leclerclvr

[leclerclvr]

been putting this off, should’ve read it soonerrr!! BRO I NEED RHETT 😞😞😞

polaroids - r. abbott x fem!reader

a/n: this came from a conversation emmie, jay and i had and i couldn’t stop thinking about it.

summary: you and rhett take a trip to the mountains one weekend, and put your polaroid camera to use.

w/c: 3.1k

warnings: contains smut, 18+ only | use of a camera during sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it up, folks), p in v, slight breeding kink, just general filth, i apologize. some fluff.

“Let’s go somewhere.”

You had just gotten home from work, flopping down on the couch. Work had been awful lately and you couldn’t seem to catch a break. Rhett came in soon after and sat next to you. You started complaining about how your boss had been treating you and how tired you were of being there.

He had this look in his eyes, one that you recognized well. He was planning something, what it was though, you couldn’t figure it out. He started to rub the soles of your feet, smirking at the light moan you let out at the feeling.

“Feel good?” He asked, pressing his thumbs in deeper. You just nodded and slid further into the couch, getting comfortable. You were both silent for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“Let’s go somewhere. Get away for the weekend. What do ya say?” He turned his body more towards you, running his hands up your calf muscles.

Keep reading

[leclerclvr]

sunscreen hands || bob floyd

includes: smut 18+, semi-public, fingering, oral (m. receiving), praise.

+

“bobby, can you help me put on sunscreen?”

the rest of the squad had ran off in the distance to start their football game. bob was just about to jog after them when he heard your honeyed, angelic voice call out to him, using that nickname he loved to hear—though he’d never confess to that.

he turned around and blinked, “y-yeah, of course,” he replied as he sheepishly approached you.

you smiled at him and turned your back, “you’re the best.”

bob sucked in a breath, willing himself to not fumble under your sweet praise. he took the bottle of sunscreen by your side and squirted some onto his hands.

he stood behind your reclined figure, “i…i’m gonna touch you now…” he warned, more to himself than to you.

he heard your soft giggle, followed by a “i sure hope so, how else would the sunscreen get on?”

he mentally slapped himself, “right…”

the moment his hands made contact with your skin, you both jolted. you with a tiny exclaim of “tickles!”, and him because he couldn’t believe he finally got to touch you so intimately. your flesh was smooth and warm, his calloused fingers glided with ease, spreading the thick sunscreen lotion in circular motions.

you hummed and let out a satisfied sigh, leaning further into the beach chair, “mmm, you’re good with your hands, bobby.”

thank goodness you weren’t facing him, or else you would’ve seen the pink mess you’d made of his cheeks. and with great shame, your words went directly south.

he cleared his throat, “yeah? that’s good to know…” he mumbled casually as though he were talking about the weather.

bob kept on rubbing the cream over the expanse of your back. he tried to distract himself by looking at the waves or counting numbers in his head, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to deny the way touching you made him feel, the stream of thoughts that crossed his mind.

“d’you have a girlfriend, bobby?”

he was pulled out of his daydream by the sound of your voice. he stammered for a moment and shook his head quickly, before realizing you couldn’t see his face.

“me? no, no.” he rambled out, silently wincing when he realized just how pathetic he sounded by answering so fast.

“really?” you sounded genuinely surprised. “why not, you’re so amazing.”

fuck, he felt himself get half-hard at that.

he let out a self-deprecating laugh, “heh well, most girls go after guys that look like hangman or rooster…”

you rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “that’s bullshit. common misconception about girls: everyone thinks we want the hot, brooding bad boys and assholes.”

you tilted your head slightly to the side to catch his eyes, “but in reality, we all get wet for the sweet, quiet, and effortlessly sassy ones with the witty comebacks.”

this time, you could actually see the blush that bloomed on bob’s cheeks. you smiled proudly, knowing you got him so flushed. “who are also hot, might i add.”

bob had to turn his head away from you, your compliments too much for him to handle all in one go. “thanks,” he breathed out. you let out a small laugh before looking away again to save him from mortification.

it went quiet again, bob continued lathering you up. for a moment, he recovered and thought he could resume functioning normally again. that was until you spoke up,

“wanna see for yourself?”

his hands froze on your back and his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “see what?” he asked, oblivious to your implication.

you smiled and turned your head once more, “i said girls get wet for guys like you. so do you wanna see for yourself?”

bob.exe has stopped working.

you bit your lip to stifle a laugh, not wanting to make bob feel like you were making fun of him. you shifted your whole body over to face him fully. you took his sunscreen-covered hands and wiped them on your waist—bob’s heart skipped several beats—before you guided them to the hem of your swim bottoms.

his eyes snapped up to meet yours, a wordless question exchanging between the two of you: ‘are you really letting me do this?’

you simply nodded at him with an encouraging smile.

his quivering fingers slowly, hesitantly dipped under the fabric of your bottoms. his pace was measured, as though he were waiting for you to change your mind and push him away.

but you wanted this. so bad. you took hold of his wrist and brought him to where he needed to be.

bob couldn’t stop the moan that ruptured out from his lips when he felt the slick between your folds. his pupils instantly dilated and he gulped the remaining drool left inside his mouth.

“is this…all for me?” he asked, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

you nodded and leaned into the touch of his fingers, “mhm, all for you, bobby. only you.” he groaned so desperately at that.

the two of you were grateful that the beach was empty besides your squad—who were far enough to not notice what was happening.

his breathing picked up the more his digits explored you. he experimentally pushed a finger past your entrance, earning him a dreamy sigh from your perfect lips. he watched your expressions carefully, studied them diligently in tandem with his movements so that he could produce only the best results from you.

the rewarding moans he received in exchange only spurred him on. his thumb gingerly rubbed circles over your clit. he licked his lips when he saw you throw your head back in pleasure.

“do you…like that?” he wondered.

you managed to nod, “love it, bobby. you’re so good at this. knew you’d be.”

his heart soared, the fire inside him only growing larger and wilder as you fed him praise and encouragement. the same applied to his hard-on.

in the midst of your pleasure, your eyes fluttered open and you spotted the aching erection he was sporting—his flimsy shorts doing very little hide his predicament.

“bobby, you’re hard,” you announced as if he didn’t know it himself; didn’t feel the pain of it as he strained through the thin material.

“y-yeah, i am, sorry,” he murmured nervously.

you shook your head, “don’t be.” you told him before you pushed the waistband of his shorts down, “let me take care of you.”

not a single protest escaped bob’s lips when your mouth wrapped around the angry, red tip of his leaking cock. you hummed around him, the vibrations going straight to his spine as he shivered.

“you take me so well, fuck.” he gasped out.

his fingers faltered for only a brief moment before he kept working your pussy, mimicking the pace you kept with your tongue. when you wrapped your hands around the base of his dick, bob added another finger into your heat; both of you moaned in bliss. you took him in deeper; he curled into that special spot inside you. you choked around him; he fisted your hair in a vice grip. a symphony of pleasure, a gentle, yet passionate duet.

and like all symphonies come to; a crescendo.

you both climaxed at the same moment. your walls practically sucked him in as he fervently pumped in and out of you, feeling his fingers get sloppier and stickier. your breathless moan was contained around the girth of his dick. bob’s knees nearly buckled as he released, painting your throat a messy white portrait of his pleasure.

you pulled away from him with a pop!, bob reluctantly withdrew his wet digits from your tight heat, already missing the warmth that your walls housed him in. the two of you caught your breaths, your chests rising and falling on the same beat.

when you finally recovered, you let out an airy giggle, “that’s how you get the girls, bobby.”

bob let out a trembling laugh at your remark, “by making good use of my hands?”

you hummed, “yeah. though next time, i’ll have to show you how to make good use of your cock as well.”

he cracked a toothy smile, “i don’t think i can apply sunscreen with that…”

written by vivianfiles

[leclerclvr]

I LOOOOOVE DAD!BOB SO MUCH AND NEED MORE!!! 😣😣😣😣

Domesticated | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: On a lazy Sunday morning with Robert Floyd and your twin girls, you're reminded exactly how well he takes care of your family. And you.

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings & Notes: Robert “Bob” Floyd x f!reader, 18+ ONLY as always, smut, unprotected p in v, creampie, daddy!kink, children, reader has given birth, mentions of pregnancy, food mentions, slice of life vibes, unrealistic depiction of toddlers. This is repurposed and heavily edited from another fic of mine, so if you recognize it...glad to see we're enjoying the same fandoms. Daddy!Bob makes me so damn feral...Lewis has been giving dad vibes this fall...so this is sooooo entirely self indulgent. Sorry not sorry.

The early sun seeps through the thin curtains you bought last summer, the ones you assured your husband would keep the bedroom dark. You were wrong, but he’s never corrected you. Soft cotton rustles beneath you as you turn to your side, burrowing your head in Bob’s chest to enjoy these last few moments of quiet. Enjoying the way his fingers trace along your back as your breaths fall in sync. His eyes flit to the clock on the nightstand, disappointed it’s already six.

As if on cue, the patter of tiny feet sound across the hallway toward where your husband holds you.

The bedroom door flies open and in come your twin girls. Alice and Iris bound into the room, giggles following their every step. You and Bob exchange looks before shutting your eyes, focusing on evening your breathing to mimic sleep. If they fall for your trick they’ll go back to their room to play on this sleepy Sunday morning.

No such luck.

Iris launches her body onto your husband, and Bob flies up in surprise, nearly launching the toddler into space. He catches her in midair and the two exchange matching shocked expressions in their blue eyes. Her sister clambers on her father as well, hoping to join this “hop on pop” game he’s unknowingly created.

From your position still pretending to sleep, you admire Bob. Robert Floyd is everything you could want in a life partner. As a husband, he is attentive and sweet, willing to work through the good and the bad. As a father, he is loving and involved, prioritizing his daughters as much as possible while gunning for admiral.  In the five years since you said “I do” he has done nothing but improve your life. It was the best decision you’ve ever made.

Aware of your attention, he catches your barely open eyes and smiles. His hair sticks up in the back from the pillow, and a thick chunk of sun-washed blonde falls over his forehead. He raises a hand to push it back, but the strands are stubborn without product. Bleary cobalt eyes are rubbed before he reaches across the nightstand for his glasses. Once Bob can clearly see he holds the toddlers and bounces them lightly on his knees. Fatherhood is second nature to him, taking to the bumps and joys like he was born for them. Your heart soars with love for the three special humans sat before you.

Knowing your sleep facade is over, you fake a big yawn and sit up, scooting closer to your family. Arms outstretched, Alice clambers into your lap, her bedhead tickling your chin. You smooth down her hair, a soft press of your lips to her crown before leaning over to peck another onto Iris’s cheek. 

Bob looks at your expectantly, left out from your affection. The tiniest of pouts on his lips. You lean forward over both girls to leave a chaste kiss on your husband’s lips. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, gorgeous.” The smile doesn’t leave your face until well after your children have dragged you out of bed in search of breakfast.

Once in the kitchen, you lean a hip against the butcher block counter, glancing over the oatmeal packet in the midst of deciding if you want to boil water or use the convenience of the microwave. Two hungry mouths make the choice. As you pop two bowls in the small appliance you feel a presence behind you.

“May I have breakfast too?”

He’s giving you his best puppy eyes, those bright blue bespectacled eyes hopeful. Food always tastes better prepared by his wife. Strong hands wrap around you, squeezing your hips. You’re immediately helpless. “If you sit at the table like your daughters I can possibly make you something to eat. Eggs sound good?”

Your smiling husband nods his agreement, already heading to the kitchen nook where the twins are drawing the images inside their minds. He settles into a sturdy wooden chair, his jean clad legs spreading out under the table, the faded Navy recruitment t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders as he grabs a crayon to make his own scribbles. Well, scribbles in the way crayon can depict only so much of a fairly detailed Super Hornet he’s been working on all week.

The microwave beeps as you finish up the eggs, completing the four breakfasts as you bring them over. A fresh cup of coffee in your spot  from when he noticed you were low. 

“I knew there was a reason I married you.”

His cheeks blush dusty rose as he dips toast into the runny yolk of his egg. Some days he can’t believe you agreed to marry him, that you wear his ring and bore his children and make sure he leaves each morning with a kiss and a reminder of how much you love him. He’s the luckiest man alive.

Breakfast is enjoyed amongst the chatter of your toddlers. Silence is rare in the house. If there isn’t a fictional tale they’ve fashioned about a toy, it’s continuous questions about inanimate objects and things they’ve seen. Once Bob fell asleep watching the music channel and the girls found themselves watching old KISS videos for an hour.

It was a personal hell mixed with a nightmare hearing them describe everything in graphic detail to Bob’s parents during Friday night dinner. 

As you finish your eggs, the twins prattle on about the latest nursery school drama. You’ve never met Connie, but she sounds like a right ol’ jerk for a three year old. Bob nods along passionately, giving his full attention over his nearly empty coffee mug. You have no doubt he will be bringing this up at the next school conference.

With breakfast out of the way, there’s only one other responsibility on a lazy Sunday in the Floyd household. Grocery shopping.

Alice makes a big deal of wearing the socks with a red trim, one of which seems to be missing, and the next half hour is dedicated to Bob and you crawling around the second bedroom peering under furniture. Bob pleads with her to wear any other sock to no avail. No socks if she wants. Thankfully you locate the lone article under some books. How did that get there?

Bob pushes a jacket onto your shoulders with a soft kiss to your cheek as the family trudges out, two toddlers in tow and a long grocery list between your fingers. You turn to give him a proper peck, feeling the slight upturn of his lips as you linger a second longer than necessary.

Once in the store, twins strapped in the cart that their father pushes, you compare the list to the surrounding aisles. Concentration broken by tiny hands pointing out anything shiny or brightly coloured, their favourite characters on the packaging. Bob isn’t much better, subtly adding specialty trail mixes into the cart. You remind the group there’s a list - an agreed upon list - but try saying that to three pouty faces with their hearts set on crackers shaped like planes. “Just like Daddy’s!”

How could you say no to that??

As the car pulls into the driveway of your home, the rear mirror reveals two small faces fast asleep. Alice’s thumb is lodged between her lips, a habit she can’t seem to break, while her sister looks angelic with both hands tucked beneath her head with pouty lips. They look so much like Bob when they sleep, not a care in the world upon their smooth brows.

“Looks like we have two down,” you whisper to Bob. He looks back at them and has to stifle a laugh.

“If you put away the groceries, I’ll get them down for a nap.” You open your mouth to protest. It’s a lot to handle both. “You do all of this yourself when I’m deployed. Give me this.”

Robert Floyd continually makes you fall in love with him.

Car doors open and shut before he’s laden down with a child in each arm. The sight sets off something in your stomach, and you focus harder on grabbing the bok choy that rolled out of one of the bags. 

You’ve busied yourself putting groceries in their respective places when you feel hands wrap around you for the second time today. “Thank you for putting away the groceries, my beautiful wife.”

His face is buried in your neck, nose tracing the junction of your shoulder as he breathes in your scent. Those strong arms, veiny under a coat of sun-lightened hairs, tighten around you. He’s missed afternoons when it was just you two, galavanting around the house without little ears to hear. 

You twist in Bob’s arms, intertwining your own arms around his lithe waist. Any space between you gone - just two hearts beating as one as you gaze into each other’s eyes. One dexterous hand slides up your back before weaving its way into the strands of your hair. The other slides down to settle above your bum. His fingers twitching to stroke along the seat of your jeans. The desire you felt earlier raises its head again as your eyes trace along his smooth, strong jaw and kind eyes.

“You know, the girls are asleep.”

He chuckles. “Yes?”

“They’ll probably be asleep for another 45 minutes. Maybe an hour if we’re lucky.”

“What are you thinking, sweetheart?”

You widen your eyes and pout your lips ever so slightly. Run your finger down the front of that sexy faded shirt he only wears on the weekends. “I need some adult time with you…Daddy.”

As if a switch has been flipped, Bob’s eyes go from a soft blue to indigo, his grip on you tight. Lips descend upon yours. As your bodies collide, already so little space between you, a moan is trapped between, its owner impossible to identify.

Time sensitivity leads to urgency, and he’s backing you out of the kitchen toward the bedroom, his hand refusing to leave your ass. Steady kisses to your lips and jaw leave you in a trance as you wind your way down the hall. The door closes and you pounce, wrapping your legs around his waist as those strong arms show their strength. 

Your mouths are hot and wet, tongues battling for dominance as you commit this feeling to memory. His hands around the back of your thighs, thin lips slotted against yours, the breathy moans when you play with the hair at the back of his neck. The pressing need to be as close to him as possible, soaking in his essence in the short time allotted before having to share him again.

“Daddy, I need you.” Your voice is breathless and needy, mouth glossy as he nips along your neck. Hips roll into yours as he groans against your skin. 

Bob has always been dominant in your relationship. He spends enough time letting others call the shots, but in the bedroom he makes the rules. But his Daddy kink didn’t rear its head until you showed him the pregnancy test with the two little lines. It was the tension in his shoulders when you whispered he was going to be a daddy. The little moan when you said it again later that night while he kissed along your thighs. Ever since the term of horny endearment got him hot and bothered in seconds.

He gently pushes you onto the bed, standing between your thighs as he hungrily admires the mother of his children, his wife, the hot girl in the bar his squadron watched him moon over before finally making a move. The erection straining behind his jeans twitches as bespectacled eyes trace over the swell of your breasts.

“I love your body.” His voice is almost soft as he runs his fingers over your top. “It’s so sexy.”

You chuckle through your moans, enjoying the delicious feeling of him stroking your nipples through layers of fabric. When he pushes the hem up your stomach, eyes intensely focused on every inch of exposed skin, you sit up and pull the offending fabric from your body. Nimble fingers slip over your back as the hook of your bra is undone, a sigh of relief leaving you as your breasts are freed.

“The best part of you having kids? Your tits got huge.” His hands cover the flesh, expertly kneading his favourite part of you impatiently. “They barely even fit in my hands anymore.”

A gasp forces itself past your lips as he tugs a nipple sharply.

Soft lips wrap around the bud he isn’t teasing, wetting the skin before pulling back to blow air across your hot skin. You whimper at the sensation, thrusting your chest toward his mouth for more. He offers you an unsympathetic smirk before switching his torture to the other side. Your jean-clad hips buck up against his as quiet, strangled cries fill the air as he plays with you at his own whim.

A glance at the clock reminds him that he can’t enjoy you as he’d like. Leaning back on his haunches, he treats you to a little striptease as your chest heaves in a desperate bid for more attention.

His arm reaches behind his head, pinching the fabric of his shirt. Your mouth fills with saliva, desperate to lick along the vein that protrudes along his bicep. He pulls the shirt over his head, revealing milky skin tantalizingly slow, revealing his strong chest and those broad shoulders that you’ve spent many a night thinking about. You gulp as images flood your brain of sitting on those shoulders as he tongues fucks your pussy. 

Your underwear is thoroughly soaked by now. 

He lowers himself against your body, sponging kisses along every inch of skin he can reach. 

“What do you want, baby girl?” His nose bumps you as lips tease your ear. You mumble a response, desperate for anything to soothe the burning beneath your skin. “What’s that?”

You wail as he rubs your covered cunt. It feels so good, but you want more. You need more. 

“I-I need you to fuck me.” The words are breathless as they escape your panting mouth. Lips brush your ear again as he whispers Ask nicely against your skin. “Please fuck me, Daddy.”

The groan that escapes Bob’s mouth is so sexy it’s surprising you don’t orgasm on the spot. Especially when you glance between your legs to see he’s pulled down his faded jeans and briefs to reveal his cock hard and ready, his hand stroking along the thick length as precum beads at the shining head.

Desperate hands explore his skin, warm and calloused in all the right spots. The scar along his shoulder from a childhood accident. The freckle on his side right where he’s ticklish. The hair on his forearms you daydream about. From that first night at the bar when he approached you, nervous but friendly, you’ve found it hard to not jump his bones. And now with him between your thighs, on display in the sunlight through the curtained windows, you’re dizzy with attraction.

Lips attach to your chest, smattering spit slicked kisses and soft nips in no particular pattern. Loud moans erupt from you at his attention. Bob smirks against your skin. “Shhh, baby. You need to be quiet. Can you be quiet for me?”

You nod furiously and lust-filled eyes narrow at you. “You sure? Last time you were pretty loud.”

Shit, you had forgotten about last time. Your orgasm out of control as you moaned for him, letting your husband know how well he handled your body. The stars that sparkled before your eyes as ecstatic cries floated to the ceiling. Only to be brought down the next morning when your children worried about scary noises in the night.  The desire in your gut outweighs worry as your hands wind around his shoulders.

“I promise I’ll be quiet. I’ll be a good girl, I promise.” The words are but a whisper, pleading for your Daddy to be merciful to you.

Strong calloused fingers explore between your bodies as he twists open the button of your jeans. Rough fingers skimming soft skin as he slides them down your thighs, dragging the flimsy fabric of your underwear down with them. You do the rest of the work, kicking denim from your body, the telltale thump showing they’ve made their way to the floor.

A satisfied hum vibrates through Bob as he dips his fingers through your folds, arousal coating each digit as he thoroughly inspects. “Mmm, my good girl is all wet for Daddy, isn’t she?”

You nod enthusiastically. His fingers feel incredible, but you want nothing more than the slightly curved cock occupying your thoughts. He tucks a hand under your chin and brings your eyes to his. Loving smiles exchanged before he settles into the task at hand and confirms your desires. “You ready for me, baby?”

Agreement barely passes your lips before he tilts his hips, slowly ramming that thick cock into his favourite place in the world. Allowing you time to adjust while still pushing deeper, knowing you enjoy the stretch. Your bodies rock together in a a rhythm only you know, skin flushed with the shine of sweat. His lips dip into the hollow of your throat as he sinks deeper, sucking and licking like your skin holds all the answers to the world.

Your fingers tangle themselves in his hair as you hold him to you, addicted to the way your bodies fit like a puzzle, perfectly seamless. Your husband, your Daddy, your Bob, custom fit for you. He nips the spot below your jaw and you tug at his hair desperately, ripping a growl from his chest.

“Oh, you want to play that game? Let’s see how you like my game then.”

He pushes up to rest on his haunches, using his strength to handle your body as he desires. Guiding your hips up to meet his raised hips, he spares you one devilish grin before slamming back into you. Sharp thrusts that shake your body, malfunctioning your brain with pleasure. One hand snakes its way to your breast, squeezing the flesh as he rolls his hips harder and deeper into you. You’re so close to the edge that one extra touch and you would surely come undone.

"That's a good girl, tell Daddy how much you like it when I fuck you." 

A hand flies to your mouth as he plucks your hardened nipple between his fingers, delighted in the obscene sounds you emit as he uses your body for both your pleasures. Your other hand finds your clit, sighing as you careen into the beginnings of an orgasm.

Your legs shake around his hips, his thrusts slowing as he focuses on filling you deep. Making you feel as full as possible. His rough thumb swiping over your nipple as he whispers, “Cum for me, sweetheart.”

Your brain turns into white noise as you cum for your Daddy, spasming around him while your fingernails make half-moon indents along his skin. The pent up pleasure escaping through every pore as you hold your moans behind closed lips. Your body collapsing to the cushions as sense returns to your limbs. 

Smiling with half-lidded eyes of lust, Bob leans over you to press a sweet kiss to your lips. His hips still rutting into you as you whisper how good he feels against his lips. Begging him to fill you up. He remembers a day when he could last rounds before giving you his spend. But after a week without your body, your orgasm has triggered his and quickly his thick cum coats every inch inside of you as he whispers his love into your ear.

Shaky, shallow breaths and hushed I love yous are the only sounds as Bob rolls off you, sinking into the pillows as he wraps an arm around you to bring you to his chest. His fingers tap against your shoulder as he steadies his heartbeat. A glance at his watch shows there’s still fifteen minutes alone before little feet interrupt.

“Honey?” 

You hum in acknowledgement and roll your neck to gaze at your handsome husband. He looks every bit post-fuck with his hair at every angle and his glasses still slightly fogged on the edges, his chest glistening with a light sheen of sweat. You can’t resist dragging your fingers through the light trail of blonde hairs between his pecs. He is so handsome. 

He takes the hand resting on your shoulder and shifts you both, facing each other with half-lidded, happy eyes. Legs tangle together and his arm loops around your head to support your neck as he gazes into your eyes. He always has and always will give the best cuddles.

A soft flush reddens his cheeks as he goes through with his question. “Do you think…d’you think we just made another baby?”

Your eyes widen as you take in his question. Quite possibly. You weren’t on the pill, and sex was so infrequent with two toddlers in the house the practice of finding a condom wasn’t commonplace anymore. It hadn’t even crossed your mind to ask him to pull out. 

“We might have.”

He nods slowly and strokes a hand over your hair, deep in thought. 

“Is it bad that I’m kind of hoping we did?” He’s embarrassed to say it out loud.

You smile and press a kiss to the closest skin available. “Not at all. I’m kind of hoping so too…Daddy.”

[leclerclvr]

some you guys are so mean on here!! do you guys not realised that behind every post, fanfics are written by an actual human behind a screen!! IF U DONT LIKE IT JUST SCROLL AND READ SOMETHING ELSE! its such a non issue!! you dont have to go to authors anon box and start attacking them!! They provide content for us to read if u dont like it there are other blogs on here that u might like and if u dont like any then WRITE IT YOURSELF and fucking realise how hard it actually is to write! Seeing my favourite authors taking breaks because of getting harassed here really pisses me off!

BE KIND TO EVERYONE 🫂

[leclerclvr]

i’ve re read this 4 times 😓😓

it's a match!

tags: rhett abbott x reader. social media au. fluff. timeskips. implied sexual acts. hannah dodd faceclaim. a/n: i had so much fun writing singer!yn and the muse!verse so far that i decided to give some loving to my favorite cowboy. i hope u guys like this :))

(masterlist)

taglist: — feel free to comment or send an ask to be added! :) @pearlstiare @yesshewrites1 @secretkittydreamland @greengoldhorns @menrsluts @fandom-geek17 @ashaluuler

[leclerclvr]

UGHHHH I WISH HE WAS REAL 😞😞

Ruin the Friendship- Bob Floyd

Warnings: Best friends to lovers trope, it’s so obvious they love each other they’re stupid, language, filth, some angst (why not?), unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), Bob being pussy drunk.

Summary: The night before Bob leaves for Boot Camp, he's learned no one has gone down on his best friend. He's determined to fix that.

Words: 4.8K

This is for @attapullman's Bob Fucks celebration!

When you've been friends with someone since preschool, you get to know them like the back of your hand. Certain quirks and sayings that no longer surprise you. 

“God, I wish that were me.”

It wasn't the first time Bob heard you say that. Usually there was a cute dog around, or a sushi boat being delivered at a restaurant when you said it. 

But saying it during an oral sex scene in a movie was new. 

It also brought up many questions. 

Questions Bob shouldn't ask, considering he's known you since preschool. Questions Bob couldn't ask right now, because he was too preoccupied looking at you. 

Your eyes were fixated on the screen, focused on the actress withering. Occasionally, they would dart to the other actor who was between the actress’ thighs. Bob noticed the increased rise and fall of your chest, how your front teeth dug into your bottom lip, how when you lean forward, the v-line cut of your shirt showed off the tops of your breasts. The soft glow of the lamps highlighted the beautiful features on your face. 

All things he shouldn’t be noticing about his best friend. But then again, best friends shouldn’t be watching a French film together whose plot line focused on sexual liberation before he went off to Navy boot camp. 

Granted, you and Bob haven’t had a conventional best friend relationship in a while, if at all, considering both sets of parents claimed you two promised to marry each other at the age of four. 

Promises or not, best friends shouldn’t be one another’s first kiss. Or make out practice partners. Or each other’s New Year's kiss when y'all were single. Or spend Valentine's Day together at the local dinner. 

The line between friends and something more was blurry, saved by a comment that ensured the other to think that the feelings that had been brewing weren't reciprocated. 

“You’re a good kisser. Kelsey McCoy is going to think so too.”

“If Tommy Delaine doesn't like you, he's a dumbass.” 

“I’m sure next year you’ll have someone.”

“If I had to spend it with anyone, I want it to be with my best friend.”

“You’re an amazing friend, you know that?”

Why say that if you harbor romantic feelings? Surely, all those kisses and talk of marriage meant nothing to them. 

At least that's what the other thought. 

It's because of this blurry line that Bob doesn't bite his tongue, doesn't throw away the comment to be forgotten. Instead, he speaks up. 

“Been awhile?” 

And because it's Bob, the guy you've known your whole life, the guy you tell everything to, your response rolls off your tongue without a second thought. 

“Try never.” 

It takes Bob a moment to process your words as the way your lips wrap around the beer bottle is far too distracting. But just like processing a car accident, once it registers, your words bring his brain to a screeching halt. 

“Wait, never?” The shrug you give isn’t satisfactory. He grabs the remote to pause the movie, ignoring your cries of protest. 

“Real talk; are you saying that no one has ever gone down on you?” 

You sigh, regretting saying anything in the first place. One would think that after years of friendship, you’d know well enough that once Bob set his mind to something, he wouldn't relent until satisfied. 

You down the remnants of your beer, mentally preparing for this conversation. 

“No Robby. I've never had someone eat me out. Happy now?” Reaching for the remote was all in vain, as he just held it further away from you. 

Darn those long limbs. 

“But you've been with people…..so what did they do?” When you looked at him, there was no malice, just Bob looking genuinely baffled. His gentle blue eyes put you at ease, giving you the comfort to explain. 

“They would touch me,” you motioned to the lower half of your body, “And like finger me. Enough to get me ready, I guess.” 

Bob raised an eyebrow, “You guess?” 

College was supposed to be a time for you to explore, to figure yourself out, to interact with new people. 

And yet, when it came to the relationship aspect, everything had fizzled. You were now going into your junior year having yet to experience a meaningful romantic relationship. 

Did you just have shit luck? Or was it because your mind would wander back to a bespectacled best friend when you were in bed with someone else? 

“So instead of eating you out, which would actually be enjoyable on your end, you're telling me they just stuck their hand down there and hoped they were rubbing your clit? You didn't ever ask them to do something else?” 

Bob didn't have the pristine mouth that parents thought he possessed. You knew, and had known for a while. And yet, hearing him say the phrase your clit in his deep, slightly twangy voice felt different. 

You rubbed your thighs together. 

“Are you shaming the people I've been with or me?” 

Bob closed the difference between you and him on the couch, placing a hand on your bare knee. 

Have his hands always been so big and veiny? 

Fuck, did you have a thing for hands? 

“I'm not shaming you. I’m shaming the people you've been with because well,” he ran a hand up and down the back of his neck, “Well, I enjoy giving….I like doing it. So I guess I'm surprised other people don't?” 

His statement was shocking because everyone else you had been with viewed it as a chore, as something to use every excuse in the book to avoid doing. 

Too tired. Takes too long. Wet enough so what's the point? 

“You…like doing it?” 

The tops of his cheeks reddened, despite a smirk beginning to form, “Yeah. I like giving and I like making them feel good. It's also a confidence booster, being able to make someone fall apart with your mouth.” 

It shouldn't come as a surprise, it was Bob after all. The same Bob who always brought an extra pencil with him to algebra, in case you forgot yours. The same Bob who shared his Dunkaroos because your mom refused to buy them. The same Bob who made his dream of serving his country finally come true after years of hard work. 

He was selfless. But this didn't feel like selflessness. Hearing him talk about giving pleasure, making someone fall apart with his mouth, was different. Even his voice when he said it was different, raspier than usual. 

“Well,” you scooted closer to the edge of the couch, trying to widen the gap so he couldn't feel how hot your body was, “I can't wait ‘til I meet someone who feels the same way.” 

“You don't have to wait.” 

The grip on your beer bottle tightened, the alcohol getting caught in your throat. There's no way he could have just said that, no way he could be implying what you're thinking. 

But when you look at Bob, he was staring back with raised eyebrows and thin lips curled into a little smirk. The same look he’s given you countless times before when he mumbles a smartass comment only your ears were privy to hear. 

You heard me. 

“What-are you…” You stared at him, mouth agape. Bob appeared unphase by it, like he had just offered something totally normal and rational. 

Perhaps it was the three beers he had downed. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline kicking in after realizing this was his last chance at making a move before he left. 

“Wouldn't that be like crossing a line?” Your head was racing, alternating between flashbacks of when you kissed Bob and imagining what it would be like to have his mouth on your body. 

“Wouldn't be much different from what we’ve already done.” 

All the air was sucked out of the room by his comment. Because of course he wasn't doing this because he wanted to, because he wanted you. This would be meaningless, just like everything else. If you went through with this, you’d wake up the next day to Bob leaving with nothing changed, still in this seemingly endless limbo. 

Long, nimble fingers hooked themselves under your chin, gently forcing you to look up. 

The look he gave you was unfamiliar. His eyes remained focused on your face, though it seemed like they were searching. 

For what, you couldn't tell. 

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Do you want it to be different?” 

What good was telling him if he didn’t feel the same way, thus ruining a great friendship?

“Do you want it to be different Robby?” You countered back. 

He leaned in, his breath hot on your face, “I asked you first.”

He thought he had the upper hand. But you were like a lightning bug, faster.  

“I asked you second, Robby.”

Like a rubber band, the tension snapped as Bob was unable to hold back a snort of laughter. The tension left your shoulders, the sight of him laughing familiar and safe. 

“I’m going to really miss your resounding maturity,” Bob deadpanned after gaining the ability to compose himself, though a sweet crooked smile remained. 

It was now your turn to roll your eyes, though it didn’t stop the smile currently forming on your face. Seeing this side of Bob was always fun; most folks thought he was quiet and meek. The truth was that he liked to observe and didn’t find value in speaking when it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t hold back with you, didn’t feel the need to sit and observe. He truly conversed with you and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel special. 

He was never that way with the other girls he dated. 

“You love me,” you teased back. It was a comment you've said countless times, always with that sweet, albeit mischievous smile that made Bob's heart flutter. 

But this time instead of shaking his head or rolling his eyes, he leaned forward until your foreheads were touching. 

Seeing him up close took your breath away. You could see how his roots were beginning to darken, the blonde fading as he got older. The little scar on his chin from a BB Gun incident when he was ten. Eyes bluer than the ocean. The ends of his hair were beginning to curl, something you'd greatly miss when he'd get the military mandated buzz cut. 

“Yeah, I do.” There was no teasing in his voice. No mischief in his eyes. Instead of playfully shaking your shoulder, his hand found its way to the back of your neck, fingers cupping your warm skin. He was moving quickly, making you unable to truly process what he had just said. 

Despite it being new territory, he was handling it beautifully. You, on the other hand, were torn between wondering if your increased heart beat was medically concerning and how large Bob’s hands were. 

“You gotta….if you want to stop, tell me,” His breathing had increased, like it did when he had finished his part in the marching band. But this wasn’t marching band practice and y’all weren’t on the high school field. You were in your parents’ basement, with Bob’s lips quickly closing the gap between yours and his. 

It wasn’t your first time kissing Bob, but it might as well have been. Years of experience had given him more confidence. He knew where to put his hands now, one still on your neck to guide you, the other gripping the soft flesh of your hip. He didn’t hesitate to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, successfully driving you wild. 

When the rounded tip of his nose brushed against yours, a soft laugh escaped your lips. Bob didn’t mind, using the chance to let his tongue explore your mouth. Your body leaned towards him, hands gripping the soft fabric of his old Warped Tour T-shirt. 

“I thought you,” your words were slurred, a weak moan interrupting your speech due to his lips moving down to your neck, “Thought you were gonna eat me out.” 

Bob’s moan vibrated against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands traveled to your breasts, gripping them through your T-shirt. It wasn't a hard squeeze, which is what you were used to. 

It was pleasurable. Bob was pleasurable. 

“Did none of the guys you were with do foreplay?” He asked, his hands continuing their ministrations. 

“I-fuck- yes they did, it just never took this long,” you grunted against his lips. 

“God, you have terrible taste in men.”

You wanted to let Bob know that he was now included in that group. But then his fingers hooked themselves around the band of your shorts, pulling them down. Had you known what tonight would entail, you would have opted for underwear that wasn't so worn. The long hairs on his arms tickled your sensitive skin as he moved to kneel on the floor, the cool basement air making you realize just how wet you were. 

How could he do that so quickly? 

He pinned your hips against the soft couch cushions. With anyone else, you would complain with how hard he was gripping your soft skin. But with Bob, you’d love it. It meant hand-shaped bruises that would stay after he left, reminding you of tonight. 

When his sharp nose nudged your clothed slit, a loud gasp erupted from your mouth. 

Thank god your parents were on vacation. 

His tongue was so wide as it stroked the quickly dampening fabric. How was he able to find your clit so quickly? Most struggled to find it even after your panties had been taken off. 

Bob couldn’t help but chuckle upon hearing your strained whimpers. You were practically squirming, hips erratically jerking with every touch. 

“Wha-why did you stop?” You whined, looking down to find him staring up to you. 

“Are you-I just need to know, do you still want this?” God, he was so fucking considerate. In any other moment, you’d find it endearingly sweet. 

But if his tongue felt that good against your covered cunt, you were dying to feel it without the barrier. 

“Robby, I swear to god, if you don’t eat me out, I’m going upstairs and using my vibrator,” Your voice was strained, your knuckles turning white from gripping the couch cushions.  

He laughed.  Bob knew you were bluffing. He had just gotten started and you were already so wet. 

Slowly, he took his glasses off, placing them on the coffee table behind him, making a show of it. 

“Won’t need those. I’m nearsighted after all.”

“You little-” The insult remained unsaid, as Bob pushed your underwear to the side, his mouth instantly latching onto your swollen clit. 

His mouth was warm. The pressure wasn’t too much, just enough to make you wither in pleasure. It felt so good, so fucking good. When Bob looked up, he found your mouth open, despite no sounds coming out. 

Good. 

You deserved to know what it was like, to have someone care about your pleasure, to focus solely on making you feel incredible. 

God, he could feel his cock throbbed. You looked so pretty with your eyes glazed over, mouth agape as you watched him, completely enthralled. 

And he had just gotten started. 

He wanted to do more than make you come, he wanted to blow your mind. Call it selfish, but Bob wanted to ruin you for anyone else. He had always held back his tongue when it came to the people you dated, knowing sooner or later you'd realized they weren't worth your time. 

But now he had his chance and Bob sure as hell wasn't going to let it slip away. 

The loud sound of fabric ripping broke you out of the pleasure filled haze you were in. Before you could make a sound about your now ripped underwear, your knees were pinned to your chest, giving Bob complete access to your soaked core.

“So fucking sweet,” He groaned against your cunt, sending vibrations all through your body, “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” 

“Robby.” 

To say Bob dreamed of hearing you moan his name would be the understatement of the fucking century. 

Your whole body was on fire, unable to do anything else but take everything Bob was giving. 

A resounding moan fell from your lips as Bob thrusted two fingers inside you, your walls struggling to accommodate the unexpected stretch. 

Was he this thick elsewhere?

You wanted to find out. Wanted to feel it inside you, in your mouth. You shamelessly wanted it all. But you couldn’t even voice that because Bob was tracing figure eights on your clit, his fingers brushing against a spot you thought Cosmo had made up. 

Fuck, he was doing a number on you. His soft hair threaded through your fingers as you gripped the strands. Your hips involuntarily jerked upwards, desperate to get as much of Bob as possible. 

You kept expecting him to stop, considering you were wet enough for him to fuck you. That's what everyone else did. 

But Bob Floyd wasn't like everyone else. Far from it. 

He was fucking delighted to hear all the cute, strained noises coming from you as he continued.  Each time you tugged on his hair, a groan would fall from his lips. It was the prettiest sound you had ever heard. 

Why did either of you wait this long? 

You tried to communicate, to let him know you were close, tugging on his hair, trying to move away from his mouth. 

But Bob was deceivingly strong, using his free hand to pin your hip back to the couch, his mouth firmly on your pussy. 

When you looked down, you were in awe of how blissed Bob looked. His eyes were closed as his mouth remained latched to your clit. The sounds of your own wetness were obscene, but barely audible over the moans Bob was letting out. 

He really did enjoy it.

“Come. Wanna taste ya,” His voice was muffled as he added a third finger inside you. 

Worried thoughts of coming on his face left your brain as pleasure coursed through your veins. Without any warning, the band that had been tightening came undone.

Bob used both hands to hold your hips firmly in place, his tongue lapping up your release. 

You don't recall coming this hard or this long before. It wasn't a small wave, it felt like the whole damn ocean was taking you under. 

His fingers continued to stretch you open, prolonging your high. The Navy was the perfect fit for him, considering he could apparently hold his breath for an impressive amount of time. 

The soft fabric of the couch cushions brushed as the back of your head, your eyes half closed. You couldn't even voice an acknowledge when Bob’s mouth and fingers withdrew from your abused cunt. 

“You're so pretty when you come,” Bob murmured, his lips brushing against yours. 

Your hands tugged on the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“M-my turn,” you whined, hips jerking up towards his. 

Bob shook his head, “Wanna be inside ya.” 

How was this the same guy who feared clowns as a kid? 

Before you could even question it, Bob had sat down on the couch, gripping your hips to help you straddle his lap. When had he taken off his jeans? How was he so quick- 

Jesus Christ, he was huge. 

“Fuck, she was right.” 

Bob looked up from where you two were about to connect, a very confused look on his face, “Excuse me?” 

“Betsey Thomas said you had a huge dick,” you confessed, wishing that you'd think before speaking for once. 

Bob’s brows knitted together in confusion, “Betsey Thomas has never seen my dick, the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Said she could tell you were packing because of the gym shorts you'd wear for PE class.” Bob signed, shaking his head as he muttered something about the required uniform. 

“I….we can unpack this later-” 

You snorted, “Why? Too busy packing here?” 

Your laughter was cut short by Bob rubbing his cock against your soaked cunt. Memories of high school escaped your brain, the only thing you could focus on now was Bob and his huge dick. 

Curious wasn't accurate. Frankly, you were desperate for him. Had been since middle school, if you were being truthful. 

“Woah, hey. Easy baby, easy,” his voice made your thighs clench, made you whine into his shoulder as you tried to line your aching hole with his cock. 

Finally, you felt him at your entrance. Slowly, he filled you up inch by inch. Every time you tried to urge him to go faster, Bob would simply shake his head before pressing a kiss against your cheek. 

“Don't want to hurt ya darlin’.” 

Darlin. You were his darlin. 

He made you feel so full, and you didn't even have it all inside of you yet. All you could do was cling to him as he whispered praises in your ears. 

Once you reached the base, it felt like you and Bob were the only ones in the world. At least, that’s what you pretended. It was better than thinking about how he would be gone for who knows how long after tonight. After boot camp was done, he would be off to train for the Navy. 

Even he didn't know when he would return home. 

It wasn't fair, finally expressing your feelings for one another just to be separated immediately after. You wanted him to stay, to go on dates with him, to visit him on the weekends when school started, just like everyone else in a long distance relationship. 

“Hey, what's wrong? Do you- we can stop if you want, it's okay.” Bob’s voice was soft, full of concern. 

His hand lifted your chin up from his shoulder, revealing your watery eyes. 

“I don't want you to go.” 

“I know,” his voice was barely a whisper, matching your volume. Long fingers gently traced over your face, as if he was trying to memorize them. 

“I know it's horrible timing, but we'll figure it out, okay? I want to figure it out with you, I promise,” He peppered your face with soft kisses, earning a small smile out of you. 

“But for now, can I make ya feel good? Because I'm willing to bet no guy has made you come while fucking ya.” 

Unlike in the past, where Bob’s smartass comments earned him a shove, you pressed your lips against his. 

“I'm gonna start moving now, okay?” Even though he warned you, nothing could have prepared you for how full Bob made you when his hips thrusted upwards. 

“You're-fuck- you feel so good, oh my God.” 

Your fingers tangled into Bob’s hair, trying to commit the feeling to memory. 

Bob was trying to do the same, his hands roaming over your body as he took in your scent. Maybe if he asked nicely, you'd let him take a bottle of your perfume with him. 

He was going to need it for the next few months. 

Your mouth clashed against his, tongue desperate to taste him. Wandering hands desperate to feel everything everywhere. 

“When-fuck- when I come back, wanna take you out. W-we can go to that Italian place by your school. The one where you have to wear a tie.” How Bob was able to talk coherently while fucking you was beyond comprehension. 

The Navy will be lucky to have his great ability to multitask. 

“Gonna bring ya flowers too. Sunflowers ‘cause they're-oh my god- you're favorite.” You didn't think you could recall your full name with the way Bob is thrusting into you, much less favorite things. 

Your walls clench around Bob’s thick cock, eliciting a desperate groan from him, rather than the instant ejaculation you were used to. 

“If you keep doing that, I'm gonna come,” Bob whined into the crook of your neck.

“That’s-shit- the point,” you grunted, your hips picking up speed. 

Bob shook his head, “Need you to come first.” 

Confusion caused you to still your hips, “Bob, I already-” 

“Don't finish that sentence, don't you dare,” Bob ended his command with a strong thrust that made you feel as if he was splitting you open on his cock. 

Your head dropped down to the crook of his neck. His skin was so warm and the smell of sage was nearly overwhelming. You knew exactly what body wash he had used, as it was the same one he wore ever since junior year, when you commented on how nice it was. 

In hindsight, it was painfully obvious. 

His lips found yours, capturing them in a desperate kiss. When you felt his fingers draw circles on your clit, you saw stars. 

You didn't know it could feel this good with someone. This was more than a quick fuck, as you actually felt cared for. It was intense, the sensitivity of your first orgasm still echoing every time the thick head of his cock brushed against your walls. 

It's audible how wet you are for Bob. He can feel it at the base of his cock, which makes him wonder what it would be like to have you on your knees, or better, your back, all spread out for him. 

“C’mon sweet girl,” he’s panting, voice desperate and raspy, “Wanna-fuck! Wanna feel you come s’bad, please, please baby.” 

Each circle drawn on your clit causes the band in your stomach to tighten. Combined with Bob’s words, you knew you wouldn't last much longer. 

“You're incredible, shit, I-fuck. All yours. Wanna be all yours. Fuck fuck fuck, clenching me so hard, fuck, don't stop.” Obscene was not a word many, if any, would use to describe Bob Floyd. 

Up until thirty minutes ago, you would have considered yourself part of that group. 

But now? Now you were falling apart on his cock. The rush of pleasure had hit like a brick, coursing through your veins. It hit harder than anything else, harder than the now banned alcohol caffeine combo drink, or any controlled substance doctors had prescribed to help you focus. 

His finger-fuck, usually you had to use two of your own- didn’t stop rubbing your clit, nor does he stop thrusting in and out of your pulsing cunt. It's almost as if-no, you know Bob’s enjoying making you feel euphoria. 

That's what blows your mind. His laser focus on your pleasure, rather than his own. Truthfully, he could have come already and you wouldn't have thought twice about it. 

But now it was all you could think about. How much he cared, how good he felt. How incredible it was for him to pull your hips flushed against his, filling you to the brim with his cock. 

“Holy shit you're so tight-I, sh-should I pull out?” 

Instead of answering, you used all your strength to rock your hips against him. Considering he made you come twice, the least you could do was help him find his release. 

Your fingers gripped his hair, tugging on the strands as your mouth clashed against his. 

The downright guttural groan he releases against your mouth has you clamping down on his cock. The motion finally leads to Bob’s undoing, causing him to come deep inside you, warmth flooding your body. 

His arms are wrapped around your body, clinging onto you as if he thinks you'll disappear if he lets go. 

You’d be a damn fool to. 

The basement is now quiet, apart from the heavy breathing coming from both you and Bob. 

After several minutes pass by, you gather the courage to break the silence, “Did you mean all that? Taking me out on a date and being mine?” 

Bob’s cheek burned a bright red as he timidly nodded his head, “I….yeah. I didn't mean to say it when we were, you know. I'm sorry.” 

You pressed a reassuring kiss to his warm cheek, “Robby, what do you feel the need to apologize for?” 

He looked up to you, those earnest blue eyes sparkling, “Shit timing?” 

“You're not wrong about that, but like you said earlier, I want to work it out with you.” Your words brought comfort, giving Bob the confidence to place a sweet kiss right on your lips. His smile was burning into yours, causing your stomach to flutter. 

“I know it's not that Italian restaurant, but can I take you out to breakfast tomorrow?” 

The local diner had been a go-to since y'all were thirteen. But this time would be different. This time you wouldn't feel the urge to look away when he caught you staring. This time neither one would correct the waitress when she'd make a comment about y'all being a cute couple. 

The soft call of your name pulled you out of your thoughts. 

“Uh can I….eat you out again? Tomorrow obviously! Like before we go to the diner?” 

Good Lord this man was going to be the death of you.

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

@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @attapullman @ryebecca @sio-ina-bottle @rhettabbotts @callsignspark @roosterforme @lewmagoo @hangmanapologist @justabovewater20 @theharddeck @cumholland @bobfloydsbabe @sometimesanalice @heartfairy @auroralightsthesky

[leclerclvr]

boaf of dem!

[leclerclvr]

IM WEAK I NEED IT

thinking about the sound and feel of rhett's belt buckle clinking with every thrust into you. the scratch of leather and denim against your skin while he's rutting against you

[leclerclvr]

im bawling my eyes out right now!! this is so fucking cute 😞😞 when is it gonna be my turnnn??!???

Even More Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

PART TWO OF Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: The Best Man and the Maid of Honor...you and Bob Floyd fell in love in the most cliché of ways, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Now, it's your turn to say 'I Do.'

Warnings: insane amounts of fluff, established relationship, language, Hangman is Hangman sometimes, female reader, reader is very creative and can dance, UCSD info might not be accurate I don't go there, suggestive and steamy but not explicit, language, probably incorrect descriptions of the Navy (my dad was a Marine, I'm doing my best lol), a part two that you'll def need to read part one to understand at times

Word Count: 14,328 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

"My Siren, my Ikea...my best friend...will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

It had only been a year since that fateful night of Natasha and Bradley’s wedding, but Bob Floyd had known before he’d even had the chance to kiss you that he wanted to marry you.

Smooth, comfortable, loving, there was no shortage of words Bob had to describe what getting to be with you, what getting to love you, was like. Good morning and good night texts that had him blushing at his phone, random little texts in the middle of the day, just to check in and make sure he was safe in the skies. Mornings where he stayed over at your place, or vice versa, were some of his favorites: to wake up with you curled around him, right where you belonged, just to haul yourselves out of bed 30 minutes later to dance around the kitchen making breakfast. Being with you was everything little Bob Floyd had once wished on a star for.

He’d already known he wanted to marry you right there in the middle of Natasha and Bradley’s vow ceremony. All it took was one month-long deployment, only 2 months after becoming official with you, to solidify it in his heart and his head. 30 days without you, only able to talk through emails, had him dragging Natasha off to the local jewelers the second they were back on the mainland to buy the ring.

It was fast, but Bob had never been more sure of anything in his life.

Now, here you stood in the Hard Deck surrounded by the pilots that had become family to you both, a year after he’d finally kissed you and confessed his love for the first time. Down on one knee in the same place he’d ever seen you for the first time, diamond ring sparkling in his hand as he looked up at you, your hands covering your mouth and tears already streaming down your cheeks as you nodded feverishly.

“Yes…Bob, yes!”

The cheers that rang out through the Hard Deck were familiar, the second engagement to happen here in just 2 short years, as Bob hadn’t wasted a second in sliding the ring onto your finger. 1.5 carats, oval cut, sitting on a gold band that wove like vines while holding smaller diamonds along it. Perfect, stunning, and everything Phoenix said you’d always dreamed of your engagement ring being.

Bob barely got to kiss you long enough, though to him, there was no such thing as a long enough time to kiss you. Natasha had already pulled you away, and just like you had at her own engagement party, there was no shortage of jumping and screaming in circles, especially when Penny and Amelia joined in, trying to get a look at the ring.

“Got to hand it to you, baby-on-board,” it was Hangman that saddled up to Bob’s side first, smirking down at him, but there was a fondness laced within it. “You did good, locking this one down.”

“Please,” Rooster scoffed, joining Bob’s other side with a grin, arm wrapped around his best friend’s shoulders. “He bought this ring over six months ago. If it were socially acceptable, they’d already be married with a whole brood of kids running around.”

Bob could only shake his head, fighting off the red rising in his cheeks at the thought of the pair of you with children. Nope, not an appropriate thought to be having in the middle of the Hard Deck at all.

The second Nat had let you go, you were slotted back into Bob’s arms, not that he had any qualms with it. Tucking you under his arm that was wrapped tight around your waist, your left hand resting right on his chest with the ring sparkling in the light, you both knew there was no better place to be than surrounded by your dearest friends.

“To the two of you and this next chapter,” Maverick was the one to start the toast, drinks passed around to the entire Dagger Squad, and you and Bob. Penny was tucked under his one arm, and Amelia at his other side, as he raised his glass to you both. “I think it’s time Bob got a callsign update, because our baby-on-board is getting married!”

Laughter, stories, and simply just a night together was the best way to spend the moments after your engagement, and that’s what they got. Bob watched from the sidelines as you won a game of pool against Hangman, who was now zero for 12 in pool games against you since meeting, high-fiving Payback, who you’d subbed in for to beat Jake. And every so often, Bob would watch as you looked down at the ring on your finger and smile, and he’d smile too.

The sun had set hours ago, the night winding to an end, when you’d caught Bob’s eye again after delivering a new round of shots to the pilots. He gestured toward the door that led out to the string-light lit back deck of the bar, overlooking the ocean, and you quickly nodded and followed your now fiancée outside.

Long before you, and even as he was falling in love with you, Bob Floyd had been an awkward man. He knew he was attractive, at least a little bit, but flirting and being overly forward had never come easily to him. With you, now, Bob was an entirely different man.

You both had barely been outside for a second before Bob had you pressed up against the railing of the deck, hands splayed across your hips and tugging you into him as his lips hungrily devoured yours as if he were a starved man. There wasn’t a single word of protest from you, not that he expected one, arms finding their usual position around his neck and fingers instantly carding into his hair as you kissed him back with the same passion.

“Well, hi there, Robbie,” a smile couldn’t help but stretch across his lips as a giggle fell from you as you spoke, his grip on your hips tightening as he stole another kiss from you.

“Hi to you, too, future Mrs. Floyd,”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, bumping your nose against his with a permanent smile etched onto your own lips. “Think we can skip the ‘future’ part and just make it happen?”

“Say the word, and we’ll be at the courthouse first thing in the morning, darling,”

You threw your head back laughing like a little kid for a moment before pulling yourself back up to look at Bob, who was only laughing. He watched you as you swatted him playfully on the shoulder, but there was no real bite to it.

“Don’t tempt me. No, we’re doing this right,” he nodded along with you, simply smiling just from watching you and holding you, squeezing your hips once more in his hands just to confirm that he wasn’t dreaming. You were his. “We’ve got to make the guest list, pick the venue, find vendors, I have to wedding dress shop- Bob, I’ve never even met your family!”

“I haven’t met yours either!” another laugh was shared between you both as Bob simply shrugged in response. “It’s fine, we’ll find time to get both the families down here to meet. They’ll love you, I swear it. My sister already does, and all you’ve done is FaceTime her.”

“That’s because I promised to call some friends and snag her some Broadway tickets,”

Bob shrugged once again, finding himself stuck just watching you, just looking at you. There was nothing left to memorize from looking at you; every piece of you had been committed to Bob’s memory from the first time he’d ever looked at you here in this very bar, but you were Bob’s favorite work of art to admire. Now, he gets to do it until the end of time.

“There’s one more thing we have to add to your list,” you hummed in question to his statement as Bob leaned into your hands as they tugged slightly on the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’ve got to move in with me.”

He watched as you seemed to pause, head tilting as you watched him in silence for a moment, trying to gauge the level of seriousness in his statement. Bob simply kept an innocent smile on his lips as he watched you.

“...Bob, what did you do?”

“Well,” the smile on his face was slowly forming into a smirk. “My lease ends at the end of this month, and I remembered there was that townhouse over in Mission Valley you fell in love with on Zillow the one night-”

“Robert Floyd, shut up, you did not-”

“It’s ours,” one of his hands left your waist as Bob curled it around your cheek, cradling it in his hand as his thumb swiped over the skin of your cheek delicately. “Well, technically mine since I signed the lease, but ours if you want to. I know I should’ve asked you first, but y-you fell in love with it on the app, the price was amazing, and it’s the perfect distance between UCSD and the Naval Station here on Coronado. And I know your lease was ending at the end of this month, too-”

You’d cut off his incessant rambling with a passionate kiss, hand tugging the back of his neck until his lips crashed into yours. Bob would never get over it, never get over the feel of simply kissing you and holding you, being the only one who would ever get to have you like this.

“Yes, a million times yes,” there was a smile on your lips as you spoke against his lips, and one spread across his own as well as he pulled you back in for yet another heated and feverish press of lips against lips. “Now, I know they’re all in there celebrating us, but can you do me a favor?”

“Anything you want, whenever you want-”

“Take me home and fuck your future wife, Bob Floyd,”

“...yes, ma’am,”

That night was how Bob found himself, barely two weeks later, standing in the living room of your brand-new townhouse. After seven grueling hours filled with the entire squad unloading, driving to reload, and unloading the rented out U-Haul over and over again, the furnishings between Bob’s old apartment and your own had finally been consolidated and brought to the appropriate rooms. 

Hangman and Rooster had argued over the positioning of the living room couch until Phoenix had knocked her husband on the head, begrudgingly agreeing that Jake’s layout made more sense, before moving off to the rest of the heavy furniture. Maverick had used Coyote and Fanboy as his assistants, mounting the living room TV on the wall and setting up the internet throughout the home. Bob had only gotten glimpses of you throughout the last few hours as you passed by the kitchen in a hurry with Natasha, Penny, and Amelia hot on your heels, moving boxes of decorations throughout the home. He and Payback had been relegated to organizing the kitchen.

Now that he was getting a chance to stand in the living room, your living room together, Bob couldn’t help that he was getting slightly choked up. It was his couch in the living room, the one you both had so often fallen asleep on many times watching movies after long nights at the Hard Deck, but decorated with the multitudes of throw pillows and blankets from your apartment that Bob had a habit of stealing on cold nights. The bookshelves on either side of the expertly mounted TV were a combination of both of you, a mixture of your countless romance novels and the many astronomy books that Bob had since he was a child. A finished LEGO set of the Up house took up an entire shelf (something you’d insisted you build together after Bob cried one night watching the movie for the first time). Multiple bouquets of LEGO flowers decorated the other shelves (a staple item that Bob loved buying for you, seeing how much you adored flowers).

Countless photos sat on those shelves, too. Photos of you when you were younger, latched to Natasha’s side, beside pictures of a young Bob, taken from science fairs and even countless school dances. The side tables on either side of the couch held the photos of you and Bob: one of the entire wedding party at Natasha and Bradley’s wedding, one sneakily taken by Coyote of the two of you on Coronado Beach, and then a photostrip you’d both barely been able to keep your composure for during a trip to the San Diego Zoo. You’d thankfully listened to his one request, and that was to hang the photo of you at the Tony Awards red carpet (a photo that Bob adored and his sister was incredibly jealous of) years ago next to the frame holding the playbills of the numerous Broadway shows you’d been a part of.

It wasn’t just a place to live, it was a home. It was your home, together.

The second arms wrapped around his midsection, a head pressing against his shoulder blades, he knew it was you.

“It’s our home,” Bob turned in your arms to tug you into his chest instead, hands cradling your head as he pressed a kiss against your hairline.

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” you’d look up, chin on his chest, and pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he laughed down at you. “Where are the others?”

“They’re making use of the fire pit in our backyard already. Bradley ordered pizza, said he and Nat would go pick it up along with some beers for a proper welcome party,”

“Not surprised,” he’d laughed again as you extracted yourself from his arms, walking around the living room and just silently observing the decorated space. “Though, I could think of a thousand better ways we could celebrate…alone.”

All this time later, Bob could still simply listen to you laugh on repeat. His grin never fell as you shot a look back at him, shaking your head with a tiny roll of your eyes.

“What happened to my awkward and charming WSO, huh?” you commented as you returned to his arms, Bob pulling you in and spinning you around for a moment as you laughed again. “You’re turning into a mini Hangman.”

“I resent that statement. If I ever get even close to Seresin levels of confidence, please whack me over the head,”

You shoved him off playfully with another eyeroll, stalking toward the dining room he’d yet to look at as you called over your shoulder.

“Oh yeah, my parents called earlier. They’re going to come visit next weekend, so I called your sister, and she’s going to bring your parents out that weekend too!”

That was news to Bob. His eyes grew wide as he hurriedly followed you in the direction of the dining room.

“We have a week to plan a literal engagement party?”

“Don’t worry,” you were sitting on top of the dining room table when Bob finally rounded the corner into the room. “Nat said she’d handle everything, we just have to let her ‘beautify’ this place as she sees fit.”

Whatever comment Bob had died in his throat as he looked at you, sitting on top of the dining room table with a teasing smile on your lips. It only clicked in his head when he finally looked down at the table itself, unable to control his laughter.

“Well, well, well…if it isn’t the ‘GRÖNSTA.’ My mortal enemy,” you shared in his laughter, arms finding their place around his neck as Bob slotted himself between your open legs, pulling you closer to him by the belt loops of your pants. He gave the table an affectionate pat before raising an eyebrow at you. “Thought we agreed we were keeping my table, not yours?”

“Didn’t feel right to abandon this one, honestly. It all started for me with dropping this table on you, after all,”

There had been so many moments over the course of being with you where Bob Floyd knew he was in love, that he would never be able to love someone else the way he loved you. There was the time he’d brought you lunch, weeks after making it official, during one of your classes where your students teased you endlessly until your cheeks were as red as the shirt you were wearing. Or the night when he’d woken up at almost 3 a.m. to see you sitting on the balcony of your apartment, wrapped in a blanket, just staring up at the stars until he’d joined you, naming off little constellations for the rest of the night. 

He’d never forget the day before the team had left for deployment, how you’d been there to see them off. You’d held yourself together to hug Coyote, Hangman, Maverick, and the others, barely held yourself together for Bradley, and then started to break when you pulled Natasha into a hug neither of you wanted to let go of. Then, you had fully broken the second you were in his arms, muttering ‘I love you’ like a prayer and making him promise to come back. Bob knew then that, as long as he knew you were waiting for him, he’d find any way possible to come home. San Diego wasn’t home, you were.

“T-Thank you…for loving me,” the playful atmosphere in the room dissipated as Bob’s hands cupped your jawline, cradling the most precious thing he’d ever had in his hands. “For choosing me.”

“I didn’t choose you, Bob. I didn’t have to,” was your response. “From the moment I started to fall, there was never going to be another choice for me.”

Well, when you put your love so eloquently, what more can Bob do besides kiss you? Slow, but firm, full of every ounce of love he could muster in his body, and vice versa. Your teeth pulled at his bottom lip just barely, tongue ever so slightly brushing past his lips as your own lips swallowed the groan Bob let out without even realizing it. One of his hands immediately found your waist, pulling you straight to the edge of the table and flush against him as he-

“BOBBY, SIREN, IF YOU TWO ARE STARTING THE BABY MAKING PROCESS ALREADY, YOU BETTER GET THOSE CLOTHES ON-”

“Hangman, knock it off!”

What a strange, sometimes annoying, family you’d both gained with this eclectic group of pilots. But god, did you both adore them all, even in their most annoying moments.

Thankfully, they’d elected to leave the two of you alone for the entire week to…’settle in’ as they called it. Hangman had joked every morning for the entire week about Bob seeming ‘more sluggish’ or that he ‘looked a little sore,’ and the rest of the group had only laughed along with the comments. It didn’t help that Bob never denied them, only shook his head and turned his attention back to basic training.

The crew didn’t need to know that their ‘innocent baby-on-board’ was far from innocent when not in the public eye, or at least, when he was with you. You managed to make him throw every inhibition he had out the window, especially since that night of Rooster and Nat’s ceremony that was permanently burned into his brain forever.

Innocent…what was so innocent about how he’d claimed to you that one of the perks of moving in together meant christening every surface of your new home? You may not have believed him when he said ‘every surface,’ but by the time Friday rolled around and Natasha was running around your house preparing for the engagement party the following day, you knew never to underestimate how much your future husband wanted to worship you ever again.

“Zip me up?”

Now, if Bob ever said no to that request, he’d have to ask Rooster to personally bury him in the ground.

Natasha and Bradley were fussing around downstairs, ordering the rest of the squad to make sure everything was set up exactly as they’d planned for it to be. Poor Sydney, the receptionist from the college that you’d grown close to, was roped into the fray, too. All for good reasons, given that the Floyd family was seconds from arriving, as was your own. 

You and Bob were in your bedroom (god, he was never going to get over saying that: YOUR bedroom, together), putting the finishing touches on your outfits.

A sleek, navy colored button down tucked into a pair of Bob’s nicest jeans, and topped off with the cowboy boots that he’d been wearing for years sitting right beneath the bottom edge of his jeans. Put together, fancier than anything he ever wore for work or even to the Hard Deck, but you were the vision in his eyes. The prettiest white, v-neck dress that hit just above your knees and showed just the appropriate amount of skin. Intricate pink flowers were woven into the bodice, sleeves fluttering down your shoulders and out around your elbows, with matching white pumps to pull it all together.

Radiant. Entrancing. Classy. Tasteful. The most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen, and you would soon be his forever. Bob would never stop thanking God for making this dream of his come true.

He didn’t answer you, just simply appeared behind you. His fingers delicately held the zipper on the back of your dress, dragging it up the back as his fingers just barely brushed over your spine. His eyes never left yours in the full-length mirror you both stood in front of, simply smiling as he watched a small shiver run through you at his touch. The second the dress was secured, Bob’s arms encircled your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, and you both heaved out a sigh, knowing what awaited you downstairs.

“Did we have to have an engagement party?”

“Yes, because you didn’t think ahead like Bradley and just get everyone at the Hard Deck to celebrate as you proposed,” he knew you were just joking around with him, but Bob still pinched your side for the comment, drawing a small laugh out of you. “I’m kidding! Yes, love, we have to have an engagement party. Your sister threatened that if our families didn’t meet, she’d personally ‘throw hands’ with me.”

“She would never hurt you, she knows I love you too much,” your head turned to look at Bob as he leaned in, stealing a sweet kiss from you that ended all too soon for his liking. It could’ve lasted just a tiny bit longer if not for the squealing of Natasha ringing through the house from the living room, drawing a laugh out of both of you. “Judging by Phoenix’s scream, I’m going to assume that means your family is here.”

“Yes, probably celebrating getting to see their ‘second daughter,’ as they’ve always called her,” laughter was shared once again as you spun in Bob’s arms, adjusting the collar of his shirt for him before stealing yet another kiss. “Let’s go get this show started, Lieutenant.”

Watching your parents excitedly embrace you as your mother gushed over the ring on your left hand, had Bob’s anxiety through the roof for the first time in days. He’d just barely said hello to them over FaceTimes over the past year, but that was the extent of it, and you hadn’t been back to visit your hometown since moving to San Diego. In short, their daughter had moved to San Diego, gotten a boyfriend within 6 months, and was now engaged and newly living with her fiancé, whom they had never met, barely a year later…Bob was on edge. And the ‘reassuring’ looks Bradley, Fanboy, and Hangman were shooting him across the living room were not doing anything to help him.

“Oh, is this my future son-in-law? Finally, I get to see this handsome pilot!” your mother’s demeanor, on the other hand, was enough to calm his nerves. You were the spitting image of her, same little wrinkle around your eyes as you smiled, that same award-winning smile that he adored, it was a gift in and of itself to meet the woman that had given him you. He easily let her pull him into a tight hug, not a single argument from him.

“Weapons Systems Officer, technically, but it’s a pleasure to finally meet you Mrs-”

“Absolutely not, you’re about to be my son,” yeah, you were your mother’s daughter in ways beyond just your looks. The stern, yet playful glint in the older woman’s eyes as she pulled away to point a finger at him reminded him so much of you, he couldn’t help but let his smile grow even larger. “Just call me Amy, and my husband here is William.”

William. Your father. That was what intimidated Bob the most, especially as the man simply grunted and stepped forward, holding out his hand. Bob swallowed the lump in his throat, taking your father’s hand in his own with a firm shake. Your dad only responded with another simple grunt and a nod, but when he glanced at you and the little thumbs up you gave him, he knew that was all the approval he needed.

“Hey, baby-on-board!” Hangman’s voice cut through the house, drawing the attention of everyone lingering around the living room toward the front door. “I found some Floyd stragglers outside the door, they belong to you?”

“Baby-on-board?” Bob had heard your father mumble to himself before Bob’s older sister was practically launching herself into her brother’s arms with a laugh.

“Alright, alright, Sophia, relax!” Bob laughed out, quickly able to separate his older sister from his arms, just for her to immediately hit him on the shoulder. “Hey-! What was that for?”

“For not letting me come here sooner and meet my future sister, optical wonder,” he rolled his eyes at the old nickname from their childhood, swatting her hands away as she tilted the glasses on his face. She let out a gasp, practically shoving him to the side, when she’d finally caught sight of you. “MY SISTER!”

Sometimes, he really wondered how they’d gotten such starkly different personalities. Bob liked to think that Sophia just sucked all the extrovertedness out of his mother when she was born that she’d left nothing over for him, leaving him the awkward, introverted man he was today. But he was thankful for her extrovertedness, as it seemed to immediately calm down whatever nerves you had as you tightly hugged his sister back as if you were childhood friends. In reality, your actual childhood best friend was currently hugging your parents as if they were her own.

“It’s so nice to finally see you outside of screens!” you’d laughed when Sophia finally let go of you enough to take a step back. “Oh, I called a friend from New York the other day! He said to let you know that whenever you plan that New York trip you want to take, he’ll hook you up with tickets for whatever show you want to see.”

“You know, if I didn’t already know my brother was so in love with you he’d cry if you ever left him, I’d marry you myself just for that. Now, you have to let me pick your brain later about what it was like to be in the original cast of The Great Gatsby…”

Bob could’ve watched the interaction for the rest of the night between you two and died happily—two of the most important women in his life, his sister and his future wife. But, alas, one of the OTHER most important women in his life was tugging him into a tight hug, tearing his eyes away from you.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much, Robert,” his mother sounded as if she was crying as she hugged him tightly, and Bob didn’t hesitate to hug her back just as tightly. “You picked a good one with her, I can tell.”

“Thanks, ma. And yeah, I know, I’m not sure what I did to deserve her,” Bob said that sentiment often to himself, and he still couldn’t believe it. When she’d finally let go, his father had pulled him into a similarly tight hug with a pat on his back. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, bucko. Why don’t you introduce us so we can get this party started?”

Natasha and Bradley had managed to steal Sophia away after you’d introduced her to your own parents, promising to go and introduce her to the rest of the squad she’d heard so much about. So, when Bob turned with his parents, you were already waiting with a smile.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Floyd,” like your mother had with Bob, Bob’s mother was quick to bring you into a hug and wave off your comments.

“Please, just call me Carol Anne, darling. And this is my husband, Joseph,” you’d been passed off to Bob’s father for a hug as well, before Bob was quick to pull you back into his side, hand finding its place on your waist where it belonged. “Oh, you two just look so darn perfect together! Like it was meant to be. Just wait until I get a few drinks in me, I’ll be telling all your friends here stories about my little Robert. Did you know he tried to build a model volcano in the seventh grade once, and it exploded so badly they had to call the fire-”

“Please, any story but that one,” Bob groaned as your laughter filled the air, your hand similarly around his waist, giving him a squeeze in comfort. Your mother was the next to step up and laugh, gaining Bob’s parents' attention.

“You think Robert was bad? Natasha’s mother and I once had to go bail our girls out of getting expelled because they decided to try and hack their teacher’s computer to pull a prank on him!”

Carol Anne Floyd had laughed loudly at that snippet of a story from your mother, Amy, while your father was passing off a beer to Joseph Floyd. The men shared a small nod, engaging in light small talk while your mothers became best friends almost instantly, leading their husbands through the house as they swapped stories back and forth.

With most everyone in attendance having migrated to the kitchen or the backyard, Bob and you were left in a comfortable silence for a moment, before you both turned your heads to look at each other.

“You and Phoenix almost got expelled?”

“You blew up a volcano?”

“Darling, that’s objectively not as bad as almost being expelled,” you could only laugh, leaning your forehead down on his collarbone as he pressed a firm kiss to the crown of your hand, hand gently rubbing at the back of your neck. “Hey, the worst part is over. They met and they like each other!”

You peeked your head up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“And they’re about to drink so much alcohol and tell so many embarrassing childhood stories that Hangman can hang over our heads AND Nat’s head for the rest of time,”

“...point taken, l-let’s go cut them off before they even start drinking,”

Cutting off the alcohol from them did nothing. By the end of the night, Hangman had so many stories of you both as children that you both knew you would never hear the end of it.

Those stories, though, were overshadowed the second you handed a soccer ball to Natasha in the middle of dinner in the backyard. She stared, confused, until she read the Sharpie writing on the side of the ball.

I’ll let you be my Maid of Honor, as long as you promise not to hurl one of these at my head at the wedding like you did in Kindergarten.

A sweet sentiment, and a cute idea, until Nat had almost hurled it through the glass of the window leading back into your home. Bob would have to remember to thank Coyote for the excellent diving save he made to protect your home that you’d barely been in for a week.

Natasha had sobbed, just like you had when she’d asked you the same question over a year prior, repeating the simple phrase of ‘yes’ until you assured her that you’d heard her the first time.

So, when Bob handed a pair of new aviators over to Bradley with a sticky note attached to them, it wasn’t shocking to Bob that his best friend managed to get choked up almost immediately, realizing what was happening.

You told me that the Best Man and the Maid of Honor are destined to fall in love…and you were right. I’d want no one else to be my Best Man on my special day.

It was an immediate yes, both men trying to hide their tears at the fact that they were able to be there for one another in this way. The tears didn’t stop, though, as Bob handed another pair of aviators over to Fanboy, asking him to be a Groomsman as well, which was met with another resounding ‘yes!’ from the man.

That was met with an ear-splitting scream from Sophia Floyd when you handed another soccer ball to her. She hadn’t even had to read the words, already tossing the soccer ball into the air (another thank you to Coyote for yet another stellar diving catch) and throwing her arms around you with cries of joy.

Natasha Trace-Bradshaw, Bradley Bradshaw, Mickey Garcia, and Sophia Floyd, the four who would get to stand by your sides on the greatest day of your lives.

Now, when you and Bob were the Best Man and the Maid of Honor, you had a lot on your plates. But being the Bride and Groom this go around? It started to sink in for you both just how much you really had to do in order to prepare an entire wedding.

“What if we just go back to your last idea and head down to the courthouse and make it official?”

Bob laughed from his place on the couch in your office, simply lounging back on it as he enjoyed the lunch he’d brought you both on another one of his rare days off. Hunched over your laptop, you shot him a look for his laughter, which only managed to get another small laugh out of him.

“Darling, you’re the one who said you wanted to do this right-”

“And I do want to do it right, but we’ve been looking for two months and haven’t found a venue that we like!”

The frustration was written clearly on your face as you huffed, turning your attention back to your laptop. Bob felt the frustration, too, it had been extremely difficult to pick a venue. 

There was the pretty rooftop in La Jolla that was accentuated by the ocean in the background, but La Jolla just felt too local for both of you, like it was a safe option. Bob had joked multiple times that he only planned to get married once, so there was increased pressure to make sure the venue was everything you both wanted it to be.

There was a pretty ranch located outside of San Bernardino with views of the San Gorgonio Mountain in the distance. But, for as gorgeous as it had been on the walkthrough, it felt huge in a way that neither of you had liked.

For a moment, you’d both almost chosen the beach club located north of Los Angeles. Perfect views, gorgeous indoor venue, and the price hadn’t been half bad. But a single comment from Fanboy about how he’d love to play some dogfight football right where the ceremony would be held, Bob and you had quickly realized that giving any of your fighter pilot friends access to the beach would probably not end well.

“Come here,” Bob’s voice was gentle as he beckoned you over, and you hadn’t hesitated. His eyes tracked you as you closed the door of your office, flipping your sign to signal to your student that you were ‘out’ for the time being, before practically crawling into his outstretched arms.

Bob smiled to himself as you slotted like a puzzle piece into his side, leaning back against the armrest as you essentially lay half on top of him, leg slung over his own, and head nuzzled into his chest. He didn’t waste a second in letting his fingers tangle into your hair, nails gently scratching into your scalp as you hummed, letting the peaceful silence envelop you both for a moment.

“What was your dream wedding when you were little?” Bob glanced down at you questioningly as you broke the silence.

“My dream wedding?”

You nodded, shifting so your arms rested on his chest, chin sitting atop them so you could look at him. Bob let his hand travel down your back, resting along your hip with a squeeze and a soft caress of his thumb along the skin exposed at the end of your shirt.

“Yeah, your dream wedding. Come on, everyone has one. Natasha and I had Pinterest boards of ours, though I’m sure most guys weren’t that crazy about it,”

He’d laughed, silence settling over the office again as he was lost in thought, only the faint sound of your favorite playlist playing off your laptop in the background.

“This ranch back in Montana,” he’d spoken quietly after a moment, his other hand coming up to swipe a stray strand of hair out of your eyes as you watched him in silence, a tiny grin spreading across his face as he spoke. “Was in the Rockies, near Flathead Lake. I was there in high school, one of my older cousins was getting married. Said her vows right out in the field, next to this little pond, and the mountains behind her. But the reception was in this pretty barn, not too big but not too small, and I remember thinking…this is what I want. The beauty of nature that came with a ranch, with those warm, yellow string lights hung around the barn,”

One of your hands reached out for the one cradling your cheek now, as Bob watched you bring his palm to your lips, leaving a small kiss directly to the center with a smile.

“It sounds beautiful,”

“What about your dream?”

“I brought Nattie along to this wedding of a fellow castmate of mine back in New York years ago. It was over off the Long Island Sound, so they had plenty of money to blow on whatever they wanted,” soft laughter escaped you as you shook your head, and Bob only watched with a loving smile. “Anyway…it was at this gorgeous vineyard, but the best part was the house. It was just a house, set on this gorgeous vineyard. They got married right on the back deck, overlooking the vineyard, and we partied the night away inside the house. It was rustic, in a way, while still having this modern elegance. It was intimate in the best ways. Nat had to watch me update my entire ‘Dream Wedding’ Pinterest board the entire Uber ride back to our hotel that night.”

“So, what I’m hearing is we need to find a rustic-type house with an intimate feel on a ranch,” Bob let out a short chuckle as you playfully swatted at his chest. “I’m serious! There’s how many wedding venues that are scattered up and down the California coast? There has to be something close to that.”

Bob adjusted himself as you sat up, bringing him back up to rest against the back cushions of the couch as well, throwing your legs over his lap before bringing out your phone. He tucked you back into his side, hand coming down to rest over your jeans overtop of your calf as he kneaded circles into the muscle.

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to give it a look,”

There were ranches, alright, many of them. From San Diego to San Francisco, it seemed like there wasn’t a single stretch of a few miles without a ranch in the area. But it was in looking that both of your eyes landed on one ranch in particular, tucked just an hour North of North Island.

An old, Spanish-style ranch house, tucked on its own private ranch. Beautiful trees overhang the home, the ceremony area, and large expanses of flowers running up and down the sides of the houses, bringing a pop of color. A reception area decorated in those same warm, yellow string lights Bob had mentioned, and not to mention a view that encompassed everything beautiful about nature.

It only took one look between you both to know that this was the place. It also only took a single minute on the property, flanked by Bradley and Natasha for extra support, for all four of you to know it in your hearts: this was where you’d get married.

Bob thought back on that moment a lot in the coming weeks, of visiting the home he’d get to marry you at in a few months, for the first time. To watch you stand beside Phoenix in the same spot that a pastor would join you together forever, to know that someday soon, he’d see you standing there beside him in a white dress as he would inevitably cry over the sheer joy of knowing he was lucky enough to love you.

The younger version of himself was still pinching himself. To think that Bob Floyd, who’d grown up being labeled the little nerd among many of his classmates, who’d worked so hard to prove himself and better himself as he joined the Navy, who’d flown countless dangerous missions in his job, had somehow managed to get the girl.

The smile on Bob’s face was a permanent fixture when he was with you, as his fingertips just gently held tight to your own as he spun you around your living room. The coffee table had been pushed to the side, the remnants of dinner left discarded on the top of the little wooden table, as one of the songs Bob had coined as ‘your song’ (a staple on the playlist he’d made to always play in the car with you) played softly from the speakers.

For I can't help falling in love with you.

“I-I’ve been dying to ask,” Bob’s voice was low as he spun you back into his arms, hand not wrapped in your own finding its way to settle along your waist. “This song…was a bit of an ironic song to play when you were teaching me to dance that day. Was that on purpose?”

You’d laughed, leaning up to bump your nose along the edge of his own with a playful wink.

“I was maybe, sorta, subtly trying to make a point. Or plant a seed, whatever you want to think. But yes, definitely on purpose,”

“So I was just blind?” Bob joked as you giggled once more, stealing the glasses right off his face to slot onto your own, giggles only getting louder as he squinted his eyes to try and see you properly.

“You figured it out eventually. Though I still had to make the first move and tell you I was waiting for you to ask me out,”

Bob rolled his eyes, stealing back his glasses and slotting them back into place so he could see you properly again.

“I-I asked you to dance! Took a pep talk from the bride and groom, but I technically got the ball rolling that night,”

“Alright, I concede,” you’d thrown your hands up in fake surrender before Bob had stolen them into his own hands, tugging you back into his chest. “Speaking of our darling friends, they still won’t tell you what they have planned for our bach trip, will they?”

“Just that it’s combined like theirs was, but they’re being tight-lipped about it,”

“I’m hoping whatever it is, there will be a chance to get more blackmail on Seresin. Especially now that he knows all those stories about us,”

“See, I knew I loved you for a reason,”

Bob had terrible timing when it came to getting turned on, but there didn’t seem to be a single thing you could do that WOULDN’T turn him on at this point. But the teasing lit to your voice, that spark of mischievousness in your eyes, and that burning desire to make fun of Hangman any chance you could get was something he adored. That adoration, right now, was sending his mind on a trip of thoughts that included carrying you off to the bedroom and throwing you onto the bed, before dropping directly to his knees-

“Cabo San Lucas,”

If there was anything that could break Bob out of the horny, schoolboy thoughts invading his mind in that moment, it was that.

“Cabo-?”

“You left me in charge of the honeymoon choices, and I think I’ve decided on Cabo,” you quickly ran off from the room, coming back with a folder of printed off papers from the dining room as Bob just watched on with a little smile. “It’s relatively cheap compared to other places I’ve looked, and gorgeous. We can see the El Arco, those geological formations- we can even go whale watching! Not to mention the beach, there’s scuba diving, dining is all included with the suite and the flight is only two and a half hours, meaning we could leave right after the reception-”

Bob could’ve listened to you talk for hours on end, but kissing you sounded better. Truly, no matter what he was doing, kissing you was always the better option. He barely even had to look, snatching the papers from your hands and tossing them toward the chair in the corner of the living room. His large hands encircled your waist, sliding up under the edge of your shirt to ghost along the heated skin of your back and up your spine, pressing you into him as his lips slanted around your own, swallowing your words and the moan that followed them.

It was like lighting a spark when the two of you kissed, the way every anxiety and insecurity seemed to melt off of Bob Floyd in waves, replaced by an overwhelming sense of confidence rooted in love. You tried to speak, but his mouth pressed to yours harder, a feverish clashing of lips that conveyed every ounce of passion Bob carried in his body for you.

The backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch as he brought you down with him. But your time above him in the seat of control lasted for just a second before he had you pinned beneath him and the first few buttons of your blouse unbuttoned in less than a second. His eyes trailed over the flush of your skin, the redness that started in your cheeks and trailed down your neck, disappearing into the swell of your breasts and lower to places he’d seen more times than he could count, parts of your skin he’d worshipped for nights on end. Like a starved man, his lips attacked your neck, latching onto the spot just under your jaw that always drew such a delicious moan out of you. It only took a second for that moan to make it’s presence known, your body arching up into his as one of his hands found your hip, locking you to the cushions below you.

“I-If I’d known talking about Cabo, Mexico would-oh god-would get me this I-” the little breath you did have hitched, and Bob could hear your heart hammering out of your chest as his lips trailed their way down to your collarbone, leaving a mark just above the bone, before continuing their descent at a sinful pace. “I would have-Jesus Christ, Bob-I would’ve suggested it months ago…or every day.”

That elicited a laugh from him. That sense of humor that had gripped him from the moment you’d stepped into the Hard Deck so, so long ago, joking with him to take half the credit for keeping Natasha safe in the sky. Or the night you’d put Hangman in his place, the first time of many, asking Bob to be your partner in pool. God, that snarky little sense of humor you had, the very thing that could manage to break him out of every introverted thought he had and made him want to sing your praises in front of the world.

He’d pulled away from your skin, hovering over you. Breathless. Slightly sweaty. Flushed beyond belief, just as you were, and all he could do was smile down at you in a way that he could almost physically see the flutter that was sent through your chest.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” his words for airy as he looked down at you, almost in disbelief. “You said honeymoon and it just-it made it seem so real. I-It’s like I finally remembered…I get to marry you. I get to marry my best friend, and I-I get to do every day of the rest of my life with her by my side. Cabo-that’s great, whatever you want you can have, darling. I’d steal a jet and fly you halfway across the world if it made you smile.”

It was your turn to pull Bob down into a kiss, this one lighter, sweeter, but just as passionate in your own way.

“Well, in the wise words of my favorite singer…you knew what you wanted, Bob Floyd, and boy, you got her,”

You’d barely finished your words before laughing, Bob’s head falling against your chest with a tiny groan as he nipped at the exposed skin.

“Don’t ruin the moment with song lyrics,”

“Too perfect an opportunity, Robbie. Besides, you love me,”

Yes. Yes, he did.

Bradley and Natasha had managed to keep all the details of your joint bachelor and bachelorette trip under wraps, neither of you had a single inkling of what they had planned for everyone. But like they had for the Bradshaw trip, the couple had gathered you both in their car for the trip, while Hangman had been put in charge of picking up the stragglers (including Bob’s sister, who Bob had to warn Hangman a thousand times to please NOT flirt with, but he was only met with a fly wink).

“I don’t know if I’ve ever really thanked you, Floyd,” Natasha had said to him, somewhere about four hours into their drive. Bob was leaning against Rooster’s Bronco as the tank filled up at a rest stop along the highway, watching with a smile as you and his best friend argued over snacks through the windows of the gas station. He’d turned to look at Natasha, raising an eyebrow at the girl who he considered one of the four most important women in his life.

“For what?”

“Loving her the way you do,” Phoenix bumped her shoulder with his, chuckling at the blush that instantly formed on his cheeks. “For taking our advice at the reception, for just…being everything I’ve ever wanted for my best friend.”

A small smile crossed Bob’s lips as he bumped her shoulder back.

“Thanks for letting me love her,”

“Bob Floyd, even if I wanted to, there’s no stopping that girl once she wants something. And, boy, did she want you,”

Bradley and Natasha had forced the pair of you into blindfolds soon after getting back on the road, saying it was all in the name of surprise. That left he two of you pressed to each other’s side in the back of the Bronco, whispering your conversations to one another through the darkness of your blindfolds, Bob’s hand resting comfortably on the bare skin of your thigh as he rubbed small circles into the skin.

“Alright, alright, both of you just stand right here-”

“You know, ‘nix, they’d probably appreciate if you took the blindfolds off-”

“Seresin, no one asked you! Okay, both of you just stand still for a second,”

Neither you nor Bob moved, Bob’s hand wrapped around yours as your best friends positioned you in front of the Bronco. The air was hot, the sun beating down on you all, as you both waited slightly impatiently to see what they had planned.

“Alright, welcome to your trip!”

The second the blindfolds were off, Bob could instantly feel himself get choked up. And with one glance at you, he could see you struggling to do the same.

That gorgeous home, nestled in the desert by the Colorado River, sat before you all. It was just as stunning as the first time you’d seen it, when you’d been here on the same trip for Bradley and Natasha. Bob could only watch as your hand flew to your mouth, tears welling in your eyes as you turned to look at the grinning husband and wife standing in front of you both.

“What-how did-”

“On the last night here, we were sitting out on the deck looking up at the stars,” Natasha told you, tears evident in her own eyes, and Bob could remember the moment like it was yesterday in his head. The moment he’d realized he loved you. “We were sitting there, talking about anything and everything like we always do, and you dropped the bomb on me that you were in love with my back-seater.”

“And not even twenty minutes later,” Rooster chimed in, shooting a wink toward Bob. “It was you at my door telling me that you were in love with our little Siren over here.”

“Long story short, what I think the lovebirds are trying to say,” Hangman chimed in front the front door of the home, where he stood flanked by Coyote, Fanboy, Payback and Sophia, that typical Seresin smirk on his lips. “Is why not walk you two down memory lane and relive this moment? Don’t worry, the married couple over here planned some brand new activities for the week so that it doesn’t feel like deja vu.”

“And!” Fanboy chimed in, jabbing his thumb back toward the house. “We already claimed rooms and made sure to leave you guys in the same room as last time. You know, nostalgia purposes and whatnot.”

Bob made a mental note to himself to buy Rooster and Phoenix several rounds of beers next time they were all that the Hard Deck for the most thoughtful trip they could’ve possibly thought of. It really took all his self-control not to cry just at the thought that went into this for them.

“It really does look just like it did all that time ago,”

You were right, that bedroom where everything had changed for you both looked exactly the same. The same quilted comforter, the same curtains, and the same people, just not the same relationship they had the last time they were in here.

Bob barely let you put the bags in your arms down before his own arms were encircling your waist, head buried in your neck as you giggled, the air he blew into the nape of your neck tickling your skin.

“You know, t-that night I told you that you were my best friend…what I really wanted to do was tell you I loved you,”

You spun around, fingers splayed across the nape of his neck as you pulled him into a quick peck, one that he chased after in hopes of making it last longer.

“I know. I was really hoping you would,”

“I got there eventually,” he’d quipped, pressing a kiss to your temple as his fingers flexed along the small of your back. “There’s no more secrets left to keep this time, I can do and say what I want…I can fuck you in this room like I wanted to so long ago.”

That flash of heat, that burning desire, was evident in your eyes just at his words alone, just like he knew it was in his, too.

“Well, Lieutenant, I’m pretty sure we’re sharing a wall with Fanboy,” you quipped with a smirk overtaking your lips. “Do you think he’ll mind if we keep him awake like we did at the Lafayette-”

“I CAN HEAR YOU BOTH LOUD AND CLEAR, HANDS TO YOURSELVES YOU FILTHY ANIMALS!”

If the first week he’d spent in this house was full of memories he’d never forget, Bob wasn’t prepared for what their best friends had in store for them for their own party.

Two full days were spent on Lake Mead, one on the shore and another on a cruise around the lake. What Coyote was dubbing the ‘Second Annual Dogfight Chicken’ games had commenced almost immediately when you’d hit the beach, a grueling few rounds of knocking one another off each other’s shoulders. But for the second time, you and Bob had come out victorious, even if the others complained that you’d won twice in a row now (though that sneaky move on Hangman to attack the single spot you knew was ticklish to give you an opening to shove him off Rooster’s shoulders was dubbed the ‘play of the game’).

Bob hadn’t been as distracted by your thighs on either side of his head this time, or at least, not as distracted as he had been last time. Besides, he spent enough time buried between them whenever he could be.

The second day hand consisted of a day trip to see the Hoover Dam, something Bob sheepishly admitted was on his bucket list of places to see that they’d conveniently skipped over last time. His dream trip didn’t originally include Payback and Fanboy trying to argue if you could survive jumping over the edge of the dam, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. The sunset cruise around the lake was the first time you’d all dressed up, and Bob groaned the second you’d put on the same slit dress you had worn to Vegas last time. Judging by the wink you’d sent his way, you knew exactly what that dress did to him, and you were doing it on purpose. It was all worth it for the free champagne shoveled your group's way by the entire staff of the cruise, the second it was announced that you were both engaged.

Las Vegas was a must, but this time it included an off-Broadway production of ‘Mamma Mia.’ A day and night well spent in Bob’s eyes, just to see the smile on your face as simply being around a stage, your hand excitedly grasping his and squeezing it throughout the performance, mouthing all of the words to yourself. Bob found himself watching you more than the musical that night, not that he’d complained.

You had vehemently tried to convince Hangman to go to another Magic Mike show, which ended in an embarrassing twenty minutes for the pilot as you showed Sophia Floyd every single video you’d taken as blackmail last time.

No matter what they’d done every day, between little hikes through scenic places like the Valley of Fire State Park, or even the days spent inside together, watching Coyote and Natasha almost fist fight over an intense game of Uno, were moments Bob would never forget. He’d cherish them forever, because you were wrapped under his arm for every single moment.

That’s where you found yourselves on your final night, on the deck of your rented home, sitting directly between Bob’s legs on top of the picnic table with a blanket wrapped tightly around you both, admiring the stars above you. And if you looked close enough with the naked eye, Bob swore you could see hints of the Northern Lights streaking through the light pollution-free night sky.

“When we get home, everything changes,” it was you who broke the comfortable silence between you both finally. “We’ll be in the home stretch. In just a matter of weeks, I’ll finally be Mrs. Floyd.”

God, he’d never get tired of hearing that, of imagining you with his name. He didn’t have to imagine it for much longer.

“You’re already Mrs. Floyd in my eyes, we just need the piece of paper that says you are,”

You’d laughed, like you did at all his jokes, swinging your legs over to the side so that you could sit sideways and see his face. Illuminated by just the moon, the stars, and the little porch light somewhere behind them, Bob wondered how it was possible you got more beautiful every time he looked at you.

“Everything will be confirmed, I’ll get my dress. Our families will all arrive, we’ll walk down the aisle and say ‘I Do’, then we’ll dance the night away before we jet set off to Cabo,” your head leaned against his shoulder, eyes never leaving his own as you spoke. “Then comes…the rest of it.”

“The rest of our lives,” Bob tacked on as you grinned back up at him.

“Full of bills, and I’m sure some petty arguments here and there,”

“Don’t forget babysitting our friends at the Hard Deck for eternity,”

“Hmmm…then there are kids,”

“Kids?” you’d had the conversation before, briefly in the past, so the little statement didn’t shock Bob. If anything, it sent that familiar flutter he’d felt for months as he was falling in love with you shooting through his ribcage. His eyes were locked on yours as your smile turned sheepish.

“Three, that’s my max,” your voice had become a whisper now, but still loud enough to be heard in the silence of the night surrounding you both. “Ideally, two girls and a boy. Not like we have much of a choice there.”

“Hmmm, then I hope the boy is older,” he’d shot back with a shy grin of his own, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. “Let him look after his little sisters. We have to throw in a dog, too.”

“But none of those little dog breeds,” you shook your head, lips eternally morphed into a smile. “No, we have to have a big dog. I love big dogs.”

“German Shepard, maybe a Golden Retriever,” Bob nodded along in agreement. “Have to get them at the same time we have the kids, that way they can grow up together. Watch them run around the backyard together, grow up being best friends.”

“Teach them responsibility young, make sure they grow up with a good head on their shoulders. Can’t have them turning into their Uncle Jake,” that brought a laugh out of both of you. But as the laughter dissipated, Bob could see the change in your eyes, the softness that seemed to enter them. “Our own little family.”

Bob could feel it, his own features soften, as his hand reached up to cup your cheek, ghosting his lips over yours in a kiss. His words came out in a whisper next, fanned over your lips.

“Our perfect little family,”

Neither of you were privy to the fact that the entire Dagger Squad was lurking through the glass sliding door, taking as many sneaky pictures as they could. Or of Sophia, crying into Hangman’s shoulder as she continuously murmured about how happy she was that her brother had found you.

Alas, peaceful moments such as a trip out to the desert would always have to come to an end. And with your peace coming to an end, the final wedding preparations were finally underway. And those final weeks were more stressful than any of the weeks that had come before.

The guest list was completely finalized, the caterers from the venue were notified of the number of guests, and the menu for the night was set in stone. The photographer had confirmed themselves for the day. The cake order was in, a split chocolate and vanilla tiered cake, since you and Bob were so indecisive on a flavor. The flowers were set, Natasha and Bradley had taken care of ensuring the decorations were all prepared with the venue, and they’d meticulously checked to ensure that your chosen wedding colors of various shades of blue were accurately represented. Everything was falling into place.

You’d flown back to your childhood home with Natasha to pick up your dress that you’d flown out and chosen months prior, while Natasha was picking up her own dress as well as Bob’s sister’s. Bob, of course, hadn’t seen the dress, but was informed by his mother and sister that they’d instantly cried the second you’d walked onto the platform in front of them in it. He knew that was an indication that there was no way he was getting out of crying at the altar.

It was the twenty-four hours leading up to the wedding when everything seemed to finally sink in.

The guests were all in town, the venue was set, and the entire Dagger Squad and your families were at your side at the venue the day before, as the manager ran you through the rehearsal.

You weren’t even in your dress when you walked down the aisle toward him, listening to the instructions that the manager was giving about how this would all go down. You were in jeans, a favorite pair of his that hugged you in every way that made him want to swoon, and an old t-shirt of his that he noticed you gravitated toward wearing in every anxious moment you had.

Bob would’ve married you right there in that outfit if the pastor had been there to perform the ceremony.

The venue walked you through where you’d exit, where the Dagger Squad would be able to perform the Arch of Swords, and through the seating for dinner and the reception. Pizza, cooked by the venue staff, was served to you all for the rehearsal dinner, while everyone laughed as Hangman and Coyote gave fake speeches, prepared just for the night.

Your hand had never left Bob’s, and Bob’s had never left yours. You were in sync with one another, and the anxiety radiating off of you both was clear as day.

It only grew worse when it was time to part ways, both of you agreeing to stick to tradition and spend the night before your wedding apart. Bradley and the boys waited across the driveway of the ranch for Bob, while Natasha and Sophia were waiting patiently by her car, everyone knowing you both deserved one last moment with each other before everything changed.

“The next time I see you…you’re going to become my wife,” Bob tried his best to keep his emotions in check, but he knew tears were forming in his eyes as he looked down at you, the most precious thing that had ever been his and would ever be his.

“And you’ll be becoming my husband,” you were doing a less fantastic job of keeping your emotions under wraps, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you held Bob’s hands in your own, squeezing them as tightly as you could. “You’re my best friend, Bob Floyd…just don’t tell Nat that.”

He laughed, as did you; those familiar words he’d told you so long ago felt like a hug right now. You didn’t need to say ‘I love you’ in this moment, because that little line had said it all and more.

“You, Ikea, are my best friend too…just don’t tell Bradley,” a lump formed in his throat as you smiled up at him, words tumbling out of him before he could stop them. “You…you’re sure, r-right?”

Even in that moment, where you were professing your love to him in a way that only he could understand, Bob couldn’t stop his insecurities from talking to him, for taking the lead. You were a million miles out of his league; he’d known it from the moment he met you. It felt like imposter syndrome, knowing that he’d gotten this far, that you were just hours from being his forever.

You knew him, he knew you did. That’s why he knew you could see his anxiety talking, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks as you brought him down into a kiss that sucked the air straight out of his lungs.

“I wish I could accurately articulate to you how much I love you, but all I can say is…people spend their lives searching for exactly what I found in you,” you’d choked out through your own tears, wiping a stray one from his cheek as you spoke. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life, Robbie, than I am of loving you. I don’t think there’s a single thing that could stop me from walking down that aisle tomorrow.”

Bob didn’t waste a second before pulling you into another kiss, the salty taste of both of your tears on your lips as he tried to convey every ounce of love he carried in his body for you through that single kiss. It would never be enough, though; there’d never be anything he could do or say to accurately explain it to you.

“Alright, Prince Charming and Cinderella, the princess needs to run along before she turns into a pumpkin!” Hangman’s voice called out across the driveway, pulling you both away from one another. “Hell, baby-on-board, we aren’t currently being shipped off to war right now, it’s a night apart. She’ll be all yours after tomorrow!”

You both laughed, as did all of your friends, and you both knew it was time to go. With a finally whispered ‘I love you’ shared, Bob had rejoined the boys, and you had joined your bridesmaids, and the first domino was finally falling on the day you’d both been waiting for.

Bob Floyd didn’t find himself wearing his Navy dress whites often, but this was the most nervous he’d ever been while wearing them.

The Groom’s suite was just him, Rooster, Fanboy, and his father, but Bob still felt like he was suffocating as he adjusted his uniform, ensuring there wasn’t a single thing out of place. It was the only thing he could think to do, it was distracting him from the thought of you on the other side of the house, getting into your wedding dress with the help of your mother, his mother and sister, and Natasha.

Holy fuck, Bob Floyd was getting married.

“Alright, bucko, it’s almost time,”

Bob turned to his father, the easy smile that sat on his lips, and he finally let out the nervous breath that he seemed to be holding in the entire time.

“Dad…respectfully, how the hell did you get married to Mom?”

The older Floyd laughed, clapping a hand down on his son’s shoulder with a grin.

“Truthfully? I was as nervous as you were, until your uncle forced a shot down my throat. Even then, I was nervous until she was standing in front of me at the altar. Then…the nerves just melted away,”

“And I might have pretended to be nice and confident for you and Hangman,” Rooster chimed in as he slung an arm around Bob’s shoulders with a grin. “But god, I was trying not to shit myself. Had to remind myself that Nat would’ve killed me if I had.”

The three laughed before their gazes turned to Fanboy. He simply held his hands up in surrender.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t plan on doing this for a long time. Unless that cute friend of Siren’s from work, Sydney, is interested,”

Another round of laughter was shared, and that seemed to be all Bob needed to give the three standing around him a nod of his head.

“Alright…let’s do this,”

Bob’s anxiety was still at an all-time high as he stood at the altar, the rest of their squad sat in one of the front rows, directly next to Mav and Penny. His family sat directly before him on his side, while yours sat on your own side. Now, all Bob had to do was wait, and pray he could remain calm.

He wasn’t kept waiting long.

That familiar music he’d heard a thousand times, in real life and in movies, kicked in as the guests all rose to their feet. Bob’s hands wrung together before him as Fanboy in his dress whites and his sister in a gorgeous light blue gown took their first few steps down the aisle.

Bob couldn’t help but smile the second he saw the dresses. If there had been a single doubt in his head, it was gone now: the dresses almost matched his eyes perfectly.

Natasha and Rooster followed right behind them, bright smiles on their faces as they looked to Bob. Rooster and Fanboy quickly took their places beside him, patting him on the shoulder for confidence, as Natasha and Sophia took their places opposite the men.

Penny’s daughter, Amelia, led Bob’s little cousin down the aisle, both holding the little pad for the rings as well as throwing the petals down on the aisle to ensure his little cousin didn’t drop the rings. It garnered a laugh from the entire room as they took their places.

Then the music changed, and you stepped out on your father’s arm, and Bob couldn’t hold himself together.

He’d seen this exact dress, one saying under your ‘Dream Wedding’ Pinterest board, and he always thought you would be the most gorgeous thing to ever grace this earth in it. And he was proven right. A billowing white ball gown, a sweetheart neckline with little off-the-shoulder sleeves you’d gushed about on so many other dresses, and a veil that shimmered like it was made from stars hanging from the top of your head.

A smile meant just for him, and a single tear slipping down your cheek that your father was quick to wipe away.

The older man handed his daughter over to Bob without a single fight, just a smile and a nod, and suddenly Bob was standing face to face with the love of his life, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He’d barely heard a word the officiant had said the entire time, until you handed your bouquet off to Natasha and took Bob’s hands, preparing to recite the vows you’d written yourself over and over again.

“I moved to San Diego for a job, and it just so happened that my best friend came as a package deal with it. I have so many things to be thankful to this city for, but I will never be able to repay it for the fact that it gave me you,” you’d swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to contain yourself in order to move forward, while Bob was slowly falling apart before you. “I’d never thought I’d find what so many of my friends over the years had found, too engrossed in my work and what I loved doing. But then you, this six-foot, awkward Naval Weapons Systems Officer, stumbled into my life, and I dropped a table on you, and I knew I was a goner. I vow always to be your biggest supporter, to be the most loyal partner you could ever hope to have, and to spend the rest of my life making jabs at our friends at the Hard Deck in your honor. In every universe…I hope it’s you that I’m standing across from to make these vows.”

Bob didn’t hesitate to reach out and wipe a stray tear from your cheek, gaining a slight laugh out of you that he couldn’t help but smile at. But it was finally his turn to speak, and Bob’s nerves were back in full force.

“You…you gave a speech at Bradley and Natasha’s wedding, and at the end you said something that stuck with me: “They say love is just a friendship that caught on fire,’ and I swear you looked at me after you said it. It might’ve been meant for our best friends, but that was for us, too,” he wiped away another tear that escaped down your cheek, the room laughing at the action. “I told myself that schoolboy crush I’d managed to gain on my best friend’s childhood best friend was nothing…then you dropped that table on me. I have never been more thankful for Swedish furniture than I was that day, because that put us here now. I promise to support you in everything you could ever want, to love and cherish the ground you walk on day and in and day out, and to give you the life that you deserve more than anything. For so long, I had no idea what I needed in my life…then you showed up, and now I don’t know how to live in a world without you.”

The officiant’s words were a blur. Bob barely remembered uttering that familiar phrase: ‘With this ring, I thee wed,’ or that you’d said it back. He didn’t remember saying ‘I do,’ he barely registered the ring that now would forever sit on his left hand. There was only one thing he remembered.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!”

Bob had barely waited for him to finish, his hand taking you by the waist and pulling you into a kiss that had the entire room erupting into cheers, the unmistakable crying of Natasha in the background that could be heard clear as day.

“Hi, husband,” you whispered against his lips, eyes half lidded as they looked up at him. Bob couldn’t help the way his own stretched into a smile, looking down at you as he pressed you back into the kiss for a moment.

“Hi, wife,”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Robert Floyd!”

Surreal was the only word that Bob could use to describe the moment, and every moment after. It was like having an out-of-body experience as you’d walked under the Arch of Swords, as you’d been whisked off through the ranch with your wedding party in tow for an abundance of photos, the entire Dagger Squad dragging Maverick along for even more group photos. Bob’s eyes never left you, and not a single word needed to be said between either of you besides the smiles you shared.

They’d announced you both into the reception, and the hollering that Rooster and Hangman were doing had the entire room in laughter. Just like he had many, many months ago, Bob held his hand out to you, palm facing the sky, and you took it without a second thought, the music chosen for your first dance echoing around the trees of the outdoor reception air, lit by the warm, yellowed string lights all around you.

Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say…take my breath away. My love, take my breath away.

The same song that had played that night, on a dance floor similar to this, where everything had taken its definitive turn. Where you’d confessed to each other, where months of pining had finally reached its pinnacle, and where your lives together had started.

Bradley and Natasha's joint speech wasn’t something either of you was expecting when you’d been sat for dinner among your friends and family, but it didn’t disappoint.

“I’ve had the privilege of being best friends with our lovely bride, our Siren, since I chucked a soccer ball at her head in Kindergarten,” Natasha started, giving an innocent shrug when the room laughed at the story. “And when I got reassigned to North Island, back to Top Gun, I was given Bob as my backseater, not knowing he’d become one of my best friends.”

“And truly, when I watched Bob give our buddy Jake the nickname of ‘Bagman’ during a training exercise, I knew he was going to be my best friend,” Rooster shot a wink toward the two of you, who laughed along with the rest of the room. “And it took introducing these two just once for my wife and I to go home and say…man, they’d be great together, wouldn’t they?”

“To be fair, I’d had an inkling for months about it,” Nat made sure to interject. “I remember showing her photos of our nerdy little WSO, and suddenly she was very interested in learning more about him. And anytime I show him a photo of the girl I call my sister, his skin flushed so red you probably couldn’t tell the difference between him and a tomato.”

Bob shook his head with a groan as the room laughed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a moment as you pressed a kiss to his temple before Bradley continued.

“So, my wonderful wife and I devised a plan. Throughout the entirety of our engagement and wedding planning, since these two already had to spend so much time together, we were going to force them to spend even MORE time together until they got together. Come to find out…we didn’t even need to meddle, they found one another without any help,”

“And we are…so happy that you found each other,” Natasha was trying to hold in a sob as Bob reached over, holding your hand tightly in his as you too tried not to cry. “You’re our best friends, and we knew that we were going to have high standards for whoever our best friends fell in love with. But you fell in love with each other-”

“And I’ve never seen two people deserve each other more than you both do,” Rooster interjected, shooting Bob a wink. “They do say that the Best Man and the Maid of Honor are destined to fall in love, and they were right this time.”

“We love you both, and we can’t wait to witness your lifetime of happiness together, wherever it takes you,”

Bob thought he’d cried all the tears he could seeing you walk down the aisle, but apparently, a sentimental speech from your best friends was enough to bring him another round of tears.

You’d eaten together, you’d laughed, and then you’d danced the night away with every person you both held near and dear to you surrounding you on the dance floor. Bob’s eyes never left you, he never left your side, so when you’d both snuck off the dance floor to grab another drink and Bob held out his hand for you to take, you didn’t waste a second in trusting him.

Like two teenagers sneaking around behind everyone’s backs, he’d led you through the twists and turns of the ranch until finally finding what he’d found the night before at the rehearsal dinner: the private deck, well enough away from the hustle and bustle of the dance floor and the bar, surrounded by flowers and even more warm lighting.

“Couldn’t wait to get out of there?” you’d teased as Bob turned back to look at you.

“No,” he shook his head, taking a step forward and taking your face in his palms. “Just couldn’t wait to do this.”

Intense. Passionate. Loving. Full of desire. There was no shortage of words that could be used to describe what Bob felt as his hands trailed down to your waist, clutching you to him as if you were the last bit of oxygen left in the world, his lips moving against yours as if he hadn’t just kissed you not so long ago at the altar, claiming you as his forever.

You weren’t any better than him, though, one hand curling into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugging on it, swallowing the groan Bob involuntarily let out with another kiss to his lips. Your lips, the nude lipstick sitting on top of them hanging by a thread from how passionately you kissed him, moving them down to his jaw, and leaving a lingering kiss just beneath his jawbone by the hollow of his throat, elicited yet another delicious groan from him that had you laughing.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Bob just barely managed to get out, breathless as he tugged your face back to look at him, an innocent smile on your kiss-bitten lips, and your teeth bit into your swollen bottom lip for a moment..

“Excuse me, you’re the one who dragged me out here to make out with me, Lieutenant!”

“Yeah, and I’m one more lip bite from you away from throwing you on top of that table over there and fucking you,”

Did Bob know where that sudden burst of confidence came from to utter something so sinful? Absolutely not, but that was just the effect that you always had on him—the effect you’d have on him for the rest of his life, now.

You’d only laughed, hands coming back to drag his face back to yours in another kiss. Softer. Gentler, but still just as passionate and full of love and desire as it had been moments ago. Then, you laughed, lips still pressed against Bob’s, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s so funny?”

You pulled away, and Bob could’ve swooned just by the look in your eyes. The pure love that shone in them, the adoration, as you chose your next words carefully with a gentle smile.

“The Best Man and the Maid of Honor fell in love…and now they’re married. How did we possibly get even more cliché, Mr. Floyd?”

Bob smiled, and suddenly he was back in that room at the Lafayette, your naked body lying under him for the first time as he’d kissed you for the first time. And he’d loved you properly, like you deserved, for the first time.

And then, he spoke.

“Somehow, we did. But…I wouldn’t have it any other way, Mrs. Floyd,”

[leclerclvr]

it's a match!

tags: rhett abbott x reader. social media au. fluff. timeskips. implied sexual acts. hannah dodd faceclaim. a/n: i had so much fun writing singer!yn and the muse!verse so far that i decided to give some loving to my favorite cowboy. i hope u guys like this :))

(masterlist)

taglist: — feel free to comment or send an ask to be added! :) @pearlstiare @yesshewrites1 @secretkittydreamland @greengoldhorns @menrsluts @fandom-geek17 @ashaluuler

[leclerclvr]

guys i think i got blocked by one of my fav authors on here 😞 ummmm lmk what i did wrong!! cause they wrote so many good fics and i cant read them anymore ☹️☹️☹️

[leclerclvr]

when authors drop the most amazing piece of literature ever written and then just disappear 😞

this is so cute and nasty at the same time AAAAHH

four eyes. | BF x Reader

PAIRINGS: Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS: asking bob to make a mess of himself on your face while you wear his glasses? absolutely.

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

WARNINGS: ahem, SMUT, established relationship, profanity, oral (m!receiving), deepthroating, facial, handjob, cum eating, dirty talk, begging, slightly sub!reader, praise, aftercare and such sweet affection from bobby, not proofread and mdni!!, reader is a minx, brief mention of term ‘slut’, size kink, awkward sweetheart w a big dick!bob,

A/N: this is the most filthiest shit I’ve ever written and if you like this ur crazy… *reblogs, comments and likes the post*

“What are you up to?” he drawls, watching carefully as you crawl over his naked midriff and through the sea of bedsheets. Post-sex endorphins were through the roof right now for Bob, a wave of happy tiredness sweeping over the pilot.

You huff, hand outstretched as you reach for Bob's glasses perched on the bedside table.

“I wanna try these on” you say to him, balancing yourself as you try to grab the frames. Bob chuckles, a hand coming to rub your ass lovingly.

You bit your lip to fight the feeling of a grin spreading on your face, the feeling of Bob's soft hands tickling you as you playfully pushed him away, all the while he simply beams at you.

The hand supporting yourself on his hard chest slips, causing you to collapse on top of your boyfriend, your naked breasts brushing over his cock and sending a shiver down his spine.

A firm hand comes to still yourself. “Careful” he says softly, hands warm.

Bob looks over, grabbing the glasses just as you were about to pick them up, and holding them out of your reach. You protest, trying to get ahold of the frames you loved so much. Bob puts them on, allowing himself to properly see his girl.

“You don’t wanna wear these, they don’t look good on anyone. Including me.” he mumbles, adjusting you on top of him.

But you're quick to swipe them off his face, ignoring Bob's laughs when you put the glasses on yourself and straddle his hips. “I like them, they’re cute,” you tell him.

“Well what d’ya know?” Bob utters softly to himself when he sees you, gazing up at his girl wearing the steel rimmed aviators and looking absolutely breathtaking.

“Hi there, four eyes” he chuckles, finding it odd saying a phrase he’s been nicknamed all his childhood. Hell, even Seresin has no problem calling him that to this day.

Bob smiles, strong but soft hands coming to rest on your hips as you sat dangerously close to where his happy trail leads to. Your brows furrowed as you viewed the world through his lenses.

“Jesus, Bob, you really are blind!” You uttered, looking down at the blurry man seated against the bedpost.

Bob’s become busy at the moment, pressing pecks to your hardended nipples. He simply nods, pretending he’s listening.

“You should go to the eye doctor, honey”

Bob peaks through, giving you a look. “That’s where I got them”

“Hm.”

The room is silent, a soft glow of the afternoon sunlight peeking through the white shutters. You feel the corners of Bob’s lips curling into a smile against your skin, a silent worship to your body.

“You’re so soft.” he murmurs.

“Honey,” you call to your boyfriend.

“Hm?” Bob replies absentmindedly, still brushing his face along your chest, hugging you closer.

You tug on his brown locks, pulling his head from your body and looking down at him.

“I wanna try something.” you grinned, a mischievous glint in your eyes mixed with a bottle of excitement. You quickly press a kiss to his lips.

Bob watches as you pull from his grasp, lips forming a small frown from the loss of contact as you shuffled down the bed so you were now kneeling on the floor by the edge.

Bob looks over at you quizzically, wondering what you were up to before you beckon towards him, ushering him to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Come sit, Robert” you directed, calling him by his birth name to get his attention.

His soft cock limps near his thighs as he adjusts himself, sitting before you in all his naked glory, hair tousled by your hands and a pink blush ghosting his cheeks. His hand comes up to play with your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. You look up in seriousness and confess.

“I want you to cum on these glasses”

Bob stops all motion, hand still tucked behind your ear. The room falls silent.

“What?”

You ignore the bafflement of your crimson cheeked boyfriend, bending down to lick a long stripe up his veiny shaft. A loud moan and harsh tug against your scalp brings you to take him further, almost triggering your gag reflexes. It all happens so fast. Bob mutters incoherently from the sudden gesture, both of you going slightly insane when your nose presses against his pubic bone as tears form near your eyes.

“Baby, hold on a moment, Jesus fuck!”

You’re worried you’re going to make a mess on the floor from the way your slick almost drips from your pussy.

You’ve been thinking of this fantasy for a while if you were to be honest. Bob pulls you back, gasping for air as a proud feeling settles in your chest. It’s not everyday you hear Bob cuss like that.

He’s panting hard, watching as a bit of saliva is smeared on your lips, eyes glossy. Bob sighs in exasperation as you decide to stroke his cock with your hands.

“You gotta let me speak-“

“Please, Bobby” you beg, pressing kisses to the pink tip and relishing in the way you feel him harden in your hand. A loud groan escapes Bob's throat, feeling sensitive despite having had sex the whole afternoon with you.

“I want you to cum while I have your glasses on” you told him, kitten licks getting the best of your boyfriend. “Like in those pornos” you mumble softly, your shy giggles driving Bob insane.

“Nobody says pornos anymore” he mumbles telling you, swallowing hard when you tug on his cock tighter for not responding.

Bob clears his throat. “You, um, want me to give you a facial?” He asks softly, holding onto your hand that's stroking his cock.

You nod eagerly.

“A-Are you sure?” He says, worried that taking him like this is gonna wear you out. In all honesty, the boy can’t help but grow hard at the thought of cumming all over your innocent face, big eyes covered by his glasses milked by his seed.

You nod, excitement and horniness flowing through your body.

“Please, honey, I want you to see me painted” you sighed, thumb brushing over the thick tip, smearing precum over the slit.

Bob thinks he’s gonna cum just from this angle, but he needs you so badly he tries to regain composure. He bends down to kiss you, tasting himself on your lips and letting your face be held in his soft touch. “Let me know if it's too much baby” he addresses in concern, the tears on your cheeks worrying him.

You sniffle, nodding your head to assure him. “Want you so bad, Bobby, let me suck you”

Your last few words are incoherent from the way you let Bob’s big cock stuff your throat, making you gag but desperately hold on. Bob lets go, both hands coming to balance himself on the edge, one gripping the bed sheets.

The sensation is fucking marvellous. You feel so full, loving the way the stretch of your mouth and untouched ache of your pussy turn you cockdrunk on Bob Floyd’s dick.

You look up, desperate to see how he's taking you, wanting to see the expression of him getting the daylights sucked out of him.

Lieutenant Bob ruts his hips pathetically, trying so hard not to make a mess of your mouth and hurt you. His head is pulled back, groans falling from his soft lips as he praises you so good.

“That’s it baby, doing so well for me” he sighs, now two large hands coming to push you a little further, a groan falling from his lips as you take him fully now.

“God, I love you!” he cries out loud, an instinctive response coming from your boyfriend as he caresses your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. You smile, aviator lenses reflecting the light as your lips are wrapped securely around his dick.

”So pretty, such a pretty girl” he says under his breath, admiring the way your tits bounce along with every stroke on his cock. You gasp, pulling away as you let your fist do the rest.

“I love you too, Bobby” you gasped, looking up to find Bob staring at you intensely, with such a fierce gaze of love, sensuality, and pure awe.

”H-How,” he begins, starting to feel a familiar feeling settle inside him. “How did I get so lucky with you?” He admits, wanting nothing more but to see his cum painting his glasses you’re wearing. He thinks he might just let you have them. Being able to see is overrated anyways.

“I think I’m gonna cum, baby” he lets out, watching as your eyes get eager, adjusting your sore knees so you can get the perfect angle.

“Please baby, give it to me” you begged, pussy so sensitive you have to make sure you hold yourself up enough so the cold wooden floors don’t brush against your folds.

Watching you rub his dick like that, mouth open and face ready is an image Bob will have ingrained in his mind forever, a hot spurt of milky liquid shooting onto your lips as Bob finally gives you what you wanted.

Incoherent mumbles fill the sweaty bedroom, letting one hand cup his balls as the other makes sure to smear the warm fluid all over your lips, glasses starting to get foggy.

“Fucking hell” Bob cries out, spilling your name from his lips like a sacred mantra.

You hum, a wave of both happiness and satisfaction washing over you as you sit in front of Bob’s glory.

You let the man come down from his high, tasting salt and your boyfriend in your mouth. Before you can even clean yourself up, Bob is ripping off the dirtied glasses framing your face, and grabbing you towards him for a passionate kiss. The action makes you dizzy, your red, sore knees almost buckling under.

It’s only a while after when he pulls away, grabbing for a box of tissues near the nightstand and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’m sorry for the mess” he replies shyly, the image of this tall, naked, handsome, and yet totally awkward giant taking care of you making it all worthwhile.

“It’s okay” you reply, voice hoarse. You couldn’t help but feel happy, even if you didn’t cum (Bob would see to it later of course).

You feel him use the tissues to wipe your chin, face, and tits, or really, what was leftover after you sucked it all up like a slut.

“You’re crazy sometimes, you know that?” Bob mumbles, shaking his head as he smiles at you, his soft touch so rewarding.

You laugh, latching your arms around his neck and letting him hoist you up so easily. His semi-hard cock limps against your stomach, both of you standing up and lips pressing together in another soft kiss.

”Thank you for the most mind blowing head of my life.” He jokes.

”Thanks for the facial” you gleam, sucking your fingers with a pop that makes Bob weak, falling back down on the mattress and taking you with him so you’re straddling him again.

Bob reaches for the glasses, getting a tissue so he could wipe them before an idea pops in your head and you stop him.

You put on the glasses again. He looks up.

“Bobby, where’s the Polaroid camera?”

[leclerclvr]

always looove an awkward nerd and his hot gf trope!! they are alwaysss so cute too omg!🤓🤓🤓💘💘💘

Stud On Board | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: You're nervous to meet Bob's friends for the first time. Initially you think they are poking fun at you, but then you realize that's not the case. When it becomes obvious that it's your boyfriend they're picking on, you make it a point to let them know just how much of a stud he really is.

Warnings: Fluff, implied smut, swearing

Length: 2100 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader

Check my masterlist for more!

"I'm a little nervous to meet everybody," you whispered to your boyfriend as you zipped up his jeans. You wiped the corner of your mouth, making sure your lips were clean before climbing onto his lap. You'd gone on four dates with him before he very nervously asked you to be his girlfriend, and since then, for the past month, you'd been so happy.

"Don't be nervous, Sweetheart," he replied, leaning closer to kiss your nose as he cradled you between his body and the steering wheel of his truck. "Everyone is going to like you. What's not to like?"

"Bobby," you said, adjusting his crooked glasses on his nose. "They are a tight knit group. If one of them doesn't like me, none of them are going to like me."

"Well, I like you plenty," he promised, and you turned to look out the window at his friend Jake's house where the Memorial Day party was in full swing in the backyard. "And Nat knows I'm wild about you. She told me she's happy you're coming with me."

You kissed him softly and then opened the door and started to climb down with his help. "I can't believe I get to meet the famous Phoenix."

Bob laughed. "She's larger than life. Hang on tight." 

And you did. You laced your fingers through his and let him lead you around the cute little ranch house and into the cozy backyard. Someone was grilling, there was music playing, and you saw a couple of kids blowing bubbles. But before you could take in anything else, there was a woman with dark hair and wide brown eyes in your face. 

"Bob. She's stunning."

Your boyfriend chuckled and pulled you a little closer. "Sweetheart, this is Nat."

"Oh!" you said brightly. "I've been looking forward to meeting you!"

"Holy shit," Nat replied, just shaking her head. "Good job, Bob. I mean, it's nice to meet you," she said, offering her hand and shaking yours. "Bagman is grilling some burgers, and there are drinks in the cooler."

"You want me to get you something to drink?" Bob asked, pecking you on the cheek. 

When you nodded, you watched Nat drag him away as she whispered, "Fucking hell, Floyd. You could have warned us that your new girlfriend looks like that." 

You rolled your eyes. Nobody usually made much of a fuss over you. When you turned to see what the group of kids was up to, you nearly bumped into a tall man sporting a mustache. Like a pornstar from the 80s. You almost laughed as he said, "Hey, I know we didn't come here together, but how'd you like to leave with me?"

"Excuse me?" you asked, bursting out laughing. "Did you really just say that?"

He shrugged at you, looking very smug. "My name's Bradley. We haven't met before. I'd definitely remember you."

You told him your name, and you were about to add that you came here with Bob, but then your boyfriend strolled back over with two cans of beer. He handed you one and kissed your cheek again.

"Oh, Rooster, this is my girlfriend," Bob said, and you watched Bradley's jaw drop as he looked at you, his eyes dipping down below your neck to the top of your dress as he blushed. 

"Sorry," he muttered, and he fist bumped a confused looking Bob as he walked away. 

"What was that all about?" your boyfriend asked. 

"Nothing," you replied with a smile as you sipped your drink. "Can we get some food? I'm starving, and I need to put something in my mouth right now."

"Really?" Bobby asked, cheeks flushing as he ran his fingers along the back of your hand. "You didn't get your fill in the truck?"

"Bobby!" you gasped, always a little surprised when he said something dirty to you. He was such a gentleman... usually. "I got my fill of you in the truck, but I need to make sure I have energy for later." You winked, and he was practically tripping over himself as he followed you across the patio toward the grill.

And that was where you met Jake. "Hey, pretty lady," he drawled. His accent was southern and cute, but nothing like Bob's, which you'd already gotten used to hearing whispering the sweetest things while he made love to you. 

"Hi," you said carefully as he studied your face. You were already feeling like maybe you didn't get off to the best start here, and the look he was giving you felt like a confirmation. 

"Damn it, Bob," he groaned, turning to look at your boyfriend. "Well done." Then he handed you a burger and told you to help yourself to some potato salad and snacks on the picnic table. 

"I don't think they like me," you told Bob as you dumped some pretzels onto your plate and sighed. 

"They do!" he insisted. "Just give them a chance."

"I'm trying," you promised before you bit into your burger. And thankfully Phoenix came back over and started chatting with you which made you feel a lot better. She asked you about work and told you how good Bob was at his job.

"He always makes sure he keeps everyone safe," she said, looking at Bob with appreciation in her eyes. "He's a great team player."

You smiled at her as Bob blushed. "He told me I could come visit him on base someday," you said as you wrapped your arms around him. "I'd love to see your Super Hornet."

"Bob, you'll have to let her check out your cockpit one day," Nat said with a chuckle. "Maybe she's not familiar with that yet."

"Oh, I'm very familiar with that," you whispered, just for Bob, and his cheeks turned a deeper pink still. 

"Sweetheart," he muttered, and you promised him you'd behave. 

Then someone was reaching for your hand and pulling you away from him. "You're Bob's?" he asked. And before you even answered, he said, "I'm Fanboy. I mean Mickey. Come play horseshoes with me. I'm terrible and nobody else will be my partner."

You waved goodbye to Bob and Phoenix while you laughed and joined the game. "If you're terrible, what makes you think I'd want to be your partner?" you asked as he finally let go of your hand. 

"I'm sure you don't, but I didn't give you a choice. That's Payback and Coyote," Mickey told you, and two more men waved at you. "We're playing against them." 

"Damn," they said in unison before the taller one added, "You're Bob's new girlfriend?"

"Yeah," you said, waving awkwardly. "It's nice to meet you."

"Are you sure you didn't get lost or something?" Jake asked you when he strolled over. "Really? Bob?"

You looked at all the guys and then over to Bob on the patio. "What do you mean?" you asked Jake.

"Don't listen to them," Mickey said loudly, cutting him off and handing you a horseshoe. "They're just jealous."

"Jealous?" you asked, starting to feel sick. They didn't like you. For some reason, you'd done something wrong. You tossed the horseshoe, but it was a terrible throw, and now you were embarrassed. "Can I ask what I did wrong? Because Bobby is so sweet, and I really wanted to make a good impression on his friends."

Mickey's eyes went wide. "You didn't do anything wrong!"

And that's when you heard Payback tell Coyote and Jake, "It's like beauty and the geek. I don't understand how it happend."

"Are they talking about me?" you asked Mickey, and he parted his lips like he was going to say something to you, but he turned to them instead.

"Guys, knock it off."

"I don't understand," you whispered, and finally Mickey showed you some sympathy.

"They all think you're hot. And they can't believe you're dating Bob."

You felt warmth flood your cheeks, and the other horseshoe almost slipped from your fingers. "Oh."

"Seriously, just ignore them," Mickey said, shooting the others a nasty look. "I like you. Everyone likes you. Let's play horseshoes."

So you played for a little bit as his words started to sink in. It just didn't make any sense. Bob was every bit as handsome as the rest of them. And he was sweet. Even sweeter than Mickey, who was currently trying to include you in the conversation. And Bob was so funny; last night he had you laughing so hard you had hiccups. 

Not to mention, Bob gave you the best sex of your life. Sure, you hadn't been intimate with him for more than a few weeks, but he was very attentive. He gave you everything you asked for. 

"Hey, Sweetheart," he said and you turned to see him strolling up to you. Your heart skipped a beat, and you wanted to kiss him until his glasses steamed up. 

"Bobby," you whispered, handing the horseshoes to Bradley so you could give him a proper hug. 

"You having fun?" he asked, rubbing his hands in soothing circles on your back. 

"Yes. Mickey and Phoenix are really nice. And the rest of them... I think they must grow on you over time?"

Bob started laughing and said, "You're not wrong."

"Hey, Four-Eyes, you and your girl want dessert?" Bradley asked, tossing one of the horseshoes up in the air and catching it.

"Um, y-yes," Bob said, clearly flustered now. 

"Four-Eyes?" you asked, scoffing at him. Were they making you feel a little awkward because they thought Bob was nerdy? "Wait, are you making fun of Bobby?"

At least Bradley had the decency to look a little embarrassed as you glared at him. "Yeah," he answered quietly.

"You think he's a nerd?" you asked the other guys, gesturing at Bob. 

Bradley shrugged. "Yeah, kinda." Jake, Coyote and Payback all looked like they wanted to agree.

You looked up at your boyfriend, and you could tell he was still embarrassed. He could barely meet your eyes as you pressed your palm against his chest. Then you could feel a smile creep across your face as you made sure you were loud enough for everyone to hear. "I think he's a stud." Then you kissed him hard in front of everyone, and sure his glasses were crooked when you were done, but you liked that about him.

"You do?" Bob asked softly. "A stud?"

You nodded up at him as you fixed his glasses. "You wanna leave, Bobby? I keep thinking about sucking your cock in the truck like I did earlier. I'm dying to feel your big dick down my throat again."

Jake let out a little strangled noise, and Bradley dropped a horseshoe on his own foot. Now the other guys were gaping at Bob, and they seemed to stand a little taller in his presence, suddenly impressed. 

Bob licked his lips and stared at you, completely entranced as you kissed his cheek. "Yeah. You know what, I think we should head out," he managed, his voice a little hoarse as he tightened his grip on you. 

"You're leaving?" Nat asked, walking over with a slice of cake. 

"Apparently Bob isn't as innocent as we thought," Hangman drawled, looking at your boyfriend with new appreciation. 

"It was nice to meet everyone," you told them, lacing your fingers through Bob's. "I'm going to go take care of Bobby. But maybe next time we can stay for dessert?"

"Make Bob bring you to the Hard Deck on Friday!" Nat called after you as you led him away. "I need more estrogen in my life!"

"Will you take me to the Hard Deck on Friday?" you asked him sweetly. 

"I'll take you anywhere you want, Sweetheart," he replied, still looking at you like he couldn't believe you were his.

You turned to wave and said, "See you on Friday!"

And then Bob pulled you close as he led you back toward his truck. "You didn't have to say all that stuff in front of them and call me a...stud. I'm used to them picking on me a little bit for being nerdy and having glasses and everything. I mean, I know it's true, Sweetheart."

You just laughed and shook your head at him. "Come here, stud." You pushed him up against the side of his truck and kissed him, slipping your tongue between his lips and tasting him. You rubbed yourself gently against the front of him and whispered, "Do I look like I deserve anything less than the sexiest, sweetest boyfriend?"

He swallowed hard and grunted, "No."

"That's what I thought. Now get in the truck, Bobby. I have something I want to show you."

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

Bob is a stud. Just try to argue with me about that fact. Thanks to @bradshawsbitch and @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls!

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[leclerclvr]

omg can you write a blurb where peter and the reader are in the stage of their relationship where they can't keep their hands of each other and keep leaving hickeys on each other and sexiling their roommates ? love your stuff <3

my place or yours?

ask box  |  taglist  |  blurb masterlist  |  main masterlist

w/c: 793

warnings: 18+!, smut (p in v), language

a/n: hehe one of my fave tropes, when everyone's fed up because they can't get enough of each other :D hope you enjoy! and friendly reminder to join my new taglist it's dead y'all lmao

you move your hips against peter's, rubbing yourself against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. you both make noises of content, lips and tongues intertwined. peter helps you take off your shirt and works on your bra next. you smile coyly from above him as his hands find your chest.

"when's harry gonna be back?"

peter's hands massage your breasts, eyes glazed over with lust.

"uh, i don't know... or care."

he leaves a trail of kisses going down between your breasts. you giggle and push his head back playfully.

"but what if he walks in again?"

"don't worry about it, i put a sock on the doorknob... just in case."

you ruffle peter's hair, dipping your head down so your faces are just inches apart.

"you're so extra, pete. you could've just texted him."

"i know, but i really wanted to piss him off this time."

"i feel kind of bad, though. we've been sexiling him a lot lately."

peter moves his hands down to your hips, guiding you forward so your clothed center presses against him. he gives you a cheeky smile.

"so next time we'll go to your dorm and sexile betty."

you scoff at peter and capture his lips in a kiss. he bucks his hips up, into you, needing you. you need him just as bad.

you can't seem to get enough of each other recently, so much so that you'll go at it anytime and anywhere. your friends aren't too happy about it. they either get kicked out of the room or banned from entering.

you and peter finish undressing each other, fast but somehow still not fast enough. in one swift motion peter flips you over and grabs your leg, lifting it up to his shoulder. his dark eyes lock with yours. you nod repeatedly, desperately. he pushes into you with ease, a moan instantly falling from his lips.

"fuck, baby."

you hum happily. peter keeps his hips still for a moment, lets himself fill you up and feel you wrapped around him. he takes the opportunity to connect your lips once again in a slow kiss. you smile into the kiss and curl your other leg around peter's waist, encouraging him to move. he pulls out of you just enough so he can thrust back in.

peter begins to find a rhythm as his cock thrusts into you again and again. he can tell it's one you like by the way you grab at his shoulders and let out soft moans. he holds your leg in place on his shoulder so he keeps hitting the right spot, at the right angle. you can feel yourself drip between your thighs from how bad you'd wanted him and how good he's fucking you.

"pete... feels so good, baby."

neither of you are making any effort to be quiet. peter presses his forehead to yours, hips moving at the same perfect pace. you take his face in either of your hands. you close your eyes and focus on the pleasure. peter brings a hand down to rub your clit, earning a gasp from you at the sudden intensified feeling. he chuckles at your reaction.

"you like that?"

"mm, you know i do."

"wanted to hear you say it anyway."

you groan at peter's cockiness, but god does it turn you on.

"of course you did."

peter continues stroking in and out of you as his middle and ring fingers circle your clit. you crane your neck so you can kiss across peter's jaw, his chin, then back to his lips, his tussled hair tickling your forehead. you give him a look, the look with the eyes that gets him every time.

"harder."

peter brings your other leg up to his shoulders, holding them both in place, starting to pound into you. he groans out a fuck. you arch your back and reach up, hands still cupping his cheeks. you're breathless and he's panting. you want more and more, as much of him as you can take, even more than that.

"oh my god, y/n. shit, baby."

"needed you so bad, pete."

"i’m all yours."

peter takes one of your hands and kisses your palm. you squeeze your intertwined hands, eyes fluttering closed in pure bliss.

the moment is interrupted when you two hear harry call from outside.

"again, parker? really?"

he bangs on the door for emphasis. peter stifles a laugh, continuing to thrust into you, making you have to stifle a moan.

"hey, man! respect the sock!"

"yeah. you're a real class act, you two."

you wait until harry leaves to join peter in a fit of giggles. you push some damp hair out of his face, scrunching up your nose.

"okay, yeah. my place next time."

tags (join my new taglist!)

@spidermans-gf @sacharinee @thollandsgirl2013 @pettypeety

[leclerclvr]

SOOO GOOD I READ IT THRICE! IDC I LOOVE IT SM

the plan ; robert 'bob' floyd

fandom: top gun

pairing: bob x reader

summary: the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

notes: i fear i may never again experience as much joy as i did while writing this... guys, it was so much fun! i know it's long, but it's full of tension and pining and heat, please give it a read! i actually love this so much, and i hope you do too, so please let me know what you think!!! i literally fell in love with bob while writing this, the lewis pullman spiral is spiralling

warnings: swearing, big dick energy, movie references (the princess bride, the ugly truth, star wars), bob's big dick, tension, lots of horniness (18+ ONLY MDNI), italics, huge dick energy, jealousy, bob is secretly cut, emotional warfare but it's fun, and did i mention bob's massive dick? (let me know if i missed anything)

word count: 21143

your callsign is sunny

It wasn’t long after the uranium mission that Dagger Squad was asked to stay on North Island and train as an elite, mission-focused unit under Maverick’s command. Not that anyone had to be asked—most of the squad was more than happy to be reassigned and stick together. 

Once everything was finalised and the official special operations squadron was born, the first thing most of you did was move out of the barracks. You needed more space—both physically, and from each other—and, frankly, something that didn’t reek of stale socks and floor polish. 

You and Natasha thought you’d hit the jackpot when you found a two-bedroom apartment right by the beach, with a spacious open-plan living area and not one, but two balconies. It was perfect. You could hardly believe it. Full of natural light, and just far enough from the boys you already spent too much time with—training, flying, doing push-ups every time someone pissed off Maverick. 

It was meant to be. 

Until the apartment across the hall went up for lease. 

And that’s how you failed to escape the boys entirely. Reuben and Mickey spotted the sign while helping you move in, and before you knew it, they were neighbours—closer than ever and almost impossible to get off your couch. 

A knock at the door draws your attention from the TV, and Natasha pauses mid-step on her way from the kitchen—bowl of popcorn in hand. 

“Ten bucks says it’s Fanboy,” she says, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

You know that Mickey is stuck on overtime tonight—punishment from Maverick for mouthing off during a fly drill this morning. Natasha, however, hadn’t been in the air with you and clearly wasn’t listening on comms. 

Your eyes flick to the door and back to her. “Deal.” 

She drops the bowl on the coffee table and doubles back, swinging the door open. 

“Ugh,” she sighs. “It’s you.” 

Reuben blinks, his smile faltering as his brow creases. “Nice to see you too, Phoenix.” 

She heads back to the couch, Reuben trailing behind. 

“Why’d you knock?” she asks. “It’s always open.” 

“Wasn’t the other day.” 

You sit up straighter, rolling your eyes. “That’s because it was two a.m. and I was home alone—sleeping.” 

Natasha drops onto the couch, a little closer to you than before to make room for Reuben. “Do we seriously not have boundaries anymore?” she asks him. “What could you possibly need at two in the morning?” 

He plucks the popcorn bowl off the table and settles it in his lap. “Fanboy really wanted to watch The Princess Bride, but Netflix logged us out and we couldn’t remember the password.” 

You lean across Natasha for a handful of popcorn. “Then get your own Netflix account, you fucking freeloaders.” 

Reuben gives you a wounded look. “Okay, rude.” 

You roll your eyes again and flop back against the couch, shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he asks, peering at you from Natasha’s other side. 

Natasha snorts but keeps her eyes on the TV. 

“Nothing,” you mutter. “My panties are perfectly untwisted.” 

Reuben chuckles and shifts his gaze to the screen. “Then maybe someone should twist them up—get some of that tension out.” 

You flip him off without even glancing his way, your scowl still locked on the TV. He just laughs again, and Natasha shoots you a sidelong, knowing smirk. 

Twenty minutes later—and after Reuben has all but annihilated the popcorn—the front door swings open and Mickey breezes in, making a beeline for the fridge. 

“Have you guys eaten?” he calls out. “Because I’m starving. I skipped lunch and Mav still kept me back.” He grabs a beer and spins to face the living room. “Isn’t that, like, illegal? Something about duty of care? I’m about to pass out, and it wasn’t even my fault I got held back. Hangman was the one mouthing off—I just told him where to stick it. But no, now Mav’s all professional, like he’s a real CO with a stick up his ass. Honestly? I liked him better before.” 

He yanks open a drawer, fishes out the bottle opener, and cracks the beer. “Anyway,” he says, glancing up at the three of you, “pizza?” 

A long beat of silence stretches through the apartment as you all stare at him. 

“Jesus Christ, Mick,” Reuben mutters. “Take a fucking breath.” 

Mickey just shrugs, heading into the living room. “What?” 

He drops onto the floor—figuring the couch is already squishy enough—and sets his beer on the coffee table before reaching for the remote. 

“No one’s watching this, right?” he asks—not that it matters. 

He doesn’t wait for a response—just clicks a few buttons and starts scrolling through Netflix. Frustration simmers under your skin, because yes, you were watching that, but you bite your tongue. You know you’re in a bad mood, and it’s not worth taking it out on your friends. No matter how irritating they can be. 

He finally lands on The Princess Bride and makes a satisfied little hum as he hits play. Then he tosses the remote back onto the table, picks up his beer, and leans back against the couch—his elbow jabbing your knee in the process. Your glass, balanced loosely on your leg, sloshes and spills cold liquid onto your lap. 

“Whoops,” Mickey says, glancing back at you. “My bad.” 

“Uh oh,” Natasha mutters, scooting slightly away from you. 

“Seriously, Mickey?” you snap, eyes narrowing. “Could you not act like a clumsy lapdog for five fucking seconds?” 

His eyes go wide at your tone. 

“How the hell did you even get into the navy?” you bite, rising from the couch. “You’ve got the spatial awareness of a drunk oaf and the grace of a newborn deer on ice.” 

You storm into the kitchen, slam your half-empty glass on the counter, and tear off a wad of paper towels. 

“Very descriptive insults,” Reuben mutters. 

Natasha lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, that’s how you know she’s in a mood.” 

“Why?” Mickey asks, cautiously glancing toward you. 

You shoot him a glare over the kitchen island, dabbing paper towel at the top of your thigh. 

“Bob didn’t talk to her today,” Natasha says. “Like, at all.” 

“Ohhh,” Reuben and Mickey sigh in unison, the sound laced with realisation. 

You toss the damp towel into the sink before turning toward the fridge and yanking it open, bottles rattling. 

“To be fair,” Reuben offers, “you two were on different drills today. He probably just didn’t get the chance.” 

You whirl around, beer in hand, glare sharp. “He asked Phoenix if she wanted to go for a run tomorrow morning—while I was standing right there.” 

You shut the fridge with more force than necessary, then yank open the cutlery drawer and grab the bottle opener. 

“Oh yeah,” Mickey adds. “He asked me too. Wants to do the Coronado Island Loop.” 

You pop the cap off your beer and let it clatter to the floor. “Great. That’s great. Thanks, Mick. Love knowing I was the only one not invited.” 

Natasha sighs, her eyes following you as you trudge back toward the lounge. “I told you—he probably just didn’t think you were interested. When have you ever wanted to go running?” 

Reuben nods. “Yeah, you hate when Mav makes us run laps. You’re always the first to complain.” 

You flop down into your spot and take a long pull from your beer, eyes on the screen. “Yeah, well,” you mutter, “he could’ve asked.” 

“You could’ve spoken up,” Natasha points out. 

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, and invite myself to something I deliberately wasn’t invited to? No thanks.” 

Mickey shakes his head. “Bob wouldn’t leave you out on purpose. He’s too nice.” 

“Exactly,” Reuben says. “It’s Bob. He probably just got awkward about it.” 

You scowl and gesture to Natasha. “He asked Phoenix.” 

“Yeah, but that’s Phoenix,” Mickey says. “They’re crammed together in the cockpit almost all day, every day. She doesn’t make him nervous.” 

You scoff and sink further into the couch. “I do not make him nervous.” 

Natasha sighs again. “Yes. You do. I’ve told you before.” 

“And I don’t believe you,” you say, despite the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “You’re always saying Bob has a thing for me, but I don’t see it. Wouldn’t he actually talk to me if he liked me?” 

“It’s Bob,” Reuben repeats. “He’s not like the rest of us.” 

“Exactly,” Natasha says. “He’s polite and respectful. Way better than the rest.” 

Mickey turns from the TV, shooting her a wounded look. “Ouch.” 

Reuben shrugs. “She’s right. That’s why we can’t tease him about it. We can’t even ask him if he likes you—though we’re pretty sure.” 

You roll your eyes. “How can you be sure when he’s never admitted it?” 

“Oh, it’s so obvious,” Mickey says with a giggle. “He gets all googly-eyed whenever you’re around.” 

You shoot him a sceptical look, brows furrowed. “I don’t see it.” 

“Well, of course he’s not going to let you catch him staring,” Reuben says, a smirk tugging at his lips. “He’s a gentleman.” 

“Yeah, and he’s not stupid,” Natasha adds. 

“But whenever you’re not paying attention,” Mickey continues, “his eyes are glued to you, like a magnet.” 

You roll your eyes, determined to seem unconvinced, even though you can feel the warmth rising in your cheeks. 

“Oh, and every time you’re brought up in conversation,” Reuben says, “he’s locked in.” 

“Unless we’re talking about you and another guy,” Natasha adds with a knowing look “Then he gets all huffy and weird.” 

You snort a laugh before taking another sip of your beer. 

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” Mickey suggests. “Put us all out of our misery. Bob will stop being so awkward, and you’ll stop being so—” He stops when you shoot him a glare. 

“So what, Mick?” 

He turns his gaze back to the TV, muttering, “Moody.” 

You scoff. “Yeah, okay. So, I’m just supposed to believe you guys when I haven’t actually seen any of these so-called signs myself?” 

Reuben and Mickey nod, but Natasha just watches. 

“I’m not doing that,” you say flatly. “I’m not asking him out just to be humiliated.” 

The conversation dies as you turn your attention back to the movie, taking another generous sip of beer. Mickey pulls out his phone to order pizza, and Reuben heads to the fridge for another round of beers. 

You keep your eyes locked on the TV, even though you’re barely watching. Instead, your mind is replaying the day, wondering if you missed the part where it was ‘so obvious’ that Bob has a crush on you. 

It’s hard not to agree with Reuben when he says, ‘It’s Bob,’ because it just is. He’s nice, considerate, raised to respect women and the navy. He’s the perfect officer and the perfect gentleman, and that’s half the reason you’re so damn attracted to him. A gorgeous guy with manners and respect to spare? Yes, please. 

But, God, sometimes you wish he was just a little more basic. A little more in touch with his primal side, instead of always using the higher-functioning part of his brain that most guys don’t even know exists. You’ve never even heard Bob say a woman is attractive, let alone spew some of the caveman shit that comes out of Jake’s mouth. 

And yeah, sure, you could ask him out. He might even say yes, just to be polite. But you don’t want to put that kind of pressure on him or the squad. Him dating you out of pity would be worse than flat-out rejection. 

An hour later, full of pizza and halfway through your fourth beer, you’re curled up with your head on Natasha's shoulder while The Ugly Truth plays on the TV—Mickey’s latest pick. 

“Man, what’s with you and romantic comedies?” Reuben asks, nose wrinkling as he watches Katherine Heigl flail on-screen. 

Mickey shrugs. “Don’t judge. Maybe I’m feeling a little lonely lately.” 

“Aww, Mick,” you coo, voice dripping mock-sympathy. “Better get used to it. You’re going to be alone forever.” 

His head snaps toward you, a scowl forming. “Okay, Miss-I-Refuse-To-Ask-Out-A-Guy-Who’s-Clearly-Into-Me-Because-I’m-Terrified-of-Rejection.” 

A smirk tugs at your mouth. “That was way too long to sting.” 

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re mean when you’re not getting laid.” 

“Hey!” you gasp. “How do you know I’m not?” 

There’s a beat—a static moment where you realise you’ve just fucked up—before they all burst out laughing. And even you can’t help joining in, despite the embarrassed flush crawling across your chest. 

Then suddenly, Natasha jerks upright, knocking your head off her shoulder. Her laughter halts as she stares wide-eyed at the screen, lips parted in a gasp. “Holy shit. I have an idea.” 

“An idea?” Reuben echoes, brows lifting. 

“Yes!” She turns to you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I know how we’re going to get Bob to admit it.” 

Mickey swivels on the floor to face her. “Admit what?” 

Reuben rolls his eyes. “That he likes Sunny. Duh.” 

“Oh.” Mickey glances your way, then back at Natasha. “How?” 

“He’s only human, right?” she says, and both boys nod. “It’s obvious he likes her—he’s just too damn respectful. He probably thinks she’s out of her league. Or he’s worried about dating someone in the squad. But deep down? He’s still a guy. He has the same thoughts, the same... tendencies. He’s just better at hiding them.” 

Mickey snorts. “Oh yeah. If the way he looks at Sunny in a bikini is anything to go by, he’s definitely got those thoughts.” 

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t be gross.” 

“No, he’s right,” Natasha says quickly. “I hate it, but he’s right. Every time we’re at the beach and you’re half-naked, he looks like he’s barely holding it together.” 

You try to keep your face neutral, but your heart is thudding too fast against your ribs. 

“Wait,” Reuben says, leaning forward. “I think you’re onto something. Like when she squeezes into the booth at the bar and hovers over his lap for a second—he looks like he’s about to combust.” 

“Exactly!” Natasha exclaims. “That’s it. That’s what we need to do—we need to make him snap.” 

You narrow your eyes, ignoring the spark of adrenaline beginning to curl in your gut. “Okay... but how?” 

Natasha turns toward you, her eyes wide and full of focus. The same look she wears just before take-off. “You need to... tease him. Really make him suffer.” 

Mickey’s grin turns wicked. “Oh, this could work.” 

Your brow lifts. “Tease him how?” 

“Tempt him,” Reuben says, matching Mickey’s grin. “Push every button. Get close. Make him want you so badly he can’t hide it anymore.” 

You snort. “So, seduce him?” 

“Worse,” Natasha says. “You’re going to give this man the worst case of blue balls in naval history.” 

Both Mickey and Reuben flinch. 

“He’s going to end up in the hospital with a permanent boner,” Natasha adds, mischief blazing in her eyes. “Crying. On. His. Knees.” 

“Bob’s a good man,” Reuben says solemnly. “He’s respectful. Polite. Sensible. And we’re gonna have to break him.” 

“We?” you repeat, pulse racing. 

“Exactly,” Natasha nods. “If this were any other guy, you could get it done in a day. But Bob? Bob’s built different. If we want to unleash his inner caveman? It’s going to take a team.” 

Your stomach flips, anticipation stirring beneath your skin. 

“It won’t be easy,” Mickey says, his smirk returning. “But it will be fun.” 

“Sunny,” Reuben says, locking eyes with you. “Are you in or are you out?” 

That spark of adrenaline snaps through you like a live wire. 

You nod. “Okay. I’m in.” 

- 

The plan is simple. Straightforward. One objective. Everyone's clear on it. It’s been mapped out and set into motion—now all you have to do is play your part. Which is probably why your heart is hammering against your sternum like a damn war drum. 

“I don’t know, Nat,” you mutter as the two of you walk across the crunchy morning grass. “This feels wrong.” 

“What does?” she asks. “The thong or the plan?” 

You roll your eyes. “Both.” 

“Well, suck it up. There’s no backing down now.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. Then you release it and reel yourself in. She’s right. You can’t be a chicken forever—and it’s not like you’re doing anything overtly humiliating. Besides, you’ve got a team at your back, and they’re not going to let you crash and burn. 

Last night, Natasha had texted Bob to let him know she was inviting you on the morning run. He’d replied with a simple thumbs up—something you found a little rude, but the boys insisted he only sends that when he doesn’t know what else to say. Which, apparently, is a good sign. 

This morning, you’d dug deep into your underwear drawer for a lacy black thong you bought a few years ago—back when you were more optimistic about your sex life. You pulled it on, despite the discomfort, and borrowed a pair of light blue workout tights from Natasha. Yep, that’s a black thong under pale blue, skin-tight leggings. 

“Without being creepy,” Mickey says from a few paces behind, “the plan is looking really good from back here.” 

You shoot him a scowl over your shoulder as Reuben smacks his arm, even though he’s wearing the same mischievous grin. 

The four of you wait at a picnic table in the park where you’d agreed to meet, and it doesn’t take long before you spot Bob walking across the grass—dark grey sweats and an oversized U.S. Navy hoodie, his hands tucked firmly into the front pocket. Quite possibly the most innocent, basic outfit he could’ve worn—a ridiculous contrast to yours—and yet you still find yourself thinking wildly inappropriate thoughts. 

About what’s under those sweats. About how good they’d look on your bedroom floor. 

Even the soft smile on his lips as he approaches makes you want to scream. How is one man such pure, soft boyfriend material... yet still manages to awaken your most primal instincts? It doesn’t make any sense. 

“Hey,” he says, eyes skimming over each of you before settling on Natasha. “We ready?” 

Natasha nods, and the five of you start walking off the grass toward the footpath before breaking into a jog. She and Bob take the lead while you hang back, with Reuben and Mickey flanking you like a private escort. Exactly as planned. You might be trying to fluster Bob, but you don’t need half of Coronado getting a look at your underwear—hence the two-man protection detail. 

Two kilometres later, you all stop for a quick stretch. Bob wanders off toward a water fountain, and you seize the opportunity to move up beside Natasha, placing yourself at the front of the group. Again—exactly according to plan. 

When Bob returns and joins in on Reuben and Mickey’s conversation, you and Natasha shuffle a little closer. She props one foot up on the bench, leaning into the stretch as she gives a subtle nod—the signal to begin. 

You let out a shaky breath, then slip on your best cool-and-confident facade. 

“I’m never doing this again,” you say to Nat—loud enough for the boys to hear. 

“I’m just gonna get a quick drink,” Reuben announces, conveniently cutting off their conversation. Right on cue. 

Mickey busies himself with stretching, leaving Bob to ‘accidentally’ overhear what comes next. 

“What?” Natasha asks. “Running? I told you you’d hate it.” 

“No,” you reply, pretending to lower your voice—even though you don’t. “Wearing a fucking thong.” 

She snorts, the laugh surprisingly genuine. Either she’s a fantastic actress, or she’s thoroughly enjoying herself. 

“Why are you wearing a thong?” 

You roll your eyes, falling deeper into the role. “Because I forgot to do my laundry and it was all I had left.” 

She snickers. “Well, have fun on the next eight kilometres.” 

“Oh yeah,” you sigh, “can’t wait.” 

You glance casually over your shoulder—and bingo. Bob’s face is bright red. His lips are slightly parted. And he’s blatantly staring at your ass like it’s the final clue to finding the national treasure—and Nicholas Cage is depending on him. 

Beside him, Mickey looks like he’s about to lose it. 

“Ready to keep going?” Reuben asks, walking back up—perfect timing. 

Everyone nods, and Bob clears his throat, licking his lips quickly. “Yep. Let’s go.” 

You and Natasha take off first, keeping yourselves in the lead. 

Every few minutes, you glance back—and without fail, Bob is staring. Each time, it sends your heart skittering, your cheeks heating, and your thoughts wandering into very unholy territory. 

Maybe your friends have been right all along. Maybe he does like you. Maybe this will actually work. 

By the seventh kilometre—with only three more to go—Bob looks like he’s hanging by a thread. He ditched his hoodie about two k’s ago, tying it around his waist. His hair his clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his glasses are fogging up slightly near the bridge of his nose. 

You glance over your shoulder and give him a small smile. His lips pop open and he immediately averts his eyes, focusing instead on the pavement beneath his feet. You turn back, grinning to yourself, and that’s when he picks up his pace and jogs past both you and Natasha. 

Natasha nearly bursts out laughing, but she smacks a hand to her face, pretending to wipe the sweat from her upper lip. She shoots you a sideways look and a smirk—and the two of you push forward to flank Bob, jogging on either side of him. 

“Hey,” Natasha says, more than a little breathless. “You trying to make this a competition?” 

Bob shakes his head, eyes locked on the path ahead. “Nope. Just staying focused.” 

“What’s so distracting back there?” she asks, fighting a smirk. 

“Is Fanboy being a pest?” you add, giving yourself a layer of plausible deniability—just in case he starts to suspect anything. 

Bob’s gaze flicks to you, then drops briefly to your chest before snapping forward again. “Yeah,” he says, voice uneven. “He’s breathing like Darth Vader.” 

“Hey!” Mickey calls from behind. “I’m not deaf!” 

The five of you share a short, breathless laugh before settling into a comfortable silence. You’re thoroughly exhausted now and decide to give Bob a break for the last few kilometres—merciful, maybe, but also strategic. 

Soon enough, the group slows to a walk as the café marking the end of your run comes into view. 

“Thank God,” Mickey gasps. “I’m starving.” 

“You’re always hungry,” you mutter, shooting him a flat look. 

The café is busier than expected, and you’re about to start crafting a subtle excuse to avoid going in when Reuben steps up behind you and unzips his jacket. 

“Cover your ass up, Sunny,” he says, smirking. “For fuck’s sake.” 

You try—and fail—to suppress your grin as he hands you the jacket. You roll your eyes and tie it around your waist, grateful for the cover. 

Once you’re feeling a little more decent, the group heads inside to order breakfast and find a table out back on the patio. The food and coffee arrive quickly, and soon everyone is digging in, quiet with post-run hunger. Though judging by how often Bob’s eyes keep darting toward you, his appetite might not be entirely food-related. 

“So,” Mickey says through a mouthful of bacon, “are we finishing the Star Wars marathon this weekend, or what?” 

Bob perks up instantly, eyes going bright, the usual stormy blue softening into something more sky-coloured. “Yes. Tomorrow night?” 

Reuben frowns. “But that’s Sunday.” 

“Mav gave us Monday off,” Natasha chimes in. “Weekend rotation, remember?” 

“Oh, right.” Reuben nods. “Yeah, I’m in.” 

“How many are left?” Natasha asks. 

“Six,” Mickey replies. “Not including spin-offs.” 

“We’re not getting through six in one night,” you point out. “We’ll be lucky to finish the prequels.” 

“Unless…” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief as they flick between everyone at the table, “we had a sleepover.” 

You snort into your coffee before taking a sip, expecting someone—probably Natasha or Reuben—to shut the idea down. But instead, their faces light up with the same devious smirk that Mickey is wearing. 

“We could,” Natasha says casually. “I think it’d be fun.” 

Bob blinks at her. “You do?” 

She nods. “Yeah. Why not? We could play some drinking games and not worry about getting home.” 

“Drinking games!” Reuben echoes with excitement. “You’re a genius, Phoenix.” 

With the way their eyes keep bouncing between you and Bob, it’s clear now: they’re scheming again. Plotting the next phase of Operation Bob's Blue Balls—and your pulse is already quickening with anticipation. 

“We could do it at my place,” Bob offers, earnest as ever. “I’ve got a spare room. Plenty of space.” 

Reuben grins. “What a great idea, Bob.” 

Bob glances around at his grinning friends, the smile on his face tinged with uncertainty. He has no clue what he’s just agreed to. 

- 

“Did you pack sexy PJs?” Natasha asks, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel. 

You roll your eyes. “I don’t own any sexy PJs.” 

She shoots you a sly smirk before her gaze flicks back to the road, her silence thick with something unspoken—as if she already has a plan to remedy your lack of Victoria’s Secret-worthy sleepwear. 

Bob’s apartment isn’t far from yours. In fact, none of you live all that far from each other, but tonight, the distance doesn’t seem to matter. No—the real reason for tonight’s sleepover is something far more sinister. 

You know you’re the last to arrive, not just from the cars parked along the street, but from the group chat where Mickey has been demanding you hurry up so he can order dinner. Your heart beats in your throat as you ride the elevator up, and the ding when it reaches Bob’s level startles you more than it should. 

Natasha’s smirk stays plastered on her face until she knocks on the door, and the second it swings open, with Bob standing there, she’s all business. 

“Hey,” she says casually, walking past him like she’s been here a thousand times. 

A stab of jealousy twists in your stomach—completely unwarranted but sharp nonetheless. Has Natasha been here a lot? 

“Hi,” you mutter, offering Bob a small smile as you follow Nat inside. 

There’s a chorus of hellos from the squad scattered around the living room. Bradley lounges across the two-seater couch furthest from the door, and Mickey is sprawled in a bean bag beside him, grinning like a kid in a candy store. Jake and Javy are tangled together on one end of the three-seater couch, probably having just finished fighting over the remote. And then there’s Reuben, sitting in the middle, with Natasha plopping down beside him. 

“Guess I’ll take the floor,” you mutter, dropping your bag beside the pile of everyone else’s stuff. 

“That’s alright,” Jake says with his usual cocky grin, “You can sit on Bobby’s lap for a bit of comfort.” 

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to let him see the effect of his words. Instead, you roll your eyes and flip him off, then plop down onto the makeshift nest of cushions and blankets on the floor. 

Bob reappears from the kitchen with another round of beers, while Mickey takes orders for dinner. Then Bob settles down beside you, his arm brushing yours just enough to send a sparks crackling across your skin. A moment later, Jake hits play on The Phantom Menace, and the room settles into a comfortable, albeit charged, quiet. 

It doesn’t take long before Jake groans that he’s bored, and Reuben’s eyes immediately flick toward Natasha—like they’d both seen this coming from a mile away. 

“We could play a game,” Mickey offers, all too innocently. 

“Yes,” Jake grins, already invested. “Let’s play a game.” 

“What game?” Javy asks. 

Reuben opens his mouth, but Jake beats him to it. “Truth or Dare, obviously.” 

Natasha snorts and slaps a hand over her mouth, but not before you catch it. That was exactly what Reuben had been about to suggest—and Jake is walking right into whatever scheme they’ve cooked up. 

“How old are you?” Bradley asks Jake, brows furrowing. 

“Not as old as you, Grandpa,” Jake fires back. “But you could at least pretend to enjoy fun.” 

Bradley rolls his eyes but shrugs. “Fine.” 

Everyone else falls in line, shifting around until you’ve all formed a lopsided circle on the floor, your back half-angled toward the movie. Jake claps his hands together like the ringmaster of a circus—which might not be far off from what this night is about to become. 

“Alright. If you’re a chicken and won’t answer the truth or do the dare, you drink. Simple. I’ll go first.” He zeroes in on Bob—poor, unsuspecting Bob, who clearly just wanted to enjoy some Star Wars in peace. “Bob. Truth or Dare?” 

“Truth,” Bob says, almost too quickly. 

Jake leans forward with a shit-eating grin. “Who would you rather go on a date with—Phoenix or Sunny?” 

You choke on nothing, smothering the sound behind your hand and pretending it’s just a casual cough. 

Heat blooms across Bob’s cheeks and starts creeping up to the tips of his ears. He glances your way—just for a beat—then over at Natasha, and your stomach knots. Is he seriously having to think about this? Have your friends been totally misreading Bob this whole time? 

Then, after a moment of hesitation, Bob simply lifts his beer and takes a long sip. 

Jake groans. “Ugh, lame.” 

“Don’t worry, Bob,” Javy says with a laugh. “That was a trap. There was no right answer.” 

Bob chuckles—a low, rough sound right next to you that sends goosebumps up your arms. “I know,” he says, voice deceptively casual. Then he shifts his gaze toward Mickey. “Fanboy. Truth or Dare?” 

Mickey’s face lights up. “Dare.” 

Bob smiles—and for the first time tonight, it’s almost a smirk. There’s something sharp beneath the usual softness, and it makes your stomach flip. 

“Text the last person you hooked up with ‘thinking about you’—no context. And you can't reply until tomorrow.” 

Mickey’s grin drops. “What the fuck, man?” 

Bob just shrugs, raising his beer like it’s a toast. “You picked dare.” Then he brings the bottle to his lips and takes a generous swig. 

And holy shit—you might actually combust from the sight alone. Bob being just a little cocky. Bob utterly destroying Mickey with zero remorse. You know there’s a darker edge beneath that quiet, boy-next-door act. You know he’s got a mean streak. And God, you want to find it. Pull it out of him and ask—beg—for him to do things you can’t even say out loud. 

The group erupts into cackles as Mickey reluctantly pulls out his phone, Reuben peering over his shoulder to make sure he follows through. 

“There,” Mickey mutters, tossing the phone face-down on the floor. “You better watch your back.” 

But Bob doesn’t flinch. He just sits there, calm and collected, with that damn smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

When you finally tear your gaze away from him, you find Mickey’s eyes locked on you—an evil grin stretched across his face. “Sunny,” he says, voice smooth as silk. “Truth or Dare?” 

You steel your nerves, unsure of what’s coming but already sensing the trap. “Dare,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. 

Mickey’s grin widens, tipping his head forward like some sinister villain—and you just walked straight into his web. “Google a dirty line from Fifty Shades of Grey... and whisper it slowly in Bob’s ear.” 

Jake snorts, his face twisted with amusement, and the rest of the group follows—dissolving into fits of laughter. All but Bob, who’s already choking on his beer, turning an even deeper shade of red before you’ve even touched your phone. 

You blink, eyes going wide. “Are you serious?” 

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Mickey replies, practically vibrating with excitement. “And no laughing. You have to sell it.” 

You lock eyes with Mickey, your death-glare sharp as your hands shake slightly while you pick up your phone. Then, you reluctantly tap the search bar and type in ‘dirty line from Fifty Shades of Grey.’ Before you realize what’s happening, Natasha leans over your shoulder. 

“Ooh,” she giggles, pointing at the screen. “That one.” 

You glance up at Bob, your expression a mix of apology and warning. He looks much less confident than before, his lips parted, cheeks flushed, blue eyes wide behind his glasses. His throat bobs as he swallows, and a small part of you—one that feels dangerous—stirs with excitement. 

The room falls into eerie silence, and you realize that Jake has paused the movie. All eyes are on you as you shuffle closer to Bob, getting onto your knees beside him. You plant one hand on his thigh to steady yourself, and you feel the muscles in his leg twitch at your touch. 

His breath hitches, his whole body going rigid. 

You lean in close, your lips barely brushing the shell of his ear as you murmur, “I want your hands on me. Your mouth. I want to feel you everywhere until I forget my own name.” 

A beat of silence stretches, and then Bob exhales sharply, his hand tightening around his beer bottle as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jake mutters under his breath. 

“Holy shit,” Reuben says, breaking into laughter. 

Mickey is howling, pounding his fist against the beanbag. “Worth it! So worth it!” 

You slowly pull back, biting back a grin as you settle back into your spot like nothing happened. Bob, however, is still stuck in the mental tailspin you just launched him into, blinking hard and adjusting his glasses like he needs a whole system reset. 

You meet his eyes, and for the briefest second, you see it—buried beneath the shock and heat—that glint of hunger. 

God help you, you're not making it out of tonight alive. 

The game moves on, but you can’t quiet your mind. You’re stuck on the way Bob’s thigh had felt beneath your palm, the way the muscles shifted under your touch. You can’t stop replaying the brush of your lips near his ear, the hitch in his breath, or the way he’d smelled—clean, warm, intoxicating. You don’t just want to fuck this man—you want to ruin him. You want him panting and wrecked, bruised and breathless, oversensitive and spent. There are things you want to ask of him that would guarantee you a one-way ticket to hell. But if he said yes—if he gave you those things—it’d be worth it. 

You’ve never wanted a man the way you want him, and it’s starting to feel like a genuine threat to your well-being. 

“Bob,” Natasha says, her voice snapping you back to reality, “Truth or Dare?” 

You’re not sure how many turns you’ve missed, but Bradley and Reuben seem to have swapped shirts, and there’s a bottle of tequila on the table that definitely wasn’t there earlier. 

“Dare,” Bob replies, seemingly recovered from your whispered indecency. 

Natasha grins. “I dare you to pick someone in this room to do a body shot off of—excluding me.” 

Your heart stutters at the last part. Did she say that because she thought he’d pick her? Would he have? Out of comfort, knowing it wouldn’t mean anything—or for some other reason? 

You shake the thought off quickly and join the group’s laughter, mentally scolding yourself for the jealous spiral. 

“Seriously, Phoenix?” Bob sighs, his brows knit. 

She just shrugs, laughing. “You picked dare.” 

He tips his head back and groans, giving you a perfect view of the long line of his throat, the sharp bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. 

“Come on, man,” Jake chuckles, “There’s only one clear choice.” 

Your cheeks flush as Jake nods toward you, green eyes sparkling like he’s the one about to do the dare. 

“As if you’re not going to pick Sunny,” Javy adds, watching as Bob’s eyes slowly scan the room. 

Then his gaze lands on you—soft, but laced with something heavier. Something simmering. 

He licks his lips, and you can’t stop yourself from imagining them on your skin. Imagining his tongue dragging over your body, slow and deliberate. The salt from your collarbone, your abdomen… or maybe lower—right above the waistband of your pants. Would he use the glass? Or would he press his mouth to your stomach, lips sealing around your navel, tongue lapping up the tequila while you tremble beneath him? 

Then the lime—between your lips, waiting for him. His mouth brushing yours as he leans in, breath mingling, tasting more than just the fruit. You imagine the sharp burst of citrus, the tease of contact, tequila heat still slick on his tongue. He’d bite down, lips grazing yours, and it would wreck you more than any kiss ever could. 

“Hangman,” Bob says suddenly, his gaze locked on the man across the circle—who now looks a lot less smug and a lot more stunned. 

Jake’s brows shoot up. “Me?” 

The room erupts into laughter. Bradley throws his head back, already fumbling for his phone to record whatever chaos is about to unfold. Mickey nearly falls over, gripping the bean bag for dear life, and Javy is doubled over, laughing so hard he can’t catch a breath. 

“Why would you do this to me?” Jake gasps, eyes wide. 

“You said there was only one clear option,” Bob replies evenly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I agree.” 

“You bitch,” Jake mutters. 

“Oh, this is so much better than what I thought was going to happen,” Natasha says. “Shirt off, Bagman. Let’s go.” 

“This could be considered assault,” Jake mutters as he sits forward on the couch. 

“Then press charges,” Bradley says, half-choking on a laugh. “But let him finish first.” 

Natasha bolts to the kitchen for lime and salt, and the rest of the group scrambles to clear space on the lounge like they’re prepping for surgery. Jake peels off his shirt with the theatrics of a martyr, glaring at each of his cackling friends. 

Bob, meanwhile, looks cool as ever—far more composed than Jake. And maybe that’s the point. Picking you would’ve set the room on fire. Picking someone else would’ve gotten laughs. But picking Hangman? That’s just cruel and perfect—and from the slow curl of a smirk on Bob’s lips, he knows it. 

“Let’s go, Seresin,” Natasha says, reappearing with lime in one hand, salt in the other. 

Jake lies back with exaggerated misery, like a man about to be sacrificed at the altar. “I swear to God, Floyd, if you do anything weird with your mouth-” 

“I won’t,” Bob says, calm and unbothered. “Unless you want me to.” 

Your stomach somersaults. He didn’t even look at you—but somehow, it still feels like the line was meant for you. Like he knows exactly what he does to you, without even trying. 

Bob Floyd is fucking smooth when he wants to be. 

The room falls eerily quiet as Bob kneels beside the couch, one hand braced on the cushion beneath Jake’s body, the other holding the tequila bottle. He looks serene—like he’s preparing for a sacred ritual rather than licking salt off another man’s chest. 

“This is happening,” Mickey whispers, wide-eyed. “This is actually happening.” 

“Focus, Bob,” Natasha says solemnly, holding the shot glass as he pours the tequila. “We believe in you.” 

Bob sets the bottle down and leans toward Jake slowly, both hands now braced on the couch as he lowers his head to the other man’s chest. The room is absolutely silent, save for the soft rustle of fabric and the charged hush of everyone holding their breath. 

Jake stares straight up, completely stiff. “Don’t look at me while you do it.” 

“I’m not,” Bob says, deadpan. 

He dips his head and licks the salt clean off Jake’s skin. Jake jerks like he’s been hit with a defibrillator. 

“Oh my God,” Javy whispers, clutching his chest. “This is the best thing I’ve ever witnessed.” 

Natasha hands Bob the shot, and he tosses it back like he’s sampling a fine whiskey. Then he turns to the lime Natasha has jammed between Jake’s clenched teeth. 

“Don’t you dare,” Jake warns. 

“I’m just following instructions,” Bob replies calmly, and leans in. 

There’s a ridiculous half-second where it looks like they’re about to kiss—and everyone knows it. You bite your fist to keep from bursting out laughing… or something else entirely. Because Bob? Cool as ice. Smooth as ever. He doesn’t even flinch as his mouth brushes Jake’s, teeth clamping down on the lime and tugging it free. 

Jake makes a choked sound halfway between outrage and existential crisis. 

Then the room explodes. 

Bradley nearly falls off the lounge, still recording, laughter shaking his whole body. Natasha collapses into Javy’s lap, practically wheezing. Mickey is making noises like he’s being exorcised, and you’re on the brink of tears, shoulders shaking with laughter as Bob calmly returns to his seat, lime in hand, mouth twisted slightly at the tartness. 

Jake bolts upright, wiping his mouth. “I need therapy.” 

Bob frowns. “You needed therapy before that.” 

“Yeah,” Jake spits, yanking his shirt back on. “Well, now I need more.” 

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt it before—and you definitely don’t plan on voicing it—but right now, you are incredibly fucking jealous of Jake Seresin. 

It takes a while, but eventually the group settles down and the game fizzles out—mostly thanks to Jake’s relentless sulking. Not long after, Mickey gets a notification that the food is nearly delivered, and everyone jumps into action to clear the table and grab what’s needed for dinner. 

Less than ten minutes later, you’re all crowded around the coffee table, shovelling Chinese food into your mouths and stealing bites off each other’s plates. Jake’s sour mood has mostly vanished, and everyone is focused on the final battle of the movie playing out on-screen. 

By the time the credits start rolling, most of the food is gone. You and Natasha start carting plates, bowls, and empty containers into the kitchen while the guys finish polishing off their meals, scraping the last of the food off their plates and into their mouths.  

“Did I mention I brought dessert?” Reuben pipes up, eyeing you as you stack a few plates in one hand. 

You raise a brow. “Are you about to make a gross joke?” 

“No,” he laughs, shaking his head. “You know Barb, down the hall?” 

“Neighbour Barb with the yappy chihuahua?” 

He nods. “Yeah. She bakes, like… the most amazing stuff.” 

You narrow your eyes, plates now balanced in both hands. “Do I even want to know how you know this?” 

Mickey answers for him, talking around a mouthful of Mongolian beef. “Because we’re nice to our neighbours.” 

You give him a disgusted look before turning back to Reuben. “Okay. Get to the point.” 

He grins, a smug twist playing at the corner of his mouth. “She made a huge batch of cream pies—I mean, puffs. So she brought some over, and I brought them here. They’re to die for.” 

Your eyes widen almost imperceptibly—but Reuben catches it, and you can see the spark of amusement flash across his face. 

“Have you ever had a cream pie, Sunny?” Mickey asks, beaming up at you with sauce smeared on his face. 

Jake and Javy snort, and behind you—you swear you hear Bob snicker. 

“Yes, Mick,” you bite out. “I’ve had a cream puff.” 

You turn sharply back toward the kitchen, but not before catching the small smirk on Bob’s lips, his cheeks pink as he spoons another mouthful of kung pao chicken into his mouth. 

“That’s not what I asked!” Mickey calls after you, giggling like a grade-schooler. 

You roll your eyes and drop the plates by the sink, where Natasha and Bradley are already washing up. 

“Lookin’ a little red there, Floyd,” Reuben teases, his voice carrying from the living room to the kitchen. 

It’s the chicken,” Bob replies quickly—but there’s something in his voice that makes a stupid, lovesick grin spread across your face. 

Once everything is washed up and everyone has returned to the living room, Jake hits play on the next film. You’re back on the floor, this time with your back pressed to the couch beneath Natasha, who’s curled up with her legs tucked beneath her, leaving you space to lean. Bob is further away now, sprawled on his back across a fluffy blanket, a cluster of pillows beneath his head, hands folded neatly over his stomach. 

You try to keep your eyes on the screen—it really shouldn’t be that hard with both Hayden Christensen and Ewan McGregor to enjoy—but your gaze keeps drifting to Bob. He looks so content, so cute, his lips tipped into a soft half-smile and his blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses. There’s something about him that turns your brain to absolute mush, and you still can’t figure out what. 

Maybe it’s the dichotomy of him. How sweet and quiet he is—some might even say shy, but you know better. He’s just overwhelmingly nice, with a pretty face to match. And yet, you have to remind yourself that this man is in the navy. He’s not spineless—in fact, he’s the total opposite. He’s sharp and quick-witted, strong both mentally and physically. There’s not a single thing about him that’s weak, yet he lets people assume otherwise. 

Maybe it’s confidence. The kind that doesn’t need to be loud. He doesn’t care what people think or say. Not that he isn’t awkward sometimes—he definitely can be—but that’s more about being introverted. He doesn’t need to show off or run his mouth like Jake. He doesn’t need to fly like an idiot to prove himself. He’s just Bob. He knows who he is, and he’s not apologetic about it. 

What is it they call that? 

Oh yeah… big dick energy. 

Your eyes drift down his torso, lingering briefly on his hands—the way his long fingers are laced together—before continuing down to the waistband of his dark blue joggers. There’s a bulge in his lap. A notable one. And a slight outline continuing down the left leg of his pants… 

Wait. That’s like… kind of huge. 

A hard nudge to your shoulder startles you, and you whip around to see Natasha staring at you. Her eyes are wide, her lips pulled into a smirk—half disbelieving, half smug. 

Stop staring, she mouths. 

You press your lips together to hold back a laugh, a little giddy from your fourth—or maybe fifth—beer. Your face feels warm, and you know if you keep looking at Nat, you’ll start laughing, so you quickly turn back to the movie. 

“Okay,” Mickey pipes up, scrambling out of the beanbag and to his feet, “who wants cream puffs?” 

“Only if you serve them warm and full,” Jake shoots back. 

The room erupts—half groans, half childish laughter. Mickey just snorts and disappears into the kitchen, Reuben trailing behind him. A few minutes later, they return, each holding a heaping plate stacked with warm, golden cream puffs. 

“Fair warning,” Reuben says, setting one down on the table, “these things are insane. Like... dangerously good.” 

You grab one without hesitation—soft, golden, still warm to the touch. It’s dusted in powdered sugar and practically bursting with cream. You bite into it and—holy hell—the taste explodes in your mouth. Sweet. Rich. Ridiculously creamy. You moan without meaning to, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Oh, wow,” you say around a mouthful. “That’s... actually insane.” 

The group hums and laughs in agreement, but you barely notice. You take another bite—bigger this time—and it squishes a little too easily in your hand. Cream oozes out the side, trailing down your chin and, with an audible plop, lands squarely between your breasts. 

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, trying to swipe the cream away—but all you manage to do is smear it further. 

There’s a beat of silence, and even the movie playing in the background seems to go quiet. 

“Jesus Christ,” Reuben says, somewhere between impressed and scandalised. “You sure you don’t need a minute alone with that thing?” 

Laughter rumbles around you, and only when you look up do you realise how provocative that just was—the heat in your cheeks deepening. But then your eyes catch on Bob. 

He’s not laughing. He’s not even blinking. 

The lazy smile he wore earlier? Gone. He’s sitting upright now, shoulders tense, jaw clenched. His gaze is locked on you like he forgot what movie is playing, what day it is—hell, maybe even his own name. 

“Floyd?” Mickey nudges his leg with a foot. “You good?” 

Bob jolts slightly, as if waking from a trance. He coughs, shifts, and yanks the blanket from the floor to cover his lap—too quickly to be casual. 

“They, uh...” he clears his throat, voice rough. “They look really good.” 

Your stomach swoops as he leans forward, still holding the blanket tight in place, and reaches for a cream puff from the plate right in front of you—still avoiding your eyes entirely. 

Natasha leans in from behind, her voice low. “You are killing him.” 

You press your lips together to hide your grin, eyes flicking back to Bob—who’s now doing everything in his power not to look in your direction. 

The cream puffs disappear in what has to be a record amount of time. You’re pretty sure you watched Javy inhale at least four, and there was an unnecessarily loud argument between Mickey and Bradley over the last one, which ended in a begrudging decision to split it. 

The rest of the movie plays out without incident, and afterward, everyone decides to change into their PJs for the final film of the night. You’re honestly surprised everyone has made it to movie number three, but you’re not complaining. 

The boys start rummaging through their bags, swapping out jeans for boxers or stretchy pajama pants while Natasha grabs her bag and disappears into the bathroom. You keep your eyes glued to your phone screen to avoid catching a glimpse of something you definitely don’t want to see—because these boys? They have no shame. 

“You can change in my room if you want,” Bob offers. 

You glance up, making sure to keep your eyes fixed on him, because just a little to the left is where Jake is still mid-change. 

“Yeah?” 

Bob nods, a small smile tugging at his lips as he gestures down the short hallway past the kitchen. “It’s the door just after the bathroom.” 

“Thanks,” you mutter, pushing to your feet and grabbing your bag as you slip past the others—now teasing Mickey about his choice of boxers. 

The door is open just a crack, and your heart thuds a little harder than it should as you ease it the rest of the way. The smell hits first—clean and warm, with a twist of vanilla that makes you want to wrap yourself in it and never leave. 

You flick on the light and shut the door behind you, dropping your bag to the floor. You know you should just get changed, but… you can’t help it. You’ve only been to Bob’s apartment a couple times before—once to help him move in (because of course the whole squad helped), and once with Natasha to pick him up before a night out. But never in here. Never in his room. 

It’s almost unusually tidy, but that’s navy life for you. His bed is made neatly, topped with a soft baby blue duvet, coordinated beige and cream pillows, and a throw blanket folded at the foot. It’s a little faded and looks handmade, like something passed down through generations. 

On one side of the room, a bookshelf houses a quiet little collection of well-loved paperbacks, a few aviation manuals, and a line of model planes—some pristine and precise, others clearly glued together by a much younger version of him. A framed photo of a beaming, pint-sized Bob in oversized glasses sits on the dresser, nestled between a small baseball trophy and a display of navy challenge coins. 

A pair of worn sneakers sits neatly by the door, and his uniform jacket hangs off the closet handle, the door slightly ajar. The name tag catches just enough light to pull your eyes toward it. Everything about the room feels like him—modest, thoughtful, quietly proud. It’s the kind of unintentional intimacy that makes you feel like you’ve slipped behind the curtain and gotten a glimpse of the real Bob. 

And somehow… that makes your chest ache. It’s just a room. But it feels so much like him—like you could curl up in here with him for hours, doing nothing but talking and dreaming. Getting lost in each other. Letting the rest of the world wait. And then, later, getting tangled together. Soft kisses, whispered pleas, gentle moans—slow and unhurried, learning one another’s bodies until you know each other better than you know yourselves. 

You shake your head hard and take a breath. You’ve already been in here too long. Pull it together. 

You crouch beside your bag and pull out your pajamas—soft lounge shorts and a matching long-sleeved shirt. It’s nothing special, but a step up from your usual: an old, food-stained navy tee and nothing but underwear. 

You change quickly and shove your clothes into your bag before leaving the room. The lounge room has quieted down, everyone now back in their seats—except for Mickey and Bob, who are in the kitchen grabbing another round of drinks. 

Jake hits play as soon as they return, and everyone settles in again. There’s less chatter now, probably because of how late it’s gotten. Bradley is almost definitely asleep, eyes half-shut on the two-seater, while Mickey is having the time of his life seeing how many of Bradley’s fingers he can get stuck in the top of his beer bottle. 

Natasha is curled up behind you, her head resting on Reuben’s shoulder, and his blinks are getting longer and slower by the second. Jake is surprisingly alert and invested in the film, but Javy looks like his head might lull back at any moment. And Bob—Bob is still wide awake, his eyes sparkling with interest as he watches the screen. 

Halfway through the film, Mickey pushes to his feet and offers another round of drinks, prompting a few sleepy murmurs of ‘yes’ from the others. 

“I’ll help,” you offer, stretching as you rise from the floor and follow him into the kitchen. 

You open the fridge and start pulling out beers while Mickey pops the tops off. But when you close the fridge and turn back around, you spot Reuben—now suddenly very awake—watching Mickey with intent. He’s wearing that little smirk that always means trouble, clearly trying to telepathically communicate something to his WSO. 

Your brow furrows as you glance between them, trying to decode the silent exchange. Mickey looks equally confused for a second... but then realisation dawns and a wicked grin curls onto his face. 

He turns to you and mutters, “Sorry about this.” But he doesn’t sound even remotely apologetic. 

Your frown deepens. “What are you-” 

But you don’t get to finish the question before he starts shaking the beer bottle in his hand. 

“Mick—!” you cry, just as he pops the top off and sprays you with beer. 

You shriek, throwing your hands in front of your face like that’ll somehow stop the onslaught. But it doesn’t. You’re soaked. 

“What the hell, Fanboy?” Reuben calls from the living room, as if this wasn’t entirely his doing. 

“Mickey!” you shout, dropping your arms and glaring at him. 

“Whoops,” he says with a grin. “My bad.” 

Natasha snorts and smacks a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. It’s not funny.” 

“Wow, Fanboy,” Jake pipes up, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “Is that the first time you’ve made a girl wet?” 

Mickey glares—or tries to. He’s way too pleased with himself for it to land properly. 

“Hey, Floyd,” Reuben calls, “you got any spare clothes for Sunny?” 

Bob is already looking at you, lips parted and cheeks flushed. He swallows hard before turning to Reuben and nodding. “Yeah, of course.” Then he stands, eyes flicking back to you. “Do you want to shower?” 

Mickey gasps, scandalised. “Robert Floyd, are you propositioning her?” 

Bob’s blush deepens, colouring his neck and the tips of his ears, but he doesn’t look particularly ashamed. He looks… flushed. Hot. Close to unravelling. His glare cuts back to Mickey, sharper than usual, a little too dark to be playful. And then his gaze shifts back to you—specifically, your chest. 

You follow his line of sight and immediately wrap an arm around yourself. Your nipples are pebbled beneath your shirt, the damp fabric clinging in all the worst ways. Or the best—if you ask Bob Floyd. 

“Yes,” you say tightly. “A shower would be good.” 

The room dissolves into quiet laughter as you follow Bob down the hall. He slips into his room for a moment, then returns with a folded towel and some clothes stacked neatly on top. 

“Here,” he says, offering them to you. “Take as long as you want. You can use whatever’s in there. Not that there’s much.” 

He dips his head—blush still firmly in place—and heads back to the living room. 

You stare after him for a second, dumbfounded. He got embarrassed about his lack of shower products? That’s what embarrassed him? Not the full-body, post-beer-shower eye-fucking he just gave you? 

You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it, exhaling hard. You’re buzzing. Overstimulated. Untouched and on fire. You feel like you’re being edged and then abandoned, left to squirm. You’re so sensitive it hurts. Bob is teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him—those glances, the heat behind his eyes, the way his mouth hangs open like he wants to say something but never does. 

You might’ve thought you were playing a game, but Bob Floyd is about to kill you without even realising it. 

You strip quickly, trying not to dwell on the fact that you’re naked in Bob’s apartment. You keep the water on the cooler side—a half-hearted attempt to wash away the heat still simmering under your skin. But it doesn’t help. You shower fast and step out even faster, wrapping yourself in the towel Bob gave you. It’s fluffy, soft, and smells just like him—which makes that spot deep behind your hipbones ache. 

You dry off in record time, then turn to the small pile of clothes on the vanity—Bob’s clothes. Your hands tremble slightly as you lift the satin boxers, dark blue with little white stars, and slide them up your legs. Then the shirt: a worn white tee with a faded Star Wars logo across the chest. 

His scent wraps around you the second you slide it over your head—oversized and impossibly soft against your warm skin. You try not to focus on the rasp of cotton against your nipples. God, if he ever actually touches you, you might just combust. 

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the fire burning low in your belly, then scoop up your beer-soaked clothes and open the bathroom door—steam spilling into the hallway as you step out. 

"Finally," Mickey says, popping up in front of you like he’s been waiting, holding out a plastic bag. 

You blink. “What?” 

“For your clothes,” he says simply. 

“Oh.” You take it and shove the damp material inside. 

His gaze dips—just for a beat—before sliding back up. Then he grins, gives you a cheeky wink, and turns back toward the lounge room. You follow, every eye lifting to you the second you reappear. Warmth floods your cheeks. You’re in Bob’s clothes. Bob's boxers. Bob's shirt. 

“Can we play the movie now?” Jake whines, oblivious to the tension humming through the room. “It was just getting good.” 

You nod, unable to speak, your gaze already locked with Bob’s. 

His eyes rake down your body, slow and deliberate. He takes in the curve of your neck, the slope of your shoulder, the hang of his shirt against your chest. His gaze catches there, as if he can see straight through the fabric, then continues its journey down to the hem. The shorts are barely visible beneath the shirt, and judging by the heat in his eyes, he might be wondering why you're wearing pants at all. 

You shift under the weight of his stare, hyper-aware of every inch of fabric against your skin—of how suddenly hot the room feels. Jake presses play, but no one is watching the screen. Every pair of eyes bounces between you and Bob, waiting—expecting—something to happen. 

Bob looks wrecked. His hands are clenched at his sides, knuckles white, jaw tight. Like he has to physically hold himself back. 

Natasha clears her throat, startling you more than it should. You tear your gaze away and flash her a sheepish smile before finally forcing yourself to move, padding back to your spot on the floor. 

Even then, you can feel Bob’s eyes tracking every step. 

The rest of the movie plays out in near silence, broken only by the soft snoring that eventually starts up from Bradley and Javy. It takes a while for you to settle, but you finally curl up on the floor with a pillow hugged to your chest, watching Anakin fall apart on-screen and become Darth Vader. 

Jake is the only one still fully invested in the film. Even Bob seems distracted now, his eyes flicking toward you more often than the TV. He shifts in place, uncomfortable, dragging the blanket higher across his lap and holding it like a lifeline. You try not to smirk. 

You think you know what might be going on under there… but you’re not about to assume. It couldn't possibly be just because you’re wearing his clothes. 

…Right? 

Eventually, the credits start rolling and everyone begins to stir. 

“Where am I sleeping?” Mickey asks, already eyeing Bob like he’s got plans. 

Bob shrugs. “Wherever. There’s the couches and a couple beds in the spare room, but someone’ll have to sleep with me.” 

“I think Rooster’s good here,” Jake says, glancing at the man awkwardly passed out on the two-seater couch. “I’ll take this one.” 

“I’ll sleep with you, Bobby,” Javy says through a yawn, stretching so wide his joints pop. 

“Damn it,” Mickey mutters as he walks past, bumping your shoulder with his. “Missed opportunity.” 

You roll your eyes but can’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment. You know damn well you wouldn’t get any sleep next to Bob—not when he smells like that, looks like that, and keeps looking at you the way he does. So it’s probably for the best, but still, the thought lingers. 

Everyone takes turns brushing their teeth and shuffling off to bed. You end up in the fold-out bed with Natasha in the spare room, while Reuben and Mickey claim the air mattress on the floor. Apparently, there’s no escaping these boys—not even for one night. 

Mumbled goodnights fade into rustling fabric and shifting limbs, then finally, silence. 

Too much silence. 

You lie on your back, eyes on the ceiling, thoughts screaming through your head like they’re in a race. You should be tired—your body aches—but your brain refuses to shut up. You toss the blanket off, overheated, but even with the cooler air, your skin feels flushed. You roll to your side, careful not to jostle Natasha on the creaky mattress, but nothing helps. 

You glance down at the boys, both snoring with their mouths open, and finally sigh. Swinging your legs off the bed, you wriggle out of Bob’s shorts, thinking maybe it’ll help. You don’t usually sleep in pants anyway. 

It doesn’t. 

Ten minutes later, you quietly slip off the bed and tiptoe toward the door, easing it open with practiced care to avoid the squeaky hinges. Then you turn down the hallway, barefoot and warm-skinned, and pad into the kitchen. 

The hem of Bob’s shirt brushes against your bare thighs, stoking the fire already simmering between them as you stop in front of the fridge and pull the door open. A cool flood of light spills across the kitchen tiles. You grab a bottle of water and twist off the cap, stepping back and tipping it to your lips. But the cold rush does nothing to cool the heat thrumming beneath your skin. 

“You always walk around other people’s places half naked?” 

You choke, almost spilling water down your chin as you turn toward the voice—that low, raspy sound that makes your skin prickle and your spine snap straight. 

Bob stands at the edge of the kitchen, leaning casually against the far counter—but there’s nothing relaxed about the way he holds himself. In the dim glow of the fridge light, he looks almost ethereal. His eyes are sharp, lit with something that borders on pain—hunger, maybe, or full-blown starvation—and his arms are crossed over his bare chest. 

Yeah. Bob Floyd is shirtless. 

You register a flicker of jealousy for Javy—the man who gets to sleep next to this—but you don’t let yourself linger on it. Not when Bob is standing right there in nothing but a pair of loose boxers, the fabric doing nothing to hide the impressive shape beneath. 

You don’t know if it’s because he’s a little turned on or just blessed, but damn. 

“You okay?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound like a real question—because he already knows the answer. 

No. No, you’re not. 

You clear your throat, dragging your eyes back up to his. “Yeah, I—uh-” 

Your words falter when his gaze drops to your legs. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you—like he’s trying to memorise every inch. His eyes drag slowly up your bare thighs, pausing at the hem of his shirt before gliding over your waist and stopping at your chest, where your nipples are clearly outlined beneath the thin cotton. 

The heat of his stare burns hotter than any touch. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice quiet, like he’s just making conversation. Like he has no idea what he’s doing to you. 

He pushes off the counter and walks straight toward you—slow, but sure. He stops right in front of the fridge, close enough that if you moved even a breath closer, you’d feel your nipples graze his skin. 

You take a step back—barely. Just enough to let him slip past you. 

He nods slightly—a silent thanks—and ducks into the fridge for his own water. When he shuts the door, the kitchen is plunged into darkness, save for dim moonlight filtering in from the far windows—but you can still see him. His outline, the dips and curves of his lean torso, the tilt of his head as he tips the bottle back and drinks. 

You watch his throat move with every swallow, your lips parting slightly, craving his skin on your tongue. You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You just stand there, watching. 

When he finishes, he turns to the sink and drops the empty bottle in before bracing both hands against the bench. His chin dips toward his chest, and you see the rise and fall of his shoulders as he exhales—hard. 

Before you can stop yourself, your feet carry you forward until you’re beside him, your bare arm brushing against his. You place your own bottle in the sink, then turn toward him and lean your hip against the counter. 

“Bob,” you whisper. 

Every sound in the apartment feels louder now—the faint snores, the creak of the floorboards, your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears. 

He looks at you, only turning his head, not his body. “Don’t—” he says softly. “Don’t say my name like that.” 

You frown, sliding your hand over his. His grip tightens on the bench like he’s anchoring himself. 

“Like what?” you ask softly. 

“Like you want me,” he murmurs. His voice is thick—rough around the edges like it’s been scraped raw. Like he's holding something back with every laboured breath. 

You press closer, your chest against his arm. The contact is electric. Your skin separated only by a whisper of cotton—his cotton. 

“Bob,” you breathe, a little desperate now. 

He exhales sharply and drops his gaze to the sink again, like something there might help him. “This isn’t…” His jaw flexes. “We can’t do this.” 

“Do what?” you ask, playing innocent, even as your fingers trail lightly up his arm. 

You can feel your chest rising and falling faster than it should, your breasts pressing against his arm like some wanton, starry-eyed girl. But you can’t bring yourself to step away. Every inch of you is on fire, every nerve ending singed and tingling. You want him to turn around and take you—bend you over the counter and make you scream his name. Who gives a fuck who’s listening... or watching. You just want Bob. You want him to know how much you want him, how deeply you need him. How desperate he makes you without even trying. 

“Do you have any idea,” he whispers, finally turning to face you fully, “what you do to me?” 

You feel it—hard and thick—pressing against your lower belly. There’s no mistaking it now. 

“Bob…” Your voice is a sigh, wrecked and begging. 

He catches your wrist, his grip firm, nearly bruising. His eyes are wild as they search your face—from your eyes to your lips, down to your chest, and back again—like he’s torn between reason and ruin. 

You hold still. Waiting. Daring. Wanting him to snap. 

But then... he’s gone—his warmth, his scent, the burning look in his eyes. All of it, gone in a breath. 

“Goodnight,” he mutters, so low you barely hear it before the soft click of his bedroom door… and then the snap of the lock. 

You’re left standing there, chest heaving, skin burning. Your eyes sting with unshed tears, and your mind is a mess. What the fuck just happened? Your panties are damp, and your chest aches like you've been torn in two. You want to cry, but you also want to break down his door. How dare he build you up like that? Look at you like that, talk to you like that—and then just walk away. 

It takes several minutes before you can move, your legs shaky, your mind racing. You stumble back to the spare room, collapse into bed, and stare at the ceiling, flat on your back—Bob’s shirt clinging to your skin. 

You don’t sleep. Not at all. 

- 

“He what?” Natasha’s eyes go impossibly wide. “And then he just—he left?” 

You nod slowly, keeping your eyes fixed on your lunch. The mess hall is loud enough to muffle your conversation—one you should’ve had yesterday but couldn’t summon the strength for. So here you are, in the middle of the hall, with the boys a couple tables over, surrounded by lieutenants you don’t know—blissfully unaware of your current crisis. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, stabbing at another piece of pasta you don’t plan to eat. 

You haven’t eaten much in the last twenty-four hours—not since the run-in with Bob. Everything feels bland now, drained of colour and taste, too dull to bother with. Anything that isn’t Bob just feels lacking, and you're starting to worry that one moment—one heated, breathless moment—has completely ruined you. 

“That’s insane,” Natasha mutters. “That’s so... not Bob. How could he be so—I don’t know... rude? I just—I have no words.” 

You shrug one shoulder. “It wasn’t rude. He just seemed... confused, I guess. And I don’t blame him. If I’m not what he wants, then-” 

“Stop right there,” Mickey interrupts, sliding into the chair beside you. 

Reuben drops into the seat next to Natasha, eyeing your tray of food. 

“Sorry,” he says, reaching across the table to steal your apple. “We couldn’t get away any faster.” 

You glance past Mickey, down the row of tables, and catch Bob’s eyes on you—just for a second—before he quickly looks away. Bradley, Jake, and Javy are still deep in conversation with the other guys, oblivious. Bob seems to be the only one noticing Reuben and Mickey’s absence. 

“Start again,” Mickey says. “From the beginning. We knew something happened.” 

Natasha snorts around a mouthful of pasta, and you sigh, knowing there’s no point arguing. They’d get it out of you one way or another. 

Twenty minutes later, when you finally finish recapping the story for the second time, Natasha taps her watch and nods toward the exit. “We better get back before Mav, or he’ll keep us late tonight.” 

Mickey’s brows are nearly touching as he processes everything you’ve said. “What does he mean, ‘you can’t do this’? He clearly wanted to—so why didn’t he?” 

You pick up your tray and follow Natasha toward the return station. “Your guess is as good as mine.” 

“I mean,” Reuben says, brows furrowed, “you said he was... at attention, right?” 

You blow a half-hearted laugh through your nose. “Yeah.” 

“So he definitely wanted to,” he says as the four of you exit the mess hall. “I just can’t think of why he wouldn’t go for it.” 

“I think it’s because you’re in the same squad,” Natasha offers. “He’s probably worried it’ll get weird—or worse, if it doesn’t work out.” 

You roll your eyes as you cross the hot concrete, heading back to the hangar. “But we’re both adults. Why can’t he just sack up and fuck me, and we’ll worry about the consequences later?” 

Your voice comes out louder than you meant, and you don’t miss the odd looks a few passing officers send your way. 

Reuben chuckles. “Maybe you should just say that to him.” 

“No,” Natasha says, turning toward you with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’ve got a better idea. Call it Plan B or whatever, but now... we’re bringing out the big guns.” 

“So Sunny pressing her tits against him wasn’t the big guns?” Mickey quips with a grin. 

You smack him lightly across the chest before looking back to Natasha. “I doubt anything will work at this point, but... I’m curious. What’s the idea?” 

“How’s your gag reflex?” she asks, tilting her head thoughtfully. 

You rear back, eyebrows raised—and both Reuben and Mickey choke on laughter. 

Natasha sighs, rolling her eyes. “Not like that. I mean you’re going to need a strong stomach and a Juilliard degree to pull this off.” 

You frown, slowing just slightly as the hangar looms into view. “Okay...” 

She straightens up and faces forward, a proud smirk tugging at her mouth and her chin tilted high. “We’re going to make Bob jealous.” 

- 

Out of Mickey and Reuben, you all collectively decided that Reuben was the more convincing option. Not that you don’t think Mickey’s gorgeous—you do, and so does he—but his acting skills are questionable at best. You at least have a little more faith in Reuben’s ability to fake flirt without making it weird. 

The plan is simple. Convince Bob that he’s lost his shot—or that he’s just about to. Make it clear you’re happy to move on. If he wants you... well, now he’s going to have to fight for it. Because tempting him wasn’t enough—apparently—you need to dig deeper. Tap into something primal and pull it to the surface. Exploit what lingers under the skin of every man: jealousy and competition. 

You’re going to make this a game he can’t afford to lose. 

“You ready for Phase Two?” Natasha asks as you cross the base, the sun still barely above the horizon. 

You take a deep breath of fresh morning air. “Let’s do it.” 

She and Mickey take off ahead of you and Reuben to arrive in the training room first. It’s a known fact that Bob is always ridiculously early—so you know he’ll already be there. You hang back with Reuben, rehashing the plan and trying to get used to flirting with him without cracking up. 

At exactly ten past six, Natasha texts you to give the green light—no doubt having casually pointed out to Bob that you’re not with her, which you always are. 

“What if he doesn’t care?” you ask Reuben softly as you climb the stairs. 

He rolls his eyes like you’ve said something utterly insane. “He’ll care, trust me. He might be Bob, but he’s still a guy. And he’s obviously down bad for you—just needs a little push.” 

You snort. “Little?” 

Reuben chuckles. “Okay, more than a little. It’s Bob.” 

You laugh too, quietly, and then steel yourself as you reach the door—slipping on your game face. You glance at Reuben, catching the smirk tugging at his mouth. 

Then you both nod. It’s show time. 

“So, you’re saying eye contact makes it better?” he asks as you step through the door, voice pitched perfectly. 

You nod, casual but with a hint of something else. “Yep. A thousand times better. And bonus points if you know where to put your hands.” 

He raises a brow, lips twitching. “Where do I put my hands?” 

You giggle, soft and flirty, pausing a few steps into the room. “How about I show you later?” 

His grin breaks loose. “Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

You head toward the rows of seats, sliding into your usual behind Natasha—not missing the way Bob’s gaze locks onto you like he’s been caught mid-thought. His head swivels as Reuben sits beside you instead of next to Mickey. 

“See,” Reuben says, leaning in a little, “all these years I thought speed was the key. But you’re saying it’s finesse?” 

“Oh, definitely finesse,” you say, holding his eyes. “Go too hard and too fast, and it’s just... messy. Sloppy. Unimpressive.” 

Reuben licks his lips, his eyes flicking sideways to Bob—just for a second. “So, you’re offering me private lessons?” 

You lower your voice slightly, knowing it’s still perfectly audible to the rest of the room. “Depends. Can you follow instruction without getting too flustered?” 

Reuben’s grin sharpens. “I don’t fluster, sweetheart. I excel under pressure.” 

You pause, your pulse a little too quick—partly from Bob’s stare, which he’s not even trying to hide now, and partly from the fact that yeah, it’s been a while. And if this whole plan does blow up in your face... well, Reuben doesn’t seem like the worst option for a little stress relief. 

You fight down a laugh at the idea and finally drag your gaze toward the front of the room. Bob—just one row ahead—snaps his eyes forward like he’s been caught eavesdropping, but the bright red of his cheeks, the tight set of his shoulders, and the way his jaw flexes say it all. He’s tense. He’s listening. And he’s absolutely not okay. 

A moment later, Maverick strolls in, completely oblivious to the emotional warfare brewing right beneath his nose. 

The rest of the week passes in much the same way. Each evening, you regroup with your friends to scheme and strategize, brainstorming new antics to pull off the next day. Nothing over-the-top—just enough to catch Bob’s eye. 

On Wednesday, you get Reuben to help you into your flight suit. You both time it perfectly: he exits the locker room just ahead of Bob, and you appear a second later, flashing a flirty grin before asking sweetly for his help. You giggle and call him a sweetheart while Bob nearly trips over his own feet, glancing back with a clenched jaw and a look that could burn a hole through steel. 

Thursday morning, Reuben brings you a coffee—exactly how you like it—straight to the briefing room. You proclaim, not so quietly, that he’s giving total boyfriend material before he drops into the seat beside you and you both giggle over a (completely fabricated) inside joke. 

That afternoon, during a short break between drills and the next briefing, he offers you a bite of his protein bar. You take it right from his hand, licking your lips and throwing him an innocent little wink before sauntering off like it’s nothing. 

By Friday, Natasha warns you that the others are starting to notice. But you’re in too deep to pull back now—not when Bob looks like he’s about to unravel. He’s been tighter than ever, watching you like a hawk, eyes dark and stormy instead of their usual calm denim blue. You’re close. So close. And honestly? You’re kind of having a little too much fun. 

That afternoon, during post-flight checks, Reuben sidles up behind you under the guise of pointing out something ‘mechanical’ on your jet. You’re not actually doing anything with it, but that doesn’t stop him from standing unnecessarily close, guiding your hand with his as he gestures toward something supposedly critical. The two of you are seconds from cracking up, but Bob doesn’t know that. Bob, from all the way across the hangar, looks frozen—eyes locked, breath held, jaw tight—as Reuben presses flush against your back. 

Natasha really shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as she is, but honestly? She can’t help it. It’s too damn entertaining. 

“Hey,” she says, nodding at Bob as she approaches. “You good?” 

He blinks, then turns his sharp gaze on her, jaw tight. “Yeah.” 

She snorts. “That was very convincing.” 

He rolls his eyes and turns robotically back to the maintenance logs he’d been filling out. 

Natasha glances at the paperwork, noting the hard press of his pen and the uneven ticks and crosses—some scribbled over multiple times—down the checkbox column. 

“Wow,” she mutters, raising a brow. “You sure you earned your pen licence? Or should you still be on pencils?” 

Bob’s blue eyes flick up, darker than usual beneath his furrowed brow. “Ha. Ha.” 

“Okay,” she says, biting back the laugh rising in her throat. “So, bad day?” 

“Bad week,” Bob grumbles. 

Natasha nods slowly. “Well, hey, why don’t we fix that by hitting up The Hard Deck tonight?” 

He snaps the logbook shut and tucks the pen into his pocket. “Pass.” 

“Oh, come on,” she sighs. “It might make you feel better.” 

His eyes flick toward you again, watching as you and Reuben dissolve into giggles beside your jet. 

“I doubt it.” 

“Sunny’ll be there,” Natasha says, her voice light and teasing. 

Bob doesn’t respond. Just keeps packing up his things—every motion a little too sharp, a little too fast. 

Natasha exhales. “Come on, dude. Just come for one drink—it doesn’t have to be beer. Blow off some steam. If you hate it, you can bail early. But it won’t be the same without you.” 

He takes a breath and closes his eyes for a beat before letting it out slow. “Fine. One drink.” 

Natasha grins, her eyes sparkling even in the dimming light of the hangar. “Perfect.” 

Later that night, Natasha drives the four of you—Reuben and Mickey included—to the bar. Everyone else agreed to meet there, and she insisted on driving so you could have a few drinks. Not just to loosen up for another round of torturing poor Bob, but to actually let loose a little. She can tell this whole thing is winding you up, and she figures a few beers and a night with friends might help ease the tension—and the guilt—and maybe even the gnawing fear that this whole plan could blow up in your face. 

“Nat, are you sure this dress isn’t too short?” you ask, holding the hem down against the curve of your ass as you follow her toward the main entry door. “I haven’t worn it in years.” 

“There’s no such thing as too short,” Mickey says, deadpan. 

You roll your eyes and step inside, into the warm glow of golden lighting and the low hum of half-drunk conversation. You let go of your dress now that there’s no breeze threatening to lift it, and try to relax, even with the strange sensation of bare legs in public. You’re used to flight suits, not feeling this on display. 

“Ready to put on your best performance yet?” Reuben murmurs, slinging an arm over your shoulder. 

You take a deep breath, feeling it rattle faintly in your chest. “Let’s do this thing.” 

Natasha shoots you a wink over her shoulder, already striding confidently across the bar, her gaze locked on the usual booth where the rest of your friends are waiting. 

There’s a chorus of greetings as the four of you approach, and you all grin and wave, waiting as Bradley, Jake, Javy, and Bob shuffle around to make room. Natasha pointedly takes the spot beside Bob, with Mickey sliding in next to her. You claim the seat beside Jake—which puts Reuben on your other side. Just as planned. 

It’s a little squishy, but after so many nights like this, none of you really notice. Except Bob. He’s noticed tonight. His eyes are locked on the way your side is pressed to Reuben’s, his arm is slung casually over the back of the booth, fingers just barely grazing your shoulder. 

“He looks like he wants to kill me,” Reuben whispers in your ear, low enough that you can barely hear him over the chatter of the bar. “Pretend I said something funny. Laugh like you’ve got a secret.” 

You blink slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, and let out a soft giggle as you lean toward him just a little. 

“You’re a pretty good actress,” he mutters before pulling back slightly. 

You glance up at him through your lashes, feeling more at ease with the close proximity after the past week. Then you straighten your spine and lean in, your lips grazing his jaw as you whisper in his ear. 

“You’re annoying.” 

He chuckles quietly, though you know he really wants to snort and smack you on the shoulder. You’re both enjoying this just a little too much, getting a kick out of your undercover roles. 

When you turn back to the rest of the group, Natasha is very deliberately not looking at you—and you know it’s because she’ll laugh if she does. Mickey, on the other hand, is watching with wide eyes, as is Javy. Jake and Bradley are still arguing about something on your other side, and Bob… Bob still looks like he’s ready to commit first-degree murder. 

“Drink?” Reuben asks after a beat, his smile smooth. 

You nod. “Absolutely. I’ll help you.” 

You both stand and offer a round to the rest of the table, most of whom accept—which makes it less suspicious that you’re going together. At the bar, you make sure to stand just a little closer than necessary as he orders a round of the usual from Penny. 

“Are you sure we’re not pushing it?” you ask, your voice laced with quiet worry. 

Reuben shakes his head. “Nah, not yet.” 

You frown. “Yet?” 

“He’ll snap one way or another,” he says, leaning casually against the bar. “He’ll either lose it and blow up over something totally unrelated—and that’s when we’ll know we’ve gone too far. Or he’ll wake the fuck up and fight for what he wants.” 

You open your mouth to voice another concern, but Penny is already sliding the tray of drinks across the bar. Reuben thanks her with an easy smile as you grab the two beers that didn’t fit, flashing her your own grateful grin before following him back to the table. 

When you set the beers down, you feel the neckline of your dress slip just a little lower. Your eyes flick up to see if anyone’s noticed—and of course… Bob. His gaze is dark and locked on your chest, clearly able to see right down your dress. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even try to look away. He just stares. 

But then he blinks and glances aside, not flustered or ashamed—just determined not to meet your eyes. 

You straighten up and clear your throat. “I’m just going to duck to the bathroom.” 

Then you turn and begin weaving your way through the bar, desperate for a moment to yourself—even though you haven’t been here that long—and to check that you don’t look completely ridiculous in the dress Natasha convinced you to wear. 

You take your time in the stall, then rinse your hands under the cool water for a little longer than necessary. When you glance at your reflection in the full-length mirror, you’re surprised—and a little impressed. Because damn… you do look good. Maybe this dress deserves to see the light of day more often. And if Bob’s stare is anything to go by, it’s definitely not a bad idea. 

You take a deep breath before pushing open the bathroom door, ready to continue your little charade—but you barely make it a few steps before someone blocks your path. You blink and stumble, stopping short before you run right into him. 

You sigh when you realise who it is, that cocky smirk etched across his face. “What do you want, Hangman?” 

“I want to know what’s going on.” 

Your pulse spikes, but you do your best to keep your expression calm. “What do you mean?” 

“Between you and Payback,” he says, narrowing his green eyes. “Because I know that’s not real.” 

Your breath catches—too quickly—giving you away as your gaze flicks to the side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He rolls his eyes and leans in slightly, keeping the conversation low and private in the hum of the bar. “Don’t try to gaslight me, Sunny. I’m not an idiot. I know Phoenix is in on it—because of course she is—and Fanboy too, judging by the way he giggles every time you and Payback so much as look at each other.” He quirks a brow, daring you to challenge him. “The only reason Coyote hasn’t said anything is because he’s too polite, and Rooster hasn’t noticed because he’s too wrapped up in his own shit.” 

You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, matching his bravado. “You missed one.” 

He frowns. “What?” 

“You listed all the members of the squad… except one.” 

“Right,” he chuckles dryly. “Bob. That’s the funny thing, because ever since we got to this island, you’ve been starry-eyed over Floyd, and he’s either too clueless to notice or too stupid to ask you out.” He pauses, letting it sink in, then leans just a bit closer. “Which is exactly why I’m not buying whatever you and Payback have been trying to sell this past week.” 

You stare at each other for a beat, both stubborn and scowling, waiting for the other to fold first. 

Then you sigh. “Okay, fine. But you have to swear yourself to secrecy.” 

His smirk stretches into a full grin. “I knew it.” 

“Swear it.” 

“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up a hand. “I swear. I won’t even tell Coyote, and my pillow won’t hear a thing about it.” 

You nod. “Good. Now come over and pretend to pick a song so this doesn’t look suspicious.” 

You grab his wrist and tug him toward the jukebox, leaning over it and pretending to scroll through options while you give him a quick summary of Operation Bob’s Blue Balls—leaving out a few of the more... intimate details. 

“So there,” you finish. “It’s underhanded and immature, but that’s what’s going on.” 

His expression barely shifts the entire time, just the usual entertained glint in his eye and that ever-present smirk. 

“Underhanded and immature?” he says. “I’m surprised I wasn’t in on this sooner.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“I want in.” 

You blink, brow furrowed. “What?” 

“I want to help,” he says, plainly. 

You narrow your eyes, sceptical. “Why?” 

He sighs and braces one hand on the jukebox, leaning in like he’s about to reveal some classified information. “Believe it or not, I’m not the worst guy in the world. I have a few ideas, and I think you two would be cute together.” He pauses, then adds in a quieter voice, “Besides, I’ve been going through a bit of a dry spell, and I figure helping other people get laid might buy me some good karma.” 

You snort softly as he pulls back, his cheeks faintly pink. 

“Alright,” you say. “You can help. But nothing obvious and nothing stupid. The last thing I need is Bob figuring this out and hating me for it.” 

He rolls his eyes, that signature smirk firmly back in place. “Bob could never hate you. But I’ll be subtle.” 

“Good.” You glance past his shoulder toward the booth across the bar. “We better get back before they get suspicious.” 

“Wait,” he stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “One more question.” 

You raise your brows, prompting him to go on. 

“When you fantasise about Bob, is he the top or the bottom? Because I just think you should manage your expectations—ow!” 

He winces, rubbing the spot on his chest where you smacked him, watching you with a wounded look as you shove past with an exasperated sigh. 

Great. Now Hangman is involved... 

You spend the rest of the night practically glued to Reuben’s side, as planned. But now you’re a little on edge. You keep half an ear tuned to Jake’s voice, waiting to see when he might strike—and what he might say when he does. You trust him not to blow the whole thing, but you’re more than a little nervous about what his version of ‘helping’ might actually look like. 

“Another drink?” Reuben asks, just as you finish the last of your third beer. 

You nod, a bit too eagerly. “Yes, please. Maybe something stronger this time.” 

He chuckles and slides out of the booth, offering his hand. You take it, letting him guide you up toward the bar. You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you barely register the feel of his hand slipping from yours and settling at the small of your back, his thumb rubbing slow, comforting circles there. 

But Bob notices. 

And Jake notices Bob noticing—taking special joy in the way Bob’s hand tightens around his bottle of Coke, knuckles going white. 

Jake clears his throat and casts a glance toward the bar, leaning forward slightly. “They’re cute, don’t you think?” 

There’s a beat of silence as Bob swallows—hard—and Natasha just blinks, clearly trying to catch up. Then the lightbulb goes off, and a wicked grin stretches across her lips. 

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes following Jake’s. “I think they’d make a good couple.” 

Bob snorts. Actually snorts. But he keeps his gaze fixed on the label he’s been picking at on his bottle. 

Natasha arches a brow. “Something funny?” 

Bob shakes his head. “No.” 

“Really?” Jake presses, grinning. “Could’ve sworn you just laughed, Floyd.” 

“It wasn’t a laugh,” Bob mutters. “More of a… breath.” 

“Oh, a breath,” Natasha echoes, clearly amused. “Because it sounded suspiciously like judgment.” 

“Or jealousy,” Jake adds, leaning back with a smug grin. 

Bob’s gaze flicks to the bar—and to you—then just as quickly snaps away. “I don’t care who she dates.” 

Natasha hums, fighting a smirk as she lifts her beer to her lips, “Didn’t say you did.” 

Shortly after you and Reuben return to the table, giggling like idiots, Bob leaves. He mutters something about not feeling well and ducks out before even saying a proper goodbye. Part of you feels wrecked with guilt—but another part… is quietly hopeful. Because Bob isn’t like this. He’s good at regulating his emotions, even better at staying calm under pressure—he’s a fighter pilot, for God’s sake. But this? This is different. He’s never stormed out on the brink of losing control. Sure, he can get a little frustrated sometimes, maybe throw a snarky comment—usually at Jake when he pushes too far—but that’s as far as it goes. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s starting to unravel… 

You spend most of the next day on the couch with the aircon blasting, while Natasha works through some paperwork at the kitchen table. It’s too hot to go outside, and you’re too distracted to do anything that requires even an ounce of brainpower. So instead, you let your mind rot with cartoons, obsessively checking your phone for signs of life in the group chat. 

“I can’t believe Hangman is in on this now,” Natasha mutters, not even glancing up from her papers. 

You sigh and roll from your side onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe he hasn’t cracked yet. If the roles were reversed, I’d be like a feral cat in heat by now.” 

She snorts and lifts her head, flashing you an amused smirk. “You were already like a feral cat in heat for that man. Hence this whole situation.” 

You laugh softly. “Yeah, not wrong.” 

Your head drops to the side as you half-watch the TV screen, until the apartment door swings open with a dramatic gust of air. 

“I hate to say it,” Mickey says as he breezes in, eyes wide, “but the man is a genius.” 

Reuben follows close behind, and then Jake—grinning like he just solved world peace. 

“Oh, God,” Natasha mutters. “They’re multiplying.” 

“I don’t know why you didn’t come to me sooner,” Jake says, strolling toward the couch. “I’m the king of seduction.” 

You sit up, curling into the corner to make room for Reuben and Jake as Mickey heads straight for the fridge. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“Just wait until you hear the plan,” Reuben says, practically buzzing. “It’s perfect.” 

Intrigued now, Natasha gathers her papers into one neat pile and joins you on the lounge. “Alright, Bagman. Let’s hear it.” 

Jake’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he settles in beside Reuben. “Tomorrow, we’re going to the beach.” 

“You’re already way off,” you cut in. “Bob won’t agree to hang out again. Not after last night.” 

Natasha nods. “She’s right. He needs to cool off before we wind him up again.” 

“Absolutely not,” Jake snaps, brow furrowed. “You need to strike while the iron’s hot. You need to push his fucking limits.” 

Mickey appears from the kitchen, a bag of pretzels already open in his hand. 

Natasha frowns. “Okay, but how? He won’t agree to go if he thinks Sunny and Payback will be there.” 

Jake grins. “Which is exactly why he’s going to think they won’t be there.” 

“You want us to lie?” you ask. 

He gives you a flat look. “After all this emotional warfare, now you’re drawing the line at lying?” 

You shrink back slightly. “I guess not.” 

“Exactly.” He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped. “So—I’ll pitch the idea in the group chat. Sunny, you reply immediately that you’re busy—before Bob gets a chance to decline. Then Payback says something vague, like he might come or might not. That way, it looks like low numbers. And if Bob says no, the rest of us can guilt-trip him into coming. Which he will, as long as he thinks you’re not going to be there.” 

Natasha tilts her head. “So... she will be there though?” 

“Yes,” Jake says. “Just not right away. Give him time to relax, have some fun. We’ll play games—I’ll rile everyone up and get that competitive energy going.” 

Everyone nods along, faces weirdly serious, like this is some highly classified mission briefing. 

“Then, you two show up together,” Jake continues, gesturing to you and Reuben. “It’ll throw Bob off, but we won’t give him a chance to leave. We’ll keep the games going. Something with contact. You need to get right up in his space. Go all in. Because then... you’re going to knock him off his feet.” 

“Literally,” Mickey mumbles, chewing a mouthful of pretzels. 

You frown. “What?” 

“Bump into him,” Jake says. “Literally knock him over. Skin-to-skin contact. I’ve seen the way he looks at you in a swimsuit—it’s borderline pornographic. Touching him? It’ll fry what’s left of his self-control. And then, when there’s a moment—just a second where you could apologise for being too competitive or whatever... you’re going to say something that makes him snap.” 

You lean in, heart pounding now. “What am I going to say?” 

- 

The sun is high and brutal in the sky, and you’re already sweating—even though you’re still sitting in Reuben’s car with the aircon blasting. 

“Do you really think this is going to work?” you ask, nervously bouncing your knee. 

Reuben snorts. “If it doesn’t, the man isn’t human.” 

“I feel bad,” you mutter, eyes scanning the stretch of gold sand through the windshield. 

“You won’t feel bad when you finally see what’s in his pants,” Reuben says, barely paying attention as he scrolls through his phone. 

Your eyes go wide and your head whips toward him. “So it is huge? I wasn’t just imagining that?” 

He chuckles and looks up. “Oh yeah, he’s big. Like... big big. I remember the first time in the locker room—no one’s trying to look, obviously, that’s just not the vibe—but... damn. We couldn’t not look. Then everyone lost it. I think Hangman nearly cried.” 

You press your lips together, trying to hold back a grin, but it’s no use—your cheeks are on fire, and your whole face feels like it's bright red. 

“Damn,” you murmur, turning your gaze back to the front as your heart slams against your ribs. 

Reuben laughs again, then cuts the engine, killing the aircon. “Alright. Pull yourself together. It’s go time.” 

You climb out of the car and immediately wince at the lick of heat curling across your skin. It’s blistering—almost hostile—but at least you’re at the beach. Worst-case scenario? You’ll drown yourself in the ocean. Just walk into the surf and keep going. No one would blame you. 

“Relax,” Reuben says, sliding a hand into yours like this is nothing. “This is going to work. Hangman might be insane, but I’m pretty sure it’s because he’s an evil genius.” 

You roll your eyes, exhale hard, then square your shoulders and lift your chin. 

You let Reuben lead you onto the sand, legs already working overtime to stay steady in the heat-softened grains. You can hear the chaos before you see it. Shouts and thuds echo over the sand as your friends tumble and crash around in a messy game of what looks like overgrown keepy-uppies. 

“No hands!” Javy yells, just as Mickey swats the ball to avoid a direct hit to the face. 

“Damn it, Fanboy!” Jake shouts. “You’re giving away points.” 

Mickey drops his hands to his knees, panting. “Can we play literally any other game? I hate this.” 

“You only hate it ‘cause you suck at it,” Natasha says, catching the ball like it’s second nature and bringing the game to a halt. 

You swear you can see Mickey roll his eyes from here. You and Reuben are still on approach, trudging through the soft sand, unnoticed—so far. 

“What about football?” Jake offers, tossing the round ball aside and already pulling a proper football from their pile of gear. “Dog-fight football?” 

“Three versus three?” Javy asks, sceptical. 

“What about four v. four?” Reuben calls, hand cupped to amplify his voice. 

Everyone turns, and there’s a beat of stillness as they clock you. Then Natasha flashes a wide grin beneath her sunglasses, and Jake’s face lights up like a very satisfied evil villain—his plan falling perfectly into place. 

“Well, if it ain’t Sunny and Payback!” he calls, spinning the football lazily in one hand. “You two done playing your own games already?” 

You ignore the jab and focus on not rolling your ankle in the damn sand. At the pile of bags, you stop to drop your stuff and hesitate at the button of your shorts. 

Jake’s eyes are practically gleaming. “How about a swim to cool off first?” 

Reuben strips his shirt with a single tug. “You read my mind, Seresin.” 

The guys—already in their swim trunks—bolt for the water, crashing into the surf in a chaotic stampede. Natasha peels off her shirt and shorts, shoots you a wink, and strolls in after them like she owns the ocean. 

Reuben doesn’t say anything before he leaves you, but he gives a barely-there nod—directed past your shoulder. 

You don’t need to turn around to know who it’s aimed at. 

Bob’s still standing where he was when the game fizzled out, statuesque. His hair is tousled and his lips parted just enough to make your stomach flip. You’re at least ten feet away, but you can see the rise and fall of his chest—too fast, too hard. But he’s not out of breath. He’s not flustered. 

He’s furious. 

And those blue eyes? Laser-locked on you. His entire focus narrowed like a sniper sight. Not a blink. Not a breath wasted on anyone but you. 

You swallow and force your body into motion, unbuttoning your shorts and shimmying out of them before pulling your loose shirt over your head. You drop your clothes on Natasha’s pile and turn toward the water, steady on the lumpy sand. 

And then you hit the firm part—wet, packed, perfect footing—and you dig in. Hips swaying, deliberate and lethal. 

You don’t need to look back. You can feel the heat of his stare on every inch of exposed skin. It’s scorching. Possessive. Almost punishing. Like if he could touch you right now, he’d brand you. 

Hangman might be a genius after all. 

You hit the water with a sigh, not even hesitating before diving beneath a wave before it can knock you off your feet. It’s the perfect temperature—delicious against your too-hot skin. 

You dive under the next wave, cool saltwater rushing over your body, and come up laughing as you slick your hair back. Natasha is standing beside you, arms outstretched as the water laps at her waist, her eyes fixed on the shore. 

You wade closer, smirking. “Did you see his face?” you ask breathlessly, heart still pounding from the walk down the beach—or maybe from the way Bob had looked at you like he was plotting your murder. “I thought he was going to spontaneously combust.” 

She doesn’t answer. Just keeps staring past you. 

You frown as her jaw goes slack and her brows creep up, sunglasses slipping down her nose as she stares at something on the shore—expression caught somewhere between shock and awe. 

You freeze. “What?” 

She still doesn’t speak—just tips her chin the slightest bit, silently gesturing toward whatever has her stunned. 

You twist around. 

And promptly forget how to breathe. 

Bob Floyd is pulling his shirt over his head. 

Bob Floyd, the man who never takes his shirt off. The man who wears it in the ocean and somehow isn’t bothered by the soaking wet material clinging to his body like a second skin. 

And holy shit. 

It’s glorious. 

Sure, you’ve seen him shirtless before. Once. That night. But that was in the dark—his body tense, your mind scrambled, neither of you thinking clearly enough to appreciate what was right in front of you. 

But in the light of day? 

Alabaster skin. Broad shoulders. Deep-cut abs like he walked straight off the set of a Marvel movie. Lean muscle rippling across his chest and arms in a way that feels criminal on someone so quiet and careful. Droplets of sweat cling to his torso like even the heat doesn’t want to let him go. 

The sudden silence behind you confirms it—everyone else is staring too. 

You blink, dumbfounded, mouth dry. “That’s illegal.” 

Natasha huffs out a laugh like she’s short-circuiting. “I mean, I knew he was strong but—wow.” 

You swallow. Hard. “I think I’m going to pass out.” 

Your eyes follow him as he drops his shirt and turns toward the water, cutting through the waves like they’re nothing. He doesn’t glance at any of you. Just keeps his gaze locked on the horizon, jaw set tight, his body moving with single-minded purpose. 

Before you can say something—or even blink—a surge of water smacks you in the face. 

But it’s not a wave. 

You cough and splutter, wiping the salt from your eyes and checking to make sure your sunglasses are still intact. When your vision clears, Jake is standing right in front of you. 

“Wipe the drool off your chin,” he says, deadpan. “You’re supposed to be teasing him.” 

You narrow your eyes, resisting the urge to shove him aside and keep watching Bob. “How did all of you know how cut that man is and not tell me?” 

Jake blinks, thrown for a beat, then grins like the devil. “Wait—you’re mad because we didn’t tell you how ripped Bob is?” 

You nod, arms crossing tight over your chest. “Correct.” 

He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Well if that’s got you steamed, you’re gonna be beside yourself when you find out he’s got a massive-” 

“I know,” you cut in smoothly, a wicked smirk curling at your lips. “Payback told me.” 

Jake gapes at you, brows knitting—but before he can get another word out, you shove his shoulder and send him sprawling into the water. 

When he resurfaces, sputtering and grinning, he points at you like a man on a mission—then lunges. 

You squeal, laughing as he barrels toward you, sending up waves in every direction. The two of you splash around like kids, Jake playing it up—grabbing you, poking at your sides, both of you pretending to wrestle. All for show. Because you both know Bob is watching. 

Eventually, the others join in, playful chaos erupting around you. And before long, you’re panting and breathless, dragging yourself back to shore, your cheeks and chest aching from laughter. 

Everyone settles for a few minutes, drinking from their water bottles and trying to knock water from their ears. But then Jake stands up, football in hand and a wicked smirk on his lips, ready to commence Operation Bob’s Blue Balls – Phase Three: Straddle and Conquer. 

“All right, I’ll pick teams,” he announces. 

Normally, this would cause an uproar. But since most of you are in on the plan, everyone just nods in agreement. 

“Phoenix, Payback, Bob,” he says. “You’re with me. The rest of you are on Rooster’s team.” 

You narrow your eyes and cock your hip—it would seem strange if you didn’t challenge Jake just a little. “Why are you two always team captains?” 

He winks. “Because we’re the best.” 

You roll your eyes and turn away, joining the huddle with your teammates as Bradley and Javy argue over what your game plan should be. 

After a few minutes of strategizing, the game kicks off. You’ve never loved dog-fight football—not like some of the others—mostly because it can get a little rough. But today… it’s more than just a game. It’s a full-blown performance. 

You hang back for a bit, letting Jake and Bradley rile each other up and fire up their teams. Bob is still shirtless, which is a tactical advantage he isn’t even aware of—because every time he has the ball, every time he runs or blocks or is just generally in your line of sight, your knees wobble. 

You’ve nearly forgotten what you’re supposed to be doing when Reuben jumps in front of you and snags the ball before you can—thrown by a very disappointed-looking Javy. 

“Getting tired, Sunny?” Reuben teases, his grin smug. “I’m just getting started.” 

Right. The plan. Flirting. Banter. Teasing Bob. 

You step closer, slowing the game down a touch as you stretch onto your toes and drop your voice—but not too low. “Tired? Please. I’m still waiting for you to make me sweat.” 

There’s a beat where you worry Reuben might break, might laugh—high on adrenaline and endorphins. 

But then Jake hollers, “Cut it out, you two! Save the dirty talk for the bedroom!” 

And the game is back on. 

The sun beats down mercilessly, making every flexed muscle shine, every drop of sweat slide in slow, glistening trails. The sand is hot beneath your feet, but it’s nothing compared to the heat building as you and Reuben turn the game into one of Bob’s personal nightmares. 

You dart to the left, brushing past Reuben with a smug grin, your fingertips dragging across his chest like you’re checking his heart rate. 

“C’mon, hotshot,” you tease. “You could try a little harder.” 

He laughs—low and amused—but gives chase, throwing a hand around your waist as you pivot. It’s all too easy to make it look a little too intimate, a little too tight. He lifts you off the ground to ‘block’ your goal and your head falls back in a laugh that’s just shy of indecent. 

And Bob sees everything. 

You feel it—his stare like hot coals dragged across your skin. When you glance up between plays, he’s standing at the edge of the group, jaw tight, shoulders tense, hands flexing like they’re ready to throw a punch. His eyes follow your every move like he’s marking a target, and if looks could kill, Reuben would already be six feet under. 

You catch a toss, and Reuben crashes into you to intercept, spinning you both until you fall together into the sand. You land side by side, giggling like idiots—some might even say lovesick idiots. 

He pushes up first and grins down at you, tipping his head suggestively. “Need a hand?” 

“Oh, I don’t mind being on my back,” you say sweetly, just loud enough for everyone to hear. 

You take Reuben’s hand and let him haul you off the ground, pulling you into his body just a little more than necessary. 

“Damn, Sunny,” Jake calls from the other side of the makeshift field. “Takin’ a few hits today. Hope it doesn’t affect your game.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes dramatically as you dust sand off your body like everyone else paid to watch. “You know I like it rough, Hangman.” 

There’s a chorus of oohs and a whistle from Mickey, laughter rippling through the group. 

Except Bob, of course. He’s suddenly very interested in the sand, eyes locked on the ground—even though his rigid posture is telling you everything you need to know. 

The game revs up again, and after a few scuffles, you snag the ball off a fumbled toss and break into a sprint, cutting across the sand with laser focus. Reuben’s behind you, winded, and the others are tangled up with the second ball—leaving only one person standing in your way. 

Bob. 

“Stop her!” Jake shouts, too far behind to intercept. 

Bob plants his feet like he’s ready to block—muscles tensing, arms coiled. It’s almost enough to distract you. But you’re feeling competitive. A little reckless. And you’re seconds from a goal. 

He hesitates when your eyes lock, just long enough for your wicked grin to register as you blow past him and skid to a halt—well over the line. 

Your team erupts into cheers behind you, and you throw your hands up, chest heaving as you catch your breath. When you turn back around, he’s still watching you—eyes wide. 

You flash him a slow smile as you walk past, brushing close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin. 

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” you murmur. “I’ll go easy on you next time.” 

After a breather and a drink of water, everyone lines up for another play. Jake and Bradley drop the footballs into the sand, crouched and ready. Jake turns his head your way and gives you a subtle nod. 

This is it. 

Your heart thunders behind your ribs as you sprint and block and laugh along with the others. The competition hasn’t cooled—everyone is still hungry. Even Bob has snapped into focus, finally playing like it matters instead of just standing there watching. 

And for a moment, it is just fun. No schemes, no strategy. Just friends, shouting and stumbling and laughing too hard to score. 

But then the ball is in your hands again—and it’s time. 

Bob is on defence—Jake made sure of that. You just have to get past him again. Or at least… make it look like you’re trying. 

You tear forward. Jake is already behind you, Natasha lunges and misses by a breath, and Reuben very dramatically wipes out in the sand. 

It’s just Bob now. 

He sets his stance, head tipped down in focus. He’s going to stop you this time. Poor thing. He has no idea that’s exactly the plan. 

You charge, feet kicking up sand, heart in your throat. His eyes widen just a second before you collide—your body slamming into his with just enough force to topple you both. 

The ball flies from your hand as you hit the sand hard, clutching at whatever you can—his shoulders, his arms, solid and warm beneath your grip. You spit sand from your mouth and sit up fast—only to freeze, breath caught in your throat. 

You’re straddling him. Hips locked against his. Chest heaving. His hands on your waist. 

You don’t move. 

You’re both panting. The air between you buzzes like static, and everywhere your skin touches his feels sunburnt and alive. His blue eyes are locked on yours—wild and stunned. Bright enough to drown in. 

Your chest rises and falls with ragged breath, but you stay put. 

“Does this count?” you ask, voice low and rough with adrenaline. 

His lips are parted, soft and pink, breath coming in short bursts. His curls are wild, tangled with sand, and his glasses—crooked from the fall—are still somehow on. He looks wrecked. Shattered. Like you’ve stolen every coherent thought out of his head. His gaze flickers—searching your face, desperate not to meet your eyes. 

You lean in just a little. 

“If anyone else looked at me like that, I’d probably kiss them,” you murmur, squeezing your thighs around his waist. Then you bring your mouth dangerously close to his ear. “But we can’t do that... right?” 

His breath catches—and his eyes finally snap to yours. 

They’re wide and stormy now, brows drawn tight. He doesn’t breathe. He just looks. His mouth parts a little further, and you can see it all happening behind his eyes—every thought, every realisation. 

Everything falls into place—the flirting, the giggling, the deliberate touches, the stolen glances. All of it. You’ve been baiting him. This whole time. 

Before you can say anything else—before you can blink or breathe— 

He snaps. 

He flips you, smooth and fast, moving your body like you weigh nothing. Suddenly, you’re on your back, pressed into the sand, and he’s the one on top—straddling you, his weight holding you down. 

And the look in his eyes could burn the sky. 

He leans in, gaze sweeping over your face—your lips, your eyes, the pulse at your throat. He watches it thrum, just for a second. 

You’re frozen beneath him. Every nerve on fire. Every inch of your body sparking. Your lungs are screaming for air, but you don’t know how to breathe. You can’t think. You can barely feel anything except him. 

His breath ghosts your lips as he whispers, “Oh, you’re in trouble now.” 

And then he kisses you. 

Hard. 

It’s not careful. It’s not sweet. It’s months of tension and stolen glances and aching want—every second of restraint finally unravelling in a dizzy, reckless crash. His mouth claims yours like he’s starving, like he’s waited too long and can’t wait another second. 

His chest presses into yours, slick with sweat and dusted with sand, and you arch into it with a gasp. He groans against your mouth, a low, broken sound that feels like fire in your veins. You can feel every inch of him—solid and hot and so hard against your hip, unmistakable and unignorable. 

You shift beneath him, dragging your leg up around his waist, just enough to tease. His breath hitches, and then he’s kissing you deeper, hungrier, like the noise you just pulled from him unspooled something he can’t reel back in. 

You claw at his back—muscles tense and trembling under your fingers—trying to pull him closer when there’s no space left between you. The kiss turns feverish, tongues sliding, lips parting in desperate sync. You’re panting into each other’s mouths, completely lost. 

There’s sand in your hair, in your mouth, sticking to your sweat-slick skin, but none of it matters. All that matters is the way he moves against you, the way he feels—like every bit of control he’d been clinging to has shattered. 

When he finally tears his mouth from yours, he doesn’t go far. His forehead drops to yours, both of you gasping. He’s pink-cheeked and wide-eyed, lips swollen, pupils blown. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice wrecked, “you’re gonna kill me.” 

And the way he says it—like a confession, like a prayer—makes you want to do it all over again. 

“YES!" Mickey shouts, loud enough for all of North Island to hear. 

Your friends erupt into cheers and screams, laughter lacing their gleeful proclamations as they jump and dance just a few feet away. 

“Well, fuck me,” Jake drawls. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

You both slowly—reluctantly—turn your heads toward the noise. 

“I can’t believe it worked,” Reuben mutters, grinning wide, eyes sparkling. “Phase Three actually worked.” 

You’re still pinned beneath Bob as they all close in, every face lit up with smug satisfaction. 

“You named it?” Bob asks, closing his eyes as his cheeks somehow grow even hotter. 

“Oh yeah,” Mickey says, beaming with pride. “Operation Bob’s Blue Balls. Phase One was the run and the sleepover. Phase Two, Reuben. And this—” he gestures wildly at the two of you tangled in the sand, “this is Phase Three: Straddle and Conquer.” 

Bob makes a noise. Somewhere between a strangled groan and a whispered prayer for death. 

“You planned this?” he rasps, forehead dropping against yours again like he might just burrow into the sand and disappear. 

Reuben shrugs, all innocence. “Worked like a charm.” 

“Honestly,” Natasha adds, “we were starting to think you’d never get there. So… you’re welcome.” 

You bury your face in Bob’s shoulder, mortified. He’s burning up beneath your hands—still—and breathing like he just ran a mile with you on his back. 

Jake snickers. “Glad we could help you two get laid.” 

“We haven’t—!” Bob blurts, redder than a stop sign. 

You slap a hand over his mouth, grinning wickedly now despite the embarrassment. “Yet.” 

There’s a beat—a millisecond of silence—before they all burst out laughing again. 

Mickey curls over, clutching his stomach. Reuben walks away, cackling with his head tipped back. Natasha mutters, “Jesus Christ,” but she’s definitely smirking, and Jake claps his hands once as he says, “God bless the U.S. Navy.” 

Bob drops his face into the crook of your neck and groans again, muffled, “I hate all of you.” 

“Even me?” you ask, voice soft and teasing. 

He lifts his head, chuckling softly. “No. But for all that? You’re definitely still in trouble.” 

You lick your lips. “There’s no place I’d rather be.” 

He sighs like you’re actively trying to kill him, then sits up and pushes to his feet—only to glance down at the massive bulge in his shorts, which looks borderline painful. 

“Shit.” 

You scramble up after him, stepping in close and pressing your body to his, barely able to contain your giggles as you shield him from the rest of the beach. 

“Need a minute?” you tease, laughter lacing every word. 

His eyes flash—dark, hungry. “You and I are gonna need more than a minute to deal with this.” 

Heat floods your face and pools between your legs, thick and insistent. 

“But,” he says, glancing toward the water, “I’m just gonna go for a quick swim.” 

You nod, eyes wide and dreamy, watching him from beneath your lashes like an absolute idiot in love. 

And he looks at you like you hung the sun. Like you’re everything. It’s enough to make your heart stutter and your pulse race. He has no business being this beautiful—this sinful—a perfect contradiction of sweetness and respect, with just enough hunger in him, just enough darkness, that you know you’ll be walking funny tomorrow. 

And probably for the next few weeks while you learn how to handle his massive dick. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, a shy smile curling his lips. “You’re making it worse.” 

Your jaw drops. “It gets bigger?” 

He laughs, then leans in to press a kiss to your open mouth—chaste, but lingering. Like it physically pains him to pull away. But he does. And when he flashes you that boyish smile—equal parts sexy and shy—it knocks the breath out of you. 

Then he turns and jogs toward the water. 

It takes you more than a minute to remember how to move—how to function—but eventually, you manage to drag yourself back to the others, who are still laughing and chatting like the beach hasn’t just tilted sideways. 

Natasha passes you your water bottle. “What’s Bob doing?” 

You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of him ducking under a wave. A smile tugs at your lips. 

“Cooling off.” 

END.

[leclerclvr]

sooooo cuteee

Polaroids (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Bob keeps your relationship private, but he doesn't try to hide the dozens of Polaroids of you all over his locker and truck. He has a daily routine of taping his favorite Polaroid of you to his jet's console, but when it goes missing, things get chaotic. Luckily, you're there to make everything better. WORD COUNT: 2.3k WARNINGS: Bob gets angry in this one, folks. Cussing. Fighting. Hangman's an asshole- sorry. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3

Bob didn’t like talking about his relationship. It’s not that he wasn’t proud of her, or that he felt ashamed. But in fact, the opposite. He’d seen these animals, he’d call co-workers, and how they’d treat girls. Granted, the squadron he was with now wasn’t so bad. Rooster, Hangman, and Fanboy were hard flirts, but they had basic decency. He never felt embarrassed by their behavior when they went out to the bars, and they’d try and pick up a girl. If they were successful, they celebrated. If they weren’t, they’d walk away and move on. 

But it was his past experiences with other pilots. Locker room talk always rubbed him the wrong way. He did his best not to judge these guys. He had those thoughts, too, but he had heard too many dehumanizing things said about women he knew and didn’t. So he preferred to keep his gorgeous girlfriend, Y/n, under wraps, even if he did trust his current friends.

They preferred to keep their lives separate anyway. With Bob having his work and friend group, and Y/n having hers. It kept their conversations interesting, as they had their own lives to discuss, not just their shared one. 

The Dagger Squad, of course, would try and pry any information out of him. All they knew was that he had a girlfriend. Half the time, they’d forget what her name was because they had never met her, and Bob preferred not to talk about her, for fear they’d ask to see her. 

He was surprised they didn’t notice the Polaroids. Taking pictures of his girl was his favorite thing to do besides flying. He wasn’t exactly a photographer. But he made good use out of the instant Polaroid camera she got him for Christmas. It was so much better than taking pictures on his phone because he could hold the memory in his hand. The light and the moment were captured and printed instantly just for him. 

They were stuck everywhere. Photos over the years were plastered all over the inside of his locker. In his phone case was a picture of her wearing his glasses. And in the fold-out mirror of his truck was a photo of her taken off guard in the kitchen that she hated, but he loved. The one of her kissing his cheek was usually tucked in the front pocket of his flight suit. They all served as reminders of what he had waiting for him once his shift was over. His best friend and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his whole life. 

His favorite was the photo he taped to his control panel every day. It was a little beat up, naturally, but he made sure to keep that one in the best condition it could be. It was his good luck charm- the first Polaroid he had ever taken of her. It was Christmas morning, and she sat next to the lit tree, in his old Lemoore High School shirt that she had stolen for herself. She hugged the frankly huge teddy bear that he had gotten her. While the lights on the tree sparkled in the photo and cast a golden glow on her smiling face. For some reason, when he had it, the missions went better. The days went by more easily when he got to see his girl’s face after a stressful hiccup in flight. 

It had been a long and grueling day flying under the sweltering sun. They had been training for a strike mission, and the dogfighting exercises had left him drenched in sweat, and owing Maverick 200 push-ups. Thanks, Payback, for the BRILLIANT idea. And thanks, Hangman, for doing what he did best- leaving him in the dust and pushing his buttons. 

After an almost embarrassing amount of time, he walked back to the locker room with biceps so sore they screamed. He unzipped his flight suit and took his glasses off, using the white shirt underneath to clean the fog and sweat off them. He couldn’t wait to go home and find his girlfriend in her study, working. And he especially couldn’t wait to bug and distract her from all of it. 

That’s when the sense of dread hit him, and he realized. He quickly checked all his pockets. Yes, the one of her kissing his cheek was there. But his lucky charm wasn’t in any of the other pockets. He rushed to climb out of his flight suit and scrambled to throw on a random shirt and shorts from his duffel. He couldn’t leave it in the jet. Who knew what maintenance would do if they found it? They’d probably just throw it away. 

Throwing on his backpack, he sprinted back down to the hangar. He didn’t even notice the whole squadron standing around talking. He didn’t care. All he wanted was his favorite picture and for this horrible day to be over with. 

The sunset shone on his forehead, exacerbating the glistening stress sweat. He quickly climbed the ladder onto the Super Hornet and looked inside the backseat interior. The only place it could be. And when he looked at the spot between the radar and the comms control, he put his face in his hands. It wasn’t there. The memory of the Christmas lights and the bear was missing. 

“Fuck.” He said to himself. It was hard to get Bob to curse, but this felt like an appropriate occasion.

Then Hangman’s voice rang out behind him. 

“Hey Baby on Board! You sure this isn’t a picture you found on Google?” 

Bob’s head whipped back to find Jake Seresin holding the photo. On one hand, he was just grateful that someone had found it. On the other hand, out of all the pilots, he wished so deeply that it wasn’t Hangman. 

He quickly climbed down the ladder. “Give me it back, please.” He said exasperated, and walked towards him.

Jake held the photo up so that Bob couldn’t get it. Neither of them was short, but Hangman was just slightly taller. 

“I’m not kidding.” He said, trying his best to keep his cool. It took a lot to make Bob angry. He was typically level-headed and able to logically think things through. That’s why he was a WSO Top Gun Graduate, and not necessarily a pilot. But right then, his whole day had been building up inside him, and this was the one thing he didn’t mess around with. 

“I just can’t believe that a babe like this is with a guy like you. Really, you should let me call her up.” He said teasingly with a smile. After leaving Bob and Phoenix stranded, AND doing this, Bob was at the end of his rope.

“Hangman, just give him back the photo,” Phoenix voiced with her arms crossed. She and Rooster watched the whole interaction, which just made him feel worse. This was humiliating. It was like they were boys in a school yard- which Bob would say was an apt description of most of the people he had worked with in the past.

He reached up for the photo and finally got a grip on it, but Hangman didn’t let go. 

“I just think it’s funny! I wanna look at it. I think there’s more in his locker, too.”

“Just let go, Hangman.” His voice was less whiny and more serious now. 

“No!” He grinned.

The two tussled and grabbed at the photo. It felt like a moment that was way too long. Until eventually they each pulled in a different direction, twisting it. It completely bent. Thankfully, it couldn’t rip because of the type of film, but the photo itself was fairly distorted. Bob’s heart beat out of his chest, and it was like his stomach twisted the same way the photo did. 

He suddenly let go of the photo and pushed Hangman so hard he stumbled back, surprised. The photo slapped onto the pavement. 

“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE,” Bob said, following after him, ready to beat the shit out of him. Even though at first glance, most people would believe that Hangman would win in a fight between the two. It didn’t quite look it at the moment with the anger in Bob’s eyes and his arms pumped from the earlier push-ups.

Rooster quickly ran over and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back. “HEY HEY HEY!” 

Phoenix ran over and did the opposite, pushing her hand against Hangman’s chest, though he didn’t try to move forward. He knew he was in the wrong here, and it was clear by his guilty expression.

“Bob, man, calm down,” Rooster said. They all looked at him, surprised. Timid, awkward Bob was… kinda scary when he was pissed off. His glasses slightly crooked and red in the face. Maybe it was just strange to see him so out of control.

He slowly pushed Rooster off of him and walked over, grabbing the crumpled photo on the ground. After a failed attempt at straightening it out, he put it in his pocket and walked off, steaming. 

That night, when he got home, he slammed the door. He was never the type to do that, but he felt so defeated. His duffel bag dropped to the floor uncaringly. 

“Bob? Is that you?” Y/n called out from the study.

He sighed, a little relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” He said, his voice almost completely flat. That wasn’t normal. He’d usually meet her in the study, but at the sounds of distress, she quickly came out.

She walked out to find him hanging up his sweatshirt with a depressed look on his face. His usual smile was replaced by a small, tense frown, and his shoulders were high and stiff. Something was very wrong.

“Oh, baby.” She said, walking over, “What’s wrong?” Her voice was so gentle.

He sighed and quickly wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry. I need to shower,” He said, not having gotten the chance to on base. But he still squeezed her, needing the support dearly. 

She shook her head against his chest. “What happened?” She knew he was trying to avoid it. 

He stepped back and pulled the bent photo out of his pocket. “Hangman happened.”

She gasped at the sight of it in his hand. “Oh no… Is this a man or a dog we’re talking about here?” She asked confused, and that made him laugh a little. He was already so grateful to be home. 

“Man. Though he definitely acts like a dog.” He groaned.

She gently took the photo from his hands. “I can try and fix it. Straighten it out. There might be a crease still in it, though.” She tried her best to flatten it out like he did, but to no avail.

He shook his head. “You can try, but I doubt it’ll be okay.”

That answer was so depressing, she looked up and tilted her head. “Hey, we’ll get it back to normal. I’ll look it up. How about you go shower and eat? I made pasta cause I was too lazy to be a real chef tonight.” She tried to lighten the air. “Then you can tell me all about your day.” 

He sighed in relief. “You’re too good to me.” He said softly, pulling her in for a much-needed kiss.

And that’s exactly how they ended up sprawled on the couch, each with bowls of penne and vodka sauce. On the coffee table, the photo lay on a piece of wax paper and was buried under some thick fighter jet manuals Bob had. 

“It was just like the whole day had been building up in me. Payback’s bet. Hangman leaving me and Phoenix dead in the water. The two hundred push-ups. And the photo going missing in the first place drove me crazy. So when he bent it, I just… exploded a little.” He admitted, almost ashamed to have lost control.

She sighed. “That’s okay. It was natural after all of that.” She reassured gently, reaching for his calf and squeezing it. “This Hangman guy sounds like a real douche.”

“Understatement.” He said, but he was feeling better talking through it all with her. “I just hope that the photo is okay. You know it’s my good luck charm, and if it’s not flat, it won’t stick to my console very well.” 

A small smile appeared on her face. “It’s under some of the thickest books I’ve ever seen. If it’s not flattened, then that’s just defying gravity.” She said. 

He exhaled again, relaxing, and it was like the tension in him completely dissipated. “You’re right.” He said gently. 

“Hey, maybe after today he’ll leave you alone.” She suggested.

He scoffed, “Hangman? I give him less than a week before he starts using you against me.” 

She chuckled and set her bowl down so she could lie down against him. “Hmmmm, gotta get you enrolled in anger management classes then.” She teased.

He kissed the top of her head. “You’re funny.” He said sarcastically.

The next morning, he woke up at the crack of dawn per usual. He slowly slipped out of his girlfriend’s grasp, and she whined, half asleep. Their typical routine. He gently leaned down, ran his hand over her hair, and kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.” He whispered, and she subconsciously did so.

He got ready in his khaki uniform and walked out to the living room. On the table were the stacks of manuals. He very carefully took them off one by one and set them on the couch to soften the noise. Checking on the Polaroid, he sighed in relief as it was flat again. A small crease was across the middle, but at the very least, it was flat. He turned it around and saw something new. On the plain white back of the photo was a lipstick kiss mark over the folded line. In the tiniest pen was ‘A kiss to make it better’. 

And the biggest smile grew on his face. This was better than he could’ve asked for. 

Now he didn’t just have a good luck charm, but also a kiss to remember her by. 

[leclerclvr]

tooooo goood!! YUMMY 10/10 would bang

Tonight You Belong to Me

Summary: A surprise reunion has you and Bob trying for something much earlier than anticipated. Not that either one of you is complaining about it.

Warnings: Strong breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, creampie, language

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

Your eyes fluttered at the sound of your pets getting off the bed. It was the one main drawback of allowing three cats and a dog to sleep with you.  

But it also made the bed a little less lonely while your husband was away. 

Normally, you'd ignore the disturbance and go back to sleep. But the opening of your front door, along with the mewls and barks, jolted you awake. 

This wasn't a break in. Someone familiar was here. 

You quickly got out of bed, wearing only one of your husband's T-shirts. The wooden floor was cold against your feet, despite it being in the middle of summer. 

"Hey guys! Shhh, don't want to wake your Mama up," a familiar voice said from the living room. 

As you entered the room, you couldn't help but rub your eyes to see if you were sleepwalking. 

Because by all means, your husband Bob shouldn't be in the living room. He should be several hours away in Fightertown, working on his current mission. Not in your living room, petting the animals you two had adopted over the years. 

Bob looked up, a smile lit up across his face at the sight of his wife. 

"Bob?" Your voice was small as you stepped forward, still not sure whether to believe the sight in front of you. 

He stood up, walking over to you, "I was trying to avoid waking you up. Wanted it to be a surprise." 

You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. The scent of sage flooded your nostrils as your husband wrapped his arms around you for the first time in nearly two months. God how you missed that scent- the clean, clear, calming scent of him. 

"We were given tomorrow off, so I took the first flight out. Rooster was able to help me make it. Only have a little less than twenty-four hours, but I figured it's better than having to wait another four weeks before I could see you again," Bob explained, smiling from ear to ear. You made a mental note to text Bradley thank-you later. 

Deployments never got easier, though it was something you had longer accepted that came with being in a relationship with Bob. You were proud of your husband, that he had been chosen for such an important mission. But you would be lying if you said you didn't miss him, didn't worry about him every hour of the day. 

"It could be just an hour and I wouldn't care," your voice cracked as he rested his forehead against yours, "I missed you." 

Bob nodded his head, closing the gap between your lips and his. You were thankful he had his arms around your waist. It was always the first kiss back that left you breathless, knocked the wind out of you, made you feel like you were floating. 

"Well now I'm here to do whatever you want," Bob told you before pressing a kiss to your temple. 

"Anything?" You ask, a coy smile forming as you fiddle with the collar of his khaki uniform. 

"Anything." 

You pressed your lips against his jaw, your fingers twirling the curls at the back of his neck. God you loved it when he went without gelling his hair. 

"I take it you'd like to go to bed, though not for sleeping," He said with a sly smile. 

Over the years, Bob had become more bold. It was never a question of not wanting you. He wanted you the moment he first laid eyes on you. But Bob, ever the gentlemen, never wanted to make you uncomfortable, never wanted to assume. 

Which is why it took three dates before you two shared your first kiss. It was also why you had to literally drag him into your apartment to indicate you wanted Bob in a more physical way. 

But now, all he needed was a slight nod from you. That was all it took for him to wrap his arms around your thighs, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom. 

You always forgot how strong he was. The man was able to do two hundred push ups, it made sense. But it still took your breath away how easily he could pick you up and toss you around if he wanted to. 

Not that he would. At least, not without your permission. 

As your back touched the mattress, your hands reached out, trying to hold onto your husband. 

"I have to close the door," Bob chuckled, "Otherwise our lovely animals will think it's a sleepover for all." 

"Yeah, we've established that neither of us are into being watched," You grinned, "Though, you definitely get off on the thrill of getting caught."

Your husband blushed as he closed the door and began unbuttoning his shirt, "I do not-"

"Need I remind you of the time you insisted on doing it in the bathroom when I went to visit you on base during your last mission? Or how for our first anniversary, you took me back to the library we met in and-" 

The salacious stories were cut off by Bob pressing his lips against yours. You sighed into the kiss, happy to feel his body on top of yours again. 

Your hands gripped the white undershirt he was wearing, desperate to pull him closer. The burning desire you had for him was nothing new. It always felt like this when he came home after being away. You would be genuinely surprised if you two left your shared bed for the next sixteen hours. 

"Robby," You whined into his mouth as you wrapped your legs around his waist. 

Bob's hips grinded against yours. You knew damn well what that nickname did to him, how it made him absolutely putty in your hands. Always had, always will. 

"Whatcha need darlin'?" He asked, sliding his fingers underneath your (his) shirt. 

"Want you to put a baby in me, Robby," you whined. 

Bob's hands stilled as he looked up to you, his eyes darkening. 

It wasn't the first time you two had talked about having children. In fact, you both had agreed that once he got back from his current mission, you would start trying. In the time Bob's been gone, you've gotten off birth control. Something he was very aware of, as it was one of the details you used when you two spoke over the phone, trying to get each other off with just your words. 

But was there anything wrong with starting early? 

Bob didn't think so. He also didn't need to be told twice. In record time, your clothes were removed and for once, he wasn't fumbling with his belt. 

His lips latched onto your neck, biting and licking as he used his hands to spread your thighs apart. 

"Gonna taste you first, okay? Then I'll put a baby in you, promise darlin'," He assured you as he moved down your body, settling in between your thighs. 

You opened your mouth, ready to tease Bob about how babies were made. That comment died in your throat, a moan replacing it as soon as you felt his tongue lapping at your folds. 

It was no surprise that Bob was precise and quick with his fingers. It made sense, considering his role as a WSO. You just didn't think those skills would translate to the bedroom. 

Early on in the relationship, you were proven wrong. Very wrong. The way he angled his fingers so it hit that spot with every thrust had you falling apart in record time. Even his tongue, fuck, you missed his tongue. 

All you had to do was look down to come undone. Those big, wide blue eyes, the loose curl that had fallen over his forehead, the askew glasses, that fucking smirk you could feel against your soaked core. 

You grabbed fistfuls of his sun kissed hair, your hips bucking into his mouth as you came. 

It hit you like a hurricane. Eight weeks doesn't sound long in theory, but it is in fact, a very long time to go without your husband's touch. Pictures, phone calls, and FaceTimes didn't compare to the real thing and never would. 

Bob, ever the gentleman, continued to use his mouth and fingers on you through your orgasm. He never hid how much he enjoyed watching you fall apart. The way your back arched, how your head fell back, how you grabbed whatever you could find to hold on for dear life. 

He could spend hours in between your thighs to see that sight over and over again. But there were more pressing matters now. 

“Robby,” you found yourself whining, hands extending out to grab onto whatever part of him you could reach. Your vision was blurry, awareness of your surroundings still hazy. 

“I'm right here, I got you," His lips brushed against your temple. 

"I'm gonna put a baby in ya now, okay?" He cooed in your ear. 

"P-please." It was normal to be desperate, near feral-like for him when he came back from missions. 

This was different. 

Bob must have felt the same way. Normally, he'd eased in, allowing you to adjust little by little. A gasp broke from your lips as he entered you swiftly.

A hissed escaped your mouth as your body became familiar with his once again. He always gave you time to adjust to the stretch, practically cradling you while he whispered soft praises. 

"Doing s'good for me." 

"Feel amazing darlin'."

"Gonna make you a mama." 

It was the last sentence that set you off, ignited the near primal urge you had. Your hands clawed at his back and shoulders, desperate to cling onto him, longing to feel him move inside of you. 

Bob's hands trailed down to your thighs, grabbing them and pinning your legs against his hips. The new angle caused a slight thrust.

You arched your back, trying to chase it, your legs wrapping themselves around his waist. 

"Robert William Floyd, I swear to God if you don't move, I'll-"

Your threat went unspoken, thanks to Bob swiftly pulling nearly all the way out and thrusting back in. A near-scream erupted from your lips, one that would get you dirty looks from the neighbors the next day. 

If it was anyone else, you would have wiped that smirk off his face. But it was Bob, your husband, and you loved seeing that smirk adorn his face. You loved seeing him confident and relishing in the effect he had on you. 

Lord knows how long it took him to realize you were absolutely head over heels, completely and utterly smitten the moment you saw him in that library for the first time, on the floor, explaining his ribbons to a student of yours. 

You buried your head into the crook of his neck, your teeth sinking into his skin. Bob groaned at the sensation of your teeth marking up his neck. Normally he'd care, pull you away or direct you to a part of his body that was easily covered by his uniform. 

But right now, visible hickies were not at the forefront of his mind. You were. The whimpers you let out when his cock brushed against a specific spot, the way your fingernails dug into his back, and most importantly, the way your walls tightened as he kept going, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again. 

Yes, the main point of this interaction was for him to come inside you. Bob knew that, he wasn't dense. 

But it would be a cold day in hell when you only came once while in bed with him. 

He hitched one of your legs up higher, enabling him to thrust into you deeper. A high pitched whine fell from your lips, the pleasure from the new angle rushing through your body, adding pressure to that knot in your stomach that was getting tighter and tighter with each passing second. 

A stream of incoherent prattle fell from your lips, begging him to keep going, to not stop. 

“Let go darlin’,” He grunted, “I got ya.”

You opened your mouth, though no sound came out. White hot pleasure coursed through your entire body as your walls tightened around your husband’s cock, clinging to him as if he could slip away at any moment. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.” A sense of pride filled you. Bob didn’t curse when he was hundreds of feet up in the air, focused on keeping himself and his pilot alive during the mission at hand. 

No, he only cursed when buried deep inside you as you practically milked his cock. Only you could bring that out of him, no one else. 

“Robby, come inside me,” You whimpered, “Wanna make you a daddy.”

Somehow, despite his brain short-circuiting, Bob began thrusting into you harder and faster than before. You couldn’t tell what was louder, the sound of his skin slapping against yours or the bed frame jamming into the wall with every thrust. You could feel yourself clenching around him still, jolts of pleasure still igniting your body, making it difficult to come down from your high.  

Not that you were complaining. 

His hips began to stutter, the pace becoming jerky and uninhibited. Bob gripped the bed frame, his dog tags now dangling over you. The metal of his tags and wedding ring glimmered against the light from your nightstand. 

With a guttural curse, he came inside you. You always made it clear how much you loved the feeling of him filling you up with his seed. But this time, it felt carnal, prurient, other-wordly. 

For a moment, you two laid there, tangled up as you tried to steady your breathing. Bob got on his knees, gripping onto your thighs. He began to pull out. 

You gasped as you felt him thrust back into you. 

Fuck, he was still hard. 

“Just gotta make sure nothing spills out, okay?” You nodded your head, gripping the bed sheets so hard you would be quite surprised if there wasn’t a rip in them the next day. 

“You’re gonna be such a good momma, y’know that?” His praises set your head spinning. 

“Wantyourbaby,” You muttered, impressed that you were capable of saying something coherent at this point. Bob was too. 

“I know,” He cooed, “You’re gonna look so pretty, carrying our baby.” 

His hand went down to where your two bodies met, his thumb drawing circles on your clit. At this point, the volume of your voice wasn’t a concern. The only thing you could focus on was that your husband, Robert Floyd, was determined to fuck a baby into you tonight. 

You came again with a cry, Bob silencing it by crashing his lips onto yours. Your hands tangled themselves into his hair, tugging on his locks for dear life as you moaned into his mouth. You could feel your teeth clanking against his, spit dribbling from your mouth. It was primal, something you loved seeing from your usually reserved husband. 

His hips stilled and you could feel his cock twitching as your husband emptied inside you again. Bob’s stamina was impressive and not what you had originally expected from the shy, timid WSO when you two first met. 

“You okay?” Bob asked before pressing his lips to your forehead. You nodded your head, loosening the grip you had on his dark blonde locks.   

He pulled out, your core aching at the emptiness. Not that you felt it for long. 

"Robby!" 

Your hands gripped the bed sheet as his fingers curled inside of you. 

"Can't let any drop escape sweetheart," He reminded you, that stupidly attractive smirk adorning his face as he leaned down to latch onto your clit. 

If it wasn't for his schedule, you would be hoping that it would take some time to get pregnant, since this was how Bob planned to go about it. 

You could always take your time with child number two.