Sons of Anarchy - Reader x Son Fan Fic

Bobby's Meal

"No," you said, looking Bobby Munson square in the eyes.

"No?" he questioned, his lips flirting at a smile. "Are you sure about that, honey?" he asked.

"No, damn it," you repeated, stomping your foot. He chuckled and walked closer, getting into your space without a care as to your equilibrium.

"I love it when you're childish," he said. You frowned and pushed him back.

"Knock it off," you demanded.

You'd had about enough of this bullshit. You'd been in love with the damn man forever, but all he'd ever done was flirt and then walk away. It was time to cut bait. If he wasn't interested, then you'd just have to move on.

"What's the problem, honey?" Bobby asked, confusion marring his features. You shook your head and then turned to the box you'd brought to the office for Gemma. Grabbing a Sharpie, you wrote a note on it for her and then moved to walk around Bobby.

"Stop," he demanded, putting a hand on your arm. Gone was the playful Bobby. In his place was a stern, unhappy one. "What the fuck is wrong?" he asked.

You shook your head and then pulled your arm away from him. Walking out the door, you got a full four steps before Bobby had pulled your hand, turning you to face him. His eyes were hard and angry as they looked at you.

"Why are you shutting me out?" he questioned. You sighed and pulled a hand up to your forehead, rubbing it as you spoke.

"Enough," you said softly. "No more," you continued as you dropped your hand and pulled the other from him.

"I'm not a plaything," you stated firmly before you turned back to your waiting car.

You'd never been a big drinker, but today might be the exception to the rule for you. There was a bar just down the street whose bartenders actually knew how to make the shit out of a mojito. Perhaps, now was a good time to give it another try.

This time, you made it half a step before he halted your movements again. You groaned and let your head fall back, your eyes looking to the sky as you internally begged for patience. You could really use some right now.

"You're not leaving until you explain what the fuck that means," Bobby said, his deeper, Son voice coming out. Most of the time, he talked to you with the lighthearted ease of a man who was comfortable in his own skin. It would seem that you both needed patience, because his tone suggested he'd run out, too.

"It means," you said, dropping your eyes from the clouds overhead to meet his, "that I'm done."

"Explain," he demanded, both of his hands on your arms now.

"What's to explain?" you asked drily. "You're good with things as they are and I'm not," you stated.

"Since it takes two to tango," you continued. "I'm going to go find myself a willing dance partner."

With those words, you stepped back and out of Bobby's grip once more. You walked toward your car, nodding to Tig and Chibs as they parked their bikes nearby. They frowned, looking over your shoulder before meeting your gaze. You didn't look back, though. Whatever Bobby was doing, it didn't matter anymore.

You had to move on.

--

Half an hour later, you were staring at a microwavable container of mac and cheese and considering whether to just go to bed, despite the fact that it was only six o'clock. You'd really considered the bar, but had decided to forgo it for another time. Instead, you'd headed home thinking silence would help to settle your mind.

It hadn't helped.

Every two minutes, you thought about that stupid man and the way your fickle, traitorous heart sped up when his rough, warm hands had touched you. You could smell the leather of his kutte. You could practically feel the way his eyes would glance over you as he teased you. But, that was all he'd been doing and you had to stop torturing yourself with the possibility that it would ever be more than that.

If Bobby had actually wanted you, he knew what to do. Hell, as near as you could tell, his time with the Sons would practically make him an expert on the female form. He was no stranger to giving a woman pleasure. The fact that he'd never tipped that edge toward you could only mean one thing:  he wasn't interested.

It hurt like a bitch, knowing that.

But, even pain could teach a person something, so you were going to just pull yourself up and dust your bruised heart off. You'd thought Bobby was The One, but he couldn't be. The One, if such a man existed, would - by definition - want you, too.

Taking a scoopful of the slightly cold pasta, you clicked the remote to see if there was a suitably depressing movie on for you to watch. As the second forkful entered your mouth, a pounding came at your door. Frowning, you looked down at your present attire. 

You'd changed into a shirt of Bobby's that you'd borrowed one day when some grease from the shop had ruined yours. The plan had been to return it, but you never had. Rather, you'd clung to the damn thing as the only piece of him you'd ever gotten. Sighing, you shrugged and got up.

"What?" you asked as you swung the door open on the increasingly insistent thundering of a man's fist. Standing before you, scowling and jittery, was Bobby. You groaned, unable to help it.

"Fuck off," he said, pointing at you as he walked right past you and into your living room.

"Excuse me?" you demanded. "You're in my damn place and you're telling me to fuck off?" you questioned. "Get the Hell out!"

"No," he replied, kicking off his boots and looking around. He spied the mac and cheese container and sneered, picking it up with distaste and throwing it in the nearby bin.

"Hey!" you cried. "That was my dinner!"

"I'm not letting you eat that shit," he answered, moving into your kitchen. You followed him, your hands on your hips.

"What are you doing?" you asked, flustered.

"I'm making you some food because you're always a grouch when you're hungry," he answered, looking in your cabinets.

"Once I've made you eat," he continued as he pulled out a few things, "I'm taking you to bed and then I'm going to eat," he answered.

Heat flushed up your neck at the implications of his words. You swallowed as you tried to wrap your mind around what was going on. Finally, you were able to force your vocal cords to function.

"Bobby?" you asked, your voice tentative and soft. He turned to you then, his eyes warm.

"You've been mine for months, honey," he said. "I was just trying to get you used to the idea," he explained.

"Used to the idea?" you parroted, hopeful and fearful of mishearing, of misunderstanding. Bobby set down the ingredients and walked over to you, caging you into the counter as he bent his head to suck on the spot right behind your ear, causing goosebumps to raise on your arms.

"Want you, honey," he said, his voice velvety and warm. "Was just too caught up in it to realize you wanted me, too."

You sighed, feeling your heart jump as your hands slid up his chest and around his neck. Stepping into him, you felt his arms tighten around you. You smiled as you spoke into his ear.

"Let's have dinner later."