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starlightmoon2020 · 9 days ago

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I lost this fic in my likes, so I absolutely do need to respost this series because I am in love with it!!!

Across The Hall (6) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: After everything Michael has done for you, on what might be the longest, and undeniably the worst shift of his life, you finally get the chance to be there for him.

Word Count: 5818

Warning: Age Gap (Mid 20s/Early 50's), Mentions of death and mass casualty event.

Authors Note: Hello! It's June (happy pride month! Be who you are for your prideeeeee!!!!) and we're back in actionnnnnn. I'm no longer sick thank god. The last two weeks of May were stressful and crazy for me but summer is here!!! Let's get back to our slow burn of will they...won't they... maybe??? Enjoy :) - ryn

You’ve stumbled down the hall, heels dangling from one hand. Girls' night had been long overdue—a rare chance to catch up with your friends despite everyone’s crazy schedules. Now, barefoot and a little tipsy, you padded softly across the cool floor toward your apartment. A quiet giggle escaped your lips—because, honestly, that walk felt way longer than you remembered.

Rummaging through your purse, you tried to focus, but everything inside seemed to blend together into one big jumbled mess. Lip balm, receipts, gum, a pen… no apartment key.

You squinted at the top of your door and stretched your arm up, pawing around for the spare you were pretty sure you’d left there.

Nothing.

“Perfect,” you muttered, leaning heavily against the door before letting yourself sink to the floor. Your back thudded against the wood as you slowly slid down, finally landing flat on the cool tile. Not bad, actually. The chill against your skin felt kind of nice. Your eyes began to flutter, growing heavier with each blink… and before you could muster the energy to sit up and call Jimmy, the apartment manager, to let you in—you were out. Fast asleep in the hallway.

—-

Michael stepped off the elevator, eyes cast down at his shoes. It had been the longest day—undeniably the worst shift, possibly the worst of his life.

Not only was it the anniversary of his mentor, Dr. Montogermy Adamson's passing, but he had watched an elderly man die in front of his sobbing children. He pronounced an 18-year-old brain-dead after a fentanyl overdose. They were unsuccessful in resuscitating a little girl who drowned. And on top of all of that was the mass casualty event at PittFest.

The chaos from that alone kept him past shift change, elbow-deep in blood and trauma, racing against time to save people whose lives were slipping through his fingers.

His feet ached. His mind buzzed. He was absolutely exhausted, physically, emotionally, mentally.

But when he looked up, he froze in his tracks.

There was someone lying in front of a door in the hallway.

Not just someone. You.

Sprawled right there on the floor, halfway between your doors.

Adrenaline surged through him all over again as he bolted forward. It had already been a horrific day—but this. This was absolute, the epitome of hell.

He shrugged off his backpack—it hit the floor with a heavy thud. Dropping to his knees beside you, his heart pounded as he reached out, searching for breath. Relief hit him like a wave when he felt it—shallow, but steady.

Quickly, his hands moved over you, checking for any signs of injury. No blood, no visible trauma—but you weren’t waking up.

“Sweetheart—” he said, his voice tight with panic and urgency.

“Sweetheart… baby, open your eyes for me.”

He gently cradled your head in his hands, brushing hair away from your face with trembling fingers.

“Come on, sweetheart”

You groan, your face crunching from being disturbed from a deep sleep, but your eyes flutter open to see a panicked Michael.

“Michael?” you murmured and groaned, voice thick with sleep and something else as you began to stir awake.

He exhaled hard, the tension in his shoulders starting to drop. That’s when he caught it—the unmistakable scent of alcohol on your breath.

Oh.

He sat back a little, dragging a hand down his face as realization dawned.

“You’re drunk,” he said softly, more to himself than to you.

You squint your eyes at him, adjusting to the light.. “Maybe I was… earlier. I went out with some friends.”

His jaw clenched, relief and exasperation battling it out.

“I thought you were hurt.”

You blinked slowly. “I lost my keys somewhere. My spare wasn’t in its spot. I sat down and I guess I just… fell asleep.” You swallowed hard. “Not sure how long I was out there…”

A heavy silence settled between you.

You slowly sat up, brushing your hair out of your face, still a little groggy. Across from you, Michael stayed seated, his knees pulled up, arms resting on them. His head hung forward, shoulders tense, breathing uneven.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said quietly, his voice muffled but thick with something you hadn’t heard from him before.

You looked at him, really looked, and the weight of what he must’ve thought, what he must’ve felt in those few panicked moments, settled over you.

You reached out and gently took his face in your hands, guiding him to look at you. His eyes met yours, glassy and tired, but wide open now.

“Hey, I’m okay.” you said softly. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

His eyes searched yours for a moment, as if double-checking you were really okay. Really here. He held your wrists gently, his thumbs brushing over your skin, your hands still cradling his face.

You felt his jaw relax slightly under your hands, the tension melting, just a little.

“I thought I’d have to call it in,” he said, voice quiet. “The irony of finding you like that… after the night I just had.”

Your thumbs brushed along the line of his cheek. “What happened tonight?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering downward before meeting yours again. Vulnerability wasn’t something he gave easily—not in his line of work, not in his life. He rarely opened up to anyone outside the hospital. Only a few coworkers, like Dana and Jack, had ever seen him close to breaking. But tonight, something cracked. Tonight, Whitaker, one of the med students, had seen him have a panic attack. Even then, he tried to hold it together, tried not to fall apart unless he was completely alone.

“A lot…” he said quietly. “just…”

With a deep sigh, he gently took your hands from his face and lowered himself to the floor, lying flat on his back—mirroring how he’d found you moments before. You watched him for a moment, then quietly shifted, lowering yourself beside him. The hallway floor was cool beneath you, grounding in its simplicity. Shoulder to shoulder, you both stared up at the ceiling.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Michael begins to open up about tonight.

“Today was the anniversary of my mentor’s passing,” he said quietly. “Five years. So… today was already hard enough as it is.”

He paused, the weight of it all pressing into the silence.

“I watched an elderly man die in front of his sobbing children,” he continued, voice low but controlled. “ I had to pronounce an eighteen-year-old brain-dead after a fentanyl overdose. And we lost a little girl who drowned—six years old.”

He rubbed his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose

“Was about to head home when they called ‘all hands on deck,’” he said, voice low but steady. “I’ve dealt with mass casualties before, more times than I can count on my fingers. But it never gets easier.”

He paused, eyes still on the ceiling. “We had to triage on the spot, prioritize who needed help first. Every second counts, but you can’t save everyone. That’s the hardest part.”

His eyes flicked to yours for a moment before drifting back to the ceiling. “We lost people tonight. People I should’ve saved.”

His voice barely above a whisper. “I know you didn’t mean to scare me. But when I stepped off the elevator and saw you—still, not moving—I thought…”

He trails off, jaw tightening. “My brain went to the worst place. Just for a second, I thought I’d lost you too. And I—I couldn’t take it. Not after everything. Not after the fucking day I had”

You turned your head to look at him, your heart aching at the cracks showing through his normally composed exterior.

You reach out for his hand. He doesn’t let go. He squeezes it, gently at first, then tighter, like he’s anchoring himself to you. You don’t say anything. You don’t have to.

“I know you did absolutely everything in your power,” you say softly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Everything you could possibly do to save the people you brought through those doors.”

“And I know that because of your character. You’re selfless. That story you told me—the night you built my shelf, the one about why you became a doctor—I see that little boy in you every single day.”

You glance at him, your heart tightening at the way his jaw clenches.

“You’re someone who steps up. Who takes action. Who does what needs to be done, whether it’s something huge… or something no one else would even notice.”

Your hand tightens around his.

“It’s not just what you do. It’s who you are.”

He swallows hard, and for a moment, his eyes shut like he’s trying to hold it all in—grief, exhaustion, fear not wanting to let it out again.

“I don’t always feel like that guy,” he admits quietly, voice rough. “Sometimes it feels like I’m just… failing. Like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

“You can’t save everyone,” you add, softer now. “But that doesn’t mean you failed. You did more than most ever could.”

His jaw flexes again, but he doesn’t argue. He just turns his head slightly, eyes finding yours with something raw and unguarded behind them.

“And me?” you say, squeezing his hand just a little tighter. “You didn’t lose me…I’m okay, I promise”

The two of you remain there in silence, giving him time to steady his breath and sort through the storm of emotions inside him.

“My spare key… it’s taped to the back left leg of the vending machine,” Michael says, his voice low, almost like he’s testing the words. “If you ever need to come to my place for… something. You know, just in case. I just—thought you should know.”

“Noted”

“I should probably call Aiden… see if I can crash at his place,” you say, sitting up with a tired sigh. “I know Jimmy’s not gonna answer at this hour.”

Michael gives a half-smile, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah. Jimmy turns his phone off the second it hits nine. Like clockwork.”

You glance at him, and he shrugs.

“Crash at mine,” he says simply, still lying on the floor. “Call Jimmy in the morning.”

“Michael, you’ve had a hard night,” you start gently. “I don’t want to intrude. You probably need space to decompress, and—”

“Stay…please?” he says, cutting you off. “Just call Jimmy in the morning.”

“Okay.” You didn’t protest or argue this time.

With that, you stood up, Michael following a moment later, towering over you. For a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other like you were caught in a trance.l

You broke it first, bending down to grab your bag and heels from the floor. Michael slung his backpack over one shoulder, the movement quiet, almost careful.

He unlocked the door to his apartment. It was dark inside, quiet. As he stepped through the space, he began flicking on the lamps one by one. Warm light filled the room, casting a soft glow that made the space feel unexpectedly cozy.

It was your first time in his apartment. The layout was identical to yours—just mirrored. Familiar, yet entirely his.

Aiden’s place had always felt sterile—cold, impersonal, like no one really lived there. But Michael’s apartment was the opposite. It was warm. Cozy. It had character.

There were knickknacks on the shelves, books stacked in uneven piles, framed photos here and there, all signs of a life being lived. His touch was everywhere, quiet but unmistakable. Each detail told a story. His story.

“Make yourself at home,” he called out as he disappeared down the hallway.

You set your bag on the coffee table settled onto his couch, sinking into the cushions. A moment later, he returned with a towel and a folded set of clothes.

“Figured you’d want to shower, get comfortable,” he said, offering them to you.

“Thank you,” you said softly, accepting the bundle.

After your shower, you stepped back into the living room, now wearing his oversized T-shirt and a pair of sweats. They smelled like him. You clutched your bundle of folded dirty clothes against your chest, suddenly unsure of where to set them.

You found Michael laying out a pillow and blanket on the couch. He glanced up, then did a double take when he saw you in his clothes. His hands paused mid-motion, eyes lingering for a beat too long.

“Hey” he said quietly.

“Hi…” you replied, hugging your clothes a little tighter. “Thank you… for letting me shower. And for letting me borrow your clothes.”

His mouth lifted slightly, not quite a smile, but close. “Yeah. Of course.”

You stepped further into the room, placing your bundle of clothes on the coffee table. You moved to settle onto the couch, but before you could, Michael stopped you with a look.

“What are you doing?”

You blinked, confused. “Um… going to crash on your couch?”

He shook his head, standing up straighter. “You’re not sleeping out here. Take my bed.”

“I’m not putting you on the couch,” he said, unwavering. “My mother raised me better than that. My place, my rules. Take the bed.”

“I don’t want to,” you said, quieter now, arms crossed stubbornly. “I’m perfectly fine with-”

Suddenly you let out a shriek as he scoops you up and flings you over his shoulder.

“Michael! Michael—oh my god, put me down!” you yelped, bracing your hands against his back as he lifted you effortlessly off the ground. You felt like you were about to tumble headfirst, your legs kicking slightly in protest.

He didn’t flinch. Just kept walking toward the hallway, completely unfazed. “You’re taking the bed,” he said, as if you weren’t currently flailing in his arms.

“Michael!”

He carried you into his bedroom and, with infuriating ease, tossed you gently onto the mattress. You bounced once, arms flailing, your hair fanning out across his sheets. He stood at the foot of his bed.

“Was that really necessary?” you asked, glaring up at him as you sit up on your elbows.

“Yes,” he said without missing a beat. “You need to sleep”

“I was fine with sleeping on the couch”

“Too bad, you’re sleeping here. Now, go to sleep,” he said as he made this way towards the door.

You pick up a pillow and hit him square in the back. He picked it up and tossed it back to you, a small, playful smile tugging at his lips before he switched off the light.

He started to head for the living room.

“Wait—” you blurted, stopping him mid-step. “Are… are you going to be okay?”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the pillow, knuckles white. Something deep in your chest told you he was holding it all in—fighting it, refusing to grieve, refusing to let himself feel the full weight of the day.

He stood there for a moment, his back still to you. Then, without turning around, he said simply, quietly:

“Goodnight.”

___

You couldn’t sleep. Worry gnawed at you—he had opened up earlier, but now he was closed off again. Lying there in his bed, your eyes traced the slow, steady spin of the ceiling fan above. The soft hum of the shower echoed down the hall, steady and soothing. You listened—the faint creaks of the floor, his footsteps moving toward the living room where you knew he was sleeping. Then the TV clicked on, casting a gentle flicker of light and muffled voices into the quiet apartment. Time blurred around you. You didn’t know exactly when you drifted off, but eventually, you did.

You woke to the sound of faint, muffled crying. The room was still dark, and for a moment, you weren’t sure where you were, then you remembered you had slept over at Michael’s.

You climbed out of his bed and made your way quietly through the room and down the hall. As you got closer to the living room, the crying grew louder.

“Michael?” you called softly.

In the shadows of the night, with a faint light peeking through the window, you made out Michael lying on the couch. He shifted restlessly, caught between mumbling and crying.

You move quickly to the couch, crouching down in front of him.

You placed your hand gently on his shoulder.

“Michael,” you said again, a little louder this time, your voice full of concern.

His eyes stayed closed, his brow furrowed, and the tears kept coming. He muttered something unintelligible, a name maybe, or a plea. Whatever he was seeing in his dreams, it wasn’t letting him go easily.

“Hey, hey…it’s okay. You’re safe,” you whispered, brushing a strand of damp hair from his forehead. Your heart clenched. You’d never seen him like this, so vulnerable, so small in a way.

He jolted suddenly, gasping as his eyes flew open. For a second, he looked right through you, his chest heaving, confusion etched deep into his face. Then his gaze settled, focused.

“It’s me,” you said gently, not moving your hand. “You’re okay. You were just dreaming.”

Michael blinked hard, like he was trying to come back to the surface. He swallowed, his breath still shaky.

“Shit—I’m sorry,” he muttered, wiping at his tears, clearly embarrassed you’d seen him like this.

But you knew exactly what it was. It had finally caught up to him—the stress, the exhaustion, the guilt. His body was finally letting it all go. The trauma of the day bleeding into his sleep.

He closed his eyes for a second, leaning into your touch like, grounding him.

“Shhh, it's okay” you whispered.

After a moment, you asked quietly, “Does this happen often?”

A pause. “Hasn’t happened in a while,” he said, his voice low, almost ashamed.

You didn’t push, just nodded. You stood and reached for his hand. “Come with me,” you said, your tone gentle but sure.

He stared at your outstretched hand for a moment, as if unsure whether he was awake or still somewhere inside the dream. Then slowly, he reached for it. His fingers curled around yours—cool, tense—and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

You led him back down the hallway, back to his bed where the sheets were still tangled from your sleep. He stood there for a beat, hesitating at the edge, his shoulders tight.

“I shouldn’t…we shouldn’t. I’ll be fine—I’ll take the couch,” he said, starting to pull away.

You caught his hand before he could. You knew what he was thinking—because you were thinking it too. This felt intimate. Raw. Like standing on the edge of something neither of you had meant to cross.

But none of that mattered right now.

He needed someone. And you weren’t going to let him be alone.

You sat on the edge of the bed and gave his hand a gentle tug. “It’a okay…Come on,” you said, quieter now. “Lie down with me”

Michael crawled in beside you, his movements sluggish, like he was still half-submerged in the dream. You pulled the covers up around both of you and turns to face him.

Michael let out a breath and closed his eyes, but you could tell he was still wide awake. His jaw was clenched, his body coiled like a spring beneath the sheets.

You just reached for him, wrapping your arm around his waist and pulling him closer. His forehead rested against yours, and you felt the tension in his body begin to ease.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” You reassure him.

His breathing slowed, the tremble in his body fading bit by bit. Absentmindedly, you traced soft patterns along his torso with your fingertips—gentle, soothing movements meant only to remind him: you’re not alone.

And eventually, wrapped in quiet and warmth and the comfort of closeness, the two of you drifted off to sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open as soft morning light filtered through Michael’s window. The weight of his body pressed gently against you—your back resting against his arm, his other wrapped securely around your waist. As you turned slightly to look at him, he shifted naturally in his sleep, rolling onto his back but keeping his arm beneath your head, still holding you close. His breath was steady, his face peaceful.

For a moment, you simply stayed there, watching him—feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. He had slept through the night beside you, undisturbed, safe.

And you felt it—that flicker of guilt.

For liking this. For wearing his clothes. For letting yourself settle so easily into the comfort of him. For being this close to Michael, in ways that felt more than friendly. You knew this wasn’t right—but it felt right.

Being there, wrapped in his warmth, hearing his steady breathing beside you…

You quietly slipped out of his bed, doing your best not to wake him. He needed the sleep—you didn’t want to take that from him.

Padding into the living room and kitchen area, you grabbed your bag from the coffee table and pulled out your phone. You couldn’t leave just yet—not until you got in touch with Jimmy. He didn’t answer your call, so you shot him a quick text instead saying you were locked out and crashed across the hall. A moment later, he replied: Out running errands. I’ll try to get back as soon as I can.

You let out a quiet sigh. Now all you had to do was wait.

Turning toward the kitchen, you started rummaging through the cabinets until you found the coffee maker. You filled it with water, scooped in the grounds, and set it to brew. The familiar aroma began to fill the space, wrapping around you like a small comfort.

Next, you opened Michael’s fridge to see what he had. The least you could do was make him breakfast—he had stayed the night, after all. He’d probably be hungry, you figured.

You plated the cheese omelet and toast on a simple plate, alongside the freshly brewed coffee, still steaming. Quietly, you carried it back to his room and set it down carefully on his nightstand.

You were about to leave the room when you spotted a polaroid that caught your eye on his cork board above his desk area in the corner of his bedroom half-buried among ticket stubs, scribbled reminders, and fading notes.

Curious, you moved closer to get a better look.

It was a candid shot, taken in what looked like a hospital break room. One doctor sitting in a chair, and three people, a woman and two men, crowded together on a couch, with another doctor sprawled across their laps. Everyone was smiling or caught mid-laugh. And then you realized the doctor stretched out across their laps was Michael.

A young Michael.

You take the tack out and lift the photo, examining it more closely, taking in a version of Michael you’ll never truly know or get to see. Those big, pretty brown eyes. That same cheeky smile. He looked the same, just aged like fine wine—time softening nothing, only adding depth and warmth to his features.

So this is what a twenty something year old Michael looked like.

God, you would’ve been completely captivated by him back then, wide-eyed, passionate, still finding his way.

And now, here you are, drawn just as much to the fifty-three-year-old Michael.

Maybe even more.

Because Michael knows himself. He holds every piece of his past and present, the mistakes, the victories, the laughter and the scars.

Suddenly, you heard a fork clinking against a plate. You whipped your head around to see Michael sitting up in bed, holding the plate of food and taking a bite of the cheese omelet you made.

“Morning” he mumbled talking with his mouth full.

You giggle. “Good Morning”

He grinned “Breakfast in bed? You’re setting the bar pretty high.”

He picked up the toast, taking a bite, chewing slowly. Michael shifted in bed, resting the plate on his lap. “You really didn’t have to do all this,” he said softly, voice still a little rough from sleep.

“I wanted to,” you replied, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“Well, thank you. That’s kind of you."

“How are you feeling?”

“Alright…not feeling a hundred percent, but enough to survive…”

He seemed to be in a better mood—sleep had softened the weight of everything from the night before. The tension in his shoulders was gone, his eyes a little clearer, the shadows under them not quite as heavy. But you could still see it—the lingering exhaustion in the way he moved, the quietness in his voice.

He picked up the coffee mug, taking a slow sip, then arched a brow at you over the rim.

“Snooping through my stuff?” he asked, teasing, lacing his voice, but there was a glint of curiosity behind it too.

You froze for a second, then glanced at the polaroids in your hands., guilt creeping into your smile. I just… saw the polaroid. The one with you and your co-workers. It was cute.”

You move over to the bed, climbing to sit beside him. He sets the coffee back on the night stand.

Taking the Polaroid from your hand, it was his turn examining the photo.

“That was from when I was a med student,” he says.

“Those were some of the residents who worked in the ER back then. Best people around. Sure, we butted heads a lot, but we genuinely cared for one another. I learned a lot from them”

He smiles, lost in memories and fond thoughts of his old mentors.

“Do you keep in touch with these people?”

He continues to eat the omelet, “Not often as I would like, but from time to time.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop, I just like looking at photos…”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind Hell , I got plenty more where this came from. I have a whole tin full of Polaroids–”

“Can I see them?” You ask.

“Really?” He pauses, a little surprised.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “If that’s okay.”

He studies you for a beat, then his expression softens. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He takes the plate setting it next to the coffee, he crosses the room to a shelf next to his desk, lined with well-worn medical books, scattered knickknacks, and a few dusty records leaning against one another. Nestled between them, he finds a dented tin can and pulls it out.

“This old thing has survived three apartments. I'm honestly surprised I haven’t lost it.” he says with a chuckle as he climbs back into the bed beside you.

He pops the lid open. Inside, a treasure trove of Polaroids—some curled at the edges, others with fading ink scribble across the bottom.

“Can I?” you say.

He nods, giving quiet permission, leaning back on the headboard as he watches you reach for the stack of Polaroids.

“We used to take a bunch of pictures during downtime or celebrating someone or a holiday in the ER…I haven’t looked at these in a while”

You begin to shuffle through them, careful and slow. Smiles frozen in time. Scrubs. Hospital hallways. Races on a stretcher. Tired eyes and wide grins.

Michael leans in closer, peering over your shoulder. One by one, he begins to name the faces—pointing them out with a soft smile or a quiet laugh.

“That’s Keisha, she once delivered a baby in the parking lot with nothing but gloves and a prayer.”

“That guy there? Sebastsian. We used to time each other running IV lines just to stay awake during night shifts.”

Some photos come with full stories, chaotic, funny, or unexpectedly tender. Others get only a name and a glance, the weight of memory settling in silence.

You nod, listening. It feels like holding Michael’s life in your hands. A version of Michael stitched together in snapshots and stories, long before he ever knew you.

“I like this kind of stuff,” you say softly, your fingers grazing the edge of a photo. “Looking at pictures... It's comforting. Nostalgic. You learn a lot about someone this way.” You pause, offering a small smile. “a picture is worth a thousand words”

You come to one photo of him—sitting on top of a counter, surrounded by files, a chart in hand, smiling at whoever took his photo. “You were cute back then,” you say before you can stop yourself. “I would’ve had the biggest crush on you…”

Your face flushes instantly, the words hanging in the air, too honest to take back.

Michael raises an eyebrow at the comment.

“...hypothetical,” you say, trying to save yourself.

“Yeah?” he says, tilting his head slightly. “And now?”

There’s a teasing note in his voice, but his eyes search yours like he’s genuinely curious, hopeful, even.

You hesitate, just for a beat. “N-now?” you say, giving him a look. Now I’m in trouble, you wanted to say.

You give him a pointed look, arching a brow. “Now you’re just old”

He laughs softly, but you’re already turning the photo over, pretending to study the next one like your heart isn’t racing.

He smirked.

“Old, huh? Maybe. But clearly age hasn’t scared you off yet.”

You snort, still pretending to focus on the next photo. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Michael leans a little closer, just enough to make you feel it. “Come on. You just admitted you would've had a crush on me.”

“I—I didn’t say I was into you now,” you shoot back, trying to sound smug, but your voice gives you away—just the slightest hitch.

He hums like he’s weighing that. “Mmhmm. But you’re still sitting here looking through my baby-faced glory days, so...”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, lips twitching. “I was just… making an observation.” You place the polaroids pack into the tin and shove it towards him

Michael chuckles, low and amused. “Right. Just a completely innocent, not-at-all loaded observation.”

He takes the tin and gets up, moving to put it back on the shelf. His movements are casual, but there’s a small smile still playing at the corners of his mouth—like your words are echoing in his head, lingering longer than either of you expected.

You watch him for a moment, your heart still a little too loud in your chest.

You glare at him, but it’s weak at best. “Don’t start.”

“Hey you’re the one with a crush”

You feel your cheeks burn even hotter, but you refuse to back down.

“Oh please, it was hypothetical,” you say, trying—and failing—to keep the teasing out of your voice.

Michael’s smirk deepens, and he leans back just a little, clearly enjoying the game.

“Hypothetical, huh? I’ll hold you to that.”

“Don’t get too full of yourself, old man.”

You finally look up at him fully. You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly the teasing fades into something quieter, something that hums between you.

He holds your gaze, he makes back over to the bed. “I’m just saying… if it wasn’t hypothetical—”

His voice is quieter now, the teasing stripped away, replaced with something real. Something careful.

You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, your breath catching as he stops in front of you.

“What then?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

The two of you locked eyes. For a moment, the room went still. Your breath caught as Michael slowly climbed onto the bed, each movement deliberate, measured. You lowered yourself onto your back, off your elbows, heart hammering.

He hovered over you, one hand braced beside your head, his gaze never leaving yours.

Your pulse jumped. Heat flared beneath your skin. You weren’t sure what was happening—only that everything felt too close, too loud, too much. He looked at you like he was going to kiss you. Like he wanted more.

You swallow hard, frozen beneath the weight of his gaze.

Then—a knock at the door. Sharp. Ill-timed.

You jolt upright, the spell broken. “That’s—uh, that’s probably Jimmy—I texted him earlier,” you blurt, tripping over your words.

You fly out of the bed, nerves surging through you, tangled with something deeper.

Michael’s heart pounds in his chest, mirroring the chaotic rush inside you. He knows he wasn’t thinking clearly—his feelings for you clouding his judgment, blurring the careful boundaries he’s tried to keep.

Following you into the living room, he watches you quickly gather your clothes, the tight grip on your purse a silent testament to your nerves—nerves he knows all too well, because they’re his too.

He wants to say something—anything—but the words catch in his throat. Instead, he stands there, torn between wanting to reach out and fearing he’s already pushed too far.

You make your way to the door.

“Wait—” He places his hand on the doorframe, gently stopping you from leaving.

“I didn’t mean—” He trails off, struggling to find the right words.

You avoid his eyes, knowing you could fold at any moment if you looked at him.

He takes a small step back, giving you space, but his eyes never leave you. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

But you weren’t. Not even close.

The truth is, you wanted him—more than you were ready to admit. That was what scared you. The pull between you wasn’t the problem. The problem was how real it felt.

You finally meet his gaze, your voice low but certain. “I wasn’t uncomfortable, Michael.”

You finally meet his gaze, your voice quiet but steady.

Something in your tone—maybe the way your eyes softened, maybe the way you said his name—told him the rest. That you didn’t want to talk about what happened back in the bedroom. That it was too much, too soon, too tangled.

He understood. You could see it in the way his expression shifted—still watching you, still wanting, but careful now. Respectful.

So he didn’t push.

“Thank you…for last night. Being there for me in the way you were.”

“Yeah… of course,” you say. The words are simple.

“Thanks for letting me stay.” you return the thank you.

Michael nods, a quiet understanding in his expression.

He steps forward and opens the door.

Jimmy, the apartment manager, is waiting in the hallway with a key in hand. He gives you a polite nod, a little surprised maybe, but too professional to comment.

“Bye,” you say softly, glancing back at Michael.

“Bye,” he echoes, his voice just as quiet.

You step into the hallway.

“Hey, Jimmy.”

He offers a small smile. “Not like you to get locked out.”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a light laugh. “One of those nights.”

Jimmy just nods and gestures for you to follow him toward your apartment. No questions, no raised eyebrows.

Behind you, the door to Michael’s apartment closes with a quiet click.

You don’t look back, but the moment lingers anyway.

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere@beebeechaos@antisocialfiore@delicatetrashtree@xxxkat3xxx@homebytheharbor@woodxtock@letstryagaintomorrow@livingavilaloca@elkitot@annabellee88@hagarsays@emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967@lafemme-nk@kmc1989@whos6claire@harrysgothicbitch@trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy@steviebbboi@alliegc28@catmomstyles3@ardentistella@madprincessinabox@circumspectre@the-one-with-the-grey-color@thatchickwiththecamera@violetswritingg @valutfromlune @baileythepenguin @galmorizethechaos @capj-1437 @airgoddess

Across The Hall (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

#michael robby robinavitch #michael robinavitch #dr robinavitch #the pitt #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #the pitt fanfiction

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starlightmoon2020 · 29 days ago

Text

I’m totally normal about this man and this fic -

Totally normal

if there’s one thing about jack abbot, it’s that he’s going to mock you during sex… though never done out of cruelty or with any malicious intent. if fact, the two of you don’t even think of it as such—mocking.

his words are more of a… provocative ribbing that he knows will flood your mind with a haze. a haze you’re comfortable with floating in, that fills you full, right into a world-bending breaking point.

you’re both on your sides, facing and pressing against each other. substituting oxygen with your panting huffs, jack inhales your moans with sloppy, spit-slick kisses. he feels you shiver in his arms when he slips himself back inside, resettling your leg over his hip to push as far into your pussy as you’ll let him.

jack smirks to himself, his palm moving to splay against the cheek of your ass and yank you closer. he grunts through a sudden exhale at the new angle, commencing a roll of his waist that causes a gasp to burn your lungs.

“fuck, jack,” your mewl, voice weak and wobbly. “ah—ah, ‘s so deep…”

“is it? s’it nice and deep, baby?” he mumbles at your lips, copying your desperate nod and small yeahs with an expression of pity you can tell is fake. “wonder ‘f i can get any deeper...”

you aren’t given a chance to wonder the same before jack is gripping your ass with a stronger squeeze. his tender thrusts adjust into a sharp, sturdy pounding that jerks his balls back and forth against your pussy.

leaking around his thickness, you hand reaches behind to clench the sheet beneath you. it’s the only thing you can manage, the rest of your mind a sweet mush.

“t-too much.” you can barley talk, air escaping your body faster than you can replace it. “it’s too much, feels too good.”

jack doesn’t let up, cock throbbing and pumping hard into your heat. his bottom lip pokes out, just barely, matching your blissed out expression.

“oh, ‘too much, it’s too much’,” he recites, drawing out the words in a teasing tone you wouldn’t tolerate from anyone else. “i don’t think so, baby. shit, you’re doing so good. takin’ my cock all nice and pretty.”

you crumble against jack but he holds you steady. lips smushed into his neck, you smear it messy with the spit drooling from slurred, open-mouthed mumbles.

“you’re so big,” you stammer, vision going blurry at the wet squelch that sounds whenever he rears out of you, and subsequent groan that jumps from jack when he slicks back inside your creaming hole.

“ooh, i‘m so big?” jack keeps his pace steady through the witty responses, and you can’t yourself from meeting his thrusts with your own grind. you don’t have to see him to feel the grin quirking the corners of his mouth. “hm? maybe i should pull out, give you a break—”

“no. no,” you whine over the rocking of the bed, clutching his as if he’s truly considering slipping his cock out and leaving you empty and cold. “no, don’t stop. gonna come again…”

the words flip a switch in jacks brain and he fucks you the hardest he has all night. foot planting into the bed, he sounds with deep coos at your uncontrollable cries he forces out of you.

it’s disgusting, the way you’ve coated his member in a velvety mixture of your juices. dripping down, it even collects against his sack, glossing him and making his eyes roll.

“gimme that cum, baby. just like last time, squirt it all out for me.”

you body goes numb yet feels like it’s imploding all at once. jack watches the way you shiver in his grasp, clenching around his swollen cock as you gush messily. he fucks you through it, the liquid spurting to wet his stomach and balls.

“that’s it,” he chokes out, inching dangerously close to his own finish. it only takes a few more pulses of your peak to finally clutch his own, plunging feverishly until he’s balls deep inside you. “f-fuck, yeah, right there.”

jack breaks. groaning into the side of your face and latching onto you while comes, the inescapable bliss makes his entire body twitch with harsh trembles.

“holy fuck, i’m still goin,” jack almost growls, air caught in his throat at the continuous ropes of cum he spills into you. the both of you are still heaving and coming as he leaks out of you. your lips puffy and swollen, and a sticky mess. it goes on for so long that jack ends up laughing through his moans, stomach sore from all the clenching.

it takes a few more minutes for your bodies to finally melt into tangled piles of limbs, the warm residue of your climax swimming nicely in your belly.

“you still with me, gorgeous?”

the only response you can muster is a sleepy mm-mm, and he gives you an equally-exhausted laugh. you only find the strength to peel open your eyes when a soft hand cradles your chin to tilt your head.

eyelids fluttering, you stare at him in a lost, fuzzy daze. thumb stroking your cheek, jack blinks sleepily at you before planting a soft kiss on the corner of your lips.

“i’m right here,” he promises, words certain but still far away when they reach your ears. “right here, baby. need you to come back for me, okay?”

a whine seeps from your lips. it’s not a defiance but you’re not obliging him either. you’re just… still in orbit, where you are the sun and jack’s the earth just before a dawn; as usual, he’ll push past the incoming fatigue, and wait for the otherworldly, ingrained tug that will eventually pull you back to him.

“right here…”

#jack abbot smut #jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot x reader

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starlightmoon2020 · 2 months ago

Note

Wanted this at the top of my feed 🥰😋

HAPPY HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY FRIEND 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉 wishing you the frickin' greatest weekend of all time!!!!! if it's not too much to ask, can i request the NSFW prompt for a threesome with you, Bob, and Jake?? i feel like that would be one hell of a birthday present 🥵🥵🥵🥵

Much Needed

pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x afab!reader x Robert 'Bob' Floyd

wc: 1.3k

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, pure smut, threesome, oral sex, cream pie, kind of sub spacey, kissing, vaginal sex, some floydsin too

a/n: hi! this was a lot longer than i was planning but i think this prompt deserved it! so here is just a full on threesome

When Jake said he had a surprise for you, this wasn’t what you were expecting. Him holding your legs wide open, directing his fellow pilot to eat you out. It’s not like you were against it, god no. But it just wasn’t something you thought Jake would be planning. Jake had always been more of the protective jealous type, not wanting to share you.

“Tastes good, doesn’t she?” Jake whispered.

Bob moaned into your cunt, sucking on your clit at the same time. Bob’s normally neat hair was disheveled, stray hairs hanging down across his forehead. His locks felt soft and damp against your skin. Your fingers ghosted over the metal frames of his glasses. A part of you was afraid to look down, knowing that you wouldn’t last if you saw how Bob looked.

“God, you love this don’t you?” Jake asked, his lips ghosting over your ear lobe. You felt his hand tighten on your thighs.

Obviously you loved it, but you knew that Jake was loving this just as much. His cock was pressing hard into your lower back. You rested your head back on his shoulder, looking at Jake. The green of his eyes was barely noticeable, irises blown so wide. Oh yeah, he was definitely into this. His lips were suddenly pressing against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth when you moaned.

The coil in your abdomen was tight. Each lap of Bob’s tongue was threatening to make it snap. Jake’s tongue was doing magic too. He trailed his mouth to your neck, sucking against your sensitive skin. One of Jake’s hands left your legs, grabbing your jaw now. He directed your face downward, forcing you to look at Bob between your legs. Bob’s cerulean eyes were immediately connected with yours.

“Come on, baby,” Jake whispered, “watch him make you come. Watch as you make a mess all over sweet Bobby’s face.”

Bob’s eyes fluttered closed when Jake said his name. He devoted his full attention to your cunt. Jake groaned while he watched Bob devour you. Pants and moans fell from you, coil impossibly tight. Bob sucked harshly on your clit, pushing you over the edge.

The image of Bob pressing his mouth tighter to your cunt was overstimulating. His tongue diving into your hole didn’t help. He was like a man that had faced a drought, licking and lapping at all your juices. It was only when your hips and legs started to shake that Bob pulled away from your body. Jake let go of your leg and face, letting you slump your body back against him. Bob got to his knees and leaned close to you. It was his turn to grab your jaw, directing your lips towards his.

“Fuck,” Jake groaned leaning over you.

“Wanna taste?” Bob asked Jake.

One of Jake’s hands darted around Bob’s neck, gripping it and pulling him into a kiss. You watched the two of them kiss while trying to catch your own breath. The image of your boyfriend kissing Bob was making you stir again. Your insides clenched, craving attention and pleasure again. Bob swallowed the groan that Jake let out when you rolled your hips back against his cock.

“Naughty,” Jake said while nipping your jaw, “does our baby want to get filled?”

“Fuck yes.”

The thought of them both filling you made you whine. You nodded eagerly, lifting your hips up for Jake to start positioning you. Jake and Bob slide their boxer briefs off, exposing their cocks to you finally. Jake got you in his lap, spreading your legs wide. You could feel the head of Jake’s cock at your entrance. A moan left you as he entered you, making you reach out. Bob was there, holding your hands as Jake settled inside of you. The three of you sat there for a moment. Jake on his knees below you, yours legs on either side of his, and Bob holding you.

“Are you ready, baby?” Bob asked.

You couldn’t think, it was all becoming so much. Your amazing boyfriend was balls deep inside of you, and one of his friends was holding your hands in a manor to soothe you. You never thought Bob would ever see you like this, see Jake fucking you stupid. But Bob had his own part in making you stupid, giving you an overstimulating orgasm.

“Words, baby. I know it’s hard, but you gotta use them.” Jake whispered, peppering your neck and shoulder with kisses.

“Move.” It was the only word you could utter.

Jake slowly started rutting his hips up against yours. He was already so deep inside you he barely had any room to move his hips. You picked up on this and started to lift yourself, riding him softly. Jake’s hands moved to your hips, helping guide you a little bit more. He started fucking up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Bob sat there watching Jake fuck into you. He couldn’t help it when his own hand drifted to his cock. He stroked himself at the sight before him. Jake’s arms were wrapped around your midsection, keeping you tight to him as he fucked you. You leaned back against his chest, letting him just use you. Bob leaned forward and took one of your nipples into his mouth.

A moan fell from you as you felt Bob’s lips travel down your body, landing on your clit again. Bob started licking at your clit, occasionally licking Jake’s shaft and balls. Jake’s arms tightened around you, a groan coming from him. Jake’s hands snaked down to your legs, grabbing the underneath of your knees and repositioning them. You were spread wide again, giving Bob a better angle to your cunt and Jake’s dick.

“If you keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.” Jake said towards Bob.

After a few more thrusts and licks you were coming all over Jake’s dick. Bob was cleaning it all up, licking up your juices around Jake’s dick. Bob kept his own hand still tight on his own dick, stroking himself. Jake gave only a few more thrusts before he was coming too.

“Can I fuck you?” Bob asked, sitting up and leaning close to you.

You nodded. Jake pressed a kiss to you as he let his dick slip out of you. He kept his hands holding your legs open, keeping them open for Bob. You brought one arm up and wrapped it behind Jake’s neck, keeping him close. Bob inched forward and pressed inside of you. You moaned at the feeling of being full again. Bob’s cock shoving Jake’s cum back inside of you was a sensation you didn’t know you needed.

“How are you still so tight after he fucked you?” Bob leaned his forehead against your chest, pressing kisses to your skin and breasts.

Jake kissed at your neck keeping you slightly grounded as Bob fucked you. Each thrust pulled a sound from you. Anything from a gasp, pant, or moan. All the sounds were starting to blur together to you, the only sounds you were focusing on were Jake’s breaths. Feeling his chest expand against your back. It was the only thing keeping you from slipping.

Bob let out a whine, stilling his hips as he came inside of you. You let out your own whine, feeling his cum fill you and mix with Jake’s. You stayed still, barely making a noise when Bob pulled out of you. Bob quickly took off to the bathroom, finding a washcloth, wetting it, and coming back to clean you up. Jake eased your legs down when Bob was done cleaning the leaking cum from your body.

“Do you want a bath?” Jake asked, easing you to lay against his chest.

“No,” you curled up against him, “just wanna cuddle.”

Bob returned to the bedroom, climbing into the bed next to Jake. Jake pressed a kiss to your head then one to Jake’s shoulder. Bob cuddled up with the two of you, earning a rewarding sound from you. The three of you remind like that, drifting off into a much needed sleep.

#jake seresin #robert floyd #jake seresin smut #bob floyd smut #jake seresin x reader #bob floyd x reader #jake seresin x reader x bob floyd #bob floyd x reader smut

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starlightmoon2020 · 4 months ago

Text

Giggling blushing mess rn

Anywhere But Here

Summary: A Valentine's Day singles event was the last place you wanted to be until an unexpected conversation with Bradley Bradshaw turned the night into something else entirely. What started as shared sarcasm and an easy connection quickly became something deeper. And by the time the night was over you realized maybe fate had other plans after all.

Warnings: 18+. Suggestive Content (some nudity, heavy making out, implied smut but none directly), Alcohol Consumption, Mild Language.

Word Count: 4,389

Author's Note: This is my first time writing for Bradley so I'd love any feedback you guys have! I'm also still a little rough around the edges when it comes to writing smut so I'm sorry if that part isn't good. Hope you enjoy xx

You should have known better than to let your friends talk you into this. The dim lighting, the too loud music, the room full of strangers who all seemed to have the same agenda. It was everything you hated about Valentine’s Day wrapped into one overcrowded venue.

Somewhere across the room your friends were probably watching and feeling satisfied that they’d successfully dragged you out, but they weren’t the ones stuck making small talk with men who either wanted a rebound, a hookup, or a therapist.

You sighed as you swirled the cheap cocktail in your glass as the third guy of the night launched into a monologue about his “complicated” relationship with his ex.

“Sounds rough,” you said nodding absently.

“Right? And she just doesn’t get that I need space,” he continued, leaning in like you were supposed to be impressed by his emotional unavailability.

You were about to excuse yourself and find your friends when suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the conversation.

"Is this seat taken?" Bradley Bradshaw’s voice was easy, casual, like you hadn’t just been trapped in a one-sided conversation about someone’s divorce for the last fifteen minutes. You blinked in surprise, looking up to find Bradley standing beside you. You couldn’t help the relief that flooded through you at his arrival, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Bradley,” you said with a chuckle, knowing full well he’d been watching from the corner of the room.

You’d always known of Bradley. He was part of the same circle of friends though you’d never really talked outside of the occasional greeting or passing comment at group events. He was always nice enough, just not someone you ever felt a need to connect with more deeply.

He raised an eyebrow at the guy you were talking to, still unaware of his impending rescue. “Mind if I steal her for a minute?” Bradley asked, looking at you with an easy grin.

The guy hesitated for a moment, eyes darting between you and Bradley before he finally nodded, mumbling something about catching up with some people. Bradley’s lips twitched in amusement as he pulled the barstool out and took a seat next to you, making it clear he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

As the guy shuffled away, Bradley glanced at you and whispered, “I’ve got to hand it to you, you were handling that a lot better than I would have. I’d have run for the hills by now.” His grin was teasing, but there was a warmth in his eyes, an unspoken understanding.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It wasn’t that bad, I just didn’t know how to get out of the conversation without being rude.”

Bradley leaned back, getting comfortable. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky I was nearby. My friends usually do a pretty bad job of saving me from stuff like that. But if it helps, I’m pretty good at the rescue mission.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him with a smirk. “I’m sure you are. But I’m guessing Jake and Mickey had something to do with this little rescue operation?”

Bradley chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Guilty as charged. They’ve been trying to convince me to get out here all night. Apparently, they think I’m a really good wingman.” He grinned, clearly not taking the comment too seriously. “But between you and me, I’m just here for the free drinks.”

“Free drinks? I think I missed that memo?”

Bradley grinned as he motioned towards where Jake was across the room. “His price for dragging me out tonight was picking up my tab.”

Bradley leaned against the bar, nodding toward your empty glass. “Speaking of…need a refill?”

You hesitated, but he shrugged, adding, “Promise I won’t try to trauma-dump on you.”

That earned him a small smirk. “Well, in that case… sure.”

He flagged down the bartender, ordering for you without making a big deal of it. As you waited, you glanced around the room at the couples awkwardly chatting, the guys clearly scanning for their next target, the women trying to seem interested but mostly looking bored.

“This might be the worst Valentine’s Day event in existence,” you muttered.

Bradley let out a low chuckle. “That bad, huh?”

You turned back to him, arching a brow. “Come on, you’ve gotta admit half these people don’t even want to be here.”

He shrugged, smirking. “That includes us, doesn’t it?”

You laughed. “Fair point.”

The bartender slid your drink across the bar, and you murmured a thanks before turning back to Bradley. Somehow, standing next to him felt…easy.

“So, what were you doing before you got roped into this disaster?” he asked, taking a sip of his own drink.

You shrugged. “Had plans to drink wine, eat chocolate, and watch literally anything that wasn’t romance related. But my friends staged an intervention.”

Bradley smirked. “Tragic. What were you gonna watch?”

“Probably a concert film. You know, something that really captures the Valentine’s Day spirit.”

His grin widened. “Concert film, huh? What band?”

You lit up, immediately launching into a mini rant about your favorite band. You talked about their best albums, the time you saw them live, how their early work was underrated but their newer stuff still held up.

And Bradley listened. Not in the way people do when they’re just waiting for their turn to talk, but in a way that made it clear he was actually interested. He nodded along, grinning at your enthusiasm, occasionally asking a question or making a comment that proved he was keeping up.

At some point the noise of the bar faded into the background. The awkwardness of the event, the forced conversations, the reason you even came here in the first place…it all disappeared. It was just you and Bradley talking like this was the most natural thing in the world.

And you kind of liked it.

The DJ must have had a cruel sense of humor because without warning the music shifted from upbeat pop to something softer. Something that clearly signaled it was time for couples to pair off.

Around the room, people hesitated before awkwardly stepping closer to their dates or scanning for someone to dance with. You weren’t planning on participating until you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. It was him. The guy Bradley had saved you from earlier. He was lingering near the bar, glancing in your direction like he was debating coming over for round two.

You groaned under your breath. Bradley must have followed your gaze because he leaned in slightly, voice low and amused. “Uh oh. I think your ex therapy patient wants a second session.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t even joke.”

His lips twitched like he was fighting back a laugh. Then after a beat he nudged you with his elbow. “We could always pretend to be together. Save you from another deep dive into his complicated emotions.”

You arched a brow. “Oh, we could, huh?”

Bradley shrugged. “I mean I’d hate to see you suffer.”

You rolled your eyes but honestly? The idea didn’t sound half bad. Better than standing here pretending not to notice your former conversation partner lurking nearby.

“…Fine,” you sighed.

His grin was instant like he’d known you’d agree. Without another word he reached for your hand, his fingers warm as they laced easily through yours. Before you could process that he was already tugging you toward the dance floor.

“Smooth,” you muttered as you followed.

He glanced back smirking. “I have my moments.”

You stopped near the edge of the dance floor where other couples had already started swaying to the music. Bradley turned to face you, his expression a mix of amusement and something softer, unreadable.

“Alright,” he said, his voice teasing but gentle as he placed one hand at your waist. “Try not to fall in love with me.”

You snorted. “I’ll do my best.”

Dancing with Bradley was… easy. You had expected it to be awkward and stiff like the kind of slow dances you endured at high school prom. But he moved with an effortless confidence, his hand steady at your waist, his grip firm but not overbearing.

“So,” he said, his voice warm and low over the music, “how am I doing so far? Best fake Valentine’s date you’ve ever had?”

You smirked. “I don’t know. The bar’s pretty low. But I’ll give you points for effort.”

Bradley let out a soft chuckle, his thumb absently tracing small, slow circles where it rested against your waist. You weren’t sure if he even realized he was doing it, but you noticed. And suddenly, the room felt just a little warmer.

The first song came to an end, and for a second, you thought about stepping back, about making some teasing remark and putting space between you. But before you could, the opening chords of a new song filled the air. A song from your favorite band. Your favorite song.

Your eyes widened. “No way.”

Bradley’s mouth quirked into a knowing grin. “What are the odds?”

You looked up at him, suspicious. “You didn’t request this, did you?”

He shook his head, smirking. “Nope. But now that it’s playing, it’d be wrong not to keep dancing.”

Before you could argue—not that you really wanted to—he pulled you back in.

And this time, you let yourself sink into it.

Somewhere between the first verse and the chorus, the space between you disappeared. His hands settled more firmly at your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of your shirt. Without really thinking about it, your arms slid up, looping around his neck.

You felt him exhale, a quiet little laugh against your temple. “See? You’re having fun.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Don’t let it go to your head, Rooster.”

He grinned, tilting his head slightly. “Too late.”

The warmth of him, the way his chest brushed yours with every slow step, the way his voice curled around your name when he murmured it just loud enough for you to hear. It all felt so natural and easy, like you’d been dancing with him forever instead of just minutes.

And when he made a dry teasing comment about one of the couples beside you, something about their awkward middle school dance stance you tipped your head back and laughed.

The sound must have done something to him because his hold on you tightened, just slightly. Just enough that you felt it. Just enough that you didn’t want to let go.

The song drifted into its final chords, but neither of you stepped away immediately. You were still close. Closer than you probably should have been considering this whole thing had started as an excuse to avoid bad small talk.

Bradley was looking at you, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he knew you weren’t in a hurry to move either. But then the DJ switched back to something obnoxiously upbeat, and the spell broke.

Bradley exhaled, glancing around before leaning down slightly, speaking just loud enough for you to hear. “Alright. You wanna get out of here?”

You arched a brow, pretending to consider it. “Bradley Bradshaw, are you trying to take me home?”

His smirk widened. “Would it work?”

You scoffed, even as heat curled in your stomach. “Not a chance.”

He chuckled. “Good to know.” Then, with an easy shrug, he added, “I was thinking we could go do something actually fun.”

You tilted your head. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I don’t know yet. But I promise it’ll be better than this disaster.” He gestured around the bar where people were still fumbling their way through awkward conversations and stilted dances.

You eyed him, considering. “You do realize this is how horror movies start, right? Some girl follows a charming guy into the night, never to be seen again.”

Bradley placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “You wound me.”

You bit back a grin. “Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “You hungry?”

You blinked. “…Are you serious?”

Bradley grinned. “Why not? We ditch this place, get some food, and actually enjoy the rest of the night.”

You should have said no. You should have come up with an excuse, played it safe, stuck to your original plan of going home alone.

But instead, you found yourself saying, “Alright, Bradshaw. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

His grin turned downright smug. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

You rolled your eyes, but you let him take your hand anyway, following him toward the exit. Leaving behind the bad dates, the awkward glances, and the Valentine’s Day you thought you were going to have, and stepping into the one you never saw coming.

The bar door swung shut behind you, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the stuffy heat inside. You hadn’t realized how loud it was until now. It was so much easier to breathe out here.

Bradley, still holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, shot you a look. “Alright, I’m thinking pizza. And not some fancy, sit down place. I mean real pizza.”

You smirked. “Define real pizza.”

His eyes glinted. “Late night counter service, greasy but perfect pizza.”

“…Go on.”

“There’s a spot a few blocks from here. Open late, no frills, just damn good food.”

You pretended to think about it, though your stomach had already made the decision for you. “Fine. But if it sucks, I’m never trusting you again.”

Bradley laughed, leading the way down the sidewalk. “That’s a lot of pressure, sweetheart.”

When you arrived after a short walk from the bar, the place was exactly as he’d described. A hole in the wall joint with neon signs buzzing faintly in the window and the unmistakable scent of fresh pizza wafting out the door.

Bradley let you step inside first, the warmth from the ovens immediately washing over you. The glass display case was lined with massive slices ready to grab and go.

“Alright,” he said scanning the selection. “You a toppings person, or are we keeping it classic?”

“Pepperoni,” you answered without hesitation.

His smile was approving. “Good choice.” He turned to the guy behind the counter. “Two slices of pepperoni, please.”

You arched a brow. “Two? What if I wanted two slices?”

Bradley gave you a look. “Trust me. You won’t want the second when you see the size of these.”

He wasn’t wrong.

A few minutes later, you were standing outside, each holding a massive, perfectly greasy slice, the warmth seeping into your fingers as you took your first bite.

You groaned. “Okay. Fine. You were right. This is really good pizza.”

Bradley grinned, chewing his own bite. “Told you.”

The street was quiet, save for the occasional car rolling by and the faint hum of city life in the distance. For a moment, you just stood there, eating in comfortable silence.

Then, Bradley wiped his fingers on a napkin and glanced over at you. “So.”

You swallowed your bite, eyeing him warily. “So.”

His smirk was lazy, unreadable. “Wanna head back to my place?”

You nearly choked. “Wow. Straight to the point, huh?”

Bradley laughed. “Not like that.” He gestured to the nearly empty street. “It’s still early. I figured we could keep hanging out…unless you’re dying to go home.”

You hesitated for a moment, considering the offer. It wasn’t that late, and you weren’t tired. And if you were being honest with yourself you didn’t really want to say goodnight yet.

“…Alright, Bradshaw,” you said, giving him a knowing look. And just like that, you found yourself following him into the night.

When you reached the curb, he gestured toward an old but well kept Bronco parked under the glow of a streetlamp. It suited him. It was rugged, classic, and also a little effortlessly cool.

You expected him to climb in first, but instead he reached for the passenger door, pulling it open.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Seriously?”

Bradley just shrugged, stepping back to give you space. “What? You think I don’t have manners?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “I don’t know. I just didn’t peg you as the door-opening type.”

His smirk was subtle but genuine. “Guess I like keeping you on your toes.”

Still eyeing him, you slid into the seat. The door shut with a solid thunk, and a moment later Bradley was rounding the hood and climbing in behind the wheel.

Bradley’s place was exactly what you would’ve expected. Laid back, a little old school, but effortlessly him. Warm lighting, a well-loved couch, a few framed photos on the walls, and a record player in the corner. It felt lived in, comfortable.

“You want a beer?” he asked as he tossed his keys onto the counter.

You nodded, stepping further inside. “Yeah, sure.”

Bradley grabbed two from the fridge, popping the caps off with practiced ease before handing one to you. You took a sip as he led you toward the couch, where he sank down with an easy sprawl.

You hesitated for half a second before sitting next to him, tucking your legs underneath you. The conversation picked up right where it had left off with music, movies, dumb things you’d both done as kids.

At some point you kicked off your shoes and stretched your legs out, your sock clad feet nudging his thigh. Bradley didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he absentmindedly rested a hand on your shin as he talked, fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric of your jeans.

You should’ve noticed it earlier. That shift, that subtle change in the air. Because somewhere between the teasing and the laughter, something had settled in the space between you. Something quieter. Heavier. Bradley’s fingers stilled against your leg, his gaze flicking to yours.

You swallowed. “What?”

He shook his head, his voice softer now. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing, and you both knew it. The air crackled, and before you could second guess it, you were shifting closer. Bradley’s hand slid up, palm skimming your knee before settling at your waist. His fingers curled there, warm and steady.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but suddenly, he was right there. His breath fanned across your lips, his eyes locked onto yours, searching.

And then he kissed you. It was slow at first, just the soft press of his lips against yours, like he was testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away and you kissed him back,he deepened it, his hand tightening at your waist as he pulled you closer.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, threading into his hair, and he groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent heat curling through your stomach. By the time you finally broke apart, you were breathless.

Bradley rested his forehead against yours, his lips quirking. “So… I’m guessing you don’t regret leaving that singles event?”

You laughed, still catching your breath. “Not even a little bit.”

Bradley’s hands were still resting at your waist, warm and steady, as you hovered just inches from him. The air between you felt charged, humming with something unspoken but undeniable. You moved first, shifting onto your knees before slowly swinging a leg over his lap, settling yourself against him. Bradley inhaled sharply, his hands tightening their hold on you like he was still processing what was happening, like he needed a second to let himself feel you there.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, rough around the edges, his hands twitching slightly against your hips.

You nodded, fingers trailing up the back of his neck as you leaned in. “Yeah.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth met yours again, deeper this time, the hesitancy from before fading as he pulled you closer, molding you against him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, and he let out a quiet groan that sent a shiver down your spine.

His hands, large and warm, traced slow circles at your waist before slipping under your shirt. His palms pressed against your bare skin, mapping their way up your sides, his touch reverent like he was savoring every inch of you.

He paused, giving you a chance to stop him, but you weren’t going anywhere. You lifted your arms, silently telling him to keep going, and Bradley took his time easing your shirt up and over your head, his eyes flickering over your newly exposed skin. His fingers followed the path of his gaze, tracing along your ribs, your back, your shoulders.

“Damn,” he murmured, almost to himself, before leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time, deeper, his lips moving with purpose as his hands roamed over you.

You shifted in his lap, pressing closer, and that was when something changed. His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your skin like he suddenly couldn’t get enough. His kisses turned hungrier, his breath heavier as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss until all you could do was melt into him.

You gasped as his mouth trailed along your jaw, then down the column of your throat, his lips and tongue leaving a heated path in their wake. His hands moved again, exploring more boldly now, and you arched into him, letting yourself feel everything. His touch, his warmth, the way he was unraveling right along with you.

Your fingers moved with growing urgency, skimming over Bradley’s shoulders as you tried to push off that damn ugly printed shirt. But the fabric bunched awkwardly at his arms, refusing to cooperate. Frustrated, you tugged harder, reaching for the undershirt beneath it too, wanting them both gone except now you were tangled in two layers of fabric, and nothing was coming off the way you wanted.

Bradley chuckled against your skin, his breath warm where his lips had been trailing along your collarbone.

“Impatient, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was something deeper laced in it too, something thick with amusement and want.

You huffed, still struggling. “If you’d stop wearing so many damn layers—”

He cut you off with another quiet laugh before leaning back slightly. “Here,” he murmured, his hands covering yours, steadying them. “Let me help you out, sweetheart.”

Your stomach flipped at the easy way the endearment rolled off his tongue, but before you could dwell on it, Bradley took control. He shrugged out of the over shirt first, letting it drop to the floor before crossing his arms to pull the undershirt over his head in one smooth motion.

And damn.

Your breath hitched as you finally took him in. His broad shoulders, toned chest, the soft trail of hair leading down his stomach. His dog tags rested against his skin, catching the low light of the room, and for a moment, you just stared.

Bradley smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Better?”

You didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, you leaned in, hands splaying against his bare chest as you kissed him again, slow and deep, making sure he felt exactly how much you appreciated the view.

Bradley groaned against your lips, his hands sliding back to your waist before gripping your hips firmly, grounding you against him. The kiss deepened, turning messier, more desperate, and when you rolled your hips just slightly, testing the friction, that was when he lost the last bit of his restraint.

His grip tightened, his breath shuddering against your mouth. “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart.”

You smirked. “Maybe I like the heat.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening for half a second before he suddenly moved, flipping you onto your back on the couch in one swift motion.

You barely had time to gasp before he was hovering over you, his body warm and solid against yours. His lips found your neck again, his hands roaming over newly exposed skin, and suddenly, you weren’t the one in control anymore.

And you definitely didn’t mind.

Bradley’s hands moved with deliberate slowness, fingers grazing over your hips before settling at the waistband of your jeans. His eyes flicked up to yours, silently asking for permission. When you nodded, he made quick work of the button and zipper, his fingers brushing over your skin as he tugged them down your legs, leaving you in just your underwear.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze raking over you, dark and unreadable for a moment. Then, a slow smirk tugged at his lips. His voice was rougher now, lower, as he shook his head. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.”

Your breath hitched, warmth spreading through your chest at his words, at the way he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

Then, before you could think of a response, he dipped his head, pressing his lips to the base of your throat. His mouth was warm, his kisses slow and reverent as he made his way down, lingering at the delicate skin along your collarbone, then lower, teasing over your ribs before his hands found your thighs.

He shifted, lowering himself onto the floor in front of the couch, his large, rough palms pressing against your inner thighs as he spread them apart. The contrast between his calloused hands and the soft skin of your legs sent a shiver up your spine.

Bradley’s breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as his mouth trailed lower until it hovered just above the place you ached for him most. His grip on your thighs tightened, thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles into your skin as if savoring the anticipation.

“Still with me?” he murmured, his voice husky, teasing.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers sinking into his thick curls, tugging just enough to earn a soft groan from him. “Bradley—”

His lips curved against your hipbone. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

A slow, unrelenting press of his mouth, a sound of satisfaction rumbling low in his throat as he pulled you closer, as your world narrowed to nothing but the feeling of him, the steady, torturous rhythm of his hands and lips unraveling you piece by piece.

The last coherent thought you had before everything melted into sensation was that you’d never look at him the same way again.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader

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starlightmoon2020 · 4 months ago

Text

God I love Bobby and I always get so excited to see a writer love on Bobby and give him such great stories! So thank you thank you thank you!!!! For loving on Bobby in this fic 🤍

Hiccups, Pens, and Other Ways Bob Might be a Wizard (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 7.4k

Summary: Five times your teammate Bob knows and does the exact thing you need and one time you hope to return the favor.

Author’s Note: As is a theme in my fics, I love love love friends to lovers and a 5+1 fic. This one happens to be with the sweetest WSO around, who I'm convinced is a Nana's Boy and an acts of service guy. This work can also be found here at my ao3. I hope you enjoy!

Your morning exercise is going to start any minute and you can’t stop hiccupping. Usually some nice slow sips of water get rid of your hiccups but for some reason that doesn’t seem to be working right now. Eventually you set your water bottle down and groan.

Hangman and Coyote are laughing hysterically each time you hiccup, as if they’ve never heard someone have them before, and you can tell that Rooster is trying his best not to laugh along with them.

“It’s not that” hic “ funny.” You say, rolling your eyes at your teammates and thankful that Mav hasn’t arrived yet to start the day.

“It really is. You sound like a little mouse. Maybe we’ll change your name to Squeaky.” Hangman can barely get out in between laughs. For some reason, this is what breaks Rooster’s composure and he starts laughing along, muttering something you can’t quite catch about cheese.

You’re not offended, and you’re not really annoyed with your teammates, you just really want these damn hiccups to go away. You’ve held your breath, tried slowly drinking water, and you just can’t get rid of them. You know that Hangman is right and you sound ridiculous and all you can do is hope that by the time your morning officially starts and you all observe the first flight of the day, you’ll be back to normal. It’s not like they’re your fault, but you’re sure that Mav will give you shit for interrupting and distracting the team if they’re still happening once the day starts. At this point, you’re almost desperate enough to ask one of the guys to try and scare you. Almost.

You hear footsteps down the hall, and pick your water back up, hoping that if Mav’s on his way in, you’ll get lucky and be able to kick your hiccups quickly once and for all.

“What’s your callsign?” Bob calls out as he comes into the room, flight suit on and helmet in hand. Bob and Phoenix are first in the air this morning, and you’re surprised he’s in the briefing room instead of out on the tarmac.

“What?” hic .

Bob clearly knows your callsign, you’ve known each other for years, you two go back before the Uranium mission. Besides, even if you only met a few months ago, it’s painted on the side of your plane and in true Top Gun fashion, everyone else calls you it pretty much exclusively.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go up?” You ask.

“I’ve got a few minutes. Humor me?” It’s Bob, so even though you’re confused, you do. You’re not sure that there’s much that Bob could ask of you that you wouldn’t do without much hesitation.

“It’s” hic “Hawk.” You tell him, knowing that your tone conveys your confusion.

“Oh no, it’s Squeak now.” As per usual, you and Bob both ignore Hangman. You are tempted to flip him off but know that with your luck, that’ll be the moment an admiral strolls by. You keep your hands down and your attention focused on Bob.

“Good. Full name?” Bob nods earnestly as he asks, and you’re sure you’re looking at him suspiciously, but you go along with it, giving him your first, middle, and last name in between hiccups.

“Last one – what’s your birthday?” Okay, now you’re sure he has to be up to something but you give him the month and date, turning to look at Rooster who just shrugs.

“With the year?” Once again, you do what Bob asks and repeat your birthday, tacking on the year at the end. “Oh shit gotta run, you’re welcome Hawk!” Bob looks down at his watch and turns around to run, presumably out to the tarmac.

“What was that?” You turn to ask the rest of the squad when suddenly you realize that somewhere between your full name and now, your hiccups have completely disappeared.

“RIP Squeak, she squeaked her last squeak.” Fanboy’s comment doesn’t make sense, but everyone is laughing anyway.

You head to the door to watch Bob run out to meet Phoenix on the tarmac, yelling out after him.

“Bob what the fuck? Are you a wizard?” Shaking your head in disbelief, you make your way back to your seat just in time for Maverick to come in and turn on the flight radio to begin the day’s exercises. Mav’s clearly in a mood so you’re extra thankful, even if you’re not sure what drew Bob to the training room in the first place or how his interrogation solved your hiccup problem.

Resolving to ask Nat later, you grab a pen and your notepad and start trying to pay complete attention to Maverick as he walks you through the morning’s plan even though your mind keeps trying to drift towards your favorite WSO.

“Damn.” You’re trying to finish jotting down some thoughts before your next meeting, but your pen doesn’t seem to be cooperating. “Nat, do you have a spare pen I can borrow?”

Judging by her grimace, you know what she’s going to say before she says it.

“Sorry, Hawk. Try one of the guys?”

You love your teammates, you trust them with your life – literally – but at the end of the day, sometimes they’re useless. This is one of those times. For a group of highly decorated aviators, it’s shocking how often one of you has to cave and buy an entire box of cheap pens to keep around for everyone’s use.

Given how often you and Phoenix have teased the guys for using a last-resort pen (as you’d dubbed them), you really don’t want to have to go grab one. Even if you hadn’t given the guys shit about it, you’re particular about your pens when it comes to your personal work notes.

Contrary to popular belief, not everything you do at work is officially on the record, required by law. There’s nothing in your meeting notes that would require them to be kept or maintained, by policy, so while they’ll be securely disposed of due to their reference to highly classified information, they’re yours to do with what you’d like. For you, that means writing them with a gorgeous gel pen in your favorite shade of purple.

It’s one thing when you’re submitting something official, on record, then you understand the need for a simple blue or black ink. Truly, you don’t mind all of the rules and regs, you wouldn’t have survived this long in the Navy if you did. Sometimes, though, it’s nice to branch out where you can, and for you an easy way is your note-taking. Your mom has always had the most beautiful handwriting, and is always taking notes, and jotting down thoughts and to-do lists in pens of all colors with stationery scattered around the house. While your handwriting is a far cry from hers, you definitely got her love of stationary and pretty pens.

You’d once swapped Hangman’s pen for a sparkly pink gel pen after he’d made a bullshit comment about your notes, calling you Naval Aviator Barbie. You’d only agreed to give his original pen back once he apologized to you and Nat, and admitted that your ability to do your job and your pen choice are completely separate. That, and you made him promise to buy you each two drinks the next time you went to the Hard Deck.

Was the punishment worth the crime? Not at all. You eagerly admitted to Nat later that you were already in a bad mood, and had lashed out even though you knew Hangman was just having fun. Sure he crossed a line now and then, but even you admitted that his pen comment wasn’t one of them.

To your amusement, he refused to give back the pink pen and occasionally left you notes written in it, or loaning it to the rest of the team when they inevitably turned up without a pen.

This time, it’s your turn without a pen. Normally you have a spare, but you suddenly realize that you forgot to grab an extra, last time you were in this situation. Looking down at your beautiful purple pen once more, you resign yourself to having to go grab a cheap pen from the box at the side of the room.

Sighing as you stand up to make your way to the box of shame cheap pens, you’re stopped by a hand on your arm.

“Did you say you needed a pen?” Bob asks.

“Yeah, I thought I had one.” You shrug. As much as you love your pretty pens, it really isn’t the end of the world, you’ve already spent a very silly amount of time thinking about it.

“I have one!” Bob smiles as he reaches into his pocket.

Bob, like you, appreciates a decent pen, though he’s more likely to stick to a standard blue. Which is why you’re surprised when he pulls an exact duplicate of the pen in your hand out of his pocket.

“Bob, you lifesaver. That’s my favorite pen! Thank you!”

“I know. It’s no big deal.” He brushes off your thanks and heads back to his chair.

You’re not sure how you got so lucky as to have Bob have one of your favorite kinds of pens ready for you, but you’re not complaining. In fact, it makes it even sweeter a few minutes later when Fanboy’s pen dies and he makes a show of getting a last-resort pen. As Fanboy grabs his new pen, you tear off the page you’re writing on and slide it over to Bob.

Bob reads your thank you note (in your pretty purple pen) and smiles, while you try and avoid making eye contact with Nat. She knows you too well to accept ‘it’s polite to say thank you’ as an excuse for your handwritten note, and you definitely don’t want to have that conversation with her at work, in front of everyone. You wouldn’t put it past her to say something, especially since she’s been on you about catching you staring at Bob lately. You know that eventually you’ll cave and talk to her about it, but for now you make a show of focusing on your new pen and preparing for your next meeting.

3:07 A.M.

Maverick’s Angels(Dagger Emoji)

You: Hey guys, ask me what I’m doing

You: Okay what are you doing, Hawk?

You: Thank you for asking! I’m currently sitting outside my building waiting for FD to shut off the alarm at my building for the third time. Third!! Twice now they’ve gotten it off just for it to start again within 30 seconds. I’ve been out here for an hour.

You: I will both beg and pay whoever is getting coffee tomorrow (today???) to get me a large instead

You: Please

You: I’m like 99% sure it’s Coyote’s week. Javy I’ll love u forever.

You: & if I’m wrong, I’ll love whoever puts my coffee in my hand (sorry Javy. or not. If it is you. Idk anymore).

6:15 A.M.

Bob Floyd: Swap coffee runs with me. I’ll go this morning, you can go next week.

Bob Floyd: Please.

Javy Machado: (salute emoji)

Sometime after the Uranium mission, after being stood up as a special detachment at North Island, you all fell into the routine of Friday morning coffee. You can’t even remember who started it, but someone suggested that once a week, someone stops by the coffee shop near base to pick up coffee for everyone. It’s close enough to base to not be wildly inconvenient, but the most important thing is that it’s off base. There’s only so much cheap government office coffee you can drink.

You have a standing order for Friday mornings, and a rotation for who gets it. No one person has to be the one to pay, pick it up, or bring it more than once in two months with your arrangement. As far as anyone knew, it was supposed to be Coyote’s week to grab the coffee, so when you run into the briefing room (later than you normally would but not enough to be considered truly late), you’re surprised to see Bob handing out coffees.

You’re so busy complaining to Phoenix about how tired you are that you didn’t even stop to look down at the coffee being put in your hand before taking a sip of it. It’s a large as opposed to your regular medium order and you’re so thankful you sent that 3AM text in the group chat. As you take a sip, you’re pleasantly surprised by the flavor.

On the weekend, the sweeter your coffee, the better. You love adding different syrups and flavors, trying whatever specialty latte or coffee the barista recommends. You’re just as happy with a simple medium iced coffee, black with one sugar, and you know that’s significantly easier for the weekly coffee roundup so on Fridays you keep your order simple. Which means you took a sip expecting an iced coffee, black with just a hint of sweetness, and instead you end up recognizing the taste of an iced maple latte, with a little cinnamon stirred in and what you think might also be an extra shot of espresso.

Rooster comes flying into the room to grab his coffee, and you barely have time to toss Bob an extremely grateful smile and mouth a quick ‘thank you’, seconds before Maverick strolls in, grabbing his own coffee and going to the front of the room to start the day.

When you woke up at your normal, much later than 3AM, time you had been pretty sure that your sleep-addled self was right, it was Coyote’s week to grab coffee. You’re so thankful you were wrong. Only Bob would have thought to change up your order and grab your number one favorite latte, knowing that you had a rough night (morning?).

It’s not until later when you’re chatting with Fanboy that you overhear Bob thanking Coyote for swapping coffee weeks with him. You’re sure Fanboy notices the way you pause, mid-sentence while you take in this information, but he does you the favor of not saying anything, steering you back to your conversation while you wonder what, if anything, Bob might have meant with your coffee.

You’re supposed to be heading out the door any minute to go see some local band perform. You should be leaving shortly, just as soon as Bob and Nat come to pick you up. The three of you will be going to meet Hangman, Rooster, Fanboy, and Coyote at the bar. Knowing how punctual Nat and Bob are, you were pretty proud of yourself for managing to be ready on time, until you couldn’t find your phone. As unnatural as it would feel to go out without it, it would be even worse since you were the one to download everyone’s tickets.

So far you’ve triple checked the pockets of your denim shorts, checked the pockets of the comfy robe you wore getting ready, looked under the cushions of your couch, scoured every counter and dresser top, and you just can’t find it. If only this venue was more old school, you’d be able to print out a copy of your tickets from your laptop but no, they have to use a rotating QR code.

“Fuck.” You groan, deciding to drop to your knees and check under the couch. You can’t imagine why it would be there, but considering you haven’t found it in any of the places that would have made sense, it’s worth a shot.

“Hi, it’s us.” Natasha calls out as she walks into your apartment. “Door was unlocked.”

“Come in.” You yell back from your spot searching under the couch.

You hear footsteps coming closer as Nat and Bob head into the living room, where they find you on your knees, ass up, searching for your phone. Your search feels even more urgent and even more ridiculous now that your friends have arrived to witness it.

“Damn, nice view.” Without being able to see her, you know Nat’s talking about your ass. You maneuver yourself so that the arm closest to her stops feeling around for your phone and instead snakes out from under the couch to flip her off. Unsurprisingly, Natasha laughs at this and you’re pretty sure you hear a chuckle from Bob.

“Um, Hawk, what’s up?” Bob tentatively asks.

Groaning one more time, annoyed with yourself, you scoot backwards out from under the couch and sit back on your heels, looking up at your friends.

“I can’t find my phone. I know we’re supposed to be on our way but I can’t find the damn thing I’ve checked everywhere. And even worse, I have everyone’s tickets on it.” You tell them, standing up and pointing out where you’ve already looked as Natasha starts retracing your footsteps.

Once you’ve finished your brief recap of where you were when you noticed it was gone, and where you’ve looked, Bob gives you a brief nod and heads into the kitchen. Shrugging, you and Natasha follow as he walks determinedly over towards your fridge where he reaches up, grabbing your phone.

“Oh my god, you found it.” Your jaw drops. “Maybe you really are a wizard.”

“What the fuck, Hawk? Why would it have been there?” Natasha laughs, snapping a quick picture of Bob, the fridge, and your phone, to use to tease you about later.

“What could have possessed me to put it up there? Thanks, Bob.” Walking over to grab your phone, you catch your reflection in the microwave. “Ah shit, give me one second, let me go fix my hair then we can go.”

You dash off to the bathroom to smooth your hair back down from its slight messiness, caused no doubt by your search under the couch.

“Alright, let’s go. I don’t want to hear shit from Bagman if we’re late.” Nat grabs your purse off its hook, calling out to let you know she has it as she heads outside to start the car.

“Seriously, you’re a lifesaver Bob. How could you possibly know that’s where I put it?” You ask as you meet him by the door and duck down to tug on your shoes.

Bob shrugs, “I pay attention, and I know you.”

For a moment, you’re so thrown off by the admission that you nearly stumble. You catch yourself, crouched down, one foot in the air, still trying to put on your shoe, and try to figure out how a person responds to something that kind and that blunt. Before you have a chance to do anything other than finish putting on your shoes, straighten up, and smile at Bob, you hear the car horn outside as Natasha indicates her growing impatience.

Together, you set outside as Bob waits while you lock up. You’re excited for tonight, you love going to concerts and spending time with your friends, and while you walk towards the car, you’re thinking about the possibility that your inevitable twirling around the dance floor with Nat might turn into a dance with Bob as well.

“Ladies first.” Getting to the car half a step before you, Bob politely opens the front passenger door and gestures for you to take the seat next to Nat. As you climb in, neither you nor Bob say anything about the slight blush on both of your faces, and you hope that Nat’s too focused on pulling out of the driveway to notice.

“So is this a good time to ask why you didn’t just log into your computer and transfer the tickets to one of us?” Nat asks once you get on the highway.

“It most certainly is not.” You reply, trying not to groan (again) at how flustered you were by your own confusing choice of places to set your phone.

“Whatever, fridge girl.” Nat looks like the cat that got the cream as you groan at your new nickname. You can only hope that you can remind her how much you love her as your best friend and talk her out of using it in front of the guys later. You know Hangman would never let you live it down, and he certainly doesn’t need any more encouragement to drive you nuts.

“Seriously Bob, how did you know where my phone was?” You turn around to look at the man in the backseat.

“I’ve seen you put it there before, and then also forget where it is.” He admits, with a sweet smile that doesn’t feel mocking, even though you both know how silly it is.

“How have I never noticed that?” You’re asking yourself just as much as you’re asking him.

“Oh, whenever I notice, I move it back down to the counter so it’s easier to spot.” Bob says, in a very matter of fact way, like it isn’t one of the sweetest things you’ve ever heard.

This time, you know that Nat catches the blush on your cheeks and from the look she’s giving you, you just know that you’re going to get pulled aside later to finally talk about your feelings. Depending on how many rounds you can talk Hangman into buying you first, you think you might just let her. Turning back to face the road, you decide that you aren’t just thinking about dancing with Bob, you’re actively hoping for it and looking forward to what the night might entail.

It’s been half an hour since you sat down, and you’re getting the feeling that your date truly isn’t coming. You’d tried to rationalize to yourself that half an hour isn’t the end of the world (maybe traffic was bad) before remembering that you were already five minutes late to get to the restaurant, and it took them another fifteen minutes to seat you. So really, Prince Charming is 50 minutes late.

You groan, remembering Phoenix teasing you about your date in front of the rest of the team this morning, knowing that they’re bound to ask you about it tomorrow. The date was with some friend of a friend so you’re not all that broken up about him personally, it’s just the general feeling of embarrassment that stings.

Picking your phone up, you text Phoenix that you’re admitting defeat and are trying to figure out whether you should cut your losses and call an uber to head home or stay and at least treat yourself to dinner. Until you see your phone light up and laugh at yourself for not assuming that your best friend would make the decision for you.

7:52 PM

Natty: Give me 15, I’m on my way. I’ll come in on my knees begging your forgiveness for being late. Take all of the attention off you and onto my groveling.

You: You’re ridiculous.

You: See you soon.

You slide your phone away, recognizing that an apology text from your date won’t be coming and order a second glass of wine the next time your waitress walks by. You’re probably not the first person to have been stood up in this restaurant, but if the waitress gives you a look of pity one more time you might just melt into the floor. So you spend the next few minutes making a point to really read the menu, and hope that Nat won’t actually be too embarrassing when she shows up.

“I’m sorry darlin’, I just completely couldn’t get away sooner.” Looking up, you’re shocked to see Bob standing in front of you, holding flowers, and wearing his uniform. You hear a soft aww from behind you as the waitress comes up to take Bob’s drink order.

Bob hands you the flowers as he sits down, and smiles at you.

“Well hi there. I can’t say I was expecting you.” You smile at the flowers, and then at Bob.

“I was at Tasha’s and she mentioned what happened. She said she was going to come cause a scene begging for your forgiveness but then thought maybe me coming in late, in uniform, would make up for it as opposed to her groveling at your feet. Ya know, imply work’s why I was late.” Bob gestures to the uniform and blushes as the two of you laugh over the image of Phoenix begging your forgiveness.

“Well, who can resist a man in uniform? I mean truly, why else do you think I even joined up?” You joke.

It’s not a joke you’d make to most people, knowing that so many do think that way about women in the military. But you trust Bob. Mama Floyd raised a good one, and you know he’s never once thought of you or Natasha that way, and he frequently listens to you two complain about the guys who do.

You’re still not entirely sure why it’s Bob coming to your rescue instead of Nat but you’re thankful he’s here saving you from further embarrassment and it’s not like you’re complaining about getting to have dinner with a kind, handsome man in uniform. Even if it’s the same uniform you have in your closet, and even if he’s just a friend. Because that’s all he is, right? Right. At least that’s all that you’ve let yourself admit. Gently shaking your head as if to physically knock those thoughts off to the side, you look back up at Bob.

“If you still want to go home, we can. I just thought that maybe this way you’d still get a nice dinner. I thought maybe it would be better…” Bob trails off, a shy shrug betraying his hesitation.

“Better than doing a solo walk of shame out of here alone, having clearly been stood up? It’s definitely better. Thanks, Bob. As long as you don’t mind being my date for the night.” You wink.

“Oh no, ma’am. Special orders from Lieutenant Trace to ‘do the charming gentleman thing’, and also for us to bring back ice cream.” That doesn’t surprise you. You’re not sure which one of the three of you has the bigger sweet tooth, and regardless of how the night went you had already been planning to stop at the nearby ice cream shop to bring something back for a post-date debrief with Nat, hoping that maybe Bob would be there too.

“Then let’s do it.” You slip your hand in Bob’s as the two of you look over the menu, and chat about your day. Eventually the waitress comes back with Bob’s drink and the two of you place your orders, with Bob politely letting you go first.

When your food arrives, you reluctantly pull your hand out of Bob’s. You’re not entirely sure why Bob hadn’t pulled his hand away, maybe he’s trying to really sell your fake date for the waitress? Regardless, you like the feeling of your hand in his warm one and are more than happy, if a bit confused, to keep it there as long as you can.

“So, possibly-a-wizard Bob, the hiccup trick. How? And how did you even know I needed you?”

“Oh,” he laughs, “well I’d left my glasses cloth in my locker and always prefer having it on me before I go up, just making sure they’re as clean as possible before I’m in the air.” You nod, knowing exactly what he means. The two of you had joked before about wishing glasses had teeny tiny wipers like car dashboards, especially for people like the two of you with a job requiring such an attention to detail.

“I was walking past the training room and heard you hiccupping and Hangman’s loud mouth teasing you, so I figured that wasn’t the first one. As for the cure, no clue why it works. It’s a Nana Floyd special.” He admits.

“Why am I not surprised, if anyone’s magic, it’s absolutely your nana.” You and the team had a chance to meet her when she came for a visit with Bob’s parents, and you immediately took a liking to the sweet woman. You’ve always been close with your own grandmother, and it certainly helped how much of Bob you could see in his nana.

“Exactly, so I figured I had just enough time to help you out. I was just hoping it would work and that it wasn’t a Nana-only secret.” He smiles.

“Fair enough, I’m pretty lucky the Floyd magic works for you too, then.” Trying not to think about how he could work his magic on you, you continue, “and speaking of, how did you have an extra one of my favorite pens ready to go?” You stop to take a bite of your dinner, never looking away from Bob.

“Oh, well I know you and Natasha can be particular about your pens and stuff so I usually have an extra, just in case.”

Right then, the waitress stops by to ask how your meals are, and you realize that without even noticing, you two are almost halfway done eating. You’ve been so engrossed in your conversations, your actual date could have shown up with an entire brass band and you’d have been none the wiser.

“Well, that’s incredibly kind. Thank you, Bob.” You smile, continuing your conversation.

“Anything for you, darlin’.” Bob looks at you earnestly before looking down at his plate, focusing his attention on grabbing another forkful of veggies.

The astonishing thing is that you think he might mean it.

The two of you finish dinner and unsurprisingly, though you try to fight it, Bob insists on paying for the entire meal.

“Hawk, I’m not letting you pay.” He rolls his eyes, good-naturedly, at your stubborn streak.

“Bobby, I’m not making you pay for a date you didn’t even plan on taking me on.”

“Come on, darlin’, don’t make me have to tell Nana that I didn’t pay for dinner on a date. You can’t do that to me.” He says with a smile, holding a hand to his chest as if the idea is physically painful. You smile and shake your head, giving in, and try not to melt too much as he shoots you a playful wink as he sets his credit card down on the table.

With a wink that rivals Rooster’s, and gentlemanly charm like you’ve seen Hangman pull out once or twice, quiet but charming Bob could do some serious damage to the female population of San Diego. Even if he’s just here to save you, you’re feeling lucky to be the one receiving his attention.

Bob finishes paying, and you get ready to go, making sure to grab your beautiful bouquet.

“Now, what kind of date would I be if I didn’t get you that ice cream?” Bob asks as he takes your hand again, leading you out of the restaurant.

“One that still brought me flowers and bought me dinner, which was especially kind as again, he was rescuing me from being stood up.” You tease.

“Let me put it this way, we both know how badly you want some ice cream, and even if I wouldn’t get it for you anyways, Nat’ll kill us if we don’t bring some back. So if I get to keep being your date for the next few minutes, I’m doing it right and buying you ice cream.”

For a second, Bob almost looks nervous, like he’s said too much. For your part, you can’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to be on a real date with Bob, not just being two good friends out to dinner, one rescuing the other’s pride from serious embarrassment.

“Alright, ice cream it is. Thank you.” You gently squeeze his hand as you wonder how much longer until he pulls away. You’re on your dream date with your dream guy and half of you wants to thank Phoenix and your missing date for their involvement, and half of you wants to curse them for putting this opportunity in front of you, only for you to know that it’s fake, just a friend doing a favor.

There’s no time to think about that right now, as Bob leads you towards his truck, where he opens the door for you and holds your flowers while you buckle in. Either Bob’s a significantly better actor than you’d ever realized, or maybe, just maybe, this means something to him too. You think you might embarrass yourself too much if you worry about it tonight, so for now you decide to just enjoy the moment, knowing that you’ll tell Nat every detail later once Bob leaves.

On the short drive to the ice cream parlor, you make up your mind. You’re going to let Bob buy you ice cream, drive you to Nat’s so you can all hang out, and then later once he heads home, you’ll stay and talk to your best friend about everything you’ve been thinking about all of the sweet little things Bob does for you. Then, if you’re brave enough, and if Nat doesn’t tell you that you’re making a catastrophic mistake, you might just plan to talk to Bob about it.

And then, 1.

Part of you is nervous that you’ve been misreading everything, you know Bob’s a sweetheart to everyone. You’re sure that he would have helped anyone with their hiccups, and you happen to think you have great taste in pens and ink color, it’s not like you have a monopoly on their use or like it’s inherently romantic to have an extra pen for a teammate. Hell, he even keeps some for Nat.

You know he’s observant, that also explains being able to find your phone, right? But on the other hand, you can’t explain it all away as just being friendly. Bob could easily have let Javy grab you a large coffee, and there’s practically a million easier options he could have chosen instead of showing up to save you from your failed date, in uniform, with flowers. He could have let Phoenix come get you as she was planning, he could have joined her in coming to get you, and he could even have just come to pick you up by himself.

Thinking back to sitting at that restaurant, holding Bob’s hand and looking at that sweet face while you talked, you can’t help but smile. No, there’s no denying it. Showing up dressed and ready to wine and dine you to save you from a bad day and a no-show date isn’t exactly the standard friendly course of action. You’re sure he wouldn’t have acted that way with Nat, as close as they are. Yeah, Bob is a sweetheart, but it has to be more than that. You want it to be more than that. More than that, you’ve talked the situation over nonstop with Nat as she insisted that this wasn’t just in your head.

Which is how you’ve found yourself standing on his doorstep, a bunch of sunflowers in one hand and takeout from your shared favorite burger place in the other. You adjust your sweater one last time and knock on the door.

“Hi there.” The door opens and you’re quick to greet a very surprised Bob.

“Hi, darlin’. Nice flowers.” Ever since your ‘date’, Bob has let a ‘darlin’ slip in here and there. It takes more strength than you’d care to admit not to melt every time he says it. You like it just as much as when he calls you by your real name, as opposed to your callsign. Though you have to admit that ‘Hawk’ sounds pretty good coming from his lips, too.

“I’m glad you think so, they’re for you.” You hand Bob the flowers as you step past him into his house.

“How do you know my favorite flower?” He looks at you curiously.

You could tell him that you’ve seen the fresh bunches he usually has around whenever you all come over for movie night. Or you could tell him that you remember meeting his Nana and hearing her call him Sunflower as she wrapped him up in a tight hug. You could even tell him that it was a lucky guess. But you remember a similar conversation a few weeks ago, so instead you smirk and take a teeny tiny step towards telling him how you feel.

“I pay attention, and I know you.”

It takes a second for Bob to place the words, and somehow his smile gets even wider. He takes the flowers from you, and it takes all of your self control not to reach out and put your hand on his cheek, right where he’s blushing.

You follow his lead, heading into his kitchen as he grabs a vase and starts trimming the flowers to go in it.

“So, Bob. Last week, you rescued me with a great dinner. For tonight, I brought takeout.” You lift the bag in your hand. “I was thinking maybe we could go out for dinner later this week, if you’d like?”

“Sure, that sounds nice. With the team?” Bob looks up and sees you furrow your eyebrows.

“Oh, if that’s what you want!” You try to quickly recover from your disappointment. For what is probably half of a second but feels like an eternity, you and Bob just look at each other. Then, it hits you that you’ve had all of this time to process how you think Bob feels but when it comes to your feelings, you just sprung it on him. Well, no, that’s not quite right. You haven’t actually told him yet. Knowing Bob like you do, he’s probably taking the absolute safest route to avoid making things awkward in case you don’t mean anything other than friendship.

“Oh God”, you groan, “Can I try this again?” Bob nods, but he’s clearly not entirely sure what’s going on.

“Okay, Bob, in addition to the flowers, I brought takeout for dinner tonight, as you can see. I was wondering if later this week, you’d like to go out for dinner. With me. As a date. This time, planned and on purpose. Together.” You don’t know if you’ve ever stumbled through a sentence like that, but you also have never asked out a guy like Bob, as wonderful and kind and jaw-droppingly handsome, so it makes sense you’re off your game.

“Oh!” Bob’s eyes get wide, and he looks down at the bouquet in his hands, smiling sweetly. “That sounds great, darlin’. I’d like that a lot.”

“Perfect, it’s a date.” You lean over and give Bob a quick kiss on the cheek, before going to grab plates and heading to the living room with the food.

You hear the fridge open and turn around to ask, “Bob would you mind grabbing me a lemonade?” right as he comes into the room, already carrying a can of your favorite pink lemonade for you.

“Okay, see, it’s this! How do you do that, are you sure you’re not a wizard?” You tease.

“I’m sure,” he laughs, “I just know you.” And how lucky you are to be known by Bob.

“I hope you know, it’s not just the gifts and the things you do for me that make me interested in you. I mean that’s part of it, sure. How could a girl resist a handsome man who always has her favorite drink ready and knows how to fix her when she’s running late and frazzled. You pay attention and you see me, but I see you too, Bobby.”

Bob looks down and smiles, a sweet blush coloring his cheeks. Bob does more than enough to show you he cares so you push on with your plan to make sure it’s clear how you feel, despite the slight worry that you’re coming on too strong.

“I know that you love cooking, but you’d rather cook for all of us than just yourself on Sundays because if it’s just you then it feels like a chore to get ready for the week. I know that you’ll never admit that to your family who raised you on Sunday dinners, and that you probably called them this morning like you do every weekend to say hi. I know that when the first summer day rolls around, you’re going to drive with the windows down and country music on the radio.”

You start putting your food onto your plates, giving you somewhere to direct your attention other than just intensely staring at Bob, as you continue.

“It’s the way you always look for me in a crowd and save me a seat at the hard deck, and you listen to my stupid jokes, and remember the things I like. And I know you’re a good friend to all of us, but you do even more for me. You’re a good man, an incredibly kind man, Robert Floyd. The best I know.” Remembering what he said earlier, you add, “And I’m lucky to be known by you.”

This time it’s your turn to blush, worried that you’ve said too much. You were only planning to ask him on a date, not unload all of your feelings onto him.

“Hawk,” he starts, before wordlessly taking the plate you’re working on out of your hands and setting it down on the coffee table.

Bob gently places a hand on your cheek, and you’re already turning to look at him as he looks at you.

“Darlin,” he tries again. You’re anxiously waiting to hear what comes next. How could you have never noticed the way that he looks at you before now? If you could have one wish for the rest of your life, it would be for Bob to keep looking at you like you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen.

Then he says your name, your real name, softly, before slightly nodding to himself and moving even closer to you. The next thing you know, Bob’s lips are on yours and both of his hands are gently cupping your face, holding you as if you’re the most important thing in the world.

Up until now, you thought it was a romance-novel cliche to sigh into a kiss. Now you hear yourself sigh and know better. You can’t imagine a world where you don’t know what it’s like to kiss him. You can't believe this is the first time you're getting to kiss Bob. Sweet, handsome Bob who pulls away, and gives you one of the biggest smiles you’ve ever seen.

“How could I not feel the same way? I’m the lucky one. Nat said you might be interested and I was worried I was overdoing it –” And this time, you lean in, pressing another kiss to his lips before he can even finish his sentence. Then suddenly you’re giggling into the kiss, thinking about the ways that you’ve hoped he was interested, and the ways he was desperately trying to broadcast his feelings while allowing you the space to comfortably reject him.

“Do you think that maybe this time, Nana Floyd would be okay if I paid, since I asked you on the date? I mean, really, it’s feminism when you think about it.” You joke once you pull away.

“You know Nana’s all for girl power, but on the first real date? I don’t think so, darlin’.”

“Hmm, that last date felt pretty real to me.” You admit.

“I know what you mean. Maybe our first real, planned date, is what I mean. One where I’m on time, and instead of grabbing the first bouquet I see to try not to be any later, I bring your favorite flowers, and if I’m lucky I get to kiss you goodnight.”

“There’s no chance I’ll let you leave without a kiss. But I don’t have a favorite flower.” You tell him, but Bob just laughs.

“I know you, and I also know that you think that’s true.” Bob winks again, and this time it’s even more incredible because you know he means it.

“We’ll see, Bobby.”

He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before moving to pick up your plates.

“Now what do you say we have dinner and watch a movie, darlin’. Then maybe you’ll let me be lucky enough for a preview of Saturday with another kiss.”

“I think I can do that.” You finish putting the food on your plates, splitting the regular fries and curly fries exactly in half between you.

Looking at the mischievous, confident look on Bob’s face, you say a quick thank you to the universe for letting you be the only woman in San Diego who gets to experience his charms like that. Falling for Bob is easy, especially when he goes out of his way to show his constant affection and attention, hiccup cures, shared dinners, and all.

#robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfiction

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starlightmoon2020 · 4 months ago

Text

Excuse me while I giggle and kick my feet

Off to See the Wizard (9)

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cw: poorly executed accents

Hours later, you're staring at code, but nothing is penetrating the fog you've been in since you met Kyle. His words reverberate around your skull and you wonder how you missed the signs. How was it not clear in those long conversations that they were feeling something for you?

You struggle, too, with the knowledge that they want you to be part of whatever it is they have together. How do they even think you can compete with the years they have and the bonds they forged?

Though your instincts screen not to, you reach out to Laswell with a simple text: "Did you know?"

You don't expect a response right away and so turn back to the papers in front of you. Transport manifests and heat maps, threads from various dark web servers. You have to brief the boys tomorrow, and they leave two days after that. Kyle's words hit you again: a mission they might not all make it back from. Your heart skips a beat at the idea that your boys might not all make it home. You know it isn't fair to ignore the information Kyle dropped in your lap, but you're not ready to face them with a response yet.

You trust him when he says they want you. In conversations with you, John and Simon and Soap had made their desire abundantly clear. And you decided long ago that if you planned to be honest with anyone, you needed to be honest with yourself always. So you refuse to lie and say that you don't want them all. But this? Multiple partners? Committing to a relationship that would always come second to the job, that would always put one or more of your potential lovers in harm's way, was a hard pill to swallow. Never mind the fact that you're only in the UK temporarily. How would this work when you're back in the states?

The clock creeps closer to dinner, and you're panicking. You have no answer for the boys, despite how you feel about them all. The weight of their stares is going to make any meal uncomfortable until you can give them some sort of response. The worst part is, you can't even escape to your room because it's in their barracks. There's nowhere to go to avoid the uncomfortable conversation to come. Just as you're about to log off and catch a bus into town, stalling a little longer while you collect your thoughts, the classified line in your office rings.

The only people with the number are ones directly associated with the upcoming mission: Laswell, Nikolai, and your boys. Unless Laswell has given the number to other operators, you know the call isn't Nikolai. Your boys know how to find you on base, so there's no need for them to call you. Maybe Laswell decided you deserved more than a text in response.

Picking up the phone, you ask, "What do you wish in the Emerald City?" cringing a little at the way your call sign has manifested an entire mythos. However, you know that the trappings of your call sign serve as the first line of defense for anyone who may find your number. An incorrect response to your question is the first red flag that something has gone wrong with the mission. So while it technically hasn't started yet, you still anxiously await the response.

Sure enough Laswell's voice comes through the line, "We came here to see the Great Oz."

"Laswell," you reply, voice clipped to avoid pouring too much emotion into your words. You have to know what she knows. You can't let her know how much their desire rattles you.

"Got your text," she replies, voice equally neutral. If the situation were any different, you'd laugh. Two of you are acting like alley cats trying to avoid a fight. You know your frustration isn't really with her but with being caught off guard, so you allow a trickle of warmth back into your voice and say, "Got some, interesting intel from the boys today."

There's a long pause on Laswell's end, and you wonder what she's thinking. You're grateful for the phone call but wish you could see her face. She doesn't like to admit it, but you're one of the few people who can read her emotions, and you're dying to know how she's reacting. All she does is respond with, "Oh? About the op? Or something else?"

To give yourself something to do, you pull up what records you have access to of the 141: task force service records, commendations, op histories - at least what's not redacted - and a handful of photos. One photo in particular catches your eye, the four of them in a desert somewhere standing with a few other operators, including a beautiful Middle Eastern woman who has to be Farah Karim. Though she has her arm around Kyle's waist and he's smiling wide, it's not the same smile he gives you. Scanning the photo more closely, you notice how Simon's and Soap's hands are hanging side-by-side, nearly brushing one another. John has his bent, forearm resting on Kyle's other shoulder, his hand hanging over Kyle's chest. Now that you know what to look for, it's impossible to miss the closeness the four of them share.

On the other end of the phone, Laswell clears her throat. "Oz? That intel?"

From the way she says it, you're sure she knows you learned nothing about the op and everything about the 141, but you know better than to charge ahead without proof. For the first time, you hesitate. Does Laswell know the boys are together? If not, is it your place to tell her? You have to believe she knows because of how close she is with John, how long she's takes them with missions around the world.

Besides, if they've told you because they want you to be part of whatever it is they have together, even if Laswell doesn't know yet, she would have to. Either because you'd be looking for a permanent transfer or because communication between you and the 141 would dramatically increase.

If you accept what they're offering, that is.

So you charge ahead, hoping you're not sticking a foot in it, and ask, "Did you know the four of them are romantically involved?"

True to form, Laswell's answer isn't really an answer. "Yes. I know they have personal lives outside the ops and that those personal lives include significant others."

You hate having to be so straightforward, but you know you won't get clear answers any other way, so you ask, "Are you aware that the 141's romantic partners are the remaining members of the 141? That the four of them are some sort of polyamorous thing?"

"Instead of answering that," Laswell says, "I think I should be asking how you know that."

You tell her as much about the boys and what they've told you as you feel comfortable with before you drop the hammer with your final statement. "They've asked me to be part of that relationship. Did you have any idea that would happen if I came here?"

There is no mistaking the sharp inhale Laswell makes on her end at your declaration. She doesn't respond when you finish. The quiet on her end stretches like taffy until you're so worked up waiting for her to break her silence. And still you wait. This is as delicate a situation as diffusing a bomb. In fact, Kyle dropped a bomb in your lap at the cafe, and you've reached out to Laswell for help in making sure it doesn't blow up in anyone's face.

When she does finally speak, you're surprised by her response. "How does their desire make you feel?"

You and Laswell aren't really the type to talk in depth about your personal lives. You know her wife and have been to several work-related events where you shuck some of the formality of what you do, but you're not the type to talk about your romantic partners.

"I need to know, when you picked me, did you know?" you plead. To her credit, Laswell doesn't push for an answer to her question.

"No, I didn't know. But John was definitely pleased when I told him who I was sending. Makes sense given what you said."

You latch onto her comment. "How did you know John was happy about it?"

"Work long enough with someone, Oz, and you can tell a lot from what they say and their silences without ever needing to see their face. There was something about the way John responded when I told him you'd be the one taking forward point on this. I can't tell you exactly what, but I know it meant he was happy with the situation."

You bite your lip, wondering how things would have been different if you'd stayed back in DC and Laswell had sent someone else in your place. "Did you ever think to send anyone else?" you ask.

Again, there's a long, weighty pause on Laswell's end. "Do you want an honest answer? Or do you want me to tell you what I think you need to hear?"

It strikes you how naive you are not to realize the two could be separate things. Your fingers idly tap against the keyboard, writing nonsense code while you think. If you put yourself in Laswell's shoes, it's clear there are a number of other tech operatives she could have sent, people more senior than you. But is there anyone else who cares enough about the 141 to do everything in their power to ensure the boys are successful and come home whole? Other than Kate herself, you know the answer to that is no. It comes out barely louder than a whisper when you reply, "You could have sent any of us, but you know I'll do my damndest to protect them."

You can practically hear Laswell's grin. "That's why you're there and not here. And I'd wager a bet that it's why they want you, too."

Much as you hoped a conversation with her would give you some clarity, you're almost more conflicted after the phone call. You thank Laswell for her time and hang up, slowly packing your things. It's after 7:00, and no one has come looking for you. Clearly the boys are waiting on your next move. Instead of heading for the mess or the barracks, you follow your earlier plan and take the bus into town again. This afternoon, you'd noticed a little greek restaurant a few doors down from the bus stop in town, so you head there.

Like many other restaurants on the street, almost the entire front is open to the sidewalk. You sit yourself at a small table for two off to the side. Menus are scattered about, so you snag one, only glancing through the options half-heartedly. When a good looking man in his thirties comes over, winning smile already on his face, and asking in accented English, "What would you like, lovely lady?", you find yourself stuttering over an answer.

What would you like?

Sitting here alone, watching the crowds pass, it hits you exactly what you want. You have an answer, for yourself and the boys.

You utter an apology to the waiter, vowing to yourself to come back later, and hastily grab your things. As you round the edge of the shop, you see a bus coming down the road and recognize the line number as the one you need. Your heels click faster as you race to the bus, hopping on just as the driver is shutting the door. You meander down the aisle, taking a seat near the back and stewing all the way back to base.

Your leg jiggles, foot tapping a nervous staccato as the bus makes its stops. The drive back feels agonizingly longer than the ride to town. By the time you see the base through the front window, you're nearly out of your skin with nerves. You scurry across base and throw open the barracks door open with more force than you intended. There's sound coming from the rec room, so you turn your feet in that direction. You only hope they're all here. You don't know if you have the nerves to do this more than once.

When you open the rec room door, sounds cut off almost immediately. Four pairs of eyes whip to you from various spots around around the room. Simon's eyes rove over you like a starving man at an oasis. Between his watery eyes and the guarded way he's holding himself, Soap reminds of you a hit dog, waiting to see if the next blow will land. John assesses you like a potential threat: what damage might you do to him and his boys? Kyle takes a glance at you and breaks out into a grin as if he knows what you're about to say.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 10

"Uh, hi," you stammer. "Um, I know I've been avoiding you, and I wanted to apologize." You pause and are shocked no one jumps in with a comment the way they usually would. Perhaps they all recognize this for what it is, a defining moment in their lives where they will either get what they've been wanting or lose a chance at it forever.

Your gaze drifts over each man, and you take a deep steadying breath before continuing. "Kyle gave me, well, all of you, really, gave me a lot to think about. About what I want and what you want and what it all means." Though this confession is hard, you try to be as brave as your boys. "I don't know what to do because you're right. I do like you all. I have feelings for you all. And if it were just one, my answer would be easy."

This time when you stop, John says what's already on your heart. "Life is rarely easy, dove. But the best things are worth fightin' for." He gifts you the ghost of a smile.

You nod, "Yes. And you're right. I shouldn't be scared of something just because it's hard. And I'm not, not really."

"Then what?" Simon's voice cuts in, barely restrained agony lancing the words.

"I want to be with you all, but it's going to be hard for me. I'm going to need you to be patient," you tell them.

A smile breaks over Soap's face like a wave crashing ashore. "Bonnie, fer ye, we'd do anything."

Kyle's off his seat and in front of you, hands hovering over your arms. "Does this mean you'll be ours, Oz?" he asks tenderly. Your chin dips slightly, only once, but it's enough. He wraps his arms around you and whispers in your ear, "Always knew ya were meant for us." He presses a kiss to your temple as you feel the others moving around you.

John's lips kiss your cheek again as he says, "That's our girl."

Simon's massive build radiates heat behind you, his hands a warm, comforting weight on your waist as you feel the fabric of his mask press against the crown of your head.

Soap crowds in between Simon and Gaz. His hands cup your cheeks and turn your head to him. He rests his forehead against your and mumbles, "Ye dinnae ken hoo happy this makes me, make us all, tae call ye oors," as he drops a featherlight kiss on your lips.

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write @thriving-n-jiving @madsothree @silly-starfish @danielle143 @beelzebee @nova-willow-541 @alchemyfreak321 @lilynotdilly @eternallyelvish @viylikescats @erintaro @hidden-treasures21 @lil-writer-523 @mordacioust @echo9821 @yunho-leeknow @aria-writer @chaosundcoffee @boogeysmoth

#poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #offtoseethewizard

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starlightmoon2020 · 4 months ago

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Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure cause omg give me him rn please and thank you

oooh let's do can you kiss it better with bob

"Love?" When Bob entered your shared home, he received no response. Even more alarming, the lights were turned off.

"My love? You okay?" Bob knew you had gotten home, recalling the text you sent him about leaving work early. He had a strong feeling you were experiencing a headache, hence why he stopped by the store to pick up your tried and true favorites: dark chocolate, salmon, and avocados. The plan was to make you dinner, but first Bob had to locate you.

Rather than raising his voice, he sat the groceries down and quietly moved about the house. He found you in the bedroom and the sight nearly broke Bob's heart.

The lights were off, but he could make out your figure, curled into a ball on the shared bed. An ice pack rested against your forehead and you just looked absolutely miserable.

"Hey there," he kneeled down, placing his hand gently on your shoulder, "Migraine?"

Your eyelashes fluttered open, a small smile forming at the sight of your partner, "No. Just a headache."

Considering how frequently you used to get migraines until Bob forced you to the doctor, he could deal with just a headache. Although he hated seeing you in any type of pain.

"Want me to get the massage gun?" Bob asked before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

"No," you whimpered, taking his hands into yours. Slowly, you guided them to your breasts, "Need your help."

Oh.

That kind of help.

Moving quickly, Bob reached over to the mini fridge in your bedroom, grabbing an ice pack. Joining you on the bed, he maneuvered himself and your body so that his back was resting against the headboard and yours was against his broad chest. Placing the ice pack in the crook of his neck, he gently lured your head back. The ice pressed against the back of your skull brought instant relief.

"Want me t'make ya feel better?" He murmured, voice soothing. You nodded, curling into him as his fingers skimmed across your breasts, trailing down your stomach until he reached your center.

You nodded, turning your head so his lips were now against your jawline. Skimming over the fabric of your panties, Bob found your clit with ease, gently applying pressure at first.

But then a small moan of his name fell from your lips. His other free hand grabbed at your chest, delighted to find you weren't wearing a bra. He alternated between your breasts, kneading the soft flesh as his other hand pushed your panties to the side.

His touch was electric, calloused fingers drawing circles on your clit.

"How ya s'wet already, baby?" Bob knew the answer. And he wouldn't punish you if you couldn't respond. He guided your head back, ensuring the back of your skull was rested against the ice pad.

The cold temperature sent instant relief to your head, "W-wanted ya all day. Was gonna put on that nightie and surprise ya but I-"

Bob gently shushed, not wanting you to overexert yourself, "Don't worry. I got ya."

His fingers dipped down to your entrance, circling once, twice, before sliding inside. His thumb remains at your throbbing clit, drawing circles as his fingers find the spot that makes your eyes roll back into your head.

Your back arches at his touch, so much that he has to wrap his free arm around your waist, keeping your body anchored to his.

Little moans and whimpers of his name begin falling out of your mouth, in rapid succession. Bob's lips remain pressed to your temple, as gentle encouragements are whispered against your skin..

"That's it. I gotcha. I gotcha. Just let go, 'kay? Been workin' so hard, my sweet girl. Just lemme take care of ya, alright?"

His voice is a comfort, a relief. It's low and rich. Deep, so deep and pulling you in. As relief floods your body, you find your hips jerking up to meet his fingers.

"Oh sweetie, you're close, aren't ya?" God, his tone. Condescension lace his words, but there's love mixed in with it. The dichotomy is puzzling, but also very fitting for Bob.

"Y-yeah," he increases the pace of his fingers, and it sets you off; a broken moan filling the room, hips jerking erratically.

"That's it, make a mess on my fingers. After that, I'll kiss it better, 'kay?"

Your hand gripped his forearm, clinging on as you came undone on his hand. Bob was far from done with you. The orgasm had brought relief to your head, but he was thorough.

#bob floyd smut #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine

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starlightmoon2020 · 5 months ago

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Yeah I’m consumed. Where ya taking us Captain??

Crawling back to John after your "one night stand" but he was just as obsessed as you were. Pt.1 Pt.2

You regretted it from the moment you stepped out of his flat. You really didn't know why you did it either, somehow it just felt natural for you to leave in the morning despite your heart screaming at you to stay there wrapped under wool sheets and locked in his embrace. You just slipped away early in the morning and now you had to live with the consequences. That being the fact John Price would not leave your mind. You went on holiday break just days after the night you spent together, and spending a month where you knew you weren't even the same city as the man who had given you the best night of your life and had treated you so delicately at the same time, was driving you insane. Every waking moment was filled with memories of your casual conversation and teasing jokes. When you dreamed, that is when you could fall asleep and not be in a spiral of regret, it was as if he possessed some otherworldly claim on your body because there was no other explanation for you reliving the pleasure night after night. Not to mention the fact that you couldn't get the jazzy tune of the record you had decided to throw on out of your head, constantly humming along to it and murmuring the words the best you could. But you just couldn't find the song no matter how hard you searched, it was eating away at you, and from where you were, there was nothing you could do.

John wasn't much better. Devastated would have been an understatement if you were trying to describe how he felt after waking up to an empty bed. In the beginning he really tried to ignore his feelings, bury them under work and absentmindedness as he so often did. But it came back to bite him in the ass, every time he got stressed he could only imagine having your sweet voice calling him to bed or telling him you made a fresh pot of tea. When he tried to get in his truck to go back to base for a change of pace, your name and phone popping up in his bluetooth menu the moment he turned on the ignition was like a slap back to reality. The reality that he had genuinely believed you might stick around and stay with him, a reality that had been shattered (and no he definitely did not remove your phone, not just because he didn't know how to). You were driving him mad at work too, the team had never seen their cap' with such an abhorrent attitude. Poor Soap and his usually endearing antics were usually the subject of his anger but nobody was safe. Ghost was sighing too loud and Gaz's use of the wrong mug was suddenly criminal.

" 'M tellin' ye mate, never seen the cap'n so...snarly." Soap complained after being told off for what would have usually been a harmless jab.

"Maybe yer' jus' not funny bruv, ever think a tha'?" Gaz was half listening but more focused on scrolling on his phone.

" 'S not tha' ya half-whit, he's been a dick with the lot'f us." The scot bit back, "Almost tore Lt. a new one fer' slammin' a door."

There was a grunt of agreement from the corner of the room and the boys continued to bicker about what could possibly have their captain so worked up but solutions could be agreed upon.

The only person he didn't snap at was Laswell and that was just because she would snap right back, and snap back meaner. When Price was being particularly sharp about a document not being ready on time she let loose, in front of the team.

"Look, John, I don't know what's got you acting so anal to everyone here, but clean up your attitude and fucking fix whatever the hells got you like this before I write you up for workplace harassment." She snapped, muttering the last part under her breath.

And John would have loved to have been able to fix his mood but he didn't know how to. You were lodged in his mind and wouldn't let him go. That slow, bass heavy song you played in the car replayed over and over in his head every time he thought of you. Your voice and the way you felt wrapped around him, but he couldn't for the life of him find the name of the damn song.

And so the slow and agonizing month away from uni dragged until you were back at school. You thought getting back into the rhythm of your classes and work would help you rid yourself of his memory. But no, you could barely focus in class when all your thoughts were of the way he whispered in your ear and opened doors for you. Against your (and your friends) better judgement you began to try and track him down. Retracing your steps from the bar and scouring google maps, even going so far as to search up his name, to no avail. All your friends told you to give up, that some man twice your age wasn't worth it, but you didn't give up, you couldn't. Finally you found a promising looking building on your maps app that you were able to retrace to his flat, looking exactly like you remembered. You didn't waste a second, grabbing your bag in a frenzy the moment you recognized the building.

Fighting with yourself the whole way there, debating every step you took. He might not even be there? He was in the military. Would he even want to see you? What if had wanted you to leave in the first place? It didn't really matter when you were navigating the stairs up to his place and standing in front of the door at 10:00 in the morning. It felt like lifting a 50 pound weight just to raise your hand and knock on his door, and you regretted everything the second you did.

Seconds later, the door knob turned and revealed a sleepy looking and shirtless John who was nonchalantly leaning against the door frame, a bowl of cereal in one hand and a spoon in the other. Don't let him fool you though, it was all an act, on the inside this man was freaking out and absolutely ecstatic to have his pretty bird fly right back into hands.

"Uh...hi." you gulped, trying to look anywhere but his built chest that you remembered the feeling of like it was yesterday.

"How was the break?" He asked, looking down his nose at you with a slightly amused expression that pissed you off, just slightly.

"Look," you started exasperatedly, "I just- I came, well I wanted to-" You could barely get the sentence out as he took a bite of his cereal, leaving the spoon in the bowl.

"C'mere," He said through bites, ushering in you in even as you shifted away, " 'M not going'ta letcha' stand out in the hallway."

And so he ushered you back into his flat, the exact same one you remembered, the record you had played was still on the player.

"Can I getcha' anything?" He asked, leaning against the kitchen table, still working on that bowl of cereal.

"No I'm fine." you responded curtly, leaning against the back of the couch across from him.

He looked like he was about to say something but you cut him off, "Look, I don't even know what I'm doing here but I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, about that night. It's been weeks and- and I keep replaying that moment in my mind, the moment before I left- and I just wish I had stayed or something. And I don't know why I'm here- I thought about turning back my whole way here and I think somethings wrong with me because I've never felt like this but I should have just left it alone- but I didn't and I don't-"

You heard the sound of the bowl clattering onto the table before suddenly his lips were on yours, silencing your ramblings and relaxing as he felt you melt into him. All your worries suddenly forgotten now that his hands were on you.

When he parted for air, he rested his forehead against yours murmuring "You 'ave no idea how much 've been missing you my sweet girl, drivin' me fuckin' crazy without'ya." against your skin with a kind of quiet earnestness you had only dreamed of.

You couldn't hold back and began to let out shaking sobs against his chest, hiccuping out "I-I'm sorry for l-leaving, I- I just."

"Shhh s'all right." He cooed, rubbing his hands up and down your back, just happy to have you in his arms again.

When you calmed down enough to pull back and look at him with your tear stained face he smiled, stroking your cheek, "You might want to get ready." He whispered

"Ready f-for what?" You sniffled

" 'M takin' you out on a proper date."

A/n: Old man Price consumes me more and more everyday

#john price #captain john price #captain price #price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader

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starlightmoon2020 · 5 months ago

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Beautiful. Could bring a tear to my eye

omega!soldier gets their call sign and shows the base what a badass they are

The next two weeks are a blur of training. You feel like you're back in basic except instead of being with a class of rookies, it's you and one of the other members of the 141.

Ghost has you on the shooting range each morning working a number of different weapons. He starts you on the Glock 17, the SA80, and the L129A1, the three weapons you said you were proficient with. He grunts after each clip, pulling your targets before you get a good enough look at them. On the first morning your targets are set at 500 yards. By day three, he's pushed the targets past the end of the standard 1000 yard limit.

By the end of the week, Ghost has you on the L115A3 and the L7A2 GPMG. He offers a quick tutorial on how to shoot each new weapon before pointing you at the target down the range. Because they're new-to-you weapons, he gives you three days before pushing the distance. Day after day, the targets come off the line before you're allowed a good look at them.

Between the range and lunch, either Soap has you on the field or you're still with Ghost in the gym.

When Ghost has you in the gym, he starts you on the speed bag, counting hits until your arms shake, then he moves you to weights. You alternate between free weights and machines but hit every muscle group you knew and some you didn't. Just when you feel pushed to your limit, Ghost sets you up in the mat to grapple.

You begin with rookies, and Ghost comments on your form. "Y'll never take down a bigger target wi' tha' 'old," he says as you wrap your arms around your opponent's torso. Against another opponent, he barks a sharp, "No!" when you get low. "Ya start down there, y'll stay down there." When he pits you against a few alphas, he gives a similar warning to the one he'd heard you give all those weeks ago. "Wi' us, any 'and ta 'and is gonna be 'gainst a bigger target, a beta or an alpha, who's going to underestimate ya fer yer size and yer secondary gender." He teaches you new techniques for taking down bigger opponents. "Ya need ta get 'em flat on their back quick if ya wanna survive."

By the end of week two, you're up against Ghost himself, who warns you he won't go easy on you. He promises he won't hurt you too badly, but he makes sure there's a first aid kit nearby. You pull out everything he's taught you and everything you know and any dirty trick you can think of. It's several long minutes of defensive maneuvers and hits before you're able to, for the briefest moment, get Ghost on his back underneath you. You can tell from how his mask moves he's smiling. "Good. Now's when ya go fer the kill: kidneys, throat, groin." You don't hide the flicker of fear in your eyes quickly or mask the disgust in your scent fast enough because Ghost continues and tells you, "It doesn matter if ya've never taken a life before, ya have to be prepared to do it."

It's not cruel, but it is bluntly honest. Never before has it been so clear that your job is to serve Queen and country by honing yourself into a weapon.

If Soap has you on the training field, he's timing your runs. You know what the qualifying physical fitness is to join up, but the task force qualifications must be different because every time Soap clocks your 2K, he'll look at the stopwatch for a moment while you breathe and call out, "Again, but a might faster, yeah?" Or he'll start the beep test and see how many reps you get on pace. After the fifth round, you lose count of how you're doing.

When you're not running, you're putting the weight training to good use. Soap starts you with the 2kg ball on an unmarked field, at least from your perspective. You assume there's some sort of distance indicators where he stands, but he never tells you how far you've thrown anything. You watch divots of grass pop up farther and farther away before Soap switches you to the 3kg ball, then the requisite 4kg ball, then on to a 5kg ball. Each one pockmarks the field in front of you, Soap making notes each time.

He has you pull the fixed weight bar over and over, recording the force off a screen he won't let you see. He'll look at the force, then as you and say, "Brace more wi' your back. Let's have another go."

Sometimes he has you on the pull up bar, alternatively calling out either your time while you count or your counts as you watch the stopwatch he dangles from the end of his clipboard. Or he'll hang the stopwatch from his neck as he sits at your feet while you do situps, calling out each correctly formed situp and fixing you when your posture slips. He doesn't count them - or the pull ups where your chin doesn't clear the bar - as done.

You're grateful all the hard physical work happens before lunch. Ghost or Soap will give you just enough time to haul ass back to your bunk to get cleaned up for the meal. Like on the first official day, you usually sit quietly, listening, while clearing two or more servings of food.

After lunch, Gaz or Soap has you in a classroom. On day one, Gaz stands in front of you with a folder open in his hands. "Impressive A Levels," he says by way of greeting.

You pull up short. "How do you have my A Levels?"

Gaz smirks. "Ya signed Adam's forms, yeah? Gives us permission to pull all your data. And these scores are...somethin' else."

You look at the table in front of you. "I like to learn," you admit softly.

"That'll make our time together easier, then." He gestures to the table and its stacks of books. "Yer gonna get a crash course in as much as Soap an' I can cover."

They give you a crash course indeed. Nothing close to Phase 3 training, but you've been through 2A. They take that basic officer knowledge and increase the rigor of everything. Soap covers demolitions, infiltrations, and target elimination. Gaz tackles surveillance and covert ops. You can't match the 141's training in these crash courses, but you absorb more than you thought possible. By the second week, both Gaz and Soap are in the room with you, running simulations and recording your responses and decisions.

Two and a half weeks after officially joining the 141, you find yourself in front of Price's intimidating desk, made more imposing by his seat on the other side, ringed by the team. There's papers spread all over his desk. Clearly there's an order to it, there must be, but you can't fathom what it is From your position, you see only a handful of familiar markings: targets from the shooting range, PT ranges dotted with dated peaks and valleys, the letterhead from your secondary school.

"Well," Price says, steepling his hands in front of him. He glances at his pack team behind him. "The lads have had quite a lot to say about you." The pause feels heavy, expectant, but you've learned to keep quiet when faced with such a conversational opening, especially from an alpha.

Price looks at the papers on his desk again. "Excellent weapons quals," he says, briefly pulling up one of your targets. "Apparently hit what Adam needed on day one."

You gape at Ghost. "But...I thought...you kept having me change weapons and moved the targets."

Ghost snickers. "Wan'ed ta see wha' ya could do."

Price continues, "Ghost also said you took him to the mat last week." Ghost nods, and you see the surprise cross Soap's face as Gaz cuts his eyes to the leftenant. "An' Soap says ya likely set some records with yer PT: beep test and 2k speed's impressive. Ya run?"

"Er, yessir. Between 5 and 10k a day, sir."

Price pauses in his perusal and looks at you directly. "S'tha so?" He waves a hand before you can respond. "Pull ups and push ups and the ball toss all well above quals."

You look at Soap over Price's shoulder. "You pushing me, too?" He grins sheepishly.

"Ye caught me."

"And the boys showed me how you reacted to the scenarios. Handled 'em like a seasoned operator," Price finishes, sitting forward, leaning his arms against the desk.

"Yer a real Renaissance soldier," he tells you. He chuckles to himself. "Maybe we should call ya Ren."

You don't know what to make of this. "Sir?" you ask.

"'m glad those other alphas were too pompous to see how amazin' ya are," Price says. *Ren, yer worth more 'en half the base. Them idiots didn' know wha' ya do wi' ya, but wi' us, yer gonna shine. If these reports are accurate," he looks at the team who are all nodding, "all ya need is a little more trainin' to be damn near perfect."

The gleam in his eye at the last statement borders on avaricious, but you write it off as his pride at getting you on his team.

#poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #omegaverse 141 #omegaverse #omegaverse tf 141

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starlightmoon2020 · 5 months ago

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It’s beyond me that I haven’t already reblogged this but I’m doing it now! Cause I’m always coming back to this work… always. Their combo needs more love and more attention cause I get the Hangman/Rooster thing I do, but Baby on Board has that mmph bout him and paired with a more shy Hangman??? Yes plz

three tender lovers.

robert ‘bob’ floyd x reader x jake ‘hangman’ seresin.

￫ description: bob proposes a solution to jake’s remarks to the marks on bob’s back. all three of you find resolution and something else. love.

￫ word count: 6.7K.

￫ c/w: threesome, sex, blowjobs, squirting, kissing, double creampie, nipple pinching, biting, scratching, praise, minor degradation, overstimulation, hints of mean dom bob and dom jake, use of the nickname “bunny”, crying kink if you squint, sub-space, aftercare, beginnings of a poly!relationship and our boys kissin’.

￫ a/n: this is for @sushiwriterhere threesomeissance 2023 writing event! thank you so much for tagging me my love, this was so much fun to write! <3 make sure you check out the other incredible pieces! <3 my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

Bob up-stretched his arms and shed his undershirt from his flight suit. It practically stuck to his skin with sweat and grime from a day of flying too close to the sun. He was about to hit the showers quickly in enough time to make it back home to you.

He was never one to hang about after training. The quicker he could get in and out, the quicker he could get home to his wife. That was before he heard a loud clang of a locker from behind him, followed by a whistle.

“Damn, Baby. You’ve been in a fight with a bear or somethin’?”

Jake’s voice from behind Bob caused his eye to twitch. He turned around to face the blonde pilot with an unphased expression on his face. Jake on the other hand was wearing his million-dollar, cock sure smile. He leaned against his locker with nothing on. All he was holding was his towel, bunched up in his hand and just about covering his cock.

Bob hated how overly confident Jake could be in the showers. He also hated how he found himself always trying to get a glance.

Jake had opted to now call Bob, Baby. It all stemmed from his years-old joke of what B.O.B. stood for. Baby on Board was too long for Jake, so he was just Baby.

“How’d you get those war marks on your back, Baby?” Jake jabbed again, licking at his bottom lip.

Bob’s eyes narrowed inwards towards Jake before cooling off. He chewed at the inside of his cheek as he remembered last night with you. He wanted to tell Jake to fuck off and that his sex with you is private, and he’d never utter a word to anyone about your shared, deepest darkest fantasies.

But then he remembered your shared discussion of bringing someone else in and how you both settled on Jake as a possible option. It was only talk, but at this point, Bob bit the hand that fed him.

“I don’t know,” He shrugged. “Why don’t y’ ask my wife?”

A chorus of hollers and cheers from the other pilots in the locker room could be heard and Jake bit back a laugh.

“As if, Baby. I don’t believe you fuck that good.”

“Y’ know, Bagman, if y’ want to see, how about you fuck my wife yourself?” He slammed his locker door and stared down at Jake.

Bob couldn’t help it, he really couldn’t. It had been playful, teasing jabs at one another for years and as it went on, they became far more flirtatious on both party's accounts. The locker room went into another uproar at Bob’s quick tongue and mouthful back at the cocky pilot, but he was still holding his intense gaze.

Jake’s smile had faltered an inch, only his eyes zoned in on Bob’s. He let his tongue run alongside his cheek and puffed out his chest. He wanted Bob to call bluff so badly, to call off whatever this was, to prove Jake wrong that he hadn’t been flirting with him all these years, but Bob didn’t move an inch. Not until he flung his towel over his shoulder and headed for the showers.

He briefly heard the laughter and other remarks from the pilots before the commotion died down. As he turned on the shower, the sound of water filtering through and splashing on the tiles drowned out the rest. That was until he heard the footsteps inch closer towards him.

Out of Bob’s peripheral vision, broad shoulders and sandy blonde hair came too. He continued to pay no mind to him and let the sound of the water continue to fill the room. It ran over the thick and heavy tension that was settling in the air. Neither of them spoke a word as they lathered themselves up with soap and let the duds fall to the tiles and down the drain. Unknown to either of them, they would occasionally steal glances at the other when getting the soap out of their eyes.

Bob would watch how the droplets of water dribbled down Jake’s toned torso and caught on the soft hairs of his pubic bone.

Jake would follow the trail of veins poking through Bob’s forearms and up his biceps, watching how they flexed in time with him washing the shampoo out of his hair.

Bob reached to the small shelf holding the soap to lather himself one last time. His fingers outstretched and met another set of hands reaching for the same. They met Jake’s and through the soaking water, he felt a jolt meet his fingertips and run through his veins. He was surprised at how soft they felt, yet he knew they could control a whole aircraft. It made a shiver start in his neck and run down his spine. The warm water did nothing to hide the goosebumps that were left in its wake.

Jake looked up and caught Bob’s eyes for the first time during the shower. He swallowed thickly before croaking out, “Baby, what I said back there, I didn’t mean—”

“This Saturday. I know you’re free. Come round to ours at seven.”

Before Jake could respond to Bob’s bold response, he slammed his water off, grabbed his towel and was out of the shower.

Jake was left with his lips parted in a breathless and wordless daze. His hand was still wrapped around the soap and squeezing so tight, he didn’t realize he had destroyed the bar completely.

He couldn’t believe he was here. He’d been round to Bob’s only once before and that was only to drop some paperwork off. He hadn’t even been in his hallway, let alone his bedroom, with his wife.

Everything had been agreed upon prior. Jake came round at seven on the Saturday as agreed and you answered the door with a warm and welcoming smile.

He could never deny that Bob’s wife was beautiful. You were radiant. He offered in return a kiss to your cheek and let his large hand fall to the small of your back, bringing you in. His hand was warm and firm. You felt your heart pound a little faster through your rib cage at his touch, letting your mind wonder what his hand would feel like against your bare skin.

Jake let himself inhale your perfume that rested under your jaw and the sweet smell of shampoo in your hair. It was intoxicating to him. You were beaming at him as you greeted him politely, took his jacket and hung it up on the coat hooks in the hallway.

It was such a simple gesture, but with the combined smell of something delicious cooking through the kitchen, Jake felt safe. He had entered a warm and loving home, and it settled his nerves to whatever was about to be offered.

You ate (with Jake complimenting Bob’s cooking more times than he could count), exchanged more polite conversation and then agreed on what was to happen. You slinked up to your bedroom to shed your sundress into something else before calling your husband and his co-worker upstairs. Bob took the lead up the stairs with Jake following behind.

As he came into your bedroom and saw the sight of you, a deep rumble of appreciation left Bob’s chest with a smirk resting on his lips. “My beautiful, beautiful, wife. You look gorgeous, darlin’.”

“Thank you.” You shyly replied, feeling the heat creep up your cheeks as Jake came through the doorway and his eyes fell on you.

It was the first time he had seen you like this. So exposed, so vulnerable. You were wearing a simple oversized white shirt, one that Bob would wear with his Navy whites. It was far too torn and tattered for him to wear anymore, but it became a piece of clothing Bob would become ravenous over, especially if you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

The open shirt lay over your stiff nipples but didn’t hide the swell of your breasts. With your legs crossed as you sat on the edge of your bed, you could just about catch the soft mound of your pubic bone, but your thighs were exposed. The drape of the shirt barely covered them.

Jake swallowed thickly again and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, feeling his mouth dry up ever more. He let his heavy gaze run up and over your body and your cheeks only turned a rosier shade of pink, flushed hot. His cock twitched in his pants and it prompted him, after not saying anything for what seemed like an eternity.

“You… You look, gorgeous. Bob’s a lucky husband.” Jake half-heartedly laughed.

He was nervous.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was nervous.

Bob had a natural-born instinct for reading people and he could tell in an instant what Jake was doing.

Truth be told, Jake had already had a couple of threesomes in his lifetime, but it had never been this intimate. It had never been with a co-worker's wife, never with someone who he had come to like, never in a safe and loving environment.

Bob let his hand fall to Jake’s back and gently ran his thumb in circles to soothe the nerves of the pilot. He smoothed his hand down his back further and gently linked his fingers with his to coax him closer to you and your bed.

Jake now stood in front of you with Bob to the side and his hand gently resting in your hair. You stayed sat and gazed up at the tall blonde with a look of lust clouding your eyes.

“Jake?” You called out his name sweetly. It was barely above a whisper but his ears turned hot at hearing you say his name so sweetly. “Can I touch you?”

Your question and now the clear sight of your breasts caused Jake’s cock to twitch again, and he breathed out a desperate, “Yes.”

You tentatively reached your hands out and let your fingers graze over his shirt, feeling the ripple of muscles underneath him. You moved over his large forearms and further up his biceps. As your hands rose higher, you eventually stood up from the bed, Bob’s hand never leaving your frame and now resting on the small of your back. It was a familiar touch that still grounded you to him, despite the situation.

Your hands ran around his shoulders and behind his neck. “You can touch me, Jake.” You quietly prompted him, now standing to his height. His hands reached out and fell to your hips. He squeezed you gently through the crisp fabric of the shirt and you let out a gasp. “Remember, you say the word and we stop this.”

He nodded, but Bob pressed his finger to Jake’s chin to turn him. “Words, baby.”

Baby.

Bob Floyd was calling Jake, baby and it ignited something so deep within him he could feel a flame lick at his stomach.

“Yes. We say the words and we stop this.” Jake corrected himself and you smiled at him with an electrified smile. He had tasted love and it tasted sweet. The flame that was licking in his stomach was burning bright and deep, and it encouraged him greatly. He felt a newfound swell of confidence burn over him and he hooked his finger under your chin and brought your lips to his.

His kiss was soft at first, letting his lips become accustomed to yours before you let out a needful whine and tugged at the soft blonde hairs at the base of his neck. You pulled him closer and he reciprocated with a harsher squeeze of your hips. They were flush against his crotch and you could feel his ever-growing bulge rub against you. The grind from you caused him to groan into the kiss and let his tongue dip between your lips and run alongside.

Both your cheeks were flush with a warm glow and Bob could feel the heat radiating off you both, as you continued to press yourself against Jake growing hotter with desire. You parted from his lips with a gasp, unable to hold back your ever-growing smile.

“Jake, Bobby,” You turned to your husband whose eyes were heavy and his pupils completely dilated black. “I need you both.”

“Of course,” Bob purred and slid his hand from your back to the base of your neck, pulling you to be millimetres from his lips. “Will you be a good girl and show our guest what your pretty little mouth can do?”

You quietly moaned and nodded, letting Bob pull at your neck and press his lips to yours in a searing kiss. Jake let out a curse of your name at seeing you bend to his touch. He was beginning to get a taste of just how dominant Bob could be and it intrigued him even further.

“Off for me and on your knees,” Bob instructed you again with a flick of his finger under your shirt. You willingly shed your shirt and let it fall to the bed. Now completely naked to Jake, he let out a wanton groan. You sank to your knees and gazed longingly upwards at the two pilots, their cocks both straining hard against their trousers and appearing prominently.

The sight was nothing like Jake had ever seen before. Your nipples were stiff and you sat obediently with your hands in your lap, awaiting your husband's next instruction. But it never came. Jake’s shoulders had rolled backwards and he was relaxed. He was adhering to the agreement that you were to do as they say. He let his fingers cradle your jaw and gently slipped his thumb between your lips. You took it into your mouth eagerly and sucked on it. The feeling of your tongue swirling around his thumb had him longing to know what it felt like on his hard cock.

“Jesus, such a sweet thing, Bobby. So good, so obedient.” Jake purred and Bob chuckled.

“There’s the Jake I had imagined in the bedroom,” Bob said lowly with a smirk.

Jake couldn’t hold back the heat that rose to his cheeks as he thought of Bob imagining him in the bedroom, but he was brought back to the present by the needy moan of you below them.

Bob shushed you gently and reassured you. “I’m sorry, darlin’. We’ve been deprivin’ you, haven’t we?” You nodded again and this time, they both let out a low chuckle.

They made quick work of unbuckling their belts and pushing the waistband of their boxers down to let their aching cocks slap against their torsos. You had always thought Bob was big, but Jake was no different. Your mouth began to salivate and you moved towards Bob, but his hand was in your hair and pulling you back with a click from his tongue.

“Nu-uh, darlin’. Guests first.”

You swallowed and looked back at Jake who was gazing down at you with his pupils blown wide with desire. He gripped the base of his cock and let his tip move past your lips tentatively. The soft feeling of your mouth wrapping just around his tip had Jake groaning. You moved your mouth further down his shaft, with Bob’s hand not letting go of your hair to steady you, but it couldn’t stop you. You wanted to feel Jake rest heavily on your tongue completely. You felt his tip nudge at your throat and a gag rumbled through your throat. Jake stumbled and his hips stuttered forward.

“Shit. Oh God, sweets. So needy for me already, hm?”

You whined around him and it vibrated off his shaft, earning another deep groan from Jake. Your eyes flicked to the side and you caught a glimpse of Bob fisting his cock heavy in his hand, his jaw set solid and his eyes trained heavily on you both, watching how your mouth took every inch of him. You wanted to put on a show for your dear and loving husband. You wanted to show him you craved this just as badly as him.

You worked your mouth up and over Jake’s thick shaft with precise strokes. Every time his swollen tip hit the back of your throat he let out another rumbled groan, earning smaller groans from Bob. Your tongue was laying flat underneath his base and it allowed Bob to gently start rocking your head for himself, letting Jake fuck your throat, his hips rocking into you.

Another handful of movements from Bob came before he was getting antsy. “C’ere, sweetheart.” He purred and moved your head off Jake to place your swollen lips around his shaft. You sunk easily, knowing every inch and vein like the back of your hand. Your nose brushed against Bob’s brown curls at his base as he rocked into your mouth. You gazed up at your husband with tears starting to prick the corners of your eyes from your throat being fucked so consistently. Bob’s jaw was still set firm as he revelled in the familiar feeling of his wife’s mouth, letting out deep moans and hissing when his tip hit the back of your throat repeatedly.

But Jake was beginning to get cocky.

“I thought we were doing this so I could fuck your wife stupid. Earn those bear marks of yours.” Jake drawled out with a smug tone before reaching for your hair and pulling you off Bob, leaving him snarling from the loss of contact so suddenly. A pitiful whine left your lips with a string of saliva still connecting to your husband's tip. As you swallowed back around Jake’s cock you began to bounce gently on your knees, your bare cunt trying to find friction from the air as desperation began to make you clench around nothing.

Bob let out a chuckle as he saw you hump the air pathetically. “I don’t think y’ need to wait much longer.” He pulled you off Jake once more and cradled your jaw to let you gaze upwards. “Do y’ want to be fucked now, Bunny? You’ve been so good for me and your guests.”

“Please, please, please. I’ve been so good.” You pouted slightly, your eyes pleading desperately with your husband. He hummed in pleasant agreement and reached down to pick you up gently, laying you on the bed as if you were fragile porcelain.

By this time Jake was already stripping himself off his clothes and Bob followed in tandem. Although your mouth was just full of heavy saliva, your throat dried up and your breathing quickened as you caught sight of the two naked pilots. Bob’s beauty was always intoxicating and dizzying to you and you found Jake giving you the same effect.

You counted your lucky stars of your current situation and your husband found himself doing the same. He had seen Jake naked too many times for him to count, but this was different. His eyes were heavy with desire, and his cheeks and chest were flushed with the most beautiful rosy pink. He had never noticed how blonde the soft curls were on his pubic bone, as his cock was pressed against his tone torso, although he’d caught sight of them constantly in the showers. They replicated how his hair was dusty and sun-kissed blonde, already becoming ruffled from Jake running his hand through his hair.

Bob thought he’d never looked so handsome.

“Jake?”

“Baby?”

The name made Bob shiver and his stomach crashed like thunderous waves against stone rocks.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please, Baby.” Jake gasped before wrapping his hand around the back of Bob’s head, his fingers tugging gently on his hair as he pressed his lips against his. They both let out a deep moan in unison. Years of tension and yearning rolled off their shoulders and bubbled up their throats as they tasted each other for the first time.

You watched keenly from the bed. It both made your heart bloom with a thousand flowers that your husband found solace within Jake and caused your abdomen to feel as though a thousand butterflies were coursing through you. Your thighs pressed and rubbed together to alleviate some of the growing arousal. You let out a whimper and they broke from the kiss to look at you, both with a lopsided smile on their faces.

As you pulled your thighs apart and felt the cool air run over your twitching cunt, Bob cooed. “Bunny, we’re so sorry. We’re comin’.”

Jake could feel his mouth salivate at the sight of Bob’s wife’s thighs spread apart and their pussy glistening with arousal, practically throbbing. “Look at that pretty pussy, sweets. Your thighs are slick already.” He groaned, kneeling between your thighs.

Bob took place up by your head, letting his hand soothe through your hair and his other holding the base of his cock, giving himself lazy, slow strokes.

Your hands came under your thighs to hold yourself open for him, squirming your hips closer to his cock as Jake took it in his hand and slapped it on your aching clit. It jolted sparks of pleasure through your abdomen at its first contact and you let out a loud whine. Your hips involuntarily bucked upwards to chase the feeling and Jake relished in the neediness of your touch. His free hand came to grip your hip as he ran his tip through your folds and collected your arousal, smearing it over your clit. It earned louder moans from yourself and more desperate bucking. He was smirking down at you with his signature cock sure smile.

“I want to remember the moment I slip my cock inside Bob’s wife’s tight pussy.”

He hissed as he slowly slid inside you and felt your slick walls take him, clenching tightly. He was thicker than Bob and you squirmed your hips, moaning as you adjusted to his size. He cursed to himself and threw his head back when your hips met his.

“Jesus, takin’ me so pretty, sweetheart. That’s it… Good fuckin’ girl.” He purred down to you as he momentarily slid out before feeling his tip run back over your sweet spot nestled deep inside you. At each slow and teasing stroke, you clenched tighter around him. You finally felt so full and you didn’t want the feeling to be taken away. You were desperately chasing it.

As he set a pace you glanced up at Bob with a couple of stray tears now leaving the corners of your eyes. “B—Bobby,” You whined. “He feels s’ g—good. It feels so good, fuck!”

Bob’s thumb gently wiped your tears away and smoothed over your hot cheeks, gently reassuring you. “Such a good girl for me. My pretty little wife looking s’ fuckin’ pretty takin’ another pilot's cock.”

As his thumb came down to his lips, you took it into your mouth to soothe yourself, but Bob removed it quickly. “No, no. C’ere,” He gripped the mid-length of his cock and let his tip fall between your parted lips. You eagerly sucked as much of his length as you could from this angle. “Good, Bunny.” He praised you.

You let your eyes flutter shut as the beginnings of complete pleasure roll over your body in waves. Over and over, you felt the powerful thrust of Jake’s hips with Bob rocking and resting heavily on your tongue. Two pairs of hands were gripping onto your flesh or soothing over your goosebumps, occasionally tugging on your stiff nipples to elicit louder, yet muffled, moans. You were stuffed full and you felt whole.

Jake’s thrusts picked up their pace and he was pistoning with such pressure you could feel the familiar warmth in your stomach grow. As his pubic bone met yours it grazed over your clit. It was small and frictionless contact, but the teasing alone had you nearly coming undone.

“They’re squeezin’ me so tight.” Jake gritted between his teeth, still cursing your name so pretty.

The corners of Bob’s lips quirked upwards and his eyes zoned in your expression. Your jaw was slack and although still stuffed full, you were drooling around his length with your eyes all but rolling back into your skull. He knew you were close.

“You want to earn those bear marks now?” Bob quipped. He grunted and nodded feverishly at him. Bob slipped from your mouth with drool still connecting to his tip. You mewled as he left you, but he was quick to reassure you he would be right here as he slid his hands into your hair.

With silent encouragement from Bob, Jake doubled down over your body and his large frame covered you whole. Your hands fell to his shoulders and gripped them tightly. One of his broad forearms rested by you to hold himself up enough that he could snake his hand between your slick sweaty bodies and find your aching clit. The soft pads of his fingers connected to you and you cried out his name loudly, finally feeling a firm pressure. He drew lazy circles around you with his thrusts now seemingly impossibly closer to you.

“Please, please, please… oh God!” Incoherent babbling left you as hot tears continued to streak down your cheeks. You never thought your husband’s, co-workers cock, could ever feel so fucking good.

“Bobby, Bobby!” You screamed instinctively. “Can I come?”

You heard him bark out a laugh behind you.

“Don’t ask me. It’s not my cock makin’ you cry, Bunny.”

Your brain was clouded with what felt like cotton and you scrambled to find the words quickly as your orgasm was building at a frighteningly quick pace.

“Jake! Can I come? Oh God, please can I come?” You babbled. Through his laboured breathing, you felt his warm breath tickle against your ear as he chuckled.

“Never gon’ want any other cock, sweets. I’ve ruined you for your husband, haven’t I?” Condensation was laced thick in his tone and it made you squeeze your eyes tightly shut, holding on so tight to stave off your orgasm.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” He barked out the order and your eyes peeled open with the most pleading expression you could muster, as he continued to rock deeply into you. Your nails by now were forming crescent shapes on his tanned skin. The beginnings of the bear marks. “Tell me, fuckin’ tell me and you can come.”

Everyone who was currently in the bedroom that was dowsed in the scent of sweat and sex, knew that this was not true. You would always love Bob and you would always want his cock. It was certainly still the most mouth-watering and appealing thing to you. You found yourself dreaming of having them both ruin you, forever.

But at this moment, Jake’s lusting and filthy words were clouding your senses and making Bob’s cock twitch heavy in his hand. For he too was incredibly aroused by Jake’s words and the sight below him.

“Y—you’ve, r—ruined me, Jake.” Your bottom lip began to tremble. “Please!” You begged with a hoarse cry. His fingertips pressed down firmer with precise motions and the last thing you saw before you snapped, was him grinning down at you like the Devil.

“Come for me, sweets.”

With a couple more swipes of his fingers over your abused clit, combined with the punishing pleasure from his thick cock, you were seeing stars. A white-hot feeling flooded from your abdomen outwards across your body. Your toes curled and you wailed. The crashing sensation of your orgasm wracked your body whole, cursing his name, Bob’s name.

You felt Bob’s hands soothe through your hair and you could faintly hear his sweet praise over Jake’s loud groans.

Jake didn’t let up with his thrusts. He pressed his sweaty frame closer to yours and snaked his hand away from your twitching clit. His face pressed into the crook of your neck and your nails raked over his back as he fucked you through your orgasm. With how close you were held against him, there was still enough friction rubbing mercilessly over your clit. His voice was hot in your ear and you heard him.

“Feel s’ fuckin’ good for me, I’m so lucky. You’re both so perfect, shit.” At his final curse, he groaned deep into your sweat-covered neck and you felt his teeth graze over your tender flesh and suck harshly. He was hissing and grunting with his thrusts becoming sloppier, but you could feel himself leak into you.

Everything was so deadly intoxicating. You never wanted to leave this room. You wanted to stay with them both forever.

His thrusts eventually slowed completely and he pulled off your burning frame. His own body was completely flushed pink with his sandy blonde hair mused and some strands of his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. As his softening cock pulled out of you and you felt his spend trickle down your puffy lips, you let out a pitiful whine, suddenly feeling so empty.

He wore a satisfied grin as he gazed over the pretty sight of your pussy and then back up at Bob. You felt Bob’s large hands trail over your shoulders and squeeze against your breasts. You craned your neck to look at him with your eyelashes fluttering and a cock drunk smile plastered over your lips. Your body trembled with anticipation, knowing you still had Bob, and your clit was still aching for just one more.

A chorus of praises and strings of kisses to your warm flesh, left the two pilots' lips as they gently moved your trembling frame. Jake sat against the headboard with your back pressed against his chest. A pillow was slid under your hips to elevate them higher to allow Bob to make your eyes water from pleasure with the angle. Your hands were holding onto Jake’s forearms as you looked your husband in the eye, kneeling in front of you with a grin.

He held the base of his cock firmly and let his tip run through your folds and catch Jake’s spend mixing with your leaking arousal. He pushed it against your swollen clit and you let out a breathy moan, your eyes already faltering shut. Behind you, Jake watched the scene unfold with hooded eyes and soft groans. Bob teased you for a moment longer before easily bottoming out inside of you with a hiss and a groan.

“S’ warm for me, Bunny. Taken Jake’s cock and you’re still so tight for me, aren’t you?”

You mewled and dug your nails in tighter to Jake’s forearm, earning more scratches on his skin. Bob had patiently sat by and watched his friend fuck his wife. He was wasting no time and set a cruel pace instantly. The sudden feeling of feeling so full with his familiar size had you moaning and squirming your hips already, but he kept his hands firmly on your thighs to hold you open and take what he gave you. His swollen tip was rubbing mercilessly at your spongy sweet spot and the angle was enhancing your pleasure to a feeling so sweet, that you felt as though you could burst. One of Jake’s large hands snaked upwards to pinch and tweeze your nipples, heightening your sensitivity. You heard his groans low and hot in your ear as you responded with desperate whines.

Pleasure was licking at the flame in your abdomen, but with your heightened sensitivity it was producing something else. Something more.

“Oh, Bobby!” You practically wailed. He felt the way you clenched tightly around him and how your walls pushed down. He knew your body like the back of his hand.

He groaned at the tightening sensation and gave a final piercing thrust before pulling his cock out entirely. You pushed down and gasped out a breathy moan as you felt your arousal squirt out of you.

“That’s it, good girl, good fuckin’ girl.” Bob groaned again with a knowing and smug smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He moved his fingers through your wetness and watched it splatter over your thighs.

“Jesus, Baby. Makin’ them feel so good.” Jake groaned louder from behind you, before directing his words back to you. “I’d love to see you squirt on my cock next.”

You could hear the cocky pilot's grin from behind you as he let his lips run over the shell of your ear and nibble gently.

There was a deadly concoction mixing in your abdomen as Bob bottomed out inside of you again and you took in Jake’s words. The notion of another night like this had your head spinning. Their sinful words and fiery touch on your skin had you feeling hot and dizzy. The pleasure was seeping through every vein of your body with every jolt caused by Bob’s cock pushing deep inside of you. You were gasping and moaning incoherently, only able to feel this ecstasy-inducing feeling. If it wasn’t for their grip on your body, you would’ve gone completely limp.

Suddenly you could feel Bob’s soft thumb on your now throbbing clit, rubbing precise circles. There was nothing lazy about Bob Floyd when he fucked.

Hot tears began to fall from the corners of your eyes and streak down your cheeks. You were babbling nonsense by now and you felt your impending orgasm grow closer with each swipe of his thumb. Your jaw was going slack and as you panted hungrily, tiny droplets of drool were pooling in the corners of your mouth.

“Are you gonna come again?” You whimpered his name in response and Bob snickered. “You are, aren’t you? So desperate for cock. It’s pathetic to watch. My sweet little Bunny practically drools as they take another man’s cock.”

Your stomach swirled at his words, in time with the swirl of his thumb. “Bobby!” It was a shriek of a plea, like nothing Jake had ever heard before. “Please can I come? Please, please, please…”

As you begged harder, your tears began to fall harder. Bob watched your body lovingly, with heavy hooded eyes. He saw every twitch, every shiver, every squirm, and he knew when your body couldn’t take anymore. He was still merciless with his strokes and thumb, but as you locked your pleading and tearing eyes with him once more, his firm set expression softened and his voice was coaxing you.

“Come. Come for me my baby Bunny.”

Your jaw went slack and a silent scream tore from your throat as you let the bubbling sensation of your orgasm burst through your abdomen, feeling the tendrils of pleasure wash over your body in crashing waves. Your hands shot up to wrap around the back of Jake’s head and pull tightly on the smaller hairs at the base of his neck. Your body withered and your chest was heaving, panting furiously as the sensation rolled over your body repeatedly. You faintly heard a string of praise from them both, Jake’s low voice still hot in your ear. Bob’s praise turned to grunts and with two more forceful thrusts, you could feel him leak his spend inside of you.

His ministrations slowed and as your head lolled to the side of Jake’s shoulder, you still let out a quiet and needy whine again, feeling so empty and feeling the now double mix of cum leaking from your abused cunt.

Your head felt full of cotton. You reached out with shaky hands to your lover. “Bobby…” You breathed out, barely above a whisper. He leaned down and took your shaking frame from Jake’s slick chest. He pressed you close to his own and with Jake’s help, he moved you to lay limp against him with his broad arms encasing you tightly. Jake stayed next to you both and let his fingers trail tenderly over your damp back.

All three of your chests were steadying out with calculated breaths, as you all came down from your highs. Tender and loving kisses were placed on your skin from them both, and more hushed words of love and praise were whispered close to your ears.

When your energy eventually came back, Bob cleaned you up gently with Jake’s help. The remainder of the leftovers from your prior dinner were fed to you and you gulped down more glasses of water than you could count. The duvet cover was changed and with your head still feeling full of soft cotton, and your body swimming with the afterglow, your two pilots lay down to sleep with you.

Before the peaceful waves of sleep pulled you under, you remember watching how lovingly Jake cradled Bob’s jaw and placed a kiss on his lips. The next thing you felt was his tender fingers bringing your jaw up to place his lips on yours. Your cheek then felt another pair of lips and you turned your face to find Bobby’s.

You kissed them both a handful more times. Each time your heart pounded a little faster and you felt the thousand butterflies flutter through your stomach.

Maybe this could work.

Maybe, this could be a forever thing.

Jake stayed on Sunday till around three in the afternoon. You all woke up late and lazily gathered yourselves to share a warm, yet deeply refreshing, shower.

You spent the rest of your time in the kitchen, just talking and eating. You spoke about everything and anything. You talked about the prior night, you talked about aircraft manoeuvres that had gone wrong, and you asked Jake about his home and where he grew up. Occasionally you found yourself pressed into Jake’s side with one of his broad arms incasing you close to his chest, as you both watched Bob cook up the food. Jake insisted that he would make you both a homemade recipe his Ma taught him some time.

All three of you exchanged fluttering touches and loving kisses with each other, and Jake found something blooming deep within his chest. He felt safe within this peaceful and domesticated home. He didn’t want to leave.

Come the evening on the Sunday, you were curled in between Bob’s thighs as you both read in peaceful silence.

“I really like him, you know.”

You spoke out into the silence. There was a beat before you felt Bob’s chest take a deep breath and then exhale. You glanced up at him and he wore a soft smile as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. Me too, Bunny. Me too.”

A chorus of loud cheers and hollers broke out and echoed across the locker room on Monday. Javy slapped Jake on his bare back, making note of the marks scratched down his flesh.

“Jake! Now who’s been fighting with a bear?”

Bob continued to look forward at his locker as he gathered up the remainder of his belongings, paying no note to the commotion he heard behind him.

Jake huffed out a laugh and flashed his signature smile to Javy, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Bob smiled to himself at hearing Jake’s words. The images of Saturday evening and his wife scratching their nails down his back were flashing evidently behind his eyes. Once he heard the others trail off to the showers, he turned around to face him. It was only them left in the locker room and he leaned back against his locker, watching Jake pull his jacket on and reach for his bag.

“We’re really lookin’ forward to having you round for dinner tomorrow night.”

Jake’s head perked up at Bob’s words, his signature smile still etched over his face.

“Yeah, me too, Floyd.”

Jake placed his hand on Bob’s shoulder to move past him and leave the locker room, but before he took another step further, he lingered for a moment longer. Jake’s lips brushed up against the shell of Bob’s ear and in a low and flirtatious drawl, he whispered, “Bye, Baby.”

And he left.

Jake didn’t look back and see how Bob was biting down frightfully hard on his bottom lip to hold back the beaming and lovesick smile he was currently adorning. He didn’t see how Bob’s cheeks flushed a rosy pink colour in seconds. All he saw ahead of him was a future of tender love with you and Bob.

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