writtingrose - Tumblr blog

writtingrose · 5 days ago

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This is so freaking goooodddd

Long Day

Summary: you help Bob unwind after a long day.

Warnings: Not much plot, just porn. Thigh riding, daddy kink, edging, soft dom!Bob but also he's kinda mean? Spitting, choking, Dom/sub roles, praise kink, some Hangman slander (sorry, I love him), Sassy Bob at the end. Sorry, this is pure filth, I should probably go to church or something.

This was created for @wicked-blathers' Kink or Treat challenge! Thanks for letting me write straight up porn.

The sound of the door to your bungalow house opening didn't startle you. After all, it was around the time when your husband was scheduled to get home.

Even your multiple animals knew that, as they hopped off the bed to go greet Bob. So you stayed put, continuing to read.

"Darlin'?"

The first thing you noticed was that Bob was still in his flight suit. That meant he drove straight home instead of showering at base. His normally well-kept and gelled hair was gone, replaced by loose curls that fell over his forehead. His breath was ragged, as if he had just run several miles.

And his eyes.

You could hardly see the beautiful blue hue. They were dark. Nearly black.

"Long day?" You asked.

Bob simply nodded his head, the corners of his mouth turning slightly upright, his brow still knitted together, jaw still tense.

"Can you talk about it?" You put your book down, motioning to the space next to you on the bed. Certain details Bob couldn't share, like exactly why he had been asked back to Top Gun, other than for an important mission.

Bob simply nodded his head as he closed the door before walking over to your shared bed. He sat down, leaving room between your bodies.

You placed a hand on his, giving him time to think. The last couple days of training had been hard. You also knew that the last thing Bob wanted to do was make you worry.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Your eyes scanned his body, looking for any marks or injuries. If it was serious, you would have received a call from the doctor on base. But the nature of Bob's job was quite intense and it was common for some days to be tougher than others.

He chuckled as he shook his head, his long fingers tracing circles on the soft skin of your bare thighs.

Despite what everyone else thought, Bob wasn't quiet or reserved around you. He was comfortable opening up and saying what was on his mind.

So when he didn't, usually it meant something.

You leaned in, your forehead brushing against his, your fingers gently threading themselves in the soft curls at the back of his neck, "What do you need Robby?"

There was a pause, his eyes scanning your face, his pursed together in deep thought before he spoke.

"You. I need you."

His drawl sent a shiver down your spine. You nodded in understanding. It wasn't the first time one of you had asked the other of this. Although you worked in two different fields, you both had stressful jobs. Some days the only way to unwind, to forget about whatever had happened or was bothering you, was to take control elsewhere.

But you always asked first. Which was why Bob was still sitting, waiting for your answer.

"You have me. All of me."

Bob flashed that slightly crooked (yet absolutely endearing) smile before capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

You climbed into his lap, now very thankful that the summer heat caused you to ditch your shorts earlier, leaving you in only a t-shirt.

His hands cupped the sides of your face, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss. Your hands moved down to the zipper of Bob's flight suit, beginning to pull it down. A large hand stopped your's.

"Who said you could do that?" His voice was low and his words came out in a near growl.

So he had one of those days.

"I'm sorry." You put your hands behind your back, making a show of it so he could see.

The chuckle he let out went right to your core. His sweetness was what made you fall head over heels for him. You knew he'd never harm a single hair on your head.

But when he got like this? Deep, confident, dark, and demanding? You couldn't deny it.

You loved it just as much as you loved the tender kisses and gentle touches he gives you.

Maybe even more.

Bob moved so his long legs were now over the bed, his feet touching the floor. He placed his hands on your hips, moving you so that you were now straddling one of his thighs. A gasp fell from your lips as he pushed your hips back and then towards him, the thin cotton of your panties rubbing against the thick material of his flight suit.

"You can touch me darlin'. In fact, I'll let you even ride me," one of his large hands gripped your jawline, "but don't you dare make a mess."

You couldn't hold back the whimpers as he bounced his thigh up, meeting your core. His hands slide up your (his) t-shirt, squeezing your breasts. With great ease, he found your nipples, his fingers tweaking and tugging on the hardening buds.

You were at his mercy and wouldn't have it any other way. He titled his head up, capturing your lips with his in a desperate kiss. Without any hesitation, you parted your lips, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth.

"Ya close?" Bob asked in-between sloppy kisses. You could only nod, your hips rocking against his thigh in a desperate attempt to chase that high.

"Good," was all he said before lifting you up by your thighs, pushing you down into the mattress. Your thighs clenched, that high drifting away from the loss of contact.

Bob shook his head at the pathetic whine you let out.

"You know the rules darlin'. When are ya gonna come?"

You knew the answer. Bob knew that. But that wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"Not until Daddy says I can."

The way his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply told you that was exactly what he wanted. He attached his mouth to your neck, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh.

"D-Daddy," you whined, your fingers clawing at the flight suit Bob still had on.

Getting the message, your husband quickly broke away from your neck to pull the suit off, placing his glasses on the nightstand, tugging the black t-shirt over his head before connecting his lips back to yours.

His mouth moved from your neck down to your breasts, sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. Your nails dug into his broad shoulders as Bob used your body like a canvas, painting bruises and marks onto it with his mouth.

Your hips couldn't help but buck into his, desperate for some type of friction. Bob shook his head, using his knees to spread your legs apart as he wrapped a hand around your throat, his fingers holding your head in place without adding pressure.

His fingers brushed against your clothed core. Bob couldn't help but chuckle upon hearing you gasp. His touch was like fire, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body.

His fingers began to draw circles against your clit, pressing in so you could feel it through the fabric of your panties. His other hand began to apply pressure around your throat, his deep blue eyes watching you intently.

"I bet I could get ya to come just from this," He whispered. That Midwestern drawl came out during heated moments like this. It added to the thrill of seeing him like this. To everyone else, Bob was quiet, reserved, and couldn't harm a fly.

But you knew what he was capable of. Not that he was mean for the sake of being mean. It came from a need to feel control, after years of being overlooked and underestimated.

You were more than happy to help feed that desire.

All you could do was whimper as he continued to use his thumb to apply pressure against your clit. His other fingers traced downwards, pressing into the fabric, into your entrance.

"Are ya? Are you gonna come just from this?"

You shook your head, barely able to get out more than a choked no. Your fingers clawed at his bare back, not caring what kind of mark they left.

Bob liked it and wouldn't complain.

He cocked an eyebrow in mocked confusion at your answer, "Why not? Isn't that what ya want darlin'?"

He loosens his grip on your throat, silently telling you that he expects a proper response.

Despite your head spinning, your body feeling warm and fuzzy as his fingers continue their tortured ministrations on your clothed cunt, you manage to get out a coherent response.

"C-can't come until Daddy says s-so."

"Such a smart girl," He cooed, the praise setting your skin ablaze.

His fingers continued to push you closer to that forbidden edge. You tried to prepare yourself for the eventual loss of contact, but that was so hard when his grip around your throat tightened, leaving you gasping for air.

So you couldn't help but whine pathetically when his fingers left the spot between your legs, leaving you once again so close to the edge, just needing a little more to push you over the ledge.

"Sorry darlin, but I like seeing you squirm. You're real cute when you can't come, ya know that?" He whispered in your ear, his breath hot on your skin.

You could ask for him to stop. To just fuck you and let you come all over his cock without any of this. Bob would do it, would drop the act as soon as you asked him to.

But where was the fun in that?

So instead you simply nodded your head, lifting your hips up as he pulled down your soaked panties.

"What'cha want baby? My fingers or my mouth?" He was letting you choose the method of torture.

How generous.

"F-fingers," you whined. His large hands gripped the soft flesh of your thighs.

"Ya sure? Ya don't want my mouth on your pussy?" People thought because Bob didn't curse, he was pure and clean.

They were wrong.

You shook your head, fighting the urge to hide your face with your hands. Instead, your fingers dug into the smooth skin of his back.

"But I thought you liked it," He teased, "Ya always say how much ya love my tongue on your clit."

God, were folks fucking wrong about Bob.

"I-I do b-but," words were beginning to fail you. Your entire body was hot and all you wanted was for Bob to touch you.

"But what darlin'?"

"Don't… don't wanna come b-before D-daddy says I-I can," how you managed to get that one out as Bob's fingers began to trace along your slit, was beyond you.

He chuckled before pressing his lips to your temple, a gesture you normally found sweet and endearing, but in this moment, felt like confirmation of the torture you were about to embark on.

"Good girl." His words sent a shiver down your spine, his voice low, sending heat to your core.

It was something you two had tried out recently. At first, Bob was hesitant towards the idea, as it felt more like torture than pleasurable. But then he saw how you would squirm and wither underneath him, how he could reduce you to a blubbering, begging mess without even fucking you.

He loved it.

A high pitch whine fell from your lips as you felt him enter one finger, then two, stretching you out. He continued until his knuckles were at your entrance, the cool metal of his wedding ring (that he always wore at home) resting against your heated skin.

As he began to build up a rhythm, curling his fingers to quickly find that spot that sent you into overdrive, the heel of his hand began to brush against your clit as his fingers thrusted into you.

Maybe mouth would have been the less torturous method.

The pace Bob set up, how his fingers would stretch your walls, find that sweet spot with such precision, was torturous and delightful all at the same time. You never wanted it to end, he was ridiculously good with his fingers.

Your hips couldn't help but thrust up, trying to meet the heel of his hand to stimulate your throbbing clit.

Bob noticed this right away (noticing details was part of his job description). He couldn't help but smirk at the frustrated whine you let out when he angled the heel of his hand away from your body, your hips pathetically meeting nothing but air.

His lips turned to form a pout that mocked the one that adorned your face, "What's wrong baby? Ya need something from Daddy?"

All you could do was nod, your body desperately searching for that little extra stimulation to push you over the edge.

Bob laughed, low and dark, "That's too damn bad."

He withdrew his fingers, your aching cunt clenching around nothing. Without thinking, you squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to soothe the ache.

"Don't you fuckin' dare."

Bob placed his knees onto your thighs, keeping them apart. One of his hands had pinned your wrists above your head, the other gripping the soft flesh of your hips, effectively pinning you to the bed.

The two of you laid like that, the room filled with your panting. His stare was burning into your skin, but you couldn't look away.

"I-I'm sorry Daddy. I'm so sorry, I'll be good, I promise," you panted, desperate to convince him so Bob would let you come sooner rather than later.

He simply stared you down, his hand moving up from your hips to your jawline.

So you continued your begging, "L-let me show you. Please. I can be good Daddy, just let me show-"

"Stick out your tongue."

Your eyes widened at his demand because holy shit was he actually going to do this? It was something you had confessed to him after too many mimosas at brunch. The look of pure shock, almost borderline horror on Bob's face was quite the sight. You honestly were surprised he didn't pass out at the time, considering it was still early in your relationship.

Your tongue darted past your lips. His thin lips formed into a smirk as his face now hovered over your's.

Somewhere, your Feminist Theory 101 professor was screaming as you felt wettness, Bob’s saliva now on your tongue.

He watched as you swallowed, his eyes widening as he saw your throat bob. He too was partly in shock from what he just did.

"Color," Bob asked, his sapphire eyes studying every detail of your face, searching for any signs of discomfort.

"Green. So fucking green."

"It-it wasn't too much?" He asked, resembling the shy, bespectacled WSO you came to know, love, and marry.

"Not at all. But if you're still unsure, you could check down there to see how fucking turned on I am from that," you teased.

“Fuck,” was all he said before quickly moving down your body, his head now in-between your legs.

Before you could say anything, his tongue slowly moved through your folds in long, slow, licks. Your head fell backwards onto the pillow.

His mouth made you believe in a higher being. Before meeting Bob, you didn't know it was possible for someone's mouth to feel that good.

Bob didn't realize until he met you that some guys don't try to make their partners come from oral. And he was very quick to rectify that wrong the universe had somehow allowed.

Your hands dug into broad shoulders. You could see the muscles of his back contort as he gripped your thighs, allowing himself better access to your cunt.

He chuckled at the gasp you let out when his tongue flicked against your clit. Bob loved watching you react to his ministrations. Folks always assumed since you were the loud, outspoken one in public, it was no different in the bedroom. And while Bob didn't believe in the toxic idea of "needing to assert his dominance", it also didn't mean he never took control.

Which was while when he felt your cunt beginning to tighten around the one finger he thrusted into your entrance (you didn't deserve any, but he was feeling generous), when your whines increased in pitch, the muscles of your thighs clenching as his tongue lapped at your clit, he couldn't help but grin.

Only he got to see you like this. Only he got to make you like this. All desperate and whiney for something, anything. Trying so hard to hold back a pathetic whine from the loss of contact, full of desire for him. Your whole being aching for that sweet release. Bob loved watching the internal battle that played out in your big, beautiful eyes. How you craved him, yet you didn't dare you move or make your displeasure at not yet coming explicitly known.

He simply wrapped his arms around your waist, using his strength to roll onto his back, your body now on top of his.

"Show me."

Your head was spinning from the sudden movement, your body still trying to recover from Bob's mouth. All you could get out was a muffled "huh?".

"Show me how bad you wanna come," He grunted, his fingers digging into the supple flesh of your hips. You could only stare blankly at him.

Bob was a pretty patient man, he grew up with four sisters and had eight nieces and nephews under the age of eight.

But you weren't the only one who wanted to come.

With a low huff, he grabbed your hips, moving you down until your soaked core was right above his hardened cock. Even with the fabric of his boxer briefs acting as a barrier between your skin and his, you could feel his erection.

Your head fell back as Bob's hands moved your hips back and forth, your cunt brushing over his thick cock.

"Daddy," you whined. You could feel his cock twitch at the name, which drove you wild. The guy who couldn't even muster up the courage to come up and talk to you at the bar had turned you into a withering mess, somehow making it impossible for you to speak coherently despite not having fucked you yet.

"One more edge darlin'," you whined at his words, the thought of having to rub yourself against his cock and not be able to come sounding like torture.

So you shook your head, "I-I can't, pl-please dadd-"

"Yes you can," His voice was soft, a large thumb coming up to your face to stroke your cheek, wiping away a tear.

You tried to shake your head, tried to simultaneously explain that you couldn't and to beg Bob to let you come.

Your ramblings were met with a slap to one of your thighs. His wedding ring added a layer of hot, twisted pain that made you moan.

"Either do it now or you're not coming until tomorrow afternoon."

He would do it. He had done it before and it was pure torture. Memories of Bob bending you over the kitchen counter, the couch, the stairs and never knowing if he was going to torture you with his fingers, mouth, or cock came flooding back.

Not today. You needed to come within the next twenty minutes, not twenty hours.

So you leaned forward, placing your hands on his defined chest for support. You grind your hips down, your aching core rubbing against his throbbing erection.

It was torment. It was the closest you had gotten to his cock and you could feel your walls clenching in a pathetic attempt to hold onto him. As your hips increased in speed, you found yourself clawing at his smooth skin, leaving marks that would be quite visible tomorrow.

Bob simply watched, enjoying you falling apart more than he'll ever admit. He could say something about the marks and hickeys you're leaving, but the small, smug part of him that he usually does a great job of managing and hiding was dominating today. Maybe it was the two hundred push ups he had to do or Hangman's comments.

Whatever the source, he wasn't stopping you.

"You're getting close, aren't ya?" He cooed. You picked up your head that was resting against his chest, nodding weakly.

"Ya gonna come?" You shook your head, though your hips kept moving. It felt so fucking good, the way the material of his boxer briefs provided a delicious friction against your clit.

“You should stop soon darlin. Don’t wanna come before Daddy says ya can, right?” You nodded at his words, though that didn’t stop you from moving your hips back and forth.

Which is why Bob didn’t feel bad bringing his large hands up to your neck, his fingers able to completely cover the skin from your jawline to your collarbone. The action forced you to look at him, into those blue eyes that drove you wild.

“C’mon darlin’. Be a good girl f'me, will ya?"

You whined as your hips stilled, moving your body off of your husband and onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress.

"Robby," you whined and that's what did it. Not sir, not Lieutenant, not Daddy, not Bob. But that nickname you bestowed onto him the night you two first met, the name only you get to call him, no one else. The way it roll off your tongue so naturally, like you were always made to call him that, how it went with your bright smile and beaming eyes, was what made Bob realize that even though he couldn't physically bring you the stars and the moon, he'd spend the rest of his life finding and bringing you equivalents he deemed worthy enough for you.

That's what led him to quickly tug off his boxers, to open the drawer of the nightstand so hard, you're pretty sure he pulled it all the way out, with the clatter of everything falling to the bedroom floor except the bottle of lube he was clutching. But your head was far too fuzzy to think about that right now.

You whined his name again as he hovered over you, lining his cock to your entrance. Your hands reached out, desperate to hold onto him.

"I know, I know, been such'a good girl," He praised as he pushed push your folds. The moan forming in your throat tore through you as you felt him stretch your walls, inch by inch.

"Please, please, I need," you couldn't even finish your sentence. What did you need? Release? Reprieve? Reassurance?

Bob grabbed your thighs, lifting them so they were around his waist. The new angle made his thrusts even deeper, causing your moans to increase in volume.

"I know, you've been so good for me. Let go darlin'," his voice was soothing.

You threw your head back, letting him thrust into you. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge you desperately craved. Your fingers dug into his back, heightening his pleasure.

Bob couldn't help but chuckle, "Ya gonna leave marks on me darlin'. What am I gonna tell folks tomorrow?"

"T-that you fuck your wife so -s'good."

Maybe it was the fact the most coherent sentence you had been able to verbalize since he got home was praise for him. Maybe it was the fact that after two years of marriage he still couldn't get over the fact you were 'his wife'.

Whatever it was, it made him determined to push you over that edge. The sound you let out when his fingers rubbed tight circles on your clit was probably going to get you a noise complaint. That is, if folks were able to hear it over the sound of skin slapping against skin and the headboard slamming against the wall with every thrust.

“Rob-Daddy- I-”

“Come.” HIs voice was gruff and hoarse, juxtaposing the gentle kiss he gave to your forehead immediately after his order. With one more thrust, you fell apart on his cock.

You were chanting something as your walls clenched around him. Perhaps it was his name, perhaps it was one of the several nicknames he liked to be called in bed. Perhaps it was words of thanks for granting you permission to come. Your thighs trembled as Bob fucked you through your high, heightening the intense pleasure you were experiencing.

His fingers continued drawing circles on your clit, using your wetness. Jolts of pleasure shot through your body, sensitivity quickly overtaking your cunt. You threw your head back. It wasn’t a shock Bob hadn’t come yet. Despite how quickly he blushed and stammered when he first met you, he had a surprisingly high stamina.

Your hands threaded through his hair, gripping the sun kissed locks. It only spurs him on; how you whine your name, how you coated him with your slick, how much you came, Christ, he knew the sheets would have to be changed after this. The pain brought on by you tugging on his hair led him to grip the headboard of your shared bed, allowing him to thrust into you even deeper.

“Gimme one more. Ya can do that f’me, right darlin’?” The noises you made in response were incoherent as you shook your head. The corners of your eyes were blurred with tears, something that Bob would never admit out loud how it made his cock twitch.

Bob pulled his head away from yours, studying as if he was analyzing an F/A-18 rather than the face of his wife. Like hell if you were only going to come once in bed with him. That never happened before and it sure wasn’t going to start now. He just had to push you over.

“Open.”

Your eyes widened, your walls around his cock clenching at the command. Bob couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight of your parted lips. His large hand that was gripping the headboard came down to your cheeks, his fingers gripping the sides of your cheeks.

His saliva landed directly in your mouth. You swallowed with zero hesitation, your eyes never leaving his.

Bob couldn’t help but chuckle. He wasn’t one to talk about his personal life at work; hell, he was pretty sure only Phoenix and Rooster knew he was married. But he knew the assumptions folk made about him, he had been dealing with it for most of his life.

He could only imagine their shock upon learning that Robert “Baby on Board” Floyd just made his wife come again by spitting in her mouth.

He’d never get tired of watching you come. You were so pretty with your parted lips, half-closed eyes, a pure look of bliss adorning your beautiful features. How your fingernails would dig into the skin of his shoulder at the exact same time your cunt seized around his cock.

He came with a hard thrust, grunting as he felt himself empty inside of you. He rested his head in the crook of your neck, panting in an attempt to catch his breath. Your nose nuzzled against his temple, finding solace in his breathing.

“Ya okay?” He asked into your neck. You nodded your head, but that didn’t stop him from looking at you, studying your face for any signs of discomfort, “What’s my name?”

You smiled, “You’re my Robby.”

Bob smiled, the tips of his ears turning red at your affection. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Let’s get cleaned up, ‘kay?” You nodded your head, wrapping your legs around his waist. You buried your head into his neck.

“Oh….I’ll….fix that later.” You lifted up your head to see what your husband was referring to.

Bob had indeed, in his haste to get the lube, pulled out the entire drawer from your nightstand, the contents spilling out onto the floor.

“How bad of a day was it?”

“Hangman’s an asshole,” was all he said as he carried you to the bathroom.

“Probably because he doesn’t get fucked,” You laughed as Bob placed you on the toilet while he turned on the water to the shower.

“That man will not shut up about what he does after work, I think it’s just a personality defect.” Bob reached a hand out towards you. You took it, allowing him to pull you into the shower.

“Yeah, he talks about getting laid, but has he ever come in with a scratch or hickey? Or does he just look unnaturally smooth and scratch free like a new Ken doll?” Your comment earned a laugh from Bob.

“And they say I’m the observant one,” He grinned as he moved you under the head of the shower. The warm water ran down your spine, you let out a happy hum against your husband's skin.

"I meant what I said earlier," you reached for the shampoo, standing on the tips of your toes to apply it to Bob's hair.

"If they ask about how you got those marks," you traced the evidence of your afternoon together, red marks and scratches that were scattered along his chest and back.

He chuckled, "I think they'd have a hard time believing it."

You shrugged, "Well, that's more telling of their performance in the bedroom."

—---------------------------

The next day of training went much better. He and Phoenix finally nailed the one manuver that had been tricking them up for the past few days. Training had gone well, Bob didn't have to hold anyone back from starting a fight (or seriously consider letting them go to continue said fight).

He checked his phone before putting it in his locker, his eyes lighting up at your text.

I think I finally perfected Babka. Want to be my test taster?

Bob sent you a thumbs up emoji, quickly putting his phone away so he could get into the shower and home to you.

He took off his shirt, not thinking much of it until-

"Jesus Christ Bob! Did you wrestle with a tiger after training yesterday?"

At first Bob didn't know what Hangman was referring to, but then he remembered.

The marks. Your marks, the ones you left across his back yesterday.

Which now everyone in the locker room had seen.

It wasn't like Bob tried to hide he was married. Hell, he wore his wedding ring on his dog tags. He just didn't feel the need to talk about his personal life.

"I relaxed."

Hangman scoffed, "By what? Reenacting the bear scene from The Revenant?"

Bob narrowed his eyes, "By fucking my wife really well. Not that you would know about that, considering I've never seen a single mark on you after your hookups."

Somewhere in the locker room, Rooster was howling and Fanboy was yelling (what Bob was pretty certain was "Get him Bobby!). It was hard to tell with Coyote and Payback's laughter.

—------------------

"My honorary call sign is what now?" You asked as you sliced in the babka.

"Tiger." The smirk on Bob's face told you everything you needed to know.

"They also want to meet you now," He added before taking a bite out of your latest baking adventure.

"Can I tell Bagman to shove it?" The way you asked so innocently was one of the many things Bob loved about you.

"I'm not gonna stop ya. I'm the quiet one, remember?"

#robert bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #robert floyd smut #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd #bob floyd x y/n

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writtingrose · 10 days ago

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No clue how this ended up on my page, or who Theo is, but fuck me.

THE OTHER GUYS (part two) → part one.

Pairing: theo nott x malfoy reader

Warnings: VERY VERY LONG!!!!! 18+, mdni, smut, some fluff, a bit of angst, draco's little sister, brother's bsf, mean theo, dirty talk, oral, m. receiving, choking, gagging, heavy cursing, drug use (theo smoking), corruption kink, degrading, praising, google-translated italian, porn with plot, obsessive/possessive theo, innocent reader, inexperienced reader x very experienced theo, lowercaps intended. SMUT UNDER THE CUT!!

Summary: theo goes back to ignoring you at hogwarts, and you have no idea why, so this time, you find another way to grab his attention...

Author's note: this is a part two to the other girls→ part one. i would recommend reading part one, but if you don't, that's okay too. i decided to write a part two to this since a lot of people asked me to, and as a big, big thank you for 900+ notes on part one. so, thank you so much guys!! i hope you enjoy this.

THEODORE Nott was an asshole. You had come to realize that the hard way. All your life, you had loved him, put him on a pedestal, making excuses for his faults and habits, your love for him completely blinding you from seeing anything else but perfection.

Not anymore. Ever since the little moment you shared at Christmas, he had been completely ignoring you. Not even like before, where he'd give you a little nod or greeting.

No, he pretended like you didn't even exist.

Any time you'd approach him, he'd walk right past you, pretending you were invisible. And when you began following him around, trying to get his attention, you heard one of his friends ask him why you were suddenly following him around.

"Looks like you've got yourself an admirer," Mattheo jested, pointing to your figure trailing behind Theo's. "I think Malfoy's little sister's got a crush on you..."

"What a fucking baby," he drawled arrogantly, making all his friends laugh when he rudely told you to leave him alone and stop following him around. "Go away, Baby Malfoy, and stop fucking stalking me. It's creepy."

His friends howled with laughter— it was a good thing Draco wasn't there, or else he would have beaten Theo to the pulp.

Your eyes welled up as you stood there frozen, unable to move. Your gray eyes filled with tears, and your lips puckered into a pout. The red, hot sensation of humiliation coursed through your veins, and your fingers began to tremble slightly.

Your blonde curls framed your face perfectly, and you wore a white, pleated skirt and a baby pink button-up sweater, which made you look like a doll— especially with your proper, white, thigh-high stockings you wore underneath, paired with your rose-gold pumps.

"Aww, look Nott, you made her cry," Berkshire commented, noticing the way the tears balanced in your eyes.

Theo moved closer to you, his tall frame towering over yours as he looked into your eyes with his merciless, dark blue ones.

"Poor Baby Malfoy," Theo scoffed. "Such a fucking cry-baby... Can't even take a fucking joke."

His friends guffawed, making you feel worse, and a tear spilled down your cheek as you glared at Theo with as much hatred as you could muster.

"I hate you," you said quietly, loud enough for only Theo to hear your words, before you sniffled and wiped your tears with the back of your hand. "Don't you dare ever come near me again."

And without waiting for Theo's witty retort, you turned on your heel and walked away, holding back the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks.

You meant it. Every word.

No longer were you going to make excuses for his bad behavior— it was time for you to move on.

Sure, you had loved Theo since you were three, but he was no longer the same person.

Seasons change, and so do people.

Still, his public rejection stung, deflating your ego by a sizeable chunk.

Now you didn't care about Theo's attention any more. You had given him your time, attention and love, and he had rejected it, ridiculing you and embarrassing you in front of all his friends.

But once things mulled over, and you tried to force your feelings for Theo away, you realized things weren't that easy.

You still loved him.

It wasn't possible to get rid of feelings that had manifested in you for years and years, growing with time instead of fading away.

And Theo??

Well, he'd continued his life as if your feelings meant nothing to him. As if you meant nothing to him.

It exasperated you. It hurt you.

Watching him hang around with several different girls every day, pretending you did not exist.

As the approaching Hogsmeade weekend drew nearer, you found yourself constantly being asked out by other guys.

You rejected the first two, wanting to go out only with Theo, and no one else.

And then it hit you.

Why were you moping over someone who didn't care if you existed or not??

You were the only one losing out.

And so, when the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain asked you out, you said yes, desperate to drive a particular Slytherin with dark blue eyes away from your mind.

But that wasn't your only intention. Perhaps a small part of you said yes to Roger Davies was so that Theo would notice you, and feel an ounce of the jealousy you felt when you saw him with other girls.

Roger was the perfect gentleman. He held doors open for you, gave you his jacket even though you told him you weren't too cold, pulled out your chair for you, paid for your meal, and even kept his arm respectfully at your waist.

There was just one problem.

He wasn't Theo.

All throughout your date, your gaze would slide away to Theo, looking at the two girls that sat on either side of him in a cozy booth, with his hands possessively at their hips, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

He, of course, was so enamored with his harlots, as you liked to call them, that he paid no attention to you and Roger.

And even when he spotted Roger walking you back, he said nothing.

And though you'd describe your date as perfect in every other aspect, when Roger asked you if you would like to hang out a second time, you told him you would think about it.

But there was no thinking about it. It was evident, Theo was the only one you wanted.

Roger was the guy you deserved, the guy who deserved you, who made you feel like a queen, a princess.

He just wasn't Theo.

The next morning, you were completely surprised to see Roger unharmed.

It confused you, seeing as normally, Theo would beat up every boy who would ask you out.

It irked you, why he hadn't touched Roger, though you felt like a horrible person wishing for a perfect gentleman like Roger to get beaten up for no reason.

Whilst you watched Theo from afar, moving on with his life, you realized he simply didn't care.

And so, when the next Hogsmeade visit came around, Roger asked you out again, and you agreed, this time, fully intending to enjoy yourself with Roger.

With that open mindset, you realized he was a wonderful person. He was smart, funny, entertaining and handsome— perfect.

You enjoyed your second date a lot more, and slowly, you found yourself opening your doors to the idea of falling for Roger.

For Valentine's day, he even sent you a bouquet of the most exotic flowers, a mix of both tropical and garden flowers.

The old you would have cast a glance towards the Slytherin table, trying to see Theo's reaction, but the new you didn't care.

Your eyes locked with Roger's across the Great Hall, and he winked at you, causing you to blush, giggle and smile.

Little did you know, this little, sweet exchange had been caught by Theo's dark blue eyes.

The only reason you were dating Roger now was because Theo hadn't landed that bastard in the Hospital wing, and he hadn't done this because he never saw Roger Davies as a real threat.

However, when his eyes caught the way you blushed and giggled when the fucktard had winked, he knew he had to step in before your feelings for the Ravenclaw grew.

You had zero knowledge of Theo's plan. In fact, you had almost forgotten about the Slytherin completely, you found yourself daydreaming about Roger quite often.

You could say that you had begun to catch feelings for the Quidditch Captain. After all, who wouldn't?

He was perfect. In every, single way.

This time, it was you who asked Roger if he would like to go to Hogsmeade with you, and he laughed.

"I thought it was obvious that we were going together.." he chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Oh," you replied, feeling rather dumb.

"Merlin, you're so cute," the older wizard replied, gently kissing your nose. "I'll pick you up in the courtyard at five, alright?"

You were there at the courtyard, beside the fountain ten minutes to five.

And when five rolled around, Roger was nowhere to be seen.

Still, you waited for a little longer, wondering if something had perhaps held him up.

At six, still no Roger.

You didn't know what forced you to stay outside, perhaps you lost track of time, or perhaps you accepted the reality that Roger had stood you up.

You waited until after dark.

It started raining.

Your spirits had been dampened along with your clothes. All the effort you had taken to get ready— gone.

You could barely distinguish between the tears on your face and the rainwater that had drenched you.

It was dinner time, but you weren't hungry for anything but answers— why had Roger stood you up??

You got your answer when you were face to face with your unconscious boyfriend after Luna Lovegood led you to the hospital wing.

He was injured— badly. He had a black eye, a split lip and bruises all over his face, neck and hands. Madam Pomfrey also informed you that he sported three broken ribs and a cracked jaw.

Roger awoke the next morning. When you heard the news, you instantly rushed to the Hospital Wing, to check on him, ask him if he was alright.

You didn't expect him to break up with you.

"But, why?" you asked softly, you lower lip jutting out into a pout as your eyes began to water.

It had hurt. So fucking much.

"I'm really sorry... You're an amazing girl, and I really, really like you, but I don't want to end up here again... Nott said if I come near you again, he'd kill me.."

You froze.

"He said what?" your throat was dry, your voice hoarse— you simply couldn't believe your ears.

"Excuse me, I'm going to have a word with him!" you said angrily, filled with sudden rage from an unknown source.

With that, you stormed off.

As usual, you found Theo and his friends in their usual hangout spot, the dungeons, outside the common room, where they all got together and smoked.

Before he could notice your arrival, let alone say anything, you barged past his friends and raised your hand, connecting your palm with his cheek.

A satisfying smack sounded, and the tips of your fingers burned— you really had slapped him hard.

His friends oohed and aahed, and Theo shot them all a glare, rendering them silent.

"Fuck off," he told his friends, making a dismissing signal with two of his fingers, and you softened slightly, remembering how he had touched you with those fingers, how he had curled them to reach that spot that made you see stars.

However, with the way he shrugged, looking absolutely unbothered, all your anger for him suddenly came back.

"I hate you!" you growled, lifting your hand again to slap him, trying to get a rise out of him, a reaction— anything!

Before her palm connected with his face, Theo's quick reflexes ensured his fingers clasped around you wrist firmly, stopping your movements.

"Is there a reason for this sudden loss of temperament, Doll?" he drawled, drawing out a breath that was polluted with cigarette smoke.

"Why'd you do that to Roger?" you asked, wrenching your hand away from his grasp, your jaw clenched.

You didn't know what you were expecting, in all honesty, but it surely wasn't Theo acknowledging his mistake and apologizing.

Of course, he played clueless. Leaning back, he slouched against the wall, taking a drag of his cigarette and letting out a puff of smoke that made you cough.

"You'll need to be more specific, Baby," Theo drawled, gently rubbing your cheek with the back of his ringed fingers.

You hated the effect he had on you. You hated the fact that you became putty the moment he laid a single finger on you.

This time, you didn't cave in— you knew his game.

"Don't fucking touch me!" you hissed, slapping his hand away, though the echoes of his touch still lingered. "Why did you beat Roger up? What did he ever do to you?"

Theo's jaw clenched, obviously with the way you seemed so intent on fighting for Roger.

"I'm protecting you," Theo remarked. "As your older brother's best friend— you don't know what kind of guy he is..."

"Oh, and you do?" you asked, placing your hands on your hips. "Enlighten me, Nott, what kind of guy is Roger?"

The Nott boy only seemed more enraged by your question; it was evident in the way his nostrils flared the slightest bit, and how he held on to the cigarette with slight aggression...

"He's only using you. You don't see it, but he just wants to get in your pants," Theo seethed, taking a step closer to you and towering over your presence with his tall, dominating figure. "He wants to claim your virginity, like he's done with so many other girls before."

Theo's words hit you like a tidal wave. This time, your hand lifted up by its own accord and slapped Theo across the face again, and you felt the tips of your ears heat up with the anger that flooded through you.

"And you don't?" you found yourself biting back, unsure of where this newfound courage came from. "You think you're any different? Using me to get your dick hard then ignoring me for months?"

Your voice was hoarse as you laid the blatant truth out there, and your anger had turned to sadness and betrayal, and most of all— hurt. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you didn't relent. You continued to stare at Theo with utter hatred in your eyes.

But you were oblivious to his stares, to the way his fists balled up until the veins in his forearms protruded.

You kept on speaking, laying out all your feelings, once and for all, tears spilling down your pretty cheeks.

"Roger has never once placed a hand below my waist, never once made me feel unwanted, never, never, never—" you continued, your voice breaking slightly, as you spoke, overwhelmed by all the emotion.

"You just had to go and ruin my fucking life, the moment I started to fall for him—"

At this, a small sob slipped past your lips. You liked this guy, you really, really liked him, and Theo had ruined it all for you.

Theo's gaze had darkened the moment you said these words, and it was his turn to launch into a monologue.

"If I can't fucking have you, then no one else can," he growled darkly, pressing you to the wall and domineering himself over you, casting a shadow on your petite frame. "Are we fucking clear?"

You weakly pushed him away, his words causing your knees to buckle slightly as all the fight left you.

"You don't want me— you made that clear enough already," you accused, your voice cracking as you try to dodge out of his grasp. "And I should have seen it earlier, but I was just too blinded by my love for you!" your voice grows slightly higher in pitch, and you didn't realize what you'd just said until it was too late.

Realization flickered in Theo's dark blue gaze for a brief moment, before it faded away.

"You think I don't fucking want you?" he replied hoarsely, sounding far too pained by the way he was the cause for your tears, for your despair, when he had spent the brunt of his Hogwarts years hitting everyone who had ever hurt you behind your back.

"You think it was fucking easy?? Having to hear your pretty little moans when you came all over my fucking hand, and not being able to do more?" he growled, grabbing your jaw in his one hand and upturning it slightly, forcing you to look at him.

You stood frozen, not knowing where he was going with this. "You think I enjoy it, watching Roger touch what's mine?"

A tear spilled down your cheeks as you stifled a sob, but you said nothing, too frozen in place to do anything but listen to his words.

"Ever since Christmas...." he breathed, releasing your jaw, caging you in between his arms as he leaned in closer to you, until you could smell his aftershave. "Ever since Christmas, I've been trying to get that image of you out of my mind... Spread all over my lap as you drench my fucking fingers— moaning my name..."

You visited that night frequently too, when you had your fingers between your thighs at night, getting yourself off whilst imagining Theo's dark, intense stare.

He held in a sharp intake of breath, shaking his head. "Wanna know how I jerk off to that image every, single fucking night? How I imagine being the first to fill that pretty, little hole of yours?"

His words awakened all the previous feelings you had for him, and you found yourself shivering slightly as you clenched your thighs together, feeling your panties dampen slightly.

If Theo noticed, he didn't say a word— he was still continuing to speak. "Been thinking about you nonstop, since that night," he confessed, his voice taking up a low, dulcet tone as he leaned in, nose brushing your neck as he inhaled your scent. "About how you'd look, spread all over my bed as you moan my fucking name," he rumbled.

You let out a small whimper at his words, pressing your lips together, and you could feel his words affecting you as the slick between your thighs grew.

Him being so close didn't help either.

"But I can't have you, Doll," he breathed, lips dipping slightly to brush against your neck as you felt him inhale again. "Your brother would kill me... That's why I had to ignore you, make you hate me so you'd stop following me around, stop looking at me with hopeful eyes..." He paused, and his expression looked pained, like he couldn't bear to confess his thoughts and feelings.

"But then you got with that other guy, and God.... seeing you with Davies was fucking hard— at first, I tried to convince myself he was the right choice for you, but I couldn't do it— I was too fucking selfish to let anyone else have you..."

You felt the tears spill down your cheeks and you suppressed a small sob, at the rush of emotions that flooded through you at his admissions.

"You're a coward," you accused him, your voice laced with a slight whine. "And you made me feel like it was my fault— all because you didn't have the fucking courage to be a man—"

Those words were Theo's breaking point, and you heard him growl. He didn't let you finish as he dragged you to the nearest empty classroom and locked the door, away from prying eyes and nosy stares.

"Didn't have the fucking courage to be a man, huh?" Theo echoed, mocking your previous words as he towered over you, firmly gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him.

You took a step back, your back colliding with the door as you met his gaze. The soft look in his eyes was gone, replaced by a glare that questioned your audacity to question his masculinity.

He wasn't thrilled. You always, always managed to get on his nerves, whether it was with your mouth, or with some outfit you donned, that always made you look so fucking adorable.

"I'll have you know, I'm more of a man than that stupid Ravenclaw of yours will ever be," he rumbled, and the look in his eyes told you he was fucking pissed.

"I don't think so," you hissed, turning around and fidgeting with the lock of the door, trying to open it and escape the prison Theo had put you in.

He harshly grabbed your arm and turned you around, until your back collided with the door as he glared at you, jaw clenched, placing a hand on either side, effectively caging you in with no escape. "No, no, not gonna work like that, Doll— you're not going anywhere..."

You could feel your teeth clap together as you stared at him angrily, yet at the same time, the tips of your ears turned red, and the sinking feeling in your stomach told you that you were trapped.

"Not until you let me prove exactly how much better I am than Davies..."

You crossed your arms over your chest, refusing to listen to him. It was at this point that you could see exactly how manipulative he was, trying to keep you tethered to him, refusing to you to love anyone else but him, yet not giving you any love in return.

"I can give you a few points," you replied cattily, your words aiming to wound him just as much as he had hurt you. "One, he isn't a coward. Two, he knows what he wants. Three—"

Theo didn't let you get to three.

Before you began speaking, he had already snapped his hips forward, and a surprised gasp left you as he quickly wrapped a hand around your neck, announcing that he was clearly the one in control in this room and asserting his dominance.

"Three, he has a much smaller dick," Theo snapped abruptly, driving his hips forwards slightly, rutting into you so you could feel exactly how big he was, how hard he was underneath his trousers.

You could feet his bulge pressing into your stomach, right above your core, where you needed it the most.

Nott took advantage of your momentarily shocked state to dip his head low, until his lips brushed against your ear.

"You feel that, Doll? See how big it is? It's gonna fucking ruin you..." he rumbled, rolling his lips slightly forward, making you whimper slightly as you clenched your thighs.

You said nothing, your eyes fluttering shut as you bit your lip to silence your tiny, desperate whines.

A cruel chuckle left his lips at your silence, which only fueled his enjoyment.

"Cat got your tongue?" he drawled, his ringed fingers sliding underneath your skirt and gripping the back of your thigh, cold rings searing into your warm skin.

"Where's the fucking smart mouth of yours?" he mocked, teeth grazing against your collarbone, eliciting a small moan from you as his cologne and aftershave flooded your senses.

His words triggered a sudden urge in you to prove him wrong. "Fuck you," you spat.

That was all it took for his hand to grip your throat and force you down to your knees, leaving no room for arguments or protests.

You gasped, too stunned to to anything but remain frozen to the floor, in utter shock.

"Let's put that pretty little mouth to better use," he grunted, using his hand on your neck to bring you closer, causing your nose to collide with his groin. "Show me what a good girl you can be and maybe, just maybe I'll reward you..."

You knew what he was asking for. But your blood tingled with nervousness, and your mouth ran dry.

You had no idea how to do this— you'd never done it before.

And Theo knew. Still, he looked at you with mock surprise, dark blue gaze boring into you, as if he were waiting for you to say something to challenge his authority.

"Is something the matter, Doll?" he drawled, playing clueless to your inexperience.

Theo was in control here, he was pulling every string, and you knew it.

You nodded, looking up at him, heat pooling in your stomach. "I d-don't— I've never... I don't know how—"

You were stuttering, so nervous.

Panic filled you at the situation you had gotten yourself into, staring up at Theo with your wide, silvery eyes and perfectly pouty, glossed lips.

He chuckled softly, and for a moment, brief tenderness flickered in his dark blue gaze.

Well, since you used your words and asked so nicely..." he trailed off, rubbing your cheek with the back of his hand. "I'll go easy on you just this once, Principessa, since it's your first time..."

You swallowed thickly, every touch of his driving you insane. It irked you, how one moment he could be so mean and cruel, and the next, he was all sweet smiles and soft caresses.

"Take my pants off," he instructed, slight affection lacing his tone.

You looked up at him, for a brief moment before your hands drifted up on their own, fingers unbuttoning his pants and pulling down his zip, which was rather difficult seeing as his pants were completely stretched out by the size of his hardened girth.

"Good girl," he praised, thumb pressing softly against your lower lip. "Now the boxers."

The soft pad of his thumb smudged your lip gloss, as your fingers hooked around the waistband of his boxers, and your mouth ran dry as you slowly began tugging them down, trembling slightly with nervousness.

A hitch blistered in your throat when you saw Theo's dick for the first time, and Merlin— he wasn't kidding when he said it would fucking ruin you.

It sprang free from his boxers, slapping against his stomach and making him emit a quiet hiss from his lips. Beads of precum slid down the veiny length to his balls, and you were rendered speechless once more, your mouth completely dry.

Your dumbfounded expression only caused Theo to chuckle softly, gently patting the side of your face with his hand.

"Who knew, all it took was a little dick to keep that pretty little mouth quiet, hmm?" he muttered. "Per me è una vera sgualdrina…"

His large hand wrapped around his girth, and he gave his cock a few pumps quietly hissing in pleasure.

"Take me in your hands now, come on, Principessa, don't be shy..." he cooed, encouraging you to relax for him a little.

You nodded, tentatively bringing your one hand to wrap around the base of his length, clenching your thighs when he moaned loudly, not even hiding his desire for you.

"Fuck— proprio così..." he rasped, and you could feel him throbbing in your hand, as you slowly ran your fingers down his length, tracing over his every vein.

He guided the tip to your lips, slowly dragging the pink flesh across your plump lips, causing your lip gloss to smudge and mingle with his precum.

"Apri la bocca, open up that pretty mouth for me, Doll—" he murmured, and his other hand flew to the back of your neck as he led your head closer, rings pressing into your warm skin and causing you to shiver.

As you looked up at him, you could see the quiet traces of pleasure that laced his features as he guided his cock to your mouth, and you suddenly had the unwavering urge to please him, make him forget all those other girls.

Your lips parted, and the slightly salty taste of his precum grazed against your tongue as the tip of his dick filled your mouth.

"Good girl," he praised, tapping your cheek twice, "wrap those pretty lips around me— fuck, just like that..."

Once you got used to having him in your mouth, your tongue lightly traced over the tip of his lick, causing him to nearly buck his hips into your mouth.

"Now suck—" he grunted. "Fuck Doll, it's not gonna fit, use both hands..."

You brought both your hands to grip the base of his cock as you slowly began so suck, your pinky finger grazing against his balls, drawing out his pleasure.

Curses spewed from his lips in both English and Italian, which only fueled you to do better, and you pressed your head further down, trying to take more of him into your mouth.

As you sucked, your tongue pressed against the sensitive underside of his cock, and Theo was doing everything in his power to hold himself back from losing control and mercilessly fucking your mouth.

"Shit— shit, baby girl— doing so fucking well— you look so Goddamn perfect with my cock filling your pretty little mouth—" he groaned, fist tightening in your hair as he rutted his hips into your mouth, causing the tip of his cock to press against the back of your throat.

You gagged, tears springing to your eyes, and the sight was enough to make Theo almost cum in your mouth.

"Now bob your head, up and down, just like that," he instructed, using the hand at the back of your neck and his grip on your hair to guide your movements before allowing you to resume control.

Saliva dribbled down your chin in masses, and tears streamed down your cheeks with every time his cock hit the back of your throat. You choked and gagged, and every little sound you made was driving Theo insane.

Sweat beaded at your forehead, and your baby hairs clung to your brow, and you slid your teary gaze up to meet his eyes, and that was the moment Theo died internally.

He had thought of you so many times like this, touched himself at the thought of branding you as his personal slut, his personal fucktoy.

He had longed to cover your pretty little tongue with his thick seed, fill that mouth of yours, and this sight before him was a dream come true.

"Fuck— fuck— Doll, I'm so close," he rasped, bucking his lips into your mouth involuntarily, causing you to gag again, and another wad of saliva slid down your chin and dripped down your neck. "Doing so good—"

He had lost all ability to even look at the sight before him, head thrown back against the wall with a soft thud, eyes closed tightly, his stomach rising and falling with his irregular breathing.

He couldn't concentrate on anything except your warm, wet mouth around his cock, bringing him closer to release and sending his mental state into spirals.

"I'm gonna cum inside your mouth," he warned you, but you didn't relent. "Cazzo, cazzo, Principessa— mi ucciderai..."

Before you knew it, his thighs shook slightly, and the salty taste of his cum hit your tongue, as he filled his mouth with your seed.

He shivered as your cheeks stretched slightly, accumulating his release before they emptied, and a sharp moan of desire left his lips when you swallowed as much as you could, the rest dripping down your chin.

He pulled his dick out with a soft pop, but you didn't let go, not yet. You licked your lips, and ran your tongue across the length of his cock, cleaning every bit of the sinful mess the two of you created.

He tried to calm down, to regulate his breathing, and once he composed himself, he instantly pulled up his pants, sliding his belt back into place.

Then, he crouched down to where you were on the floor, still on your knees, eyes closed and trying to breathe evenly, trying to ignore your obvious need for him between your thighs.

You opened your eyes when you felt Theo softly hold on to your shoulders.

"Are you okay, Baby girl?" he murmured softly, using his tie to slowly wipe the mess on your chin and neck, lips softly brushing against your forehead. "God— you did so well for me, looked so fucking pretty on your knees for me—"

You nodded, basking in the golden glory of his praise, letting him pamper you just a little. His hands straightened your clothes out, and your hair, with tender touches, and you were surprised to see this side of Theo that came out just for you, and only for you.

His large hands softly cupped your cheeks as he made you look into his eyes, searching for any signs of injury or discomfort.

"Can I kiss you, pretty girl?" he breathed softly, his nose brushing against yours.

You nodded, and his lips connected with yours, engaging you in a liplock that was both passionate and lustful, his lips worshipping yours and causing you to let out a soft moan.

Theo softly chuckled once more, hand drifting to your inner thigh, underneath your skirt.

"You need me, Doll?" he whispered huskily, fingers gently grazing over your sensitive folds over the thin, soaked fabric of your panties, causing you to let out a soft whimper.

He kissed you again, helping you to your feet, allowing you to grip him for balance. His lips brushed against yours ever so softly.

"You deserve a reward for that, did so fucking good," he promised, tucking a strand of hair behind your ears. "How about you go freshen up, and I'll see you tonight outside the room of requirement, hmm?

"Okay," you murmured, clearing your throat as the blush on your features grew darker.

And as you opened the door, you heard Theo's voice call after you.

"And don't hang out with other guys..."

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writtingrose · 17 days ago

Text

This is so precious

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ Life As We Know It

Word count: 11k

Summary: What happens when your friends die, and you and your ex-boyfriend gain custody of the baby? (requested from: 🦔)

⋆. ୨��˚⋆

Bradley was watching the football screen on the flat TV. Meanwhile you sat on the other end of the three seater sofa reading. It was amusing that after all these years Bradley was still a big fan of the New York Jets. He always dreamed of having a flat screen TV, and now here he has it. Instead of reading your book, you were staring at Bradley longingly.

Under no circumstances have you ever thought that you and he would ever meet again. But after your best friend Malia and her husband died in an unexpected car crash, it left their 3 month baby girl without parents. To your surprise under Malia and Caleb's will, you and Bradley Bradshaw were written out as the God parents.

They must have written it before you and Bradley had broken up. It was already terrible seeing your ex boyfriend again after your friends died, but even more horrible when the estate lawyer revealed that both of you would hold custody over small Giovanna. Not to mention the grief of losing your college best friend so sudden and quickly.

It wasn't ever in your plan to have kids this soon in your life. But you had to do it for both your friends. You had given up your personal space, and lived at Bradley house for the babygirls sake. Bradley had turned down promotions, you gave up your freedom to travel, Bradley would have to cancel out on his friends multiple times for the baby and both of you sacrificed your sleep as well. But the one thing Bradley could not let go of was his grudge on you for cheating on him.

You understood where he was coming from, you would probably feel the same if you were in his shoes. But it made it a bit awkward and uncomfortable to live with him at times. All you could do was accept accountability for your stupid actions, and move on. If you could go back in time to redo the past you would one hundred percent take back your actions of going home with a different person that wasn't Bradley.

As you stared at him over the top of your book with your legs stretched out you couldn't resist and thinking how different things could have been. Bradley had grown up after 2 years, he bulked up and grew muscle. His once fair skin is now a beautiful caramel color. The shaggy curls that fell on his forehead were turned into a sharp regulation cut. His honey burnt eyes looked tired after all the baby trouble, but he still looked good.

Bradley probably could feel your sharp gaze at him but he didn't dare take his eyes off the tv. After moving in with Bradley, he didn't spear you a second of his attention which was understandable yet so very irritating. He was aware and alert of all his surroundings and he most definitely knew you were admiring his side profile instead of your book.

To add more sound above the play-by-play commentary on TV, on the baby monitor resting on the coffee table Giovanna started to cry.

"Not it."

Both of you said at the same time touching your nose. For the past 3 cries you had lost nose-goes. You knew you lost this one but you didn't want to move off the couch.

"I said it first." Bradley commented not bothering to shift his gaze at you. You closed your book frustrated, it wasn't fair that Bradley had faster reflexes than you.

"Rock, paper, scissors for it." You put your fist out towards him desperate not to go up. For a second you swore you saw the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. Which did make your heart skip a beat since nowhere near you did he ever look happy.

"No, you lost. Go." Bradley leaned back against the couch feeling no sympathy for you.

You left the living room with a sigh, making your way upstairs to the nursery. Right now Bradley was probably grinning now since your bothersome presence was gone. You twist the door knob and you're greeted with the most lovely high pitched crying you have ever heard.

"Hi Gigi." You muttered to the hysterical infant. Gently you reached down into the crib and picked up Giovanna, making sure to hold up her head. Based on your forearms against her warm bottom, you could tell she needs a change of diaper. "I got you honey."

After changing a diaper for months, you moved into the changing table, placing her small tense body down on the thin cot. When Bradley found out about the death of Caleb, he didn't waste a second on moving all the nursery items out of Malia and Caleb's house into his small home. You asked him if you could help assist in the move but Bradley coldly said he would do it himself.

But out of this major step up he made in his life, the thing that pulled on your heartstrings the most was Bradley had painted the spare room sky blue, and added small white clouds to the walls. To the baby it didn't matter where she was, but to Bradley it was important she still got her room.

You hand blindly tapped around the shelf under the wooden changing table for diapers and felt nothing. You poked your head down remembering you had forgotten to grab the case of diapers down stairs, and restock the changing table. Giovanna mouth opens wide in a quivering wail, gums bare, and chin trembling. Her tiny brows knitted together.

You moved to the crib grabbing the small baby monitor and speaking into the small sound system.

"Bradley, could you please bring the diaper box up please?" You felt embarrassed to even talk to him, the shame of your mistake all those years ago still haunting you. It took a second before any word was spoken by him.

"I don't remember losing this round." Bradley's raspy voice had you fluttering eyes shut. Before you could start begging, Bradley spoke again. "Hey but kiss G goodnight for me." Then it was utter silence.

I cheated on Bradley. I deserve this. I cheat on Bradley. I deserve this. I cheated on Bradley. I deserve this. You said to yourself and you quickly dashed downstairs for the pampers

⊹☆~⟡⋆

You got little Giovanna every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. Bradley got her Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. It's like you were a team but a broken one. Holding on for the sake of the child. The days Bradley or you got her, of course one another still helped around for a little but then you were completely free.

It was Thursday morning and Bradley and you were moving through the kitchen doing your separate routines together. Bradley was holding small Giovanna in her strong arms feeding her a small bottle of formula milk. Meanwhile you made a yogurt parfait adding your granola and fruit in an aesthetically pleasing manner.

When you cooked breakfast, you always made extra for Bradley. Stubbornly Bradley would never take it. So on occasion you would slip it into the passenger seat of his bronco so he had no choice but to take it. Always you made extra for him even if he didn't eat it.

In the fridge there were definitely sections. The top shelf was yours, the bottom one Bradley's, and the middle one just condiments and baby formula. You would sneak the Tupperware leftovers into his bare section. Then the next time you were in the fridge the Tupperware box was back on your shelf.

When it was Bradley's turn to take care of the baby, he usually had iceman's wife kindly babysit her, as he went off to work or sometimes just called in sick and stayed home with Giovanna. By this time Bradley was usually out the door, so for a second you thought he was waiting for breakfast.

"Hey I was wondering if you can do a favor for me?"

Your eyes immediately snapped up at Bradley as you never heard those words for him before. Obviously he wasn't looking at you though, staring at the small baby in a pink onesie while she perfectly sat in his arms. The picture of Bradley in his navy green flight suit holding a small Giovanna would forever be tattooed in your mind.

"Yeah?" You asked, feeling a bit too excited for your own good. You went back to adding strawberries in your yogurt since he wouldn't yet look at you.

"I got this important briefing today." You glanced at him. Bradley set the bottle down on the counter before moving the baby upright. Her face over his shoulder as he patted her small back. "And Sarah can't watch G for me today."

You already assumed what the next words lined up. But you didn't jump at the chance to help him, your shoulder slumping down since of course this was a baby related matter. When you didn't respond yet Bradley rolled his eyes, forcing him to get the words out he didn't want to be spoken out loud.

"...So I was wondering if you could take care of her for today?" Once the infant let out a small burp Bradley cradled her back down into his arms. Your eyes didn't leave your yogurt this time. This could be your chance to get on Bradley's good side. For those awkward football nights to become a comfortable hangout. Yet your mind wondered back to when he didn't bring the pamper box up for you.

So out of pettiness you twisted the circle lid on to your bowl and said: "I don't remember today being my day to take care of her."

With that you grabbed your breakfast, left his yogurt parfait on the counter and exited the kitchen. Leaving Bradley standing there with his jaw clenched, holding Giovana in his arms.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

Maybe if I wasn't an asshole yesterday she would have helped me. Bradley thought to himself, staring down at the 4 month baby in his arms.

"Alright, I guess today it’s ’take your goddaughter to work day.’ " Bradley glanced at the yogurt and with his free hand, stretched his arm out to grasp the container. Just this once, I'm eating for me not for her. He moved to the closet where the baby's Winnie the pooh bag was. He ducked down and pressed his shoulder against the wall before standing up properly and getting the strap off the hook and onto his shoulder.

"I know I almost traded you today. But don't give me a hard time for it, please." Bradley said in a baby tone holding Giovanna's small body in one arm and his yogurt in the other. The small girl made a small cooing noise as he made his way out of the house.

"Yeah I know, your godmother looked pretty today." Bradley admitted to the baby. You always looked pretty, but Bradley just had to pretend he didn't see it, for his own sake.

When Bradley got to hangar late everybody looked at him as he made his late entry. Looking like a professional godfather with a diaper bag over his shoulder, and holding a black stroller basket in his hand. He heard some of his coworkers laugh and Maverick looked at him like he was crazy.

"Rooster you can't have babies-"

"I'm sorry that it's such an inconvenience to you that her parents died." Bradley angrily stated, leaving his godfather speechless. He wasn't sure if he spoke for the baby or for his younger self as well. "Listen, I'm sorry. But I don't have anybody to watch her. She's asleep, but the moment she starts crying I'll go out into the hall and take care of it."

With that Maverick helplessly directed Bradley to the open seat in the back. Bradley moved down the aisle taking the seat and setting the portable baby basket on the floor and set the Winnie the pooh bag down as well.

His ears were tuned into the flight instruction Maverick gave, but his attention was on the baby asleep in the basket. With Bradley’s boot propped up on the edge of the basket, he gently tipped it back and forth, rocking her gently.

After that Bradley had to deal with finding where to change her since there was no fold out table in the men's room. Realizing Giovanna's onesie was too small for her, having multiple women gush over the baby, and learning that Giovanna likes yogurt when he placed a dot of it by her lips. Natasha watched over Gigi in the rec room as he did his flight practice.

The moment Bradley was back home around 4 o'clock. He went straight to your room that used to be his spare bedroom. Giovana cradled in his arms, ready to pass you the baby, now since he got home. This time around Bradley didn't even knock, opening the door and seeing you laid on on your bed with your phone in your hand.

A funny thought tickled his brain that it would be nice to lay next to you. Especially since you looked so peaceful and uninterrupted. It reminded him of the days you waited for him at home in your shared apartment with open arms.

"I gotta shower, you watch the pumpkin for a bit." It wasn't a greeting or question, it was a demand as he went over to the other side of the bed and placed the baby in your arms. A fond look over took your eyes now that you had the baby once in your arms again. That second Bradley immediately missed having Giovanna warm body in his embrace.

"So how did it go?" You hesitantly asked not at all bother by the fact he just bursted in here. Bradley stood there for a few seconds debating whether to rant or not.

"Swell." Was all Bradley could say remembering he had spilt milk all over his car seats. Bradley left the room with no other words being said. Once he got to his master bedroom he realized his shower only shot out cold water. Last month he would prance into the extra bedroom and shower there since the water was always warmer.

Now with his ex-girlfriend in the other room, he would just have to suck it up and deal with the ice cold water. But today the idea of showering with cold water left Bradley shivering. So he grabbed a pair of sweatpants and white t-shirt and walked down the hall to your room.

Since he wanted to use your shower Bradley knocked on the door this time before letting himself in. The moment he set foot through your door he felt somewhat better seeing you taking a picture of Giovanna. He felt the tightness in his shoulder disappear for a second when you looked up at him.

"Can I use your shower? Mine only sprays cold water." Bradley found himself looking at you way longer than he usually does too caught up in the scene before him.

"Yeah go for it." You casually said looking back at the baby and letting out a delighted squeal. "Gosh you're so cute G! You're like the doll I always wanted." His feet were pasted to the ground forgetting why he was here. A small smile pulled on his lips; Bradley always thought you would make a great mother for his kids. He almost wanted to tell you he loved you at that moment.

Your eyes looked back at him and that’s when his feet directed him to the bathroom. It was a very odd feeling, being in the shower and feeling safe that you were behind the door.

Once Bradley got out of the shower he thanked you, but found himself yearning to be in the same room as you two girls.

"Do you mind if I sit for a little?" Bradley pointed at the spot by the edge of the bed. He had no right to ask that especially with the way he had been ignoring you for the past month. You hummed a response and Bradley took a seat. He had nothing to talk to you about besides the baby. "Did you see the little rash on her thigh?" He asked, turning to look at you.

You grabbed one of your silk pillows before setting down sleepy Giovanna on the nice material. "Yeah. Don't worry we put baby powder on before the diaper this time so she should be good." Your attention was on Bradley once again and there was nothing he could do besides feel embarrassed about how badly he wanted to kiss you at that moment.

"You know she likes yogurt?" Bradley stupidly announced not knowing what more to say.

"Does she?" You perked up, raising your brows.

"Oh yeah. You should have seen it." Bradley laid back against the foot of the bed wanting to see Giovanna sleep. "Got a finger full and put it by her mouth to try, and she ate it without making a face." The soft rise and fall of the little baby’s chest made Bradley smile. Babies were such a blessing, for a second Bradley was glad she was too small to understand that her parents had passed away.

In this moment laying next to Gigi, Bradley felt drained from the day's events and sleepiness overtook him. Closing his eyes to rest his eyes lids for a second. Slowly starting to grow unconscious.

"You took the yogurt?" Was the last thing Bradley heard before he had completely blacked out on your bed.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

Not a day went by that you didn't think about Bradley accidentally falling asleep in your bed. Both Giovanna and Bradley had tired each other out passing out side by side. You kept telling yourself it was the pure utter exhaustion that had Bradley out like a light in your bed, not because he wanted you close... But why the hell would he sit down in the first place?!

You had thrown a blanket over him and an hour later he had woken up. Automatically you thought he would leave but he got up and gently placed Gigi in the middle of your bed, before laying down in your bed. What the hell?! Bradley hated you, the hell was he doing casually laying in your bed, like he did this everyday... a few years ago he used to.

Bradley didn't bring up the sleepover in your room, nor did you. It was the same routine with Bradley after that, grocery shopping together, occasionally greeting each other good morning, him watching football while you read on the couch, trying to get Giovana to say her first words.

Once when you were on the couch you had blacked out while doing a word search. Yet somehow the next morning you woke up in your own bed. You didn't ask Bradley but you were 100% sure that he had tucked you in. But obviously you didn't ask.

Slowly but surely you had a feeling that Bradley was warming up to you. Like the past could maybe stay the past and you could work together, to make eachother life easier. That's why you made sure to butter Bradley up before he realized that you could be trusted once again.

Everytime he lost in nose-goes you volunteered to check on Giovanna instead, when he lost his keys you helped him look, when he came back home you offered up your shower before Bradley could ask.

On a Monday afternoon when he came back home rather late, you had Giovanna on your lap playing with the rainbow stacking ring toy. Bradley was wearing civilian clothes so this must have been one of the rare nights he went to the Hard Deck. His Hawaiian shirt was a blue decorated with black palm trees, you were certain he wore that shirt the day he had planned you a surprise birthday party many years ago.

"Hey." Bradley passed by the living room, moving to his room not caring to talk to you like usual.

"Hi," You threw your head back following his every movement. "Do you wanna know the score of the game?" Bradley stopped in his tracks and smirked a bit. You never cared much for meatheads pushing each other on a field before so he was amused.

Bradley rested his hand on the white stair ball finial, and propped his chin on his hand. "Tell me."

"Eagles 25 and Buccaneers 11." You started bouncing your leg making Giovanna gently coo. Bradley pressed his lips together, trying not to smile.

"Did you search that up?"

You shook your head and lifted your head up focusing on Giovanna instead. "No." The baby grasped the red ring sliding it down on the pole "I watched it." You timidly confessed.

"Did you?" Based on the sound of his voice you could tell he was smiling. Not being able to see his facial expression reminded you of when he was deployed and you could hear the warmth in his voice through the phone. "Since when do you watch football?"

"Today when I missed you sitting next to me." You muttered so he couldn't hear. You grabbed a green ring and slid it on to the pole. Giovanna burbled in disagreement, her small hands pushing the ring up and out of the pole.

You thought Bradley had left but his raspy voice had your blood pumping rapidly through your body. "Since what?"

"Nothing"

"No, what did you say?" Bradley egged on moving off the stairs and returning back to the living room. Everything was left unspoken between you two, so he was pushing your limits wondering if you had the guts to say that to his face.

"I said nothing."

⊹☆~⟡⋆

"Do you need the shower?" You instantly asked Bradley when he had knocked on your door. It broke his heart that you always thought he wasn't here for you. Using your shower was now just becoming some bullshit excuse to come visit you and be close.

Through the reflection of the dark window, you were doing your mascara. Now that your eyes didn't linger on him, he missed your attention now since he didn't have it.

"No, Giovanna toy keyboard doesn't work, and I think I left some spare batteries in your closet." Bradley checked you out since you weren't facing him, his eyes focused on your ass a little longer than necessary.

"Yeah, you can check." You answered. Too busy fixing your appearance to get it yourself. Bradley walked into your cozy room and opened your closet. "Are you sure you want to hear those lovely symphonies she can play?"

Bradley laughed at your sarcastic comment. "Hey if it keeps her happy." His eyes scanned over your selection of clothes before looking at the top shelf. "Honestly I think I'm more addicted to the cat keyboard than she is." He heard you infectious laugh as Bradley grabbed at a navy shoe box with no lid.

The batteries were clearly not in there, but the items in the box had captured Bradley’s attention. It wasn't morally correct to be going through your things, but how could he not when an old polaroid strip of pictures of both of you kissing was in the shoe box. Your closet door opened prevents you from seeing his snooping.

The photo booth you took that in was so tiny, you were sitting on Bradley lap while the pictures were taken. The Polaroid square of you guys making funny faces used to be in his wallet. It was a bit odd you kept it after all these years but perhaps for the memories?

Curious overtook him and he kept going through the box. His heart did a flip when he realized this box was dedicated to him. There was a movie ticket of your first date, the souvenirs shot glass he got from Florida for you, his beat up cap he thought he lost. A dried dandelion, that you had wished upon to be together forever. A baseball he wrote his number on, and a rock with googly eyes Bradley stupidly made for you one day when you wanted a pet.

Bradley forgot some of these things had completely existed.

"Did you find it?" Your voice had startled Bradley. He stole the pet rock from the box before sliding it back onto the shelf.

"On second thought, I think the meow meow piano sounds just fine with zero sound." Bradley closed your closet giving you a once over before you turned around to face him. "You look beautiful." Bradley's mouth moved quicker than his brain. He felt like he was caught red handed.

Your face lit up at the compliment "Thank you. I'll see you later, Rooster."

Time heals all wounds. For once Bradley might agree with the saying because, for the first time in forever Bradley could forgive your past actions. It wasn't the shoe box that changed his mind, but everything else in-between. You had thrown a blanket over him the night he fell asleep on the foot of your bed. You watched the eagles game to tell him the score. Made him food even if he didn't eat it. Always giving him your full attention, every time he talked to you.

The truth was Bradley had never stopped loving you. It was hard enough already that one of Bradley's best friends had died, but to make it worse they were the 2 people that had brought you and Bradley together. Bradley was just a chauffeur at their wedding, a little lost between careers. Meanwhile you were one of the cute bridesmaids that stood besides the bride on the steps. Wearing a silk lavender gown that fits you like a glove.

Melissa and Caleb were nice people, so they had let Bradley sit at one of the tables during the wedding at the fancy country club. Bradley's eyes were burning into you. The moment you recognized his piercing gaze, you shot him a smooth wink with a gentle smile. The small gesture did something to him. Feeling recognized and reassured in a crowd where he knew no one.

After eating the food the caters had so kindly served, he went back to the black SUV, not wanting to overstay his welcome. Bradley sat there for a while listening to music with his seat reclined. That's when he heard the knock on the window. The bridesmaid hadn't had her fun yet.

With a smirk Bradley rolled down his window.

"I got you cake. Was wondering if I could sit with you?" You licked some frosting off your finger holding a plate of lemon cake and a bottle of champagne. Bradley unlocked the passenger door for you. One thing led to another and the chauffeur had his fun with the bridesmaid. That's where it had all begun. If it weren't for Bradley's unemployment crisis, then he would have never met you at Melissa and Caleb's wedding. The thought genuinely scared him.

That's why it felt like a punch to the gut when both of you were announced as Giovanna godparents. Melissa and Caleb thought both of you were made for each other. The night of their wedding you had catched the money bouquet you had pointed the flowers at him and said: “Baby it’s gonna be you and me up there next!” That day was the first time he met you, and technically you were a complete stranger, but he believed you.

There was this regret that lingered, when you had moved into his house. If Bradley forgave you for cheating before then the pair of you could have been living together for a long time now. He wasted time that could have been. Lots of if’s played on his mind. If you and him hadn't broken up, Melissa and Caleb probably wouldn't have gotten into a car crash. If Melissa and Caleb didn't die, Giovanna would still have parents.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

It was crazy to know that you had spent 2 months raising Giovanna, and living with Bradley. It was Thanksgiving. Which lands on a Thursday, so Bradley had responsibility over 5 month Giovanna. The little girl was growing too now. Her hair was getting a little longer so you had to brush it down. She could crawl now from Bradley back to you and her teeth were starting to come in.

For Thanksgiving you had asked Bradley if he had any plans. Last time, you remember he was the life of the party, he was the music, the entertainment, the drunk, playing with the dog, the social butterfly of the function. Actually Bradley was a fun time in general, he had that positive mindset that made everyone smile.

But you were surprised when he said he had nothing going on. All his friends were home for the holidays, so there would be no get together. It broke your heart because Bradley didn't have any other family to celebrate with. Meanwhile you had plans with your sister's family to eat turkey at 6 in the evening. You had invited Bradley but he kindly declined saying he didn't want to intrude. No matter how much you told him he was more than welcome he said he would be fine at home with Giovanna.

Around three o'clock you were already dressed to head to your sister's house. But when you were going down the stairs, Bradley's back was facing towards you. He was sitting on the floor in the living room with Giovanna. The parade was playing on TV and there was a tower of blocks being stacked between them.

G was wearing a white long sleeve shirt with an orange dress that had a small pumpkin embroidered on the center pocket.

"You're such a little pumpkin you know that?" Bradley fondly stared at Giovanna stacking blocks on top of one another. She started to giggle when they all topped over hitting the ground with a soft thud. Bradley could never handle the cuteness, scooping the baby up into his lap, and kissing all over her chubby face. "You're my little pumpkin right?"

She stared up at him with her hazel eye, the exact same color as her father's. Giovanna didn't know how much she meant to Bradley. That he would give her the world if she asked for it. Bradley kissed her forehead giving her a little squeeze.

"Don't grow up on me okay? You're not allowed to."

Everything about him was amazing. Probably still one of your favorite people even after you broke up. You didn't want Bradley to catch you staring for the millionth time longingly. So you shook your head and quickly scurried off the stairs in the direction of the foyer. You slipped your kitten heels on and we're out the door.

When you were in your car and turned the engine on you weren’t able to put the car in drive. The whole week you've been looking forward to this. Your sister made the best mashed potatoes and was an amazing hostess. Always had fun party games that had you doubling over in laughter and fondly looking back at when they were memories. The family picture that always took way too long to get snapped. You'd always loved the sense of family when everyone listed what they were grateful for.

But this time around the two people you were grateful for wouldn't even be at the diner table. You were just outside of the house, and you already missed them. It's safe to think that you might have separation anxiety from those two. Going to Thanksgiving at your sister’s didn't even seem appealing when you could be home with Bradley and Giovanna. Yes, you had grown up with your sister and cousins, but you had a new family now to prioritize and put first.

You backed out of the driveway and instead of going in the direction of your sister's house, you went the opposite way to the grocery store.

Once you had gotten to the Grocery store thirty minutes away from your house, you realized you never cooked Thanksgiving dinner. Last time you tried helping when you were younger, your mother had kicked you out of the kitchen. Saying you did better off watching the parade. Times like this you really wished your mom wouldn't shoo you away, and showed you how to prepare the turkey.

Staring at the freezer full of turkey, you couldn't resist shaking your head feeling nauseous. No way would you be able to cook that, and make it edible. The next best thing was the warm rotisserie chicken under the yellow oven lights. Turkey, chicken- tomatoe, tomato, pretty much the same thing. So you grabbed the warm plastic box and placed it into the cart.

You were ready to turn the dinner into a lazy one, as you reached for the mashed potato mix on the shelf. Then your hand dropped back to your side. Bradley liked the mashed potatoes with the lumps in them because it reminded him of his mom, since she never had the patience to fully smash them down. You ditched the artificial mashed potatoes and went back to the produce, to grab some real potatoes.

Oh and Bradley also likes pumpkin pie. Never finishes the slice, but he likes the thought of one. Maybe he would prefer brownies and ice cream, like his mom used to do?

You took a shaky exhale feeling the emotions bubble to the surface, while grabbing a sack of potatoes. The biggest regret you ever made in your life was cheating on Bradley. He was the best boyfriend you ever had, and you had thrown 4 years down the drain like it was nothing. Bradley trusted you to be loyal to him; he told you his fears, secrets, likes, traumas, hobbies, and you didn't even think twice about that.

Tears started to flood your vision while you pushed the cart towards the dessert aisle. You were convinced that you were an awful person. Everything changed after Melissa announced she was pregnant in July. You had been dating Bradley for almost five years and there was zero ring. You tried convincing yourself that you weren't ready for marriage or kids or living together. But with Bradley you never felt so sure in your life.

Bradley said it was never the right time to get married, it's like every other day in the year he was doing a mission or getting deployed. He wanted stability for both of you when you got married. That he was waiting for a point in his career where everything would settle down... but it never did. You didn't care about stability or the right time. Every day felt like the right time for forever to begin when you were with Bradley. You loved everything that came with Bradley Bradshaw, even down to the crazy deployment set backs.

You got tired of hearing it'll happen tomorrow, or this year, or "soon baby, when everything works out." The world was gonna keep on spinning and you were still waiting for Bradley's perfect moment to strike like the Rooster in him.

Around the time of Melissa's first ultra scan, you were sick of waiting. You had gone out with your sister and a group of her friends to a club. Not somewhere familiar like the Hard Deck but something across town that wasn't Bradley’s scene at all. You were just so pissed at the timing, and everyone growing up without you.

Then the shots happened, cocktails, and a beer (which you weren't a fan of but you drank it because it was Bradley's favorite). After drinks, it correlated to dancing to the heavy music blasting in the club.

Some guy ended up grabbing at your hips when you were swaying them. You looked around for your friends, none of them in sight. First thing you thought of was: Bradley would not like this. You weren't even remotely attracted to the guy grinding against you and he didn't hold a candle close to Bradley. Yet another thought came in: I also don’t like sitting around waiting for Bradley to get his shit together, so what did it matter if I danced with some random guy who had the same build as my boyfriend?

You couldn't even blame the influence of drinking for what you had done after that. Because you were fully aware that it wasn't right, except you were so numb to it all in that moment you didn't care. But when you had got to sleep in a bed that wasn't Bradley's you immediately regretted it. There would be no church bells, or baby showers after your tramp behavior.

The day after when you were severely hung over, Bradley had called you asking you to come grab a bite with him at your guys favorite burger joint. When You got there you looked and felt horrible, but the moment you sat down he still greeted you with: "Hi beautiful."

Bradley was so happy to see you, and when he leaned down to hug you, you felt disgusted and ashamed with yourself. Bradley had ordered your favorite before you got here. He looked so tall and handsome and he was all yours for those last few minutes. Your food hadn't even been served yet. But you couldn't bear leading a kind hearted man like him on. After a massive exhale you confess your sin while crying immediately.

The only times you have ever seen Bradley heartbroken was when Natasha and Bob had gotten hurt during a training accident, and both anniversary days when Carole and Nick died. Now you were the one to be a part of his pain. Bradley had let you explain yourself through sobs. Not telling you to breathe, or calm down. He made you feel sorry and ashamed.

After that he was gone. Bradley moved out of the apartment first, leaving you with an empty place. Where 4 walls haunted you with the memories built inside. It didn't matter how much you called him because he never answered. With your tail between your legs you went to the Hard Deck to try to show him he still meant the world to you. But none of that mattered to him any longer, and you understood that.

A one night stand and your whole relationship was ruined. You couldn't even look yourself in the mirror after that. All you felt was pure utter hatred for yourself, that the best part of your life was gone because of your own actions. Then it occurred to you that it was better waiting your whole life for Bradley to be ready then, have him out of your life for good.

You ruined your own forever, and now you were forced to deal with the consequences everyday near the love of your life that would never forgive you. Most of your Thanksgiving shopping was spent wiping your eyes, like you have been doing for the past 2 months. Knowing this was your fault.

It was around 5 o'clock when you came back home. When you entered the house with grocery bags marking your arms, Bradley was no longer in the living room.

Not only did you have a breakdown at the supermarket but you still needed to prepare some massive feast you weren't even in the mood to make anymore. But you moved forward.

You didn't do so much besides mash the potatoes, make gravy, sautéed green beans, mac n’ cheese, and brownies. You took the rotisserie chicken out the package and plated it on a cute tray. The dishes containing the food all matched with each other all being white. In Particular, you were a big fan of how cute the gravy boat looked.

You had a rag over your shoulder as you lit a candle on the table. Hopefully Bradley didn't assume you were making a move on him, and just wanted to hang out with him. After arranging the silverware, and three plates around the table you suddenly felt embarrassed by doing this much. Never have you eaten dinner at the table all together once since you’ve lived here, and if you did eat it was only ever in the living room in front of the tv.

A frown fell on your lips. It felt shameful to walk up stairs and tell Bradley that Thanksgiving dinner was served and ready. It was a very vulnerable feeling to show that you did enjoy his company, and might have even preferred it over your actual family members.

"I thought you were at your sister's."

Bradley sounded as shocked as you felt, when you saw him in the dining room. He was holding Giovanna in his arms and with her tiny hands playing with his dog tags that were tucked in his shirt. Your mouth felt bone dry, standing there awkwardly like you had been caught doing something terrible.

"Well- I uh. I was, I was gonna go and but I thought-"

"You made this?" Bradley pointed at the table with a raised brow. Suddenly the rotisserie chicken in the center felt like the biggest disappointment on the table. Everything felt so pathetic, and you wished the floor had swallowed you whole.

"Mh hm." You nodded. Giovanna's face planted into his chest and Bradley's lips pulled into a small grin. You couldn't tell if it was because of the growing baby in his arms or the Thanksgiving dinner.

"And we're gonna eat together?" All you could do was, nod your head nervously not knowing what was the right answer. The suspense for his feeling about this was killing you.

"If you want. I'm sorry about there being no turkey- I just. I never learned how to prepare one and it was last minute and all but." Your ramble was cut short.

"No, no I love it. it's perfect." Bradley looked at the mash potatoes fondly. You hoped he would taste the lumps in them later. "You actually care about me." It was hard to tell if that was a question or statement coming from his tone of voice.

"Shut up." You laughed it off like it was nothing.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

What the hell was Bradley doing on this date? He didn't even like Thai food, let alone how busy a trendy restaurant could be. The worst thing about dates was the small talk he had to pretend to care about. By all means the raven haired girl, Caroline across the table from him was very nice and pretty. But mentally he wasn't at the restaurant, he had never disassociated so hard from reality before.

Bradley missed you and Giovanna. It felt like he was counting down the seconds until he got to see you two again. He longed to smell the lavender scent that stuck to your clothes, and the way Johnson & Johnson shampoo smelled in Giovanna hair. The smell in his imagination tickled his nose like he was actually near both of you. Bradley felt the bump in his front pocket, where he carried the flat pet rock he stole from you. It was like he was a little kid with his comfort blanket, somehow carrying the stupid rock made Bradley feel like he was closer to you.

All he could do was nod his head at Caroline pretending he understood everything she was saying. How could Bradley be on a date with another woman when he knew he loved you? After the Thanksgiving meal, it was all set in stone for him that you were all he ever wanted and needed. Bradley didn't have anybody to share that holiday with, and you had gone out of your way to ditch your earlier plans to make and eat dinner with him and Giovanna. Lumpy mashed potatoes, and Brownies with ice cream for dessert just like his mom used to do it. It warmed Bradley's heart that you still remembered those stupid silly details he would retell about his childhood Thanksgiving. It made him smile that after 6 years of saying you wanted to learn how to cook a turkey, you still didn’t know how. The rotisserie chicken didn’t matter though, what mattered was that you had tried with the intention of eating all together.

He felt seen and cared for, the exact same feeling he had when he had dated you before you had cheated on him. Always he blamed you for what happened, that was what had him sleeping well at night. Except for the past week straight it wasn't so easy to go to bed. He kept tossing and turning and the thought came to mind: maybe if I married her earlier on, we would still be together.

If Bradley put himself in your shoes then he would get sick of waiting too. He most likely would feel insecure, if you kept on putting the idea of marriage off. So he did come to terms with the thought that maybe you felt like an option instead of a priority. Not most girls wouldn't deal with a guy getting deployed 3 times a year and still wait for him to get back, but you did. From the moment he met you, he recalled you saying long distance relationships were stupid, but for him you sucked it up.

Maybe it was his fault that you cheated on him.

"Bradley?"

Caroline giggled, once he didn't reply to her question. Then his mind floated back into his body, and he was sitting at a table covered with a red cloth and a yellow candle flickering between the two of them. The food had arrived and he didn't even recall seeing the waiter place the dishes down.

"Sorry I get distracted sometimes. What was that?" Bradley raised his brows and glanced at his stake. He didn't even remember ordering either.

They made small talk trying to get to know each other but Bradley was still thinking about you. Random Thought crept in and out like: is she thinking about me too?

Whatever happened to her favorite sleep shirt that used to be mine?

Do you know I stole the pet rock from your box, and keep it in my pocket wherever I go?

Did the scare on your lower back ever healed after you scrapped it against the pool?

Does she still think of me when ‘Great Balls Of Fire’ plays?

Does she realize I carry her to bed when she falls asleep on the couch?

There were so many thoughts left unanswered because Bradley never asked you. Up until now did he actually start making full conversations with you instead of humming replies and using head signals. Bradley never wanted to be home so bad in his life. Even if that meant you reading on the couch, while he watched tv.

Bradley didn't even finish his food before he was pushing his chair out the table and reaching for his wallet. Times like these Maverick words rang in his head: don't think just do.

"I'm sorry Caroline. It was nice meeting you and having dinner, but I gotta go." Bradley picked two bills of one hundred out of his wallet and placed it on the table.

She furrowed her brows staring up at him. He never liked to ditch anybody, but this didn't feel right at all. "Okay... is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine, I just feel a bit under the weather." Bradley stood up from the table. Caroline was the move on girl, to help him get back out there and get over you. Turns out Caroline would be the girl that had him miss his ex more. "It was nice seeing you Caroline, have a nice night." She wished him a fair well and he quickly moved out the restaurant before the staff could question his departure.

When he turned the engine on in the Bronco he let out a sigh of relief that he would be heading home.

After the drive back to Coronado, Bradley was unlocking the front door, shaking the keys a few times by the door to alert you he was coming in. The whole ride back, Bradley’s mind left the car thinking about imaginary conversation he would have with you that would most likely not happen. A few fake scenarios about the night ending in a kiss, or hug, and a little further in his bed.

Bradley threw the keys in the ceramic bowl, and took his shoes off. While in the restaurant his lap had felt awfully empty without Giovanna sitting with him. Bradley strolled into the living room and smiled at the sight before him. You passed out on the couch and Giovanna was on your lap fully awake, staring at the kids show on TV, like she could understand the words.

"Pumpkin, I thought we agreed that you wouldn't tire your godmother out?" Bradley asked the baby. Her attention snapped to him and a gummy smile took over her small face. On instinct Giovanna was stretching her small arms out to him. Bradley was such a servant to this girl, because in seconds he was sweeping her off your lap, and holding her high up in the air. Her beautiful giggles had Bradley chuckle. After playfully lifting her in the air a few times he brought her back down to his level.

"You miss me?" Bradley kissed her soft chubby cheek. Bradley took her soft coo's as a yes. "How's my girl doing huh?" He pressed lips on her forehead. Taking an inhale of how her head smells like the yellow Johnson & Johnson soap. Bradley pulled away and with his big finger he booped her small button nose.

"I should put your godmother to bed, huh? Can't leave her down here." Bradley stared at the little girl in his arms waiting for a reply. Obviously she said nothing, just staring up at him with her clueless hazel eyes. He was gonna protect and take care of Giovanna for the rest of her life and he wasn’t mad about it at all. "Gosh you're so cute, I want to eat you." Bradley put her small hand up to his mouth and gently sank his teeth on her small finger. Bradley kissed her hand before looking back at your relaxed face.

"I'm gonna put Gigi upstairs and then I'll come back for you okay?" Bradley reassured your sleeping self, as he went up the creek steps. Once Giovanna was in her crib Bradley moved back downstairs. He made sure everything was put away and locked up, before he went back to the couch where you had fallen asleep.

Bradley had done this a total of 5 times, and he was pretty sure you never noticed. Careful not to wake you, he placed his arm underneath your knees, and his other arm under your back. Bradley easily got you off the sofa. Carrying you always reminded him of how much he used to love doing it. The only light provided was the one shining down on the stairs, so he made sure not to skip or trip any steps.

The old wooden floorboards creaked underneath him, and a small laugh had caught his attention. Bradley looked down at you, in his arms and there was an obvious smile that you were holding back.

"You're such a fucking liar."

Bradley huffed out, once you had the liberty to have a good laugh. Your energy was so infectious he found himself laughing. It left him wondering if you played pretend all the time to have him carry you up the steps. Here Bradley thought he was so slick with bringing you to bed, but it looks like you did notice.

"I saw an opportunity so I took it." You reasoned. Bradley avoided eye contact because if he did look at you, he was sure he might solidify his brewing feelings. There was a part of Bradley that told him that it shouldn't feel natural to hold you like this, but it felt so right.

Bradley got to your room and gently kicked the door open. "Sorry, We don't do free rides here." He placed you on the bed like you were a delicate flower. You rested on your elbows staring at him amused.

"Sorry, What form of currency do you take?" You raised your brows expectantly. First thing that came to mind was a kiss, but he shook his head.

"Just don't let it happen again." Bradley warned as if this wasn't the peak of his night. This little moment felt better than being on a date with some random girl Natasha set him up with.

At the same time both of you spoke.

"How was the date-"

"I'm gonna go cheek on G-"

Bradley wanted to slam his head against the wall for not thinking of any other small talk besides the baby you had in common.

"Alright, I'll see you in the morning Brad." Your cheeky little smile had definitely dropped. He would be lying to himself if he said that you being upset over his absent presence didn't slightly excite him.

"Yeah, Night." Bradley was hesitant to go, but ultimately left, closing your door.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He sighed to himself as he went to Giovanna's room. Once he looked down at the crib he was surprised to see that the little girl had passed out in the short time he went to collect you upstairs. She looked like a little lamb when she slept. Her features were not fully developed, but she looked like her parents. She had Melissa’s straight brown hair, and Caleb’s ears. Bradley never thought he could love a little baby so much in his life. Giovanna was worth every Hard Deck trip and rank he had given up.

"Sweet dreams G. Scream if you need anything." Bradley kissed the tips of his fingers and then pressed them to her forehead. He turned on the small baby monitor by her crib, made sure she was comfortable before he left her room.

Bradley somehow forgot which way his room was, and magically ended up knocking on your door again. Once he was allowed entrance Bradley, opened the door, and you were still in bed resting against your head board.

"She fell asleep like a little lamb-"

"Do you wanna use the shower?" Both of you spoke above each other. It occurred to Bradley that it might be odd that he was here, considering he only entered to use your shower. For a second he almost thought it was okay for him to be here.

"No, I just wanna talk to you." Your curiosity peaked. Bradley had nothing interesting or planned out to say, he just wanted to be next to you. Bradley decided to be bold and move to the other side of the bed, and lay down with his head against the headboard as well. Your head turned to him, waiting for him to say something. Bradley felt settled knowing he had figured out his feelings on you, but he felt antsy in front you. "What was the score of the game?" Bradley stupidly asked now that he felt all nervous and tongue tied.

Your laugh made him smile. "Uhm hate to break it to you Eagles lost, 33-36."

"No." Bradley said playfully, any other day he would be heartbroken if the Commanders won, but since he was in your bed, it didn't hurt too much.

"Yeah I'm sorry." You nodded in a pitiful manner. There was a silence that fell over both of you after, he couldn't tell if it was comfortable or awkward. He guessed it was uncomfortable since you were quick to speak again. "How was the date?"

"You know-" Bradley thought it was better to lie or settle on the truth. He already laid in your bed, might as well say it how it is. He spoke quickly because looking into your eyes made his stomach flip. "I couldn't really enjoy it, I was missing you guys too much." The words hung in the air finally being said. Your eyes had softened but you had looked straight ahead. A small smile captured your side profile.

"I have the same problem." You admitted making Bradley feel relieved. "Don't worry we missed you too." A grin pulled at his lips. Crazy how far a little communication could get you. "Wait, can I tell you something? But promise you won't think I'm weird or laugh." You sat up against the headboard. It seems as Bradley's confession had started a domino effect and you wanted to let something off your chest as well.

"I promise." Bradley nodded, feeling very good about himself since he had gained your trust.

"Okay." The hesitation flashed before your eyes just like it had with him earlier. You took a deep breath and spoke. "The 3 days the remote control to the TV was lost, I had hidden it so you were forced to talk to me."

Bradley didn't let his jaw drop, or laugh. He controlled his emotions, pressing his lips together, even though inside he was freaking out about it. Your little plotting had worked because in those three days Bradley did start talking to you way more than he usually did. Bradley recalled being very annoyed when he had missed the Eagles game last week, but he wasn’t very upset about it now. It felt good to hear that. It felt even better to know you would go to those measures for him to open up to you. Bradley glanced at your poker face, he had a feeling of the silence and his lack of reaction might be driving you crazy. He didn't want to judge you, so he decided to admit something as well.

"When you kiss Giovanna goodbye, I get a little jealous I don't get a bye bye kiss." Bradley turned to look at you and you started to erupt In a fit of giggles. "You can't laugh." Brad bent one of his legs up, trying not to laugh at himself. Your room was turning into a confessional, because there were a lot of things both of you had on your mind.

"Sorry, I'm not judging at all." You put your hands out in defense. The Thanksgiving dinner, and watching football games for him proved you still cared about him. But hearing it was a whole different feeling. He thought the conversation was over but you revealed another thought.

"When I go out with a new guy and he does something I don't like. I think Bradley would never."

Bradley hated thinking about you going out with another guy, but it was nice to know that you held him as the standard or expectation. You still thought of him the same way, he did with you. Your eyes anticipated his next admission. Bradley let out a little laugh at how eager you looked.

"Can't laugh." You pointed a scolding finger at him. He put his arms up in surrender like you did not too long ago. Bradley wasn't sure he wanted to admit his thoughts, he was sure that he was way more screwed in the head then you.

"You left a perfume bottle in the apartment when we broke up. Sometimes when I get lonely-" Bradley let out a nervous laugh while shaking his head. He was gonna regret this later. "I spray the perfume on my pillow, so it's like...I'm laying next to you." Bradley physically couldn't face you, so he started to rub his forehead. There was no laugh, or gasp from you. Just acceptance and no judgement. But he didn't know your facial expression since he was too embarrassed to face you.

"I have a shoe box dedicated to you. It's got souvenirs of our relationship in it."

"I already know that one." Bradley ignorantly blurted out before he could think. A gasp came out of your lips and you swatted his shoulder in disbelief.

"How do you know that?"

Bradley was a red mess now. He was sure his ears were crimson, like every other time he laughed too much or got embarrassed. "When I went to get batteries in your closet. I found the box." Bradley bucked his hips up and reached into his front pocket. He pulled out the flat grey rock with googly eyes.

"I know this was missing!" You shrieked out snatching the pet rock from out of his palm, the contact made his heart rate pick up. You must go through the box often, if you knew the rock was missing. "Start confessing before I throw Erile at your head." You smiled at him once he finally had the courage to face you again. Erile, that was the stupid rock’s name, he had been trying to figure that out for weeks.

"I don't want to say anything. Your confessions are so mild compared to mine." Bradley chuckled trying his best to maintain eye contact with you. You placed the pet rock on his folded knee.

"Fine, I'll give you two." You hummed and looked up at the ceiling trying to think of some. Still had the cutest thinking face he had ever seen. "Alright, here's one. I learned how to play piano. So I can play great balls of fire because-"

You cut yourself off reaching for the rock but Bradley grabbed it off his knee before you could. Last time he tried teaching you basic piano skills, you ended up on his lap, while you requested him to play song after song.

"Your second one?"

"Every day I listen to the Playlist you made for me." That made him smile. Because he wasn't a passing thought, but one tattooed in your brain. But still your confession was as crazy as the ones he's committed. Bradley pressed down at the plastic googly as and began to state his secret.

"When I get deployed, I take all your past letters out of my attic and put them in my bag. Then when I'm in my bunk, I pretend like I'm reading them for the first time. When in reality I have all of them memorized… I find it crazy that somebody loved me that hard."

"Baby I still love you that hard." You admitted with a laugh. Once you realized what you had said, you were quick to move past it like it didn't happen. Bradley didn't get a chance to say his I love you too, since you moved on to your confession. "I bought some expensive crystals. Hoping it's magic would have you forgive me."

Bradley started laughing, now realizing why he saw pretty colored rocks everywhere around the house. "How's that working out for you?" Bradley smirked.

"Mh well you're talking to me right now, so I'd say pretty damn good." Your laughter is always his favorite melody. He wasn't into the whole hippy chick zodiac thing. But right now- god bless those god damn stupid rocks. This was probably the best night he had in your two months living here with him. Bradley placed the pet rock down on your white sheets, wondering if he should shut.

"I got a good one." Bradley crossed his arms over his chest. Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it.

"Let's hear it." You mimicked his pose crossing your arms as well. It felt like he was picking the petal off a flower. She loves me, she loves me not. She ironically loves me... or not.

"My biggest regret was not marrying you when I had the chance."

That was the final comment that left you speechless. It's like both of you were trying to outdo one another, instead of realizing the things that were being spoken out loud. You bit your bottom lip, shaking your head. Every time you cried your bottom lip would quiver and jutt out, so you bit it to prevent it. The last thing he wanted to do was have you upset with him.

"Bradley I'm so-" Bradley gently brushed his lips over yours. Not long enough to be considered a kiss but maybe an accident. But you were so caught up with the past the action of intimacy went unnoticed by you. "I can't do anything besides say I'm sorry one hundred times. And say some bullshit like I wish I could take back the past. If you gave me a second chance I would not mess it up." You rambled on letting the tears pool at your eyes. Your earlier confessions didn't compare to the amount of emotions that went through your eyes in these few seconds. "Please, you didn't even offer me a second chance. But I would wait now Bradley. Whatever you wanna do, I'm with you. If you want me to change, I would. My biggest regret is even thinking about somebody else when you were everything I have ever wanted."

You sniffled, wiping at your runny nose. A soft smile came on your lips that read, it's okay if you wanna keep pushing me away. None of your love letters when He was deployed had compared to this moment. It felt like everything was right in the universe. All the years of wondering and yearning were being said out loud. Bradley still loved you, and you still loved Bradley. Both of you had always been sure.

"C'mere." Bradley said with open arms. You hesitated before scooting closer and his arms were wrapped around your waist and your face was pressed to his chest. The missing piece of the puzzle was finally put into place. "I forgive you." Bradley muttered into your hair, kissing the crown of your head.

"Really?"

"With my whole heart." Bradley wasn't lying one bit, he forgave you. He was over with all the, ignoring you and pretending like he didn't see your kind gestures. Bradley had figured out his feelings, and never felt so sure of somebody before.

Taking care of Giovanna got stressful sometimes and going through the emotions of lost loved ones was tough. But with each other it felt like you could manage it together. These were the roughest times both of you would be going through, and it was better to do it together then separate.

AHHHHHHH! 🦔 I said give me 3 or 5 days to write this. I meant 10 to 20 business days hahaha. So sorry for the wait, I hoped you liked it. Cheers to my first request <3

#bradley bradshaw x reader #midnight bradley stories #rooster x reader

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writtingrose · 21 days ago

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the line is available on sky cinema if anyone is interested.

#for the lew girlies #skincare #the line #Lewis Pullman

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writtingrose · 22 days ago

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All them above should have been an option 😂😂

It was really hard to pick

Okay, I humored you, now you can humor me!

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writtingrose · 28 days ago

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YOU CANT LEAVE ME ON EDGE LIKE THAT 😳😩😩😩

You need a massage? (Friends to something else)

You were cross-legged on your bed, laptop balanced on your thighs, trying—and failing—to ignore the dull ache settling deep in your shoulders. Hours of hunching over your desk had left you stiff and sore, your muscles tight in a way that made you shift uncomfortably every few minutes. With a frustrated sigh, you reached up to rub the back of your neck, fingers digging in where the tension was worst.

From where he was lounging against your headboard, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone, Peter glanced over.

"You good?" His voice was casual, but there was something soft beneath it, the kind of quiet concern he never really tried to hide.

You exhaled through your nose. "Just tense. My back’s killing me."

There was a pause. Just long enough for you to look up and catch him hesitating, his phone slipping from his hands as he considered something.

Then, a little unsure, he said, "I could—uh—give you a massage?"

Your fingers stilled against your neck. You blinked at him. Then scoffed. "Since when do you give massages?"

Peter shrugged, aiming for nonchalant. "Super strength. Good hands. What more do you need?"

Your stomach did this weird little flip—one you definitely ignored. Because, well. He wasn’t wrong. The thought of Peter’s hands on you, warm and firm, pressing into all the places that ached… Yeah, that was dangerous. And completely unnecessary.

So, obviously, you played it off. Kept it casual. "Alright," you said, shifting so your back was to him. "Just—don’t break me."

You expected him to be awkward about it. Maybe throw in a joke, squeeze your shoulders once, and call it a day.

What you didn’t expect was for his hands to land on you with just the right amount of pressure—strong, steady, like he actually knew what he was doing. His thumbs pressed into the knots at the base of your neck, and the effect was immediate. A deep, full-body shudder ran through you before you could stop it, your head tipping forward as his fingers dug in, slow and deliberate.

"Jesus, Pete," you muttered, your voice embarrassingly weak.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "That good?"

You just hummed, too busy melting under his touch to form a real answer. His hands worked their way down, easing the tension out of your shoulders, then lower, following the curve of your spine. It was… methodical. Almost too good. Like he was paying attention to every spot that made you relax just a little more, every knot that made you exhale a little deeper.

And that was when you became hyperaware. Of the warmth of his breath near your ear. Of the way his thighs shifted behind you.

Of how close he really was.

It was just a massage.

That’s what you told yourself.

But then his hands slid lower.

Not in a way that felt intentional—Peter wasn’t like that. But when his fingers pressed into the dip of your lower back, something in your stomach clenched. And maybe it was the way your breath caught just slightly. Maybe it was the way his fingers lingered for a second too long.

Or maybe it was the fact that when you leaned back—just a little, just instinct—you felt it.

The unmistakable press of something hard against your lower back.

Your body locked up.

Peter went rigid behind you.

For one long, charged second, neither of you moved.

Then, just as you were about to laugh—pretend you hadn’t noticed—he shifted. Just barely. Just enough for you to feel him again.

A sharp, breathless noise slipped out of you before you could stop it.

Peter’s hands twitched against your waist. His breath, warm against your shoulder, stuttered.

"You—" His voice came rough, strained. He cleared his throat. "You okay?"

You swallowed, turned your head slightly—just enough that your lips nearly brushed his jaw. "Are you?"

His grip on you tightened. Like he was debating pulling away. Like he was fighting against whatever was hanging thick in the air between you.

But then—slow, hesitant—his fingers flexed again. This time, they brushed just under the hem of your shirt. Testing.

Your breath hitched.

And just like that, something shifted.

No longer innocent. No longer just a massage.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you turned, straddling his lap in one fluid motion, your thighs bracketing his. Peter swallowed hard, his eyes flickering between your parted lips and the heat in your gaze.

Waiting.

Letting you decide.

You did.

You kissed him—soft at first, then hungrier, more desperate. He met you halfway, groaning into your mouth as his hands slid beneath your shirt, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. You shifted against him, your hips rolling—just a little, just enough to feel the hard, heavy length of him through his sweats.

His breath caught.

"Fuck," he muttered, his head dropping against your shoulder. His fingers pressed hard into your sides, like he was barely holding himself together. "You—" He exhaled sharply. "You can’t just do that."

"Do what?" you asked, all fake innocence, even as you did it again.

He let out a strangled noise, his hands tightening on your waist. "That."

You grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his jaw. "You sure you wanna keep massaging me?"

His grip on you tightened.

Then, before you could blink, he flipped you onto your back, caging you beneath him. His lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm, uneven.

"Not exactly what I had in mind," he murmured, voice thick, dark, promising.

A shiver ran down your spine. "What do you have in mind?"

The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk.

"Guess you’ll find out."

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland smut

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writtingrose · 30 days ago

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I love how obsessed both couples are with each other. It’s so fucking cute

In the Navy Now | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: When Bradley and Jake catch their wives in the midst of a lie, Bradley wonders what made you think you couldn't be honest with him. He soon realizes you have a trick up your sleeve, one that makes his work day a lot more exciting.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, adult language, math as foreplay

Length: 3900 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time but it can be read on its own! Check out my masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

"You know what really sucks?" Bradley mused as he sat at a table for two in the cafeteria on base.

"What's that?" Jake asked in response, digging his fork into a bowl of pasta.

Bradley looked around the room at everyone else and sighed. "You and I are forced to socialize all the time now, because our wives are best friends."

He saw Jake on Saturday, and also last night at the bar, and again every damn day at work.

Jake shrugged as he took a bite of his lunch. "It's not that bad."

"Speak for yourself. I literally can't understand what Jessica sees in you."

As soon as he heard Jake's laugh, Bradley knew what was coming. "You're literally the last person who should be making comments like that. Your wife is so hot, it's absolutely unbelievable she is with you willingly. She had ten years to come to her senses."

Bradley smiled as he thought about you. "She missed me."

Jake was shaking his head. "She must have been with some seriously ugly guys or something in those ten years."

Bradley was laughing now as he said, "I'm telling you, she missed me as much as I missed her."

"Riiiight. I'm about to text her and ask for verification on that one."

Bradley poked at his salad and murmured, "Don't even bother. She's in some sort of math seminar with Dean Walters all day. Told me not to try reaching her unless it's an emergency."

"Are you sure?" Jake asked, giving him a funny look. "Jess said she had a department meeting with the dean today. For the science department."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "Yeah, of course I'm sure. I even packed her an extra snack. Unlike you, I actually listen to my wife when she talks. I'm sure you're wrong."

But Jake was already digging in the pocket of his flight suit for his phone, and when he unlocked it and slid it across the table, Bradley picked it up. He skimmed a text that Jessica sent just a few hours ago.

I love you! Don't forget, I'll be unreachable most of the day. Physics meeting with Dean Walters.

Bradley frowned. If this was true, then you lied to him. You never lied to him. He tried his best to let you know that you never had to do that. But now he remembered that you even went so far as to tell him you didn't need a ride home from campus today, and that actually seemed suspicious, too.

"Why do they want us to think they're busy all day?"

"It doesn't really make any sense," Jake said as he set his fork down. "Damn. Jess knows she can talk to me about anything."

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, "I don't like this shit." The uneasy feeling seemed to spread through his entire body as he stood. "We need to get going. Special class today, remember?"

"Fuck," Jake muttered under his breath, clearly as excited about the guest lecturer as Bradley was. Sitting in the classroom for a few hours was usually always tedious compared to flying, but the lectures that Cyclone had been adding to their schedules randomly over the past few months were worse than the most boring class Bradley ever took at the University of Virginia.

"Let's get this over with," he said, dropping his tray off and fighting the urge to text you just to see what you'd have to say. Now he was going to have to figure out a way to call you out about lying later. But it was still puzzling him as to why you and Jessica would both tell the same exact lie. What was the point of that? If you didn't want Bradley to bother you at work, that was all you needed to say. But it wasn't like he was annoying like Jake was; he could understand Jessica needing a break from her husband, but did you need one too?

He was still trying to figure out if there was something going wrong with his marriage when he walked into the classroom. Cyclone was standing at the front, hands on his hips, glaring at Bradley and Jake as they walked inside with two minutes to spare. The only seats left were both up in the front row, and Bradley groaned as he dropped down into one of them. The last guest speaker they had spit the entire time he talked, and the one before that spoke at full volume like she was teaching a room full of hundreds of people rather than the twenty four that were gathered.

"I regret not getting here early," Jake murmured, and Bradley nodded as he shifted in his seat and messed with the cuffs of the sleeves of his flight suit. He was really hung up on what you could possibly be doing today, and he knew that he wasn't going to be able to pay attention to this lecture topic at all. And that's when he noticed what was written on the white board behind Cyclone.

THE PHYSICS OF PROPULSION AND MATHEMATICAL FORMULATIONS IN SINGLE SEAT F/A-18 JETS

He groaned, because even the word mathematical made him think about you. This was about to be a long afternoon. Then Admiral Simpson cleared his throat, and Bradley forced his attention to the man in front of him.

"Welcome. Today's lecture topic is of the utmost importance regarding updates that will be made to your aircrafts this year. We will take a look at jet propulsion and the calculations specific to your F/A-18s before the new NATOPS is even released. We have two guest speakers who are professors from San Diego State University's math and physics departments, and they have graciously agreed to spend some time on this topic with us."

"No way," Bradley whispered, convinced it had to be you. He swiveled around in his seat so fast, he thought he might have broken it as he hung over the arm into the aisle when the classroom door opened. He could hear her high heels on the floor before he realized he was looking at Jessica enter the room, but then his heart skipped around in his chest just like the first time he saw you over ten years ago at his fraternity house. You looked fucking hot as sin, strolling in behind Jake's wife with a folder in your hand and a smirk on your red lips. Your eyes found his immediately as he sat there gaping at you while you made your way to the front of the room, but other than a little nod in his direction, you gave him nothing.

"Holy shit," Jake hissed next to him as Bradley nodded in agreement, his eyes glued on your body as he heard Cyclone introduce you and Dr. Jessica Reed by name. You gave the room at large a little wave, but your eyes flicked him, and Bradley let out the breath he had apparently been holding as he relaxed into his seat. So this must have been why you tried to make it seem like you were extremely busy today. Maybe you and Jessica didn't want him and Jake to catch on to the fact that you'd be presenting their class.

As Jessica started talking, he took in every inch of your appearance. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, and you were doing it very well. Bradley was proficient at calculus, having attended many of your college level math lectures. Sometimes he surprised you, but sometimes you knew ahead of time that he planned on being there. It didn't hurt that the lectures he attended usually ended with sex or a blowjob for him. Somehow math had turned into a form of foreplay for the two of you, and Bradley couldn't get enough. You'd praise him when he was able to solve a difficult problem, and the rewards were always sexy.

He was used to seeing you like this when he visited San Diego State University, but getting to witness your brilliance on the Naval base was already so exciting. Right now, he was already having a difficult time sitting still as he grew hard at the sound of your voice.

"The calculations related to your Super Hornets are so precise, we'll just take a look at a handful of examples to give you an idea of what we mean," you said, opening up your folder on the table as Bradley ran his sweaty palms on his flight suit. You were only a few feet away from him. He could smell your shampoo. He could count the little silver buttons on the side of your skirt. He had to bite his lip as you turned toward the white board and uncapped a marker as you said, "Please, let me know if I'm going too fast."

He could pick your writing out easily, but there was something about the way you always chose the letter B for your variables when he was watching. Your smooth penmanship started to fill the board as you talked your way through the problem, but Bradley could barely take his eyes off your ass. He turned around briefly to make sure nobody else had the same idea he did, but it was hard to tell. The younger guys looked a lot more enthusiastic than they usually did, and he might have to pound some sense into them later. Didn't they know you were his fucking wife?

But maybe they didn't. You kept your name the same when you got married. So did Jessica for that matter. Now Bradley sat a little taller in his seat as he realized he was married to one of the two extremely hot PhDs who all the other men in the room were drooling over.

"Does that make sense?" you asked, turning back to face them with a satisfied look on your face. "Dr. Reed can take over explaining the actual physics of the aircraft propulsion, and then I'll jump back in with the next calculation."

Bradley smiled at you while Jessica started talking again, and he could tell you were trying not to look at him as your lips curled into a grin. God, you were just fucking perfect. Smart and silly and sexy. And the two of you had so much history together, he could practically read the thoughts on your face.

"Did they dress like this on purpose?" Jake croaked softly.

"I know mine did," Bradley whispered. Your little tweed skirt and loafers screamed east coast academic. It looked as good on you as his tie dye shirt always did. It was just as sexy as lingerie. It was almost pornographic to him at this point. But today you had them paired with a blazer and a bodysuit. A bodysuit. He loved those things with the little snaps that held them closed as they hugged your curves. He was almost certain you'd skipped a bra. He couldn't wait to find out for sure.

Jessica was still talking about jet propulsion. Bradley would ask you to explain it to him later if it was actually important. Right now, you were slowly buttoning and then unbuttoning your blazer over and over again while you alternated between consulting your notes and stealing glances at Bradley. He was too warm as he watched your fingers work, and your eyes caught his as he leaned forward in his seat.

"Hey, Sugar," he mouthed, and your gaze dropped back to your folder as you bit your lip and smiled. He was ready to go home. Take you to bed. Or maybe get a private lecture in your home office. Or maybe drive all the way to the college and visit one of the library study rooms. You made everything so exciting, he wanted all of it.

When Jessica handed the lecture back over to you, Bradley squirmed in his seat as you wrote another calculation on the board. Jake was really no better in the seat next to him, and he realized the two of them must look like idiots at the moment. But you were making a subtle math joke that he understood, and when you glanced over your shoulder, your engagement ring sparkled under the fluorescent light.

"Now this is how the updates will actually make your aircrafts more fuel efficient," you said as you easily worked through a calculation that looked so complicated, Isaac Newton wouldn't have been able to solve it. Bradley's cock was still half hard, and he wasn't exactly sure how he was going to be able to stand up after this. But then you really threw him for a loop when you casually added the equation from your tattoo into the middle of the mess of mathematics on the white board. Now the only thing he could think about was your tits. Or rather, him running his lips along your math titty tattoo.

Bradley wasn't going to be able to sit still for much longer, but you turned around and asked, "Does anyone have any questions?"

He had to sit there and listen to several of the other guys ask you the most idiotic questions just so they could have your attention. Then Bradley raised his hand and waited until you pointed at him and said, "Lieutenant Bradshaw?" with an amused look on your face. "You have a question?"

"Yeah," he said, voice raspy. "I do, professor. If the variable B is directly related to propulsion, then how is that going to affect my thrust?"

He kept a straight face while you fought to do the same. You cleared your throat, took a step in his direction, and said, "You're going to need to have some additional thrust, Lieutenant."

Bradley nodded and gave you a thoughtful look. "Hmmm, that's what I thought. And it looks like a very complicated calculation."

You stood there in front of everyone in your little tweed skirt and the diamond ring he gave you and said, "If you'd like a more thorough explanation, I wouldn't mind spending a few minutes with you afterwards, Lieutenant."

As he leaned back in his seat, he told you, "I look forward to it."

So Bradley listened to Jessica while you occasionally interjected, and he kept his eyes on your face as his excitement started to build even more. When the afternoon lecture was finally over, he and Jake both stayed in their seats while Cyclone shook hands with the two of you.

"How long do you think they've been planning this?" Jake whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Not sure," Bradley replied as you collected your notes into your folder. "But I intend to find out." He was impressed as hell that you managed to pull this off without him noticing, but his skin was tingling with need. He desperately wanted to get his hands on you after you worked him up with all of the intellectual teasing.

As soon as Cyclone dismissed everyone, Jake was on his feet, dragging Jessica out of the classroom, but Bradley didn't move an inch in his seat. His cock was hard, and you were running your hand along your tweed covered hip as you smiled at him. But then he had to endure one of the younger aviators who was new to Top Gun trying to chat you up when he should have just left the classroom with the others. When you turned to face him instead, annoyance washed through Bradley's veins.

"Uh, hi, uh I actually studied mathematics at the Naval Academy, and I graduated three years ago, and uh, I was just wondering if you would want to get a drink with me sometime and talk more about, um, some of the topics you covered about propulsion and thrust-"

"Fuck off, man," Bradley barked. "She's wearing goddamn wedding rings. And she's not interested."

Your hand slipped over your lips as you laughed silently while the younger man looked at Bradley in shock. "Oh. Right. Okay," he muttered before hightailing it from the now nearly empty classroom.

"That wasn't very nice," you said, fighting against a smile. "He seemed really sweet. I was going to let him shoot his shot."

Bradley stood with a soft groan, his erection pressing against the zipper of his flight suit. "I was promised a private tutorial session, Dr. Sugar. I'm not about to let a twenty-something year old take up any of my time."

Without hesitation, you walked over to him and started to slowly unzip his flight suit. "Hate to break it to you, Beer Boy, but you were a twenty-something year old when I fell in love with you."

You ran your fingers along his undershirt, and Bradley glanced at the open classroom door as he whispered, "I hope you know you're not leaving this room until you're full of my cum."

"Lieutenant Bradshaw!" you gasped, eyes wide and surprised. But your hand was dipping lower to his abs, and he could tell you were as turned on as he was. "This is a tutoring session!"

Bradley wrapped his hand around your wrist and gently led you toward the door which he immediately closed. "I want to know how the hell you managed to pull this off. I had no idea you and Jessica were going to be teaching a class for the Navy."

"We've been working on our lesson plan for weeks," you said with a smirk as Bradley placed both of your palms on the door and flipped the light switch off. In the dimly lit room, you whispered, "We wanted it to be a surprise."

Bradley stood behind you, facing the door and kissed your neck above your unbuttoned blazer. "And here I thought you lied to me about your plans because you needed a break from me."

You moaned softly as his nose traced the shell of your ear. "Oh, please. It's not like you're annoying like Jake. I don't need a break from you, Beer Boy."

"Hmm, then what do you need from me?" he asked softly, letting one hand slide up your bodysuit while he confirmed that you were not wearing a bra. Your nipples were tight peaks as he stroked them through the fabric with one big hand, and you bumped your ass back against his erection.

"I need you to tell me what you know about thrust, Lieutenant," you stated in your teacher voice which made him grind against you.

"I know you like it when I give you a little thrust," he grunted, guiding your tweed skirt up your thighs as you gasped.

"Is this a good idea?" you asked, still pressing your body back against his. "Should we wait until we get home?"

"Can't," he growled, yanking your skirt up over your ass and wrapping his hands around your hips as he looked down at the perfect view. "You got me too worked up. You know what your lectures do to me. And this time it was on my home turf."

Your hands were still planted on the door as you glanced at him over your shoulder. "Almost like I'm in the Navy now. Lieutenant Sugar? Should I get a uniform?"

"Oh, fuck. You know I couldn't handle that. Besides, I'm really partial to your tweed." He was running his knuckles down your rear end as he whispered, "Please, let me fuck you. I'll be quick, Baby."

His fingers were already at the snaps on your bodysuit that hid your pussy from his touch when you said, "Do it."

With a flick of his wrist, the snaps sprung free, and he ran his finger along your slit. Your back arched as he carefully pulled his cock free from his unzipped flight suit and underwear, and then he was guiding you to your tiptoes as he slipped himself inside you.

Bradley wrapped one hand around your waist and braced the door closed with the other as he buried himself deep inside you. Your soft gasp sounded beautiful as he sucked on your neck and gave you a few deep strokes. When he started to go faster, your fingers curled against the door as you whined his name, and he asked, "How's my thrust?"

Your head tipped back against his shoulder as you whispered, "You're just about there. Maybe a little harder."

Always wanting to be your top student, he did exactly as you told him and picked up the pace, letting himself slam against your ass. Your tight pussy felt so fucking good, and normally he'd draw this out as long as possible, but not today. He let your grip on him take over all of his senses, and soon he was grunting next to your ear, lips parted as he fucked you up against the door in a classroom at Top Gun.

"This is filthy as hell," he muttered, jerking his hips in an uneven rhythm. "Fucking my perfect wife on base. During work hours."

"Beer Boy," you gasped when he slammed deep and held himself there. He did it again, loving the sound of his body meeting yours so intimately. A third time, and the pull along his spine as you moaned was too much. You had complete control over him.

Bradley gave it to you hard until he was panting. He let himself come as you turned and looked back at him, licking those sinful lips. "Jesus, fuck, holy shit," he groaned before kissing your lips softly as he gave you a few more thrusts before pulling himself free.

He was still a little hard as he tucked himself back into his flight suit and zipped it up again. When he went to fix your bodysuit, he ended up with his fingers coated in your arousal mixed with his cum as he did the snaps once again.

"Good as new," he murmured as you tugged your skirt down and turned to face him. He kissed you again before he said, "We should get out of here."

You nodded and collected your folder before pulling the door open and strolling casually out into the hallway like you didn't have his sticky cum rubbing against your inner thighs. "Now that you're all squared away with your thrust variable," you told him as he licked his fingers clean, enjoying the way the two of you tasted together, "you'll be even faster, Lieutenant."

Bradley snickered as you and he rounded the corner. "I hope you mean in the air. Quickies aren't really my thing, unless we're in a library study room or apparently an empty Naval classroom."

"There you are, professor." Cyclone was trying to flag you down, and Bradley watched you stumble as you headed off in his direction. He wasn't even sure if Admiral Simpson knew you and he were married, but the other man looked overjoyed as he said, "I've already been getting wonderful feedback about you and Dr. Reed, and I'm hoping you'll both agree to come back next month for another lecture on a different topic."

Bradley groaned and just kept walking. He would wait for you in the parking lot where he'd have a moment to himself to collect his thoughts. More sexy tweed and his hot wife in the classroom? Another lecture topic? Hours of mathematical foreplay that nobody else seemed to pick up on? Quickies were about to become his thing.

------------------------------

I missed Beer Boy and Sugar SO MUCH! She's such a queen, she literally just has to exist to make him lose his mind. But she knows what she did here. She knows. Thanks for reading!

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#bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster fanfiction #rooster imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw imagine

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writtingrose · 1 month ago

Text

😳 I can’t even put what I feel into words.

Bucky Barnes

Minors DNI 18+ below

Take it

Warnings: Rough Bucky, Sex Toys, DP

This was written based off of a request that I got. I took it in a slightly different direction

Minors DNI 18+ below

You had only bought it out of curiosity and loneliness. You weren't actually going to use it. You blushed as you turned over the hot pink dildo in your hands. The weight of it reminded you of Bucky's pretty cock. So heavy and thick. You missed it him so much. He had been away on a mission leaving you desperate and needy for him.

The morning of his departure he had woken you up with butterfly kisses all over your body. The sight of him between your thighs in the early morning light was heavenly. His tongue brought you right to the edge once, twice, three times, before his phone rang and he was up and out the door without ever making you cum. He wiped his lips and chin of your arousal and kissed you hard, "Be good and wait for me." His warning made you shiver but your immediate nod made Bucky smile in return.

That was three weeks ago. He couldn't expect you to wait forever! Not when he kept popping up in your dreams every single night! His vibranium arm making you gasp for breath as he curled the metal fingers around your neck, his flesh hand tugging roughly at your hair, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of your neck or thighs. You needed relief for the ache in between your thighs.

You sighed and brought the tip of the dildo to your lips. What Bucky didn't know wouldn't hurt him. It's not like you were cheating. You just wanted to cum on your new toy.

You pushed the tip past your lips slowly. The way Bucky always liked. The dildo was thick and tasted of plastic, but the feeling was nice. If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine it was Bucky and not some pathetic replacement. You moaned and swirled your tongue around the cold tip. You missed the salty taste of his precum and the feeling of the thick vein that runs along the bottom of his shaft.

You fell back slowly laying yourself down in Bucky's spot on the bed. His scent overwhelmed you and made your thighs rub together unintentionally. You let the dildo fall from your lips, you dragged it slowly down your trembling body. The anticipation was overwhelming. You needed his touch, but this would have to do until he was home.

"So just how far did you plan on going with that sad ass plastic cock?" A rough laugh from the doorway had you jumping up. Bucky was standing there, tactical suit still on, weapons still mostly attached to him, a wide smirk taking over his tired expression. He chuckled again, "Gotta say this is better than if I'd walked in on you with some poor dude I'd have to strangle."

Your wide eyes and unmoving body had Bucky cocking his head and studying you. Your hands clutched the toy like it was a weapon or possibly a lifeline out of this humiliating situation. Your thighs were clamped shut but he could see the slight shake in them. Your nipples were pebbled under your thin shirt, and it didn't go unnoticed that you weren't wearing any pants, only a thin pair of underwear. One of his favorites.

"I'm not in the mood to play any games so listen close, babydoll," Bucky started stalking forward as he spoke. Your eyes followed him as he made his way to the bed. "Strip. And hand me that fuckin' thing you've got there," Bucky coldly demanded.

Your lack of a reaction had him stopping in his tracks. "You think I'm fuckin' playing? Already said I'm not in the mood for games so do as you're told," Bucky chuckled as you seemed to wake up from his threats.

You reached for your shirt and slid out of that first. Your hands tugged the baby blue fabric of your panties down your thighs next. As Bucky reached the bed you nearly thrusted the toy at him. He jumped back slightly as the pink plastic invaded his space. You watched in awe as he shrugged the tension out of his shoulders before taking the toy in his large metal hand.

Bucky used his flesh hand to spread your thighs as he climbed onto the bed. He settled in between, sitting back on his knees as he kept you spread open before him. His thighs pushed against yours as he roughly tugged his belt open and slipped his cock from its confines.

Dirt and grime from his tactical suit smeared across your parted thighs. The sight had Bucky groaning loudly.

Bucky leaned over you suddenly. His warmth and the weight of his chest had you arching up into him. His lips ghosted yours, barely touching. You almost didn't notice him rummaging around in the bedside table near you when his cockhead bumped your clit. When he finally found what he was looking for, Bucky pulled back and away from you. He sat up on his knees again and looked over the bottle of lube he had retrieved from the table.

As he popped the cap open, he spoke, "Since you wanna be a needy cock slut you're g'nna lay back while I fuck you with the real thing and this cheap copy." You nodded excitedly as you watched Bucky cover the pink dildo in lube. He then reached down with his lube covered hand and tugged at his cock, completely covering it with the lube.

Buck reached a sticky hand down and tapped your cheek twice, bringing your attention to his beautiful blue eyes. "Need to hear you say it, babydoll," Bucky grinned at the dazed look on your face. Already so fucked out just from the thought of what he was about to do. "Come on, I need to hear you say you're gonna be good and take it," he encouraged.

"Please Bucky, fuck me please- please," you babbled up at him. "I want it! I want you- use the toy- just fuck me Bucky-" he interrupted you with a cruel laugh.

"Hush now, I got ya," His tone was far from reassuring. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips and swallowed the groan you released as the dildo pushed into you slowly. The stretch was nothing compared to his cock, but it was enough to have you arching against him again. Bucky greedily swallowed up every noise you let out as he sank each inch into your aching body.

When the toy bottomed out Bucky let out a near pornographic moan. He pulled back to look at the sight of the toy pressed snugly inside of you. His mouth dropped open, and the praise poured out, "So fuckin' good. So fuckin' sexy. My good little slut taking this toy so well. How long have you been hiding this from me?"

You moaned in response to his question. Words escaped you as he began pumping the toy in and out of you. His pace was quick and harsh making it impossible for you to think about anything other than the pleasure he was giving you. "I asked you a question. Answer me," He demanded when your answer never came.

"Just bought it online- ah fuck! last week Buck! It came yesterday- please- I'm so close baby!" You cried out as your orgasm threatened to crash over you at any moment.

"Cum for me," he ordered at your confession.

Bucky's weight had you pressed to the mattress as you came undone around the dildo. You clawed at Bucky and the sheets, back arched, and eyes rolled back. "Fu- fuck- Bucky!" your cries had his cock throbbing.

While you came down from you high, panting and whining, a gasp caught in your throat as the thick tip of Bucky's cock slipped inside of you. One of Bucky's hands held the dildo in place while his other hand was slowly guiding his cock deeper inside the same hole.

Bucky shivered as his cock slid against the shaft of the dildo. "Just relax, doll. You can take it," Bucky's groans sounded pained. He was holding back.

The hand gripping his cock reached forward to hold your hips down to the bed while he gently inched inside. He threw his head back as he caught sight of the toy and his cock both stretching your tight hole open.

Bucky's eyes shot up and across your body. You were absolutely wrecked. Hair matted to your forehead and neck, sweat covering your chest and stomach, eyes screwed shut. Your moans and grunts encouraged Bucky to keep pushing forward slowly until he and the dildo were seated completely inside of you. "So full," you whimpered.

Your desperate whimpers were what finally made Bucky snap, "You better fuckin' hold on to something, babydoll. Because I'm g'nna fuck the shit out of ya now." He was no longer holding back as his pelvis slammed against you. Your body rocked forward and the pressure from both cocks had you screaming.

His pace wasn't quick, but his thrusts were heavy and purposeful. The pleasure was blinding and had you chanting the supersoldier's name like a prayer, "Bucky- bucky please- oh bucky!"

Above you Bucky was just as wrecked. You were always so tight for him, but this was different. He was moaning, sweat dripping down his furrowed brow. He was concentrating on not cumming too quickly. He needed you to finish first. He needed to see you cum on both dicks. A less than steady hand reached down and began rubbing harshly on your clit. "Come on baby. Let me watch you cum on these cocks," his tone bordered on begging.

You squealed as his pace picked up. You were so close. His hips grinded against yours when he noticed the way your bottom lip trembled. He tore his fingers away from your clit and gripped the base of the dildo tightly. Three more pumps of the dildo and his dick had you thrashing as another orgasm crashed over you.

The tightening of your muscles around him and the plastic cock had his orgasm suddenly knocking him over. You screamed, cried, and moaned in his ear as you held onto him. His teeth bit down into the pillow below your head as he rode out his orgasm.

"Ohhh fuck," Bucky groaned as he pulled his cock from you with a squelch. His warm load spilled down your thighs and onto the sheets below your shaking and spent body. He pulled the dildo out slowly and bit down a curse when you mewled at the emptiness.

You blinked through tears and gasped when you noticed the way Bucky was staring down at you like prey. "Show me what other toys you've been lookin' at."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #smut #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #marvel smut #james bucky barnes

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writtingrose · 1 month ago

Text

Like he means it

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending

Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡

Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga

Masterlist

You hear the giggling before anything else.

It’s always the giggling.

And, as always, it grates on your nerves.

It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.

Then comes the keys.

The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.

Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.

Then the door opening.

More giggles.

His breathy chuckles.

Then the door closing.

Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.

Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.

And then, his bedroom door.

And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.

Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.

At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.

But then comes the moaning.

High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.

Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.

Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.

And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.

You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.

But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.

And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.

And that finally makes the tears flow.

They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.

You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.

They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.

The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.

Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.

Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.

Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.

Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.

You are alone in your grief.

The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.

Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.

However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.

Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.

And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.

Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.

The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.

The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.

And it makes you know.

He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.

Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.

Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.

Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.

Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.

If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.

Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.

You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.

It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.

Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.

So what is the point?

You don’t want to do another morning like this.

You can’t do another morning like this.

Not three times in a row.

Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.

Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.

The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.

And then, him standing there and watching you.

Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.

That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.

Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.

You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.

His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.

Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.

But you are certain, he won’t.

Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.

He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.

He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.

But tomorrow night, there will be another.

Tomorrow night will be the same.

And in the morning nothing will have happened.

Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.

You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.

Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.

You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.

The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.

Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.

The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.

The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.

The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.

The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.

And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.

Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.

You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.

The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.

Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.

No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.

You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.

You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.

But you keep walking.

Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.

It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.

You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.

The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.

You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.

You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

You don’t look back.

Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.

It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.

Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.

“Y/n?”

You close your eyes.

“Y/n!”

Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.

You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.

But you can’t. You never can.

With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.

Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.

His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.

Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.

Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.

You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.

You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.

“Where are you going?”

The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.

As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.

You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.

“To Nat’s.”

It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.

“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.

“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.

Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.

All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?

But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.

So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.

“Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.

Not when you are already about to break.

“I- What?”

His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.

But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.

You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.

“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.

Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.

She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.

“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.

And his eyes stay fixed on you.

Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.

And it makes your hands clammy.

The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.

“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”

You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.

“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”

“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.

“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.

But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.

“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.

And it’s cruel. So cruel.

Because you are in love with him.

And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.

“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”

You swallow down a choked breath.

Because this is making things so much worse.

That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.

Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.

But you are not broken. You are just in love.

“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even glance at her.

His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”

The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.

But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-

“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”

His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.

But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.

You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.

But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.

“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”

You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.

“No, you-”

He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.

Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.

“Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”

Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.

You could run.

You should.

You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.

But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.

“Okay,” you say weakly.

Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.

And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.

Hating yourself for hoping.

Technically, you could just leave.

Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.

You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.

But you don’t.

You know you won’t.

Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.

And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.

Not Bucky.

Never Bucky.

You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.

You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.

How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.

And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.

So you stay.

With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.

But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.

You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.

Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.

Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.

He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.

And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.

Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.

Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.

The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.

Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.

His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.

Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.

His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.

His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.

Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.

“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”

His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.

You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.

“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”

It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.

And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.

He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.

“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”

You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.

You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.

The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.

Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.

“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.

“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.

He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.

“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”

His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.

And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.

He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.

Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.

But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.

His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.

But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.

You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.

So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.

“I-”

You try. You really try.

But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.

Because this time it’s her walking out.

She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.

Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.

Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.

But it’s not yours either.

She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.

She had the time for that.

Meanwhile, you can barely stand.

Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.

Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.

Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.

And Bucky is still looking at you.

Not at her.

You.

And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.

But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.

The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.

“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”

Your stomach lurches.

You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.

Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.

“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.

“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.

“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”

“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”

And then she’s gone.

But so are you.

You don’t even think about it. You just move.

Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.

It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.

Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.

You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.

You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.

His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.

“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.

“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.

And it’s not funny. Not even close.

His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.

You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.

Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.

“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.

“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.

His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.

But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.

And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.

“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.

You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.

His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”

You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.

Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.

And Bucky watches all of that.

His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.

“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.

You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”

Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.

“See, that’s bullshit.”

You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.

“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”

You want him to stop.

You want him to turn around.

You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.

But he won’t.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

And you break.

No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.

The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.

You feel so pathetic.

Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.

And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.

The second your breath hitches, he is moving.

Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.

You let him.

Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.

His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.

Like your pain is his own.

“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”

There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.

His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.

“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”

It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.

And it makes you cry harder.

Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.

Except it hasn’t.

It doesn’t.

Not in the way you want.

You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.

But you are not one of those girls.

You never will be.

And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.

So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.

It’s too hard. too cruel.

You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.

But it does.

Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.

So you cry harder.

Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.

Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”

But you can’t.

Because what the hell would you even say?

That you’re in love with him?

That you’ve been in love with him?

That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?

That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?

That you want him in a way he will never want you back?

You won’t.

So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.

“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.

He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.

His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.

Because none of this makes it any easier.

Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.

Because it’s him.

And that means it hurts.

You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.

But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.

He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.

Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.

He looks wrecked.

His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.

“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”

You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.

Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.

“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.

But you don’t.

Because somehow this makes it worse.

And you hate it.

You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.

Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.

Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.

But Bucky just shrugs.

It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.

Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.

Not with anyone. Not even with you.

You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.

And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.

You can barely breathe past it.

You don’t say anything.

And Bucky freezes.

His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.

There is something uncertain in there.

And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.

Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.

Like a switch has been flipped.

Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.

Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.

His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.

He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.

His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.

“Is that what this is about?”

It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.

You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.

“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.

“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.

Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”

It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.

“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.

“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.

“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.

But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.

He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.

“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.

It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.

It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.

“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”

And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.

Because you’re breaking his heart?

What does that even mean?

You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?

“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”

His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.

“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.

His eyes are pleading.

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.

The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.

“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”

A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.

You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.

You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.

Your reaction must be answer enough.

Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.

A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.

The exact moment he realizes.

“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.

You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.

“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.

You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.

But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.

“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.

He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.

Bucky panics.

His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.

“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.

Not at you.

At himself.

“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”

It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.

And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.

“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”

He seems to hold back a scream.

Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.

You wish you could believe it.

“Bucky-” you croak out.

“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.

His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.

“Like it’s over.”

Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.

Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.

“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”

He cuts himself off, voice choking.

His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.

And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.

When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.

“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.

Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.

This thing between you.

Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.

It consumes him.

His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.

His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.

“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”

His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.

And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.

He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.

Bucky is crying.

It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.

You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.

But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.

And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.

But it doesn’t.

Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.

“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”

His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.

“I love you.”

Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.

He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.

Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.

“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.

But you don’t know how to.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.

Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t and he steps closer again.

His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.

But what could you say?

Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.

But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.

“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.

Guilt.

It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”

You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.

And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.

“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. “Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”

Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”

“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.

“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”

Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.

Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.

You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.

But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.

That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.

Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?

But he still touched them.

Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.

While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.

And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.

But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.

He tried to fuck it away.

And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.

You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.

“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”

He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.

“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”

Your breath stalls.

Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”

He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.

Even if you know it might not be fair.

But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.

And he sees it.

You try to blink back another wave of tears.

His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.

“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”

You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.

And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.

But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.

The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.

The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.

But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.

Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?

You had no claim on him.

But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.

You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.

“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.

“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”

Your breath catches, body sways.

There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.

“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”

Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.

“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.

“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”

You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.

“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”

You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”

Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.

“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.

His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”

“Bucky-”

He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.

“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”

You nod.

He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.

He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”

Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.

You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.

“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”

You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.

Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”

You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.

Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.

And for a split second, Bucky freezes.

Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.

But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.

One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.

And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.

He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.

It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.

And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.

“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”

And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.

“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”

- Beau Taplin

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writtingrose · 1 month ago

Text

Bob as a dad just makes me melt

It helps I’m also a teacher and this is cute as shit.

The Floyd Boys

Chapter One

Bob can't stay in California after his soon to be ex wife leaves him and his son. Returning to Montana, he enrols Mason in a new school. With a new teacher. A new teacher who happens to be kinda cute, actually.

"You're gonna do great," Bob Floyd whispered as he tied his little boy's shoelaces.

Sucking in a breath, Mason Floyd nodded his head. "I'm gonna do great," he whispered, staring into his dad's blue eyes. "I'm gonna do great." He grabbed the straps of his bag and held onto them, determination on his face.

"Glasses check."

Both boys pulled off their glasses. They used their shirts to clean both lenses and put them back on their faces. "Ready?" Bob asked, grabbing his keys and reaching for Mason's hand.

"Ready."

Mason Floyd was Bob Floyd's mini me. He was the tiny version of Bob, had the same brown-y red hair Bob had grown out of by the time he was a teenager. He had the same wire framed glasses as Bob, picked out at his last appointment to match his daddy.

The Floyd Boys, that was what Penny Benjamin used to call them. It had been so hard to leave California, to take Mason across State lines, back home to Montana. But he knew it was the right thing to do.

Locking the front door behind them, Bob took Mason out to his truck. He helped him to climb onto the front bench, buckled him in, and went around to the other side. He climbed into the drivers seat, started the engine and drove away.

The housing situation was only temporary, one of the guest houses on his parents ranch. It was usually used for ranch hands, but those ranch hands were currently in trailers up the mountain, taking care of the cattle. A temporary situation, but a perfect situation while they had nowhere else to go.

From their porch, Bob's parent's waved as he drove past with Mason. Mason waved back with enthusiasm, his face glued to the window as they went past the horses on the ranch.

Reaching forward, Mason turned on the stereo. Immediately, it began playing the CD they had listened to for the last leg of the journey, the CD of the songs Mason's auntie Nat had burned onto a disk for him.

Natasha Trace. Bob and Mason both missed her. They missed the entire squad, but they missed her most of all. She was there when Bob's ex wife revealed she was pregnant. She was there when Bob proposed (actually, she had tried to talk Bob out of it. She saw the red flags that Bob only saw now that they were separated). She was there when Mason was born, for all of his birthdays and when Bob and his ex wife split up. She was there, helping him pack up his things for Montana.

It was unusual, how quiet Mason was. The only time he was quiet on the journey to Montana was when he was sleeping. He looked like an angel when he slept, but Bob did have to reach over while driving to pull off his glasses.

"It's okay to be nervous," Bob said to his son.

Mason swallowed. His bag was still in his lap, held close to his chest. "Really?" He asked, his lip wobbling.

"Yeah, Mase." The school was in view now, but Bob pulled over before they got there. "I'm nervous too, buddy."

Mason looked up at his father. "Why're you nervous, Papa?" He asked.

Breathing in, Bob looked through his window. It was a familiar neighbourhood, a familiar school he was sending Mason to. His school, the elementary school he had gone to when he was a kid.

"It's just different out here. That's all." He patted his thighs and pulled his keys from the ignition. "Different isn't always bad, Mase. We're gonna do great out here."

Opening the door, Bob stepped out of his truck. The truck he'd bought here in Montana when he was a kid. The truck he took with him when he joined the Navy. The truck to California, to Top Gun. It was a full circle moment.

"C'mon," he said, opening the door and taking his son's hand. "You're gonna do great," he reaffirmed.

"I'm gonna do great."

Holding his daddy's hand, Mason Floyd walked towards the school. He had a million things to be anxious about. What if the other kids didn't like his glasses? What if they didn't like his bag? What if they didn't like that he was the new kid and he was from the West Coast?

Bob took him up the steps. Last time he had been in this school, he had been begging his dad to let him go to the rodeo. He'd had bull rider dreams back then, before he'd joined the Navy.

Bob checked his phone, checked for the classroom number. He remembered being a kid, seeing other kids, younger kids, being brought into the school with their parents. Back then, the dads had all been wearing cowboy hats. That was the type of town they lived in.

Classroom 3B. Bob released a breath as he stood in front of the door. This was it, Mason's first day of school. "You're gonna do great," he said again.

"I'm gonna do great."

Bob pushed open the door.

"Hi, can I help you?"

He looked towards the desk as he walked into the classroom with Mason behind him. Mason squeezed his hand and Bob squeezed back. "Hi, I'm Bob. I'm here with my son for his first day of school."

You put your glasses on the top of your head and stepped around your desk. "Oh, hi!" You called as you strode towards him. You fixed your skirt, smoothed it down, and gave him your name.

"This is Mason."

Mason Floyd. You had been told about his integration into your classroom a week ago. All the way from California. You didn't know much else about his situation, but you had him sitting beside one of your best students.

You crouched down in front of him, met the blue eyes of the little boy hiding behind his daddy's legs. "Hi, Mason," you said gently and gave him your name. You checked your watch. "You've got a little bit of time until class starts. Do you wanna hang out in here or do you wanna come and meet some of the other kids?"

Mason looked up at his Daddy. It was cute, their matching glasses, matching blue eyes. Mason had his daddy's cute nose, too. "Go on," Bob said gently and nodded his head towards you.

Mason looked back at you. "Can I stay here?" He asked in such a sweet, small voice.

"Of course you can, sweetheart," you replied and glanced up at his dad. But you quickly returned your gaze to Mason. "I'll show you where you can sit. Do you wanna read a book or do some colouring?"

Finally, Mason let go of his fathers hand. You stood up straight and offered him his own, taking him to sit at his new desk. "And here you've got a drawer where you can keep your pens and pencils," you began as Mason opened his bag.

He pulled everything out. A dinosaur themed pencil case, wipes for his glasses, an inhaler. You pulled out his drawer for him and Mason put all of his things inside. "Tell you what, I'll get you some colouring pencils and we can make a label for your desk!"

Mason let himself smile. "Yes please," he said politely.

Bob watched Mason as he settled in your seat. He let his eyes moved to you as you ran back towards the front of your classroom. Reaching into your bottom drawer, you grabbed a plain label sticker, cut it from its role, grabbed an already organised pencil pot and took them over to Mason.

You set him up and he began drawing. Colouring, writing his name boldly to show that the desk was his own.

As he did, you walked back to the front of the classroom. "He's gonna do great here," you said, folding your arms over your chest. "Have you got any concerns or anything you wanna talk about before the kids come in?"

Bob shook his head. "Just worried about him," he said, keeping his voice quiet.

"How did he get on in California?" You asked, glancing back towards Mason. He kicked his legs as he coloured, seeming perfectly content. Bob had no reason to worry, clearly.

"Things were different in California," Bob muttered, mostly to himself, and rubbed his hand over his face. "He's gonna like it here, I know it."

You leaned against your desk, both palms braced. "What made you move to Silver Ridge?" You asked with a smile, crossing your legs at the ankle.

Bob's smile was small, almost as if he was trying to hide it. "Uh, I'm actually from Montana," he answered. "Grew up here, before I joined the Navy."

"Navy, huh?" You asked. The smile still hadn't fallen from your face. "That's pretty cool! So, you like boats?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I'm a Navy pilot, a WSO."

Your brows furrowed, but you were still smiling. Before you could ask any questions, before you could ask what a WSO was, the bell rang. "Shoot," you said and pushed away from your desk. "Well, it was really nice to meet you, Mr Floyd. Maybe you could tell me what a WSO is when you come to pick Mason up."

You led him over to the classroom door. "I'd like that," Bob said as you pulled the door open for him. He turned on his feet and waved to Mason. "Bye, Mase!" He called.

Two seconds later, Mason was out of his chair. He ran towards his dad and threw his arms around him. "Love you, papa," he whispered, holding Bob there.

When the other children came into the classroom, Mason let go of Bob. He walked back into his seat, pulled his label from its backing, and stuck it to his desk drawer.

As you held the door open, you watched as Bob walked down the hall and out of the school. Cute, very cute, actually.

You couldn't wait for pickup time.

Taglist:

@ride-em-cowboy

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writtingrose · 1 month ago

Text

I wanna get a golden retriever with him 😩

The Wingman | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob never did this sort of thing. Talking to girls and flirting and romance. It's not that he didn't want to, he just didn't really know how. But you were different in all the right ways, and you made him feel confident enough to try.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst

Length: 5200 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader

Check my masterlist for more!

"I need your help," Jake said, forcefully removing the cup of peanuts from Bob's hand. "Right now. Come on."

"With what?" Bob asked quietly as Jake hauled him to his feet and started pushing him away from the pool table and toward the bar. Bob wiped peanut shells from his uniform as he went, perplexed about what was going on.

"See those two girls?" Jake asked, pointing to the end of the bar. "Kinda cute, right?"

Bob's jaw dropped open. Kinda cute didn't quite cover it. Gorgeous was more like it. He swallowed the last peanut he was chewing on and murmured, "Yeah. Very cute."

"Great. The one on the right has a perfect looking rack, and she seems kind of mean. She's for me. You can have the one on the left. She's sweet. Not my type," Jake said as they drew closer.

Bob was practically stumbling along now. "But why do you need me?"

"You're going to be my wingman."

"But.... we aren't flying?" Bob asked, so perplexed.

Jake sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Focus, Floyd. It means you can hang out with the friend for a bit so I can get laid. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Bob muttered, and then he was being thrust up right next to where you were standing. He had to catch the wall so he didn't slam into you, and then you looked up at him slowly as you released your straw from your lips and smiled.

"Hi." Your voice was breathy and soft, the perfect juxtaposition to the noisy bar. And you looked even more beautiful up close, something Bob would have thought impossible. "Are you Jake's friend?"

"Uh, yeah," he replied, swallowing hard as your bright smile took his breath away. "I'm Bob," he managed to say without sounding like a complete idiot.

And then you gave him your name, and something told him he was going to remember it for the rest of his life. "It's nice to meet you, Bobby."

He nodded, heart thudding. "Nice to meet you, too."

You called him Bobby, and he liked the way it sounded on your lips. But nothing compared to what you said next.

"I noticed you before," you said, looking down at your drink, suddenly shy. "Last weekend when we were here. And the weekend before that. I can't believe you're talking to me."

You had noticed him before? Bob couldn't formulate real words. You were surprised he was talking to you? But you were so far out of his league, it was ridiculous! He just watched your straw brushing against your lips as your gaze slowly moved up his chest and neck until your eyes met his again. You were just so pretty.

You cleared your throat and pressed your lips together. "Of course, if you don't feel like talking to me, you don't have to." And you quickly turned to face the bar, taking a few steps away from him. That's when Bob realized he'd been staring at you instead of talking to you at all.

"No, no, I do want to talk to you," he said, wondering if it was okay to touch you and decided to go for it as he reached out to let his fingers brush your arm. He said your name and you turned to look at him again, but you didn't come any closer. "Sorry, I-I just got distracted by how pretty you are."

You laughed, and that smile was back now. "You know, that usually sounds like a line when a guy says it, but for some reason I believe you, Bobby. I even told my friend Alli that you looked handsome and sweet at the same time." You gestured toward your friend who had her lips glued to Jake's, but Bob barely glanced in their direction.

"Nobody really calls me Bobby, but I like it when you do."

When you closed the distance between your bodies and ran your fingers along his collection of insignia pins, Bob let his left hand rest lightly on your waist, and you didn't stop him. He couldn't believe you were letting him touch you.

"What do you do in the navy?" you asked, meeting his eyes before examining his pins a little closer.

"I'm an aviator," he replied.

"You fly a jet?" you asked, eyes wide now. And this was what Bob hated more than anything; having to explain to someone that he was just a backseater.

"No, I'm a weapons systems officer, actually."

"Oh! So you're in charge of a pilot! Do you fly with Jake?"

Bob smiled at your simple and yet surprisingly accurate description of what a WSO did. "No, I fly with her," he replied, pointing across the bar where Phoenix was gaping at him with a pool cue in her hand.

You turned to look before turning back to him and saying, "That's so fascinating, Bobby."

"What do you do?" he asked, wrapping his hand a little further around your back and nearly gasping as he felt the swell of your butt. He let go of you like he'd been burned, but you reached for his hand and placed it right where it had been.

"I'm a kindergarten teacher."

Bob's mouth went dry. Phoenix told him all the time that he was destined to marry a sweet, pretty kindergarten teacher and have six kids and a golden retriever.

"Do you like kids, Bobby?" you asked, your fingers back on his pins.

"Yeah... six of them," he murmured.

"Hmm?"

"Oh. Nothing," he told you. "Yes, I like kids. Sometimes I volunteer to read at the library when they need military personnel for story time. Hey, how do you feel about golden retrievers?

"Your lips parted slightly as you looked at him, and Bob could feel his cheeks flushing with color as you leaned up. The way your eyes fluttered closed should have been enough warning for him, but nobody had ever done this to him before in the middle of the Hard Deck. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of girls he had ever kissed at all, anywhere.

But the soft touch of your lips to his was enough to have his right hand wrapping around you as well. And then everything felt perfect as he touched you while you kissed him.

The kiss didn't last long, but you kept your body pressed right up to his while you assured him that golden retrievers were your very favorite type of dog. Then you told Bob about your classroom and your school and the kids in your class. You told him how much you liked when they played movies in the park by your apartment. You told him that you always went with some of your friends to the food truck festivals. And you told him how much you liked his glasses.

"You really like them?" Nobody liked his glasses. Women frequently asked him if he ever wore contacts. He supposed that would make him a bit better looking, but he hated poking at his eyes when he needed to use them for work.

"Like is an understatement," you assured him with a smile. "You're so cute. Can I kiss you again?"

Bob nodded helplessly, already kind of pathetically in need of your attention. This kiss was a little more forceful, and Bob could feel your tongue touching his.

And then Alli threw her drink on Jake, and you gasped, backing out of Bob's arms. "Maybe I should go check on her," you said as your friend stormed toward the exit. But you didn't move.

"Well, Bob, your wingman duty is no longer needed," Jake drawled, wiping what appeared to be rum and coke from his face before he wandered away.

You groaned and tipped your head back before you met Bob's eyes. "Jake made you come over and talk to me, didn't he?"

You looked completely distraught, and Bob thought he might die if you left right now. He didn't even have your number, and he hadn't asked you out on a date yet. "Don't go," he begged, reaching for you as you set your empty glass on the bar. "Please. It took literally no persuading on Jake's part to get me to come over here. And you're so pretty, I would have been too scared to ever come over on my own."

You looked at him for a beat. "You seem sincere. Are you being sincere?"

"Of course," he swore, panicking inside. "I don't want you to leave. I'm hoping you'll give me your number and let me take you out tomorrow."

To Bob's relief, you pulled him over to the one empty bar stool and pushed him down to sit. Then you were on his lap, perched on his thigh, and he was handing you his phone. You saved your name and phone number and texted yourself so you could have his number too. "Where are you taking me tomorrow, Bobby?" you asked him.

"Anywhere you want," he promised. And you ran your fingers through his hair, teasing them along the back of his neck as you kissed him again. He wrapped his hand around your waist and pulled you a little closer. Then he felt you reach for his other hand, guiding it to your bare knees where his fingers skimmed the hem of your dress.

You were good at this. You knew what you were doing. But Bob wasn't good at romance, and he didn't have a lot of experience. But he knew he was already addicted to your kisses. And he should have understood what you meant as soon as you said it, but he really didn't.

"You could take me out for breakfast," you whispered as you kissed your way along his jaw and tasted his neck.

"Okay," he muttered. "I'd love to pick you up tomorrow morning. For breakfast."

He was just thankful you didn't laugh at him when you pulled back. Instead you were biting your lip and toying with his pins again as you said, "Or you could stay over. And then you wouldn't have to come pick me up. Because you'd already be there."

Bob knew he was hard in his khaki uniform pants, and the way your thigh was nudging him wasn't helping him process the fact that you just invited him to spend the night with you. He didn't know if he could do this. He'd never done this sort of thing before.

You were looking at him expectantly and a little apprehensively. He kissed you softly. "I don't usually go home with girls from the bar. I actually don't even usually talk to girls when I'm here. Or...anywhere, really." His face was flushed, collar too tight. He was uncomfortable now as you appraised him with your wide eyes.

"How is that possible? You're so smooth." Now Bob was the one with big eyes as you added, "I've never taken a guy home from the bar before, but you make me feel comfortable. And I think you're sweet. And I'm pretty sure we're going to date."

Bob nodded, so sure of it. "Yeah, we're going to date. And get a golden retriever."

Your smile right before you kissed the tip of his nose made him squeeze you tighter. "Then let's go," you whispered, wiggling out of his arms to stand up. Bob had to try to discreetly adjust himself as you dug into your purse, but he managed to get his wallet out in time to pay for your drink before you could. "Thanks, Bobby," you muttered, taking his hand in yours.

Bob watched the identical looks of shock on Jake's and Nat's faces as you looked up at him and lured him toward the door. He was going back to your place. He was going to take you out for breakfast. He was so excited. And so nervous.

As he helped you climb in his pick-up truck, you leaned down and kissed him softly, and he just knew you would never make fun of him for anything. Bob closed the door and walked around the truck, checking his phone which had been vibrating nonstop.

Hangman: I told you she was sweet.

Nat Trace: OMG BOB, have a great night! Text me tomorrow!

He climbed into the truck only to find that you had buckled yourself into the center of the bench seat right next to him. "Hi," you said with a laugh, and then you let your palm come to rest on his thigh as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Where do you live?" he asked softly, and you gave him directions while you touched him so gently that Bob felt some of his nervousness receding. He parked in front of your building, and you led him inside.

The elevator ride was filled with sweet kisses as you draped your arms around his neck. Either you could tell that he was out of his element and were being extra nice about it, or this was how you always liked to do things. Either way, he really, really liked it. Even the swipe of your tongue across his bottom lip as the elevator arrived at your floor wasn't too much for him now. When he nibbled gently on your lip, you moaned softly, and he pushed you back against the wall.

"Let's go," you panted, pulling him toward your door. Bob kissed the side of your neck as you fiddled with your key, but once you had him inside, things started going a little too fast for him.

You closed and locked the door, and then your fingers were on the zipper of his uniform pants, and your tongue was in his mouth. Bob let you slip your hand inside the waistband of his underwear, and then your hand was stroking him, and he was seeing stars behind his eyelids. It felt so good. He'd been touched like this before, but it had been months, and it had been with someone he was dating.

He liked you a lot, and he didn't want you to stop. But suddenly, when your hand stroked back up his already throbbing cock, he pulled away from your kisses. "Can we go a little slower?" he asked between raspy breaths.

You nodded with uncertainty at him and gently slid your hand out of his underwear. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "Guys usually like that."

"I do!" he insisted. "It's....just...maybe we can kiss more first?"

"Okay," you agreed. "How about on the couch?"

"Sure," Bob whispered. You pulled him further into your living room, fingers linked with his. When he settled back onto the sofa, you sat on his thigh, just like you had done on the barstool.

"Is this better?" you asked, your lips brushing against his while you ran your fingers through his hair. Your cheek was nudging his glasses, and honestly, he was just as aroused as he had been when your hand was stroking him.

"Yeah," he managed, and your mouth and his met in the best kisses he had ever felt. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but eventually you were straddling his hips, and his hands were wrapped around the backs of your bare thighs.

"That feels good, Bobby," you whined as he stroked his thumbs along your perfect, soft skin. Your lips found his neck, sucking and licking him, and he had to work hard to fight the urge to buck up against you. He could feel you occasionally rub yourself against the open zipper of his pants, and each time he was afraid he was going to finish before anything really began.

He didn't know what to do now. Was he supposed to ask you if you wanted to move to your bed? Was he supposed to tell you it was okay to touch him anywhere? Was he allowed to touch you anywhere?

When he eased his hands up along your butt only to determine that you weren't wearing any underwear at all, you kissed him hard. And then you slid from his lap so that you were kneeling on the floor between his spread thighs, and Bob watched you lick your lips. You reached for his pants and underwear and guided them down his legs while you smiled softly at him. When his hard cock was just inches from your lips, he got nervous again. But then your mouth was on him, and he had never in his whole life felt anything this amazing.

You kissed his tip before parting your lips and sliding your mouth around him. He grunted, hands fisted on his knees, veins bulging in his arms. You moaned softly as you wrapped one sure hand around the base of him, and he throbbed with need for you.

"You're really big," you whispered, pausing to kiss along his length, nudging him with your nose. He tipped his head back against the couch, praying that he wasn't going to embarrass himself after ten more seconds in your hand. When he felt your tongue lick his entire length from his balls back up to the tip, he snapped his head back to attention to watch you take the bead of his precum onto your tongue.

And then you smiled again as he gaped at you. "If you don't like it this way, that's okay. You can tell me what you like best," you whispered before turning your head slightly to kiss his left fist where it was balled up and shaking on his knee. "And you can touch me if you want to."

Bob swallowed hard and then immediately blurted out, "I've never had a blowjob before."

You stared up at him, brow creased in confusion, pretty lips pursed. He could feel his face flushing, he was probably bright red. You were still stroking your thumb along his penis as you cocked your head to one side.

"What do you mean? Never?" you asked softly.

He shook his head back and forth in short, jerky motions, and he was so embarrassed. He thought maybe he should just leave. He shouldn't have even come home with you. "Never."

Then your face relaxed a bit, and you kissed his tip one more time before climbing back onto his lap. Bob relaxed his fists and wrapped his arms around your waist as you sat with his hard cock at attention between the two of you. But you didn't look bothered by anything now as you asked, "How old are you, Bobby?"

He swallowed hard and met your eyes, "I'm almost thirty."

You nodded and kissed his nose. "Have you had sex before?" you asked softly, pressing your lips to his cheek.

"Yes," he replied, melting into the feel of your fingers and lips on him. "I've had two girlfriends."

"Okay," you told him, smiling before you kissed him. "So here's the deal, Bobby. I really like you. And I'd really like to give you a blowjob. If you want me to. And then I'd really like to take you to my bedroom, and I don't care if we just cuddle and talk, but I want you to stay with me all night. And then we can go out for breakfast. And then we can go out again after that if you think you like me as much as I like you."

This time Bob leaned forward to kiss you. "I'm nervous that I'm going to embarrass myself."

You laughed softly. "How do you think you're going to embarrass yourself?"

He let his gaze wander all over your face before he looked down at the couch cushion next to his thigh. "You know... I'm not going to last more than a minute."

Your soft sigh as you ran your fingers along his penis had his gaze snapping back to yours. "Oh, Bobby. I don't care about that." Then you bit your lip for a beat before you added, "It's kind of flattering, getting to do this for you. If you want me to. And if you cum really fast...well, we can try it again later. But that would be flattering, too."

He nodded his head, and you leaned in to kiss his cheek as he said, "Okay."

And then you were kneeling between his legs again, and he ran his fingers along your cheek while you stroked him with your hand a few times. "Ready?"

Your mouth was warm and wet, and Bob was treated to the feel of your tongue swirling along his length. It was the best thing he'd ever felt. Until you sucked on him. "Oh my god," he gasped, watching your pretty eyes as you looked at him. When you started to move your mouth up and down his cock, he laughed softly. "You're amazing."

You moaned while he was deep in your mouth, touching your throat, and he could feel his entire body start to tighten up. He wanted to panic, but then you bobbed along slowly, and he could only feel pleasure as he wrapped his fingers around the back of your head. And with one more swipe of your tongue, he was ejaculating right into your mouth.

He couldn't formulate words as he grunted and watched you suck on him and swallow his cum. When he touched your throat as you swallowed him down, he groaned softly.

"Was that okay?" you asked before licking up a little more cum that dripped out like it was a treat for you. Your hand was still wrapped around him, and you were treating him like a lollipop now, and he already wanted you to give him another blowjob.

"Yes," he managed to say, feeling quite boneless on your couch as you giggled.

"I liked it, too," you assured him. "Let's go to my bedroom." You pulled him to his feet, and somehow his brain recovered the knowledge of the mechanics of how to walk. He pulled his underwear and pants up as you led him along. He barely had a chance to look around your room before your hands were gently undoing his shirt buttons. And then you undressed him down to his white briefs, running your warm hands along his biceps and shoulders with a look of awe on your face.

Bob wouldn't say he was self conscious exactly; his body was strong, and it did everything he needed it to, because he took care of himself. But he wasn't as handsome as Hangman and Coyote, and he wasn't as muscular as Payback and Rooster. But you didn't seem to have an issue with anything you saw as you folded up his uniform and then pressed a kiss to the center of his chest.

When he reached for your dress, you bit your lip and immediately said, "My body isn't perfect like yours."

"Perfect?" he mumbled. You thought he looked perfect? That was impossible. You were so close to perfection, he still couldn't believe you'd even talked to him at the Hard Deck in the first place. And with each additional time he looked at your face, he was certain you just got prettier.

"Yeah," you told him as you ran your fingers down his flat abs and then along the waistband of his underwear. "Perfect."

But you looked up at him and reached for the hem of your dress before you pulled it up your body and over your head, dropping it on top of his uniform and kind of shrugging. You were completely naked now, and Bob hadn't been prepared. At all. He started stuttering at the same time his cock started getting hard again.

"I th-think... wow." He took a deep breath and started over again. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

"So smooth," you whispered. And then Bobby was in your bed as you reassured him that it was okay to just snuggle with you under the warm blanket. So he pulled you against the front of his body, and he was the big spoon as you kissed his hand.

He was sure you must have been able to feel the press of his erection against your back, but you didn't say anything about it. Instead you asked him all about himself, and you told him stories, too. And after a while, Bob's hands grew a little bolder, drifting over the soft skin of your belly and hips until it sounded like you were begging for him. Soft little moans filled the space while you whispered his name. He wasn't sure what to do next, but you rolled over to face him and started to kiss him.

Yeah, this was really good. He liked this immensely. He liked the way your hands on his bare skin made him feel safe and grounded. He liked how you were going slowly again, because when you finally reached down toward his cock, he was ready for it.

"Wait," he whispered, pushing you gently onto your back. "May I do to you what you did to me earlier?"

"Yes," you whispered, slowly spreading your thighs apart as Bob nodded. He'd done this a few times before. He'd liked it in the past. But when he put his lips on your slick slit, he moaned in pleasure which made you moan as well. He liked the way you tasted and smelled, and when he licked your opening, you were already gathering the sheets in your fists.

That seemed like a good sign, so he just kept going. At each encouraging sound or gasped word from you, he went harder and faster. Soon you were loud. Like very loud. You were propped up on one elbow watching him. And you had one leg draped over his shoulder, heel digging into his back as you whined, "Bobby! You've done this before!" You were rolling your hips up against his face, nudging his glasses.

When he slowed his movements to reach up and removed them, you gasped. "Don't you dare! You leave your glasses on!" Your eyes were flashing with need, and Bob did exactly as he was told.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered with a smile as he returned his mouth to your pussy. He licked and sucked until you were yanking on his hair and riding his face, and then you came with your back arched, whining his name so loudly, he thought your neighbors could probably hear.

"Bobby!" you gasped before collapsing back on your pillow. And just when he thought things couldn't possibly get any better, you took his hands in yours and ran them along your breasts. "Kiss me," you demanded, and so he did. You licked his lips clean while he squeezed your breasts, and soon he was tasting you there as well.

You were alternating between pulling him up to kiss your lips and pushing him down to kiss your breasts, and really there was no bad option for Bob. He could probably do this all night if that's what you wanted. But you seemed to want more, because you rolled him onto his back and pulled his underwear off in one swift motion.

"I'm going to go ahead and guess that you don't have any condoms with you?" you asked softly, kissing his bent knee.

He shook his head, but at least he was pretty sure he wasn't blushing any longer. "No. Sorry."

"I have some," you reassured him. "But... I don't know if they're big enough." You scooted off of the bed and walked out of the room, and Bob got a little apprehensive. He didn't know his size could potentially be an issue? He didn't even know he would be considered big.

But when you walked in a minute later, tearing open a small box with a smile on your face, he felt better. Bob tried to roll on a condom, but it broke immediately. "It's okay," you said with a laugh, trying a second one which also broke.

"I'm sorry," he whispered with a laugh. But you managed to get the third one on him successfully.

"I'm on the pill anyway," you told him. "You know, in case this one breaks, too."

"Alright," he whispered against your lips as you straddled him and guided your pussy down around him, inch by inch. You kissed his lips and cheeks and neck, running your fingers through his hair as you set a slow, steady pace.

But Bob was almost immediately stammering and blushing. "It feels too good," he told you, but you silenced him with your kisses and went a little harder. You felt so tight, so perfect, and you were letting him touch you everywhere. Your breasts were soft, and you were arching your back, pressing yourself into his hands.

"You feel good too, Bobby," you promised him, grunting softly as you rode him. He let his hands slide slowly down your sides until they were on your hips, and that was a mistake. Because he could feel the motion of your body taking his. He could feel the roll of your hips against his palms.

"It's too good," he groaned, and then he was coming inside you. "Sorry," he whispered, panting against your shoulder as his pleasure washed over him.

"Don't apologize for anything," you told him, riding him with slower movements until he was breathing like normal.

"I just want to be better for you," he promised, and when you adjusted his glasses for him, he smiled.

"We have all night."

Bob frowned at you. "Can we have longer than that?"

You looked down at him with parted lips. "If you still want to?"

"I thought we agreed we were going to date," he said. "Breakfast is one thing, but I thought we could do all kinds of stuff together. Hang out and maybe I could be your boyfriend after a week or two."

Without another word, you kissed him. And you didn't stop kissing him. And late night turned into early morning, and there were a few more experiments with the condoms. And a few without.

And instead of ever making it to breakfast, Bob ended up treating you to lunch instead. He wore his wrinkled, day old uniform that you insisted looked adorable on him while he sat with his arm around you. And then he took you to see his place, which consisted of lots of snuggling and another blowjob.

"My friends are asking if I'm going to the bar again tonight," he told you, running his fingers along your arm as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"Do you want to go?" you asked, pressing your lips to his neck.

"Only if you come with me."

And when Bob strolled into the Hard Deck again on Saturday night with your arms wrapped around his waist and your voice in his ear, he just smiled at the looks he was getting. It didn't matter if he thought he was as handsome as Hangman or as strong as Payback, because you kept assuring him that you thought he was.

You spent another evening touching and kissing him, perched on his leg and laughing. And he made plans with you for the following day and the following weekend and the one after that. He wouldn't be surprised if he was making plans with you every day for the rest of his life. And he would let you name the golden retriever.

----------------

I wonder what the dog's name will be. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

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#bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd fic #robert floyd fic #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction

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writtingrose · 1 month ago

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I ache for this man 😩😩🥺

Stiff Competition | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: After visiting your bakery one time, Bob has a crush on you. The only problem is, so do all of the other guys.

Warnings: Fluff and some swears

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader

Check my profile for my masterlist

Bob quietly followed his friends inside the trendy, new bakery that opened near base. He had become so accustomed to the bickering between Hangman and Rooster, he found it almost soothing, even early on a Monday morning.

"No way," Bradley said, shaking his head at Jake. "You're wrong, and now you're just being stubborn."

Jake sighed calmly. "I'm just saying, there's no way anyone, Fred included, would pick Velma over Daphne. It's unrealistic."

Bradley grunted in response. "Whatever. Smart girls are always hot."

Bob just cradled his forehead in his hand and let the rich smell of fresh coffee and baked goods wash over his senses. All three men in their khaki uniforms shuffled forward as the line moved.

"Holy shit," Bradley and Jake muttered softly and in perfect unison.

"Do you see what I see?" Bradley asked, staring entranced at the sight before him.

"Oh hell yes, I do," Jake confirmed with a nod.

Bob immediately looked in the direction they were staring, and his breath caught in his throat. All three of them were now eyeing you up where you stood behind the counter. You were smiling at one of the patrons and filling a pastry box with donuts.

"She's kinda hot," Bradley whispered.

"Better than that. She's fucking gorgeous," Jake replied.

Bob silently agreed with them, noting the adorable smudge of flour on your cheek. He had always been a little shy, a little timid around women. And he was not about to get into a dick measuring contest with Bradley and Jake. He would just let the two of them fight it out, because Bob was never the one to get the stunning girl.

When it was their turn to order, Bob watched the other two men trip over each other to get to the counter first. You smiled at each of them in turn, your gaze lingering on Bob and making him blush.

"Hi! What can I get for you fellas?" you asked the three of them, and Bob completely forgot what he was going to order.

"Hey, gorgeous. What would you recommend?" Bradley asked in a deep and raspy voice as he leaned against the counter and peered at you over his aviators.

You chuckled and shook your head. "I would recommend the citrus muffin with orange zest."

"Perfect, I'll get six of those," he said, his smile twitching below his mustache. "I'm Bradley, by the way."

"And I'm Jake! And I'll get a dozen muffins." Bob watched Jake flash you a megawatt smile, and he wished he could be half as charming.

"A dozen muffins?" you asked Jake. Your eyes skimmed back over Bob's face with an amused glint in your eye.

"Actually, I'll take two dozen," Bradley said, changing his order and glaring at Jake.

"So you want a total of three dozen muffins?" you asked before turning toward the bakery case. "Okay.... seems excessive," you muttered.

Bob watched you intently as you packed up bakery boxes of muffins and entered them into the register. You must have known what was going on here, but you just smiled at the three of them as you worked.

"Anything for you?" you asked, flashing Bob a smile that made him feel a little nervous. "You're awfully quiet back there."

"Uh, just a small coffee, please," he muttered, getting out his wallet and trying to stay cool.

"One hundred and twenty eight dollars is your total," you announced, and Jake and Bradley both tried to get you to take their credit cards at the same time.

"I've got it, I insist," Bradley said.

"Use my platinum card," Jake announced loudly.

"Use mine. His will definitely be declined," Bradley replied, trying to nudge Jake out of the way.

You carefully took one in each hand and said, "Um... I'm just going to split it between both cards. How does that sound?"

When the enormous quantity of muffins had been collected, and you handed Bob his coffee, he forced himself to meet your eyes. "Thank you, miss," he said softly, as your fingers grazed against his. "You have a lovely day."

Bob watched you bite your lip as he tucked five dollars into the tip jar and nodded his head at you.

"Thanks. See you soon, I hope," you called as he turned to leave. Bob glanced back one last time as he exited the bakery, and you were still looking at him.

------------------------------

On Tuesday at lunchtime, Bob was about to eat the sandwich he had packed, but Jake suggested going back to the bakery.

"I hope she's working again today," Bradley said, grabbing his car keys.

Jake nodded enthusiastically. "Hot little piece like that, she's gotta have a boyfriend."

Bradley snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time I've stolen a girl from another guy."

"What makes you think she'd pick you when I'm available?" Jake asked.

Bob just tuned them out until they all arrived at the bakery. He was hoping to see you again too, but he just wanted to listen to your voice and watch you smile. He'd let the other two do most of the talking. They were good at that sort of thing.

"Gorgeous," Bradley called you. "How've you been?"

"Fine," you replied, once again smiling at the three of them. "What can I get for you today? Another coffee for you?" you asked Bob, and he just nodded in reply. He didn't need more caffeine today, but he wanted you to hand him the cup again. He'd just give it to Phoenix when he got back on base.

Bob listened to the other two men once again order more pastries than anyone could ever need, and this time Jake pulled a massive wad of cash out of his wallet and insisted on paying for everything. Bradley had a sour look on his face that he tried to hide when you smiled at him and handed him two bags of food.

Then he stood to his full height, chest puffed out. "Thanks, gorgeous," Bradley said, sliding his aviators back into place. Bob watched Jake try to stand as tall as Bradley, failing and looking ridiculous in the process. Bob just closed in on himself a little more, trying to blend his tall frame into the background.

"And your coffee," you said, handing the disposable cup to Bob with another beautiful smile. His hand shook when he accepted the cup, and a little bit of the beverage sloshed down the sleeve of his flight suit and splashed onto the counter.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Bob muttered, setting down the cup and reaching for the napkins.

"No, it was my fault," you assured him. "I'll clean it up, you don't have to."

"Bob!" Jake called from the doorway. "What's the holdup, man? You coming?"

"Uh, I'll meet you at the car," he replied, mopping up the drink and drying his sleeve.

"Your name's Bob?" you asked him softly.

He glanced up to meet your warm gaze and nodded once. "Yes. I'm Lieutenant Robert Floyd, but everyone calls me Bob," he said quietly.

You smiled and told him your name. "Here you go, Bob. These are on the house. Sorry I spilled your coffee."

Bob took a small paper bag from you and picked up his coffee cup once more. "Oh, that's not necessary. It was my fault."

"I insist," you told him. "See you again soon?"

He looked down at his feet and smiled. "Yes. See you again soon."

"I can't wait."

---------------------------------

On Friday morning, Bob was a nervous wreck. He'd been thinking about you all week, but he knew the other guys had been, too. They had been talking about you a lot, but Bob was too shy to tell them he was also interested in you.

He'd given the coffee to Phoenix the other day, but he smiled when he opened the bag and found a croissant. His favorite. It seemed like you knew. And it was flaky and perfect, and he couldn't wait to see you again and get another one.

"Bakery time!" Bradley announced. "Time to visit the hottie. You coming, Bob?"

Bob fell into step behind him and Jake, but then Reuben and Javy were joining as well. "Everyone's coming today?" Bob asked, squeezing into Reuben's car along with the other four.

"Yeah, can't wait to see this girl," Javy said.

"Heard she's sexy," Reuben agreed.

Bob just stared out the window and sighed. He was just going to have to get over his crush on you. It was the only way to keep his heart from breaking. He wouldn't look at you, and he wouldn't talk to you. And he definitely wouldn't eat another croissant.

He shuffled into the bakery behind the others, and there you were. He tried to look at all of the baked goods in the case, but you greeted him by name. You greeted only him by name.

"Hi," he managed, and the other four guys turned to glare at him.

"Gorgeous, what would you recommend today?" Bradley asked you.

"Blueberry muffins are good today," you replied, and you started packing up a box full at Javy's request.

"So, how long have you been working here?" Reuben asked, leaning so far across the counter, he may as well have just jumped over.

"I'm the owner and primary baker," you told them, and Bob was so impressed.

"Wow, gorgeous. Your muffins are really famous around here. We can't stop coming back for more," Bradley said, smirking at you. But you were looking at Bob again as he inched forward.

"Did you make the croissant? It was very good," he told you, unable to look away.

You beamed at him. "I did. They're my specialty."

Bob swallowed hard, all four guys looking at him in surprise now. "Could... uh, could I have another one? I'll pay for it this time though, if you don't mind. It was delicious."

"Of course, Bob. Anything you want." You turned to get a bag ready, and Bob thought he might faint.

Jake turned and mouthed at him, "Anything you want?"

Bob just shrugged and made his way toward the register. He was pouring sweat in his flight suit, trying to stay as calm as possible. You met him at the other end of the counter and smiled as you slid a bag and a small coffee his way.

"Three dollars," you told him softly, as if you could tell he was nervous, but you didn't seem to mind.

"What about the coffee?" he asked as he adjusted his glasses.

"On the house."

Bob quickly paid you for the croissant, as he could already hear Jake and the others getting restless.

Jake leaned across the counter as you ran his credit card. "You interested in pilots?" he asked with a smirk.

You just swiped the card and handed it back to him. "You're all pilots?" you asked, smiling at all of them.

"Nah, Bob here is just a backseater," Reuben said loudly, slapping Bob on the back and nearly spilling his coffee.

"Oh, so Bob's the brains of the operation? Sounds about right," you said, sending a subtle wink in his direction.

Bob's ears felt a little fuzzy and his collar felt a little too tight. Maybe he had imagined the wink. Yes, that must be it.

The guys all hooted, and Jake said, "Well sure, Bob's smart and organized, but that's not as exciting."

You just shrugged. "Still sounds exciting to me. Hope you guys all have a safe flight this afternoon. Enjoy your croissant, Bob."

He floated out onto the sidewalk with the others, still in a daze.

"What the fuck, guys? She likes Bob the best?" Javy said in disbelief as they all walked back to the car. "Hangman and Rooster, you two really dropped the ball."

"Does she?" Bob asked quietly. "She likes me?"

Reuben shoved half a muffin into his mouth and grinned. "You should ask her out, man."

Bob thought about asking you out the whole drive back to base and as he walked to meet up with Phoenix. When he finally opened the bag to eat his croissant, he saw that you had put three inside.

--------------------------

Late Saturday morning, Bob paced around outside of the bakery with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He'd peeked in through the window and saw that you and another girl were working, but he'd lost his nerve. He was on the verge of heading back to his car and calling it a day when the door opened, and he could smell the croissants.

"You can do it," he told himself and rushed inside before he could turn around.

"Bob!" you called with a bright smile. "Back for more croissants?"

He took a deep breath and headed toward you. He noticed you were looking at the flowers in his hand, but you didn't say anything or rush him to respond, which he appreciated. You just smiled and leaned on the counter.

"Yes, I would like another croissant," he muttered, and you pushed up from the counter to get it for him. "Actually, I would like two. But you need to let me pay for both of them today."

"Okay. Sure, Bob," you said with the tiniest smile as you put two into a bag. But now you didn't look as happy, and he wanted to kick himself. How had he messed this up already?

He met you at the register, and you asked him, "So, are the flowers for your wife? Or your girlfriend?"

"Oh, neither," he said, lifting them a little higher. "I don't have either of those."

You looked up at him and bit your lip. "Who's the extra croissant for?"

Bob watched your lips as you waited for him to answer. He was sweating, but he was in too deep to turn back now. "I, um... thought maybe we could eat them together. When you're done working. If you're not too busy."

Your smile lit up your face again. "I would like that."

Bob's smile matched your own. "You would?"

"Yeah," you told him with a nod. "You're so sweet. Much better than your friends. Are those flowers for me?"

Bob looked at the floor as he felt himself blushing. "Oh, yeah," he said, handing them to you. "Of course they are."

He watched you disappear into the kitchen for a minute, only to reappear without the flowers or your apron. Then you joined him on his side of the counter. Without any hesitation, you placed one hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

"Let's go for a walk," you told him, and Bob's heart was absolutely pounding for you. "I know a nice bench, perfect for eating croissants."

Bob felt you lace your fingers through his, and he held your hand in his larger one. "Lead the way."

-----------------------

This fic is for my Bobby loving friend Alex!!! @bradshawsbitch

Thanks to Alli @beyondthesefourwalls for giving this a read for me.

I hope I have done our Loverboy Bob justice!

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#robert floyd x reader #top gun fanfiction #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #bob top gun

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writtingrose · 2 months ago

Text

This is fucking perfect. I felt like I was reading a full fledge novel and loved it.

bite the hand | bob floyd

description: in which a benevolent alpha and a wounded omega are brought together in a painful twist of fate

*listen to the playlist here

pairing: werewolf!bob x werewolf!reader

w/c: 20,310 (i am so sorry)

warnings: 18+ only, angst with a positive ending, blood and injury, mentions of death, depictions of grief, attempted murder, blood and gore, violence, smut, werewolf mating ritual, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, knotting, i'm probably forgetting some things

notes: this story has been over a year in the making. it is fully inspired by different conversations and an ask sent by @withahappyrefrain! this story is dedicated to you abby, the werewolf bob fic wouldn't be what it is without you!

wanna be added to my taglist? go here

You had never felt such terror in your life.

Rushing through your veins like ice water, fraying your nerves. Your fear was what pushed you to run, bare feet pounding against the forest floor, plants and branches lashing at your exposed skin, like slithering snakes trying to wrap around your limbs.

Your lungs burned with the labor of your breaths, slicing through you as if you’d inhaled shards of glass. But you ignored the pain, wild eyes searching your surroundings, desperate to find a place of solace.

You were almost there. Sanctuary was close, but you were so fatigued from running that you feared you might collapse before you found it. And to be out here alone and injured meant certain death. Even so, you pressed on, animal instincts taking over, allowing you to zip through the woods in the dark, based on memory alone.

You leapt over obstacles, throwing yourself forward, suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of relief when you saw lights in the distance. Hope.

But as you lurched onward, you failed to see the slope of the earth until it was too late. The ground gave way beneath your feet, and you were free-falling, crying out in shock as your body tumbled down a steep hill. Down, down, down, until you came crashing to a jarring halt at the bottom. Battered. Covered in dirt. But alive.

And then you heard frantic voices. Shouting. The shuffling of feet. But you were not frightened. These voices did not belong to the enemy. They belonged to your saviors. When a light shone upon you, you held your hands out, palms facing outward, assuring them you meant no harm.

A woman’s voice cut through the air. “Oh my god,” she breathed. Then, desperately; “Get Bob! Hurry!”

She knelt in front of you, her face coming into your line of sight, illuminated by the harsh beam of a flashlight. Deep brown eyes swept over your trembling form. Recognition slackened her expression. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” she assured you, voice trembling. She looked frightened. Shocked.

Another voice rang through the night. One you knew so well. The moment you heard it, tears sprang to your eyes. He was here. Bobby had come to your aid. Everything was going to be okay.

He could smell you before he saw you. A familiar scent that hit him like a ton of bricks, stealing his breath away. His gait faltered momentarily, legs going slightly numb as he processed it. The scent was clouded by the sour smell of distress. It made his nose twitch and his mouth curl into a slight grimace. As he walked toward the pack, they parted to reveal you in the midst of them, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

He swayed slightly, as he took in the sight of you. You looked like you had been through hell. Old, unhealed slashes marred your skin. Your clothes were torn and dirty. Your eyes were filled with such sadness and fear that it made him physically ache.

“Natasha, what happened?” Bob heard himself ask, but his voice sounded disembodied, as if it was coming from somewhere else. His legs carried him toward you, as you tried to pull yourself upright. But you were too weak to do so. He was struck with a feeling so overwhelming, he knees almost buckled.

“She…she just came crashing down the hill,” Natasha informed him, her own voice trembling. She’d been on lookout duty when you arrived. So had Jake and Bradley.

Bob nodded, brow furrowing as he looked upon you. You turned your head, and your eyes locked with his. He gasped softly as you suddenly whimpered, irises flashing bright yellow, mouth parting as your fangs elongated.

You were struck with something so powerful in his presence. His scent, his demeanor. He was the alpha of this pack. A fact you had already been aware of. But it still hit you like a monstrous wave, and before you realized what was happening, you were bowed low upon the ground, right at his feet.

A display of submission.

But Bob found himself lowering to his knees, falling before you, his large hands coming up to so gently cradle your face. “Who did this to you?” He whispered, breathing ragged. Labored. He had a feeling who the culprit was. Who had put their hands on you with intent to harm you. There was a fresh, partially healed scar on the side of your neck. Surely put there by the claws of an angry wolf.

But you couldn’t speak. You simply whimpered, grabbing at his arms, silently begging him to grant you refuge within the confines of his pack. He would never turn you away.

Knowing he wasn’t going to get any answers out of you in this state, he looked up at Natasha. “Go get Penny,” he told her. She nodded somberly before she turned on her heel, moving quickly into the compound, seeking out Penny Benjamin, the pack healer.

Then Bob looked to the rest of the pack members gathered around him. Jake, Bradley, Mickey, Javy, Reuben, Pete. Awaiting the instructions of their alpha.

“Mickey, go ahead of me, make sure the house is ready. I’ll put her in my room.” With a nod, the dark haired beta turned, headed into the compound to do exactly as Bob had said.

Bob looked at the five other wolves. “Pete, stay here and watch the perimeter. The rest of you, sweep the woods. Make sure she wasn’t followed. Once I know more details, I’ll call a pack meeting and fill everyone in.”

“What if we find someone out there?” Bradley asked, face hard set.

“Bring ‘em back to the compound so we can get to the bottom of this.”

“And if they put up a fight?” Jake spoke up.

Bob squared his shoulders. “Do what you must to protect the pack.” His word was final. It left no room for debate. Threats to his family were dealt with very swiftly.

With that, the group headed off into the woods, and the young alpha let out a shuddering breath, turning toward you, still crumpled on the ground. His heart ached within his chest, heavy with sorrow as he gazed at you.

“What happened to you, little pup?” He asked, more to himself than you, as you were in no state to answer, barely conscious. He scooped you up in his arms, supernatural strength allowing him to carry you with ease. Immediately, you curled into him, face buried against the side of his neck, just over his scent gland, breathing in deep.

All the fight had left your body. But you didn’t need to struggle anymore.

“I’ve got you,” Bobby whispered, lips ghosting over your forehead. “I’m here, you’re safe now.”

With you cradled against his chest, he rushed into the compound, which was a small, gated neighborhood made up of well-built, modern cabins. Shielded from the outside world. Bob’s house was directly in the middle of the compound, and he reached it in minutes, where he found Natasha and Penny already waiting on his doorstep.

“How bad is it?” Penny asked.

“Can’t tell, but she needs help. Now,” he breathlessly replied as he carried you up the porch steps. Nat opened the door for him to hurry through, and he carried you up the open staircase and down the hall, where Mickey had already turned on the bedroom light and made sure the bed covers were turned down.

Bob ducked into the room and very carefully lowered you into his bed. Even in your delirious state, you could smell him on the sheets, and you curled up against the mattress, burying your face against the pillows and inhaling deeply.

He looked at Mickey. “I sent everyone else out to patrol the woods and see if she was followed. I want you at the gate with Pete. If they bring anyone back with them, come get me.”

“On it,” Mickey responded, already turning to head out the door, sidestepping Nat and Penny on his way out.

The two came into the room, Nat closing the door behind her. She looked at Bob. “Do you want me out there on the perimeter with them?”

But he shook his head. “Better if you stay here, I think she’d probably feel more comfortable with you in the room.”

Once upon a time, you and Natasha had been very close. Bob assumed her presence would calm you.

It had been two years since any of them had seen you last. Your packs had been friendly with each other, a long time ago. In fact, your families had planned to strike an alliance with Bob’s, joining together as one. But when a new alpha came into power, that hope was quickly dashed.

Your alpha took you away, and Bob thought he would never see you again. Yet here you were, having just stumbled back into his life, bloody and bruised and terrified out of your mind. Bob was not one to act rashly, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that your alpha was responsible for your state. And he determined right then and there that he would not let him get away with laying hands on you. Bob would make sure he could never harm anyone ever again.

He could not imagine harming any of his betas. Each and every wolf under him was family. Not by blood, but by a supernatural bond. They had all pledged their undying loyalty to Bob. And he took that loyalty very seriously. He would never abuse his power. To be their alpha was his greatest privilege.

They would be looking to him now, in this situation. Wanting to know how he was going to handle things. That was to be determined. First, he needed to speak to you, and get some answers. If you were even up for giving him any. He would not push you to talk if you weren’t ready.

Bob took a seat on the edge of the bed, reaching out slowly, placing his hand upon your shoulder. “Can you hear me, pup?” He couldn’t help but use the nickname. It was what he’d always called you, and although time had passed since you’d seen each other, the name rolled off his tongue with ease, as if you hadn’t been apart at all.

You stirred slightly, letting out a soft whimper. He took that as confirmation that you could hear him. “I asked Penny to take a look at you, and make sure you’re okay. If you want to stop at any time, just say the word, and it’s over, alright?”

You managed to open your eyes, though heavy as they were, vision slightly blurred. But you could see Bob’s kind face, and it put you at ease.

“A-alright,” you croaked. You would do whatever he asked, because you trusted him.

“Natasha’s here too,” he continued, “thought you might want that.”

Your gaze flitted to where she stood at the foot of the bed, and you attempted a smile. If you’d been more lucid, you would have seen the unshed tears shining in her eyes. It broke her heart to see you this way.

Then Penny was moving to sit in the space that Bob no longer occupied, speaking gently to you. “Hi there,” she began, “it’s good to see you again. I wish it was under better circumstances. I want you to know that I’ll do whatever I can to help you, okay?”

She held a medical bag in her hand, which she set on the nightstand beside the bed. Here, in better light, your injuries were easier to see. An array of slowly healing cuts and scratches marred your skin. Werewolves had the ability to heal from injuries, but the process often slowed when severe trauma was inflicted.

Bob and Natasha hovered while Penny examined you. Her touch was gentle, and she verbalized what she was doing before she did it, that way you were aware of her every move. She put a healing salve on the cuts that littered your arms, and then it came time to address the claw marks on your neck.

Up until that point, you had been completely fine, resting comfortably on the bed while Penny did her job. But when she gingerly touched the wound on your neck, you were struck with a visceral reaction.

A vivid, painful memory flashed through your head. And you were frightened. No, that wasn’t a strong enough descriptor. You were terrified. The seething voice of an angry alpha filled your ears, his frame hulking over you. The injured beta, unable to defend yourself.

His claws were at your neck, piercing your flesh. And his voice, venomous and cruel, spoke your name as he said, “I denounce you as my mate.”

And though Penny meant you no harm, her fingers touching your neck took you back to that horrific moment, and you screamed. Limbs thrashing. Jerking away from her. Trying to escape.

No more, no more, no more.

Bobby was there in an instant, throwing himself onto the bed, strong arms wrapping around your upper body, his heart pounding in his chest as he fought to keep you from hurting yourself or anyone else. You had begun to shift, claws sharp, tearing at the sheets. Canines elongating. Eyes flashing bright yellow.

“I’ve got you! You’re safe! No one can hurt you!” He called out, securing you against his body, even as you fought against his hold, growling. He had no choice but to wrestle you onto your back, pinning your arms down. His eyes flashed ruby red, and he spoke in a deep, rumbling growl.

“Enough.”

A tone only alphas possessed.

Instantly, you went limp beneath him, and your eyes cleared, as if you had only just realized what you were doing. Your face crumpled, eyes filling with tears. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please don’t be angry!”

Bob realized that you could smell his rage, so he took a deep breath, steadying himself. He wasn’t angry at you. He was angry at the wolf who had done this to you. “I’m not angry.” Voice calm, soothing. “Not at you.”

As he released you, you surged into his arms, hiding your face against his chest. Seeking him out for comfort, which showed him that you were not afraid of him. He glanced at Penny, who had moved from the bed to give you space. Holding up his hand, he silently told her to wait. He had an idea.

“Look at me.” He guided your face away from his chest, so that he could make eye contact. “The claw marks on your neck…they need to be cleaned and bandaged, so they can heal. Would you rather I put the bandage on you?”

You sniffled softly, nodding your head. Although you knew Penny would not hurt you, Bobby was the only one you felt genuinely safe with. Upon your confirmation, he motioned to Penny. “Hand me everything I need, I’ll take care of her,” he said.

Searching through her bag, she retrieved disinfectant, bandages, and healing salve. “Make sure the area is completely dry before you put the salve on,” she spoke up, and Bob hummed in acknowledgment of her instructions.

“Alright, c’mere,” he told you. Everything else faded into the background as he turned his focus to you. He hardly even registered Natasha and Penny quietly taking their leave from the room, deciding it best that you have this vulnerable moment alone with Bobby.

He guided you to lay on your side, exposing your neck to him. Now that he was able to take a closer look, he could see the extent of the damage. These weren’t just cuts. They were slashes. Deep ones. He found his hands trembling as he so tenderly tilted your head to give him full access to the injury.

He had so many questions. He wanted to know how and why you’d sustained these slashes. But first, he tended to you. Keeping his movements slow and predictable, so as not to spook you. “Deep breaths for me,” he whispered as he moved to disinfect the wound. His heart lurched at your pained whine.

You shook with the effort it took to keep still. To not go back to that terrible flashback you’d been plagued with when Penny had initially attempted to care for you. Your eyes squeezed shut. Your hands gripped the tattered sheets.

“I know it hurts. I’m almost done. Just hold on a little longer for me, pup.” He could barely stomach the pitiful sounds you made. Wanting your suffering to be as minimal as possible, he worked as quickly as he could, and soon, your neck was all bandaged, and it was over.

“Alright, it’s done.” As soon as he spoke those words, you found yourself seeking him out, grabbing at his shirt. He was the only solace you had, after all you had suffered. It was no wonder you found yourself curling into him.

Bob let you have your moment of comfort, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. He did not ask you the questions he wanted to ask. You were in no state to be interrogated. You were too weak. Too frail. You needed to rest.

So he simply held you, and if only for a moment, you could both pretend that no time had passed between you. You were back in a place where there was harmony between your families, and the hope that the two of you would enter into a mate bond, officially uniting your packs. Before it was all stolen away. Before you were stolen away.

But now that you were back in his life, he wasn’t going to let you go again. “You don’t ever have to go back there again,” he whispered against your forehead. A promise.

If you heard him, you made no indication of it. You were so exhausted that you found yourself drifting right to sleep in Bobby’s arms. It was the first time you’d found rest in days. He would let you sleep.

As much as he wanted to remain there with you, he had other business to attend to with the rest of the pack. The group he’d sent out to search the woods would soon return. He needed to know if they’d found anything.

So, reluctantly, he lowered you down into his bed, and pulled the covers over you, tucking you in with the tenderest brush of his lips against your temple before he slipped away, hoping you would remain blissfully asleep and not awaken in a panic when you realized he was gone.

Silently, he crept out of the room, turning the light off as he went before he stepped into the hall and shut the door softly behind him. Then he made his way downstairs, where he found Penny and Nat in the kitchen, the latter putting on a pot of coffee to brew.

He felt the intensity of Penny’s green-eyed gaze upon him, and he looked at her. She stood at the kitchen table, her hands clutching the back of one of the chairs.

“Were you able to bandage her neck?” She asked.

Bob nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. “Poor thing’s exhausted. She’s asleep now, hopefully she stays that way for a while.”

The woman hesitated, wanting to say more. Her expression was grim, her normally soft features hardening. “I don’t have to tell you what those claw marks mean,” she stated, holding Bob’s gaze.

He shook his head, swallowing thickly as he leaned against the door frame. “No.” He was well aware. In werewolf culture, when mating with one another, there was a process known as scent marking.

The scent glands were located along the side of the neck. When two wolves marked each other, they were mated for life. Unless, of course, one denounced the other as their mate. A severing of the mate bond would then take place. Claws pressed into the side of the neck. The tearing of tender flesh, effectively cutting any and all ties with the mate.

Bob knew that was what had happened to you. That your alpha had forcefully broken your bond. It was the only explanation for those angry slashes.

Heat crawled up his neck. Wrath, boiling just beneath the surface, warming his blood, sending his heart rate spiking. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. He’d always prided himself on being in control. He wouldn’t lose it now.

“Did she say anything about what happened?” Natasha spoke up as she pulled three mugs from the cabinet over the coffee maker.

He shook his head. “No. I didn’t ask, either. She’s not ready to answer questions. But when she is, I want to know everything. I want to know why Finn did this to her. And then I’m going to hunt him down and make him pay for it.”

Finn. Your previous alpha. The one who had divided your pack from Bob’s. After the death of your father, who had once been the alpha, Finn assumed the position of leadership. It was clear from the beginning that he was power hungry. However, it seemed that Bob was the only one that recognized that.

Now, with you curled up in his bed with slashes marring your skin, caused by the cruel hand of Finn, Bob wished he would have fought harder for you. He wished he had challenged Finn. But you had gone willingly. You thought that becoming Finn’s mate was what was best for your family. And Bob could not force you to stay. He’d never force you to do anything. So he let you go, even though it broke him.

Nat spoke again. “If we go after him…if you challenge him…it could mean war.”

“I know.” Although he wanted to make Finn pay for what he’d done, he didn’t want to pit his pack against yours. He knew each one of those wolves. He’d once called many of them friends, and he wasn’t sure he could stand for their blood to be spilled.

The only one whose blood should be shed was Finn’s.

Just then, rushed footsteps could be heard outside, and moments later, Pete was stepping through the door. “They’re back,” he announced, “they didn’t find anything in the woods.”

Bob nodded, face solemn. “Alright. I’m calling a pack meeting. Have everyone meet back here.”

“Sure thing.” Just as quickly as he’d come, Pete left, ambling back into the night to round everyone up.

“Do you want me to go get Amelia?” Penny inquired, referring to her young daughter, who’d been asleep when she left the house.

“She should be here, that way she knows what’s going on,” Bob responded in confirmation.

With that, Penny headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

That left Bob and Natasha alone in the kitchen. Her expression was pensive. Arms folded over her chest. Bottom lip caged between her teeth.

Bob had known her for a long time. He knew her tells. She had something on her mind. “What’re you thinking, Nat?”

“She’s in danger, Bob. God knows how long she was out there in the woods. Alone. Since her mate bond was broken, she was wandering around as an omega. Which means wolves for miles probably caught her scent and will come looking.”

He knew what she was hinting at. “You think I should mate her.”

Dark eyes flickered up to meet his pale blue ones. “Not now, obviously. She’s in no state to handle it. But something will need to be done soon. It’s the only way to keep her safe.”

He let out a sigh, pulling out one of the chairs around the table and taking a seat. “You’re right. But I have to take it slow. I don’t want to do anything she isn’t ready for.”

Becoming mates was a big step. And while it would ensure your safety, he didn’t want to just stake his claim over you. Not when you were vulnerable and frightened. Not after you’d suffered the unthinkable.

And then there was the matter of his status having an effect on you. Now that you had become an omega, your body’s natural response would be to desire an alpha. Bob knew the power he possessed. The power to alter your very chemistry makeup.

His gaze flickered to the kitchen counter, where a pill minder sat, filled with a daily dose of a very important hormone medication. Rut suppressants.

If he stopped taking them, and let his rut happen naturally, it would send you into heat. And within the sacred bounds of matehood, that was a good and healthy occurrence. Something to be celebrated.

However, now more than ever, it was very important that Bob made sure to take his suppressants daily. He wouldn’t risk sending you into heat before your body was ready. And although mating you would bond you to him, thus keeping you safe from other wolves, he couldn’t stomach the thought of pressuring you into such a thing. As he suspected Finn had done to you.

And yet, the longer you remained an omega, the more danger you would be in. That left Bob with a difficult decision to make. But first, he needed to discuss things with his wolves.

One by one, they entered his home, each clearly on edge from the night’s events. Bob had them take seats in his living room. Jake, Bradley, and Javy took the couch. Reuben took the easy chair in the corner. Mickey and Natasha took the small love seat. Penny soon came in with a disheveled Amelia, who’d been pulled from her sleep to attend the meeting, followed by Pete, who trailed after them and shut the door.

Bob stood in the center of the room and waited for everyone to get settled. Some had helped themselves to mugs of coffee from the pot Natasha had made. Everyone was somber.

“No trace of her being followed?” Bob addressed Jake.

The blonde shook his head. “We covered a few miles outside the compound. No sign of anyone. If they were there, they covered their trail well.”

“Any idea who could’ve hurt her?” Reuben spoke up, leaning forward in his seat, elbows resting atop his thighs.

“Yeah,” came Bob’s answer, “Finn. He broke their mate bond. S’where the slashes on her neck came from. But I don’t know the circumstances behind why it happened. Once she’s on the mend, I’ll see if I can get some answers.”

“So now what? If he decides he changed his mind and wants her back, then–” Bradley piped up, but Bob held up his hand to stop him.

“I won’t let that happen. She’s here to stay. “

But Bradley wanted to challenge that. He held the stare of his alpha as he responded. “All due respect, but she’s a huge liability. I want to help her too, believe me, but we shouldn’t forget how she just turned her back on us, on you, to join forces with that asshole Finn.” He was, in fact, one to hold grudges.

But Bob held his ground, never breaking eye contact with his beta. “It’s not that simple. I believe she was coerced into mating him. But I won’t know more until I talk to her.”

“So you wanna risk the safety of the pack for her?” Bradley continued.

“As opposed to what? Sending her back out there to die alone in the forest? I won’t do that, Bradley. We take care of our own.”

“She isn’t one of our own, though.”

“I will not turn my back on her. None of us will. Clearly, she came to us for help. If I toss her out to fend for herself, I’m no better than Finn. She’s staying. And we will protect her. That’s final.” Bob waited for Bradley to continue challenging him. He knew the other wolf’s concern came from a good place. Bradley would do anything to protect the pack. But Bob would be remiss in his duties if he turned you away in your time of need.

“Then we need to make sure we’re on high alert,” Pete interjected, from where he stood beside Penny. “Increase perimeter sweeps. Be prepared in case anyone tries to get the drop on us.”

“You’re right,” Bob agreed. “Bradley, Jake, and Nat, you three were already on lookout tonight. I want you to get some rest. Pete, Javy, Reuben, and Mickey, you can take the next shift.” Then, “as soon as I have more answers, I’ll call another pack meeting. Until then, back to business as usual.”

And thus, the meeting was adjourned, and everyone was left to go their separate ways. As Bob retreated into the kitchen to pour himself a mug of coffee, he became aware of Mickey’s presence behind him.

He turned to look at his friend. He’d known Mickey as long as he’d known Natasha.

Earnestly, Mickey spoke. “I get why Bradley’s on edge, but I want you to know, I think you’re right. We can’t just turn her away. She’s safest with us. With you.”

Bob smiled softly, nodding his head toward Mickey. “She is,” he agreed. But his face grew serious as he approached. “Mick…you and Nat know me better than anyone. You know I don’t like senseless violence. But I’m telling you right now, Finn will not get away with this. One day, I will find him. And I will kill him for what he did to her.”

Mickey nodded. “I know. And I want to be there when you do it. He needs to pay for what he’s done.” That payment would be made in blood.

Bob squeezed Mickey’s shoulder. “You will be. For now, we’ll lie low. I don’t want to potentially bring danger here.”

“‘Course not.”

With a nod, the young alpha turned back to his pending cup of coffee. “I’ll let you head on out for your watch shift. See ya later, Mick.”

When he left, Natasha emerged from the living room, carrying her now empty mug to the sink. “Mind if I crash here?” She asked. “I, uh, want to be here when she wakes up.”

Bob shook his head. “Not at all. Take the guest room. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

With that, she excused herself to head up to the guest room, leaving Bob alone in the kitchen. Mug in hand, he finally decided to move back upstairs to check on you. He determined that he would stay in the room with you, that way he could immediately come to your aid if needed.

When he stepped into the dark bedroom, he was relieved to find that you were still sound asleep. Gone was the bitter scent of fear, replaced by a sweeter, more mellow scent. For now, you were at peace.

Carefully, he set his coffee on the nightstand before he gathered some blankets from the chest at the end of the bed, spreading them out on the floor and grabbing a pillow from off the bed. Then, mug in hand, he settled cross-legged on the blankets, his back against the edge of the bed.

There he would remain until you woke up.

As he listened to you sleep, your breaths deep and slow, his mind wandered. Transported back to a time when you’d still been in his life. The sting of betrayal had settled painfully in his chest as he looked at you, having just been told the news that you were leaving.

“Finn thinks it’s in the pack’s best interest if we become mates,” you said.

He stared at you, eyes watering. “And what do you think?”

“I want what’s best for my family.”

“I’m not asking about your family.” He stepped toward you. “Is becoming Finn’s mate what he wants, or what you want?”

You had no answer for him. All you could say was, “Bobby, my father is gone. Finn took his place as alpha, and it’s my duty to become his mate, for the good of the pack.”

Bob wasn’t letting you go that easily. “You have a choice. You don’t have to go with him.”

But you shook your head, fighting to hold in your tears. “Please, don’t make this harder than it already is. I don’t want to leave you. But I have to. I’m sorry.”

You left him reeling. Before your father passed, you had talked openly of becoming mates with Bobby. Your dad was getting up in years, and wanted to surrender his alpha status. As the daughter of an alpha, choosing to become mates with Bob would create an alliance between your packs.

But when your father grew ill, a shift in leadership took place. Finn, who had been part of your pack since he was a pup, emerged with the shiny new title of alpha. He claimed your dad had bestowed the title upon him.

Bob was suspicious of that. Something wasn’t right. But he was never able to prove that Finn had stolen the title. And even if he wanted to, the opportunity left when, one morning, he walked up to your compound to find it deserted. Your pack had relocated in the middle of the night.

Bob thought he would never see you again.

But here you were again, and he had a feeling that his suspicion of Finn stealing your father’s status was true. It was only a matter of time before it was confirmed.

For now, you rested. And Bob kept watch over you.

Coffee finished, he curled up on the arrangement of blankets, and pillowed his head. There he stayed until the sun’s first rays began to peek through the window a few hours later. He had dozed off but for a moment, allowing himself a cat nap before the day began.

But no sooner had his eyes fallen shut did he hear the sound of your pitiful whimpers. On high alert, he sat up, chest seizing when he saw you began to twist against the bed, clearly in the throes of a terrible nightmare.

Rushing to his feet, he climbed onto the mattress, just as you released a broken sob, crying out “No! No! Please, no!”

He gathered your trembling form into his arms, and spoke your name, even as you fought against him. “Hey, I’m here! You’re safe!””

When your eyes flew open, you realized where you were. Shielded within the four walls of Bobby’s bedroom. With his arms wrapped securely around you. Protected. In a place where harm would not come upon you.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck and began to cry. He soothed you, rocking back and forth, humming an old melody his mother used to sing to him. And after a while, you were calm again.

Cautiously, you lifted your head, and found him gazing down at you. He offered a sweet smile. “Hey there, little pup.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you whispered, fingers curling into the fabric of his white t-shirt. Unwilling to let go.

But he shook his head. “Don’t apologize. You had a nightmare. That’s expected after what you’ve been through.”

Tears welled in your eyes again. There was so much you had to tell him. But you couldn’t bring yourself to speak the words out loud. “Bobby, I…”

“You don’t have to tell me anything right now. You need to focus on resting up so you can heal,” he told you. In the light of the rising sun, you could see every shade of blue hidden in his eyes. Oh, how you’d missed those eyes. So warm and full of kindness.

“Tell ya what,” he continued, “I’ll go make some breakfast. How’s that sound?”

As if on cue, your stomach rumbled. That earned a soft smile from you, and you nodded. “I’d like that. But I don’t want to stay cooped up in here. I’ll come sit in the kitchen to eat.”

“You sure?”

When you nodded, he moved to slide off the bed, reaching out to steady you as you followed. You swayed a little, realizing just how depleted of strength you were, despite your night of rest. Your time in the woods had done a number on you.

Leaning on Bob for support, you allowed him to guide you into the hallway. As you headed toward the stairs, the sound of a door opening caught your attention. You looked up to find Natasha approaching.

She looked as if she hadn’t slept a wink, dark hair mussed, eyes tired. But she smiled when she saw you. “Hey,” she said, “how you feelin’?”

You opened your mouth, but found yourself overcome with emotion. Instead, you stepped toward her and held your arms out. She stepped into your embrace, returning it with her own, careful not to hurt you by squeezing too tightly.

“It’s good to see you again,” she whispered in your ear, “just wish it was under better circumstances.”

As you parted, you gave her a nod, unable to voice a reply. She squeezed your hand, free palm coming up to cup your cheek, and your heart warmed within you. After the way you had left, you didn’t blame her if she wanted nothing to do with you. Yet she welcomed you back with open arms. A true friend, she was.

Reluctantly, you parted from Natasha, and the three of you went down to the kitchen. There, you settled in at the table, and Bob brought you a blanket from the living room, wrapping it around your shoulders before he set about making breakfast.

Natasha sat across from you, running a hand anxiously through her loose waves. It was clear she had questions, but refrained from asking them. It was hard to know what to talk about. After seeing the way you had reacted to Penny tying to bandage your neck the night before, you were in a fragile state. She didn’t want to make it worse by interrogating you.

Instead, she decided to help Bob with breakfast, getting up from her seat and moving to the fridge to gather ingredients.

You sat huddled in your blanket, watching them work, comforted by the sight. It had been like this years ago. You and your friends crowded into Bob’s kitchen as he made breakfast. Happy and carefree.

Oh, how things had changed.

As you watched them, an ache blossomed in your chest, and tears sprang to your eyes once again, threatening to spill down your cheeks. You wished you had never left. If you hadn’t, things would have turned out much different.

But you had made your choice when you left with Finn.

Initially, you hadn’t wanted to. But he had convinced you that becoming mates was the right thing to do. He was very persuasive, and you wished that you hadn’t been so blind to his manipulation back then.

But the influence of an alpha was a very powerful thing.

Your eyes had been opened. You had finally seen him for who he really was. Wicked and power hungry. Murderous.

You had been certain that he was going to kill you, when he severed your mate bond. As his claws raked against your tender flesh, you’d looked into the blood-red of his eyes, and you knew you were seconds away from death.

But it never came. Whether he’d decided to have mercy on you, or simply neglected to make sure you were truly dead. Either way, you managed to escape.

You ran into the night, away from the horrific discovery you had made before Finn banished you. The deepest betrayal. Yet it did not surprise you. Perhaps, deep down, you had always known it to be true.

After you left, you spent days wandering the forest, putting yourself in grave danger by doing so. In your injured, newly unmated state, you were a sitting duck. That was why, when you found yourself in Robert Floyd’s territory, you began running. Searching, hoping, praying he would take you in. Otherwise, you were certain you would die alone in those woods.

You should have known that Bob would do anything to protect you. That his kindness knew no bounds. He’d always been known for his benevolence. A quality that gained him respect as an alpha. He didn’t have to threaten and coerce wolves into following him. They chose to do so, because they deeply respected him.

He had not come about his status by force. Many years ago, before you’d even known him, his family had suffered an attack at the hands of a rogue group of werewolves. This attack had resulted in Bob’s mother and father being tragically killed.

His father’s dying wish was for his son to carry on his legacy as an alpha, and had thus bestowed the gift upon him. A transfer of power, from a dying wolf, to a living one. Bob assumed his role with pride, though painful as it was to go on without the ones he loved most.

But he determined that he would do his parents proud.

Years later, he had built a pack of his own. Each one of them came from a different bloodline. A different backstory. They were a band of misfits, brought together by odd circumstances, but they were fiercely loyal to one another.

What a privilege to serve as one of his betas. If only you’d chosen to remain here with him. But perhaps you’d been given a second chance. You certainly hoped so.

Even after all this time, he still treated you with such tenderness. The fact that he was making you breakfast because he didn’t want you to go hungry made your heart ache. He was good, through and through. Pure of heart.

If only for a little while, you let yourself rest in his care. You ate the breakfast he made, you drank the coffee, you pretended that everything was fine. But when you excused yourself to take a shower, you were struck with a crushing feeling of utter loneliness.

Although Finn had been cruel, he had still been your mate, and now that you weren’t running for your life anymore, you were finally able to process what had happened. You were a lone wolf now. An omega. To be without a mate felt unnatural.

You didn’t yearn for him. Not after what he had done. But you did yearn for the ache in your chest to leave you. You yearned to feel whole again, and not utterly broken from the betrayal you had suffered.

This was how you found yourself curled upon the shower floor, weeping as the water cascaded over your body. Dirt and grime from days spent in the wilderness was slowly washed down the drain, yet you hardly noticed as you succumbed to your pain.

In the kitchen, as Bobby cleared the breakfast dishes, his sharp hearing easily picked up on the sound of crying. Even with you a floor above him, he caught the scent of your distress. Bitter. Strong enough that it dizzied him and had him grabbing the edges of the counter to steady himself.

“Go,” Natasha told him, touching his back. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”

With a nod, he turned, mouth dry, feeling as if it was filled with cotton. His legs carried him up the steps two at a time, and in seconds, he was at the bathroom door, knuckles against the dark wood.

Through the door, he spoke. “It’s Bobby.” But you already knew he was there. His scent carried into the room. And when you tuned in to listen, you could hear his heartbeat. “Do you…do you want me to come in?”

You tried to answer. Tried to say I need you. I can’t be alone right now. But all that came out was a choked garble as more tears spilled down your cheeks. Bob heard it. The heartbreaking sound drove him to close his hand around the doorknob and slip into the steam clouded room.

There he found you, huddled in the corner of the bathtub. He did not hesitate to approach you. You looked up at him and let out a pitiful sound that struck him so deeply, his knees buckled. The weight of your grief settled upon his shoulders as heavily as the moisture that hung in the air, carving him in half, rending his heart in two.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered. He hurriedly shut the water off before he yanked a fresh towel off the rack next to the shower. Already, you were moving toward him, and he welcomed you, arms open, towel in hand. As you surged into his embrace, he wrapped you in the towel, guiding you out of the shower.

But your legs were unsteady, and you found yourself sinking down to the tile floor. Bob had you, though, arms secure around you as he knelt with you. He ended up with his back against the side of the tub as you curled up into his lap, your wet skin soaking into his thin shirt.

He trembled as he held you, chest tight. As if he could sense what you were going to reveal to him. He’d known all along, after all.

“He…he killed him, Bobby,” came your broken whisper.

Bob gently grabbed your face in his hands as he locked eyes with you. “Tell me.”

“Finn killed my father. And when I found out…he tried to kill me.”

He went still. Measuring his breaths. Swallowing the horrific rage that began to bubble up in his throat. The heat of it burned across his skin like fire. Unbearable. All consuming.

And then you took his hand in yours and brought it to your neck, where your slashes were still healing beneath the bandage he’d put there the night before. “I want you to see it.”

Hot tears welled in his eyes as he gazed into yours. “Are you absolutely sure that’s what you want?” He knew what you were asking for. You wanted him to access your memories. Something that only alphas had the ability to do. By sinking his claws into the base of your neck, he would be able to see the innermost parts of your mind.

“Yes,” you told him. Your voice did not waver.

With only a moment’s hesitation, Bob moved his fingers to the back of your neck, taking a steadying breath before he closed his eyes, opening them to reveal fiery red. At that same moment, his claws sank into the base of your neck, just beneath the back of your skull.

You whimpered, your own eyes glowing yellow, mouth parting, fangs sprouting from your gums. Gaze locked with Bobby’s, a searing memory ripped through your mind, and he could see it so clearly, as if he was experiencing it firsthand.

There was Finn, stalking toward you. You were stumbling back, trembling in fear, sick from betrayal. “Tell me!” You shouted, “tell me the truth!”

“You already know it!” He snarled.

“No! I want you to say it! Say what you did!” Hands held out in front of you, body partially shifted, ready to fight against him if need be.

He crossed the space between you swiftly, hand clamping around your throat before you could react. “Fine. You want to hear me say it?” The hatred emanating from him was venomous. “I killed your father, and I took his alpha status.” There was no remorse in his tone. In fact, he sounded proud.

Then he dropped you, and you hit the ground, hard. You’d known it was true. But hearing him say it made it real. A vicious wail tore itself from your throat. “I’ll tell the rest of the pack! They deserve to know!” You cried.

He was on you again, gripping your shoulders, claws tearing at tender flesh as you yelped, too weak to fight. “If you tell them, I’ll kill you.”

Even as you struggled against him, he held you down, using all of his supernatural strength, fueled by rage, to keep you in place. “You know what? I’ll just kill you now.”

And then his hand was at your throat once again as he hissed out, “I denounce you as my mate,” before he slashed his claws across your skin.

He left you to bleed out. Fading in and out of consciousness. Perhaps he was certain that you would die, and that you would take the knowledge of what he’d done to the grave. Or maybe, he intended to return and finish you off later. Either way, he abandoned you.

And when you managed to drag yourself back to the compound on which your pack had been living, you found it empty. Everyone was gone. You were alone.

So you wandered through the woods for days, until you came upon the Floyd pack, and strength surged through you, enough to send you running toward safety.

With a sharp gasp, he retracted his claws from the base of your neck, eyes wide, chest heaving. You fell against him, sobbing, and Bob could hardly process what he had just witnessed.

“Look at me.” Voice ragged. Barely contained. When you didn’t lift your head, he took your face in his hands again, forcing you to look at him. “He will not get away with this, do you hear me? I won’t let him.”

He was vibrating. Filled with such painful anguish and fury that his body ached. But he still remained in control, for your sake. He would not frighten you by reacting the way that he wanted to. Your safety was still his first priority, above all else.

“H-he’s gone. Took the pack with him. I don’t…I don’t know where they could’ve gone.”

Bob shook his head. “We’ll find him. Maybe not right away, but we will.”

Tears still falling, you shook your head. “He’ll kill you. He’ll kill anyone who challenges him. And I can’t…I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t lose me, little pup. I swear to you, Finn will pay for what he did.”

A promise that he intended to keep. No matter the cost. What this wicked alpha had done was a heinous crime. Punishable by death, in the werewolf world. If no one else would challenge him, then Robert Floyd would.

He wanted nothing more than to gather his betas and hunt Finn down. But he had to think logically. He couldn’t just go off in a blind rage. Finn was very skilled in combat. If Bob acted off of emotion alone, he would be defeated.

So he would wait. Anticipating. Calculating. Planning.

For now, his sole responsibility was to care for you, and make sure that you were on the road to recovery. So he would remain here. And he would do his job. Because, unlike Finn, Bob had not come about his status dishonestly. He counted his position as a sacred duty that he would fulfill to the very best of his ability.

So he took a steadying breath and guided you to your feet. Touch gentle. Tender. He wiped your body down. Smoothed lotion onto your skin. Wrapped you in another dry towel, leaving only for a moment to grab a baggy shirt and sweatpants from the depths of his dresser.

And then he was leading you back to his bedroom. A safe haven for you. A place that smelled like him. And now, his scent was your greatest comfort. It also acted as a form of protection. You were safer if you smelled like him.

As you climbed back into his bed, you looked at him, and he knew, in that very same moment, that he would move heaven and earth to keep you safe. You were always meant to be his. And now, he’d been given a second chance. He wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers. Wouldn’t let another alpha take you from him.

“Please, don’t leave,” came your whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He climbed into the bed with you, and you curled against him, like a cat settling in for a nap. Lips brushing against your temple, he said, “sleep, little pup. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

So you slept. And Bobby kept watch over you. Just as he’d promised.

Your journey to recovery was a long, slow process. But he was with you ever step of the way. Handling you with tenderness. Never raising his voice. Never lifting a hand to harm you. He’d sooner cut off that hand than lift it against you in a fit of rage.

As days, weeks, and eventually, months, passed, you found yourself integrating well into pack life. The dynamic was different here. There was a mutual trust between Bob and his betas. You realized that trust had been missing in your own pack.

Finn’s wolves submitted to him because they had no choice. But Bob’s wolves did have a choice. If they wanted to leave, they could. Though none of them chose to do so.

Although some were wary of you, namely Bradley, who had originally believed you might bring danger upon this territory, they all warmed up to you as time went on. Each day, you got stronger. Your wounds healed. Your trauma still plagued you, but it became a dull ache in your chest, rather than crushing agony.

You connected with each beta under Bob’s leadership. You rekindled your friendship with Natasha. You developed a strong connection with Mickey. You even befriended Penny’s daughter, Amelia, who was the youngest pack member, but took a liking to you.

And as the months went on, you found your place with these wolves. They became your family, just as they had been before you left. You bonded with them, and most importantly, you bonded with your Bobby again.

When the cold winter gave way to warm spring, you were doing better than you had been in a long time. Although what had happened to you still lurked in your memory, and would never truly leave, you could lean on your newfound family for support.

And when your footing grew uncertain, and your mind went to those dark places, Bobby was there to carry you through it. Calm. Steady. Reassuring. There was solace with him.

The knowledge that he needed to make Finn pay for his crimes still lingered in his head, even with the passing of time. It was a bitter wave of heat that flooded through his veins every time he thought about it. Sometimes, his fingers would twitch, claws nearly lengthening as he pictured killing the cruel alpha.

Soon.

First, there was something very important that needed to be done. Something that would ensure your safety, by bonding you to him. He needed to mate you.

This was not something that he pressured you into. He would never force you into such a thing. But you made the decision yourself. You knew, just as well as him, that your omega status put you at risk. You also knew that you had let Bob slip through your fingers once before. You weren’t going to lose him again.

You wanted to be his. Wanted to willingly give yourself to him, joining your souls together as one. But it took time for you to decide that you were ready. And that was okay. Bob waited patiently, allowing you time to heal and recover.

And then, one night, beneath the light of a half-moon, you told him you were ready.

You had chosen to go for a stroll after a dinner shared with the rest of the pack around Bobby’s kitchen table.

In recent days, you had become a little more physical. Seeking out his touch, brushing against him when he was near, sitting with your thigh against his, intertwining your fingers with his. Now, as you walked, your hand was clasped in his own much larger one, as your head rested upon his shoulder. Your heart lurched as you considered your words. Bobby could sense your shift in demeanor. Something he was very well attuned to.

“Something on your mind, little pup?” He asked, thumb drawing comforting patterns on the back of your hand.

You tugged on his arm, so he’d come to a stop. Concern shadowing his face, he turned toward you. Gaze open. Expectant.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you…” You hesitated, stopping to take a deep breath. “I’m ready now. To be your mate.”

His breath caught in his throat. “Are you sure?”

You stepped toward him. The heat of his body was comforting. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

He never broke eye contact. Because of this, you could see the shift in his expression. The tightening of his jaw. The ragged breath of air he drew. You reached for his other hand, bringing it up to your breast, just over your heart.

His lashes fluttered. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do,” came his reply. There was a tremor in his voice. He had been waiting for this moment. “I need a few days. There’s a little cottage not far from here. It’s a good place for us to…to have some privacy. I’ll need to get it ready. And then of course I need to stop taking my suppressants.”

You nodded in understanding. “Okay. Do whatever you need to do. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“How long has it been since you were in heat?”

At his question, you stilled. A memory, a painful one, flashed through your mind, and you flinched. “I…I’ve never been in heat.”

Bobby’s brow furrowed, puzzled. “What?”

“After we were mated, Finn made me take suppressants. Said he didn’t have time to deal with my heats, so he didn’t want me going through them.”

And there it was again. Fury, bubbling up in his throat. He swallowed it down like he’d taken a sip of bitter poison. Finn had no right to control that part of you. It was an alpha’s duty to guide their mate through heat. To deny you that was cruel. Not that Bob should have been surprised. Of course Finn would take away your autonomy.

Hands trembling, he cupped your cheeks, cool from the chilly night air. “I’m so sorry. I can’t…I can’t fathom doing such a thing. I would never—will never—do that to you.”

“I know, Bobby.”

He pulled you toward him, arms wrapping around you. “When you become my mate, you will be loved and respected in the way that you deserve.”

You had no doubt that he would make good on his promises.

After that night, you were given five days. Days Bob would spend readying the cottage, and you would spend preparing yourself. Becoming mates was a very sacred thing. It was a ritual, of sorts. And when you had become Finn’s mate, he hadn’t wanted to go about it in the traditional way.

There was no ceremony. He had merely scent marked you and that was that. And just as easily as he’d mated you, he broke that bond without a second thought.

You were eager to experience a true mating ceremony. And Bob would do everything in his power to make you feel special, loved, and cherished during it. You deserved as much.

On the day of the ceremony, you were filled with excitement and nervousness. But Natasha and Penny put those nerves to rest as they helped you get ready in Penny’s residence.

“You look so beautiful,” Nat breathed as she gently placed a crown of burgundy roses atop your head. Burgundy signified devotion.

“You think so?” You asked, gazing at yourself in the mirror. Uncertain.

She smiled that pretty smile of hers that lit up her whole face. “I know so. Bob is going to be blown away.”

Your heart warmed at her words.

“You’ve come a long way,” Penny spoke up, from where she’d been making two flower necklaces, which you and Bob would place upon each other during the ceremony. Pride shone on her face, and in her sea glass eyes.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “I’m not that scared little omega anymore.” A rueful smile tugged at your mouth. Part of you was ashamed, at times, over how you had been so easily overpowered by Finn. But you had nothing to be ashamed of. Few could survive the wrath of an angry alpha, but you had. That was a feat in and of itself.

Penny crossed the room, sincerity in her gaze as she reached for your hands. “You are so much more than that. You are about to become Bob’s chosen mate. That basically makes you queen of this pack. And I want you to know that you have my undying loyalty.”

“Me too,” Natasha agreed with conviction.

“Even though I walked away from him and left with Finn?” Guilt darkened your tone.

Penny squeezed your hands. “That’s in the past. What matters is that you’re here now.”

A soft rap at the door interrupted the sweet moment the three of you shared. “Sun’s setting. It’s time,” came Mickey’s voice.

Nat sauntered to the door and wrenched it open. There stood Mickey, dressed in a loose white button down, half unbuttoned, and a pair of nice slacks. When he saw you, joy and admiration filled his soft brown eyes.

“You look stunning,” he hummed. You thought you saw the mist of tears gathering in his eyes.

“Thank you, Mickey,” you shyly responded, not used to being in the spotlight.

He squared his shoulders. “Are you ready? Bobby’s waiting.”

You looked at Penny and Natasha, and they both nodded in encouragement. “As I’ll ever be,” you said.

Mickey held out his arm, and you let your hand rest in the crook of it. He led you through the hallway of Penny’s house, down the steps, and out the front door. Nat and Penny followed, each holding the flower chains Penny had made.

You closed your eyes and breathed in the spring air before you let Mickey guide you down the porch steps. You would cross the property and meet at the forest edge, where the ceremony would take place.

Soon, you came upon the rest of the pack, who were all gathered in their places. Jake, Bradley, Javy, Reuben, and Amelia stood together, while further ahead, on a small wooden platform, stood Pete, who’d been asked to carry out the ceremony, and, of course, your Bobby.

He looked exceptionally handsome in his blue button down, which was the same shade as his eyes, tucked into freshly pressed slacks. His feet were bare, because there was no need for shoes. After the ceremony, you would shift into your wolves, so the less clothing in the way, the better.

When he saw you, his face lit up like the sun. Tears welled in his eyes. They welled in yours, too. Hand still resting in the crook of Mickey’s elbow, you let him guide you to Bob.

The sun, which was sinking below the horizon, cast a dreamy orange haze over everything, and it made Bobby look as if he was glowing. Perhaps he really was.

All eyes on you, you made your way up to him, allowing Mickey to hold your hand for balance as you stepped onto the wooden platform. There, you stood before Bob. Your alpha. Soon to be your mate. Loving, tender, fierce, benevolent. The one you were always meant to be with.

He took your hands in his, and he gazed upon you with such love and adoration that it stole the breath from your lungs.

Beside you both, Pete spoke. “I’m honored that you asked me to lead this ceremony, Bob,” he said with a smile. “I know this has been a long time coming. I’m happy that you two found each other again.”

And thus, the ceremony began.

“Bob, state your pledge,” Pete instructed.

Bobby never broke eye contact as he made his promises to you. “I promise to uphold this sacred bond, as long as I live. I promise to protect, honor, and cherish you. No harm will come to you by my or anyone else’s hand, and I will not allow anyone to threaten the sanctity of this bond. I’m yours, forever.”

Emotion gripped you like a vise, and you worried you wouldn’t be able to speak. Somehow, you managed to make your pledge to him. “I, too, promise to uphold this sacred bond, as long as I live. I promise to love you with everything in me. I promise that I will be yours until the end of time. My loyalty is to you, and you alone, as my alpha, and my mate.”

Though the rest of the pack surrounded you, it felt as if you were the only two standing there. It was you and him, against the world.

You knew what came next. The moment that would officially bind him to you, and finalize your matehood. Slowly, you knelt, as did he, both of you finding yourselves on your knees, hands still joined.

Bob closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself with a deep breath before he looked at you again. When he did, his eyes glowed ruby. Mirroring his action, your own eyes shone golden as the sun.

Then, he leaned toward you, and you tilted your head, baring your neck to him. The place that had been marred by Finn’s claws months ago, now healed completely, skin smooth and unmarked.

Bobby buried his face against the side of your neck, where your scent was strongest, breathing in deeply. It hit him like a kick to the abdomen, jarring, overwhelming, intense. You smelled sweet. Like a peach ripened beneath the summer sun. Like sugar fresh from the cane. Like everything good and pure in the world.

He rubbed his cheek against your neck, then his nose, then his other cheek. Transferring your scent onto his skin. When he reluctantly parted from you, you proceeded to do as he had done, nuzzling your face into his neck.

He smelled like pine trees and spring air warmed by sunlight. Deep, earthy, sweet, comforting. You let yourself nearly get drunk off of it. Now that you had marked each other, you were pledged to one another. Joined as one.

When you lifted your face from his neck, his hands came up to tenderly hold your face before he ducked forward. You welcomed him, head tilting back, mouth parting, just before he kissed you. Deeply, fiercely, pouring his love and devotion to you into that impassioned kiss.

“Mine,” he growled softly against your mouth, fangs lengthening, scraping lightly against your bottom lip.

“Yours.” An eternal promise.

You remained knelt together as the flower chains were placed upon your necks.

“Let this pack be a witness to this sacred ritual,” Pete said aloud, “our alpha has chosen his mate.”

A chorus of joyous howls erupted from each pack member, and your face broke into a smile as peace washed over you. You hadn’t felt a sense of peace like this when Finn marked you as his. But with Bobby, you did.

As you stood, you turned to your pack, breathing in deeply as elation warmed you from head to toe. Although everything you had been through had scarred you deeply, you realized that all of it had brought you here, to this point. To a new family. A new mate. A new life.

A celebration followed that night. Music and dancing, food and drink. Surrounded by warmth and love, your heart soared. You’d never been so happy.

And when the moon rose in the sky, full and bright and heavy, it was time for the pack to send you and Bobby off. Surrounded by your chosen family, you allowed yourself to shift into your wolf. Bones rearranging. Some lengthening, some shortening. Bare skin soon hidden beneath a layer of thick, gray fur.

In your animal form, you bowed low before your alpha, snout hidden beneath your foreleg. A show of submission.

Bobby in his wolf form, fur a rich chestnut, gazed down upon you, and whined lowly. Stand. His voice echoed through your head. Immediately, you stood, and as you did, he nuzzled his snout against your before the expanse of his body deliberately brushed against yours, further marking you with his scent.

The rest of the pack had also shifted into their various wolf forms, now surrounding you. Another collective howl carried through the forest, and beneath the light of the full moon, you were off, running alongside your Bobby, dashing through the forest like streaks of lightning.

You could not describe the feeling of running with your mate if you tried. It felt as if you were electrified. Aware of his every breath, every growl, in tune with his every instinct, communicating non-verbally.

You felt free, wind whipping through your fur, nothing but forest for miles. This was how it was meant to feel.

For what felt like hours, you ran, playfully nudging one another, pausing to nuzzle against the other’s fur. Gentle nips, soft, non-threatening growls and whines. Enjoying your shared animal nature.

And then, finally, you slowed to a stop when you came upon the little cottage Bobby had spent the last few days preparing. There, on the threshold, he shifted back into his human form, naked skin pale in the light of the moon. You followed suit, standing before him, awaiting his guidance.

He breathed deeply, your scent intoxicating, as he pulled you closer. “Tonight, we rest. We’ll need it, because I stopped taking my suppressants today, and once they’re fully out of my system tomorrow…”

“My heat will start,” you finished for him.

He nodded. There was something in his eyes. Unspoken, even as they narrowed slightly. You realized it was desire. “Since you’ve never experienced it…I don’t know how you’ll respond. It might take a little time. Or, you might wake up to it. No matter what, I’m there to help you through it, okay? I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

You nuzzled your nose against his. “I know. I trust you, Bobby. There’s no one else I’d rather go through this with than you.”

Once again, you were joined in a searing kiss, and you melted into him, bare body against his own. When you parted, he took a shuddering breath. “C’mon, little pup. Let me show you around the cottage.”

He swept you over the threshold, instructing you to wait a moment while he slipped into the back bedroom, emerging with two robes, the same color as the roses that had been placed upon your necks. The color of devotion.

Almost reverently, he placed the robe upon your naked body, before he shrugged into his own. Then, he took your hand. “This place has been sitting empty for a while, so I spent extra time making sure it was perfect for you.”

The place was cozy and quaint. Furniture accented with dark woodworking. An oak coffee table sat in the middle of the living area, a braided rug beneath it. A cozy looking couch, an easy chair, and a rocking chair were strategically placed.

Antique art pieces decorated the plaster walls. An old piano was in the corner. A floor lamp illuminated the room in a cozy yellow glow. The kitchen was small, but practical. Dark wood cabinets. Minimal appliances, just enough to suit the preparation of meals.

And, most importantly, the cottage smelled like him, because he had made sure to scent things like blankets and bedsheets, so it would feel like a safe haven for you.

You were overjoyed that you would get to spend the next few days here with him, undisturbed.

“What do you think?” He quietly asked, coming up beside you, large hand resting upon the curve of your hip.

You leaned into him. “I love it. It smells like you.”

“Hm.” He ran his nose along the side of your neck, breathing in. “When we’re finished here, it’ll smell like both of us.”

Your lashes fluttered as you allowed yourself to get lost in him. Floating, yet still grounded. He was the tether keeping you from disappearing into the clouds.

Gently, he turned you to face him. “I love you, little pup. I need you to know that. I’ve always loved you, and I thank my lucky stars that we got a second chance.”

“I love you too, Bobby. I’m yours forever.”

That night, you found yourselves under the warm flow of the shower. Bob took his time washing you, his eyes alight with worship as he ran the sponge over your bare skin. You did the same to him, the act of washing each other a way of displaying your respect and devotion to one another.

After your shared bathing, you ended up in the king-size bed that smelled of him, bodies curled around each other, whispered words fading into the sleepy atmosphere as you succumbed to your exhaustion. Safe. Content. Whole.

When you woke a few hours later, the first gray trickles of morning light had begun to bleed through the bedroom window. But the light wasn’t what woke you. No, your body drew to consciousness because of the deep-seated ache at the very core of your being.

As you awakened, the ache was dull, but as the sweet, earthy scent of your alpha reached your nose, it grew worse. More intense. Painful. You whimpered softly, squirming against the bed, turning toward Bob, who still remained asleep beside you.

Your head grew foggy. As if you were underwater. Your heart rate quickened. Your skin grew warm. It felt as if an electric current had crackled down your spine. Mouth open, you were suddenly aware that your body was beginning to shift.

You tried to speak, tried to call out his name, but all that came out was a pitiful yowl. Bob could smell you before his eyes opened. So strong it nearly knocked him right out of bed. Gasping sharply, his irises flashed red as his lashes fluttered.

His gaze locked with yours, and he grunted, struck with this powerful, all-consuming need to take control and claim you. Your pained whimpers went right to his heart, settling between his legs, an arousal so intense it was almost violent in the way that it overtook him.

“Bobby…i-it hurts!” You sobbed, grabbing at him, claws biting into his skin. He hardly noticed it, as the slight tinge of pain was nothing compared to the monstrous wave of desire that was spreading through him like wildfire.

“I’m here,” he grunted, “I’m here, little pup.”

You barely heard him, blood rushing in your ears as you tugged at his sweatpants. Why was there a barrier in the way? You needed him, skin to skin, now. Growing frantic, you yanked more insistently at the waistband.

“Hold on,” he said, stilling your hands, but in your heightened state, you snapped at him, growling sharply. Challenging him.

That drove him to action. Snarling, he surged forward, pinning your arms against the bed as his frame hovered over you. “Wait.” Using that firm tone that left no room for argument. The tone that immediately brought out your submission.

Mouth falling slack, you mewled, rubbing your face against his neck, seeking penance.

“I’ll take care of you, I promise,” came his whisper. He needed to steady himself for a moment. He felt reckless. Out of control. Head spinning, heart racing. God, you smelled so good. Intoxicating. It clouded his brain and made him burn with need.

He pressed his nose to your throat, inhaling. Yes, you smelled sweet, but there was something else. Something sharp. Irresistible. It wasn’t emanating from the gland on your neck. It was somewhere else.

Searching, he descended your body, using his supernatural sense of smell to locate it. Lower, lower, lower, until he found himself between your legs, burying his face in your cunt, clothed only by a thin pair of panties that were already soaked through, so much so that the fabric was nearly transparent.

He groaned, fangs elongating in his mouth. He felt like an animal. A beast. He remained in human form, but his wolf was still there, lurking inside him. Taking over his brain as he sank his canines into the meat of your inner thigh.

You let out a squeak of surprise, jolting against the bed. His large hands held you in place. “Mine,” he rumbled, tongue soothing over the bite, which had drawn blood. “My mate. All mine.”

Eyes hazy, you watched as he gripped your underwear, hesitating only for a moment before he tore them in two, discarding the tattered fabric and leaving you bare to him. There was something primal in his face. He was going to devour you. But you were not afraid. Even as he growled and showed you the red of his eyes.

He nosed at you again, allowing your scent to engulf him. Heady, sharp, threatening to suffocate him.

“Please,” you sobbed above him, and the sound made his heart wrench in his chest and the breath leave his lungs. “I need…I can’t…I…” but the words died in your throat.

Unable to stop himself, he opened his mouth and pressed his tongue against your dripping center, licking up the honeyed sweetness and moaning brokenly. You tasted indescribable, intoxicating. And as his tongue came in contact with you, your cunt brought forth even more of your sticky arousal, and he eagerly lapped it up.

But he couldn’t remain there for long, because your pathetic whines drew him back up, until he was hovering over you. As his hips slotted between yours, you could feel him, hard beneath the fabric of his sweatpants, pressed against you. All rational thought left your mind as you pawed at him, desperate for his cock, eager to be filled, sure that you’d die if you didn’t get him inside you in the next thirty seconds.

He soothed you quickly, kissing you fiercely, tongue delving into your mouth, letting you taste him as he reached down to hurriedly shove his pants down his legs. He parted from you only to toss the clothing onto the hardwood floor.

Your gaze was drawn down, falling upon the heavy hardness between his legs. Thick, leaking, blushed at the tip. If you thought you were filled with desire before then, it certainly hit you like a ton of bricks at that very moment. Crushing you. Suffocating you. Searing through your body as if your blood was made from molten lava.

The wave that hit you was so powerful, so jarring, that you curled in on yourself, unable to bear it. It was too much and not enough, all at once.

“Bobby!” You sobbed. Blinded by your hunger.

But he had you. Guiding you onto your back, pushing your legs apart, exposing you to him. “Look at me.”

Frantic eyes flickered to his own.

“I’ve got you, little pup. Breathe for me.” His palm splayed against your chest, and he guided your breaths. Although he, too, was in his own heightened state of arousal, his instincts still urged him to take care of you.

He buried his face against your neck once again, breathing in deep. And then, his mouth parted, fangs sharp, pressed against tender flesh, just as his aching cock nudged into you, inch by inch.

His canines sank into your flesh at the same time he thrust forward, mounting you, filling you whole in one motion. So sudden that you wailed, jolting beneath him. But you were not in pain. Far from it.

The feeling of him inside you, stretching you for the very first time, was enough to bring an overwhelming peace upon you. Your mind, which had been plagued with thoughts of primal desire, soon quieted. Your erratic heartbeat calmed. You became one with your mate, your alpha.

“I’m here.” He spoke, but his voice may as well have been inside your mind, echoing through the fibers of your very soul.

You gasped, your eyes widening as you gazed up at him. “B-Bobby,” you squeaked. You couldn’t find the words. You only knew how to speak his name.

“I know.”

Tears slid down your cheeks, and you couldn’t help but let out a broken sob. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, tugging him closer to you. As he watched your tears fall, he ducked forward, tongue darting out of his mouth to lick them from your skin.

“This…this is…” you tried to form syllables, but your mouth felt loose around the vowels and consonants. “Is th-this what it was always meant to be like?” Your first heat, first experience with your true mate.

Though you had never experienced this with Finn, you knew it would not have been this special, this sacred, if you had. It was different with Bobby. He was gentle. Devoted. Kind. No cruelty resided in his bones. Only goodness.

“Yes, my love,” he whispered, afraid that if he spoke louder, his voice would betray him, “this is how it was meant to be.”

Arms tightening around his shoulders, you pressed your chest to his, and he kissed you, mouth open against yours as he slowly pulled his hips back, nearly leaving you empty, before he pushed forward again.

You gasped sharply, head falling back against the softness of the pillows. With each push and pull of his cock within you, your body reacted, providing you with even more lubricant until he was gasping, glancing down at your cunt, stretched around him. “Oh, honey, you’re…you’re dripping all over the place.”

“Ca-can’t help it. Feels…oh, feels so…so good.”

His mouth parted to let out a choked grunt, head dipping to rest upon your collarbone as he built a rhythm. Slow at first. Almost tentative. But the pace soon grew more deliberate. It wasn’t hurried. Not yet. Instead, he kept his body close to you, unwilling to create too much empty space between you. With the steady grinding of his hips, he rutted into you rhythmically, heavy cock pulsing within you.

The ache of your crushing need was gone, but it had been replaced with a different form of desire. One for him to move faster. Deeper. To stake his claim over you.

“Please…need it harder,” you rasped against his ear, canines scraping at the shell of it.

Bobby obliged, keening low in his throat. You found your legs wrapped around his lithe waist as he plunged into you over and over again, the wet sound of your cunt almost obscene.

God, he was so deep, impossibly so. You felt very ridge and vein of his cock, creating a feeling within you that could only be described as a growing, flickering flame. Increasing in temperature by the minute.

Wanting to stake your claim, as he’d done to you, you opened your mouth, teeth pressing against his neck. Your claws dug into his back as your fangs sank into the skin. Bobby snarled, but not angrily. You felt him twitch inside you.

His eyes flashed bright red once again, and he shuddered, nearly coming to a halt as he nearly lost control of his shift. You’d dulled his shaper senses, and therefore, it was more difficult for him not to succumb to his wolf.

Even so, a slight change in him took place. His muscles rippled beneath your touch. He gripped at the sheets, claws ripping into the cotton. “Can’t…can’t control it,” he managed to grunt. He screwed his eyes shut, vision fading out momentarily.

And that was when you felt it. His cock swelled inside you, not greatly, but enough for you to notice. You yelped. Not because it hurt. Because it made you see stars, as if you were exploding across the sky like a firework.

By some miracle, Bobby held on to what shred of control he had left, remaining in his human form, though the blue of his eyes stayed hidden beneath the glow of ruby, and his fangs and claws stayed extended.

You screwed your eyes shut and mewled as he rutted into you. This felt right. This felt natural. And it was.

Long before either of you were born, your hearts and souls were promised to one another. And although time and other circumstances had driven you apart, you were together again. Knit together by the very fabric of the universe.

“Oh, Bobby, you feel so good.” Breathlessly whispered into the air between you. Heady, smelling of sex and desire and something you couldn’t quite name.

“So do you,” he moaned, moving so his hands were braced on the mattress, caging you in, surrounding you in his warmth, making it seem as if you were the only two living beings in the entire world. And for all you knew, you were. Within the four walls of this home, nothing existed but you and Bobby. You were here, together, to fulfill a primal need to claim, and be claimed. To love, and be loved.

You held onto him so tightly, as if you were afraid he might disappear if you didn’t. Your trembling voice was in his ear, begging him to go deeper. Pleading with him to own you.

I’m yours. All yours forever.

With each nudge of him inside you, you were electrified. Spine tingling. Body shuddering. Your head felt hazy. Buzzing as if you’d consumed something alcoholic. But you were merely drunk off of your mate. His cock, his scent, his entire presence.

Once again, he let his eyes flicker down, to the place where your bodies met. Where you gushed around him with each thrust. “My perfect girl, taking me so well. Like you were made to,” he praised.

Then his forehead was resting against your own as he drove into you more deliberately. “I…I’m gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” He knew he was close. Teetering toward that edge, a flicker, a spark, gathering at the base of his spine.

“Please,” you begged, tearfully.

“And you’ll take it all, won’t you? I know you will. You’ll let me knot you like the good little mate that you are.”

You cried out, trembling against him when he thrust forward particularly deep, sending your body vibrating with ecstasy. “I will! Please, I want…I want you to claim me, want every wolf to know that I’m yours!”

Bobby kissed you again, swallowing your pleas, tongue slipping into your mouth. You feverishly kissed back, but you hardly registered what you were doing as your body began to climb that peak, soaring toward the clouds. For a moment, you thought you really had begun to float, but you remained anchored, grounded, tethered to your mate.

It rushed through you. Building, building, building. Flames growing higher, hotter, brighter. Your eyes rolled back. You couldn’t breathe. Yet you had never felt more alive than you did right then, It was immeasurable. Indescribable.

Your vision went black, flooded with endless galaxies stretching across a velvet black sky. It felt as if you were filled with celestial light, blinding and beautiful, surging across the sky in golden hues.

Your alpha’s name left your mouth in hushed whispers. Bobby, Bobby, Bobby. You knew nothing else but him. Only him. Inside you. All around you. Consuming you.

You were unraveling like a spool of thread. And he could feel it. The way you pulsed around him, so tightly that he almost couldn’t move within you. Grunting breathlessly, he clutched the already tattered sheets, flinching, as if a bolt of lightning had just fallen from the sky and struck him.

“Let go,” he rasped, knowing that he, too, was moments from coming undone. He needed to feel you, before he did. Pulsing, clenching, undulating beneath him.

You let out an animalistic little yip, locking eyes with him. Almost there, almost there, almost… “B-Bobby, I…I’m…”

He moved so that he was on his knees, with you wrapped around him, rocking against his lap. Then he held your face in his strong hand, and a deep growl—no, snarl—sounded in his throat. Then he was using his voice again. That commanding, powerful tone that reminded you that he was, in fact, the alpha. “Come.”

Then you were plummeting. Faster, faster, faster. Certain you would collide with the ground and disintegrate into billions of tiny atoms. But he had you. Arms encircling you, pulling you into his body, holding you close.

Eyes glowing yellow, your gaze locked with his. It hit you so hard you convulsed against him. Spreading through your body. Engulfing you. Swallowing you whole. You let out a wolfish howl, head thrown back as you came apart in the arms of your one true love.

It continued even as you cried, mouth open against his, unable to do anything more than take it. A seemingly endless, surging wave. Bobby held you to him, overwhelmed, watching your beautiful face shift into an expression of unadulterated bliss.

Even as you were still trembling against him, his own release suddenly rushed through him, your pulsing cunt bringing it forth from him. His seed flooded the very core of your being, surely claiming you, as he moaned openly.

As the haze cleared, you fell against him, exhausted. Gasping for breath. Your face rested in the crook of his neck, where you could feel his pulse, quick as a hummingbird. His grip loosened on you slightly, though your bodies remained connected, and would for some time. Slowly, you lifted your head, mouthing his lips sleepily. Whimpering as you felt his cock swell once again. This time it was to bind you to him.

As you looked into his face, you realized his eyes were back to their very human blue. Lovingly, tenderly, he swiped his knuckles over your exertion-warmed cheek. “How you feeling, little pup?” He asked.

It took you a moment to form words. “Li-like I just got claimed by my alpha.”

A delighted gnarl sounded in his chest. “Mm. You’re all mine, aren’t you? Nice and full of my knot.”

Satisfied, you nestled your face against the hollow of his throat. And then, you began to purr. A sound that he had never heard come from you before. It sent a wave of pleasing warmth through him, and he so very carefully moved to lower you both to the bed.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, as you remained tied to him. You could not begin to describe the peace that you felt. Here, in his arms, bodies joined together, you were complete. Whole.

“Thank you,” you whispered, as his fingertips began to trace abstract shapes against your spine. “I…I’m so grateful that I got a second chance to be your mate.”

He bumped his nose lovingly against yours. “So am I. Now that I have you, I’m never letting you go.”

You knew he meant those words with the whole of his heart. You could rest in knowing he was yours until the end of time. There was a sense of refuge that you had never felt before. Finn had never provided that for you, despite it being his job as an alpha to do so.

But Bobby? He did. His very being exuded the safety and security that you so desperately needed. And although he was gentle, kind, and loving, there was a quiet ferocity to him. A determination to protect that which was his. His pack, his mate, the sanctity of everything that he had built.

As you lay intertwined in his bed, basking in your love for one another, you had no idea that that very sanctity would soon be threatened.

For now, you remained unaware. Blanketed in bliss.

Bobby held you in his arms and spoke sweetly to you, breathing whispers of his love and devotion as you remained wrapped around each other still. And after you parted, thighs slick with his sticky spend, you found yourself once again filled with desire. Not nearly as searing as before, but strong nonetheless.

He took you again that morning, filling you once more as you writhed against the bed.

After that, as you lay exhausted, skin sparkling in a thin sheen of perspiration, he reluctantly slipped out of bed to make breakfast, adamant that you both keep your strength up.

After breakfast, you went on a playful run through the woods, which ended in Bobby mounting you and rutting into you against the forest floor as you cried out into the open air, delirious from pleasure.

It went like that for the next five days. The two of you in various states of erotic embrace, driven by your animalistic need for each other.

But it was also a time of bonding. All the in between moments allowed you to enjoy one another’s company. Whispering and giggling well into the night as if you were at a slumber party. Snuggling up on the couch while Bobby read to you out of a poetry collection. Domesticity.

You were truly, incandescently happy. It was as if a heavy, unbearable weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You knew you were exactly where you were always meant to be.

All too soon, however, it was time to return to the pack. Although you didn’t want to leave the cozy little cottage where you’d spent the past week with your beloved mate, he had duties to fulfill, and his wolves were depending on him.

So, after you spent time together cleaning the cottage and leaving it even neater than when you’d arrived, you began the trek back to the compound.

“How’re you feeling, little pup?” Bob asked as he fell into step beside you, the two of you choosing to make the walk in human form, so you could enjoy leisurely conversation as you ambled through the woods together.

You smiled, leaning into him as he wrapped his arm around your waist. “Like I just spent a whole week going through heat with my mate,” you replied with a soft giggle.

He hummed, mouth curving into a smile as he leaned in to kiss your temple. But he grew serious as he asked his next question. “I didn’t hurt ya at all, did I?” He’d already checked in with you before, but he still wanted to make absolutely certain that he hadn’t been too much for you to handle.

“You didn’t. I know you’d never hurt me, Bobby.”

You spoke with such conviction that it made his heart lurch in his chest. “I just…I had to make sure, y’know?”

Your head rested against his shoulder. “Trust me, I would tell you right away if you hurt me. But that’s not something I have to worry about. Not with you. You’re everything a good alpha should be.”

He beamed at the praise. Oh, how glad he was that you believed in him. That you trusted him, and knew he would never harm you. “I love you, little pup. More than anything.”

“I love you too.”

Together, you strolled through the forest, beneath the sun-dappled trees, and you were content. You spoke of anything and everything. Of your plans for the future. Of your hopes and dreams and everything in between. If only for a moment, all was right with the world. You were happy, safe, and at peace.

Until you sensed it.

A scent carried by the wind. It stopped you dead in your tracks, and you gasped, eyes widening as a rush of ice-cold fear swept through you. Bobby sensed it too.

He went still beside you, tilting his head, inhaling. Blood.

But that wasn’t what had stopped you. No, it was something other than the metallic tang of blood in the air. The scent that drove terror through your veins was woodsy and sharp. Liken almost to that of a fire-ravaged forest.

“No,” you whispered. “No, no, no.”

Bob turned to you, face masked in worry. He knew that something was horribly wrong. That the safety of the pack had been compromised. But as he prepared to run toward the face of danger, you gripped his forearm, and he felt the way you were trembling.

“It’s Finn,” came your fearful whimper, as you glanced around, as if the wolf might come out of the shadows at any moment. “He’s here, somewhere.”

His worry morphed into a vengeful snarl. “Stay close to me,” he told you, “do not leave my side.”

But as he spoke, the sound of a howl ripped through the air, and his head snapped up, eyes flashing red. The howl belonged to Bradley. A howl of alarm. Let out as a call to his alpha.

Bob grunted at the sharp pull in his chest. An intrinsic need to protect. He grabbed your hand, and within seconds, you were both running, sprinting through the woods as fast as your legs would carry you.

It reminded you so much of the night you had come to him for help. Then, you were running into a safe haven. Now, that safe haven had been breached.

As you neared the compound, the gate came into view. It was wide open, swaying in the wind, and there was no one watching over the perimeter. The closer you got, the stronger Finn’s scent became. He was inside the compound.

Together, you burst through the entrance, and came upon a horrific scene. Bob skidded to a halt, arm darting out to stop you, immediately yanking you behind him.

You were surrounded by members of your old pack, but that wasn’t what sent a flicker of nauseating dread through you. The worst part was the sight of each of Bob’s wolves on their knees, forced to surrender, because, in the midst of them, there stood Finn, who held Mickey by the throat, claws piercing his flesh, intent upon killing him.

Crimson blood trickled through Finn’s fingers, and down Mickey’s neck. It was clear that he’d been in this position for long enough to deplete his strength. The fight had left him, and he remained limp and pale in Finn’s grasp.

Finn had forced the other wolves into submission by threatening to kill Mickey. And by the looks of it, he was going to succeed if someone didn’t intervene.

At the sight of his dear friend in such dire straits, Bob grew desperate, thrumming with rage. He squared his shoulders and shouted in a thundering voice, “Finn! Let him go!”

Finn turned, Mickey still in his grasp. When you saw him, the one who’d tried to kill you so many months ago, your stomach turned. That same murderous rage burned in his eyes. And he had the nerve to smile.

“Look who it is,” Finn taunted, “I was beginning to think you’d never show up.”

Bob inched forward, unwilling to make any sudden moves that might result in Mickey’s death. His friend gasped, though it sounded more of a sickly gurgle than anything. Bob swayed, fighting to keep himself in check.

“Let my beta go. He hasn’t done anything to you. Whatever your reason for being here is, take it up with me.” His fingers twitched with the urge to rip the cruel alpha apart.

Finn sneered. A face that had once been so handsome to you now made ugly by the harsh expression of wickedness. “My issue isn’t with you. It’s with her.” He jerked his head in your direction.

Bob pushed you further behind him, frame shielding you. “You aren’t her alpha anymore. You have no power over her.”

“You hand her over to me, or I’ll tear his throat out.” For emphasis, he tightened his hold on Mickey’s neck, pulling a pained groan from him.

A shudder went through Bob, his very atoms vibrating with his desperation. He knew that when forced to choose, his chemical makeup would naturally drive him to choose his mate, every time. But he also knew that if Mickey died right here and now, he would never forgive himself for letting it happen.

“You left her for dead! Why do you suddenly care about her now?!” He kept you tucked behind him still, an unmoving barrier between you and Finn. He wouldn’t let him come near you again.

You trembled, pressed against Bob’s back, gripping his shirt. As your eyes darted nervously to each of the faces belonging to pack members you’d once been close to, you wondered if any of them knew. Had Finn been honest with them about what he’d done? You had a feeling that they were completely unaware. That they didn’t have a clue he’d killed their previous alpha and wrongfully claimed—stolen—his status.

“Let him go.” A voice you hardly recognized, but soon realized was your own. You still remained behind Bob as you spoke. But you forced yourself to look at Finn. To hold his gaze.

He looked at you with grave disdain. “You’re pathetic. How quickly you moved on to another alpha. You reek of his seed. But it shouldn’t surprise me that you’d whore yourself out for him. Of course you’d give him easy access to what’s between your legs.”

Bob snarled, incensed. How dare he speak of you in such an obscene manner.

Only briefly, his eyes flickered to his own pack, each one on their knees, forced into a stance of submission. He considered the odds. They were surrounded by Finn’s wolves, and there were a lot more of them than there were of Bob’s.

Bob was well in tune with his betas. He could potentially give Bradley or Jake the silent signal to cause a distraction. It was clear that Bradley was already seconds away from reacting, judging by the look of burning rage in his eyes. But as volatile as Bradley could be, he would not act unless his alpha gave him the signal to do so.

However, Bob knew that the moment he gave the go ahead, Finn would kill Mickey. But Bob also knew what Mickey would say. He would tell him to choose you.

But you couldn’t bear it. No, you wouldn’t let Finn hurt anyone else you cared about. Forcing the fear from your voice, you called out, “let him live, and I’ll go with you.”

“No,” Bob immediately interjected, tone firm.

“Bobby, I have to.”

“I won’t let you!”

“If I don’t, he’ll kill him.”

“He already took you from me once, I won’t let it happen again!” He didn’t dare take his eyes off of Finn, but if he’d been looking at you, you knew you’d see the intensity of his conviction burning in his gaze.

“Make your choice. The clock’s ticking,” Finn threatened.

Your stomach turned. The life was already beginning to drain from Mickey’s eyes, even as he weakly pawed at Finn’s hand around his bloodied neck. If you didn’t act now, it would be too late.

So you stepped forward.

Bobby grabbed your arm, grip tight, insistent, but not painful. “No.”

You turned to face him, and he saw something in your face then. An unspoken understanding passed between you. Silent words that may as well have been shouted at the top of your lungs as you looked upon his face. You knew what you were doing. He had to let you go.

Though it broke him to do so, he dropped your arm.

As you turned to look at Finn, you wondered what narrative he’d spun, to convince the rest of the pack to come here. None of them were cruel and power hungry like he was. If they’d followed him here, he had given a believable enough reason for them to invade Bob’s territory.

No matter what he’d told them, you intended to try to reason with them. Perhaps you could sway their loyalty to their alpha.

“What do you want with me, Finn?” You asked, hands out in front of you, surrendering, approaching him cautiously.

His upper lip curled into a snarl. Then he swept his free arm through the air, motioning to his wolves. “What do I want? Ask them.”

You lifted your head, gaze falling upon each pack member. You’d once been family, but now, you could see the hatred in their eyes.

Finally, one of them—Eleanor—spoke up. “You abandoned your pack. You betrayed your alpha. And now, here you stand, mated to a new alpha. You know how unforgivable that is. You need to pay for what you’ve done.”

“That’s not true,” came Bob’s voice from behind you. He stepped forward, but forced himself still. He would remain in control for as long as he needed to be. If he acted rashly, he’d lose Mickey, and his pack would likely be overpowered by Finn’s.

“You don’t get to speak for her,” Nathaniel, another of Finn’s wolves, snapped. “She answers for her own actions.”

Heart hammering in your chest, you hesitated, choosing your next words carefully. You had a plan, and you knew exactly how you were going to execute it. However, you failed to realize what was coming next, until it was too late.

Letting out a trembling breath, you locked eyes with Finn and slowly lowered yourself to the ground. Much like you had the day you’d been reunited with Bobby. A display of submission.

At the sight of you kneeling before the one who’d betrayed you, Bob’s stomach turned, nausea creeping up his throat. But this wasn’t his choice.

As you looked up, a dark flash of wicked elation crossed Finn’s face. “There, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

It happened in the blink of an eye. Supernaturally quick, yet in slow motion, all at once. Mickey drew in a shuddering, choked gasp, just before Finn slashed his claws across his throat and dropped him to the ground with a sickening, lifeless thud.

A rush of blood pounded through your ears as your heart raced, and you felt as if you had been kicked in the chest, oxygen snatched from your lungs as you wailed out, “NO!”

The red of Finn’s eyes matched the red of the blood that poured from Mickey’s neck, as he surged forward, right toward you. You scrambled to your feet, attempting to bring yourself into a defensive stance, but before you even felt the impact of him colliding with you, the sound of a deafening roar cut through the air, and in seconds, you were hit from the side by a force so strong you went soaring.

Your vision went black for a moment as you hit the ground, and when your sight returned, you looked up to find a chestnut wolf standing in front of you, shielding you. Bobby.

You were suddenly surrounded by wolves of all shapes, sizes, and colors. You were the only one who remained in your human form as apex predators clashed around you. Growling. Pacing. Each side waiting for their alpha to make the first move.

Scrambling to your feet, you stumbled back, yanking at your clothing, throwing the offending fabric aside as your body shifted into your wolf. Without hesitation, you moved to stand at Bob’s flank, showing your allegiance to him.

Finn stood in front of him, and as he lowered down to his haunches, you knew he was preparing to lunge.

He and Bobby collided in the blink of an eye, snapping, clawing at one another. And then all hell broke loose. You watched in horror as your old pack, and your chosen one, broke into a battle.

You didn’t want to fight any of them. How could you? They were your family. It broke your heart to think that some of them might die at the hand of Bob’s wolves, and vice versa.

There was only one at fault for the events that had taken place. Finn was the perpetrator. He was the one who had convinced his pack members that you had turned your back on them. What would they do, if they knew he was responsible for killing their old alpha? And if you told them, would they believe you?

The time for reasoning was over. There was no stopping the violent conflict happening around you. Lives would be taken. The soil of this compound would be soaked with blood. It was already stained with Mickey’s. More would follow.

And as you watched your families clash, you were struck with a grief so intense you almost collapsed under the weight of it.

You tried to keep your eye on Bobby, hoping he would hold his own against Finn. Although Bob was very skilled and cunning, Finn was running off of pure rage and hatred. A powerful, deadly combination.

But you were soon faced with no other choice other than to defend yourself when you were cornered by Theo, one of Finn’s wolves. He growled, eyes trained on you. And then he lept toward you, and you collided with him, desperate to fight him off. If you had to kill him to protect yourself, you would, but you silently prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

Theo’s claws sliced into your flesh. You were holding back, but he wasn’t, so you shut off the human part of your brain and let yourself become the predator you were by nature, fighting for your life.

There was no telling how long the battle lasted. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. The chaos mounted in intensity. In ferocity. Teeth and claws, ripping and slashing. Howls, snarls, roars of pain and rage.

Everything was falling apart. In a way, it felt as if you were on the verge of losing everything. And maybe you were. Maybe you had been given a second chance with Bobby, only to lose him again.

And when the battle finally stopped, it was not because one side arose victorious. No, it stopped when a sickening, harrowing yelp ripped through the air.

Immediately, the wolves around you froze. Everyone went dead silent. Turning to face the source of the yelp. Immediately, Theo backed off of you, allowing you to scamper to your feet.

You’d already known who the howl of pain belonged to. It had struck you right in the heart when you heard it, as if someone had shot you with a silver arrow. And as you took in the sight before you, your world tilted on its axis.

Bobby had been forced into his human form, laying sprawled upon the earth as Finn’s wolf stood over him. Growling. Claws at his throat. Seconds away from making a blow that would kill him.

You were moving before you realized what you were doing. Bones shifting. Fur giving way to smooth flesh as you dashed forward. “NO!” You heard a ragged, primal scream cut through the air, and realized that it had come from your own throat.

You threw yourself to the ground, landing upon your mate’s injured form, putting yourself between him and Finn. Staring up at the cruel, violent wolf. Beneath you, you could hear Bob’s pained groan, and broken whisper, “d-don’t.” He couldn’t bear to watch you die.

But you remained there, shielding him. Protecting him. “I won’t let you kill him!” You cried out, even as Finn growled, bloodied maw dripping onto your bare skin. “I won’t let you kill him like you killed my father!”

When the wolf hesitated, you knew it was finally time to take your power back.

Emboldened, you glared up at him. “Tell them, Finn. Tell them how you killed him and stole his alpha status. Tell them how you lied about it. How you tried to kill me when I found out.”

Around you, wolves had shifted into their human forms. A voice called out, “is that true, Finn?”

“It’s true. All of it,” you answered for him, even as he snarled. He had yet to shift into his human form.

And you knew, as you looked into his face, that he was going to kill you. Even when he had severed your mate bond all those months ago, he’d never looked this murderous. Perhaps you had accepted that this was the end, because you felt no fear, even as he reared back. At least you would die in Bobby’s arms.

You closed your eyes, making peace with it.

But the blow never came. In a split second, another wolf was colliding with Finn, effectively saving your life. Your head shot up in surprise, eyes going wide as saucers when you realized who had intervened.

Mickey.

His sudden distraction was enough to let the rest of the pack gain the upper hand. In a split second, Finn’s own wolves turned against him. Although Mickey was injured, he’d been able to hold him down long enough for Finn’s pack to capture their wayward alpha.

Moments later, Finn was back in his human form, kneeling against the earth as Eleanor and Theo held him in place. “Is it true?” Theo asked. “Did you kill our alpha?”

Finn did not answer. Theo gripped him by the throat, eyes flashing yellow. “Answer me! Did you kill him?!”

From where he knelt, Finn locked eyes with you, and a sneer darkened his face. If he had his way, you would be dead, and he would be bathing in your blood. Now, it was his blood that would be shed.

“It was worth it,” he finally said. “I’m not sorry for killing him. I never was.”

Although you had known it to be true, and had heard him confess it before, it still felt like a slap to the face to hear him say it again. It made it real. He’d actually taken your father’s life. It wasn’t a bad dream. It was reality.

But the nightmare was over now, because, in seconds, Finn’s wolves moved to close in on him. However, this wasn’t their fight. There was only one who had the right to enact punishment upon him.

At that moment, Bobby struggled to pull himself upright, turning to you, taking your face in his trembling hands. He pressed his forehead against yours, and although no words were spoken, you knew what he was going to do. It was what he had sworn he would do from the moment you stumbled into his compound, bearing Finn’s claw marks upon your neck.

He parted from you, and you stood with him, as he called out, “Stop.” The authority in his command drew everyone’s attention to him.

Slowly, he approached the group that surrounded Finn. Gait wavering, because of his injuries. But he stood tall, despite his pain. He did not take his eyes off of Finn, and he realized that the corrupt alpha looked afraid.

Bob stopped in front of him, glowering. “You took something from me.” Tone sharp. Not an ounce of kindness or mercy in his voice.

Finn attempted a scoff, though it sounded nervous. Uncertain. “I didn’t take anything from you.”

With a growl, Bob gripped his hair and yanked his head back. “You took my mate, who was promised to be mine. You killed her father. You tried to kill her.” He trembled with the force of his indignation. “And because harm came to her by your hand, you are going to pay for it with your life.”

Bob leaned in close, so his face was inches from Finn’s. Eyes glowing red as ember, fiery with his rage. “You will never hurt her again. You will never hurt anyone again.”

When he drew back, you closed your eyes, unwilling to watch. But you heard it. The tearing of flesh. The strangled groan. The thud of a body landing upon the earth.

And then it was silent, save for the sound of footsteps moving toward you.

“It’s over.” When your eyes fluttered open, you found Bobby kneeling before you. “He’s gone.”

You were sobbing before you threw yourself into his arms. Face buried against his neck, body trembling. It was done. You were safe.

You remained there on the ground for what felt like hours, holding one another, unwilling to let go. When you parted, you found yourself frantically searching him for any injuries sustained. His chest and torso were covered in claw marks. A particular nasty gash on his side was what had driven him into his more vulnerable human form.

But as you placed your hand upon his chest, over his heart, he was very much alive.

“Bobby…” you whimpered, chin trembling. The gravity of the situation had finally set in. He could have died.

He reached his hand up, cupping your cheek. “Oh, my precious pup,” he whispered. “I’m okay.”

He held you close again, even as his gaze flickered up to take in the carnage. He searched for his own pack members. Counting each of them. And there they all were, now in their human forms. Natasha. Jake. Bradley. Javy. Reuben. Pete. Penny. Amelia. And, by some miracle, there was Mickey. Clearly injured, throat still bloodied, but alive. How he had managed to survive Finn’s violence was unclear, other than by sheer force of will.

Bobby had never been so relieved. As he locked eyes with Mickey, the beta nodded at his alpha. A silent way of saying I’m okay.

Slowly, Bobby rose to stand, with you by his side, arm wrapped around his waist, head resting against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, pumping his lifeblood through him. You hadn’t lost him. Not today.

Together, you limped toward the other pack members, who surrounded you, showing their support to their alpha and his mate. Natasha was the first to step forward and wrap her arms around you and Bob.

“We’re okay,” she whispered. “We’re all okay.”

And then there was Mickey. Leaning against Jake for support, he managed a weak smile. He could not speak, as Finn had damaged his vocal cords. But they would heal in time. Until then, he merely opened his arms and brought Bobby into his embrace.

“I’m sorry I was gone,” Bob whispered, “if I’d been here sooner maybe I could’ve stopped this from happening.”

But as they parted, Mickey shook his head. Although he could not voice his feelings, Bob could see them conveyed clearly in his eyes. It wasn’t your fault.

He lovingly squeezed his beta’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry too. If I’d realized Finn was going to do this…” you spoke up, unable to articulate your feelings as emotion tightened your throat.

But none of them held any of it against you.

“What matters is we’re all safe and alive,” Penny interjected. “And the one responsible for all of this is dead.”

At her words, you nodded, reaching out to squeeze her hand. Then you leaned back into Bobby, unwilling to be apart from him. Not after almost losing each other.

A voice drew your attention outside the intimate circle in which you’d gathered. There stood Nathaniel. As he looked at you, deep remorse gathered in his green eyes.

“I’m sorry we didn’t see it sooner. That we all just blindly believed him,” he said, voice trembling. The rest of his pack came to stand behind him. They all looked heartbroken and full of deep regret over what had transpired.

But you shook your head. “I believed him, too. He…he was very convincing.”

“Still. We should’ve known something was wrong when he claimed you abandoned the pack. You wouldn’t have done that without good reason.”

You didn’t hold any of them responsible. Finn was a master manipulator. He had you fooled, and if you hadn’t gotten wise to him, you never would have escaped his hold on you.

“It’s over now,” you finally said. “Finn can’t control any of us anymore.”

And thus, a heavy weight was lifted off of your shoulders.

You looked at Bobby, and offered a smile, though tired as it was. He returned your smile, and intertwined your hands. It would take a while to heal from this. But you knew that, when the time was right, you would join each pack together as one. Just as had once been planned, before a corrupt alpha had ruined it all.

Thankfully, all hope was not lost.

But first, recovery had to take place. In the days following the conflict, Penny was busy treating injuries. Mickey was a special case that required round the clock care. While Penny was preoccupied with him, you and Natasha worked alongside her, tending to wounds and making sure everyone was healthy.

The physical scars would heal, but the emotional ones would remain raw for a while. Your grief was just as painful as ever. It had been rehashed during the encounter with Finn.

You were relieved his wolves had wised up to him, but so much heartache had been endured in the meantime. Heartache that could have been avoided if you had seen him for who he really was from the start.

Bobby held you as you lay awake at night, weeping softly into the peaceful confines of your shared bedroom, and he assured you that it wasn’t your fault. He knew how you blamed yourself. How you wished you hadn’t been so blind.

“But you saw it,” you whimpered. “You knew something was wrong in the beginning. How could I not see it?”

And that was the thing of it. He had suspected Finn in the beginning. But he hadn’t pushed the issue as hard as he should have. “We both have to live with what happened,” he whispered, “but it doesn’t have to define us. The universe gave us a second chance. Not everyone is that fortunate.”

He was right. Although you had suffered great pain to get to this point, you were increasingly grateful that the universe had given you another chance.

It would take time for you to process your grief and guilt. But Bobby would be right there with you. Your mate. Your one true love. You didn’t have to go through it alone.

A little ways down the road, your packs would finally come together. They would pledge their allegiance to Robert Floyd, the benevolent alpha.

And you and Bobby would lead them. Together. Just like you were always meant to.

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