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lewmagoo · 11 months ago

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puppy werewolf bob is so so so special to me omg. and the way that he was able to hide the fact that he's a wolf for this long...it's such a bob thing because no one suspects the quiet one. little do they know he's actually a beast, hehe 🤭 i'm so glad you're delving into the werewolf world again because i'm obsessed

Wolfish | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 3,800 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: AFAB!Reader, werewolf! Bob, implied werewolf hunter! Reader, unprotected sex, Bob has an undiagnosed praise kink, brief over-stimulation, size kink if you squint, sex against a wall, werewolves doing...werewolf things. Brief Summary: You can't seem to keep your hands off each other today.

Your back slams against the locker doors. Metal clatters so loud that it echoes. Bouncing off the walls, rattling around inside of empty crevices, and squeezing through the crack in the door. Had ought to rumble its way across the building, down the street, and right into the unwitting ears of your team. Freshly deployed. Chasing the false scent of the very man between your legs.

Sure wonder what they would think if they walked in and saw this.

The obscene pressure of a werewolf's hard cock, straining against his sweats, pressing deliciously against your fluttering cunt. Your legs coiling impossibly tighter around his bony waist, sharp hip bones digging into the plush fat of your thighs, fingers trailing up the back of his neck, across short-clipped hair, to tangle in the longer strands at the top.

His warm nose bumps against your cheek. Blindly guiding himself back to your mouth, sloppy and lazy, little wet noises punctuating every motion, razor-sharp canines nipping at your bottom lip. Such an otherworldly sensation that has your head spinning so fast you fear you'll fall, arms tightening around his shoulders.

"Four times has gotta be some kind of record," Bob's tone rumbles through you like thunder, shaking your bones like fragile leaves in the wind. The cold rims of his glasses bump into you as he draws away, darkened eyes drinking you up like a glass of water in the middle of a sweltering desert.

Your head falls back against the locker, sucking in a breath. "Maybe for you," squirming. Grinding down into the bulge of his cock, absolutely and unequivocally unashamed of putting on a show for him.

"Keep telling yourself that," stupid wolf with his stupid, dumb head tilt. You can almost picture the puppy ears flopping over, begging for a good scratch. Part of you wonders if his leg would twitch if you found the right spot.

But you certainly don't mean to actually let your fingers slide from his hair and behind his ear. Blunt nails scratching at the skin there, blessed by the sound of his soft inhale. Eyelashes flutter. A boot kicks the floor. Defiantly holding himself together.

Those sharp teeth glint in the moonlight as his mouth opens. "Gonna be in so much trouble if they catch us."

Funny, you very nearly forgot about them already. Jake, Bradley, Nat. All chasing down a scent you massaged into the fur of a semi-feral feline last night. They'll find the little calico here soon. Jake and Bradley will start arguing over who's in the right; Nat will get fed up and call for backup. If there's anything you know about Javy, it's that he'll be up and have the cat found before the spat is settled.

You only have so much time before they return, badgering you about another bad scent. Even less time to get this wild-eyed werewolf in you. Devilish, you draw yourself closer to him. Nose to nose. Legs so tight around him that your bones ache. "What, not keen on telling a group of werewolf hunters you're a—fuck," it hasn't even been that long since the last time you felt his cock twitch into you. There's no reason it should have you getting wet like this. "Werewolf?"

He stumbles forward. Knocking you into the lockers again. Big hands squeezing greedy handfuls of your ass. "Call me a prude, but I ain't much for being hunted, honeycomb."

On their own, his hips roll forward. Impossibly strong arms working double time to draw you into it. And you're so, so certain that there's a wet spot staining your shorts right now. A sick mixture of your own wetness and his cum dripping out of your abused cunt, damn near sore from how many times he's filled you up today.

And yet, it's still not enough. "You really think they'd hurt you?" Your voice almost strained. Weary hand reaching between your heated bodies. Sliding those flimsy shorts out of the way, relishing in the hitch of his breath, all over the sight of your pussy.

"I don't wanna find out," he grunts, and for a second, you think he's gonna drool.

Your index finger slips between your folds. Gathering up your wetness, skin glistening with it, as your hand rises to his mouth. You don't need to ask for him to part his lips, letting two of your fingers slip past. His hot, wet tongue is so, so soft compared to the canines that brush against your knuckles. Sucks on them a little too eagerly, so content with your taste that his eyes fall shut.

"Then you'd better hurry up, puppy," you murmur, catching his tongue between your fingers. He can get away at any moment, and yet, he makes no move to.

Far too gentle, compared to the out-of-control, bloodthirsty werewolf stereotype.

"Quit calling me that," his speech is a little garbled, talking without a fully operational tongue. But he's reaching down, pushing at the thick band of his sweats, heavy cock damn near falling out of its confines. So flushed and swollen that you reckon it's gotten bigger since the last time you saw it. Audibly slaps against your cunt, between your parted folds, right where he ought to stay for the rest of his life.

Or, rather, where he ought to stay after he's done with you.

Bobby has to draw himself back by a damn mile to stroke his big, blunt head down your core, nudging politely at your entrance. You're still so loose, opening easily as he presses into you. Thick, pink tip stretching you wide, bullying his way back into your overfucked, needy pussy.

A noise draws out of your lips. Starstruck by the drag of his cock, big enough to make the dry, unlubricated glide feel like it's going to split you open. Would hurt if you weren't dripping around him, an obscene mixture of lube and cum spilling out of your pussy, coating him once more.

"That's it," you breathe, head tilting back, "good boy."

A pitchy whine slices through the air.

You haven't heard that one before.

Opening your eyes is damn near impossible, and yet, you're finding the strength to force them open. Immediately focusing on his flushed face. "What?" Your giggle is strained. Lungs suddenly too tight. "You like it when I call you that?"

He nods a little too eagerly. "Uhuh."

It's not fair.

Truly, it isn't. He shouldn't be allowed to bat those long, innocent lashes at you. Not when his oversized cock has your pussy aching as he sinks into you. It's a damn wonder he's fit the past three times because he's barely halfway in, and you're already struggling. Hands scurrying behind his neck, nails biting into the lithe muscle of his shoulders. Lungs seeming to shrink with every inch you take of him, running out of space for oxygen.

"'m I hurting you?" He whispers in that fragile tone of his, glasses glinting as he tilts his head forward.

Your head is shaking before he can even begin to stall his hips. "N...no."

"Your nose is scrunched like it is," and as if you could have possibly forgotten where it's located on your face, Bobby leans in and bumps his nose against yours. So damn warm compared to this chilly little locker room; feels like you've cozied up to a furnace rather than a man.

Defiant, your head tilts forward, foreheads knocking together. "Because you're big, dummy."

His eyelashes flutter. "Oh." Struck dumb.

As if he possibly could have deluded himself into believing that every man on this planet walks around hung like a damn horse. Even you had known it. Could see the fat outline of him in those thin sweats he loves. Blissfully unaware of the way his cock makes its presence known as he walks.

But he's finally, finally bottoming out in you. Not a damn millimeter of space left for him to fill, sweaty skin flush against your ass. It's a damn wonder that you haven't started waddling from the amount of times you've felt this very sensation today. Once in the comfort of your bed. Again, in the break room, after you got the call that everyone else would be late. And when you'd dared to venture into Bob's office, perching yourself in his lap, kissing beneath his ear until he cracked and let you ride him.

Fatigue has only recently started to settle into your bones, and by the looks of it, Bob is feeling it, too. Pretty eyes closed, completely and utterly uninterested in moving. You'd think he was asleep if he didn't suck in a breath when you involuntarily clench around him.

"Too tired to fuck me, Robby?" You murmur, raising a hand to comb through his messy hair, ruined by your own doing.

He hums, twitching out of you a little, only to push back in just as lazily, "thought ya might be sore."

"What," stars sparkle behind your eyelids; he's rubbing against that overworked bundle of nerves on every slow pass of his cock, "makes you think that?"

"Earlier," pumping into you a little faster now, finding that same old rhythm that never seems to lose its dizzying charm, "you were muttering about me bruising your pussy."

That...

"You heard that?" You could have sworn you'd muttered that while you were cleaning up last time.

When he was on the other side of the room.

"I hear a lotta things," chirping, all too friendly. There's no reason why a man should smile so innocently while his hips are smacking into your ass, "like you whining my name in your hotel room last Tuesday."

Images flicker through your memory. The coziness of an expensive hotel bed. Soft blankets and an even softer, golden glow of the bedside lamp in a room all to yourself. Wrapped up in a false sense of privacy as your hand ventured below your waistband.

He'd heard you through the damn wall?

But you can't even be mad because he's squeezing you a little tighter. Every thrust of his hips bounces your body further up the lockers. Knocking the breath out of your lungs. A weakened whine twisting through the quiet air. Too intimate of a sound to be in a communally shared room.

"And you wonder why I hate most werewolves," writhing. Arms tightening around his shoulders. Heels digging into the meat of his ass. "What else can you do? Smell when I'm turned on?"

"Uhuh," his obedient head nods. Such an unassuming motion that has you clamping down around him. Rips a groan right out of his broad chest.

His hips shift. The slightest change in angle, and yet he's driving right up into those nerves. Plush tip massaging them head-on. Has you fluttering around him like a damn butterfly. Sent into a never-ending spasm.

"Fuck," you wail. Nails biting into his soft neck. "Bobby!"

And you're vaguely aware of the way he's looking up at you. Big puppy eyes, in utter awe of the sight before him. "There?"

You're nodding before you've even recognized what he's asking. Clinging to him. Squeezing his big, overheated body to yours like he'll vanish if you don't. Worst of all, he lets you—pretty face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, the rims of his glasses digging into your flesh, where you can hug him even closer. Your cheek squishing against the side of his head.

"Good boy," gasping into his ear, "keep doing that."

A shiver races down his spine. Mouthing at the side of your neck. Whimpering beneath his heaving breath. The oversized palms that cling to your ass beginning to shiver. Slippery with sweat and struggling to maintain his grip. Growling low in his chest, suddenly sharp nails poking and prodding against your flesh as something within him switches gears.

You know it has because the tips of his ears are growing unnaturally fuzzy. Pointed. And in the time it takes for your hand to reach them, they've already turned. Looks as if the ears of a wolf have been glued to the sides of his head. Twisting and turning, sensitive and reacting to every involuntary noise that falls off your tongue.

"Bobby—" you choke. Squirming. Fighting for a glance at his flushed face. Have to tangle your fingers in his hair and yank his face right out of your neck. And he's...

magnificent.

Glasses smudged by spit and sweat and hopelessly fogged. Strands of soaked hair cling to his glistening forehead. Mouth agape. Impossibly sharp canines glint in the poor lighting. Pink tongue on the verge of lolling out past his lips like a damn domesticated dog, panting in the summer heat.

And yet, as you push his glasses up to rest on the top of his head, you find that his eyes are the same shade of sky blue. Wide and so, so eager.

His feet shift, leaning away. You back presses harder against the lockers. A gap forms between your bodies. Just enough for your hand to let go of his hair and dart between. Diving past the hem of your shirt, clinging to your clammy skin, stopping just above his pistoning cock, to find your sore and overused clit. A tingle bolts up your spine.

"Fuck, you're—" Bobby's eyes screw shut. Grunting low in his chest. A guttural, animalistic noise you've only heard him make once. "Clenching around me so fucking...mhm, shit."

You reckon he can feel your sudden contraction as well as you can feel the fat swell of his cock head. Driving into you impossibly deeper. As if this sudden wolfiness has made him larger than he was before. His angle hasn't shifted, but his oversized tip rubs right into your g-spot with a vigor that makes your legs tremble around his hips. Head spinning. Tipping back to hit the locker door.

"Robby, Robby, keep, keep—," babbling. Cut short. He's listening. He's listening. Rubbing right into those little nerves over and over and over. You're not sure if the heat coiling in your belly is from his cock or your fingers. "Fuck, good boy."

"You gotta quit calling me that," he pants, sentence fractured by a choked moan, "gonna have me following you like a lost puppy for the rest of your life."

He'd look cute with a little blue collar that matches his eyes. But you can't hang onto that idea for long.

"I don't mind the," gasping, "idea of that."

Your body is beginning to tense. Too hot for this little room. The coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter with every thrust of his cock. Pussy squelching with the motion of him, so damn wet that you fear you're dripping onto the floor below. And Bobby is whimpering again. Pitchy little noises that you can't believe are coming from your cunt being wrapped around him.

His pretty mouth can't stay shut. Already opening again. "I'm...I...I'm—"

"Uhuh," is all you can manage. Struggling to keep your eyes open. Legs growing tighter and tighter around him until, until, until—

Your back arches off the lockers with a silent cry. Thrust up into the clouds. Head spinning like a top. Spasming and cumming around his big, oversized cock without another warning. And you're only vaguely aware of the way he cries out at the feeling. Hips stuttering to a halt. Filling your well fucked pussy with his cum for the fourth time today. Twitching inside you. His head falling back into the crevice between your neck and shoulder.

It may not have been your most intense orgasm of today, but it does take you some time to come down. Brought back to earth by the kisses against your clammy skin and the nimble fingers that massage the plush swell of your ass.

Bobby looks normal again. Not a single wolfish feature to be found. Back to your same old, soft-eyed tech guy. The one who has deceived you into thinking he was human for so, so many years. Probably would have been able to keep up the act, too, had you not crossed the boundary between friends and lovers.

Abrupt, his head snaps up. Those wolf ears are back. Twisting and turning like little radar dishes.

"Shit," he snarls, and before you're even ready, he's sliding out of you. Cum already beginning to spill down your thighs.

"What?" You're helpless. Don't realize you've been placed back on the floor until he's led you halfway across the room. "Bobby, what is it?"

"Jake. Bradley." Short. Straight to the point. "Down the hall. Coming this way."

There's a tiny janitor's closet in the corner of the locker room—barely big enough for one body to fit inside of it, never mind two. Not the ideal hiding spot, but with no other exit, you've got no choice. It's either hide or be caught.

You can only hope that there isn't a noticeable mess on the floor. Or, worse, a trail leading all the way to the door.

The door to the locker room squeals open just as the closet closes. Your weary head struggling to catch up to speed, still processing the drop to the floor and the the things Bob has just said to you. Hell. The only reason you notice his arms are around is, is because of the wayward finger that dips beneath your shirt, stroking your skin.

Jake and Bradley are talking. The rumble of the voices is clear, but you can't make out a word that they're saying. It must be something funny because they're laughing. All too loud, uncaring of who they may disturb with their volume or where their voices may wander in the building.

For a moment, you're afraid to breathe. Worrying about the hammering of your heart. As if they could possibly hear the tiny thump of it in your chest.

Bob's spent cock bumps into your hip. Still free of his confines. Wet with an obscene mixture of his cum and your wetness. Proof of your rendezvous. Frankly, you couldn't bring yourself to go another round, even if you got your hands on a magical reset button. But you can't help but notice that you haven't felt the glide of him against your tongue in such a long while...

Surely, Jake and Bradley won't hear if you...sink to your knees, here...just for a minute or two...

"What are you doing?" Bob whispers, barely audible, even to you. Eyes wide as you reach for him. "You can't—are you serious right now?"

But kicking up a fuss will get the two of you caught. A risk he can't afford to take. Not with those big, wolfish ears still twisting and turning on the sides of his head. The very thing you've all been gathered here to eliminate.

Daring, your tongue pokes out of your mouth.

The slam of Jake's locker washes over Bob's sharp inhale. Too sensitive for the hellish sensation of your hot tongue dragging against the underside of him.

His hands rise. Both of them clamping down over his mouth. Eyes screwed shut.

There's a tremor to him that wasn't there before—shaking like a lone leaf in the wind. Helpless to do anything but let you keep licking at him. Long strokes of your tongue. Gathering the sweet mess that clings to his cock. Who could have thought that an identifying characteristic of North American werewolves is sweet cum? You sure didn't until he'd cum in your mouth that first time.

Hell, he didn't even know.

It's too dark to see his face, but you can feel his eyes boring holes into your shoulders. Hips twitching away, but never making the move to push your head away. Helpless to let you clean his pretty cock with your tongue, from base to tip.

If there was light in here, you're certain he would be shimmering with your saliva by now.

Whatever it was Jake and Bradley needed to do, it didn't seem to take them long. Their boots clomp across the floor. Lockers slamming shut. Loud, muffled voices grow faint as they meander down the corridor, surely heading to their vehicles, looking forward to a well-deserved day off tomorrow.

You suppose Bob has heard the back door chime because his hands fly off his mouth.

He's fortunate that you're too tired to push him much further. Gathering up the last of him. And just for extra measure, you allow yourself the simple pleasure of wrapping your swollen lips around his tip. Teasing his slit. Sucking gently.

"You can't just," he babbles, sweaty hand pawing at the side of your face, "baby, baby, 's too much, it's too—"

His cock twitches. A splash of cum hits your tongue. A heavy puff of breath sounds from above.

He's pushing your head away before you can even begin to do it yourself.

"Monster," his chest heaves as he tucks himself back into his pants.

"I could say the same about what you just put away," you grin. Rising back up to your feet. He wipes that expression off your lips with a big, wet kiss.

His ears are back to normal, much to your dismay. No fluffiness present to greet your fingers as your hands cup the sides of his face, bringing him back in for one, two, three, four more kisses.

And as you slip back into the locker room, you're greeted with a sheet of printer paper taped to the lockers. And in big, messy handwriting, it reads, "Who's been fucking in here?" With a list of possible culprits at the bottom. Their votes have already been cast, accusing Mickey and Rueben by leaving scraggly check marks next to their names.

"Damn," Bob's brows furrow, incredulous, "my name didn't even make the list." He grumbles, already reaching for the discarded pen.

You can hardly swallow down your giggle. "That just means there's more for us to get away with, my dear." Speaking as innocently as you can. Batting your eyelashes at him.

His eyes roll.

"I'm gonna dress as an old lady and eat you if you keep quoting that darn fable," but he's laughing. Tossing that pen back where he found it. Already reaching for your hand, squeezing it in his own. And with a limp in both of your steps, you venture back into the hallway and out into the parking lot. Already conjuring up your next big escapade before you can even tumble into the front seat of his truck.

This time, you reckon that you and he should go chasing a false werewolf scent for some fun in the woods. You've even got the little red coat to fit the occasion. The exact same shade of Bob's cheeks as you reveal your idea to him.

And in two days' time, when you all flood into the locker room to change, Jake will point at the tiny, squished inscription of Bob's name on the list and laugh. How funny is that? Somebody really thought their quiet wallflower tech guy was the culprit!

All Bob can do is look your way and flash you that big, wolfish grin. Unusually sharp canines and all.

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