#Robert floyd x y/n

[sebsxphia]

shopping lists.

robert ‘bob’ floyd x reader.

￫ summary: you rush to the shops after work to do a quick food shop, but bob floyd was not on your shopping list.

￫ word count: 3.3K.

￫ warnings: mentions of food, supermarkets, feeling hungry and fluff, fluff, fluff.

￫ authors notes: my description of the supermarket is based off uk supermarkets, so i apologise if there’s inaccuracies to us supermarkets! this also hasn’t been proof read. my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

Bob was starving.

He cursed himself under his breath as he drove back from base. He had the driver's window in his baby blue truck rolled down and his forearm resting on the side, his fingers pushing through the sticky summer air as he drove. Air conditioning alone wouldn’t keep him cool, as he still wore his flight suit from training earlier that day. He could feel how the ring of sweat around his neck was sticking to his collar, but he simply didn’t have the time or willpower to shower and change on base.

It had just gone five o’clock in the afternoon and he had gotten off later than he expected. He would’ve already had a small meal to keep him going until dinner by now, but low and behold, when he awoke this morning, as the sun was only a crack along the horizon, he realized he had no substantial food in his fridge.

Bob was a planner. He would do his fortnightly shop routinely, but something came up at work and it had simply slipped his mind. The only thing he could do now was drive as fast as he could to the supermarket, slip in, whisk around the aisles in record time and drive back home to cook something up in under an hour. He had another early start the next morning and as always, he had a routinely early bedtime.

Being a pilot made his reactions lightening fast. This would be easy for him.

As he pulled into the car park and zoned in on a space, he noticed another car also going for the same spot.

You were inches away from the space and although he was in a hunger-fueled rush, being the ever polite gentleman that he was, he let you go for it. Through the glare of the late afternoon sun reflecting off your windshield, he couldn’t quite make out the person driving, but he saw how you politely lifted your hand off the steering wheel to motion, “Thanks!”

Bob responded in turn with his wave and warm smile. He drove a little further forward past your car to find another space and the reflecting sun moved against your windshield to reveal you in a clearer light. You had the sweetest little smile as you thanked Bob. Your lips curled up to meet the creases in the corners of your eyes and your cheeks were a sweet rosy colour.

As he drove away and around the corner of the car park, Bob chewed at the inside of his cheek, still with a small smile twitching on his lips. He had a small hope that he would see you inside, only because he wanted to let you know that he was more than happy to give you the spot.

No other reason.

He was pulled out of his thoughts about your sweet smile as he felt his stomach grumble furiously. After doing a loop around, he managed to find a spot at the opposite end of the car park. He of course cursed himself again under his breath for going shopping at peak hours after everyone had finished work on a weekday, but he only blamed himself. He didn’t blame you. You were simply there first.

The almost freezing blast of air conditioner on his face as he entered the supermarket, was a welcomed change to the ever-growing humid air outside. The tiny, blonde baby hairs on the back of his sweat-coated neck stood up momentarily, as the icy air flowed down and through his flight suit. He felt himself cool down almost instantly. He pulled up with a shopping cart and started with fruits and vegetables at the front of the store. He was desperate to move fast, but his boots were heavy and searingly hot with every step he took around the aisles. That was the only spot on his body that the air conditioning could not reach.

As he came to the end of the fruits and vegetables section, he turned to reach for the tomatoes when suddenly a flurry swooped by him. It caught his attention instantly and he whipped his head around, with his torso moving inwards towards the tomatoes to avoid bumping into whoever had just swept by him.

It was you. The same person in the car park who he had given his space to. He observed as you descended the cheese and yoghurt aisle.

A small lump got caught in his throat and he swallowed thickly, as he watched how your sundress swished around your bare calves. He couldn’t help but let his cobalt blue eyes from behind his glasses, glance over you. Bob was raised right by his mom. He was respectful and well-mannered, but the simple and undeniable fact was, that you were the prettiest person he had ever laid eyes on. Even from the glow of the cool light down the food aisle, it could not diminish your luminescence.

He reached his slender index finger up to his glasses and pushed them up his nose ever so slightly. The prior sudden movement had caused them to jolt down the bridge of his nose by a centimetre.

As you walked straight down the aisle and turned to face the cheese selection, the delicate material of your sundress moved back into place to frame your body. It rippled over each curve of your figure and Bob’s heartbeat doubled in time when he caught sight of your soft belly in your sundress. He sucked in a harsh breath between his teeth as he wondered for a fleeting second, how soft your belly would feel to hold when his face was buried between your thighs.

He registered the smile creases in the corners of your eyes. The same ones that he noticed first in the parking lot and how they narrowed to read the label in front of you. Your eyelashes fluttered against one another as you blinked against the glaring light humming above you. As you raked over your options, he watched how your teeth grazed over your bottom lip and chewed nimbly at it. The same habit he had.

He needed some cheese and yoghurt himself, so perhaps he could catch you there.

Bob meandered some meters behind you and acted as if he was choosing his yoghurt option. He already knew what he needed. The same yoghurt he’d had for the past five years, but he was drawn to you. Like a moth to the radiating flame.

He cocked his head behind him to glance in your direction and you had already moved down the aisle to assess your next grocery choice. He took his multipack of yoghurts, placed it in his cart and wheeled it around to stand by you, again acting as if he was evaluating his cheese choice. From behind his glasses, he took another sideways glance. You were performing a balancing act of holding your shopping basket’s flimsy handles, holding the cheese in your other hand and somehow holding open a small notebook and crossing out the presumed item, with a pen.

At a glance, Bob saw how inside your notebook was filled with lots of little scribbles, and crossed-out parts and as you went to close it, the front cover was decorated with sweet little stickers.

“Jesus Christ. That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.” He thought to himself.

As you went to slide the pen back into the elasticated band, it slipped from your balancing act and slid along the dotted tiles of the supermarket, straight for Bob’s direction. It hit the sole of his boots and he heard your voice for the first time.

“Ah, shit.” It was muttered under your breath with annoyance, but he thought your voice sounded like sweet honey.

Before his thought process could catch up to him, he wondered if you tasted like sweet honey.

You spoke directly to Bob this time, as you scurried over and bent down to pick up the pen by his boots. He caught a fleeting glance at the swell of your breasts, resting in your sundress.

You laughed out faintly with your apology. “I’m sorry, my mistake—”

As you moved too quickly with embarrassment to pick up your pen, your flimsy shopping basket was swinging and the cheese you were holding also fell out of your grasp.

“Ah! Fuck.” You quietly cursed again to yourself, or so you thought.

Bob had caught your second string of curses to you accidentally dropping something and he thought it was rather cute.

“Here, let me.” He chuckled to himself as he squatted down to reach for your cheese and pen.

Both now standing upright, he handed your belongings back to you and felt how the palms of your hands were as soft as butter against his fingertips. You looked at each other directly and now without the glare of your windshield, he could finally see every delicate feature that made up your beautiful face. He thought that you were so pretty.

You went to open your mouth and speak, but your words got caught on your tongue. This kind stranger was incredibly handsome. He looked smart with his clean-shaven face and his dusty blonde hair parted neatly to one side, with a thick swoop. His rounded glasses didn’t have a single smudge on them and his cheeks were round as he smiled at you, although it still didn't take away from his strong cheekbones and firm jaw.

You blinked in a flurry as you took in his build. You were accustomed to seeing pilots around here with the air base being so close to town, but it was rare to see one in what you presumed was a flight suit of some kind. It was deep forest green in colour and harmoniously blended against his striking eyes from behind his glasses. It wasn’t tightly fitted, yet still, his broad shoulders and firm biceps were flexing against the coarse material. His thighs stood strong with his heavy boots planted firmly against the tiled floor. He was tall and practically towered over you, but he respectfully kept a distance between you both.

“I’m sorry again, thank you.” You smiled bashfully at him. Your eyelashes were still fluttering against one another and your rounded cheeks were dusted pink.

Bob couldn’t help himself. He grinned as he shook his head and politely rejected your apology.

“No need to apologise, Ma’am. It’s all good.”

Suddenly your eyes widened and your eyebrows raised with them.

The glimmer from the overhead light in the supermarket made your eyes sparkle with such an inviting glow.

“Oh! You were the nice guy in the parking lot! You let me take your space!” You pointed your finger towards him. His truck was significantly higher than your car and you were only able to get a glance at his face from behind your windshield.

Bob let out a chuckle and waved his large hand in front of him, diminishing the idea. He further wanted to wave off the ever-growing flush of heat that was creeping up from his chest. It flushed over his neck and cheeks and sat right under his glasses. The blasting air conditioning had once again failed him and his chest, neck and cheeks were now flushed warm.

“Oh, hey. Not at all, it wasn’t my space. You had it, fair and square.”

You giggled in response. His respectful and polite demeanour had your stomach feeling as though a million and one butterflies were fluttering through you, making their way up through your heart and coming out of your mouth with sweet giggles.

“Alright, thanks again though, I appreciate it. I was in such a rush after work. Always the way, isn’t it?”

You laughed again and the sound flowed to Bob’s ears, making his playful smile reach the tips of his ears.

“Tell me about it.” He agreed with a grin.

You flashed a last beaming smile at Bob as the conversation between two strangers in a supermarket came to its natural end and you turned around to continue following your shopping list.

That’s what he thought.

As you turned down the aisle, you once again cursed at yourself for not being more forward, flirtatious, or whatever it would be that would land you his number. He was gorgeous. Undeniably handsome. And he was so stupidly charming and polite.

You turned on a quick heel to see if he was still there, but he had disappeared and you were left alone in the chilled aisle, with nothing to comfort you but your notebook and the static overhead lights.

Bob too mentally scolded himself for not asking such a pretty sweetheart like yourself for your number. As he watched you turn away, he chewed on his bottom lip, curled his fists tightly, released them and then walked away.

He was a gentleman. He would not harass someone if they didn’t show a sign of being interested in him. But he was sure you were. He had a sharp and watchful eye, and he saw how rosy your cheeks turned and how your chest stuttered slightly as your breath got caught in your throat. But he was pulled out of his battling thoughts but his stomach grumbly furiously at him again.

He whisked down the remaining aisles to finish his shop, still with the hope of a fleeting chance to see you again, but he couldn’t ignore what his body was telling him. As he checked out, tapped his card on the machine and wheeled his shopping cart out of the store, he still had both his trained eyes on his surroundings. Just in case there was a single chance, a perfect moment, where he could catch you. Bob had been extremely methodical about his choices in life and he only ever perused something if he was certain. He had never been so utterly and completely sure that you were the one for him.

He fished his truck keys out of his flight suit pocket and just as he was about to turn the key in the door, he remembered.

“Fuck. Tomatoes.”

Bob didn’t need a list. It was all written down mentally and he rarely forgot things, but he remembered that as he was about to reach for the tomatoes, you came by earlier in a flurry. He would’ve called it fate if he ever had a chance of seeing you again.

“Fuck! Tomatoes.”

You groaned and threw your head back in annoyance. It was on your list, sitting on the next line down under cheese and then you remembered why you forgot it in such a fluster. You slammed the boot door of your car back down, locked it shut and headed back inside to grab the final item. Your feet moved quickly along the tile floor and you turned on your heel to find the stack of plump, rosy red tomatoes in front of you.

“Hello again.”

The familiar voice made the tiny baby hairs on your neck stand up and a row of goosebumps rise on your forearms in tow. His smile radiated warmth as it crinkled up in the corners of his eyes. He stood tall over you, still in his flight suit, but again you didn’t feel intimidated in the slightest. You felt a true sense of calm and safety wash over you.

Your lips parted to gasp with happy surprise at seeing him again, before they curled up into a relieved smile, mirroring his own.

“Hello again.” You repeated back to him. “I forgot tom—”

“I forgot some tom—”

You both spoke in unison, before snorting out a quiet laugh between yourselves.

“Apologies. You go.” Bob gestured towards you and the vegetable stand.

“I’m going to make a sauce when I get back home, but I completely forgot the main ingredient.” You waved it off with another giggle, yet still, you did not attempt to reach for said important ingredient. You simply stayed facing him with a gleaming smile.

Bob’s mouth watered at the sound of your homemade tomato sauce. His stomach still growled at him from inside, but he also felt how it twisted and turned on itself with exhilaration. He pictured coming home to you after work, sitting down together at your dining table and sharing the homemade sauce. You were, without a fault, the only person he had ever truly envisioned a future with and he couldn’t repeat the same mistake as before.

He nimbly chewed at his bottom lip, failing to notice how you were also doing the same, as he mentally prepared his next statement.

“That sounds, delicious. I hope I’m not oversteppin’ here, and please tell me if I am, but I’d love to have y’ number, Ma’am. I’d love to try some of y’ homemade sauce, if that’s okay with you?”

Bob was not an overly religious man, but he swallowed thickly and prayed with every hope that the last part of his sentence didn’t come across in the wrong way. It felt longer than mere seconds to receive your response, but he breathed out a short sigh of relief when he saw how your eyes crinkled up into an animated smile to match his.

“Yes, yes! I’d love that. Please, let me get my book…” Your fingers were trembling with giddy anticipation as you worked to open your bag and reached for your notebook. “Uh…” You flipped through to find a clean page and when you landed on one, you gestured it towards him. “Here you go.” You gushed.

“Thank you.” He began. “I’m Bob, by the way. Bob Floyd.”

You mentioned your name and he felt his heart flutter at how pretty it was. By how eagerly you had accepted his proposal to exchange numbers, he could see that you were just as into him, as he was with you. And so, he let his true feelings become known.

“That’s a real pretty name, sweetheart.”

You sucked in a harsh breath between your teeth and let out a bashful, “Oh…”

The sweet name that he had just called you, made your legs nearly twitch and tremble on the supermarket floor.

His long, slender fingers curled around the pen as he scribbled down his number. Your notebook and pen looked so small in his hands.

When he offered it back to you, you wrote down your number in a flurry and tore the piece of paper out from the binder. You handed it over and he tucked it into the top pocket of his flight suit. You thought that that was the hottest thing you have ever witnessed a man doing.

Bob Floyd, as you now knew him, had seriously gotten into your head and clouded any reasonable senses.

You both exchanged some further light conversation, still with Bob shamelessly and sweetly flirting with you, before you both picked up your tomatoes, paid and left for the car park together. He insisted on walking you to the car to ensure that you got there safely, even though it was still broad daylight and when he left, he placed a soft kiss on your cheek.

You both went back to your separate homes and cooked your separate meals. As you were about to get into bed you sent Bob a text, the taste of your homemade sauce still dancing on your taste buds.

“this weekend, would you like me to show you how i make the sauce? would you like to come to mine? x”

You were caught by surprise when your phone dinged with a message notification moments after.

“I would love that, thank you for the invite, sweetheart. Can’t wait :-) x”

Bob lay in bed that night thinking about how to tell the story of how you both met at your wedding.

taglist: @beachbabey @tallrock35 @luckyladycreator2 @unmistakablyunknown @flames-thebitch @birdy-bat-writes @thedroneranger @randomfandomgirl97 @kmc1989 @swiftsgirlfriend

tagging those who may be interested: @sunblchdfly @floydsglasses @fridamoss @floydsmuse @bobfloydsbabe @laracrofted @hangmanapologist @rhettabbotts @lewmagoo @peachystenbrough @auroralightsthesky @cherrycola27 @withahappyrefrain @sugarcoated-lame @senawashere

[withahappyrefrain]

Deserve it (Bob Floyd x reader)

Summary: After working hard, your boyfriend gives you several rewards.

Warnings: older BF Bob, slight daddy kink, definitely some dd/lg vibes in here, older BF Bob eats it from the back okay, fingering, language

“Hey sweet girl,” his voice was deep, the gravel showing off his age. The very sound made your knees nearly buckle.

Not that you had to worry about falling; Bob already had one arm wrapped around your waist, the other draped around your leg, long fingers gently tracing the soft flesh of your bare thigh.

His broad chest was pressed against your back, salt and pepper stubble gently brushing against your temple.

Despite feeling so small in his arms, you had never felt more secure.

When Natasha invited you to her co -worker's barbeque a year ago, you knew it was done out of politeness. You had just moved to the area and her sister, your best friend, wanted to make sure you were actually going out and meeting folks. Nat was doing you a favor, nothing more or less.

You just wanted to get through that night, to beat your anxiety over being the youngest person there by nearly a decade. The most you were expecting that night was a few conversations and drinks.

Meeting a real life prince charming that night was not on your Bingo card.

At first, you thought Bob was just being a good host as he spoke to you. That was the polite thing to do, considering he was in his late thirties and you were just a friend of a friend.

Even when he asked for your number, you tried to be realistic. You had been led on before, had placed your whole heart in someone just to be disappointed.

A year later, Bob had more than proved he was serious about his relationship with you. The age difference didn't make a huge impact, aside from childhood references and social media knowledge.

Bob was patient. He understood you hadn't been in a serious relationship until he came along. He was more than happy to guide you, never making you feel stupid or unworthy.

“Hi Robby,” you giggled, feeling his skin heat up at your special nickname. Only you got to call him that, just like only he got to call you his sweet girl.

Bob continued peppering your jaw with light kisses, his large hands continuing to gently stroke your exposed skin.

“How was your day? Did your presentation go well?” His attention to detail was one of the things you loved most about Bob. He was invested in all aspects of your life.

“It did! They're going with my proposal.” It was impossible to hide your wide grin, especially when Bob spun you around to show the matching one on his face.

You only saw that slightly crooked, honey drenched smile for a brief moment, as Bob pressed his lips against yours.

Despite dating for a year, his kisses still made your heart flutter. His hands would cradle your jaw, practically covering the entirety of your neck. He always bent his knees, not wanting you to strain yourself while trying to reach his lips, your comfort always at the forefront of his mind.

“Knew they would,” He murmured against your lips, “So proud of you, my smart girl.”

Your knees practically buckled at the praise. Some would have felt it was condescending, you disagreed. You loved that Bob was proud of you. In fact, you wanted it, wanted to be his good girl.

“Stay here, wanna show ya something.” Bob pressed a gentle peck to your lips before walking out of the bathroom.

You bit your tongue, holding back a comment about Bob buying you things. It was a battle you'd never win. Bob spent his money on you and Lego sets, and that was how he preferred it.

So when he showed you the tennis bracelet he had purchased, you just smiled. No comment on how his money would have been better spent elsewhere.

“May I?” He motioned to your wrist. You held it out so he could gently place it on your wrist. While it was simple, you knew the diamonds would sparkle once you were in light.

Once the bracelet was secure on your wrist, you threw your arms around Bob’s neck, head buried in his broad chest.

“Thanks Daddy.”

You could hear him sharply inhale through his nose, the nickname always drawing a visible reaction out of him.

“‘Course baby,” his hands moved from your back down to your hips, “Did you eat breakfast today?”

You nodded proudly, “And lunch!”

Bob dipped his head down to press a kiss on your forehead, “Been so good today sweet girl. Think you deserve a reward for it.”

You looked at your bracelet, confused, “I thought this was-”

Bob shook his head, a near Cheshire like grin on his face, “That's just because I wanted to. So tell me sweet girl, do you want a reward?”

You tentatively nod your head, heat flooding your face, “yes please.”

He's pleased that he didn't have to remind you to use your words. Bob places one last kiss to your temple before spinning you around, forcing you to face the bathroom counter.

Without even thinking, you lean forward, your chest brushing against the marbled counter.

Bob hums in approval. You've learned quickly.

He quickly kneels down, his large hands trailing up your bare thighs. He's able to effortlessly spread your legs apart, pushing up the hem of your skirt to reveal your bare cunt.

“Been such a good listener baby. So proud of you,” he cooed, holding back a chuckle at how your legs trembled at the praise.

You were so sweet, always wanting to be good for him. It had taken you some time, the idea of being with someone who truly loved you and wanted the best for you was a new concept.

You shuddered upon feeling his breath against your core. Unable to see him, all you can rely on is touch. His deft fingers gently parted your soaked folds, sending sparks throughout your body.

Your body lurched forward when Bob's mouth made contact with your entrance.

Prior to Bob, you didn't know someone could be so enthusiastic when it came to giving oral. It was always seen as something required before sex, not an act that could be enjoyed on its own.

Then you met Bob.

Bob, who cared about your pleasure more than his own. Bob, who didn't view sex as a thing, but as an experience.

The bathroom quickly filled with your breathless moans. Your chest was pressed against the counter, your soaked cunt completely at the mercy of Bob’s mouth. His large hands gripped the soft flesh of your ass, sure to leave bruises.

Not that you mind. Having a physical reminder that you belonged to him was thrilling. You quickly learned that Bob loved marking you, nearly bordering on an obsession. Hickies, hand shaped bruises, bite marks. He couldn't get enough of your body.

“Taste s’good, s’fuckin sweet,” Bob groaned inbetween lapping up your arousal. A large hand snuck around the front of your body, long fingers quickly finding your clit.

Your hand found the back of his head, clutching his sandy brown locks in hopes it would be enough to ground you. His mouth felt like heaven. Each stroke of his tongue pushes you further and further away from clarity and closer to that pleasurable edge.

“C-close,” you gritted through your teeth. You didn't need to ask him permission, but knew Bob wanted to know when you were near.

He loved to watch you fall apart.

Just as expected, his mouth was replaced by his fingers, your cunt welcoming the stretch. His breath was hot on your ear as he was now leaning over you.

“So pretty like this,” he cooed, “I know, you're so close. Just let go sweet girl, I got ya.”

You gripped the edge of the counter as white hot pleasure coursed through your body.

Bob watched you in the mirror, memorized by how your body reacted to his nimble fingers.

What a long way you had come. At the beginning of this relationship, you were hesitant to allow him to see you in such a vulnerable state, to have him hear you let out such lewd sounds. You would ask for the lights to be off, would have buried your head into the pillow to muffle your sounds.

Now you felt safe to fully let go, to show him all of you.

“There ya go, that's it.” His voice was soothing, a sharp contrast to how his fingers were thrusting in and out of your soaked entrance, “Comin’ so hard for me, sweet girl. Fuckin’ love it.”

His hand continued its ministrations on your poor cunt, his lips ghosting over your temple. Your body leans into his, craving more.

Before Bob, the idea of coming twice in the same session was preposterous. Unrealistic.

Now it was the bare minimum.

This time when you came, your legs shook, your brain practically blacking out from the pleasure. You could hear how hard you were coming, lewd squelching sounds vaguely ringing in your ears.

“It's okay, I gotcha, Daddy’s gotcha,” He whispered against your hair, wrapping his arms around your waist to help you stand up as you recovered from your high.

“Made a mess,” you mumbled, able to feel how much you came on your inner thighs. But now your head was in a pleasure filled haze, only able to vaguely register that Bob was leading you to bed.

“I know, and I'll clean you up. But I want you to lay down first.” The back of your head gently hits soft pillows, your body melting into the mattress. True to his word, Bob returns with a warm washcloth, gently wiping you down.

“You wanna take a nap, sweet girl?” he murmured in between pressing gentle kisses against your forehead.

“But dinner-” you started, only for Bob to gently shush as he helped you out of your skirt.

“I'll move it back. You had a big day, you deserve to rest.”

“Robby?” You hummed, opening your eyes to find him helping you into one of his old T-shirts.

“Whatcha need, baby?” He asked, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Can….can I keep you warm? While we nap?”

This time it was his turn to blush. Bob nodded, quickly moving to take off his pants and boxers, laying down on the bed. He didn't need any help, watching you come twice had made him hard enough.

With his help, you were able to move into his lap, your hand finding the base of his cock, wrapping a hand around it so it could align with your entrance.

A content sigh left your lips upon being filled with his cock. You laid your head against his chest, your breathing slowing down as Bob traced shapes on your back.

You were always amazed by how well he filled you. So full, unlike anything you had experienced before.

Without thinking, your hips began to lazily grind against his, the movement causing his cock to shift inside you.

Two large hands gripped the soft flesh of your hips, stilling your movements.

“Later,” Bob said, eyes still closed, “Want you to rest now sweet girl.”

He was far from done with you. But Bob also knew you would need your energy for later.

Besides, good girls deserve a nap.

And you were his best girl.

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

@lewmagoo @sometimesanalice @charmedkim @thepurplelovewitch @sio-ina-bottle @sugajar @briseisgone @idontcare-11 @cherrycola27 @auroralightsthesky @ryebecca @bobfloydsbabe @hangmanapologist @sebsxphia @mxgyver @callsignspark

[roosterbruiser]

Bob and AdmiralsDaughter!Reader where the dagger squad finds out he's dating/engaged/married (whichever)

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 @bradshawsbitch 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱!!!

𝐖𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐬

𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐛 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

"Yeah, the little white one is Pearl," you excitedly tell the Dagger Squad as you scroll through the photos of your newest foster kittens. "And the little brown tabby is Poppy!"

You're leaning over a table in the training room, grinning ear-to-ear as you show off the billion pictures you've taken of the sweet little kittens that have been consuming your life.

The squad is doing everything in their power to show interest in the photos, swallowing yawns and making over-exaggerated nodding motions when you turn to look for their approval. It isn't just that they love you and genuinely wouldn't want to seem uninterested in something so important to you, but it's also that your dad could have their heads mounted on the walls if they so much as upset you.

You're a Simpson--Cyclone's only daughter and youngest child--but you couldn't be more opposite of your father. You're a bubbly person by nature, someone who could talk to a brick wall. You're the kind of person that could ruin their favorite jeans and still somehow have a good day.

Rooster and Phoenix have their arms crossed as you scroll through the endless pictures, one blurry picture of a little kitten to the next. But they adore you--you're grinning so big that you could light up a dark room. So they keep watching, smiling and nodding.

Bob's watching from across the room very subtly. At this point, the two of you have mastered subtly. As much as he wishes he could be one of the people that crowds around you to look at kitten pictures, he knows that he wouldn't be able to help himself from getting a little too close to you. He doesn't think he'd be able to stop himself from pecking your cheek or wrapping his arm around your waist. So he doesn't go out of his way to be overly affectionate to you when he sees you around on base, which is often. He's Bob, which means he's overtly polite and overly-nice, and he treats you the same as he'd treat anyone else on base. But it's these little stolen glances that keeps him going throughout the day--just ticking the minutes until the day is over and he can go home to you and your kittens. There he can do whatever he damn well pleases with you without having to worry about prying eyes.

"Oh, and just look at this video I got of Poppy..." you laugh, scrolling quickly through your camera roll in search of a video of Poppy trying to climb the sofa.

Your heart jumps in your throat when you pass the picture. It's quick, really, just a fleeting image across your screen. But you know what it is: it's the picture you took of Bob napping with the kittens the other day. It's unmistakably Bob, too, despite his stubble and un-gelled hair. You're praying no one else saw it, praying that everyone's lost interest by now.

But you have six of some of the world's greatest Fighter Pilots around you, watching your phone with their eagle-eyes. Nothing really gets past them.

"Wait," Hangman interrupts, pointing to the phone with furrowed brows. "Go back."

The rest of the squad makes a sound of agreement and you try to stutter something back, something that resembles an excuse, but then Rooster is reaching out himself and swiping back through the photos.

The chorus of gasps that fill the room draw Bob out of his trance. He looks away from where your fingers are curled around your phone and sees that all six of his squad-mates are staring at him with their jaws slacked and their eyes wide. Except Hangman--no, he's grinning ear-to-ear. You're already looking at Bob, too, apologetically grimacing and mouthing I'm so sorry to him.

"Bob Floyd," Phoenix starts lowly, glancing down at the picture again. Her voice is stained with disbelief--how could she have missed you and Bob? She loved both of you so much and Hell, she even trusted Bob with her life. How could she have not known before?

"You sly, sly dog," Coyote says, grinning, clapping you on the shoulder.

"Simpson's daughter?" Fanboy adds, like you aren't standing right there. "Floyd, you animal!"

What the squadron doesn't know is that your father is actually quite fond of Bob--he even insists that Bob call him Beau. They've shared a couple glasses of good scotch and Simpson has even invited Bob to play golf a couple of Sunday's. Really, your relationship is only a secret from the squadron--and you feel vindicated for making that decision as you watch all of them scramble to pat Bob on the shoulder.

"Well, I'll be damned," Rooster whistles with an impressed grin, squeezing your arm. "You and Bobby Floyd."

You're blushing something fierce, watching as Bob flushes at all the sudden attention, not confident enough to stand while the boys ruffle his hair.

"Guess the cat's out of the bag," Bob finally manages to say, laughing dryly at his poorly-timed pun.

Payback grins at you.

"You're a lucky lady, aren't you?"

The truth is you are a lucky lady. You and Bob have been together for longer than any of the squadron would ever guess, carefully tip-toeing around base when you see each other to not draw attention to situation. Bob makes your coffee every morning and you adopt kittens together. You iron Bob's uniform because you used to do it for your father and you think Bob is just as important. You dance on sunlit porches and share good wine with your family on Saturday nights after big dinners. Bob's the best person you've ever met.

And Bob knows that really, he's the lucky one here. Because you're the best thing that's ever happened to the world--period. You're funny, like the kind of funny that has him laughing before the sun's even come up and he didn't think that was possible. You still get excited every time he comes home, racing to the foyer and smashing your lips against his as you chatter about your day and help him unlace his boots. You're the kind of person that will bottle-feed kittens every two hours and not so much as complain about it, not even when the feedings are at three in the morning.

The two of you are totally and completely in love--you have been for a while. But, yes, Bob's right: the cat is out of the bag now.

"I am a lucky lady," you tell Payback, locking your phone and making your way over to Bob with a sweet, sweet smile.

here is my tag list!!

𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐊𝐨𝐟𝐢 ☺

[purelyfiction]

stars in a line - robert 'bob' floyd x f!reader

Word Count: 1,207 words

Summary: Chicken's in the skillet, ice in the drink, head's in the clouds, diamond's in the rough, he's in a Chevy and I'm in love // Tips in the apron, hair's in a braid, Mercury's all in retrograde // He's in a T-shirt all cleaned up, Good lord almighty, mama don't wait up // Chills down my spine, hearts on the line, He's all mine and I'm in love

Content Warning: fluff!! also note of animal abandonment

Author Note: another round for @ohtobeleah 's galentines writings :))))))

the familiar rumble of the older engine makes your features split with a smile. when bob had told you he was gonna drive his truck from montana to california you thought he was losing his mind.

then he'd explained why he was so insistent.

that he'd taken you out in that '87 Chevy all those years ago. after weeks of coming into the diner you worked in after school, dozens and dozens of milkshake and fry basket combos (and subsequent heartburn) just so he could hang out with you. he'd gotten up the nerve to finally ask you out. that truck had been your front row seats at the drive in watching a rerun of some old army movie his dad had recommended.

he'd taken the two of you to prom in that truck. to high school graduation, your college graduation. when the engine died on you while he was stationed in atlanta he'd taught you how to fix the thing via facetime.

beverly the chevy had been there for so many of your big moments. she'd been the reason why bob ended up buying the house that you stood contently in.

'bev is gonna need a place out of the elements if she's gonna stay top notch.'

this house had been the only one with a two car garage. one side for bev and one side for your car.

now when the engine rumbles echoed in the garage and made the older house vibrate, you couldn't help but grin. the sizzling of chicken in a skillet on the stove greets bob when he steps into the kitchen. he's greeted with the smell and a bottle of wine in a pile of ice in the sink. the door to the garage shuts, and you glance over your shoulder. when you do, you're witnessing the brown paper bouquet in his hands, white t-shirt on his shoulders, levis hugging his waist, trucker cap right where it belongs. he knows what this does to you. it's a simple look, nothing more than the basics but that's what does it. it highlights him. the man you love, bare bones and all.

the same man you fell for in that truck bed all those years ago.

he slides his boots off and wraps his arms around you from behind you, showing off the flowers he carried in. "happy flowers to you," he's humming now, making you giggle as his arms tight around you start bouncing you back and forth as he sings to the tune of 'happy birthday', "happy flowers to you, happy flowers, happy flowers, to my valentine youuuuuu" he punctuates the end of the song with a sloppy kiss to your cheek as you ease the weight of the florals from his hand.

"these are stunning, bo." you grin as he lets go, letting you turn to face him fully as he smiles.

"i know, i picked 'em cause they remind me of you." bob grins before pressing a quick kiss to your lips, barely pulling back when he speaks again, "happy valentines, sweet girl." you repeat the sentiment before he takes the arrangement and starts to get them into water.

you can't help but stare as he begins trimming the ends of each stem, easing them into the vase. you can smell the freshness of his body wash, having showered on base before he came home to you. couldn't waste time on your night together - and he knew it. the combination on him is near lethal to you. if you weren't actively cooking dinner, the counter would have been supplying a different kind of heat to the kitchen.

"i bought you something!" you nearly startle him with your sudden announcement, the reminder of your gift hitting you as you watch him. running down the hall causes the pup in the living room to chase after you, causing you and bob to both laugh.

shadow had been an unplanned addition to your lives because the poor pup appeared on your back deck one night. the collar on his neck held your current address. the previous owners had barely been involved with the process of the sale, so you didn't have their contact information to tell them hey assholes, you left your dog.

so, you and bob joked that the house came with a guardian, a black lab and german shepherd mix (bob got his dna tested out of infuriating curiosity). he quickly clung to the two of you - thus 'shadow'.

you lug the box into the kitchen, where bob has kept an eye on the meal you had recklessly abandoned. looking at you he huffs a gasp. "sweet girl, this is unnecessary." he laughs, taking the wrapped gift from your arms and sliding it onto the counter. still, he tears into it and reveals the milkshake maker, making him laugh, looking over at you with a grin. "that why you got your hair all done like this?" he grins, his fingers moving over the braid you'd plaited this morning.

"maybe." you hum, kissing his cheek as he looks over the box holding the machine. that diner the two of you met in had closed not long after you moved to san diego. you'd spent hours there and he'd once complimented the ribbon in your hair when it was woven into the braid on your head. recently, bob had mentioned how he'd missed those milkshakes they'd always made him.

he grins, before tucking his hand into his pocket. "hold out your hand." you hold it out as he asks, palm up. what he sets into your palm catches you off guard.

you'd been expecting something small, likely a jewelry box or something, like the years before.

instead a little metal circle is dropped into your palm. shining and glimmering. diamonds along it like stars in a line. your spine is electrified with chills, as your jaw drops as you look at him in awe. "bob, what-you-"

"i can get on my knee if you want, i'm just- i'm so in love with you. i'm truly in awe of you and how valid you make me feel. how valued and cherished i feel - how you listen," his head nods to the machine on the counter, "and you care and you never fail to be the best. just simply the best. i hope that i am for you-"

cutting him off you speak, "and you are," he laughs.

"then i wanna continue being that for you. for forever." you're sliding the new piece of jewelry onto your ring finger before he can get the words out, your arms slinking around his shoulders and linking your lips with his.

when you pull back, you grin.

"you're mine. i'm all yours and i'm in love. i'm so in love with you. with our life and the path we're on." you whisper. his hand takes a hold of your arm before the two of you jump at the sound of a smoke detector, both of you scrambling to clear the kitchen of smoke.

when the alarm is off and the burnt chicken is tossed, you smirk as you pull ice cream from the fridge.

"ice cream for dinner?" you try. bob grins.

"how about milkshakes instead?"

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this for @ohtobeleah and her TGM Valentines Day Special.

It is a Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x female!reader imagine.

Happy Valentines Day! 💛✨

The song I chose is ‘Dandelions’ by Ruth B.

Warnings: this is racially and body type inclusive despite the moodpboard suggesting otherwise, your favorite flowers are now dandelions for the sake of this fic, this is only proofread by me :)

Bob Floyd had been your friend for years, best friend, really, and he was your favorite human being.

He was kind and gentle and oh so charming, which was one of the reasons why you couldn’t help but fall in love with him.

It had happened slowly and shortly after the first the first time you met, and the two of you became inseparable.

When Bob finished his bachelor’s degree he wanted to go on to Officer Candidate School in Pensacola and then train to become a pilot for the Navy.

You went to the same university because you didn’t want to be apart and you found a career that you could pursue while traveling a lot, should it be necessary.

It wasn’t that you planned to spend the rest of your life with Bob but if you were honest you couldn’t really think of your life without him.

While it might have been weird to others Bob and you always celebrated Valentines Day together, because you were the people who mattered most to you.

It had become a tradition that a nervous slightly pimple faced teenage Bob had brought to life, explaining that he wanted to celebrate your friendship.

Neither of you had ever really seriously dated someone else so you were always free to spend the day together.

Bob had graduated in December and planned to start OCS as soon as possible, which meant that he’d have to stay at Pensacola for at least twelve weeks.

That meant he’d be away from you for a while, and you already dreaded it.

When Bob picked you up for your annual Valentines Day date you did your best to look as pretty as possible, finding the perfect dress in Bob’s favorite color.

He brought you out in his truck that he had already loaded with everything necessary for the trip, not telling you where you were going.

Bob looked extraordinarily attractive, having put on a new shirt in your favorite color and having taking special care of his hair, combing it and trying to keep it from falling into messy locks over his forehead.

You were sure he had put on more cologne than usual when you hugged him and it immediately made you smile.

The drive to your unknown destination was short but despite listening to your favorite music Bob somehow seemed nervous, which also evoked the same feeling in you.

Bob had developed a habit of putting his hand on your thigh most of the drive, which always gave you comfort as well as a sense of happiness at his show of affection.

When Bob finally stopped the truck you were seemingly in the middle of the road, in a beautiful field that was blooming with your favorite flowers.

Bob sent you a giddy smile as he rushed outside to open your car door, another habit you had established throughout your friendship.

You were grateful for his kindness as he helped you climb down from your seat to stand next to him.

Bob gave you another grin before he turned to his truck bed, grabbing a basket as well as a backpack.

He held your hand as he pulled you through the field that was glowing with dandelions in different stages of bloom.

It was really beautiful, especially to be there with him.

When you stopped walking he put a blanket down for you to sit on, pulling you onto it to talk to you.

Until now you had shared a comfortable silence, because you knew he had something to share with you.

“I’m going to Pensacola in a few days. I just got the call from OCS,” he said softly and your heart fell, knowing that from then on he’d be busy beginning a new part of his life.

You weren’t entirely sure you were in it so you took a short breath, your entire body feeling as heavy as lead as you waited for him to continue.

His eyelids fluttered as he saw your reaction and he reached out to hold your hand.

“I don’t, I mean… I have never felt about anyone the way I do about you. I’ve heard of love that comes once in a lifetime. And I’m pretty sure that you’re that love of mine,” he went on to shock you to the core, and an amount of feelings you didn’t know you could feel rushed through your body.

While you were sad he was leaving a heat rushed through you at his confession, the relief of feeling the same but not feeling the strength to say it first as strong as the amount of oxytocin in your body.

You were speechless as you felt tears well up in your eyes and Bob smiled, reaching in his pocket to find a small box in it.

It was a beautiful light color and when he opened it you found a necklace with a delicate dandelion charm inside that made you actually shed one of the tears that were forming.

“I love you,” he said softly and you chuckled in disbelief, not quite knowing how to react.

“I…,” you choked on your own emotions but Bob chuckled, nodding lightly.

“I know you do,” he replied, his gentle smile all you needed in that moment.

Your fingers gripped his tighter and he mirrored your actions, giving you the security he knew you needed.

“I’d love to be with you, baby,” he added, and you couldn’t have nodded any faster.

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[delopsia]

Better | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 6,200  Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Reader has the callsign 'Weave.' AFAB! Reader, post-jet crash scenario, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, face-sitting, hurt/comfort if you squint, friends to lovers trope, blood, and bodily injury, and a likely inaccurate description of naval aviator gear.  

There is nothing quite like waking up and seeing a multi-million dollar aircraft burning right before your very eyes. 

It doesn't look real. Vivid hues of red and orange dance along the busted shell of what used to be a Naval aircraft, a stark contrast against the pristine, white snow. The hellish heat that licks at your exposed, frozen cheeks is the only indication that it's not a figment of your imagination. Distantly, you think you must've crashed, but it's hard to believe when there's not a single ache in your—

"Fuck!"

You shouldn't have moved, you shouldn't have moved, you shouldn't have moved.

Eyes screwing shut. Mouth ajar. Yet not another sound escaping. Every bone, joint, and muscle on your left side is screaming. White-hot, piercing through every nerve. Your rib cage feels as if it's just burst open, burning hotter than the remains of your plane. 

God, what happened?

You don't recognize this place. These trees don't look like the ones from back home, and you don't recall the weatherman saying California was expecting six inches of snow. What you do recognize is the stray boot that pokes out from behind the jet. U.S. Navy issued. But you're not missing any shoes...

"Bob?" The joints of your shoulders beg you not to move, but you've already pushed yourself up, vision blurring as your head swivels. Your feet scramble for purchase on the powdery snow, but something tugs at you from behind, throws you off balance. 

It's your parachute, tangled within the branches of the tree above you, leashing you. Closing your frigid hands around the material is near impossible, fingers so frozen that they can hardly bend. You've barely enough strength to disconnect yourself. 

"Bob?" You try again. 

No answer.

There's a numbness in your legs as you stumble closer to the roaring flames. On its own, the world seesaws, leaving you to stumble as you struggle to keep upright. You only mean to take one step left, but that singular step becomes two, four, five. 

The ground comes back up and smacks you in the hip.

From down here, you can see the boot better, but you can't the leg attached to the foot that occupies it. Or maybe...that's three boots. They're right in front of you, but when you reach out to touch them, your hand can't seem to reach. Scooting forward, you swipe out and try again. All you get is snow.

But they're right there. 

Forward a little more. Nothing. Something within the jet pops, wicked flames bursting out in a mushroom-shaped plume. Ravenous heat claws at your skin, threatens to eat right through you. Just a little closer. Just a little...

your hand grabs hold of the boot, vision centering a little. Around you, the wind spins like a top, but even through the haze, you realize something.

There isn't a body attached at all.

Your head feels like someone's just filled it with lead. The colorful hues of red, mere feet away from your face, threatens to reach out and melt the skin from your cheeks. You need to move. You know you do, but even as you tell yourself to move, your body refuses. 

The collar of your flight suit tightens as you're yanked backward. 

In the blink of an eye, you've got control again, wriggling, fighting to turn around as you're drug away by the thin material of your collar. Words tumble out of your mouth, but your ringing ears hardly comprehend them. Your foot catches on a rock, body flipping around and—

that face is familiar.

Cheeks patched with soot, blood pouring from a gash that stretches from his temple down to his cheek, just barely avoiding his eye. Glasses long gone, but there's a red indent between his eyes from the frames. 

"Bob?" You know it's him, and yet it tumbles off your tongue anyway.

"'m here," his voice breaks, shaky.

The arm you're using to brace your weight crumples out from under you; the snow that catches you is pillowy soft, but the numbing cold stings at your skin, nevertheless. Bob's next tug on your collar is half-hearted, urging but lacking the strength to put behind it. 

Next to you rests a bootless foot, bathed in a deep crimson that makes your heart sink. 

On its own, your hand wanders out to hold onto his thigh, "you're hurt."

Your observation doesn't receive a response, doesn't exactly warrant one, either. Silence is better than hushed insistence that he's alright when you both know that's a downright lie. Instead, he shifts to rest his weight on his forearm, curling his body around yours as a viciously strong wind ripples past. The fire behind you spikes with a roar, heat blasting. 

His free hand strokes the side of your head, thumb swiping at what you only assume to be blood, "what's the last thing you remember?"

And where the hell is your helmet?

There's a fogginess to your memory. You remember waking up to Natasha snoring and Bradley clapping his hand over your shoulder a bit too hard on your way out of the cafeteria. But you don't remember taking off, and your memory lacks a single shred of where you flew. 

But your ears vividly recall a flurry of voices coming through your radio. Your bones still rattle with the vibrations of a too-close-for-comfort explosion, a missile narrowly avoided. A tiny voice screams out from the commotion, barely audible over it all.

"I remember you telling me to brake left," you shouldn't be leaning up into Bob's touch the way that you are.

His response takes some time, but eventually, he hums, "I didn't account for the one comin' up from beneath us."

After all this, you'd better get a raise and a vacation. 

It's hard to miss the faint hum that cuts through the air. Too far away for you to see, but even through the ringing in your ears, the sound is unmistakable. Bob's head lifts, tilted toward the direction that it's coming from. 

Muscles aching, you push yourself up to your knees, ignoring the angered twinges of muscles that beg you to stay still. Shelter. You need shelter. Bob doesn't require any urging, already has one hand braced on the trunk of a tree as he heaves himself up. 

A yelp ripples through the chilly air, echoing through the forest around you. 

It's not until Bob falls back into the snow that you realize who it came from. Crimson drips from his trembling foot like a waterfall; beneath, dull white shines through. 

"'m okay," his voice wavers, "I'm okay." With his good leg, he shields the wound from your view, but you know what you saw. 

The whirring of that helicopter is growing louder. Closer. 

"No, you're not," but there's no time for you to grill him on it. He's already trying to get up again, breathing through gritted teeth as he's forced to put weight on his injury. You know your backseater too well for your own good. Already know he's not going to ask for help.

And that's exactly why you lift his arm and shove yourself beneath it. 

"You don't need to do that," he fusses, but all it takes is one step forward for him to gasp and lean against you. That foot can't bear weight, and you both know it. 

Liar. 

It's hard to tell where you're going, but with the whirring of those helicopter blades growing louder, you don't have much of a choice. The only thing you know is that you flew in from the South-West; your best bet is to head in that direction. Search and rescue has a better chance of finding you there. 

But only if your enemy doesn't follow the patches of red that mark your trail.

Your swollen shoulder strains under Bob's weight, so sore that even the slightest of pressure has you gritting your teeth to bear it. Fuck, never mind your shoulder; everything hurts. As your weary feet tread through the snow, it's difficult to tell what's just sore and what's been injured. Though, you've got a sneaking feeling that your shoulders and ribs are decorated with some hellish bruising. 

And yet, even as he limps along by your side, suffering through the same ejection pains you are, Bob still has it in him to smile at you. It's watery, faltering when that mangled foot is forced to touch the ground, and it doesn't quite meet his eyes, but it's there. 

"Bobby—"

"'m alright," he turns his head off to the side, shielding his eyes from your sight. You hate that you know what he's trying to do. Those baby blues tell a story too heavy for his tongue to bear; if they meet with yours, they'll start talking. 

It's the one reason why he can't play poker. 

"What's that brown mass on our right?" It's hard to tell if he's trying to change the subject or if he's actually trying to figure out what he's looking at. 

The muscles in your neck are tight, making it difficult for you to turn your head. "We need to get you Lasik after this," joking through the pain, you squint in the direction Bob's transfixed on. Trees, trees, more trees, a clearing, followed by, you guessed it, more trees. You don't see what he's—

oh

wait.

Tucked up against a steep hill sits a tiny shack. The paint has long since withered away, leaving behind nothing but brown, rotting planks. The front of it bows forward, the neglected roof sinking inward, but it's shelter. 

A shelter that might collapse on you. But that whirring is growing louder and louder. The ground hums with the motions of the unknown helicopter's blades. You're in no place to argue.

"It's some sort of shack," you observe aloud, fighting the urge not to hasten your step. 

It's a longer walk than it looks. It would be easy to sprint through the clearing, but Bob can't run in this state. There's no guarantee someone won't spot you from overhead. By your side, Bob meekly hobbles along; blood no longer stains the snow, but his noises grow with every step. Little grunts of pain that burn you to the core. 

That helicopter just keeps getting closer and closer and closer. And finally, you see it emerge over the horizon; looks nothing like the ones back on the aircraft carrier. That's not search and rescue. 

"They don't see us yet," Bob's words are rushed, jumbled together as he tries to move a little quicker. Grunting with every step, eyes bolting shut. 

You're almost there. Just a few more steps. Just a few more.

"Almost there," you grunt, stumbling in tune with his hobbled steps, "almost there."

You don't even get to touch the door handle. 

It's hard to tell whose foot gets caught in who's. All you know is that you're falling forward. Shoulder slamming into a flimsy wooden door that gives at the slightest amount of pressure. The decrepit floor knocks the breath from your lungs. Leaves you struggling to garner another breath. 

Rusty hinges wail as the door swings shut behind you. Oddly...human.

Light barely filters through the tiny, broken windows, illuminating a cracked fireplace and what looks to be a shelf that's fallen off the wall. The very definition of bare bones.

Movement on your left has you turning your head. 

Bob's shoulders shake like leaves in the Autumn wind. Laying on his belly, pretty face buried in the crook of his arm, concealing the tears that you already know are there. The blades of the helicopter are loud, but his wobbly breaths are louder.

Careful, as if moving too quickly will hurt him, you reach out to smooth your hand along his shoulder blades. Only serves to make him shake a little harder, sniffles escaping even as he visibly tries to swallow them down. 

"'m fine." Not daring to lift his head. 

"No, you're not." Running your hand upward, you dare to run your fingers through his messy hair, the damp locks remarkably soft, even now. 

You can't be doing this. Touching his hair only makes you want to gather him up in your arms and kiss those tears off his cheeks. Your tongue already bears the words you'd whisper into his ears, sweet nothings and reminders that his feelings matter to you.

"Bobby," you try again, this time allowing the pads of your fingers to skitter across his temple. His jaw moves, ready to speak. You beat him to it. "Don't you dare tell me you're fine."

That's enough to get his head raising, red eyes peeking out from the corner of his elbow. Those baby blues meet with yours, immediately flickering away as if your gaze has just burned him. 

"Me whining about being hurt is going to do nothing but get on your nerves," he murmurs, his voice barely audible, and yet his words burn themselves right into your skin, "it doesn't fix any—"

"Moron," even being shot out of the sky cannot knock the attitude from you, "you never got upset when I dislocated my ankle and whined about it for a week straight. Why would I ever get upset with you?" 

Bob's eyelashes flutter, voice raising by an octave as if it'll strengthen his argument, "I didn't want to upset you."

"I love you too much to get upset with you for being in pain."

Silence.

Your mouth feels like it's full of lead. Face growing even colder than it was out in the snow. Did that really just fly off your tongue? Now of all times? 

On second thought, being gunned down by that helicopter doesn't sound so bad. "I'm sorry, I—"

"D'you really mean that?" Well, he doesn't sound upset, at least. Shallowly, you nod. 

You don't expect him to lift his head from behind the barricade of his folded arms, opting to rest his head on top of them instead. The hand that was just in his hair slides down to the dusty floor, limp. Bob watches it as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. Even reaches out to run his fingers along a tear in your glove. They curl around it, loosely holding your hand as he looks back up at you. 

And he just...stares. A quiet transfixion on your face, like it's the first time he's ever seen you. Taking in every detail, every wrinkle and crease that your skin has to offer. His head moves forward by just a fraction, but then an awkward smile overtakes him, and he has to look away.

Your synchronous inhale is so loud that it echoes through this tiny, one-room shack. Bob tilts his head back to you, seemingly unable to take his eyes off of you. Next to his head, his fingers twist together, like they always do when he's deep in thought. You wonder if he can hear the way your heart pounds against your chest like a drum. Any stronger, and it just might break free of its confines. 

Bob's moving. Pushing his weight up onto a forearm, tilting his body towards you. Hesitates, just shy of bumping his nose into yours. Again, your eyes meet. Getting shot down was scarier than this. 

Hesitant lips press against your own, slotting together like puzzle pieces. There's nothing else to it, each holding it in fear of the other having second thoughts. Only lasts a few seconds, but it feels as if you spent forever there.

"We shouldn't...be doing this," you find yourself saying as if you're not actively curling your hands around his bruised cheeks, "if Cyclone finds out..."

"Fuck Cyclone." And then Bob's lips are on yours again, no thought required.

It's cruel how easily you fit together. You have a sea of options out there, and yet only Bob Floyd's lips fit against yours so flawlessly. Only your backseater smells of suede and jasmine because he can't stay out of that Polo Blue cologne to save his life. The hand that curls around your cheek feels as if it belongs there. This is how things always should have been. 

The angle is awkward; you want to wrap your arms around his neck, but one of your arms is stuck, bracing your body weight, while the other awkwardly flings around to rest between his shoulder blades.

A shy hand presses against your belly, urging you to sink back against the floor. You don't know what possesses you to comply, but the feeling of Bob settling on top of you is something else entirely. Gasping as he disturbs his injury, but unable to draw himself away. Your knees rise, caging either side of his lithe hips; Bob's not wide by any means, but with him between them, your legs feel like they're spread for miles.

"Bobby," panting against his lips. 

"'ve got ya," one of his hands glides up your sides, working its way beneath your heavy gear, greedily taking in what lies beneath him. Your back arches, leaning into the touch; haven't felt someone touch you like this in so long that it's foreign. 

The desperate need for air is the only thing that can drive a wedge between you, lungs stinging as you gasp for much-needed oxygen. Even that can't stop you from leaning back up, still panting as you press a wayward kiss to his exposed neck. Faintly, Bob's breath catches.

"'m probably sweaty," he warns, but his words fall on deaf ears. You're already dragging your tongue along a protruding vein, sealing it with a wet kiss. "Oh, that's..." the words die with nothing but a sigh. 

You've waited your entire life to hear him make that noise. "You're lucky your gear is keeping me from your collarbone," it's more of a cautionary remark than it is anything else. You're itching to nibble on those pretty, exposed bones, can only imagine what sounds he would make.

It only takes him five motions. One to unclasp his life jacket. Two to undo the strap across the chest. One to pull the underlying zipper down and another to shrug the harness off his shoulders, letting it fall down to rest against his hips. 

Hallelujah.

Bruises scatter his collarbones and shoulders, glaringly sore but so sensitive as you gingerly work your way down to plant kisses on them. Feather-light, teeth only grazing so as to not hurt him. The motion leaves your neck exposed, giving him the perfect opportunity to press his wet lips to the skin beneath your ear. 

"Shit," you hiss, fingertips curling against his shoulder blades. He doesn't say anything, but you can feel his mouth curling against your skin.

His hips dip down, moving on their own accord, something hard brushing against your core. With a strained noise, Bob freezes, nose wrinkling with the grimace that laces his features. 

"Were you trying to grind on me, pretty boy?" Teasing. A futile distraction from the pain.

Cheeks heating red, he nods, "'n I got my karma for it, too."

It was just a simple brush, not even full contact, but you've already gotten hooked on that feeling. This isn't the time, nor is it the place. You can already hear the downright fit Cyclone is going to have when he catches wind of this. 

Bob's eyebrows raise just a fraction, "yeah?" 

Motivated by spite alone, your fingers are already halfway through fumbling with the confines of your harness. Wouldn't have even realized you were doing it had Bob not said anything. It takes some squirming; getting that harness off your legs is harder than it looks, and Bob can only get it down to his knees before he needs assistance. 

The millisecond you get that harness safely off his ankle, you plant two firm hands on his chest and push. 

"Jesus," he chuckles, arms opening up to welcome you as you climb on top of him. 

It's easier this way. You've got to do most of the work, but it keeps Bob from disturbing his ankle. And now, there is nothing that can stop you from tentatively straddling his hips, ass brushing against a hardness that you hope to become overly familiar with someday.

"Better?" You chirp, back aching as you lean down to meet his waiting lips.

As the gap closes, he hums, "better."

Beneath your hands, you can feel his heart pitter-pattering away, soft little thumps that mirror the one that rattles through your weary bones. In the back of your head, a familiar little voice asks you if rolling your hips down into Bob's hard-on is a good idea. There may be no going back from this. The last thing you need is for Cyclone to split you two up and never let you fly together again.

But Bob's sharp inhale tells you that this is a very, very good idea. "Sweetheart," it's hard to tell if it's the pet name or the deep, guttural groan that sends your head spinning, "'m not sure you wanna do that to me."

Eyeroll. "But, Bob~" singsonging. 

"But Weave," he whines back, twitching up to rub against the curve of your ass. His eyes scrunch shut, ankle disturbed, but it doesn't hinder him in the slightest. "If we do this," grunting, "I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to get my hands off of ya."

Should you be making major decisions fresh out of a crash? Probably not.

Will you make that decision anyway? Yes. 

Leaning down, you allow your mouth to open, teeth grazing the shell of his pale ear, "maybe that's what I want." And that ear goes ruby red in the blink of an eye. 

Hands running up your sides, Bob bats his pretty eyes up at you, "then lead the way, pilot."

In all of your whimsy daydreams, you've never come up with a scenario quite like this one. Your quiet, sweet-eyed backseater, laying beneath you in a decrepit shack in the middle of God-knows-where, fresh after an ejection. But somehow, as your hips begin to work themselves against Bob's clothed bulge, and as his hands timidly draw up to cup your breasts, you can't help but realize how fitting it is.

His hips unintentionally shift, and in that simple motion, everything changes. Even through the material of your flight suits, you can feel the outline of him pressing deliciously against your cunt. Not much friction, but it's just enough to have both of your heads rolling, surprised gasps falling from your lips. 

You don't know when he's found the opportunity to unzip your g suit, the material that was once wrapped snuggle around your waist, now hanging low on your thighs. But now those deft fingers toy with the zipper of your flight suit, waiting on your command. Rolling your hips once more, you nod. 

Bob can't get it down quick enough, barely gets the zipper halfway before he's reaching beyond, hands remarkably warm as they slide beneath your shirt. Those dull nails drag just right, tickling your skin.

"So damn soft," he muses, and with the way he's stroking up your spine, you almost think he's petting you. 

They're on the move again, concealed by the distraction of his hips rising up to meet you halfway. Your bra shifts as those wandering hands dive beneath it, doing nothing but feel the shape of you in his palms. Thumbs flick across your nipples, sends your body jerking.

"Jesus, Bobby," squirming as he toys with them, you idly fumble with the side-zipper of his g suit.

"You're lucky there's snow on the ground," he's not even looking at your face, absolutely consumed by what's going on beneath your shirt, "else I'd be beggin' to get this blasted shirt off your pretty lil' frame."

"We can—" fuck, it's hard to talk with him handling your chest like that, "we can save that for when we're sneaking around on the carrier."

"We ain't never gonna hear the end of it," he rolls his hips with yours as he speaks, "Bob and Weave, validatin' everythin' them Admiral's keep sayin' 'bout us."

Just as quickly as he'd reached under your shirt, he retreats, instead taking hold of your devilishly spiraling hips. The pressure tells you to move forward, but when you do, he keeps asking you to move further. 

"Bob...?" You're fully sitting on his chest now, and he's still wordlessly asking you to move up.

He reaches up, dragging that zipper down as far as it will go. Right down between your quivering thighs, exposing the flimsy shorts you're wearing beneath. Whether or not he recognizes that these are his own shorts is a different topic entirely. 

"Up a little more, sweet thing," he urges once more, "want you sittin' on my face."

Oh.

You don't even know what to think. It's hard to believe that your innocent backseater even know this was a thing, to begin with, but here he is, hooking an index finger into the crook of your shorts and panties. His breath is hot against your sensitive skin, enough to have you trying to rise up and away from the feeling.

"What if you can't breathe?" Bracing your hands on the ground beneath his head.

Brilliant blue eyes flick up to take in your expression. "Good."

And with both of his hands gripping your hips, he leans up and drags his dripping tongue right between your folds. Broad, flat as he spreads you open with it, fuck, that's a hell of a feeling. With you distracted, he pulls you downward, forcing you to sit on his pretty face. 

"Bobby," fuck, fuck, fuck, his tongue flicking against your swelling clit is something else. 

The bastard hums, somehow already understanding what you mean when you whimper his name. Already knows that the fingers tangling in his hair are a good thing. If you'd thought his breath was hot, this is something else entirely. The wet muscle that laps at your cunt burns hotter than the flames that consumed your aircraft, threatens to burn right through you. 

Only plays with your clit for long enough to have you whimpering his name under hushed breaths before lapping his way down, down, down to your neglected entrance. Tonguing it, tracing your sensitive rim before pushing inside. The soft tip of his nose presses into your clit, paying it attention while his tongue works in and out of you.

"Fuck, fuck, Bobby," you hope there aren't any foot soldiers looking for you; they'd be able to hear you a mile away, "how the hell did you—ah, even know about this?"

You shouldn't have asked that. No, no, you shouldn't have because now he's peering up at you as he works your sensitive cunt, "y'talked 'bout it one night at the Hard Deck." He doesn't even try to pull away as he speaks, words vibrating right up your spine. "Been dreamin' 'bout it ever since."

Then he's drawing back up, swirling around the swollen bud that he can't seem to leave alone, "Can y'imagine the heart attack this'd give Mav?" How long has he been hiding lewd words under a sheepish smile? "Find'n out I've got my pilots sweet lil' pussy on my tongue right after I promised I wouldn't?"

Mav. Poor bastard spent the past month convincing Cyclone you and Bob weren't seconds away from jumping each other's bones, only for it to actually happen the moment he turned his back. Not a soul on that carrier has a clue. They don't even know you're alive, never mind squirming on your backseater's face as he laps at your pussy like it's his nine-to-five. 

That thought alone sends something tightening in your gut. Familiar. 

"'m close," you gasp, tugging at his short locks, "don't wanna cum like this."

Bob pauses midstroke, seems to think a little before speaking, "how d'ya wan' it?"

"I'd rather cum around your cock," not even missing a beat. 

And even with his face right between your legs, tongue fresh off your pussy, Robert Floyd has the audacity to turn beet fucking red. 

"Well," suddenly unable to meet your eye, "then...be my guest?"

You hate him, you think, as you squirm back down, dragging his flight suit zipper along with you. You hate, hate, hate this motherfucker and his ability to sway so seamlessly between demanding and sheepish. 

Beneath his flight suit, his shirt has risen up, revealing a milky-white tummy that absolutely demands a kiss or two. Even if the angle is awkward and puts a strain on your already sore neck. 

"'r you really kissin' my belly right now?" Combing his fingers against your scalp, but that doesn't sound like a complaint to you.

"I've gotta do what I've gotta do," the cold tip of your nose nuzzles the smooth skin that resides just next to the waistband of his shorts. Your fingers itch to pull them down, but his flight suit creates a hell of a conundrum. You can't even catch glimpse of his pale thighs, and those are probably an eighth-world wonder on their own.

Next time. 

For now, you'll have to be content with pushing the loose material of his shorts upward enough so that you can see his briefs lurking beneath. Even from here, you can see the strain he's putting on the material, makes it easy to find him when you reach past.

"Shit," he hisses, hips rising as you take hold of him at the base. Slowly, slowly, you guide him out, finding yourself amused as he chases your touch until he no longer can. 

He's bigger than you thought he would be. A considerable weight in your palm, pale-pink tip silky soft as you toy with it. You hope there will come a day when you can sit down and see how long it takes him to get off from you playing with that mushroom tip. Because right now, as he bites his lip to stifle his noises, you don't think it would take too long.

Speaking of...

"Hah-!" That's a new sound. Peering up at him from beneath your lashes, you poke your tongue out and run it against his length once more. Clamping his hand over his mouth, he reaches down to bat you away from his poor cock, "'gonna get us caught if ya keep doin' that."

Maybe that's the point. Dying with his cock in your mouth. What a way to go.

Cautiously, you settle yourself up on his lap, one hand braced on his sturdy chest while the other guides him to where you want him the most. Blunt head spreading your folds with such ease that it's as if he was made to do it. Once you apply the slightest bit of pressure but allow him to slip forward, just a slight taste that has him grumbling beneath you. 

Drawing him back, he catches on your entrance, and slowly, as if moving too quickly will break him, you allow yourself to sink down. It's been a long while since the last time you felt the growing pressure that comes with such an intrusion, gradually stretching to accommodate his girth. 

You want to make a remark over the way he downright whimpers into the back of his hand, but you can't so much as make a noise. A little too distracted by how your walls mold to fit the shape of your backseater, filling spaces you forgot you even had. Then your hips are flush together, and it's as if your voice has been punched back into you.

"Fuck, Robby," panting like a dog, you're forced to brace yourself against his chest with both hands or else you'll collapse into a messy heap on top of him, "you could've at least warned me that you were packing."

He rolls his eyes. You hope they get stuck back there. "'m not that big," but he is, and it's so dizzyingly delicious to feel inside of you. Not necessarily long, but thick enough to warrant a wide-load sign. 

Experimentally, you lift your hips, testing the waters as you rise up, then slowly sink back down onto him. He hasn't even hit anything special, and yet it's enough to have your lips parting with a silent sound. You haven't the slightest clue where he's finding the strength to swivel his hips beneath you, blindly searching on each timid upward stroke. 

And then your breath is hitching, stars sparkling beneath your eyelids as his plush head finds the neglected bundle of nerves hidden within those gooey walls. There it is.

"Better?" He chirps, smiling. Evidently, he's not just good with buttons and switches in fighter jets.

Nodding. "Better" 

Drawing yourself up quicker now, barely clinging to his chest as you find your pace. Something shallow enough to avoid the aching in your thighs but quick enough to give you what you want. His head downright nails that poor little spot, has your cunt fluttering around him like a damn butterfly.

"Look so beautiful on top of me," he whines, absolutely awe-struck by the way your body moves, working up and down like you've trained for this moment all your life. His hips twitch upward, weakly meeting you halfway, and rips a surprised cry right out of your throat. "Fuck, 's that what you need, darlin'?" 

"Just like that, Bobby," you don't even know what you're saying, only capable of moving a little quicker, desperate to feel him strike that sensitive bundle again and again and again. "Bobby, just like that."

You want more. Need to hear his soft grunts that follow every lewd smack of skin on skin, need more of everything he has to offer you, but your thighs are growing sore. Muscles burning, begging you to stop. 

"Can't," you're trying, but your legs just aren't having it, unable to chase the familiar tightening of your core as you ride him. "I can't keep—"

"I got ya," there's an unfamiliar strength to his hands as they tighten around your hips. His upward thrusts are weak, but he pulls you down into them so hard that you can hardly notice a difference. 

Two motions of his hips, and you're crumbling like a house of cards, collapsing into his chest. All of a sudden, his name is the only thing you're capable of uttering, face hiding in the crook of his sweaty neck. You don't know where this is coming from, but you pray it never goes away.

"So good for me," he mindlessly babbles against your temple, "cum on my cock for me, sweetie."

His words have you clamping down around him like a vice, writhing as he fucks you. Rhythm faltering but downright merciless as he works that sensitive spot over and over, sends a fire rippling up your belly. Skin prickling as it builds, your mouth starts to move on its own. "Bobby, Bobby."

"Cum, darlin'," and he's saying more, some whispered encouragement to give it to him, but you don't need it. 

One, two, three more pumps of his cock, and you're biting down into his collarbone, unable to stop the strangled squeal that he just about jackhammers out of you. Distantly, you can feel his hips stalling, an unfamiliar heat filling you, but your head is back up in the clouds. Foggy, the air so thin that you can't catch your breath as you weakly pulse around his dick.

But this time, when you open your eyes after a long while, you don't find yourself surrounded by snow and an unfamiliar forest. No, you're wrapped in the strong arms of your Weapons Systems Officer, cock still wedged in you as he presses kisses to your sweaty forehead.

"Y'still with me?" He coos into your temple. 

Nodding, "barely." 

It's twelve hours before search and rescue are finally deployed to come and find you. It takes another twelve for them to release you and Bob from debriefing hell. It's an hour after that when the honorary "they're not dead!" celebration takes off. The cafeteria that houses the impromptu event reeks of alcohol, which may be the reason why nobody catches you and your backseater sneaking out of your own party. 

"I still can't believe you didn't break it," you muse, too focused on rewrapping Bob's ankle to pay attention to the fingers that stroke your cheek. The countless stitches look worse than the original gash itself did, sends a chill down your spine every time you see it. 

"See? I told you I was fine," his eye-roll is audible in his tone, never has been good at hiding it. 

Not missing a beat, you nip at his thumb, chasing his hand away from your face. You need to focus. The last thing you want to do is wrap his ankle too loosely or too tightly. But as you place the metal clasp back into his gauze, your work doesn't look too far off from the medics. 

"Better?"

"Not yet," tapping his lips, "'m still missing a little something."

Huffing, you lean up, meeting his lips halfway. You fear that you're slowly creating a kiss fiend. "Now, is it better?"

All of it is worth it when you get to see his face light up, features laced with a grin so big that his eyes wrinkle with it. "Better."

[ultralightpoe]

Sweet Nothing - Robert 'Bob' Floyd

Authors Note : I cannot believe this is only the second piece I had ever written for him because I loved him! This sat in the drafts a litte too long if you know what I mean.

Word Count: 3519

Warnings: - none I believe -

Requests: OPEN

Main Master list - - Midnights Event List

(Thank you for the gif @topgundaily )

x Enjoy! x

I spy with my little tired eye

Tiny as a firefly

A pebble that we picked up last July

Down deep inside your pocket

We almost forgot it

Does it ever miss Wicklow sometimes?

- 

It’s a weird feeling, knowing that you were so close to the end and not being ready for it. You wanted to dig your heels in the mud and fight away from the finish line, drag yourself back to the start. What you would give to go back to the beginning when it was still so sweet and happy. 

But you weren’t in a race, and you couldn’t fight your way away from the finish line this time. No, right now you are laid out across the bed of your guest room with the love of your life avoiding you downstairs. The end is coming. You both knew it, you just weren’t ready. 

You had been warned over and over, from your friends to your parents and you knew his own group had warned him as well. You should have listened. But you both thought you could beat the odds. 

He took you to the lake for a date, a fact that made your friends giggle amongst each other as you rushed around to get ready. Braiding your hair at first before panicking and not liking it so you rushed to brush through as your best friend chose the best bathing suit for you to wear and they all talked about your date. 

“-He is so cute. And he blushes whenever you are close, which is so cute.” Veronica smiles, playing with your waterproof mascara as your brush snags on a nasty knot in your hair and makes you gasp in pain. 

“Are you sure about this? He is a military man. We have the no dating military rule for a reason.” Samantha snaps, her eyes laid with mistrust and her body rigid as she leans against your wall. “I don’t want to get a call in the middle of the night of you crying to escape.”

That made you panic slightly, you knew Bob and he was always so sweet but how many females had fallen for the sweet act before. He was military and Samantha herself had gone through a military marriage that led to a broken cheek and nose, you had been the one to give her a place to stay. 

“It will be fine.” You shrug. “I have a good feeling.”

And you had been right, he took you to the lake and you both swam around for hours. He braided your hair when you got out so it didn’t get knotted and tangled from the lake water. You stayed huddled together in his car for warmth as you ate the greasiest burgers you could and laughed about the day you had. 

“I had a lot of fun today.” Bob blushes, fixing his glasses from where they were sliding down his nose as you smile at him. His cheeks were a little rosy from the sun and his knee was pressed to yours, his hair swept awkwardly. “Thank you for spending the day with me.”

“Thank you for inviting me.” You answer, both your voices low as you stare at each other. “I loved it.”

“You ready to go home, then?” He asks, his cheeks reddening even more past the burn which makes you smile a little wider.

“Or we could…. Well we could go to your place.” You offer to be near him a little longer. 

“I’d love that.” He smiles, moving to pull something out of the pocket of his swim trunks, placing it on the dashboard so he could start the car, and you blink at it. 

“Did you have a rock in your pocket?”

“Yeah. I thought it was pretty and I wanted to keep a memory of today.” He says lowly, looking at you nervously. “Is that weird?”

“No. Not at all.” You laugh, leaning to kiss his cheek. 

- 

They said the end is coming

Everyone's up to something

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they're push and shoving

You're in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

- 

That little pebble from the lake still sat on his dashboard, the day he crashed his truck he made sure to grab it and keep it in his pocket. When he got his flier from the military he kept it on that dashboard now. He always carted it around in the air, saying it was his good luck charm. 

The thought makes tears well up in your eyes as you drag yourself from the bed and shuffle around the room to get dressed for the day. It had been the very first time you slept without Bob, which meant you didn’t actually get any sleep and you were more than a little cranky. Tired, cranky and upset. 

Not a good mix. 

But you tried to keep it together while you got ready for the day, fixing your hair and slipping on shoes before heading downstairs to grab your bag and keys. 

When your love sees you he casts his eyes away, rubbing at his chest as he makes himself look busy. “I made coffee if you need-”

It hurt to hear his voice, tearing at your chest as you snatch your work bag and keys before storming out of the house without any coffee. Just like that the feeling of betrayal is back, slashing at your heart and making you angry once more. 

Even the sound of his voice upset you now. 

Bob knew the news was not going to be delivered easily, waiting for you to get home from work with his leg bouncing wildly out of anxiety. You would leave, he knew it. Not that he would blame you, it would just tear him up through and through. 

The front door stands and he rushes up, fixing his glasses and turning the corner to where you would still be taking off your shoes. “Hey.”

Your head snaps up at his greeting, smiling softly as you shuffle closer and lean up on your toes to kiss his cheek before you move to kiss his lips. You seem to read his body language then, the tight stance and the guilty way he doesn’t kiss back before you lean back and blink at him. “Everything okay?”

“I….. They are changing my… okay so you know how we always talk about how I might be restationed?” He mumbles, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “Well I… they are restationing me.”

“What? How long do you have?” You blink, fully pulling back from him. His hands catch on the bottom of your jacket, trying to keep you close and failing when you take another step back. 

His face pulls in a grimace as he realizes that this is where the annoyance will kick in, where you will actually get mad at him. “I have about 2 weeks.”

“2 weeks! I’m sorry, repeat that because it sounds like you just said 2 weeks.” You snap, blinking at him as your face begins setting into anger. “Aren’t they supposed to give you more time? Why would they make this so short?”

“Well I found out… a month ago. I just didn’t know how to explain and I wanted to find an apartment that might work before I told you.” 

“What do you mean, might work?!” 

“For us. An apartment that would be big enough for us-”

“You expect me to drop my entire life in 2 weeks?!” And before either of you knew it there was a fight brewing. 

- 

On the way home

I wrote a poem

You say, "What a mind"

This happens all the time

- 

You can’t really concentrate at work, your pen tapping on your desk a little too quickly, your coworkers beginning to look at you with odd glances. 

The more you thought the more you began changing your mind. It’s not like you loved this job, you would be more than happy to give your two weeks. Hell, you would love to give your days notice.  You would not miss this job nor would you miss any of your coworkers. You would however miss your friends and family. 

But it’s not like phones didn’t exist, and it’s not like you couldn’t take vacations to come see them. But it still wouldn’t be the same, you would be tearing yourself away from your family and friends. Alienating yourself. 

At the end of the day your options are narrowed down to leaving Bobby behind or leaving your life behind. 

Would you be able to make that choice. 

“Are you okay?” Your boss asks, coming to stand at your cubicle with a stern look. “I haven’t received any of the reports I needed from you in the past hour.”

“I…..” You blink, sitting up straighter, the photo of Bobby you have on your desk catching your eyes. 

“Let’s talk in my office.” She snaps, nodding her head as you try to come up with a proper excuse to your behavior. 

A month into the relationship and your friends still were a little skeptical of your boyfriend, but things were easy and you were in love. 

Tonight you would be taking Bobby to your friends birthday party, which was a very important thing and your boyfriend was panicking. You were laying on his bed, watching him pace back and forth in his room as he tried to find something to wear. 

“Does it look kiss assy if I match you? Because you look great but I don’t want your friends thinking I’m…. or maybe these jeans won’t work. How dressy is this party?” He panics, finally looking at you and fixing his glasses. 

“I think you are stressing yourself out.” You mumble, patting the bed in front of you to call him over. He sighs, moving to sit by you with a grunt which has you crawling closer and laying your head in his lap. His fingers immediately comb through your hair as he smiles down at you. 

“I know your friends don’t like me, I just want to impress them.” He blushes, shrugging his shoulders. 

“They like you… they all just have thoughts on the military life.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. They are scared you’re going to try and marry me and drag me across the country away from them and everyone. It’s a valid fear.”

“So…. you…. Well….. “ He blanches, nodding his head before moving to stand up. “I’ll stick with the shirt that matches you and the jeans.”

- 

'Cause they said the end is coming

Everyone's up to something

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they're push and shoving

You're in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was nothing

- 

The drive home was filled with shaky hands and tears, you had to pull over once and swipe at your cheeks, taking a second to catch your breath before you continued your drive home. 

The house was dark, Bobby’s shoes gone and his key slot empty which meant he probably went to work or had some other stuff to take care of. You sighed in relief, thankful for at least a couple more hours before you would have to have this conversation with him. 

Instead you went upstairs, grabbing the stuff you had angrily dragged to the guest room last night and putting it back where it belonged before you hid and called your mom. 

Cowardly, you might add. 

You were in tears by the time you slammed the door to the guest room, hands shaking as you screamed at him to leave you alone, your breathing ragged and torn. 

How dare he? How dare he hide this from you and assume you would just up and leave? How dare he not tell you. 

A little forewarning, a little more understanding. Anything more than this. 

“Baby, can we please talk about this?” He asks through the door, a small thump telling you he laid his head on the door. “I…. we both knew this would happen. This doesn’t need to be this big of a deal.” “Go away. Just leave me alone.” You hated that he was right, that you had always known and had always been warned and yet still couldn’t imagine it. 

- 

Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors

And smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other

And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more"

To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it

- 

It had been a long day that had followed a long night, and he was tired. 

All he wanted to do was crawl under your shared sheets and pull you into him, snoring in your neck the way you always complain about while laughing, tickling your sides and snoring loudly just to bother you a little more. 

But after the fight he was sure you would still have a couple more issues to comb through. He understood, he did. The way he threw  it at you was a bit much, and he should have told you sooner but he wanted to make sure everything was sorted before he brought it up. He wanted all his ducks to be in a row. 

He was used to this life, you weren’t. 

The house smelled like it normally does when he gets home, your key in it’s preferred spot and your shoes left by the door, but no you in sight which bothered him. He loved when you came to greet him and now the house just felt empty when he entered. 

Calling your name once, another try, one last time before he sighs and moves to find you without taking his shoes off. He heads upstairs, moving through the halls easily in search of you. Something melting in his chest when he sees you curled upon his side of the bed with your face pressed into his pillow. 

Shuffling closer and placing a kiss on the back of your head before closing the blinds to your shared room and making sure you are comfortable before heading downstairs and getting started on dinner. Concentrating on that rather than remembering your tear stained face from the night before. 

There were hundreds of ways he could have handled the situation better, and he tried to do the right thing and ease you into it. But he still did the wrong thing. 

He just wanted you, he just needed you. 

Nothing else mattered to him. 

“I can’t believe it.” You smile, from ear to ear, as you help him carry in the last of the boxes into your new shared townhouse. 

He had gotten news that his leave would be extended another 2 years, which meant he didn’t have to leave you yet. You both chose to find a new place together after 7 months of dating and build a home together. He couldn’t be happier. 

You were quick to set the box onto the kitchen table before dashing to jump into his arms which made him laugh loudly, nearly dropping you as he tripped up and ran into a wall. “What’s the first thing we do in our new place?”

“Oh there are so many options,handsome. We can cook dinner…. Or maybe set up our kitchen table properly…” You list off ideas, a mischievous glint in your tone. “Or we can fuck.”

He chokes on air, his cheeks tinting red as he blinks at you. “The last one. Definitely the last one.”

- 

They said the end is coming

Everyone's up to something

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they're push and shoving

You're in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

- 

By the time you wake up you have no clue how long you slept. More than a little disoriented as you crawl from the bed and shuffle down the steps of your home, still wiping the sleep from your eyes as you keep tripping on your way to the kitchen. 

He’s got his back to you as he hums, cooking over the stove, and the sight alone makes your eyes well up in tears. It had been almost 3 years with him, living together and building a life together. 

He doesn’t have time to turn as you dash to him, tears falling freely as you wrap your arms around him and cry into the shirt on his back, clutching the fabric between your fingers as he tries his best to hug back. “Hey hey. Take it easy.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.” You sob, keeping him held tight. 

“It’s fine. We’ll figure it out.” He whispers, finally getting the perfect spot to turn and hug you back. “I can make trips down here, any time I get days off I can try to get back here. You don’t have to give up your life for me.”

“No.”

“Come on baby. We can’t just drop this.” He pleads, trying to move you both to the table so you can sit and have conversation. “I can’t lose you. I know we were both aware of this coming but it’s different now that it is here.”

“I quit my job.” You blurt, making him blink at you. “I quit and already called my mom to tell her. I’ll be going with you.” 

He can’t stop blinking at you, his heart stopping in his chest. “You didn’t have to…. You didn’t have to do that. I could have made the trips-”

“I don’t want to. I want you near all the time. I can’t live without you so if you’re being shipped to some stupid ocean side town then I will come with you and learn to swim.” You mumble out. 

“You can swim.” 

“Yeah…. In stillwater.” You laugh, the tears still falling. “I’ve given you 3 years. I’m not giving up now.”

“I know you don’t want this life ,marriage and being carted around.” He sighs. “But I was too selfish to let you go. And I can’t do that. I can’t let you go.”

“Is that what you think? That I don’t want to marry you?”

“Well your friends always sai-”

“I would love to marry you….. Okay you will actually have to ask me, this is not a proposal.”

“Okay, just take a breath.” Bobby laughs, watching you shake in the seat of his cockpit. “It’s just flying.”

“I’m not going in the air.” You snap a little too aggressively, the panic of being in the seat beginning to get to you. It was too high already, and you did not know how he did this on a day to day basis. “Let me out.”

“Okay, hold on. Take a deep breath with me now baby and just relax.” He orders, rubbing your arm comfortably. “Take a breath. You’re okay. Just take a look.” 

You do what he says and take a deep breath in, looking around his cockpit before you spot the small rock from your first date sitting under the sun on the dashboard. “You still have that?”

“Of course.” He laughs, reaching past you to grab it before beginning to point and show you all the cool things in the cockpit. 

- 

They said the end is coming (they said the end is coming)

Everyone's up to something (everyone's up to something)

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they're push and shoving (outside, they're push and shoving)

You're in the kitchen humming (you're in the kitchen humming)

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

- 

The new place had a weird energy. 

You were still getting used to not being so close to your family and days at the beach were not as amazing as you dreamed them to be. Bobby was a part of a ‘secret team’ and his days were pretty packed with a high paced training schedule at first so there were many days you were left alone to figure out what to do. 

You ended up getting another job, this one you liked a little more than the last but it was still so new to you. 

It would take you a while to get used to everything which was fine, you had never had to move like that before but it would all be fine. 

But today Bobby got time off, which you made sure would be spent well. Dressing up in a great outfit and driving out to the stadium to scream Taylor Swift at the top of your lungs. 

By the time he drags you home you have drunkenly decided that the poster you got from the Eras tour might help you liven your new house with.  Bobby agrees, smiling from ear to ear as you hang it up lopsided, knowing that if it makes you happy then he will 100 percent get more for every room of the house. 

You fall asleep in his arms, letting him whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

[jaidens]

Then We Kiss, And You Know I Won't Ever Tell, Yeah

pairing [s] : bob floyd x fem!reader

warning [s] : nothing | some suggestive kissing and touching. | [drabble]

a/n [s] : requests are open ! this is horrible, used to be a draft

Bob’s arms flex as he unbuttons the flight suit from his body. You're laying against the messy bed, against one of the many pillows scrolling through Instagram. The loft apartment was only lit up with the city's lights and almost dark sky. Your Bath & Body Works candles are lit, causing the room to smell like one of your favorite smells. “How was work today?” You ask Bob, noticing how his eyebrows are screwed together and he’s tugging off his clothes angrily.

He's left in a white tank top, and boxers before he tugs on a flannel pair of pajamas. They hang low on his hips and he falls to the bed, crawling into your open arms. He groans once he falls into your arms, putting his head into the bend of your neck and shoulder. “Work was horrible. Hangman was on my ass today, I left my clothes in my car, and to make it all better: the air conditioning broke.”

You frown at his words and stroke the back of his head gently, letting him mess with the bottom of your loose tank top. “That must have been horrible, I'm so sorry.” Your hands are running throughout his mop of hair while he mumbles words into your stomach. The light pink tank top is slightly risen to expose the bottom of your stomach. Bob’s lips kiss across the bottom, as his hands fall against your hips.

“Its okay. Just need you, honey. Missed you all day.” Bob's voice is laced with tiredness and need as he lets his hand glide up your tank top and let his hands mess with everything he could. When he would have these spells after work, need and tiredness, he would cling onto you and keep his hands on you at all times he was able to. The Montana accent became thicker and slurred as he kissed against the edge of your cloth shorts.

“Bobby.. lemme treat you tonight. Been working so hard recently.” You say to him and pick up his chin from where he's lying. He nods and sits up, the sound of his back cracking as he does it. Bob has some bruises in some places on his soft skin and you kiss your lips against some risen scars he has.

Bob goes to object, wanting to help you but then lays back when you run your hands through his hair. He's sure it looks crazy after being messed with so much, but he can't find himself to care as he leans into your touch. You gently rub the knots in his shoulders as they start to fall down slowly.

His lips connect with yours, his hand going to the back of your neck and pulling you down. You're sitting on his lap, feeling his hands travel up your thighs to your hips and squeezing and grabbing in some places. Bob is kissing you gently and softly, letting his lips glide against you instead of pushing it on some nights.

The night ends with slow kisses, soft moans, and a whole lot of love shared between you too.

[stranger-nightmare]

𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

Part Three

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x (female) Reader

Summary: (this is set during a time when our young Top Gun pilots were still training at the academy) at another function hosted by the academy you find Bob being his usual wallflower self, sneaking off somewhere to be alone and away from the crowd, but this time you decide to keep him company… now later that night, Bob uses his special skill of sneaking away to meet you in your dorm

Warnings: fluff, inexperienced / virgin Bob, Bob being an adorable lil blushing mess, smut, loss of virginity, bit of dry humping, protected penetrative sex (m+f), minors DNI

A/N: ngl I had myself giggling, smiling, kicking my feet, twirling my hair and shit as I wrote this lmao! Bob is such a precious baby boy I love him so much! I hope you guys like this and that you’ve enjoyed the other parts to this lil story as well!

p.s you can kinda read this as a one shot if you want but it does directly lead on from parts one and two so I do recommend reading those first if you want to!

Read Part One | Part Two

You feel almost giddy, excitement and nerves fluttering in the pit of your stomach, when you finally hear a soft knock on your door. The rest of the party had been mostly a blur; all you could focus on was Bob. On the promise of what was to come later. Of what was about to happen right now. You take a deep breath to try and steady yourself before opening the door. You can’t help the broad smile that splits your face when you see Bob standing there, face flushed with a kind of embarrassment, eyes darting to everywhere to see if anyone else was watching him come knocking on your door at near two in the morning.

“Hi,” he mumbles quietly, his eyes staring at the floor awkwardly.

You smile gently, “hey there Wallflower.”

He looks up at you at the mention of his lil nickname. You reach out for him, grabbing the open collar of his button down and pulling him into your dorm room. The door is shut quickly behind him, and you waste no time in gently pushing him against it, letting your lips latch on to his. You let the kiss start slow and gentle, trying to restrain yourself even though all you wanted to do was devour him, swallow him whole. Bob reciprocates the kiss slowly, his lips cautiously moving against yours just as his shaky hands move to lightly rest on your waist. You let out a soft moan against his mouth as you gradually push your body into him, letting your hips bump with his, your crotch pushing against his. Your hands slide up his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, giving it a soft tug. The gesture has a groan escaping Bob’s lips, his hands tightening their grip on your waist. 

Another tug on his hair has him opening his mouth up to you, his tongue sliding into your mouth and dancing with your own. You sigh happily as his lips start to grow in confidence, his tongue being the one to dominate as he kisses you deeply. Your nails scratch at his scalp, dragging down until they scraped over his nape. At the same time you nip at his bottom lip, not too hard, but enough to have him halting his actions as he looks down at you flustered. 

He stares at you wide-eyed for a moment as you blink doe-eyes at him. An almost unholy groan rips from him before he crashes his lips back onto yours with a force that knocks you dizzy. His hands grab onto your waist with a newfound confidence. You gasp into his mouth as he pulls you against him, manhandling you slightly as he turns the two of you around until it’s you that’s pinned against the door. His hips jut out to pin you in place, his already hardening cock digging into the bare flesh of your exposed thighs. 

You both moan lightly his hands start to caress your thighs, slowly making his way upwards, hiking up your dress as he did so. You both smirk into the kiss as you both remember exactly where your panties were; still in Bob’s jacket pocket. His hands ghost over your hips, moving to grab fistfuls of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh as he pulls you against him, grinding his hips against yours. You weren’t sure where this newfound surety and confidence had suddenly come from, but you certainly weren’t complaining. 

His lips then start making their way down your neck, acting on instinct. Bob kisses your skin with a hot fervour that had your mind spinning, almost feeling lightheaded, your insides warming and your pussy clenching in anticipation. He kisses lower and lower down, his face getting lost in your chest. You moan and tug on his hair when his mouth leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses over the skin of your breasts where they spilled over the top of your dress. You’d barely begun and already you were a mess under his touch; it was enough to almost make you forget that you were supposed to be the experienced one here, that you were supposed to be guiding him and not the other way around.

“Bob,” you moan, your head falling back against the door behind you.

Your hands tug on his hair as you call his name again, pulling his head back up to look at you again. He looks at you with slight concern. His face his flushed and both of you are breathing heavy. His eyes are blown wide with lust, his glasses knocked askew on his face, his lips pink and kiss-swollen already.

“Are you definitely sure you want to do this?” You whisper, your breathing coming out in frantic pants.

Bob pulls back slightly and looks down at you with the most gentle and warm smile you think you’d ever seen; it tugs at your heart strings. He brings up his hands to cup your face. His palms rest gently against your cheeks as he looks down at you, nothing but sincerity and adoration gleaming in those blue eyes of his.

“You remember earlier when I- uh- was rambling about how there was perhaps one girl I wanted to dance with at the party?” His voice drops to dangerously low whisper.

Your breath hitches, leaving you incapable of speaking, so you just nod.

“It was you,” Bob breathes. “It was always you.” 

You swear you feel your heart swell, a tear stinging behind your eye.

“I’ve been wanting to do this, to do anything, everything, with you,” he rambles. “I’ve been wanting it for a stupidly long time. I just never actually thought it would happen though,” he admits with a slightly sad smile. “So yes, I’m sure I want this,” he finishes.

You find yourself at a loss for words, so you simply lean up again and gently press your lips against his. Bob moans quietly into the kiss, opening his mouth up to you, which you’re swift to take advantage of as you languidly let your tongue slide against his. Your lips remain entangled even as you start to push against him, pushing yourself up off the wall and beginning to walk him slowly backwards towards the bed. You smirk against his lips as you spin the two of you around, until it was your knees that hit the back of your bed. Your break the kiss, keeping your eyes on his, as you climb onto the bed. You sit up on your knees so that you could reach him, arms wrapping around his neck, coaxing his lips back onto yours.

You gently pull him down onto the bed with you, guiding him to hold himself just above you. Your knees fall to the side, legs opening as you coax him to slot his hips against yours. Your dress had bunched up at your side now, exposing your waiting and wanting cunt. You grab Bob’s hips and hold them as you grind your crotch against his, gasping sinfully as your bare cunt rubs against the tent in his suit pants. He groans deeply as his hips start to move with you, guided by your hands, grinding his clothed cock against your bare pussy. 

Once he gets the rhythm, rolling his hips and pushing deeply against you, you let go of his hips. Your hands quickly make their way to his shirt, practically ripping through the buttons before you push it off his shoulders and toss it to the floor somewhere. A content moan falls from your lips as your hands start to explore his surprisingly incredible body. Your nails rake down his chest, his stomach, fingers exploring the hard muscles of his torso. Bob lets out a deep groan as your hands roam over his body, scratching lightly as you go. His lips lose focus on the kiss, distracted by your hands all over him. 

You take advantage of the moment to fully break the kiss as you sit up slightly, nudging Bob to lean up a bit to give you space. He stares at you wide-eyed, his mouth falling open when you quickly pull your dress over your head, leaving you suddenly completely naked in front of him. His mouth hangs open, his eyes blinking rapidly as he takes in the sight of you. He looks flustered, in awe, like he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

“Oh, wow,” he lets out a barely audible whisper. “You- you’re… you’re fucking divine,” he exhales a shaky breath as his eyes continue to drag over your exposed body.

His gaze is so intense as it rakes over your body. A part of you wants to hide away, feeling almost embarrassed to have someone looking at you so intently. But a larger part of you was thrilled by it, by the way Bob was looking at you as if you were most beautiful piece of art he’d ever had the pleasure of lying eyes on. You fight the urge to chuckle lightly as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as if he really was trying to get the perfect view of you. The gentle passion of his gaze made you feel comfortable, at ease, perhaps even bold, as you arch your back and push your breasts out even further. Bob’s gaze flicks nervously from your breasts to your eyes, and back again. You can see the silent question in his eyes, so you grab his left hand place it over your right breast, covering his hand with your own and guiding him to palm the soft flesh.

“You can touch me, it’s okay,” you whisper breathlessly. “That’s kinda the point,” you laugh gently.

Bob’s lips quirk with a soft smile before the both of you let out soft moans as he begins to squeeze and knead your breast, his touch slowly growing in firmness and confidence. Your hips begin to buck up against his again, your back arching, your breast pushing up into his hand. Your hands grab onto the back of his neck again and pull his body back on top of your properly. His bare chest collides with yours, his skin warm and flush against yours. His lips find yours again, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he starts to grind into you again, his body moving in rhythm with yours. You whine into the kiss and move your hips with him, rubbing your bare pussy against his crotch, humping him just as fervently as he was you.

A soft gasp sounds from you when Bob removes his lips from yours, only for them to latch onto your neck. You writhe against him, moaning and mewling almost pathetically as he kisses all over your neck, moving down to your collarbones and shoulders. He kisses at your skin sweetly, juxtaposing to the occasional tug of his teeth on your skin. You were breathing heavy, your body warm with want, your pussy clenching over nothing, desperate to be filled. You almost couldn’t believe the amount of power this boy had over you. All previous experience was practically out the window as all you could focus on was Bob.

A whine of Bob’s name falls from your lips when his mouth starts to move even lower, making his way towards your breasts. Your nails scratch down his back, digging into the skin at his side as you hold him against you. His mouth is hot and wet as he places open-mouthed kisses to your free breast, the one he wasn’t still kneading in his hand. He moans around you as he tastes your skin, his teeth lightly sinking into the soft flesh. You loved this, loved having him worship your tits, it felt heavenly. And yet you couldn’t deny how impatient you were getting, your pussy practically crying out for more, more than the friction of his clothed crotch humping against yours. You needed him inside you. Needed it now. 

“I want to kiss every inch of you,” he hums against your stomach, just below your tit. 

You mewl and buck your hips up, your fingers pinching his sides even harder, not that he seemed to even notice; he was so enamoured with kissing your delicate and delicious skin.

“Later,” you pant pathetically with a groan.

Your hands move to his neck, dragging Bob back up until his face was level with yours. 

“But right now, I need you. Need you to fuck me,” you plead pathetically as you kiss all over his neck and face in between your begs. “Need you so bad Bob, need you inside me. Please.” 

Bob lets out a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper, nodding in understanding. You could tell he was honestly just as desperate as you were, the grinding probably bringing him closer to cumming in his pants than either of you had intended. You kiss under his jaw, sucking on his pulse point as your hands work to unfasten his trousers. Bob reluctantly breaks away from you for a moment as he helps to push his trousers and boxers down his legs, shuffling on the bed and kicking them off to the floor awkwardly. When his attention returns to you, to the way you were staring at him in awe, another blush creeps into his cheeks. His hands are awkwardly pressed to his sides as he kneels in front of you, frozen under your gaze. You smirk with slight amusement; this man had literally cum down your throat a few hours ago and now he had the audacity to be shy as he knelt naked in front of you.

“Bob,” you hum with a gentle firmness, hooking your fingers under his jaw and forcing him to look up at you. “You’re fucking spectacular,” you tell him, keeping your eyes on his, letting your sincerity shine through.

It was true, he was fucking spectacular. He was more tanned and toned than you’d perhaps expected, his chest smooth with the tiniest smattering of light hairs between his pecs. And yet he still had this incredible softness about him; he looked delicate despite his muscles. You kneel up on your knees to kiss him again, pushing your naked bodies together. His cock slips between your legs as you grind onto him, fucking him between your thighs for a moment. You kiss him deeply, your tongue lavishing his. He groans shakily, his hands trembling on your hips as he body rocks unsteadily against yours. You’re about to pull him back down onto the mattress with you when he suddenly pulls back.

“Wait,” he whispers with a trembling breath as he grabs his trousers where they were hanging on the edge on the bed.

He rifles through one of the pockets for a second before he sits back up in front of you.

“Oh, I- um… here. I brought this,” he blushes as he shows you the condom in his palm.

You can’t help as your eyebrows quirk in question; you just kinda figured he wouldn’t have any of his own. 

“Um, Hangman caught me as I was sneaking out. He kinds put two and two together from earlier and he… uh… gifted me this,” Bob explains with a furious blush in his cheeks, answering your silent question.

Your cheeks warm with slight embarrassment knowing that Hangman was aware what the two of you were up to. But you push the thought from your mind as you keep your focus on the here and now, on Bob. 

“Well, saves me trying to dig through my drawer to find one,” your shrug with a giggle and kiss his cheek tenderly. 

Bob smiles and nods before he cautiously tears open the packet, pulling the condom free. He gives an awkward nod before leaning over to neatly place the packet on the bedside table instead of just throwing it onto the floor with everything else. He then leans back into the sitting position in front of you. He clears his throat self-consciously as he begins fiddling with the condom itself, his fingers clumsy as he tries to pull it over himself.

“You need a hand?” You ask gently, letting sincerity coat your tone.

“I- uh-“ Bob blushes, his face going crimson.

You kiss his cheek, silently letting him know that it was okay, there was nothing to be embarrassed about, that you didn’t care. You quickly reach down and replace Bob’s hand with your own, pinching the tip of the condom and rolling the rest down his length swiftly and carefully. You look up at him again, flashing him a reassuring smile. He returns your smile gratefully, even as his cheeks still flare with pink.

You gently let your lips find his again, kissing him tenderly. You take your time with this kiss, letting it naturally build and build, deepening until you were both moaning into each other’s mouth. 

You let one hand rest on his shoulder, the other cupping the back of his neck, before you gently move to lie on your back, dragging Bob with you, tugging him until he was positioned on top of you again. You keep kissing him, even as you open your legs, letting your knees fall to the side, inviting him to take his place between your thighs. He breaks the kiss for a moment as he looks down between your bodies, shuffling himself until he was in position, his hips between your legs, his hardened cock pushing into the apex of your thigh. 

He looks up to you then, nerves blatant all throughout his body as well as on his face. But behind his eyes you see his silent question, his final check in that this was still okay. You give him a quick nod before you sit up slightly, just enough that you could reach forward and grab him with one hand, your fingers digging into the soft flesh of his ass. Your other hand gently wraps around his cock, feeling as a tiny shiver rolls through him. You place a quick peck to his neck just before you guide his cock into you, both of you watching the movement intently. A shudder courses through Bob’s body as he pushes inside you, a pathetic whimper falling from his trembling lips. You sigh out a moan as you feel him stretch you out, your pussy already tightening around him as you take in how good it feels just to have him sat inside you. You let your other hand grab his other ass cheek, pushing him against you until he was seated to the hilt inside you. Bob pants heavily, his head falling into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning your skin, raising goosebumps on your body.

“You okay?” You ask him softly, nudging the side of his head with your nose lightly.

He nods before answering with a strained voice; “y-yeah I’m okay. You- you just feel s’fucking good,” he croaks.

You can’t help but smirk lightly. You start kissing his neck gently, just peppering your lips over every patch of skin you could reach. You coax him down with you as you lie back on the mattress again. He stays pressed flush against you, his chest smothering yours, holding himself up with his elbows as they rest on either side of your head. 

“You can move now, if you’re ready,” you breathe, silently begging that he was.

You didn’t think you could wait much longer. You needed him to start moving, to start fucking you. You can see slight confusion and panic settle in his eyes but you cut him off before he can say anything. 

“Like this,” you whisper gently as you grab onto his hips. “Just like you did with your fingers before, back at the party.”

You push his hips back, pulling him out of you almost all the way, before you pull him back against you again. You repeat the motion a few times, feeling as his hips steadily started to pick up the movement on their own.

“That’s it,” you coo sweetly. “Just like that,” you affirm, giving his hips an approving squeeze.

Bob groans deeply as he gets almost overwhelmed by the feeling of sliding in and out of your wet, warm, and tight, cunt. His pace is sloppy and unsteady at first, his hips thrusting against yours in an uneven rhythm. But soon he starts to find his rhythm, picking up the motion for himself.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good for me,” you hum as you release his hips, letting him fuck into you on his own accord now.

Your hands slide up his back, your nails scratching his skin, causing goosebumps to rise on his flesh. You tangle your fingers in his short hair again, pulling his face down until you could kiss him again. The kiss is messy now, both of you lacking concentration as most of your focus is on how good it feels to have Bob fucking in and out of you. Your teeth clash and tongue collide as you pant heavily into each other’s mouth. Bob’s hand tightens as it holds your hips, his fingers digging almost painfully into your flesh. One of your hands is locked around his nape, fingers in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. Your other hand is pressed against his lower back, pushing him into you, helping to discreetly guide him a bit as he rocks his hips against yours. 

Bob croaks out a quiet fuck as he thrusts particularly deep into you, his hips starting to move with more confidence, his body finding it’s rhythm with yours. His head hangs low now, buried into the crook of your neck as you let your head falls back onto the pillows. Bob’s cock drags inside you deliciously, stroking every inch of your walls, his tip just brushing against that one particular spot inside you that you had your mouth hanging open limply with how fucking it amazing it felt.

“Oh, Bob, you feel so good. Shit,” you mewl, your voice strained with pleasure.

He whimpers against your neck, nuzzling into your skin. Your pussy clenches around him as he fucks into that spot inside you again. He groans again, swearing under his breath. Your body is flaring with pleasure, burning to a crescendo. But your clit was aching, begging to be touched, begging for that final bit of friction before the pleasurable fire would burn properly through your body.

“Uh fuck,” you rasp. “Bob, please. Touch my clit. Just like you did earlier when I showed you. Please,” you plead pitifully, twisting your head to nudge his cheek with your nose, pressing a frantic kiss to his jaw.

Bob nods, more than eager to obey your plea. One of his shaky hands slips between your bodies.

“Like this?” He questions quietly as his thumb lands on your clit, starting to rub small circles.

His touch is light and unsure, his circling uneven; but it was getting there.

You nod with a mewl, your eyes screwing shut and your head rolling back. Bob watches your reaction, listening to the sound of your soft moans, and moves his thumb accordingly. Changing pressure and speed until you were moaning louder and arching your back, pushing into his touch. Once he found that rhythm, knowing it was working for you, he kept the pressure and speed steady.

“Yes, yes,” you whine, your voice almost broken with pleasure. “Just like that,” you assure him.

The fire burns hotter inside you, your insides warm and tight with euphoria as Bob moves his thumb on your clit in time with his cock thrusting inside you.

“Uh that’s it, Bob. Fucking me so well. Making me feel so good. Such a good boy for me,” you ramble disjointedly, recalling from earlier Bob’s reaction to being called that.

“Oh, oh my god,” Bob groans under his breath, so quiet you almost miss it.

The sound of your shared breathing gets heavier, moans and wet slapping skin filling the silence of the room. You feel your body start to tighten, your core knotting with a building pleasure, your pussy clenching over Bob in anticipation of your release that was so close. Bob’s hips start to loose rhythm again slightly, his thrusts becoming erratic, his body seeming to shake with overwhelming pleasure.

“I- I’m really close, sh-shit,” Bob whimpers, his hips becoming unsteady and uneven again. 

He looks at you frantically, his sweat beaded forehead resting against yours, his nose bumping against your own.

“I need you to cum. Please. Need you… need you to finish first. Wanna feel it,” he begs pathetically.

His voice is broken with pleasure and barely contained restraint, his face contorted with concentration as he tries to keep himself from climaxing just yet.

His words and sheer look of fucked-out determination on his sweet face has you hurtling closer to your high. His shaking fingers rubbing desperately at your clit, paired with a final few deep thrusts of his hips, are what finally tip you over edge.

“Sh-shit, Bob,” you barely manage to croak out, your voice hoarse and broken with the pleasure that raced through your body.

Your back arches, your bare chest pushing against Bob’s. Your toes curl, your legs tightening and locking around Bob’s waist, keeping him tight against you, deep inside you, as your body racks and shakes with euphoria. Your pussy clenches repeatedly, squeezing Bob’s cock with each roll of blissful electricity that shoots through you.

“Oh f-fuck, you look so- so fuckin’ pretty when you do that. And, I-, shit, shit, fuck that feels so good… oh fuck, y/n, I- I’m-“ Bob chokes out as your cunt squeezes him a final time before you feel him twitch inside you. 

He’s unable to finish his sentence as his face contorts with pleasure as he reaches his own climax just seconds after you; your tight pussy clenching tighter still finally sending him over the edge. His whole body trembles as his hips go still, pushing impossibly deep into you as he spills into the condom. He pants heavily above you as he opens his eyes to look down at you again. His face is flushed, a tiny sheen of sweat lining his forehead and dampening his hair. His eyes shine impossibly bright even in the dim of the room, and you can practically feel the earnest, the intensity, the adoration, that shone out of them as he continues to look at you. You look just as fucked out as he does as you return his gaze, nothing but a soft fondness shining in your own eyes. 

The two of your stay like that for a moment, just looking at each other as you revelled in the euphoria of your climaxes. Your hands then reach up and cup his face, stroking his cheeks, silently communicating to him what a good job he did, how happy you were in this moment. You can tell by the tiny smile twitching at his lips that he gets the message. A smile twitches at your own mouth as you lean up to reconnect your lips to his. The kiss is soft and slow, the two of you simply wanting to remain as connected as possible even as you both started to come down from your highs.

You smirk into the kiss lightly as you quickly, but gently, move to roll the two of you over until you were straddling Bob’s hips. He groans as you pin him the mattress. You place a final kiss to his cheek before you manoeuvre yourself off of him, both of you gasping slightly at the loss of contact as you climbed off his slowly softening cock. Bob’s face blushes with pink again as you delicately remove the now-full condom off him, tying it up before tossing it into the bin. You smile down at Bob where he lays out on the bed, awkwardly trying to cross over his legs. This boy, who, considering it was his very first time, had just fucked you better than most of the other men you’d slept with, was still feeling shy around you; it made your heart leap in your chest. You let your smile turn into a soft chuckle as you stretch out your shoulders and make your way to the bathroom adjoining the bedroom. Bob sits up on his elbows quickly, his gaze following you, a kind of sadness now looming in his eyes.

“Wh- where are you going?” He asks desolately.

The tone in his voice is enough to have you turning around and practically running back to his side. You immediately reach out and cup his face between your hands. One of his hands comes to hold onto your wrist lightly, keeping you in place.

“Baby, I’m not going anywhere,” you reassure him gently. “I’m just gonna get a warm towel for us to clean ourselves up with.”

His eyebrows quirk slightly.

“Aftercare is a super important aspect of sex,” you explain softly. “You wanna make sure your partner is properly taken care of afterwards, especially if it was an intense or… rough session,” you continue. “So you wanna make sure they’re clean, comfortable. Maybe massage them if any part of their body is sore. Run them a bath or a shower. Give them… plenty… of cuddles… and kisses,” you start to pepper his face with kisses between each word, your lips ghosting over his cheeks, his forehead, his temple. “Stuff like that,” you finish with a final peck to the tip of his nose. 

You then quickly get up and head to the bathroom. You quickly give yourself a wipe down with a warm wet towel before heading back to the bedroom, taking the towel with you. You smile warmly at Bob as you perch on the edge of the bed next to him. He sits up awkwardly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His hands play awkwardly with each other as he rests them on his torso. You place a gentle and reassuring kiss to his knuckles before you start to wipe him down, smirking at the tiny shiver and moan that escapes him as you do so.

“Shouldn’t I be doing that? Like shouldn’t I be doing the aftercare for you?” He asks timidly.

You shrug; “aftercare is a shared responsibility. I guess it depends on who’s feeling a bit more worse for wear afterwards. Seeing as it was your first time, and you did so well,” you smirk, placing a kiss to his tummy, “I figured I’d do it for you,” your tone is gentle and soothing as you finish wiping him down, getting up and tossing the towel into the laundry bin.

“I just- I feel like I should be doing something for you,” he mumbles as you pad back over to the bed.

“I already cleaned myself off in the bathroom so I’m good,” you shrug again.

“But… but- I want to do something for you,” he says with a gentle firmness.

Your heart turns mushy at his soft determination to please you, to take care of you.

“You can cuddle me,” you smile mildly.

Bob’s face cracks with a smile as he nods enthusiastically. You laugh lightly as you fall into his arms on the bed, practically collapsing on his chest. He pulls you tightly against him, squeezing you against his chest. You wriggle just enough to be able to reach down and pull the covers over the both of you, snuggling the two of you in together like a cocoon. You rest your head on Bob’s chest as his arms lock around you. You smile against his skin when you feel him place a kiss to the top of your head.

“I still feel like I should’ve done something more for you afterwards,” he mumbles into your hair.

“Bob, you did plenty, trust me,” you kiss the base of his neck.

You practically feel him pouting. You sigh and secretly roll your eyes playfully. You sit up to look at him, reaching out to readjust his glasses, fixing them into the right place. You then let your fingers play over his skin, tracing the features of his face.

“Alright, next time I’ll let you do the aftercare if it makes you feel better,” you hum lightly as your finger traces over his bottom lip.

Bob tenses for a moment, his body going taught. 

“N-next time?” He stammers, looking at you with wide eyes. “There’s gonna be- be a next time?” He swallows thickly, his eyes shining with longing.

You smile wistfully before whispering an answer; “I hope so.”

Bob’s returning smile could have lit up the whole room.

“I hope so too.” 

Masterlist

A/N: all I can say is I hope you loved this as much as I did!!

Taglist // Join My Nightmare Realm // Ko-fi

[saltsicklover]

Part Nine

Title: Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4200+

Rating: R

Warnings: Swearing, Crying, Tobacco, Smoking, Argument, the mention of death, mention of SA, Bob being heartbroken and fucking angry

Second Chance Romance!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bob Floyd, or anything related to Top Gun Maverick within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

---

Rooster and Phoenix sit in the Bronco silently and Sunny sleeps in the back seat. They both fidget in their seats. Natasha wiggles, adjusting her whole body. Rooster cracks his knuckles repeatedly. They only make it through the next stop sign before the quiet is broken.

"Did you know Bob smokes?"

"I have so much information on Bob," 

The pair speak at the same time, both of them shooting a glance in the rearview to see if Sunny is still asleep. She doesn't even stir. 

"You first," Bradley speaks again, flicking on his blinker. The signal blinks blinks blinks. Natasha takes a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. 

"Sunny has been talking about this guy who broke her heart, God, Rooster, she has been talking about him for years. I knew his name was Bobby, but fuck, I didn't even stop to think that her Bobby would be our Bob! Hell, Bob is a nickname, and do you even know how many Bobs there are in the world?!" Phoenix's voice is a bit exasperated. Sweat is settling around her hairline even though the windows of the Bronco are down. The breeze blows throughout the cab of the vehicle, prickling gooseflesh takes over her skin. 

She chances a look at Rooster who doesn't pull his eyes from the road. He clears his throat quietly before running the tip of his tongue over his dry lips. He sighs. 

"You can't blame yourself for that, Phoenix. It's not like Bob isn't a common name, or even Robert for that matter. Her Bobby could've been anyone," Bradley squeezes her hand before bringing his own back to the steering wheel. 

"I know a lot about Bob, so much I didn't even know that I knew!" Phoenix's hands are on her head, fingers massaging circles into her temples. Her voice is higher than normal, like the stress it tweaking the octaves. 

"So, you knew Bob smokes?" Bradley brings the conversation back around to his original thought. The vehicle slows for a red light. When they stop, everything is quiet for a beat. 

"I didn't know that I did. As far as I knew, Bob was just Bob. Clean cut, quiet, damn good at his job. I didn't even think he dated, but, oh my god," The color all but drains from Phoenix's face. 

"What is it?" The vehicle begins moving again with the change of the traffic light. 

"Bob fucks," Her voice is so quiet she doesn't even hear herself say it. 

"Phoenix?" Bradley prompts, chancing a glance in her direction. 

"Bob fucks," She tries again, a little louder this time. She wouldn't have thought Bradley heard her if the car didn't swerve a bit as the words left her lips. 

"What?" 

"I guess when they were in school, back in Montana, Bob was some sort of huge player! He was captain of the swim team and broke girls hearts. That was his thing," Natasha works to recall stories from over the years, ones that came in few and far between. Sunny was never big on talking about her school life before they the pair started speaking. But, as time went on, Sunny told Natasha more and more. 

"Sunshine said something about that earlier, too," Bradley nods, turning on his blinker once more. They make the turn into a driveway of a very nice house. It's in a neighborhood about fifteen minutes outside of Base. It seems completely unassuming in the dark, and really it is in the light too. It's in a neighborhood filled with Military members and their families. Their house being one of the only few where the small front yard isn't littered with children's toys. 

"Do you think he is hiding anything else from us?" Natasha's voice is so small now. 

"Hey, Nat," Rooster puts a hand over her own rested on her thigh, "Everyone has a past, that is just a part of life. We aren't going to know everything about each other just because we work together. Just remember, we know Bob, and he has never let us down, so that's gotta account for something, right?"

When Natasha finally exhales the breath she had trapped in her lungs, she all but deflates completely. "I guess you're right," 

"Let's get you two inside," 

"Should we wake her?" Natasha asks, turning to look at Sunny. She has barely changed positions, except her face is turned further into the backrest of the seat. 

"Don't bother, I'll carry her," Bradley tells her with a curt nod. Once the passenger seat is folded forward, Bradley maneuvers Sunny's sleeping form from the backseat and into his embrace. He carries her up the front steps, following after Natasha. 

There is a single light on inside where Bob is sitting, a glass of dark whiskey in his hand. He has changed out of his uniform, now in jeans and a t-shirt. It was rare for anyone to see him like this, so dressed down. His civilian clothes he wore to work were always more put together, khakis and a button down shirt. Bob's glasses sit on the side table, under the lamp. He grasps the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. He runs a finger over the lip of the glass that is balanced on his thigh. 

Natasha and Bradley enter the house. They toe off their shoes, Sunny curled up in Bradley's arm.

Bob chances a quick glace up at them from below his eyebrows but doesn't say a word to the pair. There is a moment before they even realize he is sitting there. The group coming through the door are surprised to find Bob in this state, disheveled and sullen; they are even more surprised when he brings the glass of dark liquid to his lips. They all share glances, no one quite ready to make the first move. Then, Bradley clears his throat lightly as he adjusts Sunny in his arms. 

"I am going to go put her in the guest room," Bradley dismisses himself before disappearing further into the house and up the stairs. He carries her like his father used to carry his mother, minding each of the corners that her body could come in contract with on the way to the bedroom. He twists his hips so her ankle won't catch the banister and he leans to keep her head from making contact with the door jamb. 

Bradley lays her on the bed, her feet hanging off the end. Carefully, he grabs one of her calves, bringing her foot up just high enough to grasp the heel of her boot. He tugs the leather off of her foot before carefully laying her leg back down. He sets the boot at the foot of the bed, toes facing out, just in case she holds the same weird superstition that he does. Then, he grabs her other calf to repeat the process. 

This time though, as he goes to set the boot down next to the other, the warn bit of leather at the opening of the boot catches his eye. He runs a calloused fingertip over the well warn grooves of the leather. He knows exactly what used to sit there, what caused that mark in the first place. 

Something between anger and pity rises in his chest. God, he is angry at Bob for hurting her- but somewhere deep in his subconscious he knows that anger isn't going to get him anywhere. Bradley also pities Bob. He can tell how much the other man has lost from the short amount of time he has spent with Sunny. Bob threw away something that every man dreams of- a girl who is going to show up and love him, regardless of the circumstance. He saw that relationship with his parents, the way they loved each other and how the world stopped the moment his father  was no longer there. Bradley can't imagine anyone throwing that away willingly. 

He sets the other boot down before hoisting Sunny further up into the bed. He brings the sheet over her, leaving the comforter folded halfway down so she doesn't overheat. Then, he leans just above her to push open the window, letting the cool night air drift into the bedroom. 

After, he disappears into the hallway, heading for the laundry closet. He opens the dryer, checking if they are Phoenix's clothes before pulling out a large t-shirt from inside, as well as a pair of shorts. He folds them haphazardly as walks back into Sunny's room. Bradley leaves the garments on the end of the bed before disappearing once again, this time closing the door behind him. 

Bradley slips down the stairs, interrupting Bob and Phoenix's conversation as he enters the room. 

"I got her shoes off and got her settled into bed. She didn't even wake up. I also threw some of your clothes from the dryer at the end of the bed for her. I'll leave you guys to it, goodnight," He crosses to the door, not chancing a look at Bob. He pulls his shoes on almost too quick. 

"Thanks, Rooster," Natasha nods, a thankful expression crossing her features. He nods back with a tightlipped smile before disappearing out the front door. Natasha watches the closed door for a moment before turning back to Bob, her face expressionless. 

The smell of tobacco is stuck to Bob now, from the smoke he had at the Hard Deck, and then the three he had on the way home. The two share a look for a moment, no words needing to be said. Nat moves to the couch across from him. She sits, her hands folded in her lap. Bob still plays with the edge of his glass, his nail running over the glass. 

"Bob," Phoenix starts, "God, I don't even know what to say..."

"I know I fucked up, okay? I don't need to be reminded," He snaps at her, eyes glued to the contents of his glass. 

"Hey, don't bite my head off! I just- I was-" Natasha fumbles over her words before taking a deep breath, starting herself over. "Are you doing alright?" 

Bob's eyes snap up at her words. That was the last thing he was expecting her to ask. 'How could you?' 'What's wrong with you?' or anything else would have made for sense to him. He sputters a bit. 

"Am I doing alright?" His eyes are glassy as they meet hers, "No, I think I'm the furthest thing from alright," He brings the glass up again, shooting the last finger of liquid. He doesn't even grimace and that fact surprises Natasha. 

"Oh, Bob," He shakes his head at her, eyes coming back down to meet the floor. 

"Don't, Phoenix. I dug this grave a decade ago, I guess it's about time I lie in it, huh?" 

"Bob, it doesn't have to be like this," Natasha attempts, her eyebrows pulled together. 

"You don't even know the half of it," Bob rolls his eyes. His tone is snappy and short, like he doesn't even want to entertain the subject. Hell, he doesn't even want to be sitting there with her right now, especially when Sunny is asleep just upstairs. 

The only thing he wants is to walk upstairs and knock on her door. He wants to talk to her, at the point, she could yell at him, curse his unborn children and he would just be happy that he was on her mind. 

As if he hadn't been on her mind for the last ten years. 

"Then tell me!" The words come out as a shout, bristling over Bob as he clenches his empty glass. His throat is desert dry, his heart aching for whiskey and a whiff of Sunny's perfume. 

Natasha doesn't know it, but in front of her sits a broken man. His eyes are bloodshot, the skin around them chapped and aching. He cried as many tears as  his body would allow between the time he left the Hard Deck and the moment Natasha and Bradley walked through the door. 

"You don't get it, do you?" He scoffs. The grip on his glass tightens, his heartbeat pulsing through his fingers. He wants to throw the glass at the wall; he wants to watch the glass shatter, to see the glittering shards sitting on the floor. He knows the slivers of glass would shine just the way the tiles on the bottom of the pool used to. Bob wants to see it because he longs for a moment when he was closer to Sunny, instead of a million miles and one flight of stairs away. 

"I can't understand something that you won't explain to me!" There are tears threating to spill from Natasha's eyes. She is all but begging Bob to tell her what he is feeling. She wants nothing more than to fix this rift that has seemed to open up and swallow her two closest friends. Natasha feels like she is standing in the middle of a gun fight, armed with nothing but her goddamn will. 

"I said things to her that I can never take back Phoenix, you know that. Did you see the way she looked at me? I could practically see her heart breaking through her eyes when I didn't recognize her, Nat. How am I supposed to recover from that?"

"Robert," Phoenix voice starts out confident, but the shaky inhale she takes as her hands come up to wipe at the fallen tears on her cheeks make Bob stutter out another thought before she can continue. 

"Do you even know why I am the way I am Phoenix?" Bob stands, the rage building within him. It's all a large stack of tinder, ready and waiting for that right spark to set it all aflame. 

"I am like this because I wanted to be a better man," He pinches the bridge of his nose so tight the skin around it turns red. "The last time I saw Duchenne, she had told me that-" He stutters out the words, tears building up in the back of his throat.

"That she thought I was different, that I was a 'good man' but I fucking left her Phoenix. I left her sitting there in the dirt with tears in her eyes all because I was afraid of hurting my chances at getting into the goddamn Navy! The Navy, Phoenix, what a fuckin' joke," He laughs out a sort of broken chuckle, one that is dripping with too much knowing. 

"This isn't how it was supposed to be, Natasha. I thought the Navy, the flying, everything would keep me distracted. And maybe, deep down, I had this sick idea that she would've been in our home town, working the ranch and that one day I would hang up my flight suit and walk back into Florence as a good man, as the man she deserves,"

There is bile coating the back of his throat now, his stomach like a ship without a sail in the churning of his insides. He wants to be sick, he also wants another drink- either way his throat will burn and his stomach will continue churning. 

"I am the furthest thing from a good man now Natasha, I always have been, but somehow I think I've fallen even further down. God, let this be rock bottom because I can't take another slip," He practically collapses back down into the seat he had been occupying before. 

"Robert Floyd," Natasha's voice is stern now, thick with authority, "You are one of the best men that I know. You are kind, you are selfless, and you are brave. You get into that jet with me everyday and I know that you will get me home. Do you want to know why?" 

All Bob can do is raise an eyebrow at her. He drags his eyes back down to the whiskey glass still in his grip. He tilts it in his hand, watching the way the lip catches the light, like the shimmering of pool water. 

"Because we made a deal, and good men don't make deals they can't keep and they sure as hell don't back out of 'em either," She is so sure of the words that Bob almost believes her. 

"It was supposed to be different, Natasha," He speaks after a moment, his voice hoarse. 

"So many things in this world are supposed to be different, Bob. I wasn't supposed to lose my first wingman to a fucking false positive drug test causing him to get discharged, and Rooster wasn't supposed to lose his parents so tragically. Hell, even Hangman, he walked in on a sexual assault in progress during flight school and had to be the one to stop it. Life doesn't always go the way we think it will, but we are still here, Bob. We are still here, and we are stronger because of it,"

Bob looks sheepish at best. Completely defeated, like he was kicked while he was down, nursing broken ribs and an aching heart. The look in his eye is what really broke Natasha, because she was speaking before she even realized it. 

"I need to tell you something, okay? So I'm going to need you to shut up and listen to me," Phoenix hits his foot with her own, making the man draw his gaze back up to her. Sunny is going to kill her, but Nat pushes that thought aside. She raises her eyebrows expectantly at Bob. He just nods. 

"The whole time I have known Sunny, she has rarely talked about dating. Every guy she ever went out with never made it past the third date. At first, she told me it was because of some sort of bad habit of theirs or their inability to make conversation. I bought that at first, because I know first hand what it is like out in the dating pool. But then she met Mikael. He worked for the same company she does, but at the branch in Germany. They met in New York over a business trip. They hit it off and for all intents and purposes, he was perfect-"

"Would you quit telling me about some bastard who inevitably broke her heart? It's not going to make me feel better to know someone else fucked up with her too," Natasha kicks him again, her expression all over unpleasant. 

"Would you just listen?" She grumbles, arms crossing over her chest. Natasha can't help but feel a bit of anger flame up in her chest at his disregard, so she kicks his foot again, this time with a little more force. She raises her eyebrows expectantly, he nods in return. 

"They dated for a couple of months and I thought things were going great, then an email landed in my inbox. You want to know what it said?" Natasha pulls her phone from her pocket, unlocking it with a swipe of her finger. Bob hums, eyes watching her out of focus fingers dance across the screen. She clears her throat before beginning. 

"Dear Nash, I broke up with Mikael today. He told me on our last video date that I seemed closed off, guarded. I think he is right. For so long I have been guarding my heart because the last time I let someone in, they shattered it. At least, I thought they did, considering I have been broken hearted ever sense. But, I think my problem is that my heart has been missing. That night, my senior year, Bobby didn't break my heart, he left with it. I guess that's fitting, considering it had belonged to him for so long anyway. Maybe it's self deprecation or maybe it's just stupid, but I think my heart will always belong to Bobby, even if he was the one who caused me so much pain. Actually, I love him in spite of that. I love him, Nash. I always have, and I think I always will, that's why it's never going to work out with anyone else. They aren't him. That's all for now, sending you my love," 

Natasha's voice wavers. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes again, keeping her from looking up to meet Bob's. He sits there, mouth slightly ajar. His fingers have stilled their motion over the glass. His eyes are glassy again, throat constricting in on itself. 

"I don't-" He whispers, "I don't know what to say to that," 

"Bob, that email was from six months ago," Phoenix chances a look up at Bob, a tear escaping. It trails wet and hot down her cheek. "If you are asking me, I think you've got a chance to make things right with her. Now, I'm not saying that it will be easy, or that she will be ready to talk to you, but you've gotta try," 

"I can't hurt her again, Phoenix, I just can't" Tears are slipping quickly down his face. 

"From where I stand, she is already hurt. I think you owe it to her to say what you need to say, hell, I think you owe it to yourself," 

Bob can't believe what he is hearing. Just hours ago, Phoenix was tearing him a new one for hurting Sunny, and now she thinks that he has a chance to fix it? No way in hell. He eyes the glass again in his hand, watching the light dance across it. He pushes himself from his seat, facing away from her. There is tension between the glass in his hand and the wall.

"You really think, after everything I've put her through, that she is going to want to listen to a single word I have to say?"

"I didn't say that," She corrects, "I just said I think you should try. You two might feel better just yelling at each other, who knows? But that's for you to figure out," 

"I don't know if I can, Phoenix, I mean, what's there even left to say?" 

Phoenix stands, a small smile on her lips. "How about what you feel?" 

Bob can only pull his lips into a thin, straight line. She pats his shoulder before heading to the stairs, ready to climb into bed herself.

"You are a good man, Bob," She hums, turning to walk up the stairs. Bob stands still, waiting for the click of her bedroom door. It's faint, but he hears it. Then, his attention is back on the glass in his hand, his eyes flickering up to the wall and back down. He could shatter the glass right now, but what would that fix? It would just be another mess to clean up. 

He lets out a long held sigh before placing the glass down on the coffee table, the crystal hitting the wood with a gentle clink. The light goes out with a flick of a switch and then Bob is climbing the stairs. His joints creak along with the floorboards, both himself and the house too stiff for comfort. 

He pushes open the door to his bedroom. He lets his eyes wander over the bedroom, the whole thing suddenly feeling too clean and kept. 

There was a piece of himself that had been missing for years, that he found tonight as he smoked his first cigarillo in the Hard Deck. The part of himself that hadn't existed since he walked away from Sunny. The unkempt man who fell in love with her. There is an itching feeling in his palms, the need to get back to that man, as least in the most basic way he can, to the man who loved her before everything else got in the way. 

So, Bob pulls his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor. Then he toes off his boots, leaving them wherever they fall. With a flick of his wrist, his belt is undone. He pulls it through the loops of his jeans before dropping it. The buckle hits the hardwood with a loud thud, the leather snaking after it. Once Bob pushes his jeans down and off, he feels like he can breathe for a moment, finally, even if it is just a moment. It's deep and full, the oxygen filling his chest. He shudders. 

Bob pushes open his window, letting the chilled night breeze invade his room. The mess on the floor makes his heart feel a little more at ease, like he has some semblance of control. He dips down to grab his jeans, then pulls the silver cigarette case out of the back pocket. 

He slips a cigarillo between his lips before igniting a match. He lights his smoke before shaking out the flame. The only light in the room is the burning ash at the end of his small cigar, the room quickly filling with the deep smell of tobacco. 

Bob lets his eyes wander to the bathroom door as he takes a long drag. The smoke fills his lungs, grounding him to this moment, and this moment alone. He smokes this cigarillo, then another, letting his mind drift to thoughts of Sunny and how she must look, tangled up in the crisp white sheets, a thousand miles away, but one flight of stairs closer.

[sebsxphia]

husband bob who fingers his wife so hard she squirts and his wedding ring slides off 😂

(he makes her lick it clean after)

￫ authors notes: omg please, my dear anon! i giggled so hard, i love this so much! 🤭

￫ warnings: sex and squirting.

giggly sex with bob is not uncommon. as much as he can be mean dom bob, he’s also the most loving, soft and romantic lover you’ve ever met. on this particular occasion, he just wanted to finger his pretty little wife and have them squirt over his fingers before bed. he loves seeing you writhing with pleasure (from himself) more than anything.

as you reach your high and come over his fingers with dripping squirts and loud whines, bob coaxes you through it as he always does. “there’s my good girl. that’s it, keep goin’, darlin’. my pretty little wife is so good for me, o— oh—”

he watches with wide eyes from behind his glasses as his wedding ring slides off and falls onto the soaked towel below you. he continues to move his fingers inside of you and lets you ride out your continual high, but his lips have curled up into a small smile and he’s trying his hardest to hold back a small laugh.

as your eyes flutter open and shut, you catch sight of your husbands expressions and between heaving breaths, you pant out, “w— what? what is it?”

bob shakes his head, still with the twitching grin on his lips. “nothing, my darlin’. don’t worry, you’re doin’ so good for me, baby.”

“bobby!” you blurt out again, now with a curious expression forming.

his head drops and he finally lets out a laugh as he admits what’s just occurred. “you squirted so hard that my wedding ring fell off.”

you clasp your hand over your mouth and let out a bubble of giggles. bob lifts his head up, with bubbling laughter also coming from himself. his wedding ring is pinched between his fingers, with his chest flushed and rosy red up-to his cheeks. he leans over you to place a kiss to your lips, muffling your paired amusement ever so slightly.

“come ‘ere.” he breaks the kiss and presses his wedding ring to your lips. your tongue instinctively wraps around the warm and damp ring, occasionally letting yourself lick his fingers clean. “good girl. that’s my pretty little wife.” bob presses a soft kiss to your nose with a beaming smile still.

[withahappyrefrain]

thinking about the first time you get to deepthroat older bf bob. he’s been training you to deepthroat toys, he wants you to be ready before he gives you the real thing. even when you beg for it and give him your best puppy eyes, he won’t let you have it. when he finally decides you’re ready…oh god. he’s in control the entire time, your hair wrapped in his fist so he can gently tug you off of him if he needs to. and the praise he gives you? it’s out of this world. such an encouraging daddy who’s so proud to see his baby take him fully down their throat.

@lewmagoo i cannot stress enough how beautiful your mind is

The first time you try to go down on him is the first time he demonstrates his strength. He's so lost in the pleasure laced haze, all from the sight of you looking up at him after getting on your knees. After all, he made you see stars just from his mouth, a feat you didn't think possible, and shouldn't you return the favor?

He's much bigger than you anticipated and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't intimidating. You start with kitten licks from the base to the tip, tongue swirling around his leaking slit.

"Fuck, sweet girl," Bob groans, hands clumsily trying to find your shoulders, "S-sweet girl-wait."

You think he's just really turned on, so you continue. It isn't until your mouth begins to sink down on his cock that Bob sits up, one hand quickly grabbing your shoulder and the other one your hair.

"No," His voice is firm as he pulls you away from his cock, "You're not ready yet."

It's the hottest thing because as much as he wants you, wants to feel you gag on his cock, he doesn't want you to hurt yourself in the name of trying to please him.

He starts you off with smaller toys, because the truth is you're not the most experienced. Bob is a great teacher, making sure you go easy on yourself.

"That's it baby, just a little more," He coos as you work your mouth onto the new dildo he got for your training. It's closer to his size, a fact that makes your thighs clench.

"There ya go, look at you!" He presses a sweet kiss to your cheek, a sharp contrast to what he was encouraging you to do, "Didn't even gag, so proud of you."

You look at him with wide eyes, breath panting as you beg, "Can I try on you? Please?"

Bob just chuckles as he shakes his head, "Not ready yet. Like I said, I'll let ya know."

You know he will and that's the worst part because you so badly want to feel him, feel his cock in your mouth, feel all of him.

When you do go down on Bobby, he's very diligent, taking note of how you're doing, his hands guiding you. You don't sink your mouth lower on your cock unless he lets you.

"Sweet girl," he scolds, "What did I say?"

You look up at him, your eyes and pout causing you to resemble a brokenhearted puppy, "Please Bobby? I can do it!"

If your begging has any affect on him, he doesn't show it. He's steadfast, shaking his head as he guides you away from his cock, not wanting to overwork your pretty little throat.

"Bobby," your special nickname for him comes out in the form of a desperate whine. You're overcome with desire, with the need to make him feel just as good.

"I said no," His tone is sharper, he's immoveable, "But since you did so well, why don't you let Daddy give you a reward?"

It's absolutely a distraction, but it absolutely works.

He can't lie, it gets him so hard watching you practice on the toys he buys. You're so diligent, following his advice to a tee. Instead of being overeager and diving straight in, you now know to draw it out, to alternate between kitten licks and deeper thrusts.

"God, soon you'll be ready for the real thing," He whispers in your ear as you continue to work your mouth on the latest toy he's gotten you. Out of all the toys, this one is the closest to his size. He has you in his lap, guiding you through your 'session'.

"Can't wait, gonna feel so good to have your mouth on me." Bob can't help but chuckle when he feels your thighs clenching. Curious, his fingers trail underneath your skirt, finding the fabric of your panties wet.

Just as he suspected.

"Does that turn you on?" His voice is as smooth like the bourbon he keeps in his bar, breath hot on the shell of your ear.

"Uh-huh," you nod, squirming when his long fingers push the flimsy fabric to the side, sliding through your soaked folds. His experience from being in the Navy (now retired) shows, quickly able to find your clit and begin drawing circles that make you see stars.

A harsh slap to your bare thigh breaks you from your thoughts, a confused whimper falling from your lips.

"Who said you could stop practicing?" It's then you realize your lips are no longer wrapped around the plastic dildo.

"Keep goin'. Don't you wanna be good enough to take all of Daddy's cock?" His fingers have found your soaked entrance, having gone from teasing your slit to thrusting in and out, causing your body to revel in the unexpected but pleasurable stretch.

You obey. Sweet girls obey and you're his sweet girl after all.

But when the day finally comes and Bob thinks you're ready? You can barely contain your excitement, quickly sinking down to your knees, the plush carpet welcoming.

"Remember what Daddy taught you," he uses his nimble fingers to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look into his cornflower eyes.

"It's a marathon, not a race," you repeat his mantra, earning a proud smile from Bob.

"That's right. And if you need a break, how do you tell Daddy?"

A hand trails to his knee, "Squeeze your knee twice. Safe word is rodeo."

Bob leans over to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, "That's exactly right. You ready for Daddy's cock?"

You nod eagerly, eyes remaining on the bulge that you can see through his pants. It was cute, the way you were practically salivating as Bob unzipped his pants, slowly taking out his hard, heavy cock.

Despite being quite accustomed to Bob's body, the sight still took your breath away. He was the most handsome man you had ever seen, of course his cock would be pretty. Velvety smooth, curved slightly to the right with a plush head. It takes everything ounce of self control not to dive right in.

But that's not what Daddy taught you.

You start at the base, switching between kitten licks and soft kisses, working your way up to the head of his cock. Testing the waters, you wrap a hand around the base of his cock, enabling you to guide it into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, only a few inches.

"That's it, just like that. Remember, breath through your nose sweet girl," He praises. Bob's words sends warmth throughout your body, the corners of your lips turning upright as you noticed your throat wasn't restricting like it had in the beginning.

Bob's blue eyes are set on you, mesmerized by the way your pretty mouth eagerly welcomes his cock. Your tongue feels like heaven against his slit, trailing down his cock. He's breathing heavily through his nose, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he fights the urge to tilt his head back from the pleasure you've providing.

"That's- fuck- that's it. Just like that." You sink lower, feeling his cock going towards the back of your throat. With his hands cupping the back of your neck, his thumbs resting underneath your jawline, Bob's able to dictate the speed and depth you go. You don't fight it when he pulls you back an inch or two, taking it as a sign to breath.

"Doin' so well f'me, sweet girl." Your toes can't help but curl at hearing Bob's rural accent come out. It only happened in two scenarios: when he was back home and when you were pleasing him, making him far too focused on the pleasure to even care about sounding 'neutral'.

"Kay, Daddy's going to bring you down just a little more. Alright?" You nodded fervently, longing to show him you were finally ready for him, for all of him.

It took everything in Bob not to thrust his hips forward. You were so close and he could feel your throat constrict, trying to accommodate him. He almost considered pulling you back, but then you moaned and he just couldn't help it, his hips tilting up ever so slightly. Another moan fell from your lips, vibrating against his cock.

"Sweet girl," he groaned, tightening his grip, "Doing s' fuckin' good f'me. Pretty little mouth was made f'me, y'know that?"

You try to nod, your hands gripping the fabric of his pants. Bob stills, waiting for you to show signs that you need a break. Instead, you lean forward, slowly taking more and more of him in your mouth, until finally your nose felt the coarse hair that nestled at the base of his cock.

Feeling him all the way in the your throat, combined with the lack of oxygen, made your thighs nearly shake. Bob's hands guided your mouth up and down on his cock, delighting in the muffled whimpers that continued to fall from your lips.

"There ya go. So worried it wouldn't fit, but just look at ya. Doing s'well, that's it, just like I taught ya." He's trying so hard to be a gentleman, to not pull you down to the base too hard, or thrust into you harshly. But God, is it difficult, the sight of you taking all of his cock the most erotic sight he had ever seen. His hips jerk erratically, his voice quivering as he talks you through it.

"Fuck, sweet girl. That's it, yeah, keep goin'. So fuckin' proud of ya, God, so fuckin lucky I get to call you mine.

His last word comes out as a groan, transitioning from coherent sentences to heavy, almost animalistic grunts as he comes.

Your eyes dart up and the sight above you is prettier than any painting you have ever seen. Strands of his greying hair falling over his forehead, his once cobalt eyes now nearly black with lust, his thin, pink lips parted as the sweetest sounds continue to escape.

The burning desire between your legs could no longer be ignored. With one hand still at the base of his cock, pumping his length, your other hand dips below your sundress. You had never been so thankful to forgo panties.

Bob notices right away, how you close your eyes and nearly sigh in relief, rocking your hips down onto your hand. His guidance has decreased as he gets closer to that pleasurable edge; not that you need his help. You eagerly took his cock, giving your throat time to adjust before diving deeper.

Just like you two had practiced.

So good, he didn't need to guide you. But that didn't stop Bob from trying to gather as much strength as possible so he could continue singing your praises.

"Shit, taking Daddy's cock got ya s'wet, didn't it? Can hear it God. Keep goin' just like that. Gonna marry ya one day, fuck, gotta get you a nice pretty ring- baby."

The last word came out in the form of a deep groan. Bob's hips jerked erratically as he came down your throat, giving you no time to process his words.

Just like you two had discussed beforehand, you eagerly took all of him, reveling in how good he tasted, how hot it was to see him so unkempt, so lost in pleasure.

You thought maybe you two could discuss his little admission after his breathing had steadied, but Bob had other plans for you.

"Get on the bed." His voice was firm, sharp. A far cry from the gentle, deep voice he uses with you. It made you wonder if that was the voice he used when he was on active duty, giving commands to the lower ranks.

His hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look up.

"What did Daddy just say? C'mon sweet girl, it's time for your reward for making Daddy feel so good."

You two could talk later.

[roosterbruiser]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

“Do you think they’re gonna get too hot?” Bob asks, concern carving his voice into a pitched utterance. “Like--you know, is the sun too much? Should we just take ‘em home?” 

Humming from beside Bob, settled onto the old sheets you have laid out across the sand, you just sigh with a fond smile tugging on your lips. 

Of course he’s concerned about the babies in this heat--he’s a good father, one that never has to be told what to do or when to do it, one that literally leaps out of bed in the night to change diapers. 

“They’re alright,” you assure Bob. “They’re covered! How could the sun get them at all?” 

It’s true--the babies are thoroughly covered. Linen shorts and cotton shirts, floppy little sunhats, sunscreen covering every inch of them. Not to mention the umbrellas Bob has staked in the sand behind you--which casts shade over the entirety of your family. 

“A freak accident,” Bob tells you, eyes slightly widened when he thinks about one of his precious babies--including you--getting burned. “Maybe we should--!” 

“--Baby,” you interrupt, laughing as you glance at him from the top of your glasses. “It’s good that they’re outside! Immunity! Vitamin D! Fresh air! They’ll be alright!” 

Bob sighs, glancing down at Jolene, who is sprawled out on your bent thighs, blinking in confusion at the floppy hat that just barely comes down over her eyes. Then he glances at Waylon, whose sound asleep on Bob’s thighs, little milk dribbling down his chin. 

“It isn’t too late to tell them that they can meet us at the house,” Bob tells you. He looks up at the sky--endless blue and the sun a fiery hole puncturing the sky. “If we want to do that.”

“We don’t,” you assure him. “And, besides--I think it is too late.” 

At that, Bob follows your gaze and turns. Yes--you’re right. It is too late. The squadron is already trailing down the beach, all in their aviators and swimming suits, grinning and zeroed in on yours and Bob’s beach setup. 

“Oh, Lord,” Bob says softly, a fond smile tugging on his lips now. “Rooster’s gonna try and steal them, I think.” 

“You’re only telling me this now?” You whisper, nudging him with your elbow teasingly. 

He has told you before, though, about Rooster’s affinity for children. He can’t get enough of ‘em--he’s always hogging whatever admiral’s child he can get his hands on, playing airplanes or tea party or somehow getting them to nap. And you know, somehow, that Rooster is the goofy looking one with the unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt treading through the sand. 

“Sorry, honey,” Bob chuckles.  

You see how much this matters to Bob. Never mind that you know him better than anyone else in the world, having met in middle school and fallen in love straight away. Even if you didn’t know him better than anyone, if you were just a fly on the wall--you’d still know. He woke up too early this morning, pacing the kitchen as the coffee brewed, checking in on the twins every few minutes until he heard the first sounds of awakeness. He picked their outfits with you, chewing on his bottom lip. He had the car packed and ready to go before noon. He even called Phoenix a few times just to make sure that plans were still on--and was reminded, a few times, that the plans were absolutely still on. 

“You’re shaking the beach,” you whisper, pressing a hand to his bouncing leg.

“Sorry,” Bob mutters, distracted. He stops bouncing his leg. “I’m…I’m really--!” 

“--Nervous,” you finish for him, leaning forward to press your warm cheek against his bicep. You kiss him there, soft and sweet, and then sigh. “It’s alright, Bobby. The babies are perfect, the squadron loves you, I’m very personable, the sun is shining, the seagulls are crying! Everything’s gonna be okay!” 

“Yeah,” Bob sighs, scratching his head and giving you a quick peck on the forehead. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I’m just--I don’t know. This is important to me.” 

“I know it,” you say, heart swollen. “And I know it’s important to them, too. It’ll be good!” 

“It’ll be good,” Bob repeats softly, glancing at you. You’re grinning at him--it makes his shoulders sink. “It’ll be good.” 

“Well, well, well,” Hangman says as his feet sink into the hot, hot sand. He grins, squinting even behind his aviators as the sun beats down on his face. “If it ain’t baby on board and his babies on board.” 

Bob grins at the sound of Jake’s voice--which surprises him, really. Before that never would’ve happened. But now Bob is back in Lemoore, with you and your babies, and everything feels distinctly better than it did before.

“Hangman,” Bob grins, sticking his hand out for Jake to take. “Good to see you, man.” 

Hangman, who’s holding two comically large stuffed rabbits, shuffles to put them under one arm and take Bob’s hand in his.  

“How goes it?” Jake asks. Then he glances at you--you’re grinning at him, holding your daughter still. “And this must be the Missus, huh? Pleasure to make your acquaintance!” 

Jake crosses the sheets to take your hand, which he promptly brings to his mouth to kiss. 

“Don’t mind him,” Rooster says as he appears, toting a cooler and a speaker. “The lack of oxygen in the cockpit really scrambled his brain.” 

“Ha-ha-ha,” Hangman says, glancing at Rooster. “Did Bob tell you that Rooster is gonna try and steal them?” Jake asks, pointing to the babies with his brow perched. 

“Actually, yes,” you answer, smiling softly. “He did.” 

Rooster, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, sets the cooler in the sand before grinning at Bob and stretching his hands out. 

“Baby me and I’ll beer you,” Rooster says. 

“That doesn’t sound like a fair exchange,” Phoenix sighs, rounding out to clap Rooster on the shoulder before grinning at Bob and you. “Floyds!” 

“Hey, Nat,” Bob grins. “How are you?” 

“Oh, she’s great,” Payback answers, wiping sweat off his forehead as he sets his beach chair in the sand. “Super, even!” 

“She got the aux in the van,” Fanboy explains, resting his elbow on Payback’s shoulder. “Two words: Def Leppard.” 

“Lemme see those babies!” Coyote’s voice booms as he jogs up and rounds out the squadron. He’s grinning a broad grin, arms already outstretched. 

“Hey, I already called dibs!” Rooster says. 

“Yeah, but I got here first,” Hangman grins. 

Everyone looks at Bob like he’s the tie-breaker. 

“There’s only two of them,” Bob says, laughing quietly. 

“You’re gonna have to choose,” Rooster says seriously. 

“Here,” you suggest, leaning forward to put Jolene in Hangman’s extended arms. “Take one and pass it on.” 

Everyone laughs--it’s music to Bob’s ears. He watches you carefully transfer Jolene into Hangman’s arms, watches him turn absolutely gooey at the sight of your infant daughter. He cups her little head, holds her close to him, grins down at her. You readjust her sunhat and then lean back. 

“Oh, she’s too cute,” Hangman says, shaking his head seriously. “Rooster, you’re definitely gonna want to take this one.”

“Here,” Bob says, suddenly feeling more confident in his squadron’s ability than before. He leans forward and bestows Waylon upon Rooster, smiling softly and fondly as he Waylon coos and begins to blink himself awake. “You’re a natural.” 

Rooster, delighted, sinks into the sand and holds Waylon close to him. 

“Oh, I know,” he says--cocksure as ever. “Look at this little fella. Boy, does he look like a Floyd!” 

“Yes,” you agree, laughing. “My DNA didn’t even try.” 

As Hangman and Rooster hog the babies, everyone makes their rounds. You shake everyone’s hands, finally put faces to names, and collect all the presents for the babies and yourself. Bob keeps a watchful eye on the babies, but not because he’s stressed--but because he’s enamored that he has two perfect little beings to share with the important people in his life. 

The afternoon drifts forward. Your little spot on the beach becomes the spot on the beach, everyone spreading their blankets out and overlapping, coolers abundant and drinks icy. The babies get passed around, hardly even fussing, but always somehow end up back in Rooster’s arms. 

Even when everyone decides to get up and toss the pigskins, Rooster ends up staying on the palette with you and Bob and the babies. He’s somehow holding them both at the same time, grinning down at them as they blink up at him. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Hangman had said to Rooster, rolling his eyes. “A giant, gushy, manchild.” 

“Proud of it,” Rooster had said, cheeks pink. 

“They really like you,” you tell Bradley, sighing softly. “I’m still getting used to having all this help, you know? I’m a bit mind-blown right now.”

“Well, I’m here for any babysitting services,” Rooster says. “Hell, I’ll pay you!” 

“You’re my favorite already,” you tell Rooster.  

Bob looks at you--you’re smiling softly at Rooster and the babies. Your eyes are heavy and your back is curved and he knows that you’re that special kind of tired that is special to new motherhood. Bob understands. He knows. But his heart still squeezes at your sentence. He had to leave only two weeks after they were born, which broke his heart and yours. Of course, because you’re you, you’d put on a very brave face for him. But there were a few times--a few more times than Bob is comfortable with--when you answered his call with a tearful sniffle and a deep sigh. 

He reminds himself, as he gazes at you, that things are different now. He’s home for a while--and even after that, he’ll be close to home for the foreseeable future. He’ll never miss bath time or dinner or storytime. He’ll be here, beside you, through it all. 

“They really are beautiful,” Rooster tells the both of you. He looks between the two of you, tired and unsure parents with glittering eyes and soft smiles. “You’re doing a damn fine job of it.”

“Thanks, man,” Bob says. “It’s all her.” 

You have to swallow hard and roll your eyes, nudging him, to keep from crying pure tears of joy. 

Rooster gasps suddenly. “Okay, don’t call me crazy, but I swear to God that Jolene just smiled at me!” He says, elated. “Oh, God. Hangman’s gonna be so pissed.”

[purelyfiction]

paging dr. floyd - doctor!bob floyd x f!single mom au

coming soon...

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this for @attapullman’s ‘international Bob Floyd fucks! month’, and also happy birthday Lewis!

It is, of course, a Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x female!reader imagine.

Warnings: this is kinda an AU in terms of that it’s wildly inspired by Saltburn, alcohol, alcoholised sex, smut (18+), only proofread by me

You were the most popular girl at Princeton, and you loved your life.

Starting your time at university had come naturally to you and everyone admired you, the popular as well as the unpopular.

You were beautiful, smart, kind and caring, and had a way of mesmerizing your peers and professors.

There were a few admirers you had gathered over time, but none were really ever of interest to you more than a few days.

Yes, there had been pretty ones as well as smart ones but each and every one bore you after the first or second night.

None were ever a threat to you and you rather enjoyed everyone’s attention, especially the pretty ones’.

One of said pretty ones was a young computer science major with a passion for aviation.

Bob Floyd was a shy study-obsessed bespectacled young man that was just finishing to fill out his form.

He was rather slim, but he remedied that by all the exercise he did outside of class.

You had noticed him before, even if just barely, because against all odds he was pretty enough to catch your attention.

What you hadn’t realized was that you had captured his attention by storm, even to the point of obsession.

Bob was inconspicuous to most and certainly not dangerous, but his heart and body were aching for you.

While you lived your life without much caring for Bob, he saw and took notice of you every day, as often as he could find the time between his rigorous program.

He was determined to become a WSO for the US Navy, but the moment he first laid eyes on you he knew there was another goal in his life.

Every party he went to his eyes were fixed on you, as you went on with your day.

The alcohol and sheer amount of attractive people kept you distracted, until you found yourself at the bar one night, standing next to your quiet admirer.

“Another round of shots, please,” you asked the bartender as you leaned over the bar, smiling broadly as you settled some cash onto the counter.

As you waited for the bartender to serve you your gaze wandered, your eyes finally settling on Bob.

You let your gaze shift over him before it returned to his face, and you saw that Bob had seen you check him out.

“You’re one of the quiet ones! I have seen you around!” You exclaimed, and a smile you couldn’t quite place appeared on his face.

You moved towards him further, fueled by the alcohol in your system, invading his personal space without yet touching him.

When he introduced himself a smile appeared on your face, and Bob found pleasure in the way all your attention was on him.

He leaned in as well and settled his arm on the bar, which put his hand near your waistline.

“You’re pretty,” you exclaimed and set your hand on his upper arm to steady yourself, feeling the muscles that were hidden by the sweatshirt he was wearing.

Bob chuckled and wrapped his arm around your waist to help you keep your balance, which also brought you closer to him.

You staggered slightly before your body connected with his, holding you up straight and bringing you close enough so you could smell and feel his body.

He seemed strangely strong for the nerd you had made him out to be but you didn’t know about his intention to become a part of the Navy, which didn’t matter to you at the moment.

When the tray of shots was settled next to you on the bar you didn’t notice any of it, as you leaned in to connect your lips to his.

He tasted like beer and leaned in further when you deepened the kiss, pulling you as close as physically possible.

You could have been eating each other, which would have been a similarly passionate act.

When you pulled away your lips were swollen and your lipstick smeared on both your faces.

It only fueled your arousal to see the mark you had left on him and you were excited to leave even more over the course of the night.

“Where’s your dorm?” You asked him and he sent you a cocky grin that seemed atypical for someone like him.

He was quick to reach for your hand, pulling you with him out of the bar and towards his bedroom.

The door wasn’t even fully open when you reconnected your lips, noses knocking against each other and teeth grazing teeth in pure haste.

Bob shut the door with a kick but his entire attention was on you, his hands roaming over your body, trying to take in as much of your form as possible.

He had your skirt open and your shirt pulled up before you knew it, his hands moving to your breasts.

Bob pulled away from your lips to move his to your cleavage while unhooking your bra and pulling it and your shirt over your head.

He made quick work of your clothes and you had to admire his efficiency, even though your head was slightly buzzing with the alcohol you had had earlier in the night.

You chose to ignore it and instead focus on the sensations Bob was eliciting, which only added to your daze.

Bob navigated you so that you sat down on his bed, staring up at him through your lashes as he pulled his shirt over his head.

You were surprised by the way his body was sculpted like that of a greek god and you instinctively leaned in to kiss his skin, trailing kisses down his happy trail as you expertly opened his belt and jeans.

This time you were the fast one as you pulled his jeans and boxers down his legs.

You were only able to press a single kiss to the tip of his cock before he pushed you backwards so you were lying on your back on his bed, with him climbing on top of you.

He pressed a kiss to your sternum as he pulled your skirt up to your waist, exposing what he was most interested in at the moment.

There wasn’t much moaning until he was inside you, both of you rutting against each other.

Your foreheads lay against each other and your breaths mixed, both panting, moaning and occasionally leaning in to share a sloppy kiss with each other.

Bob held onto your hips and had his other arm propped up by your head, creating a closeness between you two.

Neither of you was quite there for the romance and it showed by the way you both chased your orgasms.

The moment you reached your highs Bob lifted himself up, giving you space to breathe again as he made himself comfortable beside you on the bed.

Neither of you said a word until you moved to stand back up, collecting your shirt and shoes from Bob’s bedroom floor.

“Thanks, Ben, that was nice,” you said as you shrugged your clothes back on, putting your shirt on and pulling your skirt down your legs.

Bob didn’t even mind that you used a wrong name as he watched you closely from his position on the bed.

You were sure that you’d never speak a word with him again, but Bob knew otherwise.

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[delopsia]

Santa Dress | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 5,400 Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Fem!Reader, unprotected sex, surprise welcome homes, unrealistic snow because who gives a shit about realism, bob fingering you while he drives, ✨road-head✨, and my personal favorite, sex against a wall :D

It's a flurry of red and white behind this tiny little bar, velvet red dresses flowing back and forth as you and Penny put together drinks and fetch ice-cold beers from the mini-fridges. It's been hours since you've last been able to feel your hands, frozen into numbness by the sea of orders. The never-closing front door has long since sucked out any ounce of heat, and you've long since given up on tucking your hands into the faux leather belt of this short Santa dress. 

Curse whoever decided not to give this dress pockets.

"Thank you again for helping me out," Penny says aloud, sidling up to you to fill a chilled glass with Belgian White, "I know you always hated the Holiday Rush when you used to work for me." 

The two Budweisers in your hand are desperately attempting to slide out of your weak grasp; the pilot you're serving is quick to reach out and take them, at least. "Me, hating the Holiday Rush?" Feigning innocence, under the thin veil of a barely audible gasp, "I could never!"

Although you can't see it, you can feel the hard stare fixating upon the back of your neck, "the only reason you didn't quit that last Christmas was because you met your little drummer boy." 

"As if you haven't stayed over just to spend more time with a cute Navy boy or two," and you had more ammunition to tease her with, but a stone-faced Admiral is speaking up, ordering a whiskey on the rocks. 

Great, more ice! 

You're still not sure what made you agree to this. Maybe it's the boredom that comes with being unemployed. Maybe you're chasing the wistful memories of looking up from the bar that fateful evening and locking eyes with a shy new Top Gun student sitting on the far end of the bar, visiting early to spend some time with his buddies for the holidays. 

It certainly isn't money or the overwhelming pressure to find a job, that's for sure. Bob's position in the Navy pays quite well, and he's been sure to make it very clear that you don't have to work if you don't want to. "Money is never going to be an issue, sweetheart," he always reminds you.

Maybe you're just hoping that every time you turn around, you'll find him standing there in those same old glasses with that same bashful grin. If you try hard enough, you think you can still feel the way your heart fluttered when he kept coming back to see you again and again.

"You've got me there," that flashy diamond ring on Penny's finger is enough proof of her own ventures with a Navy pilot. Strange, usually Maverick is looming around the bar at this time, a vulture seeking to claim the next available seat.

The whiskey on rocks is by far one of the easier orders of the night. Nothing special, so simple in fact that you only remember handing it off to the Admiral and then immediately being hit with more beer orders. 

"How's Bob?" Penny asks as you pass her once more, "coming home for the Holiday?"

"No," resisting the urge to flick this bottle cap at the man rudely trying to flag you down, "they've decided to keep him until after Christmas, for whatever reason." 

"Santa must need a WSO."

The rush is just about over; a few more fussy customers and you think you just might be able to catch a breather. Back and forth, the skirt of your festive dress flowing with each and every turn, the soft white fluff on the ends brushing against your cold thighs. You're not sure if it was Penny's idea to wear these for the holidays or if it was Maverick's. 

Your gut tells you it was Maverick, and a part of you hopes he gets forced into a Santa suit again. If Rooster could find a way last year, you're sure he can find a way this year.

Reaching below the bar, your frigid digits open the door to the mini-fridge and delve inside, seeking another ice-cold Budweiser, "damn it."

Penny's head tilts over her shoulder, too preoccupied with mixing this drink to fully turn around, "we out again?"

"You still keep them in the same spot?" Your question is answered with a simple nod of her head, and that's really all you need.

It's almost strange how easily this has all come back to you. When you left, you truly never thought you would be coming back here to work again, but here you are, stepping into the old backroom, and it's like nothing has changed. It's still lined with old pictures that couldn't fit onto the main floor. There's still a mark from the time you snuck Bob back here and pushed the door open so hard that the handle put a dent in the wall.

You're the reason why the door handle was removed in exchange for something less-destructive to innocent walls. 

You'll have to remember to take picture of this and send it to him before you leave. You can only imagine how pink his cheeks will get at the memory. For now, though, there are people in the bar who will not be happy if you let the memory of kissing a Navy WSO until he's lightheaded get between them and their beer. 

There's a crate already loaded and ready in the walk-in cooler. This used to be one of your favorite places to get away for a minute or two, but that will have to wait for a day when your hands aren't going completely numb. 

It's a hell of a task just to bend down and pick this thing up off the floor; the designers of this tiny Santa Dress truly did not have functionality in mind when they made this. God, you forgot how heavy these things are when they're loaded fully. 

Cold-crate in your arms, you head back out into the bar floor, carefully balancing your fragile cargo while minding each and every customer that decides to offer you a rushed "excuse me" as they step right in front of you. 

Someone steps out a little too fast, his shoulder colliding with your crate, the beer bottles rattling dangerously. The bar equivalent to a rattlesnake shaking its little tail, threatening to create a problem.

"Watch where you're going!" 

This is why you quit. 

Biting your tongue, you step past him, darting into the safe confines of the bar itself. If Penny overheard any of that, she hasn't said anything just yet, still chipping away at yet another unique drink order.

Every bar has a regular asshole, and for some reason, the Hard Deck seems to be running rampant with them. For every sweet and well-mannered person that walks through that front door, two fussy assholes come in, asking you to give them the moon and the stars. Something you really hadn't paid much mind to until Bob came through those doors.

Oh, Bob. Sweet, sweet Bob, who would beat you to picking up that heavy crate by a mile, would offer to put these cold bottles away because he knows how cold your hands get on shifts. Bob, who just had to walk through that door and remind you of what a real man is.

Bob, with his gentle hands and kind heart, that's too big for his body. Who would visit you during your shifts, no matter how exhausted he may have been, and drove you home when your car wound up in the shop because it's not safe for you to walk alone in the dark. Who climbed a tree and fractured his ankle because Amelia's new kitten had gotten stuck up there. 

It never healed right, still bugs him every once in a while, and leaves him with the slightest limp, but he always says it was worth it because, in the end, that kitten wound up safe and sound.

You're thinking so hard that you swear you can hear him laughing as you finally hand off this beer to the man that's been waiting all this time. It's not him; you don't know how many times you've sworn you heard him laugh, only to get excited and realize it's not him at all. 

You can't wait to go home and sleep in one of his old t-shirts, pretend that just for a little bit, he's here, with you, and not anywhere else. 

Empty crate in hand and your latest order taken care of, you turn to head back out of the bar; if you leave this thing out, one of you will trip. And these aren't the kind of clothes you need to be tripping and falling in. 

You aren't two steps out onto the open floor when that same guy walks past you, throws a glare over his shoulder as he passes...but strangely, it falls right off his face. Expression wiped clean and left pale as a ghost before he scurries off into another part of the building.

...did you look at him funny? 

There isn't much time to dwell on it because, all of a sudden, another Hard Deck employee is walking up to you, taking this crate off your hands. "I'll take this off ya," is all he offers, disappearing into the backroom with it. 

Odd, Penny told you she couldn't get anyone to work today. 

You're turning around, question heavy and burning on the very tip of your tongue, but it dies before you can even open your mouth. 

Because you either miss him so much that you've started hallucinating, or that's Robert Floyd sitting right in front of you. In the same damn chair that he always sits in, smiling so big that the corners of his eyes crinkle from it. 

"Was wonderin' when you'd notice me starin' at you," and he must be exhausted because that Southern drawl is thick as can be, absolutely dripping off his tongue.

You aren't sure when your feet start moving. All you know is he's standing up, opening up those big, warm arms, and wrapping you up in them for the first time in what feels like years. He just about melts into you, so tired and worn down that you can feel it radiating off of him. Even so, he still has the energy to lift you off the ground by a few inches, swaying back and forth like he always does.

"I missed you," murmuring into the crook of his neck, where you can still catch the faintest hint of his favorite cologne, "how long have you been sitting there?"

"Since Penny texted me and said you went into the back," he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Your jaw slackens; of course, it would be Penny that constructed this entire thing. "I thought you were stuck in..." but there's no point in finishing your sentence because he's already shaking his head.

"Pulled a string or two," gently, he lets you slide down until your feet comfortably hit the floor once more, "didn't expect Penny to put you to work, though."

"Consider it retribution for all those times you two snuck off during a shift!" Penny all but yells, shaking her damp towel at you with an animated iron fist. 

Just like that, Bob's cheeks tint pink, "didn't know those retributions included freezing you half to death." Wandering hands slide up your shoulders, trickling down your arms until they reach your numb fingers, jumping at just how cold they are, "always so cold."

"You're lucky I didn't stick my hands under your shirt," because while you always seem to wind up frozen, Bob runs as hot as a furnace, no matter the weather. 

His large, warm hands encompass yours, and you can already feel the ice starting to melt from your bones, "well, if you let me drive you home, I'm sure I can find a way to keep you warm."

"You didn't tell me it was snowing!"

"I thought you knew!" 

God, it's everywhere, ice-cold snow covering everything the eye can see, draped in a white blanket that sparkles under the street lamp. There hadn't been a single snowflake when you first went in, never mind catching a glimpse of it falling through the windows. It's a good couple of inches, at the very least, enough that it's going to get into your black slip-on shoes. 

In hindsight, the boots were a much better option.

It's by some miracle that he's already found your car; you're not sure who else would have cleaned the snow off your vehicle and your vehicle only. Parked nice and neat in the back of the lot, where nobody other than employees are likely to park. 

"I didn't know it could snow in this part of the state," a breeze has you stepping closer to him, eagerly snuggling into his very, very warm side. 

"I didn't either," Bob squeezes you closer to him, just about cradling you into his chest, "hold on, I've got an idea."

Apparently, that was meant a little more literally than you thought. One moment your feet are firmly on the ground; the next, you're being scooped up like a bride, clinging to Bob's broad shoulders as he starts to carry you. This certainly isn't what you had in mind, but you'll take it. 

The hand on your thigh plays dangerously close to the inside of your dress; it's been so long since you've last felt that, the slide of his soft, strong hand on your upper thigh. Oh, the things you would do to get him to slide that hand just a little higher...

It takes a little maneuvering to get the car door open, but soon enough, you're perched in the passenger seat of your own vehicle, watching your favorite WSO struggle with readjusting the driver seat.

"This car gets smaller every time I get in it," he chuckles, "don't think I remember a time where my knees didn't wind up pressed into my chest." 

"I think you're just getting taller," you're genuinely convinced that he's gained an inch or two since you met him. That, or you're, for some reason getting shorter.

The world will never know. 

There's that eye roll, scoffing like he's just heard the most ridiculous statement of all time. Such a little action that makes your heart flutter, even now. You're just as jittery as you did the first time he drove you home, but even now, no matter how many times he's done this, he manages to completely miss getting the key into the ignition. 

The streets are just about empty, sparkling with snow that nobody quite knows what to do with yet. It's breathtaking, your own private winter wonderland, and yet, you find your attention fixating on Bob. The way the street lights illuminate his face, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console because he's so used to driving a stick shift that it just winds up there out of habit. 

You can't fight the urge to reach out and tangle your fingers together; it's been so long that you've become powerless to resist even the tiniest of things. His hand lifts, and for a second, you think he's pulling away from you, but instead, it comes to settle on your thigh, squeezing lightly. 

"Jesus, you're like a little ice cube over there," gasping, he runs his hand up and down your chilly skin. But you're so sensitive after these past couple of months that heat blossoms between your legs. Just from his touch alone, your legs involuntarily flutter shut, trapping his roaming hand between them.

"If you keep doing that, we're going to have a new problem, Bob," you grit, composure rapidly slipping out of your grasp.

For a moment, he's quiet, but then his hand starts to move again, swirling light circles into your inner thigh, climbing up and down, higher and higher, until you feel him brush against your thin panties. "I did promise to keep you warm, doll." 

All it takes is for you to part your legs the tiniest fraction, and you're rewarded with a taunting finger, stroking up and down your folds through the thin fabric. All the while, his eyes are trained on the road ahead. 

Cute bastard.

It's a traffic light that becomes your saving grace, flickering red and forcing you to come to a stop. Bob's hand slips out from between your legs, and you catch yourself whining at the loss; the radio does nothing to conceal the sound. 

"Hold on," chuckling, he wets two fingers with his mouth, pink tongue visibly swirling around the digits until they're dripping, "I promise I ain't done with you yet." 

Then he's reaching back down, sliding your panties to one side as his fingers tease your entrance. Only one dips inside, but your head hits the headrest all the same; it's been too long. You've almost forgotten how thick his fingers are.

"You've gotten so tight, baby," he's so fixated on watching his finger work in and out of you that he almost misses the light turning green. You certainly believe him; can feel yourself stretching as that second finger eases in alongside the first. Shallow thrusts that stop just short of halfway, giving you what you want but not quite enough.

Impatient, your hips squirm further down the seat, urging him a little deeper. Simultaneously, his fingers curl upward, dragging deliciously against a spongey spot that sends you reeling. You can never seem to hit this spot the way he does, and he makes it look so effortless. Working back and forth, curling and uncurling where you're most sensitive. You're quivering around him, growing wetter and wetter, and he hasn't even so much as brushed against your clit yet. 

But you're still so far from home. 

"Baby, sweetheart, I'm driving," Bob hisses, but there's no malice to it, a weak warning that's only half a bark and no bite. 

"That hasn't stopped you so far," smiling big and wide as you stroke up his thigh; those sweatpants do nothing to conceal his cock as it twitches. 

His bottom lip quivers as your palm rolls over him, once, twice, before stopping in opt to trace your fingers along the outline of his cock. That left leg starts shaking, bouncing up and down, with some hellish mix of hesitance and impatience. 

It's so easy, reaching up and slipping under his waistband, circling around his girthy length and making him jump. 

"Seems I'm not the only one that's sensitive," you tease as you gently ease him out of his pants. 

The streetlights shimmer against the already wet head, still dripping and slicking your hand up as it experimentally strokes down. Despite his warning, he's already twitching up into your touch the best that he can, eyelashes fluttering behind wireframes. 

Reaching down, you guide his fingers out of you, already longing for him to delve inside of you once more, but not as much as you long to feel him against your tongue. 

"Oh no," he whispers under his breath, but despite his audible expression of concern, he does nothing to stop you from leaning over the center console. 

It's been so long since you were last able to run your tongue along the side of his cock, from base to tip and then back down again. Bob twitches under your touch, audibly inhaling through his nose, and you just know he's trying to force himself into silence. Don't react, and maybe it'll stop. 

Tentatively, your tongue swirls around his head, slow, languid motions that treat him like a damn lollipop. Over and over, like he's the sweetest candy you've ever had until he's so wet with your saliva that he's dripping. 

That breath punches out of his lungs the very moment your lips wrap around him, keening high in his throat as you hollow your cheeks and suckle at him properly. The hard plastic of the console digs into your ribs as you sink down on him, but you can't bring yourself to pay it any mind. Not when he's panting above you, free hand scrambling for purchase on the back of your head. 

"Oh God," Bob whispers, gasping between words, "feels good, feels so good."

You can't help the satisfied hum that he churns out of you, and God, he shakes, and he hasn't even hit the back of your throat yet. Just another inch, and he does just that, fat head pressing against your hot throat; you can't take him any further, not when you physically can't lean any further across this console. 

Instead, you reach down with your other hand, dipping between his legs to find and stroke his balls in tune with your mouth. Such a simple motion that rewards you with the prettiest moan. Caught so off-guard that he can't hold it back. 

Drawing back until only his head is in your mouth, you give his slit an experimental flick, can hear the way his hand tightens around the leather steering wheel. Then you're going back down, settling into a slow bobbing of your head, going as far down as you can, and then all the way back up. 

Bob's left leg is shaking, struggling to maintain some sort of composure that just about melts when you swallow around him, forcing him to feel your mouth and the entrance to your throat contract around him. 

"Almost—" he tries, gulping, "house is right there."

With a loud, wet 'pop,' you draw yourself off of him, peering out the window. You recognize where you are now, only a few hundred feet from your driveway, by the looks of it. And as if you hadn't just been tormenting your poor boyfriend, you settle back into your own seat, wiping your spit-slicked lips clean. 

"Actively trying to kill me," you hear him mutter under his breath. 

You suppose you'll be nice and reach up to press the button on the garage door opener, seeing as he's actively attempting to tuck himself back into his pants and turn the vehicle all at once. It's remarkable just how well he manages to park your car, all pink-cheeked and chest heaving, struggling to catch a breath that you seem to have stolen. 

As soon as the car shuts off, you're getting out of the car, and you don't need to look over your shoulder to know if he's following or not. Walking straight to the door and stepping inside your warm, cozy home, fumbling for the light switch.

You don't hear the garage door rumbling as it shuts, can't pick up on the soft pitter-patter of shoes on the hardwood floor. All you know is that you find the light, and all of a sudden, you're being pressed against a wall, and there's a pair of lips on yours that you haven't felt in ages.

"Got me wrapped right around your tiny little finger," he grumbles into your mouth. 

The words are on the very tip of your tongue, but he's already kissing you, open-mouthed and completely unyielding. Strong body pressing against yours, firm hand settling on your waist, gathering you closer, the other audibly thumping against the drywall as he backs you right into it. 

Your surprised gasp opens your mouth to his, and your tongues meet for the briefest moment, only broken apart when he settles both hands on you and lifts. You're caught by chiseled hips sliding between your legs, strong hands cupping your ass as your legs lock around him. 

There, there, now you feel him, hard and heavy, right between your legs. All you're aware of is his mouth on yours and his heavy cock, grinding directly into your dripping core, so close to where you want him to be. 

It's all Bob and his tongue that tastes like the lemon candies he can't quit sucking on and his big hands that work in the backseats of fighter jets so effortlessly that he makes it look like child's play. Bob and the scar you can feel as you tangle your fingers in the hair resting at the nape of his neck. Bob Floyd and the well-concealed muscles that you can feel rippling against you, such a pretty body that so few get to behold. 

"Here?" Weakly, you pant into his mouth, unsure of his next move. 

You don't get a verbal response, just a soft 'mhm' against your lips before he pulls away in favor of nibbling at your jawbone. Teasing nips that tug at your skin until it's red and sensitive, then beyond, settling comfortably at the soft spot below your ear. His tongue laves over the spot, such a surprising sensation that makes you squirm away, tugging at his hair. 

"Sensitive?" He asks, drawing back in tune with your pulling.

Nodding your head, "very." Carefully, you reach up, taking hold of those silver frames and lifting them off of his face. Only intending to gently place them somewhere safe, but Bob's faster, taking them from you and tossing them to the kitchen countertop with a loud clatter.

"I was trying to be careful," you pout, feigning hurt. 

Bob chuckles at that, already returning to your neck, "need new ones anyway." 

There's not a doubt in your mind that there's going to be a few marks on your neck in the morning, not with the way he sucks at that same spot and soothes over it with his tongue, only to repeat it in a neat little line to your collarbone. This position leaves you with no other option but to squeeze your legs tighter around him and pant into his ear. 

His hands are wandering again, up and down your ass, dipping under the thin band of your panties but never staying for too long. Cock grinding into you, such a feeling that makes you twitch around nothing, simply from the reminder of how big he feels between your legs. 

"Robert—"

"—I know, darlin', I know," voice husky and deep as he momentarily draws his hips back, holding you up with one strong hand as he fishes himself out of his sweats.

His cock hits your inner thigh with a soft sound, still wet from your mouth. There's no option to remove your panties in this position. The most you can do is reach down and push them to the side, but oh the feeling of his head dragging between your folds could kill you right here and now. 

Circling against your clit, the first attention it's gotten all day, and it is delicious. You almost wish he would get you off just like this, just the tip of his cock rubbing against that sensitive little button until you're cumming just from that. But then he's dragging back down and catching on your entrance, and you realize that the idea will just have to wait for a time when you're too sore to take him. 

"Do you want me to open you up a little bit more?" Sweet, sweet Bob, who always has to keep asking questions, too afraid of hurting you on accident. 

Impatient, you lock your legs behind his waist and push down, forcing the thick head of his cock into your pussy without warning. It's been so long that you've almost forgotten how thick he is; there's a dull sting that's already settling between your legs. However, that's completely forgotten in favor of watching his eyelashes flutter, baby blue irises momentarily drawing into the back of his head at the feeling.

"Fuck."

You take pride in being the only reason Bob Floyd will swear. 

Gently, he sinks into you, stretching you open around him. Opening you up a little bit more may have been helpful because even you can feel just how tight you are. The slow drag of his cock against your gummy walls is dizzying, has Bob pressing your foreheads together as you both pant, overwhelmed by the feeling. Every time he comes home, it's like the first time all over again.

"So tight, sweetheart," he cooes, right against your lips, "almost all the way, I promise." 

And somehow, he manages to delve even deeper, to places that your little vibrator can never seem to reach. So full that you feel like you can't breathe, unable to take a full breath with him opening you up like this. 

His hips press flush against yours, bottoming out entirely, and for some reason, you're concerned that he may just keep going, even now. 

"Who knew you were this fucking big," you gasp. Even after all these years, even you manage to forget his size. 

"Who knew I was comin' home just to find you in the tiniest little dress I've ever seen," already drawing back because he knows your cues better than you do, "and to think I almost didn't get to see it." 

There's something you want to say, some little recollection about how when you'd fantasized about him coming home and bending you over the bed the moment you put this little garment on. But you can't get it out, not when he's drawing out until he's about halfway and then snaps his hips back in, a little half thrust that knocks the breath right out of you. 

Stars sparkle behind your eyelids as he does it again and again, hard, short thrusts that take their time on the drag out. Such an overwhelming feeling that only seems to build each time the head of his cock kisses that little gooey spot along your walls. Over and over on each bypass makes you flutter around him and your hips start to squirm, unsure if you want more or to escape it. 

"Oh, you feel so good," he gasps, "I should've come home sooner, fuck—"

Your nails bite into his clothed shoulder, struggling for purchase on anything that will keep you from falling after every hard thrust. Oh, it feels so good, the way he stretches you open, how he never seems to miss that sweet spot that makes you grow wetter and wetter until each thrust is punctuated with a soft squelch. 

"Bob, Bob," you chant like a mantra. Like it's the only word you can remember.

His pace is changing, quickening, as soon as he's pulling out, he's already pressing back inside, can't punch the breath out of you anymore because you can't even breathe now. Feels so, so good that you don't realize your mouth has fallen open, whimpering so loud that it echoes throughout the kitchen. 

"'M already close," he warns, and without missing a beat, he takes one of your hands off his shoulder. His soft tongue wets the bottom of your index and middle finger, guides you down between your legs, "touch yourself for me, sweetheart." 

As soon as your wet fingers find your neglected clit, a shudder ripples throughout your body, your pussy clenching down around his pistoning cock. Your skin feels like it's been set alight, walls twitching and beginning to spasm as your entire body begins to shake. 

You're close too, so, so close. 

"Baby, baby, baby," Bob whines, his head tilting back, "fuck, can—can feel you spasming around me."

It hits him first, seemingly by surprise, because one minute he's weakly looking you in the eye; the next, his eyes are fluttering closed, and his hips are just about slamming into you, drilling directly into your sweet spot just one more time. You've got no choice other than to feel his cock pulsate inside of you as his hips hold you down, and like a freight train, you cum too. Trembling, crying out as you bury your head into his sweaty shoulder and cum around him. 

The world is spinning, everything turning white as it washes over you in tidal waves, so overwhelming that your entire body downright tingles. 

"Talk about a hell of a welcome home," Bob mumbles directly into your ringing ear, and you don't know how long it's been because it feels like you've just woken up from a dream. 

"Welcome home, loser," barely strong enough to lift your head and kiss his cheek, "have fun cleaning up the mess you've made between my legs." 

It's weak, but you feel his cock twitch inside of you. "I'm sure I can fuck it out of you in the shower."

You're not sure if you'll be able to walk when Christmas day finally rolls around.