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itwillbethescarletwitch · 17 days ago

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The Nerd and the Nuisance

bob floyd x Fem!Aviator!Reader

call sign: peaches (don’t ask)

oh, smut warning.

The midday sun bakes the tarmac like it’s on a mission. Tank tops are sticking, aviators are sweating, and someone in the back is definitely skipping reps.

Peaches? Not her. She’s got her hair slicked back, her sports bra peeking out under her loose-cut Navy PT shirt, and a smirk on her lips like she knows she looks real good dropping into those push-ups.

Because she does.

“Hey, Peaches!” someone hollers from across the makeshift training circuit. Probably Fanboy. “You tryna win the Olympics or something?”

She doesn’t even look up. “Nah, just showing off for the right audience.”

That earns a chorus of “OOOH—”s, and Payback practically wheezes with laughter.

That’s when Hangman struts over. Gray shirt damp with sweat, dog tags sticking to his chest, that smug-ass smile already locked and loaded.

“You know,” he says, eyeing her like he’s about to make it weird — because he is, “it’s really distracting when you do squats that good.”

Peaches snorts. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even break rhythm. “Oh no, Jake. You want me to take it slower? Would that help you concentrate?”

“Oof.” Fanboy’s nearby, nearly falling off the pull-up bar.

Hangman grins. “You keep talking like that and I will take you home.”

That’s when she finishes the set, stands, and wipes sweat from her neck — slow, teasing — before stepping into Jake’s space like she owns it.

Her voice drops. Everyone’s suddenly paying attention.

“Hangman… just take me home. Right now.”

Silence.

A beat passes. Jake actually looks stunned — eyes flicking between her mouth and her eyes like he can’t tell if she’s serious or not.

She leans in closer, just enough to make him lose whatever thought he had next.

Then she grins.

“Nah.”

She taps his chest with one finger and walks off toward the locker room, grabbing her water bottle without even glancing back.

Fanboy yells, “SHE’S COLD FOR THAT,” while Coyote and Payback are losing their minds in the background.

Hangman just stands there like a man who just got emotionally body slammed — again.

⸻

That Night – The Hard Deck

Music. Laughter. Pool games. Something dangerously tequila-flavored in her glass.

Peaches is sitting with Phoenix and Halo, laughing at something Payback just said when her eyes wander across the bar — and then freeze.

There he is.

Bob.

He’s tucked into a corner seat. Not playing pool, not part of the crowd. Just sipping soda and eating sunflower seeds out of a little paper napkin. The shells are piling on his pants and he’s brushing them off like a quiet little ritual. Not messy — just Bob.

And then he does it — he looks up.

Eyes meet.

And he smiles.

Not cocky. Not calculated. Just soft and shy and real.

“Hey, Peaches.”

She blinks.

Oh no.

She’s seen Bob before — but this is the first time she’s really seen him.

That quiet confidence. That messy, soft thing about him.

The way he’s not performing.

The way that one smile just hit harder than any of Hangman’s lines.

Peaches feels her throat go dry.

For the first time maybe ever, she looks away first.

And that’s when it hits her:

She doesn’t want to flirt with Bob.

She wants to get to know him.

…And maybe ruin him a little along the way.

———

Peaches shows up to the Hard Deck the next night — because patience isn’t her thing when she’s got a mission. And baby, she is on a mission.

The outfit?

Dangerous.

Cute little crop top (but not too obvious), low-rise jeans that fit like a sin, and the kind of gloss that makes her lips look expensive. Hair done. Skin glowing. Eyes sharp.

Phoenix raises a brow the moment she sees her.

“Oh no. Who’s the target?”

Peaches smiles, slow and smug. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The team’s gathered around a pool table again — Hangman already mid-story, Payback laughing too loud, and Bob?

Bob is in the exact same seat. Same posture. Same quiet little energy.

He’s sipping a ginger ale this time, fiddling with a coaster. Glasses slipping down his nose. Cute as hell.

Peaches makes her move.

She doesn’t even pretend to hesitate. Walks right past Hangman mid-sentence, drops into the seat next to Bob like she owns the bar.

“Hey, sweet thing,” she says, voice smooth like honey left out in the sun.

Bob looks up — startled, pink creeping up his neck.

“H-hey, Peaches.”

“Didn’t know you were out tonight.”

He nods, trying not to stare at her neckline. “Just… needed a break from reading.”

Peaches rests her elbow on the table, leaning in juuust enough. “What were you reading?”

Bob blinks. “Uh. ‘The Right Stuff.’ Again.”

She smirks. “Mmm. Nothing sexier than a man who rereads aviation history for fun.”

Bob makes a sound in his throat like his brain just hit a firewall. His hands twitch nervously on the glass.

Peaches notices. She always notices.

“You okay there, Floyd?” she murmurs, voice lower now. Private. Just for him.

He swallows. “Yeah, I just—uh—you look… nice tonight.”

She pretends to be surprised. “You think?”

Then she touches his knee.

Light. Casual. Deadly.

Bob’s entire soul leaves his body.

Peaches leans in closer, her voice dipped in velvet:

“I like a man with a strong mind… and soft hands.”

The glass in his hand nearly slips.

Phoenix is watching from across the room like she’s witnessing a full-blown psychological takedown. Hangman’s mid-joke and completely misses the way Bob’s ears turn red.

Peaches stands up after a few more minutes — just enough time to short-circuit him but not enough to let him adjust.

She lets her fingers drag across his shoulder as she walks away, saying:

“See you around, Bobby.”

And as she disappears toward the bar, she knows — without even looking back — that he’s watching her like she just flipped his whole universe upside down.

Which, to be fair… she did.

———

Bob is a simple man.

He likes clean lines, vintage jets, sunflower seeds, and peace.

Peaches is none of those things.

It’s three days after the Hard Deck Incident™ and this man has replayed her voice saying “sweet thing” about 87 times.

It’s haunting him. She touched his knee. She whispered in his ear. He hasn’t known peace since.

And today?

Today she shows up in one of those oversized academy sweatshirts — the kind that’s just long enough to cover her shorts, hair up in a bun, water bottle slung on one hip.

She looks like a problem.

Bob sees her across the hangar and turns around so fast he almost smacks into Phoenix.

“Easy there, loverboy,” she laughs, catching his elbow.

He adjusts his glasses. “I’m—she’s—uh.”

“She’s gonna eat you alive,” Phoenix says flatly, then pats his shoulder. “But don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

⸻

In the Ready Room

They’re reviewing dogfight footage. Everyone’s seated, bored, half-listening — except Peaches, who chooses right then to plop down next to Bob.

Close. Too close.

Her thigh touches his. On purpose. And when he shifts like his skin’s on fire, she just smiles sweetly and leans into his ear.

“You smell good.”

Bob is convinced he’s hallucinating.

“W-what?”

She leans back, expression innocent. “Did I stutter, Floyd?”

The ready room is dark. The projector’s humming. And Bob?

Bob is fighting for his life.

When the footage ends and Maverick dismisses them, everyone stands — except Bob, who’s trying to casually hide the war crime going on in his pants.

Peaches? She notices. Of course she does.

“Walk me to my locker?” she asks, sweet and deadly.

He nods.

⸻

In the Hallway

They walk in silence for a second. She’s swinging her water bottle. He’s calculating how many Hail Marys he needs to say to survive this.

And then she stops walking.

Just turns around, stands right in front of him — chest to chest, breath to breath.

“You know I’m not messing with you, right?”

Bob looks like she just spoke in code. “What?”

She tilts her head. “I don’t do this with just anybody, Floyd. I flirt with Hangman. I banter with Coyote. I clown with Fanboy.”

She steps closer.

“But you…?”

She slides her fingers into his front pocket. His front pocket.

“You’re the one I want.”

Bob’s soul literally leaves the building.

“P-Peaches…”

She rises on her toes, lips brushing his ear.

“If you want me to stop, say so.”

He doesn’t.

She kisses his cheek, slow, deliberate, claiming. And then turns on her heel and walks off like she didn’t just end this man’s entire nervous system.

Bob stands there, in the middle of the hallway, one hand gripping the pocket she touched, whispering to himself:

“She’s gonna be the death of me.”

———

Peaches walks into the Hard Deck on a Friday night with one goal:

Lock in the mission. Secure the nerd. #OperationFreakifyFloyd is now live.

And she looks so good it’s rude.

Sundress. Curls done. Earrings swinging. Smells like vanilla and danger.

The squad’s already at the usual table — Payback and Fanboy fighting over pool, Hangman trying to impress a group of tourists, Phoenix sipping her beer and watching the chaos.

And Bob? He’s at the corner of the table, drink in hand, glasses on, wearing a soft navy hoodie she’s never seen him in before. He’s clean-shaven. Neatly put together.

He’s perfect. And he’s hers. He just doesn’t know it yet.

She doesn’t ask. She doesn’t wait. She slides right into the seat next to him, so close their arms touch, and drops her voice:

“That seat’s taken, baby.”

Bob nearly spills his drink.

“P-Peaches.”

She smirks. “You nervous?”

“I just… you smell really good.”

She leans in, slow and smooth. “You can tell me that with your chest, Floyd.”

Bob’s cheeks go pink. “You smell really good.”

Peaches grins.

⸻

Cue Hangman

Because of course.

He saunters over, drink in hand, cocky grin locked and loaded. “Well, if it ain’t the deadliest duo. Mind if I—”

Peaches cuts him off without looking.

“Not tonight, Jake.”

Hangman blinks. “Oh. We’re doing this now?”

She finally turns. “You flirt like a frat boy. Bob makes me nervous.”

The entire table goes silent. Like, cartoon-record-scratch silent.

Payback whispers, “Did she say Bob makes her nervous?”

Fanboy says, “Like in a good way or a restraining order way?”

Phoenix leans across the table, smirking. “So… what are we calling this?”

Peaches just tilts her head, eyes still locked on Bob. “We’re calling it ‘none of y’all’s business’.”

Bob chokes on air.

⸻

Later That Night

They’re walking side-by-side down the beach — far enough from the group that their voices are private. The moon is up. The breeze is soft. And Bob’s still blushing like it’s a medical condition.

He says, out of nowhere: “I don’t get it.”

Peaches stops. “What?”

“You could have literally anyone. And you’re… flirting with me.”

She blinks. Then smiles. Slow. Dangerous.

“I don’t want anyone else, Bob.”

He looks at her — really looks at her — and she swears his eyes go all soft and shiny like he’s seeing her for the first time.

“I think about you all the time,” he admits quietly.

That does something to her chest. Something warm and terrible.

She takes his hand, presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“Good. Then we’re on the same page.”

———

It starts after a long, sweaty, brain-meltingly difficult training op.

Everyone’s exhausted. Shirts damp. Dog tags sticking to collarbones. The kind of day where people groan just standing up.

Bob’s sitting on the ground, post-flight, peeling off his gloves, flushed and glowing in the kind of way that should be illegal. His hair’s a mess. He’s breathing heavy. Glasses sliding down his nose. And Peaches?

She is salivating.

Phoenix: “You good?”

Peaches: “No. But I will be.”

She watches him like a hawk — the way his long fingers work, the little huff he makes when he can’t find his water bottle. She wants to bite his shoulder.

⸻

In the Locker Hall

Everyone’s scattered. Showers on. Music playing somewhere faint in the background.

Bob’s in the hallway, fumbling with the lock on his locker when Peaches appears out of nowhere.

“Boo.”

Bob jumps. “Jesus—!”

Peaches grins, wicked. “Hi, baby.”

His eyes dart around. “You—you can’t just sneak up on me like that!”

“Oh? But it’s fun.” She leans against the lockers, arms folded under her chest, head tilted. “You looked good out there today.”

Bob swallows. “Thanks. You, uh, always do.”

She narrows her eyes. “You still nervous around me?”

He laughs — soft, sheepish. “Yeah. Kinda.”

“Even after everything?” she asks.

He nods. “Especially after everything.”

Peaches steps in. Real close. So close he forgets how to breathe.

“Then I guess we better rip the Band-Aid off, huh?”

And she kisses him.

Hard. Hot. Hands sliding into his hair. She doesn’t ask. Doesn’t wait. She takes — mouth open, warm, possessive — and Bob? He whimpers. Full-body, knee-weakening whimpers. His hands hover like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

So she grabs his wrists and puts them on her waist.

“Hold me like you mean it, Bob.”

And he does.

They kiss like the world is ending. Like he’s been starving for this. When she pulls away — finally, reluctantly — he looks dazed.

“You okay?” she asks.

He nods, breathless. “I—I saw God.”

⸻

OUTSIDE. TEN MINUTES LATER.

They try to act casual as they rejoin the group. But their hair’s a little messy. Bob’s shirt is misbuttoned. Her lip gloss is missing in action.

Phoenix clocks it immediately. So does Fanboy. So does literally everyone.

Payback: “Why is Bob walking like he forgot how knees work?”

Coyote: “Why does Peaches look like the cat that ate the whole damn canary?”

Hangman: sniffing the air “Do I smell sin?”

Peaches smirks, tossing her hair. “Mind your business, boys.”

But Bob? Ohhh Bob is glowing. Can’t stop smiling. Keeps looking at her like she hung the damn stars. When she walks by and squeezes his hand, he almost trips over his own feet.

———

It starts at Bob’s place.

Not because Peaches was invited. Not really.

She just… kinda followed him home.

“You hungry?”

“A little.”

“…You wanna come in?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She walks in, drops her purse by the door, and immediately throws herself on his couch like she’s lived there for years. Legs kicked up, head tilted back, sighing like a queen after battle.

“This your place, huh?”

“Yup.”

“It’s cute. Just like you.”

“…Oh boy.”

Bob’s ears turn red. Bright red. He turns toward the kitchen. “You like pasta?”

“Do I like—Bob. I’m half pasta.”

⸻

In the Kitchen

He’s cooking. Real food. Homemade sauce. The man has a wooden spoon and everything.

And Peaches?

She’s in his hoodie. Big. Soft. Smells like detergent and cologne and him. She pulled it from a hook behind the door like she had a right to it — like it was already hers.

“You smell like me now,” he says under his breath.

“Good,” she purrs, hugging herself. “I want your scent all over me.”

Bob drops the spoon.

“Jesus, Peaches.”

“What?” she says innocently, hopping up to sit on the counter. “I’m just telling the truth.”

He’s trying so hard to keep it together. But the way she’s swinging her legs, biting her lip, looking at him like he’s the main course? Yeah. He’s barely holding on.

And then—

She pulls him in by the waistband of his pants.

She kisses his cheek.

And whispers, “I’m falling for you, Bob Floyd.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Bob’s breath caught, his hands coming up to rest on her hips as if to steady himself. He was shy, always had been, but in that moment, shyness felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford.

“Peaches—” he started, his voice rough, but she cut him off with another kiss, this one firmer, more insistent. Her lips moved against his, hungry and demanding, and he felt himself surrendering to her, piece by piece.

“Don’t say anything,” she murmured against his lips. “Just come with me.”

She led him out of the kitchen, her grip on his waistband never faltering. The hoodie fell from her shoulders as they moved, pooling on the floor like a discarded promise. Bob’s heart pounded in his chest, a steady rhythm that matched the urgency in her touch.

His room was sparse, functional, like the rest of his apartment. A bed, a dresser, a few framed photos of planes and the ocean. Peaches pushed him back until his knees hit the mattress, and he fell onto it with a soft thud. She followed, straddling his hips, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him deeply.

Bob’s shyness melted under her touch. His hands moved up her back, tracing the curve of her spine, the softness of her skin. She was warm, alive, and he felt himself surrendering to her, piece by piece.

“Slow,” he murmured against her lips, his voice hoarse. “Let’s take it slow.”

Peaches smiled, a soft, knowing curve of her lips. “For you, Bob. Anything.”

They moved together, their bodies fitting perfectly, as if they’d been designed for this moment. Bob’s hands roamed her body, memorizing every curve, every dip. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples tight and responsive under his touch. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, his lips trailing down to her breasts, where he lingered, tasting her, savoring her.

She moaned softly, her head tipping back as he suckled gently, his tongue swirling around her sensitive peaks. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in as she arched into him.

“Bob,” she whispered, her voice thick with need. “I want you. Now.”

He looked up at her, his glasses askew, his expression tender. “Missionary,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “Let me make you feel good.”

She nodded, her eyes locked on his as he shifted, moving her back until she lay beneath him. He propped himself up on his elbows, his hands framing her face as he kissed her again, slow and deep. Their bodies moved in sync, his hips rocking gently against hers as he entered her. She was tight, wet, and he groaned at the sensation, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored the feeling of being inside her.

“Bob,” she breathed, her hands gripping his hips, guiding him. “Deeper. Harder.”

He obliged, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through them both. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back as she met his movements, her body rising to meet his.

The room was filled with the sounds of their labored breathing, the soft creak of the bed, and the occasional muffled moan. Bob’s glasses fogged up, but he didn’t care, his focus entirely on the woman beneath him.

“Peaches,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he felt himself nearing the edge. “I’m close.”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Me too. But I’m not done yet.”

Before he could respond, she flipped them, her body now on top of his. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain as she straddled him, her hands on his chest for leverage. She moved faster now, her hips rolling in a rhythm that was both urgent and deliberate.

Bob’s hands came up to her waist, his fingers digging into her skin as he watched her, mesmerized. Her breasts bounced with each movement, her nipples tight and rosy. He reached up, cupping one in his hand, his thumb brushing over the peak as she rode him.

“Bob,” she gasped, her head falling back as she quickened her pace. “Fuck, that feels good.”

He groaned, his hands moving to her throat, his thumbs brushing her pulse point. She grabbed his wrist, guiding his hand, her eyes locking with his.

“Harder,” she begged, her voice raw. “Please, Bob. I need it.”

He hesitated, his shyness warring with his desire to please her. But the look in her eyes—the trust, the need—was too much to resist. He applied a little pressure, his thumb pressing into the tender skin of her throat.

Peaches moaned, her body tightening around him as she threw her head back, her hair cascading over her shoulders. Her hips moved faster, her movements frantic as she chased her release.

“Bob,” she cried, her voice breaking as her body shook with her orgasm. “Oh fuck, Bob—”

Her walls clenched around him, milking him, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. His hips bucked up to meet her, his hands tightening on her throat as he spilled into her, his groan echoing in the small room.

For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies still joined, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Then, slowly, Peaches collapsed onto his chest, her hair tickling his neck as she caught her breath.

Bob’s hands moved to her back, stroking gently as he kissed the top of her head.

———

It’s movie night on base. The whole squad’s packed into the rec room—blankets, pillows, snack bowls, someone brought a projector. It’s chaos in the best way.

And Peaches? She shows up late. In a hoodie.

But not just any hoodie.

It’s Bob’s hoodie.

Big. Navy blue. Smells like his cologne. Drowns her in fabric.

And when she walks in?

The room goes SILENT for a second.

“Ayo,” says Payback. “No way.”

“That’s Floyd’s hoodie, right?” whispers Fanboy.

Phoenix just grins like the devil.

Hangman literally chokes on a Red Vine.

Peaches acts like nothing’s different. Tosses her hair, flops down next to Bob, and grabs some popcorn like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

But Bob? Bob is MALFUNCTIONING.

His cheeks go bright pink. His fingers twitch. He keeps staring at her like he can’t believe his hoodie’s hugging all the parts of her he’s not brave enough to touch yet.

“You wore it,” he says softly, voice just for her.

“I didn’t feel like picking an outfit,” Peaches shrugs, sipping her soda. “Plus, I missed your smell.”

“…My smell?”

“Yeah. You smell like safety.”

“…What does that even mean?”

“Means I like it. Means I like you.”

Bob’s ears go red so fast she thinks steam might shoot out of them.

⸻

HALF AN HOUR LATER.

They’re under a shared blanket. Her legs tangled in his. His arm is around her shoulders.

On screen, some action movie is playing—but nobody’s watching.

Especially not Bob.

He’s watching her.

The way she dips her head on his shoulder. The way her fingers lightly trace over his forearm.

He’s so aware of her it’s painful. And when her hand brushes over his thigh—purely innocent—

Bob gasps.

“You okay?” she asks, all doe eyes.

“Peaches…”

“What?” she smiles, fake innocent.

“You’re driving me insane.”

“I know.”

Her voice drops, teasing.

“You gonna do something about it?”

The room seemed to shrink around them, the noise of the squad fading into the background. Bob’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of frustration and desire. He knew better than to engage with her here, in front of everyone, but Peaches had a way of making him forget his better judgment.

“Come with me,” he said, standing abruptly. He grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet before she could protest. The squad barely noticed their departure, too engrossed in their own chaos.

The locker room was dimly lit, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The air smelled of sweat and soap, a familiar scent that grounded Bob even as his pulse raced. He pushed the door closed behind them, locking it with a sharp click.

Peaches leaned against the wall, her eyes locked on his, that same teasing smile playing on her lips.

“What now?” she asked, her voice low and challenging.

Bob didn’t answer. He crossed the space between them in two long strides, his hands gripping her hips as he pressed her against the cold metal lockers. The hoodie bunched between them, but he didn’t care. He needed her, needed this, and he wasn’t going to hold back.

“Bob—” she started, but he cut her off with a kiss, rough and desperate. His lips crashed against hers, his tongue demanding entry. She tasted like salt and sugar, and he groaned, his hands sliding up her sides to grip her shoulders.

Peaches wrapped her arms around his neck, her nails digging into his skin as she kissed him back with equal fervor. She was always so responsive, so eager, and it only fueled his desire. He pulled back slightly, his breath coming in short gasps.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he growled, his voice rough.

“So?” she smirked, her eyes daring him to do something about it

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands fisted in the fabric, tugging it up and over her head in one swift motion. She gasped, her breath catching as the hoodie fell to the floor. She was wearing nothing underneath, her skin pale and smooth in the dim light.

Bob’s gaze lingered on her, taking in the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the way her nipples tightened under his scrutiny. He wanted to touch her, taste her, claim her in every way possible. But Peaches wasn’t one to wait around.

She stepped forward, pressing her body against his. Her hands slid down his chest, slipping under the hem of his shirt. “Your turn,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear.

He shivered at her touch, his shirt joining the hoodie on the floor in seconds. Peaches’s fingers traced the muscles of his abdomen, her touch light but deliberate. She knew exactly where to touch him, how to make him ache for her.

“Peaches—” he started, but she silenced him with another kiss, her hands moving lower, slipping into the waistband of his pants.

He hissed as her fingers brushed his erection, her touch sending sparks of pleasure through his body. “Not yet,” he managed, his voice hoarse. He wanted this to last, wanted to savor every moment with her.

She smirked, her eyes glinting with challenge. “Who’s in control here, Lieutenant?”

Bob’s grip on her hips tightened, his thumbs digging into her skin. “You’re pushing it,” he warned, though his voice lacked conviction.

Peaches laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down his spine. She stepped back, her hands moving to the button of her jeans. “Catch me if you can,” she teased, before shimmying out of them.

Bob’s breath caught at the sight of her, standing there in nothing but her lace panties. Her body was a work of art, every curve and line designed to drive him mad. He took a step forward, his hands reaching for her, but she danced out of his grasp, her laughter echoing through the locker room.

“Peaches—” he growled, his patience wearing thin

She stopped, turning to face him, her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter, Bob? Can’t keep up?”

Something snapped inside him. He lunged, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her onto the nearest bench. She gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed her down. “Who’s in control now?” he asked, his voice dark with desire.

Peaches’s smirk faltered, just for a moment, before she leaned up to nip at his ear. “You are,” she whispered, her hands tangling in his hair. “But don’t think I’m going to make it easy for you.”

Bob didn’t respond. He kissed her fiercely, his hands roaming over her body, mapping every inch of her skin. He slipped his fingers under the waistband of her panties, tugging them down her legs. She kicked them off, her legs wrapping tighter around him as he ground his hips against hers.

“Bob,” she moaned, her head falling

back as he kissed a path down her neck. “Please.”

He smirked against her skin, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs. “Beg,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

Peaches’s eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting on a soft whimper. “Please, Bob,” she whispered. “I need you.”

That was all he needed to hear. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a condom with practiced ease. He sheathed himself quickly, his hands trembling with anticipation. Peaches watched him, her eyes dark with desire, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice rough.

She nodded, her hands gripping his shoulders. “Fuck me, Bob. Hard.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He positioned himself at her entrance, teasing her with slow, shallow thrusts before slamming into her with a force that made her cry out. The sound was music to his ears, and he set a relentless pace, his hips snapping against hers as he filled her completely.

Peaches met his thrusts with equal fervor, her nails digging into his back as she arched her hips to meet him. Her moans filled the locker room, loud and uninhibited, and Bob lost himself in the sensation of her tight heat surrounding him.

He reached between them, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing firm circles. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as she teetered on the edge. “Bob—I’m close,” she panted, her voice strained.

“Not yet,” he growled, his grip on her hips tightening. He pulled her closer, his thrusts becoming sharper, more urgent. He wanted to push her further, to see just how far she could go.

Peaches’s head fell back, her mouth open on a silent cry as he slid a hand into her hair, tilting her head back. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and demanding.

Her eyes met his, dark and glazed with desire. “Bob—”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish. His free hand wrapped around her throat, his thumb pressing into her windpipe just enough to restrict her airflow. She gasped, her eyes widening as her breath hitched.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper. “Feel it, Peaches. Feel how much I want you.”

Her hands flew to his wrist, her fingers trembling as she held on. “Bob—I—”

He thrust harder, his grip on her throat tightening just enough to make her squirm. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice dark with need. “Say you’re mine.”

Peaches’s eyes fluttered closed, her body trembling on the edge of release.

“Yours,” she choked out, her voice barely audible. “I’m yours, Bob. Please—”

That was all he needed. He released her throat, his hand sliding down to grip her hip as he drove into her with abandon. Her walls clenched around him, her body shaking as she cried out, her release washing over her in waves.

Bob followed soon after, his own orgasm crashing into him with a force that left him breathless. He buried his face in her neck, his body trembling as he spilled into the condom.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their hearts pounding in unison, their breaths mingling. Bob’s hands slid down to rest on her hips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin.

Peaches’s arms tightened around him, her lips pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “That was—”

“Not enough,” Bob finished, his voice low and teasing. He pulled back, his eyes meeting hers. “We’re not done yet.”

Her eyebrows rose, a challenge in her gaze. “Oh? And what did you have in mind, Lieutenant?”

Bob smirked, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs. “Turn around,” he murmured, his voice dark with promise.

Peaches’s eyes widened, just for a moment, before she complied, her body shifting to face away from him. She braced her hands on the bench, her breath coming in short gasps as she arched her back.

Bob’s gaze lingered on the curve of her spine, the way her hair fell in waves down her back. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her shoulder before sliding down to grip her hip.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

She nodded, her voice barely audible. “Yes.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He positioned himself behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he slid into her from behind. She gasped, her head falling back as he filled her completely.

“Bob—” she moaned, her voice strained.

“Hold on,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. He set a slow, deliberate pace, his thrusts deep and controlled. He wanted to make this last, to savor every moment with her.

Peaches’s hands gripped the edge of the bench, her knuckles white as she met his thrusts with equal fervor. Her moans filled the locker room, loud and uninhibited, and Bob lost himself in the sensation of her tight heat surrounding him.

He reached around, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing firm circles. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as she teetered on the edge. “Bob—I’m close,” she panted, her voice strained.

“Come for me,” he growled, his grip on her hips tightening. He pulled her closer, his thrusts becoming sharper, more urgent. He wanted to push her over the edge, to feel her release around him.

Peaches cried out, her body trembling as she came apart beneath him. Her walls clenched around him, milking him as she rode out her orgasm. Bob followed soon after, his own release crashing into him with a force that left him breathless.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their hearts pounding in unison, their breaths mingling. Bob’s hands slid down to rest on her hips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin.

Peaches turned to face him, her lips curving into a soft smile. “That was—”

Bob silenced her with a kiss, his lips pressing firmly against hers. “Not done yet,” he murmured against her mouth.

Her eyebrows rose, a challenge in her gaze. “Oh? And what else do you have planned, Lieutenant?”

Bob smirked, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs. He pulled her closer, his lips brushing her ear. “I think it’s time for a little role reversal,”he whispered, his voice dark with promise.

Peaches’s eyes widened, just for a moment, before a slow smile spread across her face. “Oh? And what makes you think you can handle it?”

Bob’s smirk widened, his hands sliding up to grip her hips. “Only one way to find out,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Peaches laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down his spine. She pushed him back, her hands on his chest as she stepped away. “On your back, Lieutenant,” she commanded, her voice firm.

Bob raised an eyebrow, a challenge in his gaze. “You sure about that, Peaches?”

She smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I’m sure,” she purred. “Now, on your back.”

Bob hesitated, just for a moment, before complying. He lay down on the bench, his hands behind his head as he watched her with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation

Peaches moved to stand between his legs, her hands on her hips as she

looked down at him. “Comfortable?”

she asked, her voice low and teasing.

“As long as you are,” he replied, his voice steady.

Bob’s gaze lingered on her, taking in the way her hips swayed, the way her breasts moved with each breath.

“Peaches—” he started, but she silenced him with a kiss, her lips pressing firmly against his.

She pulled back, her eyes locked on his, her smile triumphant. “My turn,”she murmured, her voice dark with promise.

Bob’s breath caught as she sank to her knees, her hands gripping his thighs as she leaned in. Her lips brushed the head of his cock, her breath warm against his skin. He shivered, his hands tangling in her hair as she looked up at him, her eyes daring him to stop her.

“Peaches—” he managed, his voice hoarse.

She smirked, her tongue flicking out to taste him. “Shh,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “Just enjoy the ride, Lieutenant.”

Bob’s eyes fluttered closed as her lips closed around him, her mouth warm and wet. She took him deep, her tongue swirling around the head as she hummed in approval.

He groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily as she began to move, her mouth working its magic.

She was relentless, her lips and tongue driving him to the brink. Her hands gripped his thighs, her nails digging into his skin as she took control.

Bob’s hands fisted in her hair, his hips thrusting into her mouth as he lost himself in the sensation.

“Peaches—I’m close,” he panted, his voice strained.

She pulled back, her eyes locked on his, her smile mischievous. “Not yet,”she murmured, her voice low and teasing.

“Yo!”

Payback’s voice. Loud. Too close.

“You left your phone in the hangar, Bob. Phoenix said you might be in here—”

Peaches freezes.

Bob practically jumps out of his own skin.

“Shit,” she whispers.

“Oh my God,” Bob wheezes, trying to find his shirt, his soul, and maybe the Holy Spirit.

“We were so close,” she mutters, genuinely heartbroken. “I was gonna ruin you.”

“I know,” he gasps. “I know.”

Another knock.

“You guys decent?”

“No!” Bob yells. “I mean—yes! I mean—don’t come in!”

Peaches is dying laughing, holding her stomach, collapsed on the bench in just her sports bra and smudged lip gloss.

“Bobby Floyd,” she giggles, “you’re gonna need a cold shower and a prayer.”

“I need an exorcism,” he mutters.

They scramble to fix themselves—clothes adjusted, faces flushed, hearts racing.

As Payback walks away, clearly suspicious, Peaches leans in close and whispers:

“You owe me, Floyd.”

“I owe you everything,” he breathes.

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moriitis · 5 months ago

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write some horror about toby.. or Ej.

one shots?? x reader?

Toby Rogers x Reader.

took me a very long while to reply to this ask, apologies! if there's mistakes i didn't proof read

Wordcount; 3.1k.

Content/Warnings; PTSD, mentions of murder, mentions of death, attempted murder, scars, mentions of vomiting, panic attacks.

There were many things you were afraid of; spiders, the dark, monsters under your bed. The thing that loomed in the dark, the possibility of being taken in your sleep. Death welcomed all regardless what race, skin color. The thing is with Death, you can't choose how it takes you. Whether it takes you in the lull of night or whether you find yourself crumpled between a car or truck. It worked in mysterious ways, ways that made your skin prickle. The topic of death was so taboo because we, as humans, do not like talking about the end. That's it really, it's the end, that life will continue to flourish without you. So, you begin to question how do you want to make an impact in life? How can you do something to ensure that you will be remembered? We all want to feel satisfied, to say that we did something in our life that was worth living - so what is it?

Well, for you, in some cases, it could be just waking up. A small victory. Perhaps even taking the day as it comes or brushing your teeth. Therapy helped too and you were proud of yourself for attending in the first place. It was nice to find a motive, a mission so to say each morning, a routine that became the norm as you took the day in small victories.

You see, you treasured every day, every small feat because nearly three years ago now, you were nearly murdered. If someone had told you that somebody would attempt to take your life, you would laugh in disbelief or perhaps you would've been more cautious to who you spoke to but no, that was the thing; life is unexpected and some days are meant to take you by surprise. Therapy was a fresh start, to help you take back control of your life and trauma and to live life to the fullest. Only, how could you knowing the man that tried to take your life had not been caught?

"I'm really impressed with your progress, I feel like compared to a couple of years ago, you have taken such big steps in the right direction and I'm really proud of you," Layla spoke. Those words felt so alien because admittedly, you were in shambles. The anniversary of your attack had crept up quicker than you had expected, leaving you in a state of dismay almost as you tried to overcome the day ahead. A sense of dread lingered within you, like something bad was going to happen and you couldn't explain it. You mostly took those days being with your parents anyway, the thought of being alone suffocating you to the max as anxiety surged through your bloodstream. You shuffled uncomfortable in the cushioned chair, forcing an uneasy smile as you tried to blink away the tears. Your eyes, despite wanting to cry, felt so dry.

"Thank you," you croaked, meeting Layla's gaze briefly before moving your focus back to the small coffee table before you. It was a rectangular coffee table, with some coasters atop it that had motivational quotes like, 'you can do it!' or 'don't give up!' It was cute and on each coaster, there was a bright colourful rainbow, some sunflowers or butterflies. Despite the fact that they felt childish, it brought you with a sense of comfort. Silence loomed over briefly as Layla sensed the tension in the air, pursing her lips and reaching over to squeeze your knee. You stirred, peeling your gaze away from the lipstick-stained coffee cup on the table before meeting Layla's concerning look.

"I know it's going to be hard - the next coming days, but it does get easier," Layla reassured, like she had read your mind. Despite the reassurance, you didn't feel comforted. That man, whoever he was, he could burst in here and kill both you and Layla in a heartbeat. You still had the scars to prove it, the deep slash on your collarbone that left you slightly crippled and deformed. A scar so deep that each night, the burning sensation rippled in shockwaves throughout your body and leaving you in a feverish sweat.

"I know," you replied sheepishly as you sighed softly, your body deflating a little as you tried to process her words and comfort. "I think I'll be okay-" you started, the memories tormenting you the longer you dwelled on the subject. "I'm just so.. terrified that he'll find me, that he will finish the job-" Layla could sense the anxiety emitting from your form and she shuffled herself, the idea of being bludgeoned to death not really entertaining her. With a gentle shake of her head, followed by a soft tut, Layla interrupted your thought process.

"You got away once and he's probably too ashamed to come back knowing that you survived," her words, which meant to bring consultation, only brought you more worry.

"But what if it's the opposite? What if he's fuelled by the fact that I'm alive, that I live everyday in fear, he's toying with my mind, I just know he is-" You were rambling, feeling your body coat itself in sweat. Layla quickly shut you down, giving your knee another squeeze in an attempt to snap you out of your hysterics.

"You are safe," she spoke each word out thoroughly, ensuring your safety as the kept an intense look on your being. "I promise." Swallowing back a lump, you nodded slowly. You wanted to believe her and her words, you wanted to tell yourself this but you simply couldn't. This man, whoever he was, he had no remorse and he was hellbent on ensuring you would die to his hands. You shivered and your shoulders shuddered as you moved to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, steadying your breathing for a moment.

Forcing a smile, you simply gave a nod before uttering a soft; "yeah." Layla sat back in her chair, securing the clipboard on her knee as she glanced down at the writing on paper. She sighed, filling the silence before smiling.

"Well, I'll see you next week?" she asked, leaning over to then grab her cup of coffee. The side of the cup had stains of her lipstick, a soft pink that complimented her features and skin tone. A part of you was thankful that this was over and yet that sense of impending doom still lingered in the pit of your stomach, like a part of you expected to leave her office and suddenly find yourself get jumped from around the corner. Shuffling down to reach for your bag, you lifted it up and swung it over your shoulder before standing.

"Yeah, next week, see you then." Then you slowly shuffled over to the door, hand lingering on the handle. You could feel Layla's eyes on your back, observing you quietly as you bit on the bottom of your lip. You hated this, you hated that your fear and trauma consumed you. That it controlled every aspect of your life, you were always on high alert no matter what. So many people praised you for your bravery, courage but you didn't feel those things. Deep down, your attacker fed on your fears and chewed you from inside to out. There were so many unanswered questions, why you? As far as you could tell, you didn't know him.

"He's not there," Layla then spoke and quickly you shot a glance over your shoulder toward her, a soft smile across her wrinkled features as she motioned to the door. "Nothing will hurt you out there." And she was right, her office was just in the most secure part of town, in a building surrounded by other people that were not going to hurt you. So, with a nod, you shot her a thankful smile and disappeared into the hall. The hall was empty, aside from the occasional chatter that happened behind each door that littered down the pristine hall. There were some chairs pressed against the wall, some posters about therapy and information booklets about different kinds of disorders and how to know when you should get help. Admittedly, a part of you couldn't help but feel as if you were just wasting Layla's time, that she could be talking to someone who really needs the help. Stepping out into the hall was a relief, knowing that nothing dangerous awaited you around the corner.

The walk home was the same, stopping by your local smoothie shop to grab yourself a smoothie before heading down toward the subway. It was busy, people nattering, men and woman in business suits and some tourists here and there. The city was so different compared to your small town back home and a part of you hated being around so many people but you had no choice, this was the only place you could get a good therapist and the smoothie place made it all worth the while. As you stepped off the escalator and headed your way to the track you needed, you glanced up and down the platform cautiously before setting yourself down in a seat just opposite the tracks. It was midday so it wasn't that busy, most the people here quiet and occupied with either a book or their phone. It brought an odd sense of comfort to you, that despite the fact you disliked large crows, it was nice to know that there were this many people around just in case something were to happen.

Taking a sip of your smoothie, you savoured the fruity taste as you watched and observed the people around you. Admittedly, you loved people-watching, you loved to listen in on conversations or glance over their shoulder to see what they were doing on their phone. You were a nosy person, you would admit that and there was something so joyful about watching life around you. Knowing that everyone had a worry, a lover, that something was going on in their life, that maybe they had just lost a loved one. It made you so curious and honestly, a little thankful to still be here today. You sighed in content, waiting for your train as you glanced up at the board before you. Another twelve minutes, you didn't mind. The train ride in the subway was ten minutes, then another twenty minute train to get out of the city. It was a lot of time and effort but it got you out your house and thus, helping overcome your fear a little.

As you felt yourself slip into a daydream, a figure stepped past your vision which caused you to blink back into focus of your surroundings. You were cautious of thieves and robbers, so your bag was placed atop your lap securely as you held the smoothie atop it. A man, with his hands stuffed into his pockets, stepped past you and took the empty seat beside you and despite the fact you avoided his gaze, you still smiled softly just to show your friendly manner. You could smell the soft hint of aftershave on him, along with deodorant which was feint but there nevertheless. Unlike everyone else, his focus was on the people around him, watching life pass by; much like you had been doing previously. It was nice to know you weren't the only one and from the corner of your eye, you glanced at him. He was close, so close that your elbows were practically grazing against one another and you shuffled awkwardly to try and make it seem as if you were just readjusting your bag atop your lap. He wore a brown coat which sat atop a flannel shirt, giving off an almost rustic, emo look. There was a patch of stubble on the bottom of his chin, his hair messy and brown which was slightly longer in the back.

With focus back on the bustle in front of you, you took another sip of your smoothie. For once, you felt relaxed and at peace.

"I found you." You froze, brows narrowing in confusion as you glanced around. That voice, it sounded so similar that it immediately raised the hairs on the back of your neck. Slowly, you craned your head over toward the brunette that was sat beside you. His gaze was down, focus solely on what seemed his shoes as you raised a questioning eyebrow. Was he talking to you? Had you succumbed to madness and now you were hearing voices? Your heart, which was once a steady beat, was now pounding against your ribcage in hysterics as you tried to comprehend what was unfolding before you. Perhaps he was on the phone or maybe he was talking to someone else. There were a lot of crazies here in the city and shit, you felt as if you were turning into one yourself.

"Hm?" You hummed softly, too scared to make even a peep. The brunette was stifling a grin, a shit eating grin that smacked you across the face almost, his gaze remaining on the tiled flooring below the both of you.

"I s-said.. I found youu~" There was a sing song tone to his voice, a mocking tone as his head finally, eyes peeling off the tiles to meet your gaze. You hadn't noticed, but you were squeezing the smoothie cup so tight that it were about to spill over, your body freezing as your brain began to battle between fight or flight. That voice, the same voice from the very same night, the one that mocked your cries and screams as you fought for your life. Despite the fear, you kept telling yourself over and over again that you were safe, that you were in public and there was nothing he could do to hurt you but that look - the way he soaked in your expression and the way his body shook in excitement, it filled you with a wave of sickness that was about to spew. This had to be some cruel trick, a prank gone too far; one of those annoying influences that secretly record you for content. This felt too real though, too specific and to any other person, his comments wouldn't make most sense. His piercing brown eyes made contact with the scar that exposed itself from the collar of your shirt, a scar he was familiar with, a scar that painted your collarbone beautifully and he chuckled a sick chuckle.

On the brink of hysteria, you shuffled further away from him, the only noise you could conjure up was nothing but a pathetic whimper. You shuffled further and further until your ass connected with the tiles below, using the grip on your shoes to scramble further and further away from this mad man. You neglected the smoothie, the contents now a colourful mess on the floor as you kept the bag pressed closed to your abdomen. Despite the commotion, passer-by's did not bat an eye as you helplessly tried to catch their eye contact, pleading for somebody to help you. For now, you were nothing but a spec of dirt on the tiled floor, even if you were bleeding out; nobody would ache a care toward you. So, with that thought in mind, you scrambled to your feet and ran to the nearest exist. Your legs shook and at times it felt as it you were about to buckle as you came crashing into the oncoming traffic of people, who grunted or yelled out at you in the growing distance. Whatever you had to do, you needed to be safe. The cops, the security guard, anyone and as you ran down the halls of the subway, a soft scream escaped from within you.

With burning lungs, you could see the escalators closing in and there, the local information desk. The worker who sat uninterested inside the booth, eating away at a croissant as they focused more on the paper below them than anything else.

"Help-!" You screamed, approaching the desk in a speed you couldn't comprehend as you slammed your hands down on the desk. The man behind it jumped briefly before sitting up, brushing the crumbs of the pastry off his cotton jumper. You were sweaty and your anxiety attacked every part of you as you felt the surge of passing out. Gasping for breath for a moment, you snapped a head around your shoulder to check that he wasn't following. "Please, help me, please-" you began to ramble, tears now unknowingly falling down your cheeks. The man behind the counter was now taken aback a little, trying to make sense of your endless rambling.

"Hold on, hold on," he spoke, throwing his hands up to try and slow you down and allow you to catch your breath a little. He was right, you needed to calm down but you simply couldn't knowing that you could die any minute!

"No!" you yelled, slamming another fist down on the counter. By now, many people were watching, eager and curious as to what the big fuss could be about. You didn't need this, you hated the attention and you heard the chuckles of a group of teens as they whipped their phones out to record.

"I'm going to die! He's trying to murder me! Please, listen to me!" you begged helplessly, the words feeling so raw that the flood of emotions consumed you, knees buckling and you falling flat back on your ass. Your throat hurt from the screaming, lips dry as you sucked in breaths to try and ignore the incoming panic attack that was looming over you. The man stood quickly to lean over the desk, glancing down at you from the tip of his nose. Everyone was muttering, glancing around cautiously; more concerned for themselves than they were for you.

"I'm gonna need some people here, got some crazy lady," the man spoke into a radio that once sat on his hip. The blood within you boiled and bubbled with rage, the idea of being referred to as crazy when he had no idea what you had endured; the trauma!

"Babe, hey, relax!" A voice called out from within the crowd and suddenly, your sobbing ceased to exist as you slowly turned to face the voice. "Shit, I'm so ss-sorry, she gets like this, I'll take her home." The brunette spoke to the man behind the counter, exchanging an apologetic smile before kneeling down to meet your level. His look, once soft, now turned into something more sinister. "I'll look after you."

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #ticci toby #toby rogers #ticci toby x reader

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