice. "Jake— Jake, I'm gonna come," you say breathlessly, the fist that you'd had balled in his shirt moving to push his hand away. "Please, I can't—"

Without warning, Jake hikes your knee up further around his waist and presses his thumb firmer against your clit. The sudden onrush of stimulation almost makes you cry.

"You're almost there, baby. I can feel you squeezing me. Just let me make you feel good," he encourages, refusing to let up despite your pleas.

When your hips involuntarily buck up, Jake holds you in place, and all you can do is let him as your head falls back against the wall. His two fingers curl inside of you and that's all it takes. Molten fire shoots through your belly and electrifies your spine.

The orgasm lasts what seems like forever. Your body is flushed and tingling and entirely over stimulated. "Okay, okay, Jake please," you whine breathlessly. You have to forcibly push him away so that you can recover from the aftershocks without being drawn into another orgasm.

Your pussy spasms as Jake slowly removes his fingers, his other hand still supporting your now limp body against him. You flinch at the over stimulation as his thumb gives one last swipe over your clit before he removes his hand.

And then, without his green eyes leaving yours, he draws his two fingers up to his mouth and sucks. They glisten against the wet press of his mouth, and his throat bobs as he swallows.

You're not sure if it's you breathing heavy or him, but the level of arousal in the room is audible. You feel something drip inside of you. Literally.

At your evident fixation, Jake pulls his fingers from his mouth and smiles. His prefect pretty boy smile is devilish. He leans in close and his smile twists into a smirk.

"I'll see you around, darlin'."

And then he's gone, pressing through the bathroom door and leaving it swinging behind him as if he's got no shame in being caught. The retreating click of his boots echos on the hard wood floor of the Hard Deck as he walks away.

A hand catches the door just as it stops swinging. "You did not," Phoenix hisses, and it's more of an incredulous statement than a question.

Instead of answering her, you cross your arms, as if the action will collect some of your lost dignity. "You knew he was back in town?"

It's her turn not to answer you. You cock an eyebrow. Finally, she sighs exasperatedly. "He asked me if you were seeing anyone."

"Of course he did," you mutter, leaning over the sink to look into the mirror and try to swipe away your smudged lipstick. The adrenaline running through you is starting to fade into that familiar, frustrated ache.

"Please tell me you didn't say anything about Bradley."

Phoenix leans against the doorframe, watching you pull yourself together with that analytical gaze that makes her such a good pilot. Her gaze isn't judgmental—just tired.

"I told him you were busy. I told him you were seeing someone else—which you were, until ten minutes ago," she emphasizes. "But you know Jake. Tell him he's not cleared for landing, and he just takes it as a challenge to clear the runway himself."

You turn around and lean back against the cool tile of the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. "How long is he in town?"

Phoenix looks away.

"No," you breathe.

"Orders came through last week," Phoenix confesses quietly. "And he's not just passing through this time. He's stationed here at Miramar for the foreseeable future."

The air in the bathroom suddenly feels thin, like you've just shot up 14,000 feet. You've spent six months building a life that didn't involve constantly looking over your shoulder or waiting for midnight phone calls.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to ward off your sudden impending migraine and also physically shut out Phoenix's words.

"Of course he is. It's not like he has anything better to do than move across the country to come and fuck up my life," you mutter, more to yourself than anyone.

Phoenix sighs, shifting so that she's leaning against the bathroom sink, facing you. She crosses her arms, her shoulders sagging just a little. The dim overhead lights of the bar bathroom hum above her, casting a shadow across her troubled face.

"Look, I didn't tell him about Bradley to start a dogfight. I told him because I thought that it would actually make him back off for once. Give you some breathing room."

You let out a humorless, miserable laugh and drop your hands from your face. "When has Jake Seresin ever seen a full flight pattern and backed off? It's like an open invitation to him."

You look at your wrinkled dress in the mirror and can still feel where his hands were on your hips, tight enough to bruise. Your skin feels sticky with sweat and filthy from the tiles of the bathroom wall. And worst of all, the deep, throbbing ache between your thighs is a humiliating reminder of how effortlessly he dismantled six months worth of personal growth within just five minutes.

Phoenix must be able to read the look on your face because she removes herself from the sink and walks over, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "I'm not judging you for whatever happened. I know Jake. I know you two loved each other at some point. I know it's not easy," she reassures you gently. "But I also know that somewhere out there is a guy who would drop everything in an instant to come and get you."

Bradley.

Bradley, who had so sweetly inserted himself into your life when you needed him and never left. Bradley, who kissed you softly and then tickled you with his mustache until your chest ached from laughing. Bradley, who only left the bar after you'd reassured him repeatedly that you were gonna be okay without him.

You needed to call Bradley.

You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. "Gosh, Nat. He's probably halfway down the highway by now."

Phoenix doesn't budge. "It doesn't matter. He'll come get you. Just call him."

After a moment of hesitation, you nod and retrieve your phone from your purse. You scroll through your contacts until you find Bradley's name in your call history. 

Brad <3                             (incoming call) 4:13 pm

As your thumb hovers over his name, Phoenix steps away to give you some space. "I'll walk out first and make sure Jake is distracted. Just stay in the bathroom until Bradley gets here. Try not to let him see you leave."

As Phoenix slips out of the door, you press the call button and lift the phone to you ear listening to the steady, rhythmic ringing as the call goes through. Every second feels like and eternity, like at any moment, Jake will walk right back in and catch you red handed.

On the fourth ring, the line clicks open.

"Hey, there, pretty girl," Bradley's voice crackles through the speaker, sounding relaxed and steady. The engine of his Bronco rumbles steadily in the background. "Everything okay? I just got onto the main road."

The sound of his voice—safe and familiar, completely unaware of the disaster that just unfolded in the bathroom—makes a lump form in your throat.

"Hey, Bradley," you start, doing your best to keep your voice from crackling. Your nose is doing that thing where it starts to burn and your eyes are prickling with unshed tears. "Yeah, um, just a change of plans... Are you... can you turn around and come get me?"

There's a brief pause on the line, the heavy hum of his truck's engine the only sound filling the silence before he speaks again.

"Turn around?" he asks, his tone shifting from relaxed to alert. "Yeah, baby, of course I can. But, hey—are you sure you're okay? You sound like you're about to cry."

Bradley knows you. He knows the exact pitch of your voice when you're stressed or trying to hide something.

"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine," you lie, pacing around the small bathroom with your phone pressed to your ear so that you can hear him clearly over the background noise.  "It's just... The bar got really crowded and there's a lot of people, and I just... I really want to go home now."

"Did something happen?" Bradley's voice has dropped into a tone that says he's on edge and is about to come flying back down the road if you don't convince him that you're okay within the next ten seconds. "Are you safe?"

"Bradley, listen to me. I'm safe, I promise," you say quickly, raising your voice so that it sounds more confident than you feel. The last thing you need is for him to come storming into the Hard Deck looking for a fight. "Nothing happened. I just really want to go home."

You hear the distinct rhythmic click of his turn signal and the aggressive crunch of his tires as he does what you can assume to be a U-turn in the middle of the highway.

"Alright. I'm turning back now," Bradley says, his voice firm and grounding. "I'll be there in five minutes. Make Phoenix or one of the guys wait with you, okay? Don't stay by yourself."

"Okay," you answer softly, some of the tension finally leaving your body. "Thanks, Bradley."

"Don't worry about it, pretty girl. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Okay, bye."

The line clicks dead and you lower the phone from your ear, taking a deep breath as you do so. Bradley's coming, but the hard part isn't over yet. You have about three minutes to figure out how to get past Jake and out of the bar before Bradley decides to come get you himself.

You take another deep breath and push open the bathroom door. 

Immediately, you spot Phoenix just a few feet away. She's at a table with Bob and a couple of the other guys, looking engaged in a conversation, but every so often, she looks back over at the bathroom door.

When her eyes lock with yours, she subtly nods her head over to the other side of the bar.

Jake is exactly where you hoped he wouldn't be.

He's perched leaning with one arm on top of the jukebox and beer in his other hand. Coyote and Omaha are standing there beside him, talking loudly, animatedly retelling some sort of story. Jake laughs, his perfect white teeth flashing in a cowboy pretty smile. He looks completely unbothered and totally immersed in the conversation. 

But the second you step into his line of sight, his head turns. Those piercing green eyes lock onto you and hold your gaze. He tracks your movement through the bar with a predatory stare. 

You look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he's completely unmoored you, and make a beeline for the front doors of the bar.

Head up. Eyes straight. Keep moving.

As you pass the jukebox, you can feel Jake's eyes burning holes into the side of your face. You almost make it past him, when his slow, southern drawl cuts through the room.

"Gonna leave without saying goodbye, darlin'?"

You stop, your heart pounding out of your chest. Ignoring him in front of the Dagger Squad will only make this whole thing look worse. Slowly, you turn around to face him.

"I'm tired. I just want to go home, Jake."

Jake chuckles, stepping away from his jukebox kingdom. His white t-shirt hugs his swollen biceps as he walks towards you. He looks you straight in the face and smiles. He's dangerously handsome and he knows it.

"Is that right?" he asks, his voice sounding innocently curious. "That's funny. You didn't seem all that tired a few minutes ago. You actually seemed pretty awake to me."

Your face burns, but before you can snap back, the sound of a truck parking just outside draws your attention. Through the open windows of the bar, you see Bradley's blue Bronco park right out front. 

Jake's eyes flicker to the window at the same time that yours down. The amused, dangerous smile on his face falters just a fraction. He looks back at you.

"Well, look at that. Your ride's here."

"Yeah," you say, already turning for the door, feeling relief flash through you. "He is. See you around, Jake."

You don't wait to see if he follows you. You turn on your heels and push through the heavy front doors, the cool night air hitting your face like a breath of fresh air. 

Bradley's truck is idling, the blue Bronco sitting right out front. Through the windshield, you can see Bradley sitting in the driver's seat, his hands tapping impatiently against the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the front exit anxiously. The moment he sees you, the tension in his shoulders visibly drops.

You pull the passenger door open and climb inside. The cool blast of the air conditioner is a stark contrast the the sweaty atmosphere of the bar. You shut the door quickly, cutting off the noise of the bar entirely. 

Bradley immediately reaches over to take your jacket, his eyes searching your face. He reaches out, his large, gentle hand catching your chin, turning your face so that he can get a good look at you.

"Hey, hey," Bradley says softly, his brow furrowed with concern. "You're all frantic. What's going on?"

"Nothing, I—" but before you can even get the words out, Jake Seresin waltzes out of the front doors of the Hard Deck, his cowboy boots clicking as he walks. He's got that look on his face. The one that says he's looking for trouble.

Bradley is jumping out of the drivers seat before you can even think to stop him. 

You yelp.

"Bradley, please—" you lunge for his arm across the console but he's quicker, and you only weakly manage to catch the edge of his t-shirt before he's storming out of the car.

You scramble out of the passenger seat, your hands clawing at the handle of the passenger door faster than you knew you were capable of moving. 

Bradley, however, is quicker. He meets Jake halfway under the dim glow of the bar's porch lights, effectively cutting off Jake's path to the truck.

“Fuck off, Seresin," Bradley growls, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register than you've never heard from him. His board shoulders are squared, his feet planted firmly in the gravel.

Jake stops where he is, but he doesn't step back. He just stops a few inches from Bradley, capitalizing on the few inches he has on the brunette aviator. You can see him thinking, as he sucks his tongue to the front of his teeth and cocks his head.

"Relax, Bradshaw," Jake drawls, voice dripping with a sickening amount of southern sweetness and effortless confidence. He tilts his head towards the Bronco, his pretty green eyes flashing in malicious amusement. "Just coming out to make sure my girl gets home safe. Didn't know she called a taxi."

"Your girl?" Bradley asks, his tone incredulous. "You go AWOL for six months and then decide that you're just going to inject yourself back into her life? I'll tell you something, Bagman. You're good but you're sure as hell not that good." 

Jake lets out a sharp, amused laugh. His eyes are sharp and cold. He leans in as his voice drops low. "Oh I think I am that good, Rooster. But don't take it from me. Why don't you ask her."

Jake straightens and turns his glinting green eyes to you. "Darlin'," he drawls. "Why don't you tell Bradshaw here just how good I am? Or should I?"

Bradley's entire body goes rigid. His jaw clenches so tight that you see the muscles jump in his neck. Your heart drops.

"Shut up, Jake."

 The disgusting implication lands exactly where Jake intendeds it to.

"You keep your fucking hands off of her," Bradley seethes, his voice sounding unsteady for the first time tonight. He steps so close into Jake's space that they can probably feel each other's breath on their faces.

"Am I lying, baby?" Jake asks, his dripping a confidence that says he knows you won't say otherwise. He tilts his head, his green eyes daring you to look Bradley in the eye and deny it. "Go ahead. Tell him how good I felt."

You're crying at this point, hot tears rolling down your face. "Jake, stop it!" you beg, you voice cracking as you say it.

Bradley finally turns his head towards you. The look on his face breaks your heart. 

His brown eyes, usually so warm and steady, are searching yours with a quiet, desperate plea. He's begging you to deny it. To lie. He doesn't care if you lie at this point. Just don't tell him it's true.

"You know, Phoenix told me you were seeing someone," Jake continues, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "She conveniently forgot to mention it was Bradshaw. But hey, I get it. Old habits die hard, don't they."

With a low, animalistic growl, Bradley reaches his breaking point.

He lunges, his right fist coming into contact with Jake's jaw with a sickening crack. The sheer force of the blow sends Jake stumbling backwards. The only reason he doesn't fall to the ground is because he stumbles, catching himself on the porch railing just in time.

"Bradley! Stop it!!" you shout, rushing after him as he advances towards Jake. 

Jake is on his feet by the time Bradley reaches him, and he doesn't waste the opportunity. The moment Bradley is within range, Jake swings. Bradley sees it coming soon enough to at least brace himself. The blow clips the edge of his jaw, hard, but if anything, it only makes him angrier. He lunges again. This time, the punches don't stop.

"Jake!!" you shout, and this time your frantic voice is enough to send the front doors of the Hard Deck flying open.  

“Hey! Hey! Hey!" Coyote exclaims, as he takes in the scene unfolding before him. "That's enough!!" he shouts. Payback, Fanboy, and Phoenix are right on his heels, racing down the steps to break up the brawl.

Bradley has successfully pinned Jake against the side of the Bronco, his forearm pressed hard against Jake's throat as he draws his fist back to swing again. Bradley's face is contorted into a look of pure, unrestrained fury. Jake's face is red and bloody, but he's still looking at Bradley with a malicious glare in his eyes.

Before Bradley's fist can land, Fanboy and Payback are yanking him off of Jake. It takes both of them, but somehow they manage to move Bradley's massive frame. Bradley fights against their grip, his boots digging into the gravel as he thrashes, still spitting insults. 

"Don't you ever fucking touch her again!!" Bradley roars, his voice raw. "You hear me?! I'll fucking kill you!!"

Coyote helps Jake to his feet, shaking off the other pilot despite his insistent protests. "I'm cool, man. I'm cool."

Jake leans over and spilts a glob of blood into the gravel. Despite the dark purple bruise already forming where Bradley first hit him and the blood and dirt covering his clothes, Jake looks over at Bradley and smirks.

"I hope you got all that out of your system, Bradshaw. Because I'm not fucking going anywhere," Jake says, and his voice carries out across the parking lot. "I'll see you in the air tomorrow."

And then with the press of Coyote's urging hand on his shoulder, he turns and walks back into the bar, using his hand to wipe the blood from his face as he goes. 

Jake doesn't look back as the heavy wooden doors of the Hard Deck close behind him, leaving nothing behind him but the tense, heavy silence of the parking lot.

"Get out of here, Rooster," Payback says quietly, finally letting go of his grip on Bradley's arm. Bradley just stand there for a moment, his chest still heaving. All the fight has left his shoulders, and now he just stands there in the parking lot looking utterly broken.

Without a word, Bradley, turns on his heels and walks straight back to the Bronco. He doesn't wait for you. He just climbs into the driver's seat and slams the door shut so hard that the entire frame rattles. 

You stand in the gravel of the parking lot, completely frozen. 

Phoenix appears at your side. "Go home," she states sternly. "Get in the car. No matter now mad he is, he'll take you home."

You swallow, and then softly you nod. "Okay, I'll call you when I get home."

Slowly, you walk towards the car and get in.

Bradley starts puts the car into reverse and pulls out of the parking lot without a word. He's still breathing heavy, his eyes fixed dead ahead as he pulls out onto the road.

There's blood all over him. His knuckles are split and theres a mixture of his own and Jake's blood drying on his hands. His bottom lip is also split and bleeding, the crimson red color smeared across his face. The cut made by Jake’s academy ring on his eyebrow is the most worrying. It's open and actively bleeding, dripping down his face and onto his ruined t-shirt. 

He doesn't speak for a long time. The anger that was keeping his shoulders tensed earlier is back, as well as the agonizing silence of the parking lot.

"Bradley..."

He doesn't respond to the sound of his name. He doesn't want to listen to you explain yourself right now. 

But Bradley isn't stupid. And above all else, Bradley knows Jake Seresin.

Scott is your best friend, your partner-in-crime. The two of you have been glued to each other’s sides for as long as you can remember. He’s a few years older than you and you grew up chasing after his footsteps, and he never seemed to mind. You never curbed that habit.

Not when you ended up graduating from the same university, with a major that complemented his future career. Not when you recruited for StormPAR because he was leading investor relations there. Not when you decided to pack up your life and move to the midwest to chase tornadoes.

In the first week of your three-month research project for the new sensors, you and Scott had a little too much to drink. One kiss led to another and suddenly you’re falling into bed with him. 

Scott hesitates initially, his words about how relationships and women are a pain echo in your mind — so you find yourself blurting out we can keep this simple, no strings. 

He only grunts in agreement before he slides into you. His mouth is hot, distracting, and the unsaid agreement is signed with the burning ache between your legs. 

So you buried your feelings, swallowed your ego, and took what he could give you. 

Because, for Scott, you’ll eat the crumbs if it means you get to keep the taste of him on your tongue. 

It should be fine — this arrangement. You get him and he gets company every night, particularly when you’re in the middle of nowhere surrounded by crazy weather fanatics. Theoretically, it should be fine.

But you never expected the addition of a new variable — Kate. 

Kate is… perfect. She’s gorgeous, sweet, and terribly smart. Within days of joining the team, she’s leading them to the greatest tornadoes, giving them the opportunity to collect prime data they’ve never been able to capture. She’s quick as a whip and she seems to get along with everyone — whether it’s the prissy, uptight StormPAR guys or the wild, free-flying tornado enthusiasts.

Once again, it should be fine, except you’ve never seen Scott so bothered by someone. She’s different, you can see it. The way he watches her, frowns at her. He calls her dandelion. You’ve always only had your name, he’s never had a cute pet name for you. You can’t help but wonder what he thinks about when he sees her.

If she is what he sees now when he fucks you. Even when you’re in bed with him, his mind is sometimes far away. He absentmindedly traces your bare shoulder, keeping you close even if his attention seems elsewhere.

You can’t watch him be silently enamored with someone else so you start leaving at the end of the night.

He doesn’t stop you.

One day, when your friend tells you about an opening for a data analyst position, you entertain it — even if it means you have to move to New York.

Because, while you love Scott, you also can’t bear to watch him fall for someone who isn’t you.

As you’re leaving his room one night, he finally stops you. He’s still naked in his bed, sheets pooled around his hips, as he catches your hand. The look on his face is indifferent when he asks you why you don’t stay; he is asking out of curiosity, not out of desire.

You’re shrugging on your shirt, back turned towards him. “I have to get up early tomorrow. I’ve got an interview.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have revealed that, but you’re exhausted and the honest answer slips.

“An interview? With who? For what?” He sounds more alert now.

“Just a job.”

“You’ve already got a job,” Scott presses, forcing you to face him with a tug of his hand. His brows are furrowed.

“I don’t know. I might want to try something different.”

He blinks at you for a moment, gears turning in his mind. “Something different,” he echoes slowly.

“It’s not a big deal,” you brush him off, “I don’t even know if I’ll get it. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Scott, again, doesn’t say a word.

It seems so… easy for him to let you go. You know it isn’t on him to love you the same way you do him; that’s not a fair ask. But you also have enough pride to know when to take a step back.

Creating physical distance is not the challenging part; it’s dealing with the emotional toll. Every time you have to avoid your silently-designated spot next to him at bars or how you opt to take Javy’s car instead of his, a piece of your frail heart chips away. You don’t come over uninvited anymore, instead sliding under your own covers for the first time in weeks.

Scott’s not a fool. Of course, he notices but he still doesn’t say anything.

On the other hand, he actually starts talking more with Kate, private chats in the corner of a bar or early mornings over coffee. Sometimes his gaze would flick over to you, harden, and ultimately return to her. That used to be you, but you left that space empty for someone else to fill.

Then you finally get the call.

“I got the job,” you tell him quietly that night.

You told yourself this would be the last time. One last night with him before — for the first time in your life — you allow your paths to diverge. Scott in Oklahoma, you in New York.

The two of you are side by side in bed, you’ve slipped on his t-shirt, drowning in the cotton and his familiar storm-stained scent. You allow yourself to indulge in your last night.

Scott doesn’t look at you, his eyes zeroed in on the blank television screen of the crappy motel room. “Do you want it?”

No, no, you don’t. You want to stay here — with him and the rest of the team. But this is also a great opportunity, both for your career and the survival of your heart. “I think so.”

He whips around to face you, eyes flashing with what you think is irritation. “You think so? You’re not even sure?”

“Well, it’s a big jump, but I might take it,” you swallow.

“You shouldn’t do it unless you’re absolutely sure.”

You roll your eyes at him. “I’m never absolutely sure about anything.” Except for the fact that I’m in love with you and that it would destroy me if I stay and watch you fall in love with Kate.

“Then don’t go. Stay here.”

His words are cold and stiff. It’s calculated. You are an asset to the team. It would be a pain to hire a new analyst in the middle of tornado season and get them fully trained to do what you do. Maybe you could stay just another month until all this is over, maybe you can get them to postpone your start date.

But could you really do it? Could you stand by the sidelines and swallow your feelings long enough to last until the bitter end?

Sighing, you know your answer. “I’m not going to lie. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t think I can be here anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

It’s now or never. If you’re leaving anyway, you might as well confront him — if you can’t have him, then at least Kate could.

“I’m not stupid, you know. I can see it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re in love.”

The pin-drop silence that ensues is deafening. Your heart thunders against your eardrums; you can hear the hitch of his breath.

“I’m not—” he stops himself, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With a deep sigh, you extract yourself from his side. Your fingers pick at the worn linen. “I’ve never seen you like this before, Scott. And listen, I get it if you want to end all this, whatever we’re doing.” He frowns. “Kate is wonderful, so I understand.”

Scott’s furrow only deepens. “What the hell are you going on about?”

“You and Kate,” you say, tongue heavy like lead in your mouth. “You guys make a good pair. I’m happy it’s working out, but I just can’t be here to watch that happen so I’m going to take the offer and move to New York. I know it’s tough to replace my work during this time, I’ll try and stay until the end of the season, but afterwards—”

“Fuck that,” he snaps, “like hell you’re leaving. What do you mean you can’t be here anymore? What are you going on about with Kate?”

Maybe he thinks you’re badmouthing her. “She’s great! I’m happy for you. I’m just—” your chest constricts. “I’m in love with you. Shit. I’ve been in love with you, Scott. I can’t do this no-strings thing anymore. I thought I could take it, whatever scraps you’ll let me have, but I can’t. Especially not when you’re falling for someone else.”

Scott pinches the bridge of his nose and he looks more than pissed off as he looks at you. “Who said anything about falling for someone else? Also, you’re in love with me? Since when?”

A groan slips past your lips. “This is so humiliating. Can we drop it?”

“Oh, no, you started this, so you answer my question. Since when have you been in love with me?”

“Forever! Fucking forever alright. Is that what you want to hear?” You grumble, “I was in love with you before… this even started.”

You see his tongue press against the inside of his cheek, his blue eyes sharp. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you’re my friend, Scott.”

“Apparently not if you didn’t fucking tell me,” he glares.

“Would it have changed anything?”

Disbelief colors his face. “It would’ve changed everything. Are you kidding me? You’ve been in love with me all this time and you didn’t tell me?”

Is the thought of you loving him really that repulsive? He’s got his hands balled into fists on the sheets, jaw clenched like he would rather be anywhere but here. While the possibility of him rejecting you has always crossed your mind, you didn’t think that he would have this visceral a reaction. Gone are your chances of maintaining a cordial relationship after you leave.

He’s right. This changes everything.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I shouldn’t have—” your breath snags in your throat again, your eyes sting with unshed tears. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want this to change anything between us. We’ll stay friends.”

“We can’t stay friends,” he scowls. Your heart sinks.

You press the heel of your palms against your eyes, praying the tears away. The last thing you want to do is cry in front of him. “I can’t— I’m gonna go. I need to—”

“No, you’re staying right here so I can kiss some fucking sense into you.”

For a second, you can’t hear past the rushing in your ears, the frantic urge to leave. But when his words settle in and your brain slowly digests each individual syllable, you pull your wet hands away from your eyes. Scott swallows thickly when he sees your face.

“You think what — that I was in love with Kate?” He scoffs but there’s no weight to his words. He almost sounds weak. “What gave you that idea?”

You balk at him. It’s your turn to be confused. “You— you’re literally always watching her! You call her dandelion for god’s’ sake! Who gets a cute nickname like that?”

“That’s because I’m bad with names! You know this. You know me. It took me a while to remember her name — and I keep watching her because she’s like this little circus freak. Who the hell guesses storms by looking at goddamn flowers?”

You open your mouth, then promptly shut it again. Speechless.

“And that job? I can’t fucking believe you even thought about leaving. Leaving all this. Leaving me. You know damn well I’d never let that happen. If you really wanted it — and you were leaving for yourself, then sure, do it, but you’re out of your mind if you don’t think I’ll be following you to the ends of the earth.”

Your lungs stutter against your ribs. “What?”

Scott turns to face you, hands sliding up to cup the back of your neck. He forces you to look at him. To really look at him. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been fucking in love with you.” 

You feel the desert in your throat when you croak out, “Since when?”

“Forever.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“You were the one who said you wanted to keep it no strings! I thought you didn’t want to date.”

“That’s because you’re always going on and on about how women and relationships are a pain!”

Scott lets out a frustrated breath, as if you’re the fool in this situation. “Except when it comes to you! Jesus, you’re never a pain. You’re the best part of my day. I think about you all the goddamn time. Sometimes, I want you to stop doing this tornado chasing thing because it’s dangerous and I want you in a safe fucking bubble where nobody, nothing can touch you. But you’re passionate and I fucking love that and I fucking love you.”

“But you— what— this can’t be happening.”

“You’re a goddamn idiot.”

Your lips press together. “You love me and you’re calling me a goddamn idiot? Really?”

“That’s because you are. Fuck. I can’t believe I wasted all this time. I can’t believe I even let you take that interview,” Scott grouses, mostly to himself. “I need you to get it through your thick skull that I don’t want anyone else. It’s always been you. You think I’d let anyone tail me around like you did?”

A pinched pout forms on your lips, mostly to stop yourself from crumbling. “I just thought you felt bad for me.”

“You somehow managed to be the smartest person on this team and the biggest idiot,” he mumbles. “I love you. I’m not letting you out of my sight, you hear me. Need you in my car every day. Next to me every time we go out. I need you in my bed every night and I don’t want you leaving either. We’ll share one room from now on.”

You sniffle, “That’s very fiscally responsible of you.”

Scott chuckles, “Well, I’ll take any excuse to keep you next to me. Can’t have you getting bored with me.”

“Please,” you roll your eyes with a smile, “if we’ve survived this long without getting sick of each other, what’s forever, right?”

The reality of what you’ve just said slams into you like a truck. Heat floods your insides.

“I mean—”

“Is that a proposal?” He smirks. Before you can dig a bigger hole for yourself, Scott leans over and presses his lips against yours.

Sweet, slow, steady.

“Because I’ve got a ring with your name on it back at home. I’ve been itching for a reason to finally take it out.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, cheeks warm.

“Yeah, well, you love me anyway.”

That, you can’t deny.

+ sam: you know how excited i was to write this and i hope it didnt disappoint. ily queen thank you for always matching my freak and my yap mwah!!

scott is yearning for (taglist): @unabashedlyinlovewithyou @eiaf4uwn @thebabykashmere @nbhrhn @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @pinksplace @stanmarvelous @coffinlolz

Good sex was what you expected from anybody decent enough to make it that far with you. It was the kind people talked about casually with their friends, the kind that came up over drinks after someone asked, “So, was he good?” Good sex happened on Tuesdays after work with the guy from Hinge who insisted on taking you out somewhere too expensive for a second date. You split a basket of fries, drank half a beer because you still had work in the morning, drove home with exhaustion sitting heavy behind your eyes, then let him fuck you well enough to sleep for four uninterrupted hours. 

Good sex was practical and predictable. It convinced your body you were living a normal life.

Great sex was different. Great sex happened after work parties when your mascara was already smudged and your heels were in your hand by midnight. It happened on weekends with nowhere to be the next morning. You never talked about great sex because it sounded exaggerated the second you said it out loud, like you were overselling a man nobody else would understand. Great sex made you cum or at least brought you close enough that your stomach tightened every time you remembered it afterward. You thought about great sex while driving long stretches of empty highway, your hands steady on the wheel while your mind wandered somewhere warmer. 

Great sex stayed in your body for days. You caught yourself replaying parts of it absentmindedly while standing in line for coffee or brushing your teeth before bed.

Then there was getting fucked…

There was no cleaner way to define it. It lived somewhere between fantasy and urban legend, passed around between women in half-serious conversations that always dissolved into laughter. Everybody claimed to know someone who’d experienced it but nobody could explain it properly. Getting fucked was the kind of sex that distracted you in the middle of the day badly enough to make you stop what you were doing and change your underwear. It sat dangerously close to the limits of what sex could actually be before the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. 

If a guy treated you too much like an object, it fell apart immediately. 

If you didn’t orgasm, it didn’t count. 

If you weren’t still thinking about him six months later at red lights and in grocery store aisles and during lonely hotel nights, then it wasn’t that either. 

Getting fucked sat at the very top of the scale, lit up like something obvious and somehow most men still missed it completely.

Being made love to was worse and more dangerous, honestly.

For somebody like you, it could become embarrassing fast. Storm season kept you on the road for months at a time, bouncing between states, sleeping in motels with stiff sheets and weak air conditioning. Off-season meant office buildings, weather models glowing across multiple monitors, long meetings about funding, new equipment and data collection. Your life moved constantly and men liked that at first. A woman who was smart, busy, gone half the year, financially stable and difficult to pin down. 

Men loved the idea of you because it excused the fact they never had to give very much. Most of them thought they were in love but really, they just liked access to somebody they found impressive.

Before all of that, you used to think being made love to meant passion…intimacy. That it was slow sex with somebody who knew your body so well they could pull an orgasm out of you patiently and confidently, like it mattered to them as much as breathing did. You imagined hands lingering at your waist, sleepy conversation afterward, somebody brushing your hair away from your face before kissing you again.

Instead, you ended up underneath men who mistook enthusiasm for intimacy. You stared at ceilings while they grunted above you, listened to them breathe your name like they were performing something instead of feeling it. Sometimes you felt your stomach turn from the boredom alone, your body rocking mechanically with theirs while your mind drifted somewhere else entirely to storm reports, grocery lists and whether you needed to change your oil before the next drive west.

You never let them finish once you realized you hated it, that was the one thing you refused to fake. You pushed them off, sat up and reached for your clothes while they blinked at you in confusion. You told them it wasn’t going to work, sometimes you said it gently and other times you just didn’t bother. Either way, you watched realization settle over them while they sat there flushed and humiliated, their ego bruised worse than their feelings ever were but somehow your harsh words still made them cum…

Needless to say, after a while, you stopped having sex altogether.

You were in your rental house after a long day spent staring at storm data and listening to Javi ramble about whatever breakthrough he thought he’d made this time. It was late, the entire house felt heavy and warm, every light dimmer than usual and lately, you weren’t alone nearly as often as you used to be.

Scott sat at your dining table with your laptop open, shoulders slightly hunched, completely absorbed in columns of numbers and radar models. You’d known him for two years and he’d been your partner for one of them. 

People were right about him. He was direct to the point of rudeness, arrogant enough to make most people defensive within five minutes and mean when he thought someone deserved it but unlike most men in your field, Scott had learned how to admit when he was wrong, far from gracefully or happily but still, he did it.

The two of you were impossibly stubborn in almost identical ways, so sharing space with him sometimes felt like being trapped in a room with a sharper version of yourself. Separately, you were both good at what you did but together, you were nearly impossible to beat.

You couldn’t pinpoint when “coworkers” had turned into Scott walking into your house without knocking, helping himself to your fridge and sitting at your table like he paid rent.

“Best orgasm you’ve had during sex?” His voice came from across the room, casual and flat, like he’d asked you about rainfall percentages. He didn’t even look away from the laptop while he said it.

You’d forgotten he was meeting you there before the two of you drove to the bar together, which was why you were still walking around in sleep shorts and a bra, trying to find something decent enough to wear without looking like you’d spent an hour trying.

You took a sip from the beer he’d already pulled out of your fridge and nearly snorted into the bottle. “You think men do that?” you asked as you disappeared into your bedroom.

“To you?” Scott finally looked up. His eyes tracked your movement automatically while he reached for the beer the two of you were apparently sharing now. “I hope so.”

He took a drink as his eyes followed your movement.

You walked back into view holding two dresses on mismatched hangers. “You’re a fucking idiot,” you said plainly. “And maybe a pervert.”

Scott pointed at you immediately. “You’re changing in front of me. I could probably keep count of your bras at this point and I don’t. That actually makes me less of a pervert.”

You disappeared back into your room. He could hear hangers scraping against the closet rod while you searched through clothes with growing irritation.

“Just because it doesn’t make you hard doesn’t make you not a pervert,” you called back, your voice muffled through the wall.

“How do you know I’m not?” he shot back instantly, sounding almost offended by the assumption.

Silence followed but about a minute later, you walked back out wearing a dress he’d never seen before. It was simple, fitted enough to make his eyes stop for a second before continuing downward automatically. You crossed the room toward him, letting your heels drop onto the hardwood before slipping them on one at a time.

“You’re not attracted to me, Scott,” you said flatly.

He looked up slowly then, his eyes dragging over the length of the dress with enough attention to make most people nervous. On you, it just made you impatient.

“You seem awfully confident about that.”

“I am.” You adjusted the strap on your shoulder before glancing toward his laptop screen. “So don’t say shit that makes me sound stupid.”

Scott looked back at the laptop fast enough to make the movement obvious. He pretended to scroll through data he’d stopped reading the second you started undressing in the next room.

“I’m ready,” you said. “Good to go?”

“Need five minutes,” he muttered.

You walked behind him toward the front door, tapping his shoulder as you passed. “The data will still be there tomorrow. C’mon, Scotty.”

The teasing grin in your voice made something in his jaw tighten. You disappeared outside before he could even think of an answer.

Scott closed the laptop harder than necessary and stood, quietly adjusting himself through his jeans with the irritation of a man betrayed by his own body. He shut off the lights one by one and grabbed your keys from the counter before locking the door behind him.

The porch light was off so you couldn’t see the tent in his jeans. Thank fuck for that.

“Scotty was an eight-year-old with chubby cheeks,” he muttered while locking the deadbolt. He glanced over at you waiting by the passenger side of his truck. “It’s Scott.”

“It’s whatever I decide it is,” you replied easily.

He rolled his eyes and walked down the porch steps, unlocking the truck with a sharp click.

“Come open my door.”

“Since when do you need me to do that?” he complained, already circling the hood anyway.

“Since you got comfortable commenting on my bras.”

Scott stopped in front of you to stare before reaching around your waist to pull the handle open. The movement brought him close enough to smell your perfume underneath detergent and beer.

You smiled to yourself while climbing into the passenger seat because for once, Scott didn’t have anything smart to say.

Talking about sex with your coworkers was probably the least professional habit you could develop but professionalism stopped mattering after twelve-hour drives, shared motel rooms, gas station dinners at midnight and enough close calls together to make normal boundaries feel unnecessary. There were barely any women in the field to begin with, which meant the few of you that existed clung together fast and Scott, despite being deeply irritating most of the time, was easier to talk to than most people. 

Brutally honest people usually were.

At some point, conversations that started as jokes during long drives turned into real discussions about relationships, sex, exes and every disappointing person either of you had ever slept with. It happened slowly enough neither of you noticed the line moving until it was already somewhere far behind you.

HR would’ve had a heart attack.

That night, you learned Scott Miller did not do good sex. If good sex existed to him at all, it involved two people fully clothed and standing on opposite ends of a room.

The bar was more crowded than you expected, packed wall to wall with storm chasers, meteorologists, researchers and people who somehow always smelled faintly like dust and gasoline no matter how clean they looked. Whenever women in the field found each other, there was an unspoken tendency to group together immediately, so you spent most of the night at the bar talking with another researcher from Oklahoma while music pounded so loud you felt it vibrate through the floor beneath your heels.

Eventually Javi appeared beside you carrying drinks you absolutely weren’t going to refuse. He handed one over before leaning closer, lowering his voice.

“What’s wrong with Scott?”

You blinked at him. The question caught you off guard enough to make your brows pull together immediately because nobody ever asked about Scott. People either tolerated him, argued with him or avoided him entirely. Whatever problem Scott had, he usually fixed it himself before anyone could notice it existed.

Your eyes scanned the crowd automatically until you found him near the back corner of the bar with a soda in his hand. Of course he wasn’t drinking, he stood half-shadowed against the wall looking deeply unimpressed by the concept of social interaction…and staring directly at you.

Your eyes narrowed slightly until Scott finally got the message and looked away first.

You turned back to Javi. “Do you mean tonight or in general?” you asked dryly. “Because I’m pretty sure he was dropped as a child, but you’d have to ask his mother for confirmation.”

Javi frowned harder. “I mean tonight. He looks tense and it’s making me uneasy.”

“It’s Scott. He always looks tense.”

“More than usual.” Javi glanced over his shoulder carefully. “Tell him to relax for once…and to make some friends. That’s literally why we came here.”

You pointed at yourself immediately. “Why am I responsible for that?”

Javi shrugged like the answer was obvious. “Because you speak ‘Scott’ fluently. Translate what I just said into something he’ll actually understand.”

Your gaze dropped to the drink in your hand. “You’re bribing me.”

“And that drink cost me twenty-five dollars,” he replied. “So yes. Go.”

You snorted into the rim of your glass. “Pretty sure stress is what’s making you bald, by the way…not Scott’s burning gaze.”

Javi adjusted his baseball cap defensively. “Just go talk to him.”

You shook your head, already grinning despite yourself and pushed through the crowd toward the back of the bar, which Scott noticed immediately. 

The music got louder the closer you got to him, voices bleeding together into useless noise, so instead of trying to shout over it, you reached forward and hooked one finger through the belt loop of his jeans.

“Outside,” you said simply, tugging once as you moved toward the exit.

Scott followed without argument, that alone should’ve concerned you more than it did.

The plan was for him to ask what you wanted once you got outside. Instead, somewhere between the crowded bar and the exit door, he got distracted watching you walk ahead of him. Your dress moved against your hips every few steps, exposing flashes of leg skin under the low bar lights and the muscles in your bare back moved subtly every time you pushed through another cluster of people.

Inevitably, Scott’s eyes dropped lower before he caught himself.

By the time the two of you stepped outside into the cooler night air, he still hadn’t said a word.

You finally let go of his belt loop once the two of you were far enough from the entrance that the music had dulled into muffled bass behind you. You turned to face him properly, folding your arms across your chest as you looked up at him.

“What’s your current issue?” you asked.

“Current?” Scott repeated, brows pulling together.

You nodded once like the question made perfect sense.

“When’s the last time you had sex?”

A startled laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged carelessly, shoving one hand into the pocket of his jeans. “What? Are you the only one allowed to ask those questions?”

You laughed again, this time shaking your head as you pointed at him. “Yes. Obviously.”

Scott snorted.

“And those are long-drive questions,” you continued, motioning vaguely toward his truck behind you before pointing back toward the crowded bar. “Not ‘parking lot outside a packed bar’ questions.”

“You still need to answer.” He shrugged again. “Those are the rules.”

“Have I ever told you how stupid those rules are?”

“First time I’m hearing complaints since you’re the one who made them,” he replied with a grin.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered under your breath before taking another sip of your drink.

Scott stayed quiet as he just watched you over the rim of his own soda, patient and expectant in a way that immediately irritated you because he clearly thought he was getting an answer eventually.

“Are you seriously gonna make me answer?”

“I can’t make you do anything,” he said calmly. “But I can wait. I still have to drive you home.”

You looked up toward the entrance of the bar. Through the windows you could still see people packed together under neon lights, laughing too loud, talking over each other about work, storm patterns and equipment failures. You’d already reached the point of the night where conversations started blending together into white noise.

“Can we leave now?” you asked.

Scott didn’t answer verbally. He just pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the truck with a click, then held his hand out toward your drink.

“Get in and lock the doors,” he said as he took the glass from you and turned back toward the bar to return it.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you called after him while walking directly to the passenger side and doing exactly that.

Honestly, you didn’t mind answering the question. The problem was that once you actually thought about it, you realized you weren’t entirely sure how long it had been. It had been long enough that you had to start considering technicalities and long enough that the answer became embarrassing and unfortunately, thinking about sex while sitting alone in Scott’s truck immediately led your brain somewhere unhelpful…

Scott eventually climbed back into the truck and shut the door behind him. He didn’t start driving right away, he just sat there in the dark, one hand resting on the wheel while the dashboard lights cut sharp shadows across his face…waiting, because the thing about car questions was that silence usually came first.

“A year and a half,” you blurted out finally. “Give or take.”

Scott’s head turned toward you so fast it almost looked painful. “No,” he said immediately. “I don’t believe that.”

You laughed in disbelief and looked toward him. “Believe whatever you want, Scott. I answered the fucking question. That’s the game.”

“A year and a half?” he repeated, staring at you like you’d confessed to murder. “What the hell do you even do on weekends?”

“Currently?” you replied dryly. “Sit in your truck while you annoy me.”

“No,” he said, already turning the key in the ignition. “You’re irritated because you’re sexually frustrated.”

You barked out another incredulous laugh. 

“And you’ve been sexually frustrated since I met you,” he continued as he shifted the truck into reverse. “Which explains why you piss me off every single fucking day.”

“Excuse you?” You turned toward him fully now, half laughing from sheer disbelief. “First the bra comments and now this? What’s next? Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?”

“Put your seatbelt on.” The command came out flat and automatic.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Scott. I’m not drunk enough to–”

The words died in your throat the second he reached across you.

His arm slid in front of your chest while the truck reversed smoothly with his other hand still turning the wheel. His forearm brushed against the underside of your breasts accidentally…or maybe not so accidentally and your breath caught hard at the sudden closeness. Scott grabbed the seatbelt beside your shoulder, pulled it across your body in one sharp movement, then clicked it into place at your hip without looking away from the rear window once.

You drove home in complete silence.

No radio or conversation, just the steady sound of tires against asphalt and the occasional flick of the blinker while Scott kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. You’d heard every version of his voice over the last two years, sarcastic, irritated or sharp enough to make grown men defensive in meetings but hearing him tell you to put your seatbelt on while his arm pressed across your breasts had done something deeply unfortunate to your brain.

This was entirely your fault. You were the one who made sex an acceptable topic between the two of you, you were the one who turned it into a game, into background conversation during long drives and late nights. Somewhere along the way home, your definition of good sex had rewritten itself around that precise moment. 

For most people, that probably counted as foreplay, but for you? It counted as a serious fucking problem.

By the time Scott parked outside your house, your thoughts had spiraled so badly that you barely registered the truck stopping. You stayed seated even after he cut the engine, staring forward blankly while the silence settled heavier around you.

Scott got out first without saying anything and walked around the front of the truck toward your side.

The passenger door opened. You looked up just in time to feel him lean in and reach across you again, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric stretched over your waist as he unclipped the seatbelt. The contact lasted maybe a second but that was already too long.

Only then did you finally move. You climbed out quickly, making an effort to keep close to the truck instead of brushing against him, then headed straight for your front door while digging through your purse for your keys even if it was practically empty and somehow that made it worse. You found lip balm…receipts…some loose cash, everything except what you actually needed.

Scott followed behind you quietly.

You still hadn’t found the keys when his arm appeared beside you, reaching around your body with frustrating familiarity. He’d had your keys the entire night, he usually did whenever the two of you went out together because you constantly lost track of them.

The metal clicked softly as he unlocked the door for you.

Your breath stalled as Scott stood so close behind you that you could feel the heat coming off him through the thin fabric of your dress. His chest nearly touched your back, one arm still braced near your shoulder while he turned the lock. It boxed you in completely, your body caught between the door and him and the worst part was that it felt good.

The sharp heat low in your stomach made that painfully obvious.

Good sex, apparently, was standing fully clothed on your own porch while your coworker unlocked your front door…all while standing right behind you.

The lock finally clicked open. You pushed the door open and stepped inside fast to put distance between you before turning back toward him. 

Determination sat stiffly in your chest now…You were staying dressed. Whatever this weird tension was had to be alcohol-fueled, temporary, deeply stupid or preferably all three and gone by morning.

Unfortunately, Scott looked unfairly good standing on your porch under weak yellow light.

At some point he’d taken off his cap, you didn’t know when and hadn’t realized until now. Why did he look dreamy!? His hair was messy from running his hands through it all night and the expression on his face had settled back into that unreadable calm that somehow made things worse.

“Night, Scott,” you said quickly, then shut the door directly in his face…very determined to remain dressed.

“Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?” That sentence replayed in your head later for one humiliating reason: Scott Miller had never been the kind of man to hand off work he could do himself.

You’d been wrong earlier, completely wrong.

Great sex didn’t happen on weekends or after parties or during long-awaited moments with somebody you trusted. Sometimes it happened five minutes after you slammed your front door in a man’s face and tried convincing yourself you still had common sense.

You stayed standing by the door after closing it, palms warm against the wood, waiting to hear his truck start. You expected the familiar sound of the driver’s side door opening, shutting and the low rumble of the engine before he pulled away but nothing happened.

At first you told yourself you were imagining the silence because you were still too aware of him…then a full minute passed…followed by another and then three more.

Five long, miserable minutes where your brain refused to focus on anything except the fact Scott was still outside your house.

You opened the door expecting embarrassment or maybe annoyance, maybe him realizing he forgot something. Instead, he was still standing there in the same position with that same unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans like you hadn’t just shut the door on him…five minutes ago.

You stared at each other for a second too long.

You never figured out what exactly snapped first. Pride, self-control or curiosity…maybe all of it at once again.

One second he was standing on your porch and the next you were grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him forward hard enough to make him stumble into you as your mouth crashed against his.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the fragile determination to stay dressed shattered. You didn't just invite Scott in, you practically hauled him across the threshold, pulling him into a kiss that tasted of alcohol and months of suppressed frustration. It was messy and desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues that left you both breathless.

You stumbled backward, the friction of your bodies fueling a fire that had been simmering for far too long. As you navigated the space, your heels clicked erratically against the floor until you kicked them off with frantic movements, one flying toward the wall and the other sliding away as you backed into the dining area.

You hit the edge of the heavy wooden table and Scott didn't miss a beat. He gripped your waist with bruising force and hoisted you up, the sudden elevation making you gasp into his mouth. He didn't stop kissing you but his path shifted, lips sliding down your jawline to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands were everywhere, frantic and demanding, sliding up the fabric of your dress and bunching it up around your waist until your thighs were bare and shivering against the cool wood.

You felt his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, tugging them down with a sharp, decisive motion until you could kick them off, exposing you to the air. As he lowered himself, his mouth found the swell of your breasts through your dress, biting lightly against the fabric on his way down between your legs.

"You don't need to do that," you managed to moan, your voice trembling as he moved your weight, sliding you toward the edge of the table until you were perched precariously, your legs naturally falling open.

"Shut up," Scott muttered against your skin, his voice a low, arrogant growl that sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit as he finally settled himself firmly between your thighs, the heat of his body radiating against your wetness. 

Then, he dipped his head. The first touch of his tongue was a shock of heat, it was wet and precise. He dove right in, tongue licking upward from your perineum to your clit in one long, sweeping stroke. You arched your back as a loud moan escaped you since it had been so long since you’d felt anything this raw, this focused. You were starving for it and Scott was feeding off of you with a primal intensity that blurred everything else out.

He used his hands to grip your hips, pulling you closer to the edge so he could bury his face in you as he kneeled. He began to lap at you with a rhythmic, punishing speed, his tongue flattening out to cover as much surface area as possible before narrowing into a sharp point to flick relentlessly against your clit.

The sensation was overwhelming. You began to squirm, hips jerking instinctively against his mouth as your fingernails clawed at the tabletop. You weren't just enjoying it, you were unraveling.

"Fuck…Scott...please," you whimpered, though you didn't know what you were asking for.

He responded by changing your position. He pushed you flat onto your back on the table, the hard wood pressing into your spine and hauled your legs up, draping them over his broad shoulders. The position left you completely exposed, your pussy flared open and glistening in the dark room.

He didn't stop the oral but added more by sliding two fingers deep inside you, stretching you open while his tongue continued to hammer away at your clit. The combination of the internal pressure and the external friction was too much. You were shaking, breath coming in short, jagged gasps as your feet drummed against his back.

He could tell you were close, encouraging him to increase the pressure, fingers curling inside you to hit your G-spot while his tongue sucked your clit into his mouth, creating a vacuum of pleasure that felt like it was pulling your entire soul out through your cunt.

“Holy s-shit!” Your head thrashed from side to side, a loud, unrestrained scream tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit you like a freight train. It was violent and all-consuming, your internal muscles clamping down hard on his fingers as waves of intense pleasure crashed over you, leaving you whimpering and twitching on the table.

As the peak slowly subsided, Scott didn't pull away immediately. He stayed there, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, slowly lapping the remaining juices from your pussy. He cleaned you thoroughly, his tongue lingering on every inch of your swollen cunt until you were completely spent, lying limp and shivering on the table, finally satisfied.

He straightened slowly from between your legs, chest rising hard with uneven breaths that matched your own. His mouth was swollen and wet when he licked across his lips absentmindedly, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made heat crawl back under your skin even while your body still twitched from the orgasm.

From your place sprawled across the dining table, you stared up at him in stunned silence. Your thighs were still trembling now against his sides and you were almost certain your expression looked ridiculous, wide-eyed and dazed in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to look around another person in years.

Scott held a hand out toward you and you took it automatically.

He helped you sit up first before guiding you carefully off the table, one hand steady on your waist while your legs struggled to cooperate beneath you. The second your feet touched the floor, your knees nearly gave out entirely.

Scott wiped his mouth with his palm. “Goodnight,” he said and the gentleness of it caught you off guard more than anything else that night had.

His hand slipped away from your waist and the two of you just stood there for a second, staring at each other while trying and failing to breathe normally again.

Then Scott turned and walked toward the front door.

You stayed frozen in place while he opened it and left your house without another word. A few seconds later you finally heard the sounds you’d been waiting for earlier, the truck door opening, shutting and the engine starting before he drove off into the night.

You tried walking toward your bedroom afterward and immediately realized your legs barely worked. You ended up half stumbling down the hallway, one hand dragging along the wall for balance because your entire lower body still felt weak and oversensitive.

Great sex…that had been unbelievably, painfully great sex.

You thought about it constantly afterward. In the shower, during calls and meetings, while sitting in traffic or lying awake at night staring at the ceiling with your thighs pressed together. You didn’t mention it to your friends or talked to Scott about it, even during the long stretches of silence that filled the truck during drives. The two of you understood what happened without discussing it directly, you’d crossed a line and both of you seemed aware that talking about it too much would probably drag you over it again.

The following mornings, you waited for him outside on your porch instead of letting him walk into your house like usual. Mostly because you’d spent the entire week masturbating to the memory of him between your legs on your dining table before getting ready for the day and you didn’t trust yourself to survive seeing him inside your kitchen before sunrise.

For one solid week, you slept perfectly. No insomnia or late-night work spirals, no pacing around rooms or answering emails at one in the morning just to keep your brain occupied. Whatever tension usually sat under your skin had disappeared completely and now it sat between you both instead.

Every drive felt heavier, the silence stretched longer and every sharp inhale from him made your stomach tighten unexpectedly until eventually you got sick of pretending neither of you noticed it.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you interrupted suddenly.

Scott glanced toward you briefly, eyes leaving the road for barely a second before returning forward. “Do you want to?” he asked.

“I don’t,” you admitted. “I feel like you do though.”

“You’re right.”

You snorted quietly and looked back down at the laptop balanced across your knees. 

“I thought you liked being right.” Scott added.

“Fucking love it,” you replied automatically before grimacing. “Usually.”

Silence settled again until you broke it. “Okay,” you sighed eventually. “Maybe one thing.” You turned to him properly this time. “I wasn’t that drunk that night. Actually, I wasn’t drunk at all. I had that one beer before we left my place and the rest were mocktails.”

Scott turned his head enough to study your face for a second. “I wouldn’t have touched you if you were drunk,” he said flatly. “I’m an asshole, not fucking stupid.”

You leaned back against the seat slowly. “Even that’s changed.”

His brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“The coffee for starters,” you said. “The lunches, too. You stopped buying disgusting gas station sandwiches and now we actually eat dinner out like normal people.” You gestured vaguely toward him. “You used to hand me coffee with five sugar packets on the side because you couldn’t remember how I took it. Now it’s magically perfect every fucking morning.”

Scott adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

“I thought eating around other people would make this less weird,” he admitted. “And I got tired of sugar packets all over my truck.”

“Our truck,” you corrected automatically before pointing at him accusingly. “And nothing about this is normal, Scott! You ate me out on my dining table!”

“Stop yelling at me.” His tone stayed frustratingly calm.

“Why?” you shot back. “Is it making you hard?”

Scott shifted in his seat hard enough that you noticed instantly. Both his hands locked tighter around the steering wheel while he stared straight ahead at the road. The tension in his jaw became visible because unfortunately for him, you weren’t wrong.

The last week had changed things. You looked less exhausted and less tightly wound. You hadn’t snapped at him once during work and he hadn’t gotten a single unhinged one a.m. email from you all week because for the first time since he’d met you, you were actually sleeping.

“So when are we doing it again?” he asked finally, against every ounce of common sense he had left.

NEVER…that should’ve been the answer. It was the logical answer, the responsible one, the answer two coworkers with already questionable boundaries should’ve landed on immediately.

It just wasn’t the truth.

You had always maintained that getting fucked couldn’t happen in motel rooms. It didn't matter how good the sex was, the second cheap carpet, bad lighting and a rattling air conditioner got involved, the whole thing dropped several levels automatically. 

Motel sex could be great, sometimes even memorable but it couldn’t be that, so the next time it happened definitely wasn’t in a motel room.

The weather that day had turned bad enough to keep everyone grounded but not dangerous enough to send your team chasing storms through three different counties. There was heavy rain, low visibility and too much lightning for comfort but not enough rotation to justify going out.

At some point, without either of you actually saying it outright, waiting the storm out in Scott’s apartment became the plan instead of sitting cramped inside the truck for hours pretending the tension between you didn’t exist.

You still couldn’t pinpoint who made the first move once the elevator doors closed behind you.

One second you were standing beside him soaked at the edges from the rain, listening to distant thunder through the concrete parking garage and the next, Scott’s hand was inside your pants like it belonged there.

You gasped hard into his mouth as his fingers slid against you immediately, already somewhat familiar with exactly what made your hips jerk forward. The kiss that came after barely counted as one, it was messy and distracted, interrupted constantly by your breathing and the quiet sounds you kept failing to swallow down.

The elevator ride lasted less than a minute but by the time the doors opened onto his floor, your orgasm was already hitting you in sharp waves around his fingers while your forehead pressed against his shoulder to keep yourself standing.

If you weren’t already fucked, you were about to be.

You’d been inside Scott’s apartment before. A handful of times after late nights working or when weather reports needed reviewing somewhere quieter than a crowded diner. You remembered the big windows first, stretching across the living room area with a full view of the skyline in the distance. Tonight they framed heavy gray clouds and rain pouring so hard that it blurred the city lights into smears of white and yellow.

Scott barely gave you time to look around because the second the apartment door shut behind you, his hands were on you again. He walked you toward the living room with rough impatience, pulling your pants down from behind while you stumbled against the edge of an armchair. Your underwear followed immediately after, dragged down together in one quick motion before pooling around your ankles.

The air in Scott’s apartment was heavy, charged with the static of the storm raging outside. The gray light of the overcast sky filtered through the windows but the atmosphere inside was scorching.

"Kneel," he commanded as he pointed toward the armchair, his voice a low, authoritative rumble.

You didn't hesitate. The tension that had been building between you for weeks, the unspoken glances and lingering touches, had finally snapped. You sank to your knees on the plush seat, your heart hammering against your ribs. You leaned forward, gripping the headrest with both hands, body already trembling in anticipation. You were completely exposed to him, your ass tilted back and waiting.

Scott disappeared for a moment, leaving you in a silence broken only by the distant roll of thunder. When he returned, the sound of a foil packet tearing echoed in the room. You heard the metallic click of his belt unbuckling and the slide of a zipper.

The anticipation was agonizing. You heard him roll the condom on, followed by the wet sound of him spitting on the head of his cock to make the entry smoother.

He stepped up behind you, heat radiating against your backside. He lined himself up and then, with one powerful, decisive surge, he thrust deep inside you.

You let out a sharp, strangled whine, your fingers digging into the fabric of the headrest. It had been so long since you’d felt a man inside you and Scott was massive. The initial stretch was borderline painful, a blunt force that filled every millimeter of your tight, starving pussy. You blinked rapidly, tears pricking your eyes as your body struggled to accommodate his size, your breath hitching in your throat.

Scott didn't give you time to adjust. He reached forward, his large hands clamping onto your hips with bruising force and yanked you backward, pulling you deeper onto his cock until there was no space left between you.

"I wanna see you," you moaned, your voice broken and desperate, trying to twist your torso around to look at him.

He didn't let you. Instead, he leaned in and sank his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, a sharp bite that made you moan despite your best efforts. His hand moved from your hip to your jaw, gripping it firmly to keep your head pinned forward.

"Just focus," he rasped calmly against your skin, the contrast of his steady voice and his firm grip sending a shiver of submission down your spine.

He let go of your jaw and began to thrust. He didn't start slowly, he hit you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity. The apartment was suddenly filled with the sound of your sudden, loud moans and frantic curses. You collapsed forward, your chest pressed against the headrest, your body jarring with every hit.

As he hammered into you, Scott reached around, his hands finding your breasts. He didn't bother undressing you further, he grabbed your boobs firmly over your clothes, squeezing and kneading them with a rough, possessive grip that matched the violence of his hips.

"I'm gonna fuck you on every surface of this apartment," he growled. "You'll be seeing a lot of me."

The sex quickly became raw and primal and so, so fucking good. The sound of skin slapping against skin, mixed with the wet, rhythmic thud of his pelvis hitting your ass filled the room, competing with the roar of the thunder outside. Every thrust shook your entire frame, quaking your body from your head to your toes. You were whimpering loudly now, the pain of the initial stretch having completely melted into an overwhelming, white-hot pleasure you never thought you could feel.

Your eyes watered, staring out into the distance of the room, the world blurring as the friction built. It was fast, harsh and so perfect that you found yourself wanting to bite the armchair, your teeth sinking into the fabric as your back arched violently. You were unraveling, the long period of abstinence making you hypersensitive to every inch of him.

"I'm right there, keep going! Scott, please! Don’t fuckin’ stop." you whined, voice echoing through the apartment.

He didn't, he instead increased the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter and more frantic, drilling into you with an obsession that felt like he wanted to merge his body with yours. The thunder peaked with a deafening crash that seemed to trigger something inside you.

Suddenly, your internal muscles spasmed. A wave of heat exploded from your core and you felt a sudden, uncontrollable gush of fluid. You were squirting, something that had never happened to you before, the hot spray soaking the armchair and your own thighs. You began to shake uncontrollably, your legs giving out as you sobbed out of pure pleasure into the headrest.

Scott let out a guttural groan, the feeling of you flooding around him driving him over the edge. He loved it, hell, he was obsessed with the way you were falling apart under him. He kept going, ignoring your tremors, continuously driving himself into you as you peaked into a mind-blowing, screaming orgasm that left you completely breathless.

With a final, deep thrust, he groaned loudly, coming hard into the condom.

The momentum stopped abruptly. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you frozen, chests heaving in unison.

Slowly, he withdrew, the wet sound of his exit punctuating the silence with an obscene pop.

You both watch the rain lash against the glass, the gray light illuminating the wreckage of your passion. You took a long, shuddering breath, body still twitching from the aftershocks as your pussy twitched around nothing, back arching further needily, earning a smack from him.

"Holy fuck," you both breathed simultaneously, the weight of the encounter settling over you in the heavy, humid air.

There was no going back after that day. Not to abstinence, not to disappointing hookups or to pretending sex was something casual and forgettable that fit neatly between work schedules and storm reports.

Once Scott got his hands on you, everything else lost appeal embarrassingly fast.

What started as isolated incidents quickly turned into a pattern neither of you seriously attempted to stop. It was a terrible idea professionally, obviously, but somehow the two of you functioned better afterward. Meetings became easier, long drives felt lighter and you argued less viciously because the tension always had somewhere to go now instead of festering under your skin for weeks.

You started going home together most nights under the excuse of saving gas money. Then showering together afterward became another practical decision because apparently water bills mattered too now. Somewhere between shared coffee in the mornings and him keeping spare clothes for you at his apartment, things moved quietly into something neither of you had planned for and the worst part was that it worked.

The sex stayed incredible. Sometimes rough enough to leave hickeys along your skin and fingerprints fading across your thighs and hips by morning, or other times slow enough that you ended up tangled together for hours afterward while thunderstorms rolled outside the windows. Every now and then he fucked you hard enough to leave you shaking afterward, staring blankly at the ceiling while he stood in the kitchen making you food like that was a normal sequence of events but eventually you realized it wasn’t just about that anymore.

You started having actual dates without calling them dates, it was dinner after work that lasted until restaurants closed around you. You went grocery shopping together because both of you were too exhausted to go separately and you began falling asleep on opposite ends of his couch while weather models played quietly on television screens neither of you were really watching.

Off-season made it worse.

Without constant travel, motel rooms and adrenaline keeping you both distracted, there was finally time to explore whatever this thing between you had become. You drifted naturally between your house and his apartment depending on whose place seemed closer to the office that day. Half your belongings somehow ended up at his place and vice versa. You texted each other constantly during meetings despite sitting twenty feet apart, phones hidden beneath desks while coworkers talked around you.

Scott started bringing your coffee to your desk already made exactly how you liked it before you even decided you needed one. You started buying his preferred cereal without asking if he wanted any. He slept better with you in his bed and you stopped grinding your teeth in your sleep when he stayed over.

So naturally, being made love to finally happened exactly the way you once thought it would and it wasn’t some exaggerated version of romance men convinced themselves they were capable of after two drinks and mediocre conversation.

It sort of snuck up on you. It was Scott pulling you into his lap while both of you were exhausted after work, kissing your shoulder absentmindedly while you read through data on his laptop. It was him waking you up slowly on Sunday mornings with his hand sliding under your shirt and nowhere either of you needed to be. It was sex that lasted forever because he knew your body well enough to take his time with it, knew exactly what made you gasp, what made your legs tense and what made you hide your face against his neck when the pleasure became too much.

He paid attention and it made all of the difference. Scott learned your body like he learned storm patterns, thoroughly and obsessively, until touching you became instinct to him and it showed…

The morning light filtered through the curtains of your bedroom in soft, golden slats, painting the sheets in hues of amber and cream. The house was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of your shared breathing and the distant chirp of birds welcoming the dawn. You were tangled together, skin on skin, the warmth of the duvet trapping the heat of your bodies in a private, humid cocoon.

There was no rush, no storm to outrun and no urgency born of desperation. There was only the heavy, sweet weight of Scott pressing you into the mattress. You were both fully naked, your limbs entwined in a lazy, possessive knot.

Scott began slowly, his lips tracing a path of fire across your collarbone. He wasn't just kissing you, he was tasting you, tongue swirling against your skin in slow circles that made you shiver. He moved lower, mouth finding the sensitive curve of your breast as you let out a soft, airy moan. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly while his thumb and forefinger pinched the other peak, twisting it just enough to send a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

You arched your back, your fingers sliding into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The friction of his chest against your breasts was intoxicating, the rough hair of his torso grazing your sensitive skin.

He shifted, sliding his body up so he could look into your eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with an intensity that felt more overwhelming than any of the rougher encounters you'd had. He didn't move to flip you or push you into a different position, instead, he settled between your thighs in a classic missionary stance and pushed inside. There was no latex barrier this time, no clinical snap of a condom. It was raw, wet and absolute. 

The sensation of his bare skin sliding against yours was a revelation. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt the full, throbbing heat of him filling you completely. It felt different, more intimate and permanent. The lack of a barrier made every ridge of his cock feel amplified, every pulse of his blood echoing against your own internal walls.

He didn't start with the punishing pace of the past. Instead, he began to rock, his movements slow and agonizingly deep. He pressed his palm flat against your stomach, pushing down firmly to tilt your pelvis, ensuring that every thrust hit the deepest part of you.

"Gripping me like a fucking vise…so perfect." he groaned, his voice a gravelly morning rumble that vibrated through your chest.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles to pull him even deeper. You were lost in the rhythm, the slow, sliding friction creating a build-up of tension that felt like a tightening coil in your belly. You ran your hands through his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp as you moaned into the first rays of the morning sun.

The intimacy was suffocating in the best way possible. As he continued to rock, his movements grew slightly more urgent, the slow glide turning into a passionate, driving force. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours, tasting the salt and sweetness of your skin while he continued to pinch and tease your nipples, hand roaming your curves with a familiarity that spoke of a deep, obsessive knowledge of your body.

It didn’t take long for your breath to become shallow, chest heaving as the pleasure began to peak. You could feel the walls of your pussy clenching around him, milking him with every deep stroke. Your body tensed, toes curling into the sheets as a wave of heat crashed over you. You cried out, a long, melodic sound of surrender, as your orgasm ripped through you in slow, pulsing waves that left you shaking beneath him.

Scott didn’t slow his pace as his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. He continued moving, the intimacy of the connection almost too much to bear.

"Want to be done?" he whispered, his voice strained, muscles trembling with the effort of holding back.

You looked up at him, eyes hazy with pleasure and affection. The thought of him pulling away felt wrong because you wanted everything. You wanted the weight, the heat and the mark of him.

You shook your head with an escaped whimper, pulling his face down to yours. "Don’t you dare pull out…’want you to come inside." You breathed.

The request broke the last of his restraint. Scott let out a guttural sound, a mix of a groan and a sob and began to drive into you with a renewed, primal intensity. It was a desperate, loving hunger. He hammered into you, movements strong and deep, each thrust a claim and a promise.

As he reached his limit, his grip on your hip tightened, fingers digging into your skin. He thrust one last time, burying himself as deep as physically possible and you felt the hot, thick bursts of his cum flooding into you. The sensation of him filling you from the inside out was the most intense feeling you had ever experienced, a physical manifestation of the bond that had grown between you.

In the height of his release, as his body shuddered violently against yours, he gasped out the words he had been holding back.

"I love you," he choked out, the confession raw and unplanned.

The world seemed to stop for a heartbeat. You felt a surge of emotion that rivaled the intensity of the orgasm, a warmth that started in your chest and radiated to your fingertips. You tightened your hold on him, pulling him down for a deep, searing kiss.

"I love you too," you whispered against his lips.

He collapsed onto you, heart drumming a frantic rhythm against your own, both of you spent and glowing in the morning light, finally and completely entwined.

A few years ago, you would’ve hated the idea that Scott Miller of all people would end up teaching you everything worth knowing about sex. It would’ve bruised your ego badly, especially considering how seriously you once took those stupid categories and scales in your head before Scott showed up and ruined all of them completely.

Good sex stopped mattering. 

Great sex became expected.

Getting fucked became routine enough that you lost count somewhere along the line, usually around the third orgasm of the day and definitely before he started dragging you into his lap halfway through work calls just because he felt like bothering you…with his hands and dick.

But somehow, even after all the rough sex and ruined schedules, Scott still managed to make love to you exactly the way you once imagined it should feel.

So if somebody offered you the chance to go back and do it all over again, you would without hesitation.

You were an absolute HR nightmare now and what a fucking delight that was!

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!

Look at him just chewing the FAWK out of that gum 😭 (wait chew me next)

Scott Miller wears many hats: Scott Miller the Meteorologist, Scott Miller the Asshole, Scott Miller the Founder, and his favourite — Scott Miller the Father.

Scott Miller the Father gets dressed in a generic fantasy king outfit and shows up to his co-parent’s house with a smile on his face and neatly wrapped gift for his daughter, Lacey.

Scott Miller the Father follows your careful instructions for getting the house ready to accommodate fifteen children and their parents — from packing goodie bags to decorations to setting up party games in the backyard.

Scott Miller the Father sets up the grill and listens as his daughter follows him around, tiara perched on her head while she rambles about her excitement, talking about all the fun she’ll have with her friends who are coming. She shows him the sparkly bits of her dress and twirls so he can see how it fans out around her.

“Mommy even did my makeup like hers, see,” she points out, closing her eyes so that Scott can see the pink and purple eyeshadow blended over her lids, shimmering slightly in the light.

“How pretty,” Scott smiles when she opens her eyes again. “You really are the most beautiful princess ever, aren’t you?”

Scott’s heart definitely skips a beat when she giggles shyly at his compliment.

And then her eyes light up, the tell-tale sign that an idea had lodged itself in her little brain.

This is how Scott finds himself wedged in an uncomfortable plastic kiddie chair, knees up to his chest when she decides she wants all of them to match makeup — to show everyone they’re a family. She’s opted to do it herself, foregoing makeup brushes in favour of smearing bright glittery pigment across his lids while humming to herself, hand pressed into his thigh as she leans up on her tiptoes so she can reach his face. She looks at you, then her reflection in the mirror, then back to Scott.

“Like this mommy? Is this good?”

“Oh it’s perfect, you’re doing very well sweetheart,” you respond. “Wipe your fingers off before you pick a new colour,” you remind her as you watch her fingers beeline for a bright blue in the eyeshadow palette.

You see the corner of Scott’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything. He waits patiently, eyes closed as she pats and smears, occasionally wiping away the excess. When Scott’s eyelids are sufficiently glittery, and his cheeks are blushy enough she finishes off with a healthy swipe of lip gloss across his lips: sparkly, pink and bubblegum flavoured.

“Do you like it Daddy?” she asks, holding the mirror up to his face.

Scott doesn’t miss a beat.

“Of course I do, it’s so colourful!”

She cheers, applauding quickly. “I can’t wait for all my friends at the party to see it.”

Sensing his hesitation, her smile falls slightly.

“Are you gonna take it off Daddy?”

You can already tell by the slight wobble in her lip that Scott’s going to cave and you’re not surprised when he responds: “Of course not, princess. I can’t wait for everyone to see it,” with a slightly forced smile as he heaves himself out of the kiddie chair. He lifts her up, twirling around with her while she giggles and claps.

You watch them dance through the living room as you wait for the first of the guests to arrive, taking stock of the decorated room. It had only taken an entire night of blowing up balloons and wrangling them into arches, but Lacey’s kingdom is perfect. Bright and fantastic and everything she asked for.

The first guest to arrive is Lacey’s best friend Shelley, a sweet shy girl who Lacey had latched onto on her very first day in daycare and hadn’t left alone since. Her parents drop her off, offer an apology for not being able to stay, while her older brother yells for them to hurry up or he’ll miss his soccer game.

“Be glad you just have the one,” her father says while the girls beeline to Lacey’s room to play with her toys. “Just not enough hours in the day to manage them,” he sighs as he hands you her gift. You guys see him off, arms crossed as you watch him peel out of the driveway.

“Christ, I do not look forward to her teenage years,” you laugh as you bump the door closed. The muffled sounds of the girls playing drift down the hallway as you and Scott make the most of your final half-hour of peace before the rest of the guests are supposed to arrive.

You watch Scott’s hands twitch as he brings them to his face, then slowly lower them as he remembers his predicament.

“Jesus, I don’t know how you guys walk around with this shit on your face all the time. My lips are so sticky,” he complains.

“You do also have like five times the normal amount of makeup on your face,” you laugh. “Do you want me to fix it? Take a little of the lip gloss off at least.”

You already have your thumb on his bottom lip, pressing gently as you swipe when he wraps a gentle hand around your wrist.

“It’s fine. It’s just a day,” he shrugs. “Most of it’s probably going to come off on whatever I eat anyway.”

You leave it alone, the two of you opting to go through the plan for the day again: timing for games, cake, and making sure one of you is always available to watch kids on the trampoline. There’s a pit in your stomach as you think about the logistics of managing that many children and parents who would be more concerned with socialising than keeping an eye on their kids, but you’re not left with much time to keep thinking about it when you hear a decisive knock on the door, Javi, Kate and Tyler’s muffled voices floating through to you.

“Lacey, come say hi to uncle Javi,” Scott yells while you let them in.

You hear the sound of Lacey urging Shelley to come with her, and then the soft patter of feet down the hallway until Lacey appears in the living room with Shelley’s hand in hers.

“Hi Uncle Javi! Shelley this is my mommy’s friend Uncle Javi, but he’s also my daddy’s boss I think.”

Shelley gives Javi a shy wave, nodding as Lacey moves on.

“And then this is his friend Aunt Kate, but my mommy also has a friend called Aunt Cate so I have two Kates not just one Kate and then this is her boyfriend.” The two girls giggle at the word boyfriend as Lacey gestures to Tyler. “His name is Uncle Tyler and he has a big big big truck and he drives it really fast and it’s always dirty outside. Shelley likes big trucks,” Lacey explains as Shelley nods feverishly besides her.

“Did you bring it Mr Tyler?” Shelley asks, hands clasped and eyes wide.

“Sorry girls. I left her back at home. ‘Sides, not sure your dad would let you guys anywhere near it.”

The girls immediately lose interest, turning back to Javi.

“Uncle Javi why do you have a silly hat?”

Both girls tilt their heads, regarding his jester’s hat with curiosity. The bells jingle as he tilts his head this way and that.

“I’m a jester,” he says.

“What’s a jester?” Shelley asks, brows furrowed.

“It’s like… a clown? I’m here to make the princess laugh and make sure she’s having fun today,” he explains.

They both light up almost immediately, Lacey’s hand immediately slipping into Javi’s.

“Come play Transformers with us Uncle Javi, but you can’t be Bumblebee because that’s Shelley’s favourite and I’m Optimus Prime already so you have to be Megatron.”

“Lacey, you have to ask Uncle Javi if he wants to play Transformers,” Scott sighs, even as Javi leans down to pick her up.

“But why? He said his job is to make sure the princess has fun.”

A bell on Javi’s hat jingles as she flicks it.

“Because he’s a grown up jester, and he might wanna sit with the grown ups,” you offer.

“Why? Grown ups don’t even play.”

The scowl on her face is enough to draw laughs from the adults, and the lines between her brows just deepen as her and Shelley shrug at each other.

“How about this,” Javi starts, gently lowering Lacey to the ground. “You guys go get your Transformers and we can play out here. Then I can play and hang out with the grown ups.”

The girls are off without a second thought, skipping away hand-in-hand.

“You need to stop spoiling her,” Scott says as he watches them disappear down the hallway.

“You have no room to talk looking like that,” Javi snorts.

“There something wrong with the way I look?”

Scott’s arms are crossed, perfectly glossed lips pressed together in a thin line as he scowls at Javi.

“Not wrong, per se. Just very…” Javi trails off, looking over at Kate and Scott who are suddenly very interested in the balloon arches around the living room.

“Artistic. My daughter had an artistic vision, and as her father it’s my job to encourage it and providde her with good creative outlets.”

“Artistic vision? Creative outlets? Being a dad really does wonders,” Kate laughs, placing Lacey’s gift in the designated gift corner.

Scott just rolls his eyes, then bites his tongue when you shoot him a withering look.

“It’s cute. You have a heart,” Kate continues, a mischievous smirk on her face.

“I don’t know why we invited them,” Scott mumbles. “They’re not even my friends.”

“Lighten up Scotty, glitter and blush don’t go well with a frown,” you laugh, elbowing him gently.

He clicks his tongue, then excuses himself to answer the door when he hears the doorbell ring. You steel yourself, preparing for the sheer levels of energy that you’re going to be responsible for as the rest of the day goes by, and then smile when you hear Scott explaining, once again, that his makeup is a Lacey Original Artwork.

You had moved into the tidy bungalow just under a year ago, placing a potted fern on the doorstep and painting over the dated beige walls. It was finally starting to feel like a home. Now with the holidays approaching (as reminded by the entirely too jolly Santas everywhere in town) you were excited to start new traditions in your humble home. And it started with putting twinkling lights on the house, lights currently tangled in the cardboard box you haphazardly threw them in twelve months ago. 

Threading out another knot, you give him a playful smile. “How do you know I don’t have a ladder?”

“Lucky guess?” He’s not going to admit he’s scanned and memorized nearly every inch of your garage.

The day after the moving truck came and went, you were thrilled when your first new neighbor rang your doorbell. While you had expected some middle aged woman with a plate of brownies and a plea for babysitting, you were pleasantly surprised at the man in a flight suit (Lt. Robert Floyd according to the stitching) with the striking blue eyes who stood there instead. He didn’t have brownies, but he happily gave you the lowdown on the neighborhood as you sat amongst moving boxes drinking lemonade out of paper cups. 

As the months passed, an easy friendship had developed amongst neighbors. In the morning before making his way to base, Robert would scoop up your morning paper and walk it up the seven steps to your porch. The paper boy always threw it short. And despite numerous pleas to leave it be - you didn’t mind the short walk - every morning when you went for the paper, there it sat neatly on your mat along with any misdelivered mail.

And when he wasn’t saving kittens from trees in his free time, Robert was a shining example of a great neighbor. Driving his truck for a trip to get plants at the nursery, lending his mower when yours broke in the heat of July, cleaning your gutters when the leaves fell…you shouldn’t be surprised he’s now offering up his ladder so you can enjoy your Christmas lights. Looking down at the tangled mess, you hadn’t even thought about how you were going to get them actually on the house. Nails? Did you even own nails?

Not even an hour later you’re standing on the sidewalk facing your home with a hot cup of coffee in your chilly hands. Propped up on a ladder with detangled lights in one hand - and a tool belt around his waist like your personal Mr. Fix It - Robert hums to himself as he hammers nails into the trim before wrapping the first strand of lights in place. 

You had accepted his ladder graciously, but mentioned you needed to hit the hardware store first for nails. With a nod of his head he left your garage and you continued on the lights. It was a tedious project, but rewarding once the final strand lay flat against the concrete floor. You were digging around in boxes for tools when your neighbor reappeared. He had a ladder and his tool belt, a full box of nails clutched in his large hand. Cheeks warm, you assured him you would buy your own. He let out a playful pfft.

“Nonsense. It’s Saturday, the hardware store will be packed. Consider them an early Christmas gift.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Let me at least trade you for them? A cup of coffee?”

“Do you still have those Kona beans?” His ocean blue eyes are hopeful.

Your smile widened as you nodded. The overpriced beans you had expensively shipped every month were a favourite of the weapons systems officer. Last month you had hosted the homeowners association meeting (for the first and hopefully only time) and Robert had raved about the coffee you served. He was used to the basic stuff they made on base, his own home brewing not much better. Your coffee was the best.

When you came back to the garage after whipping up a carafe - hot mug in hand - you shouldn’t have been surprised to see your neighbor already up the ladder, deep into the project.

You holler up to him. “Robert, get down! You don’t need to do that!”

But he waves you off, insisting that he had already started and might as well finish the job. He would just drink your delicious coffee once he was done. And so you were relegated to the sidewalk to make sure everything looked straight from the street. 

From this distance you could admire him innocently. The military-issue wire frames that catch the morning sun. Broad shoulders under the neat canvas barn coat he recently replaced when the corduroy collar ripped. His strong hands shielded from the chilled wind under his workman’s gloves. Because someone like Robert Floyd follows safety precautions and owns workman’s gloves. 

At this angle you can see the slight smile on his lips as he strings lights along your porch. For the next hour you watch him put up lights, him occasionally turning back and asking you how they look.

“Are you sure they’re straight?” You promise him they are, but he meticulously checks his work anyway. He wants your house to look perfect. 

The wind has tinged both your cheeks a deep pink and the cold is starting to seep through boots. Robert has nailed the last of your lights to the trim and deemed them faultless. He comes down the ladder and walks to stand beside you to admire his handiwork. Hands on hips - with that damn tool belt still astride his waist - he turns to you beaming at a job well done. It’s impossible not to beam back, thinking how long it would have taken you to do even a job half as good.

“Thank you for putting up the lights. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.” He isn’t sure whether your cheeks are red from the cold or something else. “I’m so lucky to have you as a neighbor.”

His smile is permanently stuck at your compliment. He opens his mouth to make a joking comment about the coffee you owe him - anything for more time together - when he feels the telltale buzz in his pocket. Pulling it reluctantly out after shedding a glove, he sees it’s Phoenix and is only semi-annoyed. They have lunch plans, which he’s running late for. And while he’s sure his front seater would approve of him blowing her off for the neighbor he can’t stop talking about, he’s a better friend than that.

Turning back to you, where you’re enjoying your freshly strung twinkling lights, Robert rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I have to head out…lunch plans. Rain check on that coffee?”

Nodding through your disappointment, you help him gather up his ladder and assure him that coffee is his whenever he wants.

The following morning you pad toward your front door, eyes bleary from a deep sleep. The house was cold and you pull your robe tighter around you. Through the glass panel in the door you can see your paper on the mat, as always, ready for you to consume over coffee and toast. As you open the oak door and scurry to shut it with the paper secured, something - or rather someone - catches your eye. 

Robert stands in the doorway of his own bungalow, calmly watching the neighborhood. The thick fair isle sweater covering his wide shoulders looks incredibly cozy, and he nurses a mug between both hands. He exists in that moment without worry, and you’re envious. 

His placid expression is broken when he feels your eyes, turning his head to see you, bedhead and newspaper clutched in your fist. His lips turn in a warm smile and he raises one hand in a slow, friendly wave. Your heart flutters, utterly taken away with how surely he carries himself, how sweetly he treats others. An emotion quickly squashed when you realize you are still standing in a bathrobe and knobby socks, flying back inside and shutting the door with heated cheeks. 

As you go about working on your Sunday chores, you keep picturing Robert’s face, that small happy smile you can’t get out of your head.

Later that night, after hours of tossing and turning in the sheets unable to find peace, you finally trudge down the hall into the living room, settling under blankets on the plush couch with a cup of chamomile. You’ve lost details of the plot of the movie you started, brain racing as your fingers fidget with the mug. 

The faint trill of your phone on the coffee table breaks you from your thoughts.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Bo-Robert…from next door?” You yawn a hello while checking the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. “I just wanted to check if everything was alright? Noticed your lights were on.” 

A warm feeling spreads through your chest at his concern. Picturing him peering out his kitchen window with the striped cotton curtains, filling up his own kettle, distressed that your house lights were on so late. You’d like to think he wore tartan pajamas, neatly buttoned. Those would suit him. 

You settle back into the cushions as you reply. “Everything’s fine. Just couldn’t sleep.”

His thoughtful nod can practically be heard through the phone.

“Better question is, what are you doing up so late?” 

The whistle and clink of boiling water and china crash over the line. A sigh pulled from his lips before responding. “I was going to make myself a cup of tea while I finished some reports, but appears that I am out.”

You glance down at your own mug of tea. It’s late, but not that late.

“What kind of tea do you like?” He muses on about his lack of preference - an equal opportunity tea lover - before admitting he was looking forward to a cup of peppermint. You make your way to the kitchen, phone pressed to your ear as you both open your cupboards. Your voice feels small as you offer, “I think I might have some.”

A silence lingers on the line. An unspoken late night implication that neither of you knows what to make of it. Your fingers flip through boxes of tea that take up too much cupboard space. Pomegranate, green, oolong. You don’t even drink tea that often. But right as you think you have too many white teas, you see the striped box of peppermint tea, one lone bag waiting for its turn.

You empty the box and walk to the window in your kitchen, where you can see the faint light on through his curtains. You clear your throat. “Look out your kitchen window.”

To your disappointment, Robert does not wear tartan pajamas to sleep. Although you are delighted to see his shirtless chest, defined from years of Navy training. He waves at you through your respective kitchen windows, holding up his mug of hot water. You lift up the tea bag, and his face splits into a toothy smile.

Before you can offer to bring it to him, he’s already turning toward his front door, speaking into the phone, “I’ll be over, just a minute. Need to find my coat.”

By the time there’s a soft knock on the door, you’ve turned on the kettle and gotten a fresh mug for him. You open the door, greeted by the tip of his nose and ears a merry red, the cold kissing his features. He’s been outside all of a minute. You usher your neighbor in, watching him observe how you’ve put up garlands and festive knickknacks in the entry since his last visit.

He slips off his boots, bare feet settling on the cold hardwood, and fingers the collar of his canvas barn coat. In his rush to come over he’d thrown his coat on forgetting his bare chest. It feels obnoxious to be half naked in your home, so he keeps his coat on and follows you to the kitchen. 

“Peppermint still good?” You tease, the packet of tea leaves in your hand. He nods, slightly distracted by how cozy you look in your soft loungewear and the robe from this morning. Dunking the bag into the hot water, you search for a topic to pass the steeping time. But when you turn to talk to him, words catch in your throat because he’s right there.

Eyes so blue the sky is jealous. Shy smile so friendly it warms the room. Your thoughts dirtily flit to the tool belt around his waist on the ladder, fingers adeptly wielding a hammer. Fingers that brush yours in the proximity. He’s so close and your brain blanks as bodies simultaneously take action.

Your mouths find each other effortlessly, bodies pressing together as if they know the moves the two of you were just figuring out. The low-lying tension building for the past year breaking the surface as the dark of the house gives you both the bravery needed. His hands are cold as they find your waist, your hands too warm on his chilled jaw.

His mouth is all soft lips and hard pressure, the faint hint of toothpaste in his taste. It’s exactly as you imagined, but better.

Lips become more desperate the longer you connect, your back suddenly against the counter as he presses into you. This moment has been building since he’d watched you first walk up the front steps with that too big moving box. A hand slips into his sun-bleached locks he always has so perfectly combed. He moans into your mouth, a sinful noise in the quiet kitchen. 

Before sense can interrupt, you’re reaching for the zipper of his coat, revealing every inch of his toned pale chest as the zipper slowly comes down. You slide a hand over the skin, a low gasp slipping out at the strong muscle. You’ve been attracted to his mind for so long, it feels unfair his body should be attractive too.

He shrugs out of the barn coat and follows you to the lowly lit living room, where the couch is softer on your back than the counter edge. Sitting side by side, knees knocking, he’s more hesitant to touch you in this context. Despite his body screaming to explore every inch of his pretty neighbor’s mind and body, he knows he’s basically barged into your home and immediately stuck his tongue in your sweet mouth. You get to set the pace. 

“This okay?” His hand encompasses your knee, thumb rubbing smoothly through the fabric. You nod, tilting your head toward him to continue kissing. He’s warmed up now, your home and body bringing him to temperature. Robert smiles into your kiss. You can’t get enough of him, wanting to consume him fully. He’s delicate with you in the most delicious of ways; gentle kisses pressed to your soft lips before sliding his tongue across to politely ask for access.

Your mouth can’t open fast enough.

You place you hand on his hip, enjoying the warm skin and lean muscle beneath your fingertips. Groaning lightly into your mouth, he blindly reaches for your hips to bring you into his lap. His tongue takes its time to taste you, learn every intricacy of your flavor. Administration so thorough your eyes roll back in your head. The sounds escaping you music in the darkened room.

Fingers dance across skin, finding purchase on thighs, shoulders, chests. You can’t get close enough to him, resting one hand on the back of his neck as your swollen lips press harder to his. Robert loves the way your thighs straddle him as he leans against the couch cushions, his warm, large hands along your back bringing you closer to him. Your sharp inhale as one hand toys with the waistband of your lounge pants.

When his lips trail down your neck, praising the delicate skin, you can’t hold back your declaration any longer. “I…I’ve wanted this for a while.”

His lips pause, brow furrowed. “This?”

“You.”

That gratified smile will forever be imprinted along your neck. “I’ve wanted you since the day you moved in.”

The whimpers that rip through you when he nips the thin skin behind your ear have him grabbing your chin and swallowing your sounds. Reveling in the shared passion you’ve both had simmering beneath the surface. Can’t help his hips rutting up into yours, glorious friction he’s been craving satisfied. You giggle through a moan against his lips.

“So, we could have been doing this all year long? What a shame, lieutenant.” 

You ground down in his lap, running your own tongue along his lips and savoring his taste. Thoughts of what he tastes like after his peppermint tea have you wrapping your arms tighter around his bare shoulders. Behind his head, outside the window, the faint glow of the Christmas lights he strung up shines in the winter night. How did you find this perfect man, and how is he your neighbor?

You express your gratitude for him with your mouth along his jaw, licking along the skin while he deliciously whimpers in your ear.You can only take so much before you’re sealing your lips over his again, inhaling his every breath.

As lips finally reach exhaustion - brains well past tired as the clock strikes a new hour - Robert and you pull apart with content smiles. Already cold without his warmth, you immediately lean back into him. He’s practically a furnace now under your ministrations. Unspoken words pass between as you invite him to sleep on your couch with you. A throw blanket produced from the nearby chair as the two of you tangle your limbs. There’s something comforting in the way he rests your head upon his arm, your knee upon his thigh. Again, it’s like your bodies know the actions like they’ve been waiting for you to finally figure them out.

You’ve just settled your head upon his warm chest when a thought strikes you, prompting you to lean up to look at those sleepy cerulean eyes. The small curious smile he gives you melting your heart.

“Did you still want your tea?” 

He shakes his head with a chuckle, using the last of his energy to tuck the blanket tighter around your body. “It’s okay. I got what I really wanted.”

Your heart feels two sizes too big as he presses a kiss to your temple before sleep takes you both. 

When the winter sunrise streams through your curtains the next morning, you refuse to get up. Perfectly warm wrapped up in the thin throw and your neighbor’s arms, you are purely too content. When Robert blinks open his eyes and gazes at your face, he sees the same placid smile he wore the morning before. The same one he’s had since you moved in next door. 

Despite both being all too happy to remain entangled on the couch, sharing small kisses on any skin within reach, the responsibilities of Monday morning dawn and you must get up. Reluctantly you release him, watching him fold the throw neatly upon the sofa arm before helping you stand. Warmth blossoms down your spine the more you’re in Robert’s presence, the little things he does meaning so much to you. Especially as he strides through your home shirtless, musing about the whereabouts of his coat on the kitchen floor.

Your eyes flit to the cold mug of abandoned peppermint tea as you offer him coffee. But he’s intent on getting home for his flight suit, the drive to base longer than he’d like. Of course, he would ideally spend the morning drinking your expensive delicious coffee and listen to you go on about the neighbors down the street with the atrocious holiday decorations. If you’d let him, he would spend every morning like that for the rest of time. But his admiral would put him in drills all week if he was any later.

You walk him to the door, robe pulled tight across your chest to keep out the cold. He’s pulled on his boots for the short walk and wraps his arms around you in an intimate embrace, disappointed this perfect night must come to an end. You bury your nose in his jacket-covered chest to enjoy the last of his herbal and citrus scent, hands reluctantly slipping from his middle. He turns to leave and both your hearts pang.

When Robert reaches the end of your path, he bends down and picks up the paper, thrown too short as always. He turns around and retraces his steps, walking back up the steps and straight up to where you reside in the doorway still. Fingers brush as he hands you the newspaper, saving you the walk as he always does. Only this morning he tips his head to press a kiss to your lips.

You’re already adding peppermint tea to your shopping list as you walk back into the house. Just for him.

see what antics happen at the next HOA meeting

A few months earlier...

"Ma, yes, I'm still coming," Bob spoke into the phone pressed against his cheek and shoulder. His hands were folding his fresh laundry as it lay out on his bed.

"And your older brother needs to know if you're bringing someone with you, honey. There's no shame in coming home alone again..." his mother said in a sweet voice, but Bob knew what the underlying tone meant. All his life, he never had anyone to bring home. It was like an ongoing joke inside his family at this point. No high school or college girlfriends seemed acceptable at the time, but now he was a Navy pilot and couldn't get a girl? Well couldn't get the girl he really wanted.

Before he even thought about what he was saying, he blurted out a response, "I'm bringing someone."

What.

"What?! Robert Floyd, you better not be messing with me!" his mother squealed over the phone. "Jim!" Bob had to pull the phone away from his ear with a grimace as his mother shouted for his father. "He's bringing someone!"

"About time," he could hear his father's gruff voice on the other end of the call. "Was gettin' worried about him out there in California. That boy's not built for the beach."

"Oh, you hush! Honey, I'll go ahead and let Mark know. I love you!" his mother's excitement could be felt through the phone, her voice all high and pitchy.

"Bye Ma, I love you," Bob huffed out. What did he just do?

"How's she doing?" Bob jumped at the sound of your voice, quickly turning to you. You lounged against the door frame of his bedroom, wearing nothing but a sports bra and some running shorts. He hadn't expected you to be home from your run with Phoenix so soon.

"Ma? Oh, uh, yeah, she's good. She's good, nothing new, y'know," he fumbled through a response, trying to not to look at the way the beads of sweat ran down your neck.

You hummed at him, "That's good. Are you still up for Thai food tonight? The new place on 4th?"

Of course, he was. When you first mentioned it last weekend, he had almost jumped at the opportunity. Sure, he liked Thai food, but sitting across from you and sharing a meal was what Bob really cherished. "Yep! Yeah, that sounds good. Ready in an hour?"

"You read my mind, Bobby," you said with a grin as you backed into your room across from his.

Present time…

“What’s wrong?” you saw the scowl on Bob’s face as he stirred the pasta like he had a personal vendetta against it.

“Huh? Oh, um, just thinking about my brother’s wedding,” he said like even the thought made him sick.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you said as you prepped the various vegetables on the countertop around you. “I love weddings. The outfits, the candles, the flowers! I can’t wait to get married. And I don’t want to have a big wedding, y’know? But like more of a backyard, summer barbecue type of vibe. Oh! And I want all my bridesmaids in different color dresses!”

Bob watched you as you described your perfect wedding, mentally taking notes. The way you had set down the knife to wave your hands around was adorable. You were always so animated, unafraid to show your emotions.

“But Bobby, the best part about weddings is…” you left the ending open for him, ushering him to fill in the blank.

“The cake?” he questioned. To be honest, he was trying to appeal to your sweet tooth.

“I mean, yeah, that’s pretty high up there. But no, it’s the look right before the first kiss. So many people say it’s the first look or the actual kiss, but for me it’s that moment where everyone knows what’s coming next and the purest emotions are on the bride and groom's faces,” you explained in pure joy and awe, like you had experienced this feeling yourself. It was sweet to watch. Your wonder and love for the simple things were something Bob loved about you.

“But, why is that moment better than the first look?” he asked innocently.

You sighed wistfully. "Just that moment when you can see the excitement on the groom's face, and he can barely contain himself. And the bride is usually so bashful, but always so excited. It's just so sweet, Bobby."

It did sound sweet. If Bob and you were getting married, he doubts he'd be able to contain his eagerness before the first kiss. No, he'd be way too focused on you to even listen to the officiant of the ceremony. Surely, he'd forget what to say, and he'd be a mess through his vows.

Bob was quiet for a minute or two, and you wondered what was going on in his head. You saw the way he had a small smile on his face, like it was hidden and just for him at this moment. And the way his shoulders relaxed, going more and more slack as time passed.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" you asked him with a teasing smile.

"Yeah, maybe," he chuckled and went back to stirring the pasta. Bob wanted to stay in this moment forever with you. It was so domestic. Cooking together in the kitchen you shared, laughing and throwing each other playful looks, talking about weddings. Maybe one day you'll talk about your wedding. Anything you wanted for the big day, Bob was sure to agree.

Living with you had been both the best and worst thing for Bob. A few months into the program, your lease was about to let up, and you were scrambling to find a new place. Bob hadn't known you prior to the mission that brought you all down to San Diego, but you had become close very quickly. Being two of only a few backseaters in the squad, you and Bob had spent a lot of time together in training and going over mission briefs. He had met a handful of WSOs in his time in the Navy, but knowing you was like a breath of fresh air. You never diminished your position or your knowledge, even when other pilots would question your place in the military. It was a learning curve for him to be around at first; seeing you go toe-to-toe with cocky pilots was daunting. He learned that's where your call sign came from, Bee. You were sweet, but could sting when you wanted. Soon, he got used to it, becoming more confident in himself in turn.

When you joked about bumming it on Phoenix's couch until you found a new place, Bob chimed in, "You can stay at mine. I have a spare bedroom, never really got around to using it."

"Wait, really?" you asked, fully turning your body towards him. You always did that, too, gave your full attention to whoever you were talking to. It was a bit intimidating. Bob was only now getting used to it, but still felt his heart beat pick up.

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind having a roommate," he said with a soft smile.

"Oh, Bobby, I could kiss you right now!" you said with a big grin, squeezing his forearm. He wished you had.

It wasn't until you had fully moved in that Bob realized the full consequences of his actions. You were horrible to live with.

Not in the way that you left dishes in the sink to "soak" all week, or you forgot to switch your laundry out for hours on end, or even in the way that you would blast music loudly at 2 in the morning. No, you didn't do any of those things. In fact, you always cleaned up after yourself, and Bob too, taking his plate right from his lap before he could protest. You cleaned the whole apartment, top to bottom, on Sundays. Your music carried throughout the hallways as you moved from room to room. Best of all, you baked! Every week! Trying a new recipe and being a little messy was your favorite way to unwind from a hectic work week, and lucky for Bob, he was your taste tester. Sure, you brought in your treats for the entire squad on Mondays, but Bob got to sit at the counter and watch you work. You would always gravitate towards him during this time, either letting him try the new brownie batter before you added more sugar or asking him how many chocolate chips are too many.

You were a great roommate. Always so courteous and kind. Anyone would be lucky to share a space like this with you. But it was torture actually living with you.

Too many times, Bob has caught a glimpse of you walking around in nothing but a shirt and some panties. To be fair, it was almost always after you had showered and were walking to your room. But as Bob watched you track down the hallway, he cursed himself for offering up the room in the first place.

And since moving in and getting closer, you had become even more touchy than usual with him. You were quick to give out hugs and other normal affectionate gestures to everyone on the squad, Bob included, even when he had only known you for a few weeks. But now, it was like Bob's personal space was your personal space. You always pressed into him when maneuvering around the small kitchen. Bob always held his breath, feeling you up against him, reaching for the oregano or paprika. Recently, too, your hand would work its way into his windswept hair after long days at the beach. The way your nails would drag against his scalp made him want to groan every time.

But worst of all were busy nights at the Hard Deck. On multiple occasions, barstools would fill up quick, only leaving the squad with two or three seats. It was fine for most of the night, with everyone so invested in the latest match of pool between Bradley and Jake. But after a few hours, you needed a break and always found your way into Bob's lap.

"I can get up, so you can sit," Bob stammered out the first time you sat on his lap. The rest of the squad shared amused looks, careful to hide them from both of you.

"It's okay, Bobby, I know you wanna sit too. Plus, you're comfy," you said, wiggling around trying to find the best position like he actively wasn't about to combust.

A bump of your hip snapped the man back into your kitchen. "Everything okay over there, space cadet?" you asked, tilting your head to look at him better.

"Mhm, yeah. I'm okay," he said in a small voice, the smile on his lips not quite reaching his eyes.

Furrowing your brows, you wondered what was making Bob so distant tonight. "You know you can always talk to me, right?" you offered with a small smile. People say that but rarely mean it. But you meant it, and you wanted him to know that. He just nodded his head and continued stirring the boiling pasta. "Okay, Bobby. I'm here when you want to talk," you said as you rubbed up and down his back. You swore you saw a chill run up his spine.

You watched the way his face continued to fall as you worked on dinner. Bob was always quieter than you, so gentle and sweet. But you hoped whatever was bothering him would go away, or that he would talk to you about it at least. As the night continued, he gave you those small smiles, and your worry just grew.

જ⁀➴

"Why don't you just ask Bee?" Phoenix questioned as she grabbed the drink Penny put on the bar top. The Hard Deck was busy with patrons in all corners of the joint.

"I can't just ask her!" Bob squeaked out; he felt his cheeks flush at the thought of it.

"Why not? Because you have a crush on her? Come on, Bob," she teased him with a shit-eating grin on her face. She watched him slump against the bar as if she had just punched him in the gut. "If you won't take me, then why not Bee?"

Bob sighed, given that they had this conversation almost every day. Before training, after training, and even during training. Even the clear blue skies weren't safe from Natasha's questions. "It's not like I don't want to take you. But my parents know you. They're expecting me to bring someone home, y'know."

"Someone to give them grandchildren," Phoenix cackled as Bob groaned loudly. Penny placed his fizzy soda on the bar with a smile, knowing all about the man's debacle. Natasha thanked her, and they made their way back to the squad.

"Don't say that! I don't even, I can't even think- Oh jeez, Phoenix. No more talking about this. I've decided." The pilot swore she had never heard his voice that pitchy before. Bob shook his head as he wove through the crowd of people.

Once they had settled back into the fray of the squad, Natasha finally took to giving actual advice, not just teasing her back-seater. "I think you should just be honest, tell her. It's Bee."

"Oh yeah, let me just tell her I've been in love with her for months on end now. She's gonna think I'm a creep! Luring her into my apartment, making her live with me," he half shouted, half whispered at her. "And I also said, I didn't want to talk about this. Especially with her right there." Bob glanced at you laughing freely with Bradley, head thrown back. Your energy was contagious to the people around you, as he saw Bradley and Mickey spotting matching smiles. Bob found himself smiling to himself, too.

"She wanted to live with you, idiot. And I'm not saying confess your love. Just ask for this favor. You don't have to give anything away if you don't want to," she said matter-of-factly. If only it were that easy. Within minutes of you being in his childhood home, Bob would surely fold and show all the feelings he's been trying so hard to hide. One conversation and approving nod from his mother, and he'd propose on the spot.

The pair were too entrenched in their conversation to see you making your way over. You didn't mean to snoop, but you couldn't help overhearing snips of their chatter.

"I just don't know what I'm going to do. I have to tell Ma I'm not bringing anyone," Bob muttered, dragging a hand down his jaw.

"To the wedding?" You whipped around and saw Bob's eyes almost pop out from behind his glasses. Phoenix, however, let a mischievous glint dance on her face as she watched the two of you. Directing your attention back to Bob, you continued, "Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But if you need someone, I'll go."

Natasha let out the biggest cackle you had heard; it even caught a few of the other aviators' attention. She looked to Bob, who seemed to be frozen in time, and decided she would do her best friend a solid.

"His family is expecting a girlfriend. That's why Bob is having such a hard time," she explained. But you just furrowed your brows further at this.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said. At this, Bob nearly fell off his barstool. "I mean, I can be your pretend girlfriend for a week. I'm really good with parents and family and stuff. And we know each other well, too! I'm sure we'd be a convincing couple. So, yeah. If you need someone." Suddenly, you felt awkward under his gaze. You definitely gave it away. Who just proclaims they'd be someones fake girlfriend?

You met Jake's gaze from across the pool table and saw him biting down on his bottom lip, trying to suppress the grin on his face. Flashing a 'Help me!' face in his direction, the blonde man made his way over to you.

"Offering your fake girlfriend services again, Bee?" he asked with a raised brow. Both Phoenix and Bob shot him quizzical looks. "Bee came out to dinner with my folks when they were in town a few weeks ago. They were on me about not settling down, but she quelled those fears. Swear I've never seen my mom fall in love faster."

"Really?" Bob asked, looking between both of you. "You met his parents?" A flash of hurt crossed his face. You had missed it completely, but both Hangman and Phoenix caught the distress on his face.

"That's perfect! Right, Bob? Bee would be great," she hit his arm, trying to snap him out of what Jake had just said. The three of you looked at Bob, waiting for his response.

He nodded slowly before responding, "Yeah, I mean, if you're okay with missing the full week. I'd love to take you." Natasha grinned at his recovery, mentally noting to pat him on the back about it later.

"I can talk to Maverick about it tomorrow. I'd love to come," you said bashfully. Jake smiled knowingly at your response. He locked eyes with Natasha and winked. The woman just rolled her eyes but got the signal.

"When was the last time I beat you in pool Hangman? I think my trophy needs a little dusting off," she challenged, gaining the attention of the squad and taking it off Bob and you.

"Looking for a rematch? I'm happy to oblige," Jake said in a sickeningly sweet tone. He stepped closer so only she could hear the next part of his sentence, "I'll win this game, just like I'll win our bet."

"In your dreams, Seresin," she scoffed. "Rack 'em!"

જ⁀➴

Jake's couch had become a second home to you at this point. Its cushions surely remembered the way you would slump into them every weekend. Being Jake's back-seater was a challenge at first; you were never one to back down, and neither was Jake. It wasn't until you both had figured out that instead of going up against each other, you could turn your focus on the pilots around you. So as time went on, you bonded over your love for college football, dad rock, and surprisingly, the Great British Bake Off.

"Oh come on, Tom! No one is going to win with a ganache like that," Jake exclaimed from the end of the couch. There was no quippy response from you, and Jake raised an eyebrow in your direction. You had been like this all week. Mopey and weird. Your usual trash talk to other pilots or Maverick was replaced with a stone-cold face. It was just as intimidating, but Jake knew something was up.

Clutching the throw pillow in your arms, you couldn't even focus on the monstrosity that was Tom's cake on your screen. No, all that ran through your head was how you were going to contain yourself around Bob and his family. In just two days.

With a whack, fabric came flying on top of your head.

"Ow! Jake!" you exclaimed, immediately putting your arms up to protect yourself from further attacks.

"Jake! Don't Jake, me," he sassed you, only making the pout in your lips grow deeper. "What is going on with you? Is this still about Baby on Board?"

"Don't call him that," you grumbled, taking your pillow and whacking him across the chest.

He just rolled his eyes and continued, "Seriously, you need to get it together. Baby on Board and his family are expecting a perfect girlfriend, and right now, you're this."

You scowled at him as he chastised you. "Jake, that's mean. I just," you sighed before continuing. "I just don't know how I'm going to do this. A whole week? He'll know!"

Your dramatics were nothing new to Jake, but when it came to Bob, it seemed like you dialed it up tenfold. "This opportunity has been placed in your lap. I think you should take advantage of it, embrace it," he suggested.

"That's easier said than done," you mumbled.

This upcoming week made you queasy just thinking about it. It wasn't that you didn't want to go to meet Bob's family. No, you wanted all of it. But not like this. From the first day you met Bob, you knew you were in for it. His cute glasses and sweet smile almost had you confessing by the end of the first week.

When he asked you to move in with him, you had happily agreed. But as the arrangement unfolded, you realized what kind of agony would be in store for the near future. The way he always carried in all the groceries, not letting you lift a finger. How he always drove you, never letting you sit behind the wheel, no matter what kind of day he had. And he was so handy around the apartment, too. One day, the garbage disposal in your kitchen stopped working, and just as you were about to call someone, Bob brought over his tool kit and got down on his knees. It was way more attractive than it needed to be.

But these little daily pains were nothing compared to what you had walked in on about a month ago. You were about to go on your daily run with Phoenix when she called you from the car to cancel. Turning your keys and walking back into the house, you slipped off your sneakers and began padding down the hallway towards your room.

Just as you were about to head into your room, there was an odd sound. At first, you thought it was the apartment, settling, or something that people always say when a building makes noise. But as you paused, clutching your shoes and phone close to you, you knew it was something else. It was him.

His moans were unmistakable, so vocal and loud. And you froze. For a few seconds, you just stood there, listening. Listening to Bob falling apart. The schlepping of his hand against himself was unmistakable. The rocking of the bed, too. You had to peel yourself away from this. Away from his noise. So that's what you did.

You tried to forget it. But a part of you wanted to remember, as horrible as that sounds. You hadn't been able to look Bob in the eye for a few days after, and when you did, the heat in your tummy would start again.

The thought of sharing this week with Bob was more daunting than any mission you had ever faced.

"Hey! Are we going to watch this episode, or are you just going to sit and stew the whole night?" Jake's voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

"Sorry, just a little worried still," you said quietly. Jake had never seen you like this before, so in your own head.

He slid down the couch and placed an arm around your shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. Everything will be okay, I promise. Your biggest worries right now should be if Tom can figure out his presentation for the judges."

You giggled at his teasing. "Fucking, Tom," you murmured under your breath.

"Yes, fucking, Tom! God, he's selling it!" Jake boomed next to you, throwing you into another fit of laughter. "Seriously, Bee. Don't worry too much about this week."

"I will be texting you live updates every hour, I hope you know," you said with a grin.

"Wow, only hour updates. I was expecting every 5 minutes," Jake teased, poking into your sides. You just swatted his hands away, fighting off a smile.

જ⁀➴

Stepping onto the packed dirt and smelling the fresh Montana air was a relief to Bob. The picturesque mountain ranges were illuminated by the strong moonlight, and the sky was lit up by thousands of twinkling stars. It was something to get lost in, and that's exactly what Bob found as he turned to look at you. "It's so beautiful," you said, eye going a little wide, and your voice was quiet. Bob figured it was from your hours of traveling, maybe partly from the awe of the view.

Without looking away from you, he responded, "Very beautiful."

Bob's moment of peace with you was interrupted by a swift closing of the front door and a cheery voice. "Bob! Oh, honey, you made it safe!" an older, but spry woman ran up to Bob. You looked at the pair as they embraced and caught a look at them, side by side. Bob was much larger than the woman, towering over her. His arms stood out against her frame as your eyes trailed across his large muscles and hands without even realizing what you were doing. And his nose, it was the same as the woman who stood next to him. The cute button was something you always caught yourself looking at when tracing the map of his face.

A squeal snapped you out of your daze, and you were quickly met with a tight hug and a rushed introduction of Bob's mother's name, Pam. "Oh wow! You must be Bee! You are so gorgeous. I don't know why Bob kept you hidden from us for so long." She leaned back a bit and took you in, dragging her hands across your frame and face. You giggled at her ministrations.

"Thank you for having me this week. I'm so excited to get to know you all," you said with a sweet smile.

"Oh, we are so happy to have you, Bee! Such a cute little nickname, you don't mind?" she asked, but continued on anyway. "We were a little worried about Bob for a while there. Honestly, never thought he would-"

Bob's eyes widened, knowing the long list of stories his mother could tell you. "Alright! Alright, let's not talk about all that just yet," he cut her off with a blush that dusted his cheeks.

"Honestly," you started, gaining the attention of both Bob and his mother. "Bob is the best thing that's ever happened to me. You raised such a kind and thoughtful man. I'm so thankful for him." Your eyes met his as you spoke, sharing a look of genuine care. Pam caught the way you looked at her son and smiled knowingly.

"Well, you two had better head on up to bed. Your Pa is sleeping, but he'll be up bright and early. And everyone will be over tomorrow night to meet you, Bee," Pam said, finally letting you out of her grasp. Instead, she placed a hand on your lower back to guide you inside.

You turned to grab some of your bags to take inside, but instead saw Bob balancing all of your luggage in his hold, just the same as when you left the apartment and at the airport. He shot you a look, telling you to head inside. You rolled your eyes, but mouthed 'thank you' as you kept walking with his mother.

She led you to a small bedroom upstairs in the rustic-looking house. It was cosy, a queen bed with golden colored quilt, a small adjoining bathroom, and a small window with lace curtains. She gave you another quick hug and whispered 'goodnight' before heading back down the stairs to bed.

Bob set down your bags and let out a deep breath.

"You okay? Wanna shower first? You had a long day," you said, a hand coming to his shoulder and rubbing it sweetly. He melted into your touch, unconsciously leaning into you.

"No, no. You go first, I'll be okay," Bob said softly, trailing off a bit towards the end. You had been traveling since that morning, and you could tell how tired the man in front of you was. Your flight was a few hours long, and since his family didn't live in Bozeman or Billings, Bob had to rent a car and drive 3 more hours out to the small town.

"Bobby, go shower and get ready for bed. I'll unpack and lay out the clothes for tomorrow." You took your hands and placed them on both sides of his shoulder, pushing him into the bathroom as he chuckled lowly.

Bob gave you a tired, but grateful look before he closed the bathroom door carefully. Today had been long, but seeing the way you interacted with his mother made it all worth it.

Stepping under the warm stream of water, Bob felt his muscles relax instantly. He didn't want to take long in the shower, knowing you were waiting for him, but he also needed a few moments to himself. Reflecting on your day together, Bob felt himself getting half hard at the thought of you.

On the plane ride over, you had fallen asleep against his shoulder, your body angling into his. With your odd positioning, your tits were pressed right up against him for the majority of the flight. It took everything in him to keep his gaze straight ahead on the action movie playing on the little screen in front of him and not your soft, full chest.

His right hand drifted down, gripping himself firmly.

And your hair. You had been tucked right under his chin, and the scent of your shampoo was overwhelming. Sometimes, Bob would catch a whiff of it floating down the hallway after your showers, but now it was coming at him in waves. He felt like such a creep, but what was he supposed to do? Push you away from him? Bob didn't know the next time you would get so close to him.

Now, his cock stood proud under the stream.

In the car ride over, you had made it a point to keep him company since it was so late at night. Finding a radio station that played old country music, you began to sing along to almost every song that played. After the fourth song, Bob knew it wasn't a fluke that you knew all the lyrics so well. You explained that your college roommate was from Wyoming and was constantly playing her music in the dorms.

Bob knew he needed to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn't help the way he looked over to your figure sitting beside him. Your lips moving along to whatever song was playing, your thighs pressed up against the leather seat of the truck, and the way your hand would occasionally find its way to his upper back, rubbing soft, smooth circles into it, all drove him to glance over at your sweet face.

His pace was steady now.

Bob felt so dirty, touching himself like this with you, only a thin wall away. But he knew if he didn't do it now, he wasn't sure when he would get a chance this week. So he hunched over the corner of the shower, trying to focus on anything but you. But like every time before this one, Bob's mind only wandered to thoughts of you.

What would you look like with water cascading down your tits? Or how your back would arch into the tile of the shower as he fucked you from behind. Best of all, how your face would twist with pleasure as he drilled into you, making you cum all over his thick cock.

That's what always got him to finish. Thinking about you, your pleasure. He caught the groan in his throat before it sounded, instead biting down on his free fist, whining lowly.

After cleaning up fully, Bob looked around the bathroom and realized he hadn't brought any clean clothes in with his. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he stepped out sheepishly.

At the creak of the bathroom door, you looked up from your place on the ground. You were met with Bob's nearly bare form. Water droplets from his hair were dripping down his shoulders, finding their way down his chest and waist. As you tracked one of the droplets, your eyes stopped when they met his waist. Bob's v-line was even better than you had imagined, and you had thought about it a lot.

He had an aversion to taking his shirt off around others, and that was reasonable. Especially in front of a bunch of macho, testosterone-fueled Navy men. But you had always wondered what he looked like under the kaki uniform he wore so often. Seeing it up close almost had you drooling.

"Forgot a change of clothes," he explained in a quiet voice. You just hummed, not trusting your voice. Pushing up off the ground and padding over to the dresser, you opened a drawer, and Bob found all of his clothes folded and set perfectly. His heart warmed at the thought of your delicate fingers working across all the clothing he had packed for the week. You had obviously taken care of his stuff first, as your luggage was still open on the floor.

Bob grabbed a change of clothes and kept his voice at the same quiet tone, "Thank you, Bee." You smiled up at him, staring a bit too long. But quickly, you fumbled to grab your nightwear from your bag and made your way into the bathroom.

Bob dropped the towel from his waist and began to dress. He didn't miss the way your eyes trailed down his body, and honestly, it made his stomach flip. Just as he was about to lie down and call it a night, he realized you hadn't discussed the bed situation. Bob would never want to make you uncomfortable, so he shuffled down the hall and found his way into the spare linen closet, grabbing a fluffy comforter and some blankets to lie down on the floor beside the bed.

Not too long after, you emerged from the bathroom and furrowed your brows at the sight of the empty bedroom, expecting to see Bob knocked out on the bed from such a long day.

"Down here," Bob's voice startled you as his hand shot up in a lazy wave from the other side of the bed.

"Bob? What are you doing?" you asked the man, walking over to see him laying down on the makeshift bed he had set up on the hardwood floor.

He rubbed the back of his neck, not quite meeting your eyes. "Didn't want to make you feel like we needed to share the bed or anything like that."

"We've literally fallen asleep on the couch together," you said, narrowing your eyes as a teasing smile made its way to your face at his chivalry. "I don't mind sharing the bed at all, Bobby. And that can't be comfortable."

"No, no. Ma's got the best blankets. Feels like a cloud," Bob explained with a soft smile.

You narrowed your eyes at the man before speaking, "With you back? Do you remember earlier today when we got off the plane?"

Bob recalled the moment of weakness. He had stretched out a bit too far after sitting for hours on end and felt a tug throughout his body, wincing a little. You had fused over him for the next 30 minutes, almost refusing to get in the car if you couldn't drive. But Bob, of course, got his way.

He looked as if he was about to argue with you. Bob was hardheaded sometimes, but you knew just the right thing to say to knock him out of it.

"Plus, if your mom comes to wake us up and she sees you sleeping on the floor, everything would be ruined," you offered. Seeing a look of recognition flash across his face, he nodded slowly, like he was considering your words. "Come on, Bobby. I'll help you fold everything and put it back."

You giggled as he sprang up from the floor, a hand already coming down to his lower back.

"I knew your back was going to hurt! Comfy my ass," you said, smacking him lightly across the chest. He just smiled at you, joining in with some soft chuckles that warmed your heart.

Curling into bed, you felt sleep hit you almost immediately. Letting your eyelids droop, part of you wanted to stay up and think about tomorrow. To pick Bob's brain about who might show up. Worry about what they would think of you. But the sound of Bob's voice made your heart slow and breathing even out.

"G'night, Bee. Thank you again for coming with me," Bob told you, not even sure if you were lucid enough to hear him.

"Anything for you, Bobby. Goodnight," you said in the softest voice he thinks he's ever heard from you. Your words slurred a little and were definitely muffled by the pillow, but he still heard you. He saw your eyelashes flutter across your cheeks as you settled into sleep. The way your mouth opened slightly, lips parting so delicately. How your body seemed to curl into itself, making you look so small and fragile.

Wishing to hold you close to his chest like earlier today on the plane or to grasp your hand to hold in his sleep, Bob just stayed up for a few minutes longer to watch your sleeping form. Soon enough, his thoughts of you became muddy and distant as sleep took over, claiming you both now.

જ⁀➴

Bob had awoken to soft beams of sunlight streaming through the lace curtains. Everything was quiet, and Bob let himself lie for a moment, taking in the peace. Just as he was about to stretch and get up, he looked to his side and saw you.

Your cheek was still flushed up against the pillow, and your hair was in a bit of a mess as it rubbed on the fabric. It wasn't rare that Bob got to see you relax, but it was rare to see you completely void of all concerns. Usually, you were still holding some type of resistance in your shoulders or furrowing your brows slightly, even when lying across the couch at the end of the day. But now, you looked completely free. He smiled a bit at this.

Like you had sensed him mentally tracing the outline of your nose or the apples of your cheeks, suddenly your eyelashes fluttered, and you opened your eyes.

"G'morning, Bobby," you half mumbled-half whispered into your pillow. You weren't sure he understood you until hearing his telltale chuckle that was seemingly reserved for you.

"Morning, Bee," he said softly, voice a little deeper than usual. You chalked it up to the morning hours, but it still made your tummy flip. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mhm," you hummed. Bob saw that you made no effort to move from your comfortable position and chuckled again.

He often teased you for being so out of it in the mornings, but Bob had never seen you so unguarded. On the weekends you had off from training, you would usually pad into the kitchen, eyes still a little puffy and your movement still a little soft. There was one time Bob had to quickly intervene before you poured your coffee into your cereal bowl instead of your mug. But right now was different.

"Don't laugh," you grumbled. "Need like five more minutes. Or maybe ten."

Just as Bob was about to say okay and lie back under the covers with you, he heard a familiar pattern of steps making their way up the hallway.

"I'm afraid you're not going to get that, Bee," he spoke, seeing your brows fold in on themselves at his words. But soon, the bedroom door opened, and Pam was rushing to hug you good morning.

"I can see Bob has been soft on you, letting you sleep in," she joked as you shot up in the bed to meet her embrace. "We Floyds are early risers! Better start building the habit now."

"Oh, I know. Bob's up every morning at the crack of dawn, it feels like. Always hear him trying to be so quiet around the apartment," you said with a yawn as she drew away from you. Bob's cheeks heated at the thought of you being so in tune with his morning routine.

"Well, I won't rush you this morning, but breakfast will be ready in 20 minutes. Then we'll head into town afterwards, alright, Bee?" she said with a fond smile on her face. You nodded your head, saying a quick thank you as she closed the door and left.

The room was silent for a few seconds as you and Bob shared a small smile and knowing look at what had happened. "I'm only getting up early for her this week, Floyd. Don't expect any new habits when we're back home," you joked, a teasing smile on your face.

"Oh, I know. Wouldn't want to disrupt your morning routine of inside-out jeans and backwards shirts," Bob said with full seriousness as he pushed the covers off his body.

"Whatever that happened like one time," you said, pursing your lips. Hearing his laughter fill the air made your face flush with embarrassment. "One time! It was one time!"

Your protests at his teasing had no effect. Instead, Bob's laughter seemed to increase ten-fold as he doubled over in the bed.

"Bob, stop! It was one time!" you whined now. "You said it wasn't that bad."

His laughter subsided as he began to speak, "I know, I know." There was a silence that lasted for a few seconds until he spoke again, "But it was so funny, Bee." With that, Bob burst out laughing again as you half groaned, half laughed loudly.

From the kitchen, Pam smiled to herself, hearing her son's laughter carry throughout the house.

જ⁀➴

That night, like Pam had promised, Bob's extended family was over. Honestly, Bob was a little worried for you. His family could be a lot, and given that this was the first time he had brought anyone home, he expected everyone to poke and prod at you. But as his family filed into the house, your bright smile had never faltered.

Sometime after dinner but before dessert, Bob had lost you in the crowd of Floyds. He had walked through the house about ten different times at this point, looking for you, but you were nowhere to be found. Seeing the worried look on his face, his father gently grasped his son's shoulder to gain his attention.

"She's outside," he said lowly. Bob nodded and walked with purpose towards the back porch. His mind racing, thinking of all the possibilities that would've pushed you to escape outside. Were you crying? Was this all too overwhelming? Did someone ask you a rude question? Had you finally gotten sick of him? Sick of this role you were playing?

Right as he was about to push the door open, Bob paused. He saw you outside, but you weren't alone.

Gathered around you in the grassy field was a gaggle of small children, all laughing and smiling. Bob couldn't tell exactly what you were playing with the children, but after one of his younger cousins ran up to you and tapped your hip, he understood immediately. Bob smiled to himself, seeing you take off into a run as all the children screamed joyfully.

"She's sweet. Reminds me of your mother." Bob was snapped out of his trance as his father spoke. "Good job, son," he added, hand coming to clap softly on Bob's back.

Bob felt his heart race watching you. He knew you were perfect, living with you and being best friends had proven it to him. But he had never seen you like this, so carefree and thoughtful. Sure, there were nights when Jake or Bradley would get a bit too carried away at the Hard Deck, and you would be right by their side, taking care of them. But it wasn't even close to this.

Bob saw you chase around the children, never gaining too fast on the younger kids, but still giving the older ones a run for their money. He watched as all the kids gravitated towards you, all of their smiles and laughs being thrown your way. And Bob understood this feeling deeply. He had always felt a pull towards you. It came out in various ways, like always finding your eyes when Coyote would say something outrageous during training. Or bursting out into synchronized laughter whenever Jake would ultimately lose another game of pool to Nat. And his favorite was the way you would find your way over to Bob whenever you were in a large group. You could talk to Jake or joke around with Bradley, but whenever the full Dagger Squad was together on a crowded night at the Hard Deck, you were glued to Bob's side. These moments let him know that you were undeniably in each other's orbit.

Finally, Bob pulled open the door and walked out to you and your new friends.

"Uncle Bob!" one of the children exclaimed. You whipped around, seeing Bob walking up to you with a small smile on his face.

"Thought I lost you in there," he joked. You smiled, not speaking but walking closer to meet him in the middle. He met your kind eyes, but upon looking into them further, he squinted a little at you. Just as he was about to step back, you lunged forward.

"Tag! You're it!" you blurted out, giggling as you sprinted in the opposite direction. The children seemed to follow your example, all shrieking and laughing as Bob took off.

Suddenly, you heard little cries of your name. Turning around, you saw Bob gaining on you. Before you knew it, his hands grasped your waist, picking you up a few inches off the ground, bringing you into his chest.

Tucked close into him now, you felt his breath on the back of your neck. The heaving of his chest against your back had you squirming. "Can't get away that easily," his voice close to your ear. Biting down on your lip, careful to not let the whine out, you felt your tummy flip at the position he had you in.

You had come outside to escape, yes. But not from Bob's never-ending list of uncles or aunts. From him.

During dinner, he had been nothing but kind to you. Caring. Attentive. And it had been like that all day. From when you left the house and went into town with him and his mother, you hadn't as much as blinked before Bob made sure you didn't have to lift a finger. Sure, he had done this to a certain extent back in California, not letting you open the door or always opening glass jars for you when in the kitchen together. But today was a different level.

Pam insisted on getting you a pair of real, genuine cowgirl boots. She marched you into "Jesse's Boots & Shoes" and immediately sat you down on one of the little benches. After gathering what seemed like half the merchandise in the store, she came back to you with stacks of boxes full of different types of boots.

As you began to bend down to untie your shoes, Bob suddenly appeared in front of you. On his knees.

"I got it, don't worry," he said, before delicately unlacing your shoes. His large, warm hand flew up underneath your calf, and the other shimmied off your shoe. Then he looked up with that sweet smile and repeated the whole process on your other foot. You could've sworn you saw Pam snap a picture.

Later in the day, you made it back to the house and were helping Pam fix up some lunch. She handed you a big yellow onion and a kitchen knife, but before you could even take hold of the wooden handle she had outstretched to you, Bob had rushed into your view. Stealing the onion out of your right hand and gently pushing you out of the way of the cutting board, you looked at him incredulously.

"I know how watery your eyes get. I got it, just go sit down," he offered with that same sweet smile.

"I can cut one onion, Bobby," you said, playfully trying to grab the onion from his hand. He just raised his hands above his head, ensuring you wouldn't be able to reach him.

"I got it, Bee. Don't try to argue," he challenged, raising his brows. Huffing, you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the small smile that was creeping on your face.

Pam once again snapped a picture. This time, giggling to herself a bit like she knew this was going to happen.

The third time was right before everyone had arrived. You were upstairs, checking your hair one last time and making sure your outfit looked okay, when you noticed you had forgotten to put your necklace on this morning.

After retrieving the delicate piece from the bathroom, Bob had seemingly appeared. Seeing the jewelry in your hand, he walked forward with purpose, holding out his palm. You raised an eyebrow at his actions.

"Seen you do it a million times," he started. "Let me."

You nodded, not trusting your voice once again, dropping the piece into his hand. Softly, his free hand came down to your hip, guiding you to turn around.

Then, you felt his arms go around your shoulders, not touching, but there. It was so quiet in that moment. The only noise you could hear was the creaking of the old house and Bob's soft breathing close to your ear. It was distracting. Maddening, after the day you had.

Clasping the necklace around you, his hands dropped. Turning back around, you were met, once again, by the same sweet smile.

"You look beautiful, Bee," he told you before backing out of the room. "I'll be downstairs whenever you're ready."

Driven outside, you had wanted to sit on the porch for a bit. Think about what this weekend really meant for you. For Bob. For your friendship. But your plans were quickly interrupted after feeling a little tug on your leg and hearing a quiet invitation to a game of tag.

"Robert Floyd, you'd better let go of that girl! We've got apple pie coming out the oven!" Pam's voice drew you back into the heart-racing position you were in. Bob was quick to set you down, smoothing his hands over your hips in an effort to fix the creases in your dress that his hold had caused. But you saw the raging blush that crossed his face and burst out into a fit of giggles, and soon, all of his younger cousins were doing the same thing.

"I think this might be your inside-out jean moment," you teased with a smile, seeing the blush turn to a darker shade.

"Not funny," he said sternly, but you could tell he was trying to hold back a laugh.

"Mm, I recall saying something earlier this morning like that." You grinned at him, walking closer to the house, but your body was still fully facing the man in front of you. "But Bobby, it's so funny!" you laughed, throwing your head back. Bob couldn't help but smile, even if it was at the expense of his own actions.

What neither Bob nor you realized was the crowd of onlookers peaking through the windows, watching as Bob Floyd was struck with a look of love.

જ⁀➴

You had been right. The look before the first kiss was the best part of a wedding. Bob doesn't remember the last time he'd seen his older brother so giddy.

You, on the other hand, had missed it completely. Looking at the man who sat next to you instead. You saw the way the corners of Bob's mouth pulled upwards, smiling brightly.

The week had gone smoothly, both of you getting away with touches that were a little more lingering than usual or looks that called for a deeper conversation. To Bob's family, this looked like restraint, manners, and control. To you, this was torture, heartache, and suppression. You didn't know how many more instances of Bob's big hand on the small of your back you had in you before you broke completely. His gentle guidance and care throughout the week had been something that you reveled in. Returning to California, returning to normalcy, it all seemed so distant.

Sipping some champagne, you sat with Bob at the reception. Stringed bulbs lit up the night. Bright colors popped from all of the flowers that seemed to be placed on every table. And sweet music filled the air, inviting everyone to dance.

Bob studied your face under the night sky and limited lighting. You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Dread filled his heart, though. The thought of this week just being a glimpse into what life would be like if he got up the courage to ask you to be with him weighed heavily on his heart.

Going to bed with you every night was something Bob didn't even know he was missing, but now he craved it so deeply. Being able to talk to you and share his thoughts with you right before bed. Getting to hear you ramble on, either about your worries or joys, was something he began to love more than anything. The way your voice would begin to taper, become gentle, when you were truly tired and ready for sleep. How you supported your face under your small palm while talking with him in the dark. How your eyes would become glassy and glazed over as you finally hit the pillow. These moments became precious to him.

"All couples! Head to the dance floor now! Tell your partner how much you care about them, and let's dance!" The DJ's voice broke Bob's train of thought. Without thinking, he rose out of his seat and offered you a hand.

Sheepishly, you took it, letting him guide you.

A soft, slow melody filled the air as you began to take your place with Bob. His hands brushed your hips, stiff, like he was in middle school, and it was his first time slow dancing. You chuckled a little under your breath.

"What's got you laughing now?" he asked, soft and sweet. Eyes searching yours with intensity you had only seen from him this week.

You looked at him for a moment and just grinned, like you knew something he didn't.

"Just so stiff, Bobby. Relax," you told him, pushing into his space a little more. Your hands found their way around his shoulders, palms settling on the broad plain of his back. Now, your face met his chest, and you melted into him.

Bob felt the sway of your hips and the light movement of your feet. If it wasn't for you, he would've stood still, not knowing what to do with you like this. Sure, he had danced like this before. But it was never this intimate. This deep. This connected.

At any moment, Bob felt like he was going to let the words spill out of him. Tell you how he was really feeling. It seemed so easy.

The way you interacted with his family. Cooking with his Ma, talking about college sports with his Pa. Even the way you talked with his brother and sister-in-law. Though it was brief, you made an immediate connection. You and his sister-in-law, chatting away like you had grown up together. And he didn't miss the way his older brother shot him a look of surprise, but approval.

But it wasn't just about them. It was also about the way you just fit so well into his life. Sure, you weren't an early riser, and Bob had learned this weekend that you weren't the best with large animals, but he didn't mind. If being with you meant slow mornings where you would coax him back to bed, hands grasping for him to come lie with you beneath the sheets, he'd be okay with that. More than okay. And if the biggest animal you owned was a chocolate lab, that would be okay by him, too.

Slowly, his large hands came around your waist, more secure and grounded. And Bob closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. Taking in this moment with you was the most important thing to him.

You danced under the twinkling lights and stars, no concern for the people around you. No concern that this was fake, that it was all pretend. Because right now, it felt real.

Hearing the thump of Bob's heart calmed you. It was grounding you, just like the gentle guitar in the background. You swayed like that for a while, but eventually the pounding of his heart and the steadiness of his figure became all too much. While the music swelled, so did your chest. Heaving up and down at a much more rapid pace.

Bob, feeling the sudden shift in your energy, pulled back, but just slightly. Still close enough to hear the hitch in your breath, to see the quiver of your bottom lip.

Your eyes blinked rapidly. Looking up at Bob seemed like an impossible task. But with a gentle touch to your chin, you did.

"Bee?" he asked softly. Concern written across his face.

"I'm sorry," you said, even quieter. With slow moments, you pressed your lips to his.

Your lips were softer than he imagined. The way your lips slotted between his was like second nature. And before you could pull back, he learned in deeper. Taking the hand that was under your chin and pressing it into the back of your head. Meeting you in the kiss, he pressed closer to you, and you felt the strong hold he had on your hip.

Bob wanted so badly to lick into your mouth, to mix your spit. But he restrained himself upon feeling the slight jump below his waist.

The solid kiss made your tummy turn in a way you didn't think was possible. Something deeper took hold of you as you melted, once again, into the man in front of you. The heaving of your chest was still present, but now it was fueled by want rather than anxiety.

Pulling away slowly, your breathing was heavy. Your eyes searched his, trying to see what he was thinking. What would his reaction to your impulsivity be?

Before your question could be answered, you were being pulled by one of Bob's cousins, urging you to go line up for the bouquet toss.

Bob watched as you were ripped away from him. His hand came up to grab onto you, but his fingers slipped against the fabric of your dress. Your eyes widen, head whipping around to look at him. But just as quick, you broke your gaze.

જ⁀➴

As soon as the door to the guest bedroom clicked shut, you immediately began apologizing.

"Bobby, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, and I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking," you said, hands coming up to your face in an attempt to hide from him.

"Bee," Bob tried to cut in, but you could barely hear him over the sound of your racing heart and rambling words."

"I didn't mean to ruin this. Ruin this weekend and make you feel uncomfortable. Ruin what we have. Our friendship," you kept going, stomach now turning at the thought of losing Bob from your life.

"Bee," he started again, but still you weren't hearing a thing he said.

Your hands now rubbed nervously down your dress, like you were trying to wipe off what had happened earlier that night. "I'm gonna go take my stuff and sleep in the bathroom or something. You don't have to share a bed with me tonight. And if you want me to move out, I will. I'm sorry, I just, I don't know-"

"Bee!" Bob's voice startled you into silence. He stepped closer to you, reaching for your hands, trying to quell your nervous energy.

Bob's hand closed around your wrists. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you looked at your best friend.

"Tonight," he started, hand rubbing softly against yours. "What did the kiss mean?"

He took a deep breath as you just stared at him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," you said, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

"I'm not mad, and I'm not uncomfortable. I just," he took another deep breath before continuing. "I just want to know what it meant to you. Why you did it."

A tear slipped down your cheek at his soft-spoken words.

"I love you," you said quietly as more tears fell from your eyes. "I kissed you because I love you. Because I'm in love with you. I'm sorry, Bobby."

You felt your world crumbling around you. Years of friendship, laughter, and good memories all seemed to blur past you. Surely, when you got back to California, Bob would ask you to move out. The thought made you sick to your stomach.

Bob stared at you, silent. He felt like he was dreaming. All week, he had been trying to tell you how he felt. Been trying to get the words out. And here you were, saying everything he was thinking.

His hands quickly came up to your face, wiping the tears away. You couldn't look at him, eyes closed and body closing in on itself.

"Bee, will you open your eyes, please. I just want to talk to you," Bob pleaded. "I need to tell you something. Need you to look at me."

You shook your head, starting to feel like everything was all too much. Of course, he was still being sweet to you. After everything, after all of what you said and did. The thought made more tears come to your eyes.

"Please, please look at me," he asked again, thumbs now stroking your cheeks. Bob could see the internal debate you were having as your lips pushed deeper into a pout.

But after a few seconds, you opened your eyes. Blinking away the last bit of tears, you tried to look at the man in front of you.

As soon as your eyes met his, Bob smiled at you sweetly. "I love you. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner. And I'm sorry about this week. I should've told you how I was feeling, but I thought everything would go okay. That we could just go back to being normal after all this."

Your shoulders relaxed with his admission, your mouth opening just a bit to look at Bob in awe.

"But we can't," you said, voice still small. It made Bob's heart ache thinking about all that you were feeling this week, knowing he was feeling the same way.

"No, I don't think we can." His eyes dropped to your lips for a split second. If you weren't watching him so closely, you would've missed it.

Something in your stomach turned at the thought of kissing him again. Your chest began to rise and fall much like it had earlier.

Still holding your face in his hands, Bob leaned in slowly. Slow enough to let you pull away if this was something you didn't want. Slow enough that seconds felt like minutes.

Finally, your lips met for the second time that night. Less rushed than before and softer. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

The kiss was sweet. Bob's heart was racing out of his chest, having you like this. He was content letting your lips brush up against each other in a soft manner. But each time you kissed, he got hungrier. It wasn't until you let a soft sound slip past your lips and into his that he pressed into you harder.

Suddenly, Bob was walking you backwards into the bed. You felt one of his hands leave your face and come down to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him.

"This okay?" he asked breathlessly as you nodded, not trusting your voice.

With that, Bob got to work on the zipper at the back of your dress. He felt your hands in his hair, on his arms, pulling him in closer. Finally, the dress dropped and you let it fall to the floor.

Bob's eyes scanned your body. Wearing the prettiest set of black lace underwear and a matching bra, he felt his stomach turn. You were perfect.

Quickly, his hands were all over your body as you fell back with him on the bed. Feeling his hard length grind down on your barely clad heat had you biting down on your lip. Bob worked his mouth against your neck, looking for the spot that would make you moan against him. His licking and biting made your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him even closer if possible.

"Please, Bobby. Need you," you whispered. His head shot up to take you in. Your eyes were blinking quickly, like you were struggling to keep them open. Your mouth parted slightly, like you couldn't take deep enough breaths. Your hair splayed out around you, like you were an angel come down from heaven.

"Want me to touch you?" Bob asked as you whined, head nodding. "Gonna have to be quiet for me, okay? I wanna help you."

"Okay, I'll be good. Promise," you said, eyes searching his. Waiting for his movements to change. Waiting for him to help you feel good.

His hands moved from your hips down to your heat. Only one hand cupping it at first, while the other worked at the back of your bra. Pushing into your underwear, Bob's big hand began to feel you everywhere. His thumb quickly found your clit, and you thought you were seeing stars as he rubbed it softly.

You felt the tightness of your bra loosen, and Bob's other hand quickly moved to take it off you completely. Seconds after, his mouth came down to your pebbled nipple, swirling his tongue around it, sucking it into his mouth.

Your jaw dropped at the feeling. His kisses and ministrations made your hips jump up into his hand. "Need more, wanna feel your fingers," you said softly, trying to keep your promise to him.

Popping his lips from your tits, Bob looked at you with darkened eyes. "Being so good for me. I can feel you, so wet for me," he praised you, but still, his hand made no effort to move further into your heat.

Your brows furrowed at this, and you propped yourself up to look at the man lying above you. "Bobby, please," you whispered, kissing his cheek sweetly.

There was no way he could resist you when you asked so sweetly. His hand made its way towards your opening, stretching your underwear a bit. Bob played with you a bit more, and you whined into the pillow next to you.

"Sorry, honey," he whispered into your ear. "Just love your little pussy so much."

Your jaw dropped at his dirty words and at the feeling of two of his fingers stretching out your heat. They felt so thick, and Bob knew exactly what he was doing, moving them with expert precision. Pushing in slow and deep, reaching your spot almost immediately, your back arched off the bed into his touch.

Bob watched as you crumbled at his touch. It had to be a dream. The way your tits heaved up and down made him dizzy. Your face, now driven into the pillow next to you, silencing your noises, made his cock jump from beneath his trousers. You lying on the bed, almost completely naked, and he still fully dressed, made him bite down on his lip hard.

He was trying to take his time with you. Be gentle. Get to know your body. But every noise that escaped you and every look of longing you shot him made his resolve crumble. He could spend hours like this, with you at his disposal to play with. But sweat beaded down his forehead in restraint. Bob had to know what your tight pussy felt like around his cock.

A hand on his bicep pulled Bob from his thoughts. He felt your pussy clench up at his fingers, and he instantly moved his thumb back up to your clit. The reaction was immediate. Your body curling off the body and into him, Bob leaned into you, taking one of your tits into his mouth again, sucking harshly this time.

"Oh, fuck," you whispered as your orgasm ran through you. You never knew your orgasms could be so intense, but with Bob's constant attention to your body, you had never felt better.

Delicately, he pulled his fingers from your entrance and leaned down to kiss you sweetly.

"You're so beautiful," Bob said breathlessly. Then he brought his fingers up to his mouth, and you felt your pussy throb all over again at the sight of him licking your slick from his fingers. "Taste so good, too," he said, popping his fingers from his mouth. "Can I taste you?"

You nodded, but apparently, this wasn't enough for him anymore.

"Wanna hear you," Bob spoke softly. "Killing me, not being able to hear all your cute noises."

"Sorry," you said bashfully. "Yes, please."

"Don't gotta say sorry. Doing so good for me, my beautiful girl." Bob leaned in to kiss you again, making you feel his want and warmth as he licked into your mouth. His mouth traveled down your body, stopping to suck dark marks into your throat and all over your tits. But you didn't stop him, not really caring about how you would cover them up in the morning. His nips and licks were much more convincing than anything your brain told you.

Finally making his way down to your heat, Bob pushed your underwear to the side. Licking a broad stripe with his flat tongue, he tried to feel all of you. Your thighs worked to close around him, but his strong hands came up to grip them just hard enough to remind you of his strength, but not hard enough to hurt you. Continuing, he kissed all over your heat, much like he had just licked into your mouth. The movements made you dizzy.

Focusing on your clit, you felt one of his hands leave your thigh and dive into your heat again.

"Bobby," you whined. Quickly slapping a hand over your mouth, remembering what you had promised him. He looked up at you, chuckling a bit at your movements. But the vibrations against your heat only made you squirm and cry out more.

Removing his mouth from your heat, he kissed your thighs sweetly.

"Need me to help you, honey?" he asked, voice low and eyes dark as they looked at you.

"Mhm, please," you whispered, still moving your hips against his fingers.

He smiled at your movements. "So needy," he whispered more to himself than anything. "Didn't think you'd be that way."

Your tummy flipped at his admission. Even if he hadn't explicitly said it, just thinking about Bob touching himself to the thought of you made your pulse race like crazy.

Pulling your underwear away from your heat, Bob tossed them across the room. His hands now moved to your waist, picking you up effortlessly, flipping you on your tummy softly.

Your neck craned back, a puzzled look on your face. But he was already meeting you half way, coming up to kiss you again and ask a question.

"This okay, honey?" Bob asked, one hand coming to raise your hips. Another guided a pillow beneath them. Your stomach turned at the thought of what he was about to do.

"Yeah, it's okay," you whispered. He smiled at this, placing a sweet kiss on the crown of your head. But soon, his hand was pushing your head into the pillow, tucking your hair behind your ears, making sure you were comfortable. But still, his hand came down to guide you into the plush surface beneath you.

Not seeing Bob and only feeling him was something you never thought you would love. But the way his hands dragged down your body, fingers toying with your body, and firmly kneading your ass made your breathing sharp and shallow. Bob made his way down to your heat once more, licks more confident and sure now.

Sure enough, you whined into the pillow underneath you, pushing your hips back into Bob as he continued to work at your entrance. His tongue pushed in and out of you, sucking harshly. Hands spreading your ass, allowing him to kiss you better, get deeper.

It was quick for you to feel the familiar tug in your tummy return, ready to snap at any moment. Snaking a hand under your tummy and to your clit, Bob worked diligently to make you feel good, rubbing tight, small circles.

Your hand flew back, trying to grasp at anything you could. Your fingers found his golden locks, and you gripped them tightly as you came for the second time that night.

After a few last licks, Bob kissed up your back, letting his body sink into you a bit. It wasn't until his kisses reached your neck that you felt his hard length straining against your ass.

"So good, honey," he whispered, placing sweet kisses against your hair once more. "Gonna go get a towel to clean you up, okay?"

Soon, he moved to shift off the bed. But you shot up, grabbing his forearm.

"What's wrong?" Bob asked, concern evident on his face as he looked at you. He wondered if it had been too much. He had indulged a little bit, but he thought that you were feeling good. Or maybe he was pulling away too soon, maybe you wanted to cuddle a bit more before he got up. But what you said next made his heart jump.

"Wanna feel you. Do you not want to?" you spoke softly, forehead creasing in on itself.

Bob smiled at your question, coming back into your space, pressing his lips to yours. You smiled into the kiss, too. Something about them was so sweet and gentle, but so deep and longing at the same time.

"Course I do, just didn't want to push anything," he spoke, pulling away a bit. "And, I don't have anything here. I didn't bring any condoms," Bob whispered the last bit, like it was a secret.

"I'm clean and on birth control," you offered with a small smile that Bob swore would be the death of him.

"Me too," he said, immediately backtracking at the sound of your giggles. "I mean clean. No birth control."

Your smile grew wider at his words. Even when Bob didn't mean to, he made you laugh, always making you feel good.

"Can I see you? Think it's a little unfair you're still dressed," you teased him. Even with the faint glow of the moon and the soft bedside lamp, you were able to see the way Bob's ears turned pink.

Without a word, he began to unbutton his shirt. Scooching toward him on the bed, your hands made quick work of his belt, button, and zipper. Bob would've laughed at your eagerness if he weren't feeling the exact same way. Kicking off his pants and underwear and whipping the shirt off over his head, Bob stood before. Your tongue peeked out a bit at the sight of him.

His abs are sculpted and molded to perfection; you were able to gawk at them more openly now than a few nights ago. As your eyes traveled further, you saw his V-line, prominent and defined. And his length stood proud in front of you. Chills ran down your spine at the thought of taking all of him. You leaned down, falling on your elbows before him. Kissing his pink tip, your tongue began to kitten lick at his head.

Bob groaned audibly at the sight in front of him. Your ass up, mouth working against his length, and eyes looking up at him for approval. This wasn't real, surely. Any minute now, he would wake up in bed, spoiled underwear once again. But as you moved to take his length further in your mouth, Bob couldn't deny what he was feeling.

Knowing that if you sucked his length much longer, he wouldn't last, Bob softly grasped your head in his hands, moving you away from his length and instead onto the bed like you once were.

Lying back on the bed, you watched as Bob moved over your body. Settling on top of you, you found yourself face-to-face with him. Smiling at him, your eyes met, and you couldn't help but laugh a bit to yourself.

"What's got you so happy?" Bob asked, leaning down to kiss your neck as you let the giggles flow freely. He smiled at you, the kisses sweet rather than searing like they were before.

"I just love you," you whispered. Bob's head shot up, dopey grin now on his face.

"I love you," he whispered back. Leaning down to kiss you again, you thought about how you would never get used to this. Just a few hours ago, you were anxiety-ridden with thoughts of losing your best friend to a dumb mistake. Now, all your nerves were still on fire, but for a different reason. Bob's lips worked against yours until you felt your tummy flip again, and it seemed he felt the same way; one of his hands moved down to grip his length. Guiding himself to your heat, you felt Bob shudder in your embrace, but his lips never left yours.

Bob groaned against your lips as he pushed into you. Only a few inches at first, seeing the way your body would react to him. Your chest heaved, and your eyes screwed shut at the unfamiliar feeling. But your hands pawed at his chest and back, trying to bring him closer to you.

"Doing okay, honey? Feel good?" Bob asked, watching your face for any signs of discomfort.

You whinnied a little as you answered, "Feels good. So good. You're so big."

"You can take it, can't you, honey?" Bob asked, pushing a bit more into you as your jaw dropped at the feeling. He was now kissing up and down your throat again, unable to keep himself away from your soft, dewy skin for too long.

The man felt you pulsed around him. Your heat seemingly needing more from him. Before Bob could ask, you spoke in a breathless whisper.

"More, please. I can take it."

With that, he pushed into you fully. Balls settling against your ass, pelvis meeting yours. His arms came around under your back, bringing you tight into his embrace. Bob made sure to hold onto you, made sure he was taking care of you.

When he started moving, it was filthy. The sounds couldn't be masked as he moved in and out of your heat at a steady pace, deep enough to be hitting your spot in just the right way. Your bodies began to sweat and shine under the soft bedroom light.

You tried biting down on your lip, tried to not let the sounds escape you, but it was no use. The way that Bob moved above you drew out soft, airy noises. Bob saw that you struggled to control yourself and fully feel pleasure, so he took matters into his own hands.

Placing a large hand over your mouth, Bob met your eyes. They shot wide open at first, maybe a flicker of embarrassment, but soon they became droopy again as you focused more on his thrusts into you.

"It's okay, honey," he leaned down to talk near your ear. "Know it feels good. Just gonna help you a little."

You nodded at his words, clenching around his length again. Your moans were now muffled behind his big hand. The feeling of Bob asserting himself over you made you dizzy. You knew he was confident and could take charge if need be, but this was something else. Bob worked with precision, seemingly adjusting to your every move. It wasn't long until his other hand left its spot on your hip and made its way down to your heat once more, circling your clit in what you now learned was your favorite way. His big thumb moved in tandem with his thrusts, and you opened your eyes to look at the man above you.

Bob, seeing the way your eyes glossed over, kissed your lips, briefly moving his hand before placing it back and speaking, "It's okay, I got you. Wanna feel you cum around me."

With that, the knot in your tummy unraveled. Shaking against Bob, you pushed your body as close to his as possible. Still working into you, Bob felt the way you squeezed his length and couldn't hold back anymore, coming to his high with you.

Slowly, Bob moved his hand from your mouth and instead stroked your hair, placing a kiss on your hairline. You smiled at his actions, despite being exhausted from your rigorous activities.

"I love you," Bob told you. He watched as you relaxed against the bed, shifting slightly to hold you better.

"I love you, Bobby. Thank you for inviting me this week," you said sweetly, sharing another kiss with him as he was still nestled inside you, neither of you moving to get up just yet.

He smiled at your words. Thinking back to this week and all that had happened, Bob was grateful you were by his side. From his rambunctious family to the quietness of rural Montana, you fit in perfectly. Bob couldn't wait to bring you back, properly this time.

જ⁀➴

Like always, you and Bob went along with the squad's outstanding Saturday night plans at the Hard Deck, not caring that you had just gotten back to California a few hours prior. Jake grinned at the sight of you walking into the Hard Deck, hand in hand with Bob. He watched as Bob carefully guided you through the crowd of people, delicately holding onto your waist and shielding you from the rowdy patrons.

"Well, well, well," Jake teased as soon as you had both made your way over to the pool table full of aviators. "Looks like my plan worked."

Bob's brows furrowed at this, immediately looking to you.

"No way, Bagman, you aren't getting the credit for this," Phoenix chimed in, abandoning the game of pool.

Now it was your turn to look at Bob with confusion on your face.

"I was the one who sold Bee about the parents thing," Jake argued. You felt your face flush at his admission of your white lie.

"Well, I was the one hyping Bob up for weeks about getting her to come," Phoenix fought back. Bob closed his eyes, not thinking he could survive the look of amusement on your face.

Suddenly, both of your pilots turned to you.

"So who did it?" Phoenix asked. Both you and Bob looked at each other, puzzled.

"Oh come on," Jake said exasperatedly. "You know what were talking about. Who made the first move?"

The squad was silent, watching both you and Bob under a microscope, it seemed. A slight tilt of Bob's head in your direction made Jake cry out triumphantly, pumping his fists into the air.

"I knew it! I knew it! Suck it, Phoenix," Jake whooped as onlookers watched with amusement at his antics.

"Knew it?" Bob asked, almost scared for the answer.

Jake grinned at the both of you. "Yup!" he said, popping the ending syllable in a way that made Nat's eye roll even farther back into her head. "I knew Bee would make the first move. She's gutsy! No offense, Baby on Board."

"Jake," you chastised, but knew the nickname was all in good fun now.

"Where's my twenty dollars? My wallet seems to be missing something," Jake faux-questioned, turning his attention to Phoenix.

Digging into her back pocket and sifting through her wallet, she slapped a crisp twenty-dollar bill into Jake's outstretched hand with a groan. Jake almost giggled in delight, a sound you had only heard come out of him once or twice.

"I just want to say," he started, raising his glass to the group, "that I, Jake Seresin, best pilot among us, was instrumental in ending our suffering. That is, watching these two dance around each other forever like little lovesick puppies."

The group groaned at his statement, but raised their drinks nonetheless. You giggled into Bob's shoulder, and he smiled widely at the sound. His eyes found yours and saw a playful look on your face. Before he knew it, you leaned into his space, pressing your lips to his.

The group watched as he melted into your touch, half-cheering and half-whistling.

First class flyer!Scott who lets his fingers brush yours every time you place a fresh glass of liquor, ice clinking, with your sweet smile. It’s supposed to be polite, a professional courtesy, but he can’t stop imagining what it would be like to have those lips wrapped around his cock, a ring of red at the base, your makeup tear-stained while he pushes his cock deep down your throat. 

First class flyer!Scott who watches as your eyes wander to his cock tented in his sweats when you lean down to help him clear his table, giving him an eyeful of that pretty cleavage peeking from the V-cut of your uniform. You don’t get shy, but your smile tips up just a little higher. 

First class flyer!Scott who propositions you for the first time to join the Mile-High Club to which you said fuck you before he bends you over the spacious porcelain sink, the airline-branded Diptyque diffuser, and turbulence that makes his cock vibrate where it’s buried deep inside your cunt. 

First class flyer!Scott who you save on your phone as “8.5” to which he scoffs and says, “How the fuck am I not a ten? You cum every time”, to which you reply, “That’s your dick size, you dumbass.” He smiles smug when he sees that all the other numbers are smaller than his. 

First class flyer!Scott who stops smiling when he realizes that he’s not the only number, which means he’s not the only one you’ve been fucking. He pins you up against his first-class suite door again, rattling it with the force of his thrusts as he sinks his fingers into your thighs, leaving a smattering of bruises that will surely last until your next flight next week.

First class flyer!Scott who immediately books said flight (first class, duh) to make sure that he can refresh those territorial marks until the next time he sees you.

First class flyer!Scott who then spots a “9” the next time you open your phone to show him a picture of your vacation to the Bahamas and asks who that is. Of course, you can’t tell him — airline-passenger privilege or whatever. 

First class flyer!Scott who makes sure you understand that it’s not about “what you have, but how you use it” and he proves his point when you return to your workstation with your hair undone, lipstick smudged, stockings ripped, cum stains on the hem of your skirt and the corner of your mouth, and “9” gone from your contacts list. 

First class flyer!Scott who gets irritated when he sees other men looking at you, eyeing you the same way he’s been doing for months. He blames it on the fact that it reduces the number of times he can make you cum on these red-eyes.

First class flyer!Scott who yanks you into his suite, slamming the door shut without a care whether he wakes anyone up. He loves the sound of your pretty moans but the cabin lights are dim and “you have to keep it down, sweetheart” so he tugs your neck scarf loose and pushes it between your lips to muffle your screams as he stretches you around his cock. Again. 

First class flyer!Scott who doesn’t let you leave despite you insisting that you have to go back to work, and he has to remind you that he’s paid for your time and you’re supposed to guarantee his full satisfaction. 

First class flyer!Scott who chuckles when you call him a “fucking asshole” because he knows all that snark will fall apart into a whine the moment he fucks deep inside of you, his hand buried in your hair. 

First class flyer!Scott who only releases you when you’ve got cum leaking down your legs, embarrassment combined with a happy sex-fueled glow, and enough prints on you to remind everyone else that you belong to someone, when you shakily stumble out of the booth with a smile that you can’t seem to wipe off your face. 

First class flyer!Scott who starts taking his time kissing you, drinking in your pretty moans when you’re situated on his lap while everyone else is asleep. He tucks you to his side, making sure you have enough room to kick off your heels and hand-feeds you fruits from the platter you brought him. 

First class flyer!Scott who plucks your phone from your hand and pulls up your contacts, deleting every number name on that list until you’re left with only his — and he replaces it with his name. 

First class flyer!Scott who is pleased when you roll your eyes at him but don’t seem to complain, instead pulling up the latest blockbuster film on his high-definition TV that you’ve been dying to watch but haven’t had the chance to. 

First class flyer!Scott who finds you sleeping mid-movie with your face in the crook of his neck, your lips warm against his pulse that jumps when you curl into him, arms wrapped around his bicep as you snuggle closer. 

First class flyer!Scott who smiles despite himself. 

First class flyer!Scott who feels his heart beating a little too loud, a little too insistently. Many say that he doesn’t have one, so it doesn’t make sense that he can hear the ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump so clearly in his ears. 

First class flyer!Scott who isn’t sure whether he likes this feeling. 

First class flyer!Scott who doesn’t say a word when you slip out afterwards to go back to work, the expression on your face soft when you promise to see him later. 

First class flyer!Scott who can’t even look at you when he exits the aircraft, lest he be tempted to drag you home with him, to tuck you into his bed, in his house, where you would be—

—his. 

First class flyer!Scott who simply nods when you shoot him a bright grin when he comes on board the next time. He misses the befuddled look on your face when he doesn’t look back like he usually does to catch your eye and wink at you.

First class flyer!Scott who keeps to himself for the most part, only calling for service when necessary. 

First class flyer!Scott who pretends to be asleep when you come knocking, ignoring that overwhelming urge to pull you in and slide you under the blanket right next to him, telling you to sleep so he can too. 

First class flyer!Scott who can’t seem to get rid of this itch in his chest, so he wanders out to find another model-like flight attendant — one he would usually flirt with in a heartbeat, but he hesitates to do so today.

First class flyer!Scott who swallows that strange sensation of… guilt in the hollowness of his heart when he invites that stewardess he can’t name into his suite and fucks her until her moans are bouncing off the walls but none of them sound right. 

First class flyer!Scott who sits with that weight in his gut, a knife twisting deeper into his flesh like it’s carving the permanent mark of his sins, as the other girl gets herself ready to go out again. 

First class flyer!Scott who opens the door and sees you. 

First class flyer!Scott who sees the cocktail of repulsion and devastation etched into the lines of your face. The cherry on top — the disappointment that lands heavier than anything. 

First class flyer!Scott who — for the first time in his life — doesn’t know what to do.

+ sam: i cannot stop thinking about scott. he's like a toxic ex i can't get rid of. more to come for him. his characterization will vary depending on how nasty i want him to be heh hope you enjoyed!!!! thank you mai for always matching my freak

scott is yearning for (taglist): @unabashedlyinlovewithyou @eiaf4uwn @thebabykashmere @nbhrhn @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn

First class flyer!Scott who fucking whimpers when your knuckles purposefully graze his bulge, and just that would’ve been enough for him to get a hard-on.

First class flyer!Scott who takes you in the bathroom of the overnight flight, only for you to immediately turn to face the sink to avoid the closeness that came with feeling your chest against his.

First class flyer!Scott who complies with your little demands anyway, but has his gaze fixed on you in the mirror so intensely that it makes your pussy pulse around his cock when you notice.

First class flyer!Scott who then teases you to his heart's fulfilment, "like me watchin' you like this?", "go on. look at how fuckin' good she stretches for me." It only pleases him more when you attempt to squirm away.

First class flyer!Scott who realises he has to fuck you while looking at you, to be able to properly get off because you’ve genuinely ruined his cock for any other pussy — it would twitch and dribble with so much pre when you'd meet his gaze in the mirror, lips slightly parted in your impending orgasm.

First class flyer!Scott who whose nonexistent heart dies a little when you swerve away from a kiss you usually welcomed, slumping your head down to focus on getting off.

First class flyer!Scott who then stops, cock still eight inches buried deep in your cunt. You'd whine at the loss of friction, only to shakily meet the grim expression on his face.

First class flyer!Scott who fucks you. Actually fucks you. With his hand slammed down onto the edge of the counter, his thrusts in hard, jerky movements. You can't do anything but helplessly bite your fists to stop the moans of pleasure spilling from you.

First class flyer!Scott who pulls you back with him to put you on his lap, slumps onto the closed toilet, with your legs parted so wide after his thighs spread your legs apart above his.

First class flyer!Scott who makes sure that you can't swerve this time, thrusting into you with renewed vigour while he watches you come undone, bouncing on his cock eagerly. Your palm would attempt to steady itself on his knees behind you, but he'd selfishly grab hold of it, forcing you to jerk forward into his chest.

First class flyer!Scott who has his neck craned like an eager fucking puppy, chasing after wherever your face bobbed toward. You don't notice until you feel the gentle curve of his nose graze your jaw — that he's stupidly still trying to get your mouth on his.

First class flyer!Scott who doesn't deny it when you tease him, "wanna kiss me that bad, huh?" He'd just scoff and avoid any semblance of vulnerability, "yeah, don't get your panties in a bunch. It's for your benefit since you can't shut the fuck up." He'd punctuate it with a heavy snap of his hips, eliciting a loud gasp from you.

First class flyer!Scott who feels his heart jump when your lips graze his jaw, remains completely still, fearing you'd move away. But then you offer a gentle, hesitant peck at the corner of his lips. A gesture that doesn't go unreciprocated. He'd tilt his head to capture your mouth in his, letting out a relieved, prolonged groan that sends a welcome shiver down your spine.

First class flyer!Scott who grunts low and insistently, the noise travelling down your throat — the same way his is practically swallowing in your needy moans. He'd be uncaring about how messy the kiss got, rolling his tongue onto yours, pulling away just so he could mix your saliva with his.

First class flyer!Scott who would laugh, all airy and boy-ish, when you comment on the intense spearmint flavour left over on his tongue from his gum earlier, "I like that peachy-mint one better."

First class flyer!Scott who swears his cock throbbed harder at your harmless words — it's the insinuation that you'd tasted so much of his generous array of his gum that you could identify certain flavours.

First class flyer!Scott who feels ridiculously giddy after his first orgasm, standing upright with you in his arms as he coaxes your thighs to curl around his hips. You'd feel his cock harden in you, already raring to go after he manages to recover himself in record time, "ohh..welcome back onboard, Mr Miller." He'd snort at your commentary, hiking you up to renew that oh-so-addictive squeeze of your pussy.

You were halfway down the cereal isle, trying to decide which one was best for your lazy mornings, when a voice called out behind you. Cursing to yourself, you turned around, that something that pulled you here revealing itself faster than you thought.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Turning, she found herself face-to-face with Royal Abbott. The man who was like a father to you when you had nobody else. He was older now, lines carved deeper into his weathered face, but the steady weight of his gaze was the same, calm, sharp, like he could still see right through her.

“Royal,” you greeted, your smile wide.

“It’s been what, ten years?” he said, pushing the brim of his hat back. “Thought I saw a ghost walkin’ past the produce section.”

“I visit here sometimes,” that was a lie. “You’ve just never caught me before.”

They exchanged polite updates, he asked after your mother, you told him about life since you’d left. When he suggested lunch, you hesitated, then agreed. This was going to lead somewhere either really good, or really bad.

The diner was quiet that afternoon, the smell of frying bacon and strong coffee hanging in the air. Royal asked more questions, listening with that measured patience of his. You returned the courtesy, inquiring about Perry, about Cecilia, and then, with a careful, almost offhand tone, about Rhett.

Royal’s eyes flickered, the kind of look that suggested he was weighing his words. He never knew what happened between you two the night you left town, the only person who had witnessed the fight being Cecilia. She spared him the details. “He’s around,” he said. “Workin’ the ranch. Keepin’ busy.”

You only nodded, though your gaze dropped to your coffee cup. You hadn’t seen Rhett since the night your friendship shattered in an argument too loud for the porch to contain. And it was your fault. And now, after all these years, the thought of him was still a knot in your chest.

Royal sipped his coffee, then set the mug down with a quiet clink. “You know,” he said, almost casually, “you oughta come by the ranch. It’s been a while since you’ve seen the place. We’ve made a few changes.”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the handle of your cup. The ranch was more than a piece of land, it was summers spent racing through fields with Rhett, nights under skies so black and full of stars it felt like the world had no end. It was also the place you last stood, red-faced and shouting, tears running down your face before driving away for good.

Royal seemed to read the hesitation in your eyes. He reaches forward and grabs your hand, running him thumb over it in a comforting way. It made you smile, forgetting how much you missed this “It’d be good,” he added gently, “for all of us.”

Soon, you found yourself agreeing before you knew what you were getting yourself into.

————

The gravel crunched under the tires as you pulled into the drive later that afternoon behind Royals truck. The ranch looked almost exactly the same, weathered fences, the barn casting its long shadow across the pasture, cattle grazing lazily in the late-summer sun. You stepped out of your car, dust kicking up and you lightly tapped a rock in front of you, procrastinating walking yourself up to the house.

As you stuffed your hands in your sweater pocket and began to walk toward the house, your legs trembled slightly. Cecilia was on the porch, wiping her hands on a dish towel when she finally made eye contact with you. Her expression froze for just a moment when she recognized who was with Royal.

“Well,” Cecilia said, her voice even but cool. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You offered a small smile, unsure if it was welcome. “Hi, Mrs. Abbott. It’s… been a while.”

“That it has,” Cecilia replied. She didn’t step forward, just studied her for a long beat, as if weighing something unspoken. They both knew what had happened, how it had ended with Rhett, the shouting, the slammed door. But then, slowly, Cecilia’s face softened. She came down the porch steps and placed a warm, steady hand on her shoulder. “And it’s Cecilia, no Mrs. Abbott. It’s good to see you, though. Really. I mean that.”

And for the first time in years, the ranch didn’t feel so far from home.

Royal had gone inside with Cecilia, leaving you on the porch for a moment. The air was warm, the kind that carried the hum of cicadas and the faint scent of hay. You let your gaze wander over the fields, hoping to see anybody else in the Abbott family, Perry, Amy…and that’s when she saw him.

Rhett was by the fence line, working a stubborn post into the ground. He was broader than she remembered, the years adding muscle and a steadier way of moving. His hat shaded his face, but even from this distance, you could tell it was him. For a moment you panicked, and thought about slipping back inside, avoiding the collision altogether. But then, as if pulled by some invisible thread, he straightened and turned toward the house. His eyes found yours. He froze.

The post dropped from his hands. And then he was moving, fast, the kind of run that didn’t care about dust or distance. Your breath caught as he closed the space between you, his hat tumbling off somewhere along the way. Before you could say a word, his arms were around you, lifting you clean off your feet. You let out a startled laugh, your hands clinging to his shoulders as he spun you in a wide, dizzying circle. It was the kind of hug that said more than words could, the kind that held years of absence, and maybe something else neither of you could name yet.

But as your feet touched the porch again, the warmth of his hold sent you reeling backward into memory…

Your voice sharp with frustration, his face flushed, the sound of a screen door slamming in the dark. You’d told him to grow up. He’d told you to leave if you really wanted to. You remembered the way his eyes had looked in that last moment, hurt, stubborn, and so unlike the boy you’d grown up with-

“Darlin’,” Rhett’s voice cut through the memory, low and rough from breathlessness, “I thought I was seein’ things.” his country accent was smooth, like music to your ears. And just like that, the years between you vanished.

You stepped back just enough to look at him, still a little breathless from the hug. “You look different,” you said, though it wasn’t entirely true. He was still Rhett, still the boy you’d known, but with something heavier settled behind his eyes.

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Guess you do too. But I’d know you anywhere.” He scratched at the back of his neck, a nervous habit you remembered well. “I kept tabs on you, y’know. Heard things. Saw a few pictures online when you didn’t think anybody was lookin’. Folks talk.”

Your chest tightened. “You did?”

“’Course I did,” he said, like it was obvious. “Couldn’t just forget you.”

You stared at the worn boards of the porch under their boots. “I wanted to call,” you admitted quietly. “More times than I can count. But every time I picked up the phone… I’d see it again. That night. The way we yelled at each other. The way you looked at me when I left.”

The smile faded from his face, replaced by a tightness in his jaw. For a second, it seemed like he might say something about it, argue, explain, maybe even apologize, but instead, he glanced toward the door.

“C’mon,” he said abruptly, reaching for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s get you inside before Cecilia starts wonderin’ why I’m keepin’ you out here in the heat.” And before you could protest, he was pulling you over the threshold, the lingering ghost of their old fight trailing behind them.

The Abbott house smelled exactly the way you remembered, warm bread, coffee lingering from earlier in the day, a faint undertone of cedar from the old wood beams. Rhett didn’t let go of your hand until they reached the kitchen, where Cecilia and Royal were standing by the counter. Cecilia’s eyes immediately dropped to where your hands were joined, and her expression tightened just enough for the air to shift. She looked at her son, then at you, and something wary flickered in her gaze.

Rhett finally released you, but only to step close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. It was subtle, but it made the distance between you feel nonexistent.

Cecilia busied herself straightening the dish towel in her hands, then leaned slightly toward Royal, her voice dropping to a whisper. “This is exactly what I was worried about-” Royal cut her off with a low, annoyed grunt, shooting her a look that said not now. It was enough to make Cecilia straighten and press her lips together.

When she turned back, her smile was faint but polite. “You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?” she asked, though it sounded more like a decision than a question.

The words caught you off guard, but you nodded. “I’d like that.”

Rhett grinned, already moving toward the fridge. “Good. You’re not gettin’ away that easy.”

Somewhere deep down, you knew Cecilia’s watchful eyes would follow you all evening, but the idea of leaving right now didn’t cross your mind once.

The Abbott dining table felt just as you remembered, long enough to fit everyone, the polished wood nicked with years of family meals and conversations that went on long after the plates were cleared.

Royal sat at the head, trading stories with Perry, who was already filling you in on every ridiculous thing that had happened in town since you’d left, happy to see the girl he saw as his little sister back at the dinner table. Amy sat beside you, bright-eyed and eager, asking question after question about where you’d been, what you’d seen, and if you still liked Mrs. Winslow’s lemon bars from the café.

Rhett stayed close, his arm brushing yours now and then as he reached for something. He laughed at nearly everything you said, like he couldn’t help it, and the sound made something deep in your chest ache in the best and worst ways. Everyone was warm, welcoming, everyone except Cecilia.

Cecilia sat across from you, calm and composed, her fork moving slowly through her food. Every so often, she’d ask a question in that careful, measured tone that could pass for polite to anyone who didn’t know her.

“So,” Cecilia said between sips of iced tea, “what brings you back after all this time?”

The question was simple, but it landed heavy. You hadn’t planned for this- hadn’t expected to be sitting here at all. You told herself you were just passing through, just stopping to pick up a few things from town. But something had pulled you back to Wabang.

You missed this table. You missed the sound of everyone talking over each other. You missed Rhett’s laugh. You missed this family like it had once been your own. Hell, it was your own. “After Ma passed a few months back i just…just needed to see home again,” you said carefully, though your voice caught slightly on the last word. You didn’t think about your mom much. Didn’t talk about it too much. But you missed her, flaws and all, very deeply.

Cecilia studied you for a beat, her expression giving nothing away. Then she nodded once, as if filing the answer away somewhere private. “I’m sorry about your mother. She was a good woman.”

The conversation at the table carried on, Royal telling a story that made Perry laugh so hard he had to set his glass down, but every now and then, you caught Cecilia’s eyes on her, quiet and assessing.

And though your smile never faded, you could still feel the weight of those questions unspoken.

The kitchen was warm with the hum of conversation drifting in from the dining room, the clink of plates and running water filling the rest of the space. You stood at the sink beside Amy, passing dishes back and forth, one scrubbing, the other rinsing.

Amy giggled at nearly everything you said, her cheeks flushed from all the excitement. “I can’t believe you’re here,” Amy said for what felt like the third time. “Uncle Rhett’s been acting so weird lately, and now I think I know why.”

You laughed softly, flicking a bit of suds toward Amy, who shrieked and splashed you back with warm water. It was easy with Amy, like no time had passed at all. From across the room, Rhett leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching them. He wasn’t smiling wide, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there at the table, a look that said he was content just to see you there again, so quickly fitting back into the edges of his life.

The moment was so natural that you didn’t notice Cecilia until her voice cut in from behind Rhett. “Amy, sweetheart, why don’t you take those towels and help your granddad outside?” Amy glanced between them, reluctant, but she obeyed, giving you a big hug before slipping past Cecilia with one last smile toward you.

Cecilia stepped into her place beside the sink, drying her hands on a fresh towel. “You’ve still got a way with her,” she said softly.

You smiled faintly, unsure how to respond. “She’s always been easy to love.”

“I know.” Cecilia’s tone stayed gentle, but there was a weight in it now. She placed the towel down, folding it neatly on the counter before meeting your eyes. “And so has my son.” The words settled heavily between them.

“I want you to know something,” Cecilia continued. “I’ve missed you. I’ve loved you the same as I always did. You were like my only daughter. But I love my son more. And I won’t see him hurt the way he was the night you left.” She paused, her gaze steady. “I saw everything that happened that night.”

Her throat felt tight, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. “If you’re going to be back in this family’s life,” Cecilia said quietly, “you’d better make sure it stays that way, without the heartbreak.”

The only sound in the kitchen was the faint clatter of silverware being set down somewhere in the dining room.

“I understand,” you whispered. Cecilia gave a small nod, then picked up another plate to dry as if nothing had just been said.

Rhett stepped into the kitchen, his boots scuffing lightly against the tile. “Hey,” he said, glancing between the two women, oblivious to the charged quiet hanging in the air. “You wanna get outta here for a bit? Go down to The Buckhorn, grab a few drinks… properly catch up?”

Before you could answer, he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek. “Love you, Ma.” Cecilia softened instantly under the gesture, her expression warmer.

She gave him a small push toward the door. “Go on, then.”

He reached for your hand without hesitation, tugging you gently toward the hallway. You glanced back over your shoulder, giving Cecilia a small wave. This time, Cecilia smiled, really smiled, like the edges of her earlier words had softened, if only for a moment.

————

The Buckhorn was loud in the easy, familiar way a small-town bar always was, country music on the jukebox, low chatter at the tables, the smell of beer and fried food hanging in the air. Two drinks turned into four, four turned into six, and now you sat side by side in a booth, both leaning forward over the table, laughing so hard you were nearly doubled over.

“I’m telling you, it was your idea,” you said, wiping at your eyes. “You were the one who said we could sneak into the feed store and ‘borrow’ the pellets for your slingshot.”

Rhett pointed at you, grinning so wide it hurt. “Nope. Not true. That was you, darlin’. You were the one who said it’d be fine ‘cause Mr. Talbot liked you.”

You gasped in mock outrage. “You’re misremembering on purpose. And you know it!” You both went back and forth, interrupting each other with half-finished sentences and bursts of laughter, neither willing to give up the point.

Somewhere between the banter and the clink of glasses, it felt like you’d slipped right back into the rhythm you lost years ago, like the fight, the years apart, the ache of what had been broken was just background noise to this moment.

Your laughter ebbed in fits and starts, little echoes fading between you until only the low hum of the jukebox and the clink of ice in your glasses filled the space. Rhett leaned back in the booth, still smiling faintly, but his eyes had shifted, less mischief, more weight. He turned his beer bottle slowly in his hands, watching the condensation bead and slide down the glass.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now, “we’ve been sittin’ here all night, talkin’ ‘bout every damn thing except the one thing we probably should.”

Your smile faltered, the air between you suddenly heavier. “Rhett…” He looked at you then, his gaze unsteady in the way only someone tipsy and raw could manage.

“That night.” His voice caught slightly. “The night it all went to hell. We never talked about it. Not once. We just… stopped. You just left.”

You sat back, heart thudding. “You told me to leave. We were kids. We didn’t know how to,”

“No.” He shook his head, leaning forward, elbows on the table now, eyes locked on yours. “We knew exactly what we were doin’. I just… I don’t understand what the hell happened between us.”

Your throat tightened. Without thinking, you reached for your glass and threw back the rest of your tequila, the burn giving you something else to focus on for a second. You lost count of how many tequilas you’ve tossed back at this point. You set it down harder than you meant to, the sound sharp in the quiet that had settled around them.

When you finally looked back at him, he was already watching you, impressed at the way you finished your drink, but there was something else there too. His face was flushed from the alcohol, but his eyes, God, his eyes, were bright with something that looked far too close to tears.

“I missed you,” he said quietly. “I missed everything about you.”

The words hung there, fragile and dangerous, and you knew whatever you said next would pull them further into the past they’d both been avoiding.

You swallowed hard, tracing the rim of your glass with trembling fingers. “You have to understand,” you finally said, voice low and uneven, “I was with someone back then. Someone I loved. And all those feelings between us, they made everything so complicated. I couldn’t just… fall into this with you, Rhett. Not then. Not like that.”

He stared at you, the faintest shadow of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Why couldn’t you just let me be happy?” you asked, voice breaking. “Why couldn’t you just let me be happy?”

He took a breath, leaning closer, his words thick with emotion. “I couldn’t let you be happy-“

His sentence was cut short by a familiar voice from the entrance of the bar.

“Well, look who’s back in town.”

You and Rhett both turned toward the doorway. There, standing like a deer in headlights, was him, Boone, your ex. The one who had sparked the fight that fractured everything. The one you believed was worth leaving everything you actually loved for. His grin was wide, teeth flashing as he pushed off the wall and strode over like he owned the place. Without hesitation, he dropped his arms around you, pulling you into a big, almost possessive hug. There was lots of hugs being passed around today. His hands then cupped your face, fingers tracing her jaw, and to your surprise he kissed you, soft but almost claiming in a way.

Rhett’s jaw tightened as he watched, his eyes darkening with a storm you’d never seen before. He took a long chug from his beer, trying to steady the anger bubbling under his skin.

Boone pulled back, still holding your face, smiling like he’d won something. “I missed you,” he said, voice low, but full of smug satisfaction. “Why did you come back? after we parted ways i knew i just knew you’d come back at some point.”

You pulled away slightly, cheeks flushing, not just from the unexpected kiss but from the tequila already working its way through you. The mix of relief, confusion, and something darker tangled inside your chest.

As Boone launched into a casual catch-up, asking about where she’d been and what she’d been doing, she found herself nodding along, words coming out automatically, all while Rhett sat across the table, watching, his expression unreadable but fierce. As they spoke, the idea that you ever loved Boone became more and more confusing. You wondered if you ever actually did, or if it was just something to pass the time. To make your life easier.

You looked into Boone’s eyes, your voice softer now. Even if you never did love him, he deserved closure. “I’m sorry. For how things ended between us.”

He sighed, the warmth in his smile fading. “Yeah… me too.”

You shrugged, a small, sad smile tugging at your lips. “It’s just what I do, I guess. Leave. I don’t know why.”

He reached out, hands settling gently on your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “Come back with me tonight. Let’s try again.”

You opened her mouth to say no, to explain, but before the words could leave her, Rhett was already out of his seat. You didn’t notice how long he was standing there, waiting for you to walk away from Boone. But you never did. Rhett never gave you the chance.

His fists flew faster than you could process, and the bar erupted into chaos. Chairs scraped back, and voices shouted as Rhett and Boone collided in a brutal, no-holds-barred fight on the floor.

People scrambled to pull them apart, arms grappling, bodies straining, but neither would give an inch. Rhett was on top of Boone, his one hand holding the collar of Boone’s shirt, the other in a fist flying repeatedly towards his face. Boone didn’t stand a chance, trying to both block from the hits and shove Rhett off of him. He got a few good hits, but it wasn’t much help.

You rolled your eyes and stepped back just enough to grab a glass of whiskey off a passing server’s tray, tipping it back in one long chug, the burn grounding you once again. Seven drinks now? Maybe. Then you stepped forward, voice sharp and commanding. “Rhett! Get off him.”

You leaned down and grabbed the back of his jacket, and yanked him upwards, the adrenaline giving you the extra strength to move the large man. He looked startled as you pushed him back against the wall, steadying his rage with firm pressure and a hand on his chest. Once he was calm, you turned to Boone, helping him to his feet.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Grabbing your sweater from the chair, you didn’t look back as you stormed out into the cool night air.

Behind you, Rhett followed, his lip split and bleeding, knuckles raw and bruised, but his eyes never left you.

Rhett’s truck rumbled to life, the engine’s low growl filling the space between them as you pulled away from the bar. The cab was thick with silence, thick enough to press against your chest. Rhett kept stealing glances at you, his jaw tight, eyes searching. But you stared straight ahead, hands clenched in your lap, refusing to meet his gaze or speak a word. The road stretched out in front of them, the only sound the tires humming against the asphalt and the occasional creak of the truck settling. When you finally pulled into the ranch, you opened the door and slammed it hard behind you, the sharp crack echoing in the quiet night.

Fumbling with your keys, your fingers trembled as you tried to unlock your car door. You knew driving right now was the worst idea, the alcohol hitting you in waves at this point. Rhett’s footsteps came quick behind you, boots thudding on gravel.

“Wait!” he called, voice rough but desperate.

You didn’t turn, hurriedly sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

“Hey!” Before you could pull away, he reached out, grabbing your arm.

You twisted sharply, yanking free and shoving him back with more force than you intended as you stepped out of the car.

The space between you crackled with tension—anger, pain.

The night was thick, the kind that settles in your bones and won’t let go.

you were younger then, freshly eighteen, with tears streaming down your cheeks as you ran from the ranch, the gravel crunching beneath your boots. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, hands shaking as you wiped at your face, desperate to stop the flood you couldn’t hold back.

“Of course you’re gonna leave!” a voice called after you, raw and furious. Younger Rhett was pounding across the yard, his anger spilling out like wildfire. “That’s what you do best! You run the moment things get hard!”

You spun around, voice rising with a mixture of hurt and defiance. “What do you know about my life? About anything?”

“I know more than you think.”

“I love him!” you shouted, voice cracking. “I love Boone! I don’t love you! Why can’t you just accept that?”

Rhett’s jaw clenched, eyes burning with something she hadn’t seen before. It’s almost as if you could see his heart breaking as you uttered the words ‘I don’t love you.’ “I won’t accept it. Because I know you. You don’t love him the way you think you do. You love the comfort. The stability. The easy way out.”

“You belong here! with me, on this ranch. But you’re too blind to see it. Too stupid.” He says, anger in his voice. He flinches at his insult, it felt so wrong, but he didn’t take it back.

You shook her head, tears spilling again. “No, Rhett. You’re the stupid one. You need to let me be happy.” Without another word, you turned, climbed into your truck, and drove away, leaving everything behind, including him.

Back in the present, the night air was heavy around them, Rhett’s breath still rough from the fight at the bar. You swallowed hard, the memory burning fresh in your mind, as they stood just yards apart, both knowing the wounds of that night hadn’t fully healed.

You shoved him hard again, purely out of anger and defiance, the heel of your hand driving him back against the side of the truck. Your words spilled out in a messy rush, slurred by the whiskey and tequila burning through your system.

“This was a mistake. Coming back here was a goddamn mistake.” Your voice cracked as you screamed, the pain and anger pouring out like a flood. “What the hell is wrong with you?“

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “What the fuck do you want from me? Why do you even care?”

Rhett’s face twisted with a mix of desperation and frustration. His voice rose, breaking through your storm of words.

“I care because I’m still in love with you!”

He took a breath, the weight of years in his gaze. “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids. Since the day I helped you up after you scraped your knee falling off your bike.”

Rhett’s voice cracked as he raised his hands in frustration, the ache of years bottled up spilling out in every word. “I couldn’t stand watchin’ you with him back then. Hell, I couldn’t even stand watchin’ you with him tonight, in that bar. I wanted to kill him, take his place. I wanted you all to myself.”

His hat hit the ground with a sharp thud, and he ran a hand through his hair, breath shaky. “I want you happy. With me. Nobody else. Just like back then. You loved me. You’re lying to yourself if you say anything else.” He stepped closer, eyes searching yours desperately. “I want you here. With me. Until we’re old. I’ve never stopped thinkin’ about you, not once.”

The words hung heavy in the cool night air, raw and filled with longing. You shook your head, tears streaming freely down your cheeks, voice breaking as you whispered, “Rhett, please...”

He took a step closer, his anger softening into something more vulnerable, more real. Wrapping his arms around you, he pulled you close, his forehead resting gently against yours.

“Tell me you don’t want this too,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Tell me you don’t love me. Tell me you haven’t thought about me every single day since you’ve left, the same way I’ve thought about you.” His breath caught, and he held you tighter. “And if you say it... I’ll let you go. I’ll never speak to you again. I’ll let you go and be happy, love your cookie-cutter lifestyle.”

The silence stretched between you,

heavy with all the words they hadn’t said, and the ones you both desperately wanted to hear.

He waited for you to answer, but you said nothing, just stood there, breath raggedy, eyes glistening in the dim light. Slowly, Rhett leaned down, brushing his lips softly against yours. You kissed him back. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, like they were both afraid to break the fragile thread holding them together.

You tasted like vanilla lip gloss and whisky, sweet and sharp all at once, and it sent a shiver down his spine. His hands moved with growing confidence, fingers curling into the back of your sweater as the kiss deepened.

Without breaking the connection, he pressed your back against the cool metal of the truck. Her breath all but stops as his mouth claimed yours harder, urgency igniting between you. He lifted you into his arms effortlessly, your legs winding tightly around his waist, pulling you even closer together. For the first time in years, all the walls you’d built crumbled in that one, fierce kiss, finally feeling what you both imagined their whole lives.

He deepened the kiss, his lips trailing from yours down to the sensitive skin of your neck. Your fingers, a little unsteady and bold from the drinks, found the buckle of his belt, fumbling with it as you pressed closer.

A low murmur escaped Rhett, finding it hard to collect his thoughts as she undid his jeans. “Do you want to take this to my room?”

You shook your head, breath hot against his skin. “No… I need you now. Can’t wait. Besides, nobody’s awake anyway.”

He smiled against your neck, warm and full of promise. Slowly, his belt came undone, loosening just enough, and he placed you down while his other hand began to trace the curve of your jeans, undoing the buttons with careful intent. You paused for a moment, staring at Rhett, both pairs of jeans undone but neither of you sure what to do next.

Suddenly Rhett grabs you and turns you around, shuddering as he pushes your front against the cold metal of the truck. Any kind of gentleness was gone now, both of you just needing to feel something from the other. You hear his jeans settle lower, exposing him just enough to be able to fuck you, and slip them up quickly in case anybody came around. Soon enough your jeans were down too, your underwear also tugged to your knees and out of the way.

It wasn’t long before the positions were switched and Rhett leaned you forward more, hearing the sound of spit on his hand and slicking himself as he got himself ready. You used your hands to brace yourself on the edge of the truck as you felt him line himself up, pushing into you slowly. He shuddered at the feeling of you, all but finishing right then and there. He imagined this moment over a thousand times, he never thought it would feel this good though.

You grunted at the feeling of him now fully seated inside you, neither of you moving to give you a chance to adjust. Rhett ran his hands up your back, rubbing the skin before his large hand landed on the back of your neck, silently asking permission to continue. you nodded quickly, not able to say a word, too desperate to feel something and too scared somebody was going to come out at any moment and catch you both. Soon enough, Rhett was pounding into you, the gravel crunching under your feet as you both tried to keep silent.

You shut your eyes tight and bit down on your lip so hard you swore you drew blood, but noises still began to slip out of your mouth. You couldn’t keep your balance anymore, holding onto the truck just wasn’t enough. The way he was moving wasn’t gentle. Rhett was releasing years of tension, frustration, and what felt like anger. Like he started out in a loving way and turned into wanting to punish you for ever leaving him in the first place. And yet, you loved every second of it.

“Fuck Rhett-“ you yelled at a particularly deep thrust as he hit your cervix hard, bruising it and for sure making it hard for you to walk after. Quickly slapped his hand over your mouth, and pulled you up as he continued to thrust, your back now flush against his chest.

“Quiet Darlin, before you wake up the whole ranch.” he says, his voice gruff, also trying to keep his moans at bay. Soon Rhett’s thrusts became sloppy, and you both became a moaning mess. Basically drooling over how hard you were being fucked, he lets go of your mouth. You were so close now, both finally finishing at the same time with one final deep thrust.

After a few moments of standing there, panting, and taking in the moment of what just happened, Rhett slowly pulls out of you. You turn to face him, and he brushes the hair out of your sweat covered face, smiling softly. You’re both now pulling your pants back on, a quiet stillness settled between you, words caught somewhere between what had just happened and what they both felt but couldn’t quite say.

“I’m sorry. Are you okay? Did i hurt you? I wasn’t expecting it to…Be that rough, i meant.” Rhett looks guilty, staring at the rocks on the ground to avoid the contact with you, as if he had done something wrong.

you sighed, and pulled his hand towards your face, nuzzling into his warm palm. “I’m okay, i promise. It was amazing.”

Rhett’s fingers began brushing your chin until you met his gaze. His eyes were soft, vulnerable. “I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with feeling. “Please… never leave me again.”

Your breath hitched, and without hesitation, you whispered back, “I never will.”

The weight of those words hung between you, binding the past and the future in a fragile, hopeful promise.

——

The early morning light filtered softly through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the room. You stood by the counter, wrapped in Rhett’s oversized shirt, the fabric still smelling faintly of him. The night after the truck was spent in his room, laughing, memories being shared, sex as many times as you guys were able to. You’ve never been happier other than in this moment.

Your hands cradled a steaming mug of coffee as you moved quietly, careful not to break the fragile calm that had settled after last night. In the room down the hall, Rhett waited in his room, the door left slightly ajar, giving you the space you needed, but close enough that you could feel him there.

The silence was interrupted by the soft creak of the back door opening. Cecilia stepped inside, her presence gentle but steady. For a moment, you both simply looked at each other, no words, just a quiet understanding in the shared space.

Then Cecilia’s voice broke the silence, soft but clear. “Are you sticking around this time?”

You turned to face her, a small, confident smile playing at your lips. “You’ll have to get used to me being around.”

Cecilia’s face softened, and without hesitation, she stepped forward and pulled you into a big, warm hug. “It’s good to have you home, baby.”

The words wrapped around you like a promise, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she really was. Rhett’s footsteps were quiet but certain as he stepped into the kitchen, closing the door gently behind him. Cecilia, knowing when it’s her cue to leave, silently exits the kitchen. He paused when he saw you, wrapped in his shirt, the soft morning light catching the hint of a smile on your lips. To him, you’ve never looked more beautiful.

Without a word, he crossed the room and slipped his arms around you, resting his chin on her head. You leaned into him, the warmth of his embrace grounding you more than words ever could.

“We’ve got a lot to fix,” he murmured, voice low but sure. You nodded against him.

“I know. And I’m ready.”

For the first time in years, the past no longer felt like a weight between you, but a foundation, rough, imperfect, but yours.

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.