#bob+floyd+x+reader
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k1tk4ttt · 9 days ago
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Me searching x reader fics after gaining a new fictional crush after watching a movie/serie
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luvvyouforever · 13 days ago
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frat boy lewis pullman you are SO important to me
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the-shedevil-writes · 1 month ago
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Polaroids (Bob Floyd x Reader)
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DESCRIPTION: Bob keeps your relationship private, but he doesn't try to hide the dozens of Polaroids of you all over his locker and truck. He has a daily routine of taping his favorite Polaroid of you to his jet's console, but when it goes missing, things get chaotic. Luckily, you're there to make everything better. WORD COUNT: 2.3k WARNINGS: Bob gets angry in this one, folks. Cussing. Fighting. Hangman's an asshole- sorry. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3
Bob didn’t like talking about his relationship. It’s not that he wasn’t proud of her, or that he felt ashamed. But in fact, the opposite. He’d seen these animals, he’d call co-workers, and how they’d treat girls. Granted, the squadron he was with now wasn’t so bad. Rooster, Hangman, and Fanboy were hard flirts, but they had basic decency. He never felt embarrassed by their behavior when they went out to the bars, and they’d try and pick up a girl. If they were successful, they celebrated. If they weren’t, they’d walk away and move on. 
But it was his past experiences with other pilots. Locker room talk always rubbed him the wrong way. He did his best not to judge these guys. He had those thoughts, too, but he had heard too many dehumanizing things said about women he knew and didn’t. So he preferred to keep his gorgeous girlfriend, Y/n, under wraps, even if he did trust his current friends.
They preferred to keep their lives separate anyway. With Bob having his work and friend group, and Y/n having hers. It kept their conversations interesting, as they had their own lives to discuss, not just their shared one. 
The Dagger Squad, of course, would try and pry any information out of him. All they knew was that he had a girlfriend. Half the time, they’d forget what her name was because they had never met her, and Bob preferred not to talk about her, for fear they’d ask to see her. 
He was surprised they didn’t notice the Polaroids. Taking pictures of his girl was his favorite thing to do besides flying. He wasn’t exactly a photographer. But he made good use out of the instant Polaroid camera she got him for Christmas. It was so much better than taking pictures on his phone because he could hold the memory in his hand. The light and the moment were captured and printed instantly just for him. 
They were stuck everywhere. Photos over the years were plastered all over the inside of his locker. In his phone case was a picture of her wearing his glasses. And in the fold-out mirror of his truck was a photo of her taken off guard in the kitchen that she hated, but he loved. The one of her kissing his cheek was usually tucked in the front pocket of his flight suit. They all served as reminders of what he had waiting for him once his shift was over. His best friend and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his whole life. 
His favorite was the photo he taped to his control panel every day. It was a little beat up, naturally, but he made sure to keep that one in the best condition it could be. It was his good luck charm- the first Polaroid he had ever taken of her. It was Christmas morning, and she sat next to the lit tree, in his old Lemoore High School shirt that she had stolen for herself. She hugged the frankly huge teddy bear that he had gotten her. While the lights on the tree sparkled in the photo and cast a golden glow on her smiling face. For some reason, when he had it, the missions went better. The days went by more easily when he got to see his girl’s face after a stressful hiccup in flight. 
It had been a long and grueling day flying under the sweltering sun. They had been training for a strike mission, and the dogfighting exercises had left him drenched in sweat, and owing Maverick 200 push-ups. Thanks, Payback, for the BRILLIANT idea. And thanks, Hangman, for doing what he did best- leaving him in the dust and pushing his buttons. 
After an almost embarrassing amount of time, he walked back to the locker room with biceps so sore they screamed. He unzipped his flight suit and took his glasses off, using the white shirt underneath to clean the fog and sweat off them. He couldn’t wait to go home and find his girlfriend in her study, working. And he especially couldn’t wait to bug and distract her from all of it. 
That’s when the sense of dread hit him, and he realized. He quickly checked all his pockets. Yes, the one of her kissing his cheek was there. But his lucky charm wasn’t in any of the other pockets. He rushed to climb out of his flight suit and scrambled to throw on a random shirt and shorts from his duffel. He couldn’t leave it in the jet. Who knew what maintenance would do if they found it? They’d probably just throw it away. 
Throwing on his backpack, he sprinted back down to the hangar. He didn’t even notice the whole squadron standing around talking. He didn’t care. All he wanted was his favorite picture and for this horrible day to be over with. 
The sunset shone on his forehead, exacerbating the glistening stress sweat. He quickly climbed the ladder onto the Super Hornet and looked inside the backseat interior. The only place it could be. And when he looked at the spot between the radar and the comms control, he put his face in his hands. It wasn’t there. The memory of the Christmas lights and the bear was missing. 
“Fuck.” He said to himself. It was hard to get Bob to curse, but this felt like an appropriate occasion.
Then Hangman’s voice rang out behind him. 
“Hey Baby on Board! You sure this isn’t a picture you found on Google?” 
Bob’s head whipped back to find Jake Seresin holding the photo. On one hand, he was just grateful that someone had found it. On the other hand, out of all the pilots, he wished so deeply that it wasn’t Hangman. 
He quickly climbed down the ladder. “Give me it back, please.” He said exasperated, and walked towards him.
Jake held the photo up so that Bob couldn’t get it. Neither of them was short, but Hangman was just slightly taller. 
“I’m not kidding.” He said, trying his best to keep his cool. It took a lot to make Bob angry. He was typically level-headed and able to logically think things through. That’s why he was a WSO Top Gun Graduate, and not necessarily a pilot. But right then, his whole day had been building up inside him, and this was the one thing he didn’t mess around with. 
“I just can’t believe that a babe like this is with a guy like you. Really, you should let me call her up.” He said teasingly with a smile. After leaving Bob and Phoenix stranded, AND doing this, Bob was at the end of his rope.
“Hangman, just give him back the photo,” Phoenix voiced with her arms crossed. She and Rooster watched the whole interaction, which just made him feel worse. This was humiliating. It was like they were boys in a school yard- which Bob would say was an apt description of most of the people he had worked with in the past.
He reached up for the photo and finally got a grip on it, but Hangman didn’t let go. 
“I just think it’s funny! I wanna look at it. I think there’s more in his locker, too.”
“Just let go, Hangman.” His voice was less whiny and more serious now. 
“No!” He grinned.
The two tussled and grabbed at the photo. It felt like a moment that was way too long. Until eventually they each pulled in a different direction, twisting it. It completely bent. Thankfully, it couldn’t rip because of the type of film, but the photo itself was fairly distorted. Bob’s heart beat out of his chest, and it was like his stomach twisted the same way the photo did. 
He suddenly let go of the photo and pushed Hangman so hard he stumbled back, surprised. The photo slapped onto the pavement. 
“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE,” Bob said, following after him, ready to beat the shit out of him. Even though at first glance, most people would believe that Hangman would win in a fight between the two. It didn’t quite look it at the moment with the anger in Bob’s eyes and his arms pumped from the earlier push-ups.
Rooster quickly ran over and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back. “HEY HEY HEY!” 
Phoenix ran over and did the opposite, pushing her hand against Hangman’s chest, though he didn’t try to move forward. He knew he was in the wrong here, and it was clear by his guilty expression.
“Bob, man, calm down,” Rooster said. They all looked at him, surprised. Timid, awkward Bob was
 kinda scary when he was pissed off. His glasses slightly crooked and red in the face. Maybe it was just strange to see him so out of control.
He slowly pushed Rooster off of him and walked over, grabbing the crumpled photo on the ground. After a failed attempt at straightening it out, he put it in his pocket and walked off, steaming. 
That night, when he got home, he slammed the door. He was never the type to do that, but he felt so defeated. His duffel bag dropped to the floor uncaringly. 
“Bob? Is that you?” Y/n called out from the study.
He sighed, a little relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” He said, his voice almost completely flat. That wasn’t normal. He’d usually meet her in the study, but at the sounds of distress, she quickly came out.
She walked out to find him hanging up his sweatshirt with a depressed look on his face. His usual smile was replaced by a small, tense frown, and his shoulders were high and stiff. Something was very wrong.
“Oh, baby.” She said, walking over, “What’s wrong?” Her voice was so gentle.
He sighed and quickly wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry. I need to shower,” He said, not having gotten the chance to on base. But he still squeezed her, needing the support dearly. 
She shook her head against his chest. “What happened?” She knew he was trying to avoid it. 
He stepped back and pulled the bent photo out of his pocket. “Hangman happened.”
She gasped at the sight of it in his hand. “Oh no
 Is this a man or a dog we’re talking about here?” She asked confused, and that made him laugh a little. He was already so grateful to be home. 
“Man. Though he definitely acts like a dog.” He groaned.
She gently took the photo from his hands. “I can try and fix it. Straighten it out. There might be a crease still in it, though.” She tried her best to flatten it out like he did, but to no avail.
He shook his head. “You can try, but I doubt it’ll be okay.”
That answer was so depressing, she looked up and tilted her head. “Hey, we’ll get it back to normal. I’ll look it up. How about you go shower and eat? I made pasta cause I was too lazy to be a real chef tonight.” She tried to lighten the air. “Then you can tell me all about your day.” 
He sighed in relief. “You’re too good to me.” He said softly, pulling her in for a much-needed kiss.
And that’s exactly how they ended up sprawled on the couch, each with bowls of penne and vodka sauce. On the coffee table, the photo lay on a piece of wax paper and was buried under some thick fighter jet manuals Bob had. 
“It was just like the whole day had been building up in me. Payback’s bet. Hangman leaving me and Phoenix dead in the water. The two hundred push-ups. And the photo going missing in the first place drove me crazy. So when he bent it, I just
 exploded a little.” He admitted, almost ashamed to have lost control.
She sighed. “That’s okay. It was natural after all of that.” She reassured gently, reaching for his calf and squeezing it. “This Hangman guy sounds like a real douche.”
“Understatement.” He said, but he was feeling better talking through it all with her. “I just hope that the photo is okay. You know it’s my good luck charm, and if it’s not flat, it won’t stick to my console very well.” 
A small smile appeared on her face. “It’s under some of the thickest books I’ve ever seen. If it’s not flattened, then that’s just defying gravity.” She said. 
He exhaled again, relaxing, and it was like the tension in him completely dissipated. “You’re right.” He said gently. 
“Hey, maybe after today he’ll leave you alone.” She suggested.
He scoffed, “Hangman? I give him less than a week before he starts using you against me.” 
She chuckled and set her bowl down so she could lie down against him. “Hmmmm, gotta get you enrolled in anger management classes then.” She teased.
He kissed the top of her head. “You’re funny.” He said sarcastically.
The next morning, he woke up at the crack of dawn per usual. He slowly slipped out of his girlfriend’s grasp, and she whined, half asleep. Their typical routine. He gently leaned down, ran his hand over her hair, and kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.” He whispered, and she subconsciously did so.
He got ready in his khaki uniform and walked out to the living room. On the table were the stacks of manuals. He very carefully took them off one by one and set them on the couch to soften the noise. Checking on the Polaroid, he sighed in relief as it was flat again. A small crease was across the middle, but at the very least, it was flat. He turned it around and saw something new. On the plain white back of the photo was a lipstick kiss mark over the folded line. In the tiniest pen was ‘A kiss to make it better’. 
And the biggest smile grew on his face. This was better than he could’ve asked for. 
Now he didn’t just have a good luck charm, but also a kiss to remember her by. 
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cowboybeepboop · 2 months ago
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Sweetness
"I care about you, more than I probably should."
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Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd
Genre: Smut
Word count: 3.3k
Summary: You finally find out the real reason behind Bob’s protective side. 
a/n: I saw Thunderbolts* yesterday, and I’m craving more of Lewis Pullman đŸ˜›đŸ˜©
This team gets on your nerves, whether it’s Hangman’s cocky asshole attitude or Roosters constant issues with Mav. Somehow you’re always getting in the middle of something and you’re tired of these damn pushups. 
Bob is your weapons systems officer. He’s sweet and nothing but kind when it comes to you. It’s frustrating, though, because you know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but you don’t need him to stick up for you. 
It feels like he pities you, he challenges hangman when he says asshole things, he defends your choices when Mav questions you. He just doesn’t understand that you can speak for yourself. 
These dog-fights with Maverick have almost been the death of you. Maybe you’re an overachiever, but you’ve never needed to keep redoing and redoing exercises. It’s never been an issue for you to work in a team, but Hangman refuses to. 
“Fuck!” you slam your hand against the dash of the plane, tears building in your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you sigh away the anger, letting your head fall back against the seat. Bob tenses in the seat behind you as you land the plane. 
“Y/N? Are you okay?” his voice rings out, bringing you back into reality. 
“Yep. Let’s just get this over with.” Your tone is more firm than usual, irritation filling your veins as you exit the vehicle. 
Hangman begins spewing his usual bullshit, cockiness radiating off him even though you just lost. Bob argues with Hangman in the background as you ignore them, getting ready to get those damn pushups out of the way.
The only thing you need right now is an ice-cold shower and whiskey on the rocks. You’re pulling your uniform off your shoulders while walking toward the bar, Bob is hot on your heels, along with Rooster and FanBoy. 
“How’s it goin’?” Bradley wraps an arm around your shoulder, the familiarity of his touch doing little to ease your annoyance. You shift out of his embrace, not wanting to talk to anyone. 
Bob and Rooster make eye contact, shrugging as they notice your strange mood. “You got this one, Bob?” he nods in response, following after you once again. 
“Y/N?” he settles down next to you at the bar, shifting his weight as you stare down at the counter. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” You ignore him, taking down your drink in one gulp. 
“I’m alright, Bob, just.. Annoyed.” you sigh, glancing at him slightly. He nods in response, fingers fumbling with his beer bottle. 
“Did-” he begins before you cut him off.
“We were so close, Bob!” your tone is laced with irritation, “We almost got him and then you got, distracted.” You roll your eyes, sliding the glass to the side. 
“I know.. I know and I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that, you shouldn’t have needed to do all those pushups because of my-” you glare at him, everything he does just annoys you, he’s so nice even when you don’t deserve it. 
“Why do you take the blame for every little thing?” Maybe it’s the alcohol, but you’re hot, irritated, and red hot. “Leave it alone, Bob.” You storm out, admittedly a little childish, but you need the fresh air. 
Sitting down on the porch, you breathe in the scent of sea water, the wood creaks under a pair of boots next to you. 
“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to do anything to frustrate you.” his tone is the same soft and gentle one per usual. “If I can do anything, say anything, get you anything, please just let me know. I wanna help, we’re a pair, Y/N,” he says, settling down next to you cautiously. 
“Bob, you’re annoying me.” You groan, hating the butterflies in your stomach, and his heart drops as he straightens up. Your words sting him a little more than intended, and you see it in his demeanor. 
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that..” you trail off chewing on your lip while watching him fumble with his hands.” I didn’t mean to, you dont deserve that, it’s just frustrating to have you constantly siding with me, being so nice, and sticking up for me.” you groan.
“I know you mean well, but I can fight my own battles Bob.” you sigh, shifting uncomfortably as you look him over. 
Bob looks down at his hands, the sound of his fingers cracking fills the air as he processes your words. He hates your irritation being directed at him, but he knows you’re right. He’s been a little overprotective lately, and you’re feeling chafed by his kindness. It’s not what he wanted.
“It’s just
” Bob pauses, his mind struggling to find the right words. “It’s not about thinking you can’t fight your own battles. I mean, I know you can.” Bob leans back, resting his head against a pole.
“I know we’re a team, but we haven’t worked together like this before, not on a mission this important.” you sigh, resting your face in your hands. "I just wish you wouldn't make me look so weak in front of everyone, just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I need pity, Bob." You shut your eyes, taking steadying breaths.
Bob's eyes widen slightly, finally being able to grasp what is going on. He's been treating you like you're fragile, and you're getting fed up. It hits him like a truck, and the guilt instantly seeps into his bones.
"I know... I know, you're strong," he says, the shame evident in his voice. "I don't think you're weak, and I *don't* pity you." Bob's fingers twist together, frustration with himself bubbling up within him.
Bob rubs his face, he’s always had a crush on you, ever since he laid eyes on you. For Bob, you’re not just a talented pilot and a teammate, you’re smart, strong-willed, independent, and absolutely gorgeous.
His protective nature stems from the fact that he cares about you, a little more than he should. He’s scared of losing you, of getting you hurt, and it shows in his overprotectiveness and constant apologizing.
“I’m sorry, Bob, I shouldn’t have held this against you. Hangman is the one who left us to fend for our own. It’s not your fault.” You lean closer to him, brushing your shoulder against his. 
Bob's shoulders tense up for a moment, caught off guard by your sudden apology. Your touch, even as simple as your shoulder against his, has his heart beating faster. He relaxes a little, feeling relieved that you're not as irritated with him anymore.
"Thank you," he whispers, his voice soft as he relaxes his tense shoulders, he takes a deep breath. "But I still want to apologize for being so overprotective."
“I guess I just don’t understand why you’re so protective when it comes to *me*,” you scan his face, eyes wandering his features. “I know we’re friends outside of work, but.. I just don’t get it.”
Bob's heart leaps into his throat, his mind racing with nerves. This is the moment, the one he’s been scared of for the past few months. He’s always liked you, but he’s kept it to himself because of his shy nature, and he was afraid of ruining your friendship.
He takes a shaky breath, his fingers trembling as he fidgets with them."I
uhh"  Bob struggles to find the right words, the truth on the tip of his tongue.
"Yeah?" you question, scooting closer to him, basking in the gentle heat of his body.
Bob's heart pounds in his chest, his cheeks heating up from your close proximity. He can smell your perfume, and the closeness makes his knees weak.
"I
 I care about you a lot," he manages, his voice shaky, eyes refusing to meet yours. Bob's hands twitch with the nervous energy that courses through him, his fingers clenching into fists and unclenching rhythmically.
"A lot?" Your cheeks turn a slight pink. "In what way, Bob?" 
Bob's words get stuck in his throat, his breath hitches as he looks up at you, your eyes burning into his soul. He swallows hard, unable to hold your gaze, but at the same time craving it. 
"In every way imaginable," he breathes out, his heart pounding against his ribcage, "I care about you, more than I probably should." This is it, all or nothing, he can't back out now.
You take in a shaky breath, eyes focusing on everything but him as his words echo in your mind.
Bob watches your face, his heart in his throat as he waits for your response. The silence between you both is loud, making him almost sick to his stomach as he waits for your reaction. He’s so desperate to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, but your expression is unreadable.
"Please say something," he mutters softly, his hand twitching to reach out and touch you, but his fear stops him.
You clear your throat, standing up and stretching, and your heart is racing in your chest. Being with Bob, it's what you want, but what if it changes things or makes both of you unable to go on the mission? Your mind is reeling, and you begin to pace. 
Bob follows your movements with his gaze, your nervous behavior making his heart ache. He knows he messed up, he should have kept his stupid feelings to himself. Now he's just made everything awkward.
With you moving around so much, unable to sit still, he stands up as well, worry etched across his face. "Y/N, I'm sorry, I didn't-" his voice is trembling as he tries to apologize, but you simply start pacing.
You shake your head, "You don't need to apologize, Bob." Turning back to him, you take a few steps until you're right in front of him again. 
Bob stands still, his heart practically beating out of his chest, as you walk closer to him. Your proximity takes his breath away, and he can’t tear his eyes off your face. All he can focus on is your every move, the way your lips are slightly parted, and how your cheeks are tinged pink.
He has to fight the urge to pull you into his arms and hold you close, but the nervousness in his veins keeps him rooted to the spot. "Y/N..” he breathes out, his voice low and unsteady.
"Bob," you whisper, "Please.." Your words, your simple plea, are all it takes for Bob to snap. His brain short-circuits as every thought about consequences and missions leaves his mind, replaced with one sole desire. *You.*
In the blink of an eye, his hands find your waist, and in another, he's pulling you flush against him. His lips crash into yours with a desperate need, as every pent-up feeling, every piece of suppressed desire is unleashed.
Your hands reach up to his face, gripping his face as you pull him closer, desperate for more. 
Bob is completely lost in the moment, his hands exploring your waist, your back, your face, trying to touch every inch of you. Your touch ignites something within him, and his kiss deepens as he presses his body against yours.
He pushes you backward until your back hits a wall, his hands gripping your hips as he cages you against the surface, his kiss still feverish, hungry, desperate.
You pull away reluctantly, gasping in a few breaths before speaking. "Bob, we need to go.. I *need* you," you whisper, kissing his face and neck. Bob lets out a soft groan at your words, the feeling of your kisses sending tremors through him, the need in your voice making his knees weak. 
"Go... where?" he breathes out, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you closer, afraid that if he lets go of you, you'll disappear. He wants you badly, the mission forgotten in a haze of desire.
"I have a place," you practically moan, enjoying the desperation in his touch. All coherent thoughts leave Bob's mind as your moan is like music to his ears. He practically whimpers against your touch, the need for you nearly overwhelming.
"Lead the way," he mutters, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your neck before reluctantly releasing his grip. Even though he's letting go of you, his hand takes yours, unwilling to lose physical contact.
With your hand in his, Bob follows you to the secluded spot you've chosen, his heart racing in anticipation. The gentle squeeze of your hand reassures him that this is what you want, too. Once you're both inside, the door clicks shut, and the tension in the room thickens. 
You turn to face him, the hunger in your eyes matching his own. His hands trace the curve of your waist, pulling you closer as your mouths find each other again in a passionate kiss that leaves you both breathless. 
With no more words needed, you both stumble over to the bed, the need for each other overwhelming. Bob gently lays you down, his eyes never leaving yours as he starts to unbutton your shirt. His touch is reverent, his every move filled with a passion that has been building for so long. 
You help him, pulling his shirt off over his head, feeling the warmth of his bare skin against yours. As the fabric of your clothes falls away, Bob’s eyes roam over your bare skin, tracing every curve and dip with a hunger that’s been building. 
His hands rough yet gentle, his kisses leaving a trail of fire down your neck as he unclasps your bra. The coolness of the air meets your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine. He worships your body, his hands exploring every inch with a passion that leaves you trembling with anticipation. 
The feel of his bare chest against yours is electric, his skin smooth and warm as he kisses his way down to your stomach. You gasp as his fingers find their way under the band of your pants, unbuttoning them with trembling hands. The touch of his skin against yours sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making you arch into his touch. 
His eyes meet yours, questioning, and when you nod, he pulls your pants down, exposing you to his hungry gaze. His eyes widen with awe, his breath hitching as he takes in the sight of you, fully exposed and desiring him. 
His thumb brushes against your inner thigh, sending a rush of heat to your core, making you whimper. His touch is soft yet demanding as he explores you, his eyes never leaving yours, drinking in every reaction you give him. 
You're both lost in the moment, the only sound in the room being the ragged breaths and soft moans that escape your lips. Bob leans in, his mouth replacing his fingers, and your world explodes into a symphony of pleasure. 
His name becomes a chant on your lips as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, your legs wrapping around his head as you pull him deeper into your warmth. The intensity of the moment reaches its peak as Bob's tongue meets your center, his strokes firm and precise. 
You moan deeply, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the pleasure builds. He's relentless, his every move calculated to push you closer to the edge. His hands are everywhere, caressing your breasts, teasing your nipples until they're peaked and sensitive. 
The sound of your breathy pleas and the wetness of your desire driving him wild. He can't get enough of you, can't get close enough. You're soaking wet for him, and the scent of your arousal fills the air, making him crave you even more. His mouth is a masterpiece of pleasure, teasing and sucking, swirling and flicking, until you're panting his name and your body is tightening around his tongue. 
You're close, so close, and just when you think you can't handle it anymore, he slides a finger inside you, the pressure inside you building until it snaps. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, making your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. 
You scream out his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath.
Bob pulls away, his face flushed and his eyes dark with lust, as he watches the aftershocks of your climax ripple through your body. He quickly removes his pants, his cock standing at full attention. The sight of him sends a fresh wave of heat through you, making you ache for him. 
He positions himself over you, and with one swift thrust, he's inside, filling you completely. Your legs wrap around him as he begins to move, his hips pumping in a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. 
The feeling is indescribable, a mix of pleasure and pain, of need and satisfaction, as he stretches and fills you over and over again. Your eyes lock onto his, and it's as if you're seeing him for the first time, really seeing the depth of his feelings for you, the desire and love that he's been hiding.
The friction is perfect, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body with every movement. You rock your hips up to meet his, desperate to get even closer. His hands are everywhere, holding you down, caressing you, making sure you feel every inch of him. 
Your bodies move in a dance that's been choreographed by months of tension and unspoken desires. Each stroke is a promise, each touch a declaration of his feelings.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another deep kiss, your tongues tangling as your bodies move together in perfect sync. The sound of your skin slapping against his fills the room, mixing with the desperate moans and gasps that escape both of your mouths. Bob's pace quickens, driven by the passion that fuels him, and you can feel him getting closer to his release.
You're so lost in the sensation that you don't even notice when the second orgasm starts to build, creeping up on you like a thief in the night. It takes you by surprise, stealing your breath away as it crashes over you, making your body tighten around him. Bob groans into your mouth, his release following closely behind, his cock pulsing inside you as he fills you with his warmth.
You collapse onto the bed, your bodies still entwined, hearts racing, and skin slick with sweat. The room is silent except for the sound of your panting breaths, both of you trying to come down from the high of finally giving in to the passion that's been burning between you. The weight of his body on top of yours is comforting, grounding, as you bask in the afterglow of your shared ecstasy.
Bob pulls out gently, collapsing beside you, and you roll over to face him, your eyes searching his for any signs of regret. But all you see is love and satisfaction, mirroring your own emotions. You reach out, brushing the hair out of his eyes, and he smiles at you, the tension of the day forgotten as you both drift into a contented silence, the kind that comes from knowing you've found something real in a world full of danger and uncertainty.
Bob's mind is spinning as he shifts to lie there next to you, completely stunned by the intensity of what just happened. His fingers gently trace patterns on your skin, a soft smile playing on his lips as he takes in the blissful expression on your face. Every nerve ending in his body is buzzing, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through him.
"That was..." he finally manages to breathe out, his voice thick with emotion, "That was amazing." Bob's heart still races, his head reeling from the intensity of the connection between you both.
You nod breathlessly, resting your face on his chest, cuddling close against him.
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that-one-fangirl69 · 6 months ago
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you ever read a fic so good you just gotta sit there and contemplate your entire existence and everything you’ve ever read before?
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10ava01 · 1 month ago
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withahappyrefrain · 7 months ago
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Unraveled- Bob Floyd
Summary: Bob Floyd likes to think he can keep it cool. Then along comes a sundress.
Warnings: friends to lovers, smut, so much pining, language,
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Bob Floyd didn't like to brag, but he considered himself pretty dang smart and sensible. 
He knew the ins and outs of every jet he has flown. Hell,  he could break it apart and put it back together again within a few hours, if that.  He was able to quickly assess a situation, weigh the pros and cons, and come to a sound decision. It’s why he was the top WSO for the mission in Miramar. 
So why has a piece of fabric thrown him for such a loop? 
All Bob was trying to do was be polite. You had mentioned taking an Uber to the Hard Deck tonight and Bob knew the polite thing to do was to offer a ride. After all, he wasn't going to drink. You would save money. It's what any good friend would do. It had absolutely nothing to do with the crush he had been harboring since your first debriefing. 
He was just trying to be courteous. The gentleman his Mama worked hard in raising. Getting to spend time with you, without the other members of your shared squadron around or loud music, wasn't even near the forefront of his mind when he made the offer. Bob was just trying to be a good friend. A good friend who just wanted to help. A good friend who was forcing himself to look at you through a platonic lens, not a romantic one. 
Bob liked to think he was doing pretty well at that. 
That is, until a dress came along and unraveled him. 
Perhaps you said hello when you opened the door.  You probably did, considering how polite you were. But all Bob could focus on was the way the fabric of your dress hugged your curves. 
And what little fabric there was. He had seen you in civilian clothes before. But never anything like this. His mind absolutely went blank when you hugged him and he could feel how much of your bare skin was exposed. Due to the halter style of the straps, nearly your whole upper back was now perfectly visible.
“Um you-you look um nice,” Bob barely got out. He was too busy trying to burn the feeling of your soft skin into his brain. You were warm, like a walking ray of sunshine. 
“Thanks! I got it yesterday and I figured with the weather being so nice, today was the perfect day to wear it!” you said, giving a little twirl. Bob tried to focus on the pattern of dress; how the green brought out your eyes. 
But all he could focus on was the curves of your body, now being highlighted. The way the halter style made your breasts swell and the lack of a bra very apparent. How the fabric stopped at the top of your thighs when you spun, giving Bob a peek of what he often thought about late at night. 
This was bad. 
“I take it you came early to watch an episode of Love Island before we leave?” You asked as he stumbled walked in.
The truth was, Bob wasn’t a fan of reality TV. But he watched because it gave the two of you a chance to talk to one another. Just as friends, nothing more. When watching the silly show, you two could make jokes, talk about things other than work. 
“Yeah! Ready to watch hot people make poor decisions again,” Bob said with a nervous laugh. The joke failed to put him at ease. If anything, it reminded him that he was about to spend at least forty minutes with you and that did not include the drive to the Hard Deck. 
“You’re using my tagline!” your smile lit up your whole face. Bob was certain it could light up the whole turmac. All he could do was nod, his heart fluttering when you grabbed his hand, leading him into the living room. 
"I have some kettle corn in the microwave for you! I also made cherry seltzer water!" Bob could feel heat rush to his face. You always remembered the little details that no one else seemed to pick up on; that he loved salt but had an even bigger sweet tooth. How in an attempt to cut back on soda, he switched to sparkling water. His favorite flavor was cherry because it reminded him of cherry coke. 
"Did you see the video I sent you?" You gently squeezed Bob's hand as you two sat down. 
"Y-yeah. You're absolutely right, having three otters would be my dream." Ever since learning about Bob's favorite animal, you had sent him every otter-related video you came across while scrolling the internet. You even got him a pair of Otter socks for his birthday.  It was the fact you paid attention to seemingly minor details that made Bob fall head over heels for you. 
But alas, you were a coworker. The problem at hand wasn't whether it was allowed, ‘incest’ (as Jake unfortunately called it) happened all the time in the Navy. After all, there were only so many things you could do on a ship before switching to people. No, it was the potential issues that came with dating. Rejection being the main one. Bob had no trouble believing you and he could be professional should you two date and it not work out. That happened all the time. What worried him was rejection. Having to go to work everyday and put on a facade, that things were fine. When deep down, he knew he'd be heartbroken. And even worse, he'd no longer have your friendship. 
So Bob settled, as he often did when it came to love. He took comfort knowing he'd still have you, albeit as a friend instead of a partner. That should be more than enough. For the last few months, he had convinced himself that it was enough. 
But God was it difficult when you bent over right to grab the remote. 
The hemline of your dress inched upwards, showing off the backs of your upper thighs and- 
he could see the swell of your ass. He could see the flash of red lace. Your skin looked so soft and supple and you were so close he could just reach out and- 
Oh God he was hard. Oh no. 
This was bad. Worse than that time he popped an erection during sex ed in middle school. There, he at least had a jacket and a desk to cover it. 
But here? He was a full grown adult and San Diego’s seventy degree weather didn't give him any additional layers. Bob looked around, desperate for something, anything, to hide his cock that was currently straining against his jeans. 
Thank fuck for your love of decorative pillows. 
He grabbed the closest one, shaped and designed like a pomegranate. You were so excited the day you picked it up from some Facebook Marketplace deal. He had driven you, partly out of wanting to spend time with you, partly because he wanted to ensure you were safe. It was adorable and definitely shouldn’t be used for nefarious purposes, such as hiding a boner. This was wrong, so fucking wrong.   
Bob was trying to think of anything and everything that would kill this boner. But his spot on the couch aligned perfectly with the entranceway of the kitchen, where you currently were, rummaging around to fix Bob a drink. 
What ever happened to doors? Why were people so opposed to doors? Doors were lovely. You could close doors. Every time he tried to think of something, you were right in his line of view, turning every thought into something more devious. 
His family? His family would love you. If you two got married you could make  your own family. 
Work? You worked with him, in that damn flight suit that clung to your every curve. No one else could make that god forsaken green fabric look good.  
School? God, you were so smart. The top of your class. And witty, always ready with a clever, underhanded comeback. It’s how you two originally bonded, both having muttered something about Jake under your breath. 
Bob Floyd was screwed. Thoroughly. 
He tried to comfort himself with the fact that soon you two would be watching people in their early twenties making the dumbest decisions over dating. If anything were to be a boner killer, that had to be it. He just needed to make it through then. 
“Bob?” Your lithe voice broke him out of his thoughts. Not that it was much of a reprieve, with the way you were standing at the kitchen entranceway with a glass of sparkling water in each hand, “You good?”
“Me? Oh yeah, I’m great!” He said with an all too eager nod, desperate to convince you this was truly the case. Fuck, you were so beautiful. And you were showing so much skin. He had seen you on the beach before, adorned in athletic shorts and a sports bra. But this was different. 
The dress was far too nice for the Hard Deck. No, you deserved to be taken to a nice restaurant, one with a lovely outdoor patio. The image of you sitting on a lovely chair with a glass of wine in your hand came easily to Bob. It was also the perfect dress for a picnic, particularly at the nearby park, specifically in that little secluded area. God, the idea of you laying down on a red and white checkered blanket, the hem of your dress pushed up your thighs as he leaned over you, ready to take you-
Bob leaned forward, clutching the pillow as he tried to will himself the strength to get it together. 
“Bob? Are-are you okay?” You quickly placed the drinks down on the coffee table, rushing over to kneel in front of him on the couch. 
Oh what a sight that was, you looking up at him with big eyes, full of concern. Your hands were on his biceps, and Bob knew if he looked down he would have the perfect view of your breasts. 
 It was so hot and also the very last thing Bob fucking needed. 
“I’m good. Stomach doesn’t agree with what we had for lunch, that’s all.” Lying was never good, his mother instilled that in him at an early age. But in this scenario, Bob was certain the truth was much worse. 
“I’ll go get you a ginger ale!” Bob opened his mouth to protest, though no words came out due to seeing not only the tops of your thighs, but a flash of your ass as you spun around to go back into the kitchen. 
For a few seconds, the  supple, plump flesh was so close to him. Practically within arm’s reach. 
Maybe he should just leave while you were in the kitchen. 
But that would be rude. Not only rude, but it would raise your suspicions if they weren’t high already. Plus, he had already promised you a ride to the Hard Deck. He couldn’t just leave you hanging, not after you brought a dress for the occasion. He may be in dire need of a cold shower, but the last thing Bob Floyd was going to do was hurt you. He squeezed the pillow, knuckles turning white as he tried to find strength. For once, he couldn’t wait to start an episode of Love Island. Hell, he would even take an episode of The Bachelor at this point. 
“Here ya go,” You sat down on the couch next to him, glass of ginger ale in hand. You even remembered how much ice he preferred in his cold beverages. You were perfect. 
“Thanks,” Bob slowly took one hand off the pillow, the other still holding onto it for dear life. 
“You uh, like that pillow?” You chuckled, though your nerves still shined through. 
“Huh? Oh yeah,” Bob looked down, ensuring his big problem was still covered, “It uh, helps my stomach!”
You raised an eyebrow, though you didn’t further question it. Instead, much to Bob’s delight, you reached for the remote, clicking through until you finally landed on the desired episode. With a shaking hand, Bob gulped down the ginger ale, promptly placing it on the coffee table so he could have both hands on the pillow. 
The room was silent, saved for the ridiculous conversations happening on the TV screen. Normally you and Bob would be shoulder to shoulder, laughing as you both narrated your opinions on the contestants. But today Bob was rigid, his fingers still clutching to the pillow on his lap. He hadn’t even touched the bowl of popcorn. 
"Do you like my dress?" It took everything in Bob not to groan at your question. The last thing he needed was a reason to look at you. But how could he deny himself such a chance? So he put on his best smile as he turned to face you.    
"Uh yeah it's lovely. I'm sure everyone will love it-" 
"I got it for you.” Your voice was soft as you hit the pause button on your remote, eyes remaining on the screen. 
The words hit Bob like a freight train. 
"What? Why would you-"
You shrugged, fingers toying with the short hem of your dress, "I thought maybe, if you saw me in something different, something that wasn't my flight suit or a tee shirt, that maybe you would finally notice me?” 
You finally looked him in the eyes, “Maybe you'd finally notice that I've been trying to flirt with you for the last few months?" 
Bob opened his mouth just to promptly close it. He thought back to the last few months, now analyzing every seemingly ordinary interaction he had with you. 
The way you insisted on sitting next to each other during lunch. As well as during briefings. And when you went to the Hard Deck. Whenever a guy tried to flirt with you there, you turned them down, focusing your attention back on him, continuing your conversation about his latest D&D campaign or a Lego set you had found that reminded you of him. The way you always touched his arm, your hand lingering on his skin as you bore your eyes into his. How you always texted him. How you baked a cake for his birthday. The little trinkets you’d bring him. 
Oh god, he was a fucking idiot. 
The tension in the room was thick. You, sitting restlessly as you waited for Bob to acknowledge what you had said. Bob, processing your words and what they meant. 
“How long?” Bob asked, his voice soft yet firm.
You chuckled as you shook your head, “Honestly? First day. We hadn’t even spoken yet. I saw you walk in and you just were
.not only handsome but also looked so kind? Then you offered me a spare pencil, made that comment about Jake’s driving and I
.was a goner.”
“I saw you talking to Halo before the briefing room was open,” He confessed, “She said something that made you laugh and it
.it was the prettiest sight I had ever seen.”
“We’ve wasted a lot of time, huh?” You both stared ahead at the TV, still too fearful to face each other. 
Bob dryly chuckled, “Yeah
.a lot of time. Months, if we’re being more exact.” 
The two of you remained in silence, your words sinking in. Neither sure what should be said, if anything should be said. Until finally, you spoke up. 
“Bob? What’s underneath the pillow?” 
His hips shifted, involuntary, “What?” For a moment, he forgot about the darn pillow and the erection he was covering with it. 
The cluelessness in his voice brought a giggle, “The pillow? Why are you using it to cover your lap?”
Bob sighed, “Can I at least kiss you first?” 
You nodded, moving to close the gap between you and Bob. Pillow be damned, his hands cupped your jawline, giving you a sweet smile before leaning in, closing the gap between your lips and his. 
Bob Floyd’s lips were soft, no doubt due to the sweet mint chapstick you'd watch him apply countless of times. You didn't want to admit how often you'd wondered about the taste, what his hands would feel like on your body. God, they were huge. His thumbs rested comfortably on your jawline, but you could feel his other fingers spanning your neck, down to your collarbone. 
The first kiss was gentle, practically modest. Your lips were only apart for several seconds, if that, before connecting again. 
You easily found his shoulders, grasping them for purchase. The gap between your bodies was too much, Bob wanted to be as close as possible. So his hands trailed down your body, skimming along until they found the back of your thighs. Using his strength, he moved your body, situating you onto his lap. 
A high pitched gasp fell from your lips upon feeling the bulge that was straining against his jeans. Good god, he was thick. You had heard whispers, chalking it up to typical locker room talk. 
Nope, those rumors were one hundred percent true. 
“I’m sorry,” Bob groaned, hands exploring your soft curves. Worst of all, he sounded earnest, only making you want to touch him more. 
“I-I wore this on purpose ah-after all,” you confessed, finding it difficult to speak as he pressed open mouthed kisses along your exposed chest. 
Right. You wore this on purpose. To entice him. To see if perhaps he felt the same burning desire. Once realization hit him again, Bob’s hands moved along your back, just stopping above your ass. 
Wait, he was about to touch your ass. 
“We-we shouldn’t,” Bob mumbled, retracting his hands from your body. You stilled, a crestfallen look painting your face. 
“We shouldn’t?” Repeating the words felt like driving a knife through your heart. Had regret finally emerged, beating the rush of adrenaline? Was he going to regret this, ask that you two never speak about it ever again, pretend it never happened?
“I
” Bob sighed, “I need to take you on a date first.”
Bless his heart. 
Sighing, you relaxed your body into his, resting your head in the crook of his neck, “You’re too sweet, y’know that?”
Bob chuckled, “That's supposed to be my line.” 
His hands gave your hips a loving squeeze, causing you to nestle further into him, until your bodies were nearly molded as one. Your lips searched for his, trailing up his neck, his jawline, along the side of his button nose until finally reaching his soft lips. Bob shifted in his seat, causing you to do the same. As a result, you could feel his erection, despite the layers of clothes. 
“Good lord Bobby, you've just been walking around with all that?” Bob groaned, but not due to your words. No, it was because you had started moving your hips in circles, his erection now pressed against your covered core. 
“I’m- I’m trying to be a gentleman.” Bob couldn't even look at you. He didn't want to stop. He should stop. Maybe you two could skip the Hard Deck and go out to dinner. Then he could take you home and not feel as guilty. 
“You can be a gentleman later,” by throwing your arms over his shoulder you finally had access to his neck. His skin was so soft, so delicate. How could you not sink your teeth into his neck? 
Normally you'd have better self control than this. But you were ovulating and had six months of sexual frustrations and wet dreams- 
“You had dreams about me?” Uh-oh. That wasn't meant to be said out loud. Granted, maybe it was for the best to get everything out in the open. 
Timidly nodding, you explained, “Yeah. The days I didn't sit next to you were because
.I had a dream about ya the night before.” 
A band had snapped within Bob, no doubt due to the numerous times you didn't sit next to him during briefings. 
Within seconds, you found yourself on your back against the couch, the bespectacled WSO hovering over you. There was a fire flickering in his blue eyes as he remained laser focused on your face. 
“After this, you're putting this dress back on and I'm taking ya out to dinner, is that clear?” his voice was gruff and deep, similar to when he did a hundred pushes that one day (that you definitely didn't think about while masturbating). 
Chest heaving, dress pushed up to your upper thighs, lips kiss bitten, God, you looked like an angel to Bob. He remembered learning about angels in church growing up. How pious they were, that seeing them was a sign of comfort, that they would guide one to safety, to a holy life. 
There was nothing holy about what he wanted to do to you. 
His mouth was hot, searing kisses along your skin. Your back arched into him, desperate for me. But he always seemed to pull away before you could get enough. Would you? Ever get enough of Bob Floyd? 
Finding an answer would have to wait, for now you wanted to relish in the feeling of Bob’s hands kneading your breasts. It was obvious you weren't wearing a bra, a fact Bob ob had spent forty minutes trying not to think about. He still felt a smidge of guilt, as though the newly drawn line between friends and more hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Was he even supposed to be doing this?
“You can keep going. I want you to.” You sensed his hesitation. In all the time you knew Bob, he had never taken someone home for a one night stand. He wasn’t like that. He needed time to build a connection, to feel comfortable enough to be himself. That’s why he loved spending time with you. With you, there was no need to put up a front, no need to be fearful of judgement. 
“And then afterwards, we can order some Thai food and continue watching the episode, if you want. Or we can just do that now,” your hands cradled his jaw, gently forcing him to look at you. He found a sweet, reassuring smile, similar to the one that made him smitten six months ago. 
“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Bob could be blunt, and often was when it came to his colleague’s shenanigans. But with his own feelings? He always chose his words carefully. 
Hence why his admission took you some time to process. Bob could see it on your face; first your eyes widened, lips slightly parting as if driven by the need to respond immediately. But then your lips closed, your brain quickly gaining back self control. 
“I’m falling in love with you too Robby.” You were the only one who could call him that. It was that familiarity, that intimacy, that gave him the courage to move his hands to your hemline up to your hips, revealing the thin, lacy red fabric underneath. 
You were breathtaking. Always were. But this? This solidified things for Bob. You two had made a step forward in your relationship. Many things would still be the same. But there were now new things to experience. Simply another layer of intimacy had been added.
His long fingers skimmed over the fabric of your panties, every touch sending a spark of electricity along your spine. Every stroke caused a small gasp to fall from your lips, music to Bob’s ears. Lowering himself, Bob decorated your hips with opened mouth kisses. Finally, gaining enough courage, his fingers pushed your panties to the side. 
Fuck, you were wet. 
If there was any hesitation left in Bob, it died upon seeing how visibly aroused you were. He had done that. No one else. Lowering himself even more, he was now at eye level with your wet cunt. This wasn’t some vivid wet dream. 
When his touch licked a broad stripe up your slit, a broken moan fell from your lips, echoing off the walls. It was the prettiest sound Bob had heard. He wanted to hear it again. All the time. 
With more confidence, Bob begins lapping up your arousal, determined to taste every inch of you. His fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer. Looking down, you see his glasses are now crooked, though you highly doubt Bob cares, given how his eyes are half closed in pleasure. 
Wait, was he grinding against the couch? 
The discovery caused your thighs to clamp over Bob’s ears, your hips thrusting upwards to get more of his talented tongue. Bob wasn't reserved around you, never had been. But this was a new side to him that you had wondered if it ever existed. Animalistic. Devouring. Loud. 
His groans vibrate against your core, only heightening the pleasure. Slowly, his right hand goes from your hips to your core, mouth moving to your clit as the long digits trace your opening. 
“Oh my God, please,” you all but beg, not quite ready to admit how often you thought about his fingers and how they would feel inside of you.
Always thinking about your comfort, Bob started off with just one finger. You tried to fuck yourself with it, your own fingers gripping the soft strands of his hair for better leverage. The thought of making you beg crossed Bob’s mind. Would you like that? Would you be open to that? There were so many new topics to discuss, so many new boundaries to explore now. 
You happily welcomed the stretch of two, three fingers. Bob found the little moans you let out to be quite adorable. He could feel his cock throb against his jeans, but pleasing you took priority. 
“C’mon honey. Wanna feel you come on my fingers.” His voice was low, husky even. 
“C-can you be inside me? Like your
your cock?” A broken groan fell from Bob’s lips at the very thought of being inside of you. 
“I don't
.I don't think I'll last long,” he admitted sheepishly. Hell, he could probably come just from eating you out. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it sounded pretty good- bringing himself to the height of pleasure just from ravishing you. 
“I don't think I will either,” you giggled, “But we’ll
.we have lots of other times to go slow.” 
Bob helped you sit up on the couch. “You wanna go to the bedroom?” He asked, thinking about how this could be more comfortable for you. 
Instead, you shook your head, hands moving to his jeans, hastily undoing the buttons. 
Now it was your turn to explore, to discover. There was a dark trail of hair that went past the waistband of his jeans. He wore boxer briefs. And Bob Floyd had the prettiest cock. 
His face turned bright red at the compliment, “Oh it's
I mean it's like fine, but it's not-” 
“Take the damn compliment Robert,” you all but scolded, eliciting a laugh from him, your favorite. The high pitch, near giggle one. The one that made your heart flutter. 
Feeling at ease, you moved so that you were hovering over Bob’s lap. Your fingers moved to the base of his cock, making you realize you would have to ease yourself into it. 
“I gotcha,” his hands found your hips, slowly easing you down. His sapphire eyes never left your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. He went slow, waiting until you made it vocally known you were ready for more. 
By the time you reached the base of Bob’s cock, you were a mess. You wanted him to move, to fuck you within an inch of your life. But he was also so big. The stretch was nothing you had experienced before. 
“Hey, we can take our time, okay? I know it's, that it's a lot,” he assured you, as though he could sense your internal conflict. His lips found yours, and in that kiss you found comfort. Bob grounded you, always had, whether it was up in the air or right here on your couch. 
How much time had passed, who was to say? You could recall both your phones vibrating a few times, no doubt messages from the rest of your squad. Those messages could wait. 
“I think I'm ready,” you whispered against Bob’s lips. He needed, digging his fingers into your hips to gain a better grip. With his help, you lifted yourself no more than a couple of inches off his cock, returning to the base. 
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” Bob moaned. You just made Bob Floyd curse. Something not even a bird strike could do. That four letter word gave you the confidence to lift your hips up on your own accord, returning swiftly. Slowly, just an inch or two, which became several inches. Up and down motions turned to swiveling your hips in a circular rhythm. What was once a quiet living room, saved for a few small gasps and the static from the TV, had now become a symphony of melodic pants and groans. 
Bob could tell you were close. Your pussy was tightening around his cock more and more, your fingers dug into his broad shoulders, as if trying to anchor yourself. You practically whined at the sight of Bob taking two fingers into his mouth, wetting them with his tongue. He lowered them to where your bodies connected. 
Upon first contact with your clit, your head dropped to the crook of his neck, unabashedly moaning his name, hips moving in a now frantic motion. 
“That's it, I gotcha.” Fuck, we he going to talk you through it? Was Bob Floyd a talker? Ironic, considering at work he was known as a man of few words. 
“Feels s’good, being inside ya.” Fuck, he was a talker. You were doomed, “Wanna, wanna make us cum. Bet ya gonna feel even better when ya soak- fuck- soak my cock.” 
Your brain was hazy. Was this real? If it was a vivid wet dream, you never wanted to wake up. Was it wrong to hope that you were in a medically induced coma, so that if this  was indeed a dream, you wouldn’t have to wake up so soon? Surely, your friends and family would understand upon meeting Bob. 
Then he pointedly thrusted his hips upwards, reminding you that no, this wasn’t a dream. No, you wouldn’t wake up feeling frustrated and unable to look him in the eye. After this, you two could go out to eat, on a real date. Not some hey let’s get dinner that feels like a date in everything except in name. You could also order delivery and cuddle up on the couch. Maybe you could even shower with him beforehand, and see his bare body, find out what was truly hiding underneath that flight suit. Oh, he was deceptively strong, you always knew that. But to see it, to feel the hard planes of his muscles? Oh, that would be quite the joy to experience. 
“Sweet girl,” you clenched at that nickname, you wanted him to continue calling you that for eternity, “Let go. Know ya want it.”
“I-I do,” you all but whined. Bob found the noise cute. What other sounds did you make? What would you sound like if he kept fucking you after you came? What about if he ate you out for hours? Or teased you until you were teetering on the edge?
There were so many questions, so many areas to explore. But for now, Bob was satisfied with experiencing how tightly you clenched his cock, how you practically sang his name as you came. Your release triggered his, pulling your hips down until they were flushed against his. His lips smashed against yours, swallowing your moans. 
Then there was silence. No words spoken. Only the sounds of panting, you both clearly trying to catch your breath, and kisses exchanged, ones that neither of you could resist giving. 
Realization hits you like a freight train. “I’m on birth control.”
Bob’s eyes widened, “Oh thank God.” He was usually so good about asking, about pulling out. But you
.you made his brain feel like cotton. 
“You saying you don’t want to have kids with me?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek to let him know you were only saying it in jest. 
“Not yet.” You sat up to find he had an earnest smile on his face, cheeks rosy and eyes shining in adornment. 
Bob Floyd was going to be the death of you. 
So you brushed several strands of sandy brown hair off of his forehead, replacing them with a kiss, "Gotta get me a ring first."
Luckily, you were going to be the death of Bob Floyd.
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spidey-webz · 12 days ago
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it’s him i fear
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iamtrasch · 2 months ago
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em1i2a3 · 24 days ago
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Supersonic
Pairing: CollegeAU!Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader!
Summary: When you ask Bob Floyd to tutor you after not doing so well on your first Advanced Theoretical Physics test, you never expected him to say yes, nor did you expect him to be so enthusiastic to teach you the material either.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut and Fluff, Reader is an Engineering Major who is just trying to take a required elective that doesn’t tank their average, Bob is a Physics Major who is an overachiever and is top of his class. We love a good tutor trope y’all, and technically it’s friends to lovers hehehehe
Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (y’all, wrap it up), Bob’s a certified munch
What Can I Say? It’s in the holy scripture lol, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Fingering, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Hair Pulling, Face Grinding, Bob’s got a bit of performance anxiety (and loves praise, but the man also likes worshipping hehehe), Breast Play, Bob’s giving sub vibes in this, Handjob (I don’t think I’m missing anything)
Author’s Note: Alright. Alright. I heard the crowd lol. I heard the masses, and I finally got around to writing for THE Bob Floyd....And I came out guns blazing on this one. I hope it’s not a let down, I know y’all have been waiting for something from me regarding this cutie patootie, so I’m glad I can please the masses 😂Enjoy!!! (Side note: I’m not a physics major but I took a few courses here and there, don’t strike me down if I don’t get certain things right about the questions please! lol) This was also a request by @shewhocallstothestars but I did modify it a bit (hopefully that's okay.) 😏
P.S: Evil stuff dropping this so casually on a Wednesday afternoon! Lol Surprise tho!
Word Count: 19,626 (HA!)
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The first time Bob Floyd saw you, you were late for Advanced Theoretical Physics.
Not embarrassingly late–but just enough for the heavy lecture hall door to groan open and click shut behind you with a sound that echoed far too loudly in the cavernous space. Just enough to make the professor falter mid-sentence, his marker hovering above the whiteboard as heads turned in your direction like a wave.
Your chin stayed tucked, gaze low as you moved up the steps with a quick, purposeful stride that practically whispered “please for the love of god don’t look at me.” Still, it was a walk that carried weight. Not flustered or apologetic–just sharp. Like you were used to showing up in the middle of things and moving through rooms without needing to explain why.
But even if you didn’t owe anyone an apology, you didn’t want the attention.
Especially not in the outfit you were wearing.
You didn’t mean to put on anything eye-catching, but laundry day had come and gone without mercy. Between leading three straight days of exhausting freshman orientation–clipboard, whistle, and all–and trying to get your textbooks, syllabi, and housing situation in order before classes began, your options had run out. So you’d thrown on a slightly-too-tight zip-up hoodie, your college’s emblem half-hidden under the worn zipper, and the only clean bottom you had left: a black skirt you hadn’t touched since the first day of summer.
It rode a little higher than you remembered, and paired with your bare legs and sneakers, it was far from inappropriate, but in a room where everyone else was in jeans and sweats, it made you feel seen. And not in a way you liked.
You spotted a half-empty row about midway up the lecture hall, three seats in from the aisle, and made a beeline for it, holding your skirt down as you made quick strides towards the spot that had your name written all over it. The weight of dozens of eyes prickled against your skin, but you kept moving, zeroed in on that opening like it might swallow you whole and hide you from the ogling stares.
Bob was seated near the end of that row.
His notebook was open, half a page of densely packed notes already filled in with that small, impossibly neat handwriting of his. A mechanical pencil twitched in his right hand as you approached–still mid-spin from the distraction you had caused. He looked like someone who took school seriously, but not obnoxiously so. His light brown hair was cropped short and a little mussed on the top, as though he hadn’t quite decided whether to tame it or not–or the wind got to it and messed it up on the way to class.
He was wearing a white t-shirt–simple, fitted just enough to hint at the softness of muscle underneath, but crisp in that way cotton gets when it’s been folded with care. Not stiff, but starched just slightly from the wash, like maybe he had just done his laundry the night before. His jeans were a classic blue–not faded or overly worn, but comfortably lived-in. No rips or frays.
His glasses were perched low on the bridge of his nose, the thin metal frames glinting faintly beneath the harsh overhead lights–almost silver against the warm tones of his skin. They sat just crooked enough to suggest he’d pushed them up one-handed without really thinking about it. Lenses wide and clear, catching reflections of the whiteboard, but not enough to shield the way his eyes flicked toward you the moment your footsteps slowed beside him.
He looked sun-kissed from the dying summer–like August had clung to him a little longer than it should have. His skin was a shade deeper than it would be in a few weeks’ time, golden along his forearms and the high points of his face, like he’d spent the end of break outside–on rooftops, maybe, or walking alone down sidewalks still radiating heat. His lips were a touch dry, his knuckles faintly rough. But he looked steady. Bright-eyed and well-rested. Like he wanted to start the semester with good intentions and achievable goals.
You stopped just beside him–hovering for half a second, your bag shifting on your shoulder as you nodded toward the empty seat a few spots in.
”Sorry, just gotta get by,” You murmured, voice low and unassuming.
Bob looked up fully then and immediately shifted forward, pulling his legs in without hesitation. His knee brushed the underside of the desk as he tucked himself close to make room for you, the motion smooth but stiff like he hadn’t quite expected you to speak to him. Or maybe he hadn’t expected you to sound like that–soft, a little breathless from the walk up the gauntlet of steps, but still sharp.
You moved past him in one fluid step whispering a thanks, then your scent hit him.
It wasn’t overpowering. It wasn’t the cloying kind of perfume that lingered too long in a hallway. It was just
You. Soft and sweet, but grounded–like vanilla left to steep in warm skin, the subtle warmth of almond or cream trailing just behind it. Lotion maybe. Something gentle. Something worn, not sprayed on. Like it had been absorbed into your hoodie, your neck, the backs of your knees in the early September heat.
But then there was something brighter, just beneath it–like sugar and citrus had melted into the mix. Not sharp. Not tart. Just the idea of lemon. A barely-there twist of brightness that reminded him of the first sip of a drink on a hot day. Cool. Balanced. Memorable.
It made Bob lose all his grip on the pencil in his hand, and made him straighten slightly, as his eyes glanced over to you slipping into the seat three down from his, holding your skirt against yourself so it didn’t ride up when you settled. When you shifted–once, just enough to adjust your bag or maybe smooth your hoodie–his eyes dropped quickly to your legs.
Bare and warm-looking in the stale lecture hall light. The skin smooth, catching little glints of reflection in a way that made him stare too long before he realized what he was doing.
His gaze jerked back up, and his pencil fell out of his hands. He fumbled to catch it before it rolled off the desk and clattered to the floor, and somehow he barely managed to do it. He cleared his throat so quietly that it didn’t even echo under the dome of the lecture hall. And then he exhaled once, trying to shake off the heat that creeped up his neck, fingers curling tight around the side of his notebook.
You didn’t look at him. Not once.
Not even when you pulled out your pen and your fresh, untouched notebook and started scribbling quick, efficient notes in handwriting he couldn’t quite see. Not even when your fingers fidgeted once at the hem of your hoodie like you weren’t sure if it was covering enough. Not even when you tilted your head slightly to the left, exposing the faint shape of your jaw and that one stubborn wisp of hair behind your ear.
You didn’t look back.
But he couldn’t stop glancing.
Every time there was a lull in the lecture–every time the professor turned toward the whiteboard or paused to answer a question from across the room–Bob’s eyes slid sideways. Just for a second. Just to check.
He told himself it was just curiosity. That he hadn’t seen you around before, and that this class wasn’t usually the kind that brought in new faces. Not Advanced Theoretical Physics. Not on day one. And especially not someone like you.
You didn’t fit the mold–not in the way you moved, not in the way you sat. There was a presence to you, even when you were quiet. Like you weren’t just taking space–you owned it. It made him curious. It made him distracted.
It made the last half of his notes nearly unreadable.
He’d rewrite them later. He always did.
But he’d still remember the scent you left behind when you passed him. The subtle trace of sweetness and skin-warmed citrus that had settled in the air like something meant to haunt him.
And he’d remember that you never once looked back.
—————————
You didn’t speak to Bob until the third week of classes, when you got your first ‘mini’ test back and got hit with the harsh realities of the choice you had made in picking Advanced Theoretical Physics for your upper elective.
You got a 68. You had never got a 68 in your life.
Not in high school, not in your other college courses, not in anything that involved formulas or numbers or mental gymnastics you were usually proud to be good at. Being an engineering student was supposed to make classes like this feel natural. Calculation, logic, technical problem solving–it was your bread and butter.
But this? This was humbling.
You stared down at the note the professor had written in red just beneath the grade:
”Revisit your derivations–conceptual understanding needs tightening.” You didn’t even know what the hell that meant. You had studied everything possible to prepare yourself, you knew you had been on the right track, there was no possible way this was the right grade. Your jaw flexed, and you tapped your pen once against the corner of your desk before you forced yourself to still.
You tried to breathe through the sting crawling up the back of your neck, the tightness that formed just under your ribs. This wasn’t even a midterm–it wasn’t supposed to matter. But to you, it did. You prided yourself on being able to handle anything. Being the kind of student professors leaned on. A leader. Someone who could run orientation like a sergeant and still ace quantum mechanics in the same week.
And here you were. With a 68 circled at the top of your page like a slap.
You let the paper fall face-down across your notebook and sighed hard through your nose.
Then you glanced over.
Three seats down, Bob was sitting quietly, glasses low on his nose again, flipping his test booklet over to the back like he wanted to get one more long look at it before class officially started.
You caught a glimpse of the front page as he did–and there it was. Written in the same red your grade was given in, unmistakable in the overhead light.
97.
Clean, confident. Circled big enough to make a statement.
He didn’t look smug about it. Not exactly. But there was something in the way he stared at that number, his brows lifting faintly as if confirming to himself, Yeah, that sounds right. His lips were pressed together in a close-lipped smile, the kind people wear when they’ve worked hard and know it paid off. He tapped the eraser end of his pencil against the bottom of the page once. Then again.
Pleased as punch.
You didn’t mean to keep staring–but it was hard to look away.
His black t-shirt was tucked just barely into the waistband of his jeans today, like he’d rushed to get dressed but still managed to look clean and composed. His hair looked softer, freshly washed maybe, curling a little more than normal without any product in his hair. The sun-kissed flush along his cheekbones hadn’t faded just yet, but it was slowly revealing little patches of paleness beneath it. The silver frames of his glasses caught the light again as he leaned slightly forward, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook to take pre-class notes even though nothing had started yet.
He was
Prepared. Calm, and clearly good at this.
And you were not evidently.
You sat back slowly in your seat, gaze flicking toward the whiteboard, but your mind was still racing. Not with formulas. Not with panic. But with something slower, more deliberate.
You needed help. That much was obvious.
And unfortunately–or maybe fortunately–the only person who hadn’t fumbled through the last three weeks with shaky handwriting and unsure eyes was sitting just three seats away.
Then
You made a decision you never thought you would be making in a class you expected to be good in.
You were going to ask him for help.
It went against every fibre in your being–the pride you carried like a shield, the belief that if you just studied harder, dug deeper, figured it out on your own, you’d make it through. That’s how it had always worked before. You didn’t need tutors. You didn’t ask for things.
But your test score was still burning a hole through your notebook, and Bob Floyd was still sitting three seats down, calmly annotating equations while half the class looked like they were on the verge of weeping. He definitely had the highest mark and there was no denying that, and you had to pick his brain to see if you could emulate the same genius level thinking. Maybe there was a secret to it all, and he would somehow share it with you so you could make a quick recovery and still grasp honours at the end of the semester
At this point you’d take even the craziest solutions to save yourself from another embarrassing mark.
So
You waited until the end of the lecture.
It took everything in you not to bolt out the second the professor dismissed the room. You always left quickly–efficiently–avoiding the post-class shuffle of students with questions or headphones already in. But today you stayed seated, even as the sound of backpacks zipping and notebooks slamming shut rose around you like thunder. You didn’t move, just flicked your pen closed and kept your eyes on the spiral binding of your notes until most of the room had emptied.
You packed up faster than usual, sweeping your things into your bag in quiet, practiced movements–but you left your test out, folded once, red ink still just barely visible beneath the crease. Your hands felt warm. A little clammy. The kind of nervous energy you hadn’t felt since your very first midterm in undergrad. But you stood anyway.
Bob was still at his desk, leaning forward, transcribing the last few formulas the professor had scribbled across the bottom corner of the board. His notebook looked the same as always–clean lines, small print, mechanical pencil pressed tight to the paper like he didn’t know how to be imprecise.
You made your way down the row, test in hand, and stopped just short of his space. The words were already forming in your mouth, even before he noticed you.
You cleared your throat. “Hey
 Sorry to bother you. You’re Bob, right?”
His head snapped up fast, and his eyes locked onto yours like he hadn’t expected you to actually exist this close.
“Uh–yeah,” He replied, “Yeah. Bob Floyd.”
You’d caught him off guard. You could tell by the way he blinked, like he had to reset. His mouth parted slightly, lips soft and chapped in the middle, and then–almost as if he remembered he was supposed to be someone in this moment–he cleared his throat and sat up straighter.
“You’re
Y/N? Right?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He held out his hand, a little unsure. “Nice to meet you.”
You hesitated for a beat–because it wasn’t every day someone in a physics class offered a handshake–but you took it. His palm was warm and dry, his grip a little firm at first, like he hadn’t meant for it to feel that strong.
His fingers were long. His nails clean, almost manicured in a way that surprised you. His thumb brushed yours briefly, and for a second, the contact lingered just a little too long.
You let go, and Bob rubbed his hand on the knee of his jeans as you both sat in the pause that followed, air slightly charged.
You weren’t wearing anything special today–just an old cropped t-shirt that rode up when you lifted your arms and a pair of low-slung sweatpants that had long since given up trying to cling to your hips. A hoodie hung open over it all, soft with wear. It wasn’t much. Just lazy comfort. But something in the way Bob’s eyes dropped for half a second–just below the hem to a flicker of skin at your waist–told you it wasn’t invisible either.
He gulped again, trying to recover from being caught.
You cleared your throat. “So, uh
 I was wondering if you offer tutoring or something. I kinda bombed that first mini quiz.” His brows lifted over the rim of his glasses–an expression halfway between surprise and amusement.
“I
I don’t offer it or anything,” He said, already fumbling a little, “But I can help, if that’s what you’re looking for
How bad did you do?” He asked, trying not to assume the worst, but knowing there was a possibility he was going to see a fairly bad mark, judging by the conversations that happened behind him when the tests were handed out at the beginning of class. You flipped the test open toward him, and he stared at the 68, a smirk drawing up on his lips. He let out a short, soft laugh through his nose, more of a warm exhale than anything mean.
”I mean
It’s not great, but I’ve seen worse.” You raised your eyebrows at him and smirked faintly.
”How comforting.” You mumbled. He shifted in his seat, thumb rubbing across the corner of his notebook like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. His gaze didn’t meet yours directly; it just hovered somewhere around your shoulder, your mouth, and your hair. He was still absorbing the fact you were in front of him asking to be tutored.
“I can definitely help you bring your grade up. It’s early enough in the semester to get it back on track.” He explained. Something in his voice steadied–like the gears in his brain had finally clicked into place. Like this was territory he knew how to navigate. Structure. Process. Solutions. A small smile tugged at your lips. A breath of relief rushed through you before you could stop it.
“Thank you so much,” You replied. And then, already leaning in with eagerness, “When can we get started?” Bob paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek as his eyes flicked slightly upward–thinking, scanning the mental file cabinet of his day.
“We could do today
You could meet me at the library,” He suggested, after a second, “I'm free after four.” You wrinkled your nose a little, already shaking your head.
“The library’s kind of a distraction for me,” You admitted. “It’s always too loud–someone’s always coughing or typing like they’re in a race. Even the reserved study rooms
I don’t know, it never really works for me.”
Bob tilted his head a little, listening closely, waiting for you to present a different option.
You hesitated for just a second before offering, more carefully now, “If you feel okay with it
We could study at my dorm? It’s definitely quieter. And there’s not much to get distracted by.”
You didn’t say it with any kind of tone. No flirt, no implication. Just facts. Just a space.
But Bob’s throat tightened anyway.
His mind, helpful as ever, immediately conjured the image–your dorm. What it looked like. What it might smell like. You curled up in your desk chair, with your hair pushed out of your face, sleeves rolled, and a half-empty mug of tea or coffee next to an open binder. Maybe your bed was still unmade. Maybe there was a bottle of lotion on your nightstand in the same scent that clung to you now, soft and sweet and skin-warmed.
He swallowed.
Hard.
Not because he had any ulterior motives. Not because he thought anything would happen. But because it had been a long time since he’d been invited into someone’s space like that. A woman’s space. A woman like you–all sharp eyes and soft smiles, casual comfort and effortless pull.
“Yeah,” He agreed, clearing his throat and nodding. “Yeah, that’s totally fine. If you’re comfortable with it.”
“I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t,” You said easily, and the way you said it–so certain, so casual–made something tighten low in his stomach again.
“Okay,” He replied, and he finally looked at you. His blue eyes were steady behind his glasses, a little glassy from the fluorescents, but locked on yours. “Just email me your dorm number. I’ll bring the notes, you bring the test, and we’ll make a plan.”
You grinned, and god, it hit him like a sucker punch. Like something he hadn’t braced for.
“Deal.”
And then you turned, backpack swinging over one shoulder, hoodie hem swaying against your hips as you made your way back up the aisle.
Bob sat still for a moment. Longer than he meant to.
He hadn’t even packed up yet.
It took him another ten seconds before he finally exhaled, shoved his pencil into the spiral of his notebook, and muttered to himself under his breath–
“
Way to make this hard for yourself
You dummy.”
————————
Your dorm wasn’t anything glamorous–but it was yours, and that made all the difference.
When you unlocked the door and pushed it open after class, you were immediately met with the familiar scent of fabric softener and the faint citrus-vanilla from the reed diffuser you kept on the dresser. The room was small, technically a single dorm, but it was just enough space for you to carve out your version of comfort. Still, as you stood in the doorway, backpack slipping off one shoulder, you looked around and immediately thought that there was no way in hell it was going to stay like this, especially with a guest coming over.
You dropped your bag near the door, and got to work immediately.
The bed was first. You hadn’t made it this morning–just rolled out with your alarm still going, one arm flung across your eyes as you reached blindly for your phone, groggy and unwilling to admit the day had started. The sheets were still tangled, your navy-blue comforter half-slid to the floor, the corner twisted around your foot in your sleep. You tugged it all back with quick, practiced tugs, smoothing the fitted sheet until the last of the sleep wrinkles vanished under your palm.
Your comforter had a faint rip in the seam on the left side near your hip–stitched up once, badly, with mismatched thread. You’d done it the second week of your freshman year, the night you’d fallen asleep sobbing after a brutal call with your high school boyfriend, and woken up the next morning tangled so tightly in the blanket that it tore when you got up. You never fixed it properly. You kind of liked the scar.
You fluffed the single throw pillow you used for your head–an old one, pillowcase faded with soft clouds printed across pale blue fabric. Not the prettiest, but it felt like home. And the long body pillow you always fell asleep hugging–cream-colored, with one end slightly more smushed than the other–went right in its usual spot against the wall. A comfort thing. You didn’t sleep well without it.
Then you moved to your desk.
It was more shelf than desk, sure–but it held your brain in neat, tiny pieces. Notes, sticky tabs, a single battered wire basket for loose paper, and a coffee mug you never drank out of that just held highlighters, lip balm, and the same pair of scissors you’d had since high school. You stacked your textbooks neatly–physics, mechanics, one painfully dry thermodynamics manual–and slid your notebook on top, flipping it to the most recent page so Bob wouldn’t see your chaotic post-lab scrawl from earlier in the week.
There was a Polaroid pinned to the corkboard just above the workspace–one of you and your best friend from home, taken in your kitchen during winter break. You were both in pajamas, mid-laugh, a sliver of frosting from a baking experiment smeared across your nose. You paused for a moment, fixing the pin to straighten it, and sighed.
Your reed diffuser sat on the corner of the dresser–three pale wooden sticks soaked in a warm citrus-vanilla scent that reminded you of summer mornings and freshly folded laundry. The bottle was nearly empty now. You should’ve replaced it weeks ago, but you kept putting it off. There was something comforting about the familiar scent, even as it faded.
Near it sat a tiny glass tray shaped like a shell, where you kept rings you barely wore and two hair ties you always reached for. One had stretched out completely, the elastic barely holding together–but you refused to throw it away. It had survived too many late-night study sessions, too many chaotic mornings before class. It had history.
You lit your desk lamp–the one with the soft yellow bulb, not the bright blue-white you hated. It cast a glow across the room that made it look gentler, less like a dorm and more like a nook carved from a novel. Cozy. Private. You turned off the overhead light and stood there for a second, letting yourself just look. The soft shadows, the freshly made bed, the diffuser’s scent hanging lightly in the air.
You sigh, satisfied with your work, eyes scanning over the room once more. Everything was in its place. Not perfect, maybe–but it looked lived in, cared for, warm. It looked like you.
With that final breath of approval, you turned toward the door tucked just beside your dresser–the greatest stroke of luck you’d had all year.
An attached bathroom.
Single dorms were hard enough to land as a second-year, but a single with a private bathroom? That was near mythic. Your RA had called it the “housing lottery jackpot,” and you hadn’t argued. No communal showers meant no mildew smell clinging to your towel, no forgotten flip-flops, and–best of all–no awkward small talk with girls brushing their teeth beside you at midnight.
You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you with a soft click, and reached for your phone on the counter. 3:30 PM. Forty-five minutes, give or take.
Bob said “after four,” but something told you he wasn’t the type to be late. You weren’t sure if that meant he’d be early–but either way, you weren’t risking being caught in your towel when he showed up at your door.
Without much thought, you tugged your clothes off in a few quick motions and tossed them into the hamper tucked beside the sink. The hoodie fell in a heap, the fabric heavy with the day’s wear. Your cropped t-shirt was damp at the neckline, your waistband creased from sitting through the afternoon lecture. It all smelled faintly of the campus and the late-summer air–sun-warmed concrete, paper, and the barest hint of classroom chalk.
You flicked on the fan and twisted the shower knob until the water reached the right balance of hot–just shy of scalding.
Steam bloomed in the narrow space like it had been waiting, curling along the top of the curtain and fogging the mirror in soft, slow layers. You stepped in, letting the heat rush over your shoulders in a way that made your muscles go slack and your eyelids flutter briefly closed. You weren’t indulging, not really. You just needed to rinse the day away–strip it off like a second skin, let the tension from your shoulders drain down the tiles and vanish with the suds.
While the water beat down over the back of your neck, your thoughts began to drift.
Even though this was just a tutoring session–just notes, formulas, and a second chance at a first impression–it felt bigger than that.
You hadn’t brought a guy into your room in months.
Not since you’d drawn that invisible line in the sand–the one that said: this space is mine and mine only. Not since you started guarding your time, your energy, and your peace. You weren’t a prude–far from it. You weren’t closed off either. You just
Stopped inviting chaos into your life. And sometimes, chaos looked like someone else’s backpack thrown on your floor, someone else’s hand on your thigh or under the waistband of your sweatpants, or someone else’s voice asking, “Do you mind if I crash here tonight?”
You didn’t miss it.
But still–when you looked Bob Floyd in the eyes and suggested your dorm like it was no big deal, like it didn’t mean anything–something in your chest had fluttered. Not panic. Not excitement. Just a shift.
A crack in the routine.
Now, standing under the steaming pulse of your shower, with the scent of citrus shampoo rising like vapor and the water cascading down your spine, you realized you hadn’t really prepared yourself for that part.
Bob Floyd. In your dorm. Sitting on your bed, or at your desk
Breathing in your space.
You didn’t think it would be weird. He didn’t seem like the type to make things uncomfortable. If anything, he seemed like the kind of guy who’d knock twice even after you told him the door was open. He was polite. Mild-mannered. A little tightly wound in a way that made you think he probably alphabetized his class folders.
But you didn’t know him.
And it was dawning on you, as you tilted your face into the stream and let it blur your vision with heat, that this was only the second conversation you’d had with him. Two conversations, and now you were inviting him into the most intimate space a student could have–your dorm. Your bedroom. Your sanctuary. A place where your throw blanket still held the scent of last week’s laundry, and where your pillowcase had that faint stretch of mascara from the night you fell asleep before washing your face.
What if he thought it was messy?
What if he thought you were messy?
What if he saw the tangled cords beside your bed or the half-finished cup of coffee on your nightstand and assumed you were the kind of person who couldn’t get it together–even when your whole reputation said otherwise?
What if he looked at your 68 again, and thought you were dumb suddenly?
You hated that thought most of all.
You weren’t dumb. You knew you weren’t. You were sharp, resilient, calculated when it mattered–and still, you wondered if he’d already made up his mind about you. Academic ego like his–97s without breaking a sweat–probably came with an equally inflated sense of who could keep up. Maybe he was too polite to say it, but what if he thought you were just another pretty girl in a hard class, grasping for help she hadn’t earned?
You scrubbed your hands over your scalp trying to shake the thought loose, because it didn’t matter what he thought.
Right?
You’d asked for help. That was the whole point. And he’d agreed. He’d said yes without hesitation–well, after a small nervous stammer, but still. He’d seemed open. Kind, even. And if you were being honest with yourself–and not just stewing in self-preservation–you didn’t think he saw you that way. Not as dense. Not as helpless. If anything, he seemed genuinely surprised that you’d asked him at all. Like he hadn’t expected someone like you to even talk to someone like him.
You rinsed the last remnants of soap and shampoo off your body, letting the moment pass.
You weren’t going to overthink this.
He was coming over, he was going to sit down. You were going to go through your test and try and work through the incorrect answers, maybe laugh once or twice, and you’d be one step closer to not failing this class.
That was it.
You shut off the water, the sudden silence deafening in the tiny bathroom.
Steam clung to every surface. You wiped your hand across the mirror, catching your own reflection looking back at you–a few beads of water dripping from your hair, over your collarbones, down over your breasts, the light reflecting off of them like little glowing orbs.
You wrapped yourself in a towel, padded out onto the tile, and toweled your hair dry with slow, deliberate motions. You’d keep things light. Professional. You’d study. You’d ask questions. You’d nod along when he explained something that made sense. And then–
You paused.
Then maybe
Maybe you’d ask what his secret was. The 97. The sharp notes. The calm in his hands. The look in his eyes when he first saw you walking up those lecture hall stairs. Not because you wanted anything from it.
But because part of you was just
Curious.
You stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in the last traces of damp heat, the steam still clinging faintly to your skin like a second breath. The scent of your shampoo followed you into the room–light citrus, clean warmth, a kind of quiet comfort–and you padded barefoot across the tile, leaving soft marks on the floor that vanished almost as soon as they appeared.
Your eyes flicked to the digital clock on your nightstand.
3:55 PM.
Of course it was. Right on the edge of too early, which meant Bob would probably be here right on time–maybe even five minutes ahead, just to be polite. Just to prove he meant it when he said he took this seriously.
You crossed the room in quick, practiced steps, flipping through your clothes without ceremony. You didn’t want to overthink it. You couldn’t overthink it. You were still a little warm from the shower, your skin flushed and hair damp, and the last thing you needed was to feel sweat pooling under a too-thick hoodie while trying to understand whatever theoretical mind game was about to come your way.
So you grabbed a soft t-shirt–a light heather grey, already worn thin in spots from too many washes–and a pair of black workout shorts that hit mid-thigh. Functional. Comfortable. No-nonsense. You pulled them on in a few quick motions, not bothering with makeup or overthinking how the shorts made your legs look in the soft afternoon light that filtered through the slits of your blinds. It wasn’t about that.
You hung up your towels quickly on the hook by the door, turned to your desk, and yanked open the middle drawer with a quiet clatter. Your whiteboard markers were all crammed into a cup at the back–caps loose, labels fading. You pulled out four of them–blue, green, red, and black–and lined them up on your desk next to your notebook like you’d planned it that way all along. Some kind of subconscious need for control, maybe. Or maybe you just didn’t want Bob to see you fumbling for supplies mid-conversation.
Then you reached for the test. The test. The damn 68, still folded and creased and red-inked like a bruise on paper. You slapped it onto the desk with a sigh, the sound small but sharp in the quiet of the room. Your hands slid to your hips. You stared at it for a long second.
This was where it would start. Hopefully where it would turn around.
And then–just as your breath settled and you were about to pull your chair out–
Knock knock.
Two firm taps.
Not tentative. Not obnoxious. Just
Precisely delivered. Like he’d rehearsed it.
You sighed. Not from dread–but from inevitability. From the knowledge that this, right here, was the moment it would all shift. You rolled your shoulders once, exhaled through your nose, and crossed the room in five brisk steps.
You pulled the door open.
And there he was.
Bob Floyd stood just outside, backpack slung over one shoulder, a black three-ring binder hugged awkwardly to his chest like he didn’t quite know what to do with it. He had changed. He was wearing a navy t-shirt that clung just enough to his chest to remind you that he was broader than he looked seated in a lecture hall. His jeans were dark again–clean, cuffed slightly at the ankle because they were a little too long for his legs–and his sneakers looked freshly wiped down, as if he’d paused just outside the dorm building to rub them clean against the concrete.
His glasses were perched on his nose again, slightly fogged at the corners from the outside humidity. His hair was still a little mussed, like the wind had gotten to him–or maybe he’d run his hand through it on the walk over. His eyes met yours instantly, wide and a little unsure, like he was trying to memorize the moment.
“Hey,” He said, and it came out just a little too soft.
You leaned against the doorframe, one hand curled around the edge of it, the other still resting lightly on your hip. You didn’t mean to look casual–but you did. Warm skin. Damp hair. Legs bare in your shorts. You were dressed like comfort, like late afternoon, like a version of home he wasn’t expecting to see.
“Hey,” You returned. A small smile tugged at your lips. “Right on time.”
“I–uh, yeah.” Bob adjusted the strap on his backpack like it gave him something to do. “Didn’t wanna be early. Or, you know, too early. But also didn’t wanna be late.”
You stepped aside. “You’re good. Come on in.”
He hesitated just slightly before crossing the threshold, like he was stepping into a space that demanded a kind of reverence. And maybe, in a way, he was. His eyes swept the room instinctively, slow and deliberate–not nosey, just observant. His gaze skimmed over the bed, the desk, the glow of the warm lamp light, the closed bathroom door. Then back to you.
You watched him take it all in. The details. The neatness. The quiet hum of your diffuser still at work in the corner.
“This is
Nice,” He said finally. And he meant it. “Like, really nice. Kinda cozy.”
You smirked like you hadn’t been panic cleaning for the past hour or two, “I try.”He nodded once, still a little awestruck, like he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up here.
“Smells good too
Like you baked something.” You raised an eyebrow at him and gave a small laugh, motioning behind him.
”It’s just my diffuser.” Bob’s gaze drifted toward the thin plume of steam rising from your dresser, his face going slightly blush.
“Oh
” He blinked. “Didn’t notice that.”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward in a sheepish little smile, soft and crooked. He ran his palm over the front of his jeans like it might smooth over the awkward pause that followed.
You glanced over your shoulder at him, brow arched.
“Well,” You started, already moving toward your desk, “You can sit anywhere you’d like. I’m just gonna pull my whiteboard out so we have somewhere to work.”
He opened his mouth–maybe to respond, maybe to stall–but you cut in before the silence could return. “Do you want anything to drink? I’ve got water, Sprite, or
” you paused with a shrug, “an emergency stash of energy drinks if you’re into heart palpitations.”
Bob let out a short laugh, ducking his head as his fingers scratched the back of his neck. “Water’s good, thank you. Do you
 need any help with anything?”
You shook your head with a quiet chuckle, already crouching to slide the whiteboard from behind your desk. “It’s all good, I got it.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” you replied with a grin. “Just get comfortable.”
Bob hesitated for a beat–then nodded once and toed off his shoes with quiet care, tucking them neatly beside the frame of your bed. The soft creak of your mattress followed as he eased himself up onto it, adjusting his binder across his lap. He settled back against your pillows like someone trying not to disturb a shrine. His back met the wall in a slow, deliberate lean, shoulders squaring before his legs stretched out in front of him, one knee bent just slightly.
You were still crouched in front of your desk, tugging the whiteboard forward and flipping the eraser out of the marker tray with practiced ease. When you stood and propped the board upright against the far wall–angled so you could sit beside the bed and still reach it–Bob’s gaze caught on you again.
He wasn’t proud of it. But he couldn’t help it.
The soft sheen on your legs caught the warm light from your desk lamp, the moisture from your shower still clinging in subtle streaks across your skin. Your shorts were tight–they were the kind that followed the natural dip of your thighs when you bent forward, holding you in all the right places. Every angle pulled his attention. The curve where your hip met your waist, the shadow along the back of your knee when you adjusted your weight. You were only wearing a t-shirt and shorts, nothing scandalous, nothing remotely calculated–but Bob felt like he was seeing something private.
Like you’d invited him into something sacred and forgot to mention just how much of you lived here.
He cleared his throat and glanced out the window beside your bed, the blinds slatted just enough to let in the softest touch of late afternoon sun. The light was golden. Low. Hazy in the kind of way that made everything look suspended in time.
He told himself to focus. On the equations. On the test in your hand. On the notes in his binder.
Not on the way your legs moved when you crossed the room again, not on the lotion-sweet smell of you that lingered now even stronger than it had that first day in class, and not on the sight of you–relaxed and warm and totally unguarded–in a way he hadn’t seen before.
You crossed the room with a bottle of water and handed it to him without fuss, and when your fingers brushed, he felt the jolt of it deep in his chest.
“Thanks,” He said quietly, cradling the bottle like a peace offering.
You gave him a smile. Not teasing, not knowing. Just kind. Grounded. Unbothered.
And that made it worse somehow. Made it harder not to stare. Harder not to wonder what this was becoming, and how much trouble he was in already.
Because he could memorize equations. He could build models, ace problem sets, and calculate theoretical orbital mechanics in his sleep.
But none of that had prepared him for you.
You didn’t sit right away.
Instead, you hovered just beside the whiteboard for a moment longer, the test clutched in your hand, thumb brushing over the red mark like maybe you could fade it out with friction alone. But Bob waited patiently–quiet, composed, the bottle of water still nestled in his lap like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands yet.
You held the test out toward him. “Alright, let’s see how bad it really is.”
Bob offered a faint, crooked smile as he took the folded packet, careful not to smudge the corners with condensation from the bottle. He flipped it open to the first page, eyes scanning the first problem set. His gaze moved quickly–but not dismissively. He was reading, really reading, lips parting slightly as he traced your work with his eyes.
Then his brows lifted, just a touch–not surprise, but curiosity.
“Can you
” He glanced up at you, the glint of his glasses catching the light again, “show me how you got this answer? Go through it with me
I just want to pick your brain first. See your logic a bit.”
You hesitated, just for a beat.
Not because you didn’t remember how you got the answer. You did. You remembered every painful minute of trying to pull it out of thin air, piecing together old lecture notes and half-remembered formulas from late-night readings. But the thought of speaking it out loud? Of saying it in front of him?
That part felt
Vulnerable.
You bit the inside of your lip for a second, eyes flicking from the board to his face, then back again. Then, without a word, you bent down and picked up the black marker.
Bob leaned forward just slightly, shifting the binder onto the mattress beside him as you uncapped it with your teeth and started writing on the board. The soft squeak of dry erase on the surface filled the room.
“Okay,” You said finally, your voice steadier than you expected, “So the question was asking about particle behavior in a non-inertial reference frame, right? So I assumed we were supposed to use the rotating frame model the prof showed us last week. The one with the centrifugal and Coriolis corrections?” Bob nodded slowly, eyes locked on the board, on your hand.
You started to draw–carefully, neatly, the way you always did when trying to make sense of something. A circle. A line to represent the radius. Arrows for velocity, angular acceleration. You wrote out the base equation next to it, then began working through your substitutions.
“I plugged in the knowns here,” you continued, underlining as you spoke, “and then tried to isolate the pseudo-forces
but I think I misapplied the coordinate system. I used polar, but I think the solution assumed Cartesian.”
Bob made a small hum in the back of his throat–soft, thoughtful. You glanced back at him.
He was watching you. Focused, engaged. Almost the look a professor would give when they saw potential flickering just beneath a student’s mistake, and that made your throat tighten from the nerves that began to bubble over in your stomach.
Bob shifted again, the mattress dipping softly beneath his weight as he leaned forward, one hand braced on the bed beside his binder. “No, that’s good,” He murmured. “That’s actually really good. You weren’t wrong to try it that way. I think the issue’s just here–”He reached for the red marker from your stack, uncapping it with a soft click.
“See how you treated this term?” He pointed gently toward a partial derivative in your equation, careful not to touch the board. “You factored it like it was independent, but because it’s nested in the rotating frame, it still has angular dependence. That’s what threw the rest off.”
You blinked at the board, then at him.
“Wait
So if I’d just accounted for the cross-product instead of canceling it
”
“You would’ve landed within the margin of error,” He finished, smiling softly. “Easily a B. Maybe even B+ depending on how much partial credit he gave.” You stared at your own math like it had betrayed you and then slowly dropped your hand to your side, still holding the marker.
“That
Makes so much more sense,” You said, voice a little quieter now. Not embarrassed. Just a little humbled.
Bob stood up slowly, the mattress giving a soft groan beneath him as he rose. His steps were quiet but sure as he moved to stand beside you at the whiteboard, marker still poised in his hand like a baton he didn’t quite realize he’d taken control of. You stepped slightly to the side to give him space, though your shoulders still nearly brushed.
His voice came low, steady, as he started to rewrite the middle portion of your equation. His handwriting was sharp and balanced–blocky print with just a hint of slant, the kind of penmanship that spoke of hours spent copying down formula after formula with care.
“Your approach wasn’t bad,” He started, glancing at you just briefly before continuing, “Seriously. You just went too fast on the middle step, that’s all
And honestly?” He let out a breathy, half-laugh. “That’s the part that gets everyone.” You let out a quiet, half-aware chuckle–more breath than voice.
“Well
Evidently it doesn’t get you. You’re the one that got a 97.”
Bob flushed immediately. The back of his neck went pink first, then the tips of his ears. He ducked his head as he kept writing, though his next words carried a little laugh of their own.
“I’m a physics major,” He said. “So I better be getting that mark or else I’d be needing a refund from the school.”
You let out a real laugh at that–light, short, amused–and crossed your arms loosely over your chest, watching him scribble through the rest of the correction with a kind of practiced rhythm.
“No wonder you’re so good at this
” You muttered, more to yourself than him, but loud enough for him to catch.
Bob’s head tilted slightly toward you. “What’re you majoring in?”
You scratched the back of your neck, mildly self-conscious. “Engineering.”
He paused–just long enough to let the silence feel deliberate–and then let out a short, knowing laugh. “Ahh. Now it makes sense.”
You raised a brow, narrowing your eyes in mock warning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You guys are chronic overthinkers,” He stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You scoffed, uncrossing your arms. “And you guys aren’t? Please. Look at all the work you need to do just to get a simple solution. Two extra diagrams and four substitutions just to prove a particle moves left.”
He rolled his eyes, the kind of eye roll that had barely any edge–just enough sass to keep the playfulness alive. “Least if I took an engineering course, I’d still hit an 80 on the tests.”
You blinked at him. “Wow. Bold of you to assume you’d survive statics.”
Bob turned toward you a little more, raising an eyebrow, eyes glittering behind the faint reflection on his glasses. “I’d thrive in statics.”
“Oh, really?” you said, grinning now. “You think you would have a handle on it?” He cleared his throat lightly and gave you a soft smirk, the corner of his mouth curling.
“Maybe if I had the right tutor.” You blinked once. And then
Smiled.
He turned back to the board and finished the last line of the solution with a soft swipe of the marker.
“There,” He said, voice quieter again. “That’s how I did it.”
You stared at the board, then at him. The space between your shoulders eased a little. The knot in your chest began to loosen.
”Well
That’s one question down
At least I know where I went wrong
” Bob nodded, tapping the cap of the red marker softly against his palm.
“Let’s go to the next one.”
You reached over to flip the test packet to the next problem set, fingers skimming over the thin paper before tugging the top page aside. The math was already crowding your vision–variables stacked in tight lines, subscripts nestled between integrals and force vectors–and you let out a breath as you raised the black marker again.
He stepped back slightly to give you room, standing just behind and to your left. You could feel the warmth of him, the quiet energy he held so close to his chest, just skimming your shoulder. You swiped the board clean with the eraser in a few broad, practiced strokes until nothing remained but the faint sheen of leftover marker ghosting the surface.
“I’m gonna admit,” You started, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “I winged this one. So I’m definitely not gonna have an explanation for it.”
Bob shrugged, unbothered. “Then solve it,” He said casually. “Or attempt to. I’ll guide if you need it.”
There was a subtle shift in his tone–something a little less guarded, a little more drawled than usual. A slight southern cadence that lilted through the last few words, soft but present, like a warm hush pulled from somewhere deeper than lecture hall confidence. You felt your cheeks heat slightly at the sound.
Still, you nodded. “Alright.”
You started from scratch–no notes, no copying, just your best attempt. The marker glided smoothly under your hand as you worked through the logic piece by piece, pausing every few steps to reassess. You murmured quietly to yourself as you went, instinctively talking through the math aloud, and Bob said nothing–just watched. You could feel his eyes trace the path your gaze took, from the top of your diagram down through the first few steps of your math. Then–
“Nope. Wrong,” He interrupted, it came gently but firmly.
You blinked at the board, your hand frozen mid-step, and let out a quiet sigh. “Why?”
He stepped forward again, lifting the red marker. He didn’t correct it for you–just circled one specific term, the ink smooth and patient.
“This,” He pointed out, “You forgot to convert the mass into angular components. You treated it like a point mass.”
Your stomach sank just slightly. Not out of shame, but frustration. You dipped your head and started erasing that line.
“Sorry,” You murmured, almost under your breath.
“No need to apologize,” Bob said immediately, softer now. “Though I’m hopin’ this stuff sinks in
”
Your eyebrows knit, and you turned your head a little toward him. “Do you think it won’t?”
He shrugged, the barest lift of his shoulders. “It takes a while to apply the theory. Knowing it in your head’s one thing
Applying it to a random question is something else
But being able to fix your own mistakes is the first step to understanding things a little better to apply things properly.” You nodded once, pressing your lips together. Then you went back to work, quieter now, more deliberate. He watched you fall into the rhythm of the solution again, only stepping back when you didn’t seem to need his guidance. You could feel his eyes flicking down toward the test for a second before he moved behind you.
You heard the soft scrape of his hand over the textbook as he grabbed it from your desk, flipping it open with a practiced flick of his thumb. Pages whispered past each other as he navigated straight to the chapter you’d been tested on–like he’d memorized the structure without even meaning to. His eyes scanned the problems, fingers tapping the margin of the page as he skimmed.
By the time he turned back around, you were capping the black marker with a little sigh of effort. “I think I got it?”
Bob came closer again and tilted his head to read your work. His gaze moved from line to line, his mouth twitching just slightly before he nodded.
“Yeah. Yeah, you got it.” You caught the smile as it crept over his face–unfiltered this time, soft and a little proud. He adjusted his glasses with one hand, pushing them up the bridge of his nose before holding out the textbook toward you, with his thumb slipped between the pages.
“Try number twelve,” He said, the corner of his mouth still lifted. “New problem. Same concept. Let’s see what you remember.” Your eyes scanned the paragraph of setup–classic physics problem: rotating frame, non-uniform mass distribution, some sly attempt to catch overconfident students slipping past the conversion factor. You clicked your tongue once and let your focus shift back to the whiteboard, grabbing the green marker this time.
He watched you move–quiet, efficient, no hesitation as you picked apart the language of the question, breaking it into manageable parts. You leaned your hip against the desk just slightly, skin catching the late-afternoon light in the softest gleam. Your fingers danced over your phone screen, pulling up the calculator, thumb tapping with precise rhythm as your eyes flicked between the numbers and the formulas.
Bob didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t staring anymore.
There was a faint shimmer along your shoulder from where the light met your skin, a dewy glow from the shower that hadn’t fully faded. You were chewing softly on the inside of your cheek, eyes narrowed in concentration, and he thought–briefly, helplessly–that he could watch you solve problems forever if it meant watching you like this.
You didn’t say anything. Not for the full ten minutes it took you to work it through.
You just calculated, and wrote, and thought. You whispered a few fragments to yourself as you filled in a diagram at the top right corner of the board, then traced your logic through in smooth, deliberate steps. You stepped back finally, the marker hanging loosely from your fingers, your other hand planted lightly on your hip.
You turned slightly toward him.
“Well?” You asked. “What’s the verdict?”
Bob blinked–once, hard. Then blinked again.
“Right,” He replied quickly, moving forward, the textbook now tucked under one arm. He studied your work for a moment, leaning in just enough to squint at one portion of your substitutions. His lips pressed together.
“You did most of it right,” He murmured, pointing to a midsection of your math. “This part’s good
But you forgot to apply the correction here–” He tapped gently on a bracketed term near the top. “That throws the coefficient off. Still–partial credit would be earned. It’s not like you’d lose all the points.”
You let out a breath and nodded. “Got it.”
Bob uncapped the red marker again and leaned forward, elbow bent as he carefully scribbled a correction in the margin beside your step. His handwriting was still annoyingly neat, even in red, even when rushed. He talked you through it slowly, the pace gentle but firm, breaking down the terms like a translation instead of a reprimand.
Your arms crossed as you leaned against the edge of the desk, chin tilted toward him slightly. He didn’t rush, didn’t sound superior–he just
Taught. Like he wanted you to understand it, not just memorize it.
You smirked.
“You should become a professor with the way you teach.”
Bob glanced over his shoulder at you, an amused little tilt to his head. “Why? Am I boring you?”
You let out a real laugh this time, low and warm and amused. “No. Not yet, at least.”
He turned a little more to face you, one hand still holding the red marker.
“Don’t speak too soon,” He warned, the corners of his mouth pulling into a slow, boyish grin. “I’m sure I’ve got a lot more opportunities to do that.”
And even though the whiteboard still glowed behind him, filled with formulas and diagrams and half-solved questions, all you could see was the quiet crinkle at the corner of his eyes, and the way his voice–soft, sincere–almost sounded like a promise.
————————
Bob’s elbows rested on his knees, fingers loosely laced, binder long forgotten beside him on the bed.
You were pacing.
Again.
Back and forth in front of your desk, your physics textbook open in your hands like it might suddenly say something different if you glared hard enough at the chapter title.
“I don’t understand,” You huffed, fingers tightening around the spine of the book. “We’ve been working through these questions almost every night for the past two weeks. I’m getting them very close to right when I do them here. I know what I’m doing on the whiteboard, I’m getting partial credit in class–but then I sit down during the quiz and it’s like
Like my brain just decides to take a smoke break.”
Bob watched you quietly from the bed, his gaze flicking down briefly as your shirt lifted with your movements. The hem rose just enough to show the waistband of the boxer shorts you’d thrown on after your shower, the edge of soft cotton skimming the top of your thighs as you turned in another sharp step.
He didn’t say anything. Not at first. Just watched. Like he always did when you got worked up–like his stillness might balance out your storm.
You dropped the book onto your desk with a soft thud, dragging both hands through your hair before planting them on your hips in frustration.
“I mean, it’s ridiculous,” You muttered. “I can do it here. I’ve done it. You’ve seen me do it. What the hell happens between here and the classroom?” Bob leaned back slightly, hands now braced behind him against the bedspread, one leg bent, the other stretched long.
“Do you feel anxious when you’re writing the test?” He asked, tilting his head just a little.
You turned to look at him, brow furrowed.
“It’s a normal amount of anxiety,” You said flatly. “What, are you about to tell me that’s why I’m still not doing well on quizzes? A little test stress?”
He shrugged, his lips quirking upward like he knew he was about to toe the line. “Could be,” He replied simply. “Or
Maybe you just need some kind of
Positive reinforcement.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Positive reinforcement?” You repeated slowly, curious and suspicious of how he was bringing up the topic.
He nodded, straight-faced. “Affirmations. Encouragement. Rewards. You know. Psychology stuff.” You crossed your arms, the motion slow and deliberate, as you turned fully to face him. Your hips settled just to one side, weight shifting into that slightly challenging posture–the kind that said you weren’t going to let this slide, but not in the way he should be afraid of. Your head tilted a little, eyes narrowed like you were sizing him up. Watching.
Noticing.
And God, was he blushing.
Not a violent flush, but that creeping kind–the kind that started at the tips of his ears and crawled slowly down the sides of his neck like embarrassment blooming from the inside out. He wasn’t meeting your gaze now. Just staring down at the binder on his lap, his thumbs rubbing over the edge of the plastic like it had something important to say.
You didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. Took him in.
The soft slope of his shoulders where they leaned back into the pillow. The subtle indent his jaw made when he clenched it without meaning to. The flush of red creeping into his cheeks, all while trying to keep that composed, helpful tone–like he was still just your tutor and not someone who thought about kissing you when you leaned too close during derivatives.
The silence held for a beat too long.
Then you spoke.
“So you’re trying to condition me?”
Bob’s head snapped up, and his eyes met yours–wide, startled, and already bracing for the tease he knew was coming. But then, to your surprise, he laughed. A real laugh. Short and soft and so genuine that it made the tips of his ears go even redder.
“N-No!” he said quickly, shaking his head, that lopsided smile overtaking his face. “Jesus–no, I wasn’t–conditioning you?”
You smirked, keeping your arms crossed like a challenge. “It kinda sounds like you’re conditioning me.”
He laughed again–this time accompanied by a quiet snort he couldn’t quite swallow down fast enough. It made your grin widen.
“I’m not trying to train you like a dog,” He commented, wiping a hand down his face with mock-exhaustion. “I just meant
If you associate physics with something good, maybe your brain will stop freaking out every time you’re handed a test.”
You blinked at him once. Raised an eyebrow.
“So
” You started, slowly, carefully, “You’re trying to open my third eye for physics?”
Bob looked at you. Deadpan. “That’s not what I said.”
You stepped closer, a teasing lilt curling into your voice now as you gestured with one hand. “No, no, I think that’s exactly what you said. You want me to transcend. Find academic Nirvana through external praise.” He rolled his eyes.
”Okay. Now you’re just twisting my words.” You raised your eyebrows.
”Am I?” You grinned. He gave you a look. A very Bob look. One part fond, one part I walked into this with my eyes wide open and it’s too late to leave now. But the pink still hadn’t faded from his cheeks.
You leaned your hip against the edge of the desk again, bare thighs catching the warm glow of your desk lamp, watching the way Bob’s eyes flicked toward your legs and then immediately back up again.
“Alright, Professor Floyd,” You said lightly, “I’ll bite. What kind of positive reinforcement are we talking about here? You handing out gold stars? Stickers? Should I bring a report card for you to sign?” Bob cleared his throat. It was soft but unmistakable. A nervous reflex that made him sit up a little straighter on your bed, one hand rising to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose even though they hadn’t really slipped.
“I mean
” He trailed off, eyes fixed on some distant point above your shoulder. “I was thinking more like
A kiss.” Your entire body stilled, hands still loosely clasped in front of you from your teasing posture, your weight half-shifted against the desk. A beat passed–just long enough to wonder if you’d misheard him. But then his eyes flicked back to yours, just for a second, and the heat in his gaze made it impossible to pretend he hadn’t said exactly what you thought he did.
You could feel your cheeks warm–instantly, helplessly–heat blooming beneath your skin like it had been waiting for the right moment to spill forward. But you masked it with a slow raise of your eyebrows and a smirk, playful but laced with that sharp new curiosity curling low in your gut.
“Yeah?” You said, voice softer now. You shifted your weight and tilted your head. “A kiss? That’s what you had in mind?”
Bob’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Hard. His eyes flicked to the space beside your head before dropping to the floor–then back up to you, like he was trying not to look too long but couldn’t help it. He shifted on the mattress, fingers brushing over the edge of the binder like he needed something to hold onto. “I-I mean
It was just an idea. One of
Several.”
You stepped closer.
“Is that what you’ve had in mind this entire time?” You questioned, voice low, the smile on your lips laced with something sweeter now–teasing, but sincere. “Kissing me?”
Bob let out a nervous little laugh, breath catching as he tried to string together a reply. His knuckles were pale where they gripped the binder now, eyes flicking toward your legs again before jerking back up to your face.
“I–no, I mean, not
 I never really got that idea till today,” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just thought—I don’t know. It might help.”
You took another step forward.
“You sure about that?” you asked, the words curling in your throat like heat, low and just a little amused. Now you were standing directly in front of him, and the change in height made it impossible not to notice how he looked up at you–head tilted back slightly, wide blue eyes tracking your every move. His glasses slid a fraction down his nose, but he didn’t dare lift a hand to fix them.
His mouth opened and closed once before he found his voice. “I personally
Think it might work,” He murmured.
Your eyes flicked down to his lips–soft, parted slightly, flushed–and then back to his eyes. He was blinking slow now, like your presence this close was physically slowing his thoughts.
You bit your lip. Slowly. Purposefully.
“So you’re telling me,” You said, almost whispering now, “That you want to reward me with kisses
Whenever I get a question right?”
Bob exhaled through his nose. His legs had parted slightly where he sat, not intentionally–but enough to suggest his body was reacting faster than his brain. He nodded once, tentative but clear. His voice dropped lower, barely above a whisper.
“I could
Do a whole lot more than kisses,” He said.
The second the words left his mouth, his eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Like he hadn’t even known he was capable of it. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the binder, his spine curving slightly forward as if he could fold himself up to hide from the boldness that had just escaped him.
Your breath caught–just barely–and something about the way he said it, almost reverent, almost pleading, sent a shiver down your spine. You watched his throat work, his chest rising and falling in subtle, shaky breaths.
He wasn’t cocky. He wasn’t teasing you back with confidence.
He wanted you.
Desperately.
You leaned in, closing that last bit of space between your knees and the edge of the bed until your thighs brushed his. The binder slid from his lap onto the comforter with a soft thud, forgotten.
“Yeah?” You murmured, voice warm, velvety, almost indulgent. “You think you could do more?” Bob nodded, slowly–eyes wide, lips parted, breath coming a little uneven now, fanning over your face.
“If you’d let me,” He said quietly, “I’d do anything.”
The words landed between you like a weight, heavy with longing, trembling with truth.
And you believed him.
Because Bob Floyd didn’t say things he didn’t mean.
He didn’t play games. He didn’t flirt to win. He offered, quietly, completely–like giving a piece of himself to someone felt holy.
Your hands moved before your mind fully caught up, instinct carrying you as you lifted them slowly–deliberately–and rested them against the sides of his neck.
He was warm.
The kind of warmth that radiated from beneath the skin, the kind that felt like it could seep into your palms and settle somewhere inside your chest if you let it. His skin was soft under your thumbs, his pulse fluttering just beneath one, and when your fingers brushed lightly over the edge of his jaw, you felt the tiniest hitch in his breath.
Bob stilled.
Completely.
The kind of stillness that only came when something sacred was happening–like he didn’t want to risk breaking the moment by breathing too loud.
And then you leaned in.
Not rushed. Not hungry. Just slow–measured. Confident in the space he’d given you. Confident in the way his knees shifted to make room for you between them, in the way his lips had parted already, waiting, hoping.
Your nose brushed his cheek softly. His glasses tilted just slightly from the nudge, slipping down the bridge of his nose in a slow, unbothered drift. You felt the ghost of his breath over your mouth, shaky and warm, and then–
You kissed him.
Gently. Just once. Lips pressed to his like the start of a sentence that would take its time to finish.
Bob breathed into it–exhaled a soft, shuddering hum from the back of his throat that vibrated against your mouth. His hands came up slow, tentative, like he didn’t want to assume. But then they settled–one sliding to your lower back, warm and careful, the other ghosting over your hip before stilling there.
And then he kissed you back.
Really kissed you.
Slow at first. So slow it made your knees weak.
He lingered on your upper lip, plush and steady, then pulled back half an inch and tilted–just enough to brush your bottom lip between his with soft, seeking pressure. His lips moved with purpose, not urgency. Thoughtful. Intent. Like he wanted to memorize you in pieces, to map the shape of your mouth one breath at a time.
You made a soft, involuntary sound into him–a quiet, pleased little “mmm”–and he kissed you again like he needed to drink it in. His thumb pressed lightly against the small of your back, grounding him, grounding you. Every motion of his mouth was reverent, restrained, and dripping with a kind of intimacy that made your skin burn.
You pulled back just an inch–lips brushing his, breath warm between you.
His eyes fluttered open slowly, lashes sweeping against flushed cheeks. His pupils were blown wide behind his fogged glasses, lips pink and slightly parted, his chest rising and falling with careful, controlled breaths. He looked dazed. Unmoored.
You smiled.
A quiet, knowing smile, and let your thumbs brush the sides of his jaw.
“Better go get the next question right, huh?” You whispered, teasing but breathless. “Gotta meet my end of the bargain.”
And just as you started to pull back, maybe to reach for the marker again, maybe to hide the way your heart was slamming against your ribs like a drum–
Bob’s hand on your lower back pressed just slightly.
“Wait,” He murmured, voice low and husky now. “How about we suspend the studying for now?”
The words came quiet. Careful. But you could hear the edge beneath them–that hunger he’d tried so hard to suppress now curling softly around the syllables.
You arched an eyebrow at him, still close enough that your noses brushed.
“Hmm
” You started, a smirk pulling at your lips. “Now you’re just going to end up distracting me.”
His eyes flicked down to your mouth. Then back up.
You ran a finger gently down the side of his neck, your voice warm and teasing.
“Let’s stick to the plan
” Bob exhaled slowly. Like it took everything in him not to pull you back in.
His hands didn’t move. But he nodded.
Barely.
And when you stepped away and turned toward the whiteboard again, you could feel the heat of his gaze trailing after you–like he was trying to sear every inch of the moment into memory.
———————
By the second correct answer, you were setting a timer for yourselves.
Ten minutes. That was the new rule.
Ten minutes per problem, per kiss. No exceptions. No shortcuts.
Because the last time you’d leaned in for one–intended to be short, controlled, just enough to make good on the deal–you’d ended up in his lap. His hands had slipped under your shirt almost instinctively, like they knew where to go before he consciously gave them permission. And when his palms flattened against the small of your back, warm and strong and bare, your breath had hitched in a way that surprised you.
Not because it was too much.
But because it was exactly what you hadn’t realized you’d been needing.
His fingers pressed into your skin–not harshly, not possessively, just enough to ground you. Like he couldn’t believe he was touching you and needed to memorize the shape of your body with his hands before you slipped away again. You’d gasped into his mouth, not even meaning to, and felt him inhale like the sound had gone straight to his chest.
And then you kissed him harder.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, wrecking the neatness of it with the kind of carelessness that only came when heat outweighed hesitation. You pulled, just a little–testing, exploring–and he moaned softly against your lips like it cracked him open. His glasses were crooked by then, fogged from your shared breaths, and neither of you bothered fixing them. The world could stay blurry if it meant this stayed sharp.
Somewhere in the haze, Bob’s shirt had come off. You hadn’t meant for it to escalate. It had just
Happened. One minute your hands were sliding beneath the hem, feeling the heat of him, the tension in his abdomen, the ridges of muscle that lined his stomach, and the next, the shirt was gone. Flung off to the side without a single graceful motion. You hadn’t even looked where it landed.
He was solid beneath you. Not chiseled in a gym-rat kind of way, but strong in that natural, everyday way. Like he was built for work. His skin was sun-warmed with just a pinch of colour, a faint line of tan cutting across the middle of his arms where T-shirts always stopped. You touched him like he might disappear. He held you like he never wanted you to.
And God
He was good.
Surprisingly good.
Not in the way of someone who practiced, but someone who paid attention. Someone who kissed with focus. With reverence. Like your mouth was an answer he’d been solving toward for weeks. He kissed like he studied–slow, thorough, intentional. His tongue was gentle at first, coaxing. His teeth grazed your lip once, barely, and you swore you could feel it in your spine. When he kissed you the second time–after the next problem, when your timer dinged again–you already knew it wasn’t going to stay brief.
And it didn’t.
He pulled you in with hands that were just slightly rough from calluses and pencil grooves, fingers curling tight around your waist, your ribs, like he needed to feel you under his hands. And when he slipped those same fingers under the hem of your shirt again—this time slower, surer–you let him. You wanted him to. His touch wasn’t greedy. It was searching. Savoring. Like he was learning every inch of you the way he learned his formulas.
And you didn’t realize how touch-starved you’d been until then.
Until the heat of his hand met the curve of your spine, and you arched into him like your body had been waiting for permission. Until he kissed down the side of your jaw, slowly, reverently, and you felt the hum of it in your chest. Until your own hand traced the broad slope of his shoulder, down over the rise and fall of his ribs, and found nothing but steady strength and gentle restraint.
You didn’t say it out loud–but he could feel it.
The hunger in the way you kissed him. The gratitude in the way your hands explored him. The desperate edge that slipped into your breath every time you whispered his name between kisses like it wasn’t something you’d meant to do.
And maybe it wasn’t about physics anymore.
Maybe it never really was.
Because as Bob pulled back, breathless and flushed, his glasses still askew and hair mussed into soft waves from your fingers pulling and tightening, he looked at you like you’d changed something fundamental inside him. Like you’d opened a door he didn’t know was locked. Like he couldn’t stop even if he tried.
Your timer buzzed again in the background. Neither of you moved.
“
You got that one right,” He whispered, lips brushing your cheek “Think you deserve
A break.” You let out a breathless little laugh, your chest still rising and falling with the aftermath of the last kiss. Your hair was a bit mussed from his hands, your lips slightly swollen from the soft, reverent press of his mouth–and you were dizzy, absolutely dizzy with the way he looked at you.
“Bob
” You murmured, voice playful, warm, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve got some sort of ulterior motive.” Bob, still slightly breathless, hand still planted firm and reverent on your thigh, sat back just a little. Enough to give you a look. One of those boyish, guilty-but-not-really guilty grins that curled slow at the edges and made your heart skip.
He pressed a hand flat to his bare chest, wide-eyed in mock innocence.
“Me?” He said, lips twitching. “No
Definitely no ulterior motives here. I’m just
” He leaned in again, close enough for his breath to dance against your jaw, “Trying to do something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.” Your brows lifted, pulse tripping.
“Oh?” You murmured, teasing but curious. “And what’s that?” He pressed a kiss to your jaw–so gentle it nearly didn’t register as a kiss at all. Just warmth. Just intent. Then another, lower, slower, right beneath the curve of your ear. And then:
“Going down on you,” He whispered.
The words landed hot, like they’d been spoken directly into your bloodstream.
Your breath hitched audibly. You swore you could feel your pulse flutter in places you didn’t think could react to words alone. Heat pooled low in your stomach like syrup spilling into something hollow. Still, you managed a quiet, almost incredulous laugh, voice tightening as you tilted your head to look at him again.
“Now I need to know,” You said, fingers threading back into his hair, “How long you’ve been thinking about that.” Bob let out a soft laugh, one hand splaying open against your hip, the other bracing himself still, like he needed to keep steady before he admitted anything to you. He kissed down your neck again, slower this time–each inch of skin passed over with the kind of devotion that said this wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment confession.
And when he reached the collar of your shirt, where the fabric hung loose from earlier tugging, he nosed at it gently. Not greedy. Just wanting more.
You tugged lightly on his hair, not to stop him, but to coax him to pause–just enough to get him to look up.
“Hey,” You said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “How long have you been thinking about doing that?”
Bob’s eyes flicked up to yours–blue and wide and already glassy with the weight of how badly he wanted you. And then his face turned a shade deeper, that telltale blush painting up his cheeks and crawling behind his ears.
“Since
” He paused, like the words were too embarrassing to say. “Since the first day of class. When you came in late
Dressed in that skirt.”
You blinked, lips parting slowly.
“The black one?”
He nodded, eyes darting to your mouth like it might give him the courage to keep talking.
“It rode up just a little when you walked past. And you sat a few seats down and didn’t look at me once. And I–” He broke off for a second, laughing nervously. “I dropped my pencil because of how you smelled and how your legs looked and because you didn’t even notice me looking.”
You stared at him.
Then grinned, slow and wicked.
“Well,” You murmured, leaning in again until your lips were just barely brushing his, “Guess it’s a good thing you’re getting your chance now.” Bob exhaled a shaky breath–one of awe, of disbelief, of absolutely overwhelmed want.
And then he kissed you again.
The kiss that followed was nothing like the first.
It was deeper. Hungrier. Your lips opened beneath his without hesitation this time, and he drank in the permission like it was oxygen–his hands curling tighter around the backs of your thighs before lifting you effortlessly into his lap. You gasped softly against his mouth as your knees bent around him, your weight settling against the solid warmth of his thighs, your hands sliding up the broad slope of his bare shoulders.
He kissed you like he’d waited for this.
Like every moment you’d spent leaning over equations, brushing fingertips, trading teasing words had led to this exact point–and now he had you here, soft and open in his lap, your legs bare and warm against denim, your breath stuttering into his mouth every time he tugged you closer.
His hands slid beneath the hem of your t-shirt again, palms hot against your back, and this time he didn’t hesitate. The fabric peeled upward in one smooth motion–up, over your ribs, brushing your chest–until you lifted your arms and let him tug it off completely. He tossed it somewhere behind you, neither of you looking to see where it landed.
His eyes dropped.
The moment he saw what you were wearing underneath, his breath hitched—and for a second, he didn’t move. A soft cotton sports bra in a worn, dusky pink–simple, comfortable, a little faded from wash after wash–but the way it hugged you? The way it molded to the curve of your breasts, straps digging gently into your warm skin?
Bob Floyd looked like he’d forgotten how to speak.
He swallowed once. Then again. His glasses had slipped slightly lower on his nose, giving him that boyish, dazed expression he got whenever something completely wrecked his train of thought. You watched his eyes trail over you, caught between reverence and want, and then–
He hummed. A soft, breathy sound from deep in his chest. Something unfiltered. Something warm.
Then he looked back up at you.
And kissed you again.
His hands gripped your hips now, anchoring you down in his lap like he didn’t want you to shift an inch. He kissed you harder–open-mouthed, deep, letting out a quiet groan as your hips rocked forward ever so slightly. He didn’t say anything. Just let the noise fall between you, ragged and raw, swallowing your gasp as he shifted his grip and guided you until your back hit the mattress.
The room spun gently with the motion, soft yellow light from the lamp catching in the lenses of his glasses as he leaned over you. His body followed—broad shoulders, warm bare chest pressing down as he settled between your legs. He braced his hands on either side of your ribcage, framing you like a question he couldn’t stop asking. His eyes searched your face for just a second, but you nodded–softly, wordlessly–already reaching for him again.
He dipped his head.
Kissed your throat.
Then lower.
And lower still.
He took his time.
Every press of his lips trailed down the line of your collarbone, across the top swell of your breasts where the fabric cut gently across your skin. His glasses slipped again, nearly falling off–but he didn’t stop. Didn’t even lift a hand to adjust them. He kissed you through the blur, lips brushing the tops of your breasts like they were something sacred.
You let out a quiet sound–half gasp, half moan–and threaded your fingers into his hair again. His tongue flicked out, tasting the salt of your skin as he groaned softly against you.
“Are you always this sensual?” you whispered, voice thick, dazed, breathless.
Bob let out a quiet sigh, like your question made something in him ease and deepen at the same time.
“Let’s just say I love giving
” He murmured, kissing the center of your chest. “
A lot.”
The way he said it–low, quiet, honest–made your legs clench involuntarily around his waist. Your mind flooded with images far too filthy for someone as sweet as Bob Floyd to inspire.
But then again, the way he looked right now–glasses fogging, lips red and glistening, his chest moving in slow, hungry waves with every breath–maybe he wasn’t that sweet after all.
His fingers reached for the thin straps of your bra.
“Hope you don’t mind,” He whispered against your skin, lips still pressing hot kisses between every word.
You shook your head quickly. “I don’t mind at all
”
With a reverent kind of care, he slipped the straps off your shoulders. One. Then the other. His fingers brushed your arms on the way down, the backs of his knuckles ghosting over your skin like he was memorizing it. Then–slowly, carefully–he tugged the fabric down, baring you to him inch by inch.
His breath hitched.
Your breasts, soft and flushed from heat and touch, rose with every breath you took. Bob didn’t reach for you right away. He just
Looked. Let himself take it in. His hands slid up your sides again–rougher now, purposeful–and when they cupped the curve beneath your breasts, his thumbs brushed upward, stroking slowly until your nipples tightened under the attention.
His glasses fogged completely.
Still, he didn’t take them off.
He leaned in and kissed the soft mound of your left breast, then your right, each kiss dragging slower than the last. His lips were gentle, his hands firm, and when he finally brushed the tip of his tongue over your nipple, your hips bucked without warning.
“God,” You whispered, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you. Bob just smiled. Quietly. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Sensitive?” he murmured, lips hovering just over your nipple again, breath warm and teasing.
You shook your head slowly, fingers curling into the sheets. “I call it anticipation.”
His low laugh rumbled against your skin. “Didn’t know we were calling it that now
 but okay.”
Then he kissed you again–this time firmer, lips wrapping around your nipple with a slow, aching pull that made your hips twitch beneath him. His tongue was wet and warm, lapping slow circles around the soft peak before closing over it again, sucking just a little deeper now–just enough to make you moan quietly, enough to send a thrum straight between your thighs.
His hands didn’t stop, either–broad palms sliding up and down the sides of your ribcage, thumbs sweeping in careful, reverent passes. He alternated between breasts with the same kind of concentration you’d seen in study sessions: deliberate, measured, like he was solving you.
And when he finally pulled away, lips red and glistening from worship, he blew a soft, chilled stream of air across your saliva-slick nipple–then the other.
Your entire body arched. He watched it happen with wide eyes, completely entranced.
Then–without a word–you sat up.
He blinked in surprise, hands still resting on your sides as you reached behind yourself and unhooked your bra the rest of the way, slipping the fabric down your arms and flinging it off the bed. The second it landed somewhere behind you, you laid back down–bare, flushed, and completely open.
Bob’s breath hitched hard. His glasses had slipped lower again, fogged beyond all reason now, and he still hadn’t touched them. He didn’t even seem aware of the state he was in–just that you were laid out beneath him, chest rising in unsteady waves, eyes soft but daring.
He exhaled shakily.
And then he moved lower.
He kissed the center of your sternum once, then again, trailing down past your navel with slow, reverent care. When he reached the waistband of your boxer shorts, he paused. His hands came to rest just above your hips, fingers curling slightly under the band.
He looked up at you, eyes glassy and dark behind the silver frames.
You nodded–slow, sure.
That was all he needed.
He pulled the fabric down just an inch. Then another. Just enough to reveal the top of your hips, the soft line of your lower stomach. His lips followed–kissing each inch as it was exposed, trailing warmth into places that had never felt this kind of attention before. The contrast between the heat of his mouth and the cool air made your thighs twitch, and he hummed softly against your skin.
“God, you’re beautiful,” He whispered. “You don’t even know, do you
”
You didn’t respond. Couldn’t, really. Your fingers were tangled in the sheets again, breath catching every time his lips brushed lower, every time he said something in that breathless, reverent voice that made you feel like he was seeing you for the first time.
When he reached the base of your hips, he gave the waistband a firmer tug, and you lifted your hips to help him–knees bending slightly, thighs parting as he pulled the shorts down your legs. He slid them off with practiced care, and you watched as he tossed them aside with the same nonchalance he’d flung his shirt–like every barrier between you was one more step toward something sacred.
He paused there.
Just knelt between your legs for a second, hands resting on your thighs, eyes locked on yours like he needed to anchor himself before continuing. Then–without saying anything–he pushed your thighs up gently, spreading you open just enough.
His mouth pressed to the inside of your knee.
You gasped.
It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim. A promise. His lips lingered there for a second, and then they moved–trailing up the inside of your thigh in slow, wet presses, each one firmer than the last.
“You’ve got no idea,” He murmured against your skin. “How long I’ve wanted to do this
 How many times I’ve imagined being between your thighs just like this
”
His teeth grazed the sensitive skin just above your inner thigh, and your hips jerked slightly at the contact. He didn’t move away. Just kissed the spot he’d grazed. Then again. Higher this time.
“Wanted to take my time with you,” He whispered, voice low, breath hot. “Make sure you know what it feels like when someone actually wants to do this
” Your hands gripped the comforter.
“I want to hear the way you sound when it’s good. When it’s real. When it’s slow
”
He kissed the top of your inner thigh–right at the edge of where you needed him most.
Then, finally, he glanced up–his glasses slightly crooked, cheeks flushed, mouth slick with his saliva and swollen.
“I’m gonna take such good care of you,” He said softly. “You’ll never forget it.”
His tongue moved with devastating precision–slow, savoring, like he had all the time in the world and wasn’t about to waste a single second.
He started with a kiss-low, just at the edge of your folds, then dragged his tongue up in one long, warm stripe that made your legs twitch. You gasped, hands flying instinctively to his hair as he groaned into you, deep and low, like he’d been starving for this.
“Jesus–Bob–” You whispered, voice cracking on the edge of a moan.
He didn’t answer. Just licked you again, slower this time, tongue flattening against you with such gentleness it made your stomach tighten. Then he did it again. And again. Until the room dissolved into heat and breath and the wet, obscene sound of him eating you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.
And maybe you were.
He used his mouth like a worshipper—like this wasn’t about getting you off, but about tasting everything he’d been dreaming of for weeks. He kissed your clit softly at first, then circled it with his tongue—just enough pressure to make you cry out, just enough to leave you chasing more. Your hips rocked against his mouth before you could stop them, and instead of pulling back, he moaned again, deeper this time, and grabbed your thighs—holding you open like a man possessed.
His fingers dug gently into your hips as he sucked on you now, lips wrapped around your clit with wet, deliberate pulls. His glasses were fogged beyond saving, the lenses glinting in the dorm light as they slipped further down his nose. He didn’t stop. Didn’t lift his head once. Just kept tasting and kissing and groaning like your body was the only thing he needed to study for the rest of his life.
You whimpered.
“F-Fuck, Bob–too good–”
That finally earned a reaction. He groaned again, louder, like your words were gasoline, and then–God–he slipped two fingers between your thighs, slick with your arousal, and pushed them in with a slow, practiced ease.
Your back arched.
The stretch was perfect. His fingers curled immediately, searching for that spot–and finding it like he’d mapped it out ahead of time. His mouth never left your clit, tongue flicking faster now, suction intensifying just slightly, just enough to send a full-body tremor through you.
“C’mon,” He murmured between strokes, voice ragged, lips brushing against you with every syllable. “That’s it
 Just like that. Let me hear you.”
You did.
You let go of any remaining shred of restraint and moaned–loud, broken, lost to the rhythm of his fingers and the warmth of his mouth. Your thighs shook, your body tightening, unraveling. The dorm room felt like it might dissolve around you.
“G-Gonna–”
“I know,” he whispered, breath hot, eyes glassy as he looked up at you from between your thighs. “Go ahead. I got you.”
And then he did something devastating.
He sucked harder.
Curled his fingers deeper.
And moaned into you like your orgasm was his reward.
You shattered.
Your hands clutched his hair, your legs tensed around his head, and your breath broke into a stuttering cry as he licked you through it–never stopping, never letting up. He worshipped you all the way through your high, his mouth messy, eager, lips slick with you as he kept kissing, kept groaning, like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered.
When you finally slumped back, shaking, panting, spent–he didn’t move right away.
He kissed your inner thigh.
Then again. And again.
Then trailed up your body with soft, slow presses of his mouth, leaving a trail of your own taste on his lips as he made his way back up. His chest hovered over yours, his weight warm and solid, and when he finally kissed your mouth again–full and deep–you could taste yourself on his tongue.
And he let you.
Let you feel it.
Let you know exactly what he’d just done to you.
He pulled back from the kiss, hovering above you, mouth swollen from all the work he had done, lips slightly parted. He looked wrecked in the most beautiful way–hair mussed from your fingers, flushed cheeks, chest rising with the weight of restraint.
Then, like a flicker of light through the haze, he let out a breathy laugh. Quiet. Disbelieving. Joyful.
You laughed too–soft, breathless, dazed–your palm dragging slowly down his bare chest before reaching up to push his glasses back up his nose. The lenses had slipped almost entirely off his face, smudged and misted at the edges. You caught the little fingerprints and streaks near the bottom and smiled, chest still heaving slightly as you murmured:
“Where
The hell did you learn that?”
Bob’s laugh deepened this time, short and warm, his entire face flushing deeper crimson. He covered his face with one hand for a second, then dropped it to your waist, eyes shining with both amusement and bashfulness.
“From
My past partners?” He said, half like a question, half like a confession. “I told you I’m a giver. I may look timid but
As you can tell, I know my stuff.”
You grinned, your heart skipping at how proud–but still modest–he sounded. You leaned up, catching his mouth in another kiss, slower now, languid. He hummed against your lips, eyes fluttering shut as his hands pulled you just a little closer.
“Bit surprising,” you whispered against his mouth.
He nodded, kissing you again, hands smoothing down your sides. “I know.”
And it would’ve stayed gentle, dreamy, lazy like that–until your hand drifted between your bodies.
You hadn’t been trying to tease. Not really. But when your palm brushed over the thick bulge in his jeans, the way his breath hitched immediately had you curling your fingers lightly around him, just enough to feel the weight of him. The heat. The hardness pressing insistently behind the denim.
You smiled, eyes soft but mischievous. “Your turn?”
But to your surprise, Bob flinched—barely, but it was there. His hand caught your wrist gently, not to push you away, but to pause.
“It’s okay,” he said softly.
You blinked, your palm still resting against him. “What?” You tilted your head. “You don’t
 even want to have sex?”
“It’s not that,” he said quickly, eyes darting to yours before lowering again. “I just
It’s really okay. You don’t have to.”
You sat up slightly, just enough to bring your faces closer again, concern slipping behind your smile.
“Are you
” Your voice gentle. “Are you nervous?”
His lashes fluttered. A breath stalled in his throat. And that was all the answer you needed.
You reached for his cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath his eye. His skin was hot, his jaw tight, but he leaned into your touch like he needed it.
“Bob,” You said softly, a smile curling into your voice. “How can you be nervous after you just gave me the best orgasm of my life?”
That made his eyes shoot open–just a little. You watched his expression shift. Like he’d heard something he hadn’t expected. Like praise landed harder than touch ever could.
“Seriously,” you continued, your voice warm and slow, “That was unreal. No one’s ever touched me like that. Not like they wanted to. Not like they were
Memorizing it.”
His mouth parted. You didn’t miss the way his breath trembled now. His hips shifted slightly against yours, and when you glanced down, you could see he was getting harder from your words alone.
You kissed the corner of his jaw. “You’re incredible, Bob.”
A sound left him–barely a sound, more of a low exhale, like it physically knocked something loose in him. His hand tightened slightly on your waist.
“You made me feel so good,” You whispered. “Safe. Wanted. Perfect.”
His eyes closed, lips parting with a shaky breath, and his hips rolled the tiniest bit into your palm. You could feel how much he wanted it now. How much he wanted you. He just hadn’t known if he was allowed.
And God, the way he responded to praise–it made something ache inside you.
Your foreheads rested together, breath shared in the quiet space between words, between heartbeats.
“Let’s do it together, hm?” You murmured, your voice warm and coaxing–softened with affection, laced with intent.
Bob let out the tiniest breath of a laugh, and his lips brushed yours as he smiled. “Okay.”
The word was nearly a whisper, but it carried weight–an unspoken trust folding itself into the syllables.
You leaned back just enough to reach between your bodies, your fingers brushing against the button of his jeans. He inhaled, shaky and quiet, watching you as you popped it open, then tugged the zipper down. The sound broke the hush of the room, loud in the stillness.
Bob shifted, lifting himself up just enough to hook his thumbs into the waistband. He wriggled out of his jeans with a little bit of awkwardness, and when the denim bunched at his ankles, he kicked them off with a grunt.
You both laughed. Low and breathless, the kind of laughter that came when something was too intimate not to be a little bit funny.
His glasses slid further down his nose.
“Sexy,” You teased, bumping your knee gently against his side.
He rolled his eyes–blushing, flustered, but grinning–and settled back between your thighs, his hands bracing himself on either side of your hips now. The closeness allowed you a better view of him, and you didn’t waste the opportunity.
Your gaze drifted downward. His boxer briefs were tented–straining. You could see the thick outline of him pressed against the fabric, the darkened patch of wetness at the tip where he was already leaking.
Your hand slid slowly down the middle of his torso–over the soft rise and fall of his stomach, the faint ridges of muscle, the trail of hair beneath his navel. Bob held perfectly still, his breath shallow, watching you.
When your fingers ghosted along the inside of his waistband, just above the swell of him, he sucked in a breath through his teeth.
“Tease,” He muttered, voice tight.
You didn’t deny it.
Instead, you slid your fingers a little deeper. Tugged the fabric down just enough to expose him.
He sprang free with a soft, needy sound escaping his throat.
Your eyes widened slightly.
He was
Big. Thick, flushed, already glistening with precum. The head was ruddy and swollen, shiny with need, and your stomach fluttered at the realization that he’d gotten like this just from pleasuring you.
He looked desperate.
You wrapped your fingers around him slowly, your palm sliding up his length with soft pressure. His breath hitched immediately, head tilting back slightly. His glasses slid another fraction down his nose, but he didn’t move to fix them–just closed his eyes for a moment, his chest lifting in a shallow, shivering inhale.
You stroked him again–long, slow, deliberate. Your grip was just firm enough to make him twitch, your thumb swiping over the slick bead at his tip.
His hips bucked. He gasped, and then let out a shaky laugh.
“Sensitive?” you murmured, lips tugging into a knowing smirk.
Bob’s head dropped forward a bit, cheeks flushed to hell. His voice cracked slightly.
“N-no
Anticipation.” He corrected jokingly, using your own words against you.
You laughed softly. So did he.
But you didn’t stop.
You kept stroking him, slow and sensual, your hand gliding up and down the length of him, savoring every tremble in his thighs, every shift in his breath, every twitch of his fingers against the mattress beside you. He was fully braced now, arms trembling slightly as he rocked into your touch.
His voice came out thin, frayed at the edges.
“I’m really
Really not gonna last if you keep doing that, and
” He swallowed hard, voice dropping to a whisper, “And I really do want to have sex with you
”
His eyes met yours. Wide. Pleading. Vulnerable.
Like he wanted to say more but couldn’t figure out how.
You leaned up slowly, hand still wrapped around him, lips brushing his ear.
“No need to beg
” You whispered, voice thick with heat. “But if you want to come inside me, Bob
Then you better hurry up and get these off.”
His whole body jolted.
A groan–low, raw, helpless–escaped him.
His boxer briefs were gone a second later. Pushed down and kicked away without a single thought, like he couldn’t bear another second of distance.
He came back over you with reverent slowness–climbing the length of your body like he was rediscovering it inch by inch.
His bare chest skimmed yours, warm and solid. His hips dipped low, the hard length of him brushing against the inside of your thigh, and your breath hitched at the contact.
“God,” he whispered, voice raw as his lips brushed against your neck. “You feel so good already.”
You arched into him just slightly, your hands finding his shoulders–broad and warm beneath your palms, still trembling faintly from restraint. His glasses were fogging again, slipping lower, but he didn’t seem to notice. Didn’t care.
He kissed the side of your neck.
Then your jaw.
Then your cheek–lingering there with a kind of gentleness that made your stomach twist.
And then he kissed your mouth again. Slow. Sweet. Deep.
You moaned softly into him.
The tops of his thighs pressed flush to the backs of yours now, his cock resting heavily between your legs–leaking precum that smeared slightly against your inner thigh as he shifted to fit himself against you perfectly.
His hand rose to your cheek, cradling it, thumb stroking lightly against your skin as he pulled back just enough to speak.
“You sure?” He asked softly, voice shaking with the weight of everything he was holding in. His eyes searched yours, pupils blown, cheeks flushed.
You nodded. Slow. Certain.
“I’m sure,” You whispered. He let out a shaky breath, then he reached down between the both of you, eyes never leaving yours.
You felt the warm glide of his knuckles against your folds first, then the soft, slick drag of his cock as he slowly ran the tip of himself through your arousal.
Your breath caught.
He swirled it over your clit once, twice–just enough to make your thighs twitch.
And God, the way he looked at you while he did it.
Eyes locked. Lips parted. Worship written into every line of his face, made you feel dizzy.
“You’re so wet,” He murmured. “You feel
Unreal.” You whimpered, your nails digging lightly into his shoulder as your other hand wrapped tighter around his bicep.
“Bob
” You whispered, voice already trembling. “Please.”
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips–soft and slow and steady.
Then–finally–he began to push in.
You both moaned.
The stretch hit immediately, slow and burning, a delicious ache that made your spine arch and your mouth fall open.
“F-fuck,” Bob gasped, his forehead dropping briefly to yours as he sank in inch by inch. “God, you’re–you’re so tight. So warm. You feel so good
Wow
” Your hips shifted, trying to take more, and his hands immediately gripped your thighs, grounding you.
“Easy,” He said, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I got you. Just breathe.”
You nodded, your head swimming.
He pushed deeper.
You could feel every inch–every throb of him, every shudder in his breath as your walls stretched around him.
“Just like that,” He murmured. “Doing so good. Taking me so well.” You whimpered, and the sound cracked open something in him.
“You like that?” He whispered, kissing your cheek again, his hips rolling just the slightest bit deeper. “You like hearing how perfect you feel around me?”
“Yes,” you gasped. “God, yes, Bob–keep talking–please–”
“Fuck,” He breathed, his voice breaking again. “You’re gonna kill me.”
He rocked forward the last inch with a soft, helpless moan. Your body trembled beneath his as you adjusted, your thighs hugging his hips, your hands gripping him tightly. Bob groaned into your neck, voice ragged.
“God
You’re perfect. I swear, you’re–Jesus, I don’t even know how to describe this–” You turned your head, catching his mouth again in a deep, desperate kiss. You could feel him trembling above you, his muscles taut, breath stuttering with the effort of staying still.
“You feel so fucking good, Bob–so full–so deep–” His breath hitched.
“Say that again,” He whimpered, “Please.”
You kissed his neck, your voice thick with heat.
“You fill me up so good
God it feels amazing.” Bob let out a deep moan.
Then he began to move.
Just a tiny thrust at first–barely pulling out before pressing back in, the friction slow and hot and devastating.
Your mouth fell open.
His lips ghosted over your cheek as he whispered, “Gonna make you come on me just like this
” Your back arched at the words, your cheek bumping against his glasses. “You like the sound of that?” He added. Your fingers curled into his shoulder blades, nails dragging softly over warm skin as you nodded, breath catching on a moan.
“Yes
Yes, please.”
The quiet plea cracked something open in him.
He kissed you again–mouth hot, searching, needier this time–and his hips began to move.
Slow at first.
A deep roll forward, dragging his length out almost completely before easing back in, the friction molten, smooth, aching. You gasped into his mouth, your body lifting slightly to meet the next thrust. Bob groaned–low and husky–and pulled back just enough to look at you.
His pupils were blown wide, sweat dampening the hair at his temples, glasses fogging up again from your breath. Still, he didn’t take them off. He looked wrecked. Gorgeous. Reverent.
“God, you feel
” He whispered, voice thick and ruined as he rocked into you again, a little harder this time, “So good
So tight around me, baby–oh god.” Your breath stuttered. The nickname, unintentional or not, hit low and warm and made you clench involuntarily around him.
He felt it.
He swore softly–“Jesus”–and dropped his head to your shoulder, the next thrust coming sharper, more instinctual.
Your hands roamed—up his back, over the rise of his shoulders, down to his hips where your fingers dug in just slightly. He kissed your neck between thrusts, then bit gently just beneath your ear, and the second his teeth grazed your skin, you gasped.
Your body clenched again.
Bob moaned, full and broken.
“Fuck, that–You like that?” He murmured, voice hot and desperate against your ear. “You like when I do that?”
“Y-Yeah,” You whispered, trembling, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You feel so good, Bob
You’re hitting every part of me.”
He groaned–long, low, filthy in how soft it sounded. His hips began to move faster now, deeper, each thrust dragging a moan from your throat, and his hands slid beneath your thighs, hiking them higher around his waist so he could sink in even further.
“God, you’re perfect,” He praised. “You’re so perfect for me. Every inch of you–I swear–fuck–”
Your head fell back against the pillow. You were gasping now, barely able to respond, but you tried. You wanted him to hear it. You wanted him to know.
“You’re so good at this,” You panted, voice trembling. “So good at making me feel good–God, you’re incredible, Bob–”
His whole body stilled for half a second, as if praise struck something too deep.
Then he moved faster.
A rougher thrust–still controlled, still measured, but heavier now, thicker with want. He let out a moan against your neck, raw and hot, and your back arched at the sound.
You could feel him everywhere–his chest brushing yours, his lips at your throat, his hands gripping you tight like he needed to feel every part of you at once.
You cried out, hips lifting into his, clenching around him with every thick, slick stroke. He felt it. Groaned again. Slid one hand up your body to cradle the side of your face.
“Look at me,” he breathed, voice hoarse.
You did.
And the second your eyes locked, his pace stuttered–just for a heartbeat–like the sight of you, soft and dazed and open beneath him, was enough to make him lose rhythm.
Then he started thrusting again. Deep. Steady. Hot.
“I want you to come on me,” He whispered, voice cracking with the weight of it. “I want to feel you come again–want to hear how good it feels.”
Your lips parted. Your thighs trembled.
“Bob,” You gasped, desperate now. “You’re so good–please don’t stop–please–”
He kissed you again. Deep. Desperate. All tongue and breath and heat. His thrusts got heavier, faster, until you could feel your climax curling up your spine like a fuse.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” He murmured, hips stuttering with restraint. “I can feel it, baby
 You’re so tight–so fucking wet–come for me–please–“
You shattered.
With a cry that broke in the middle, your walls clenched around him, waves of heat and release rolling through you so hard your vision blurred. Bob moaned your name–ragged, reverent–thrusting into you a few more times before he groaned loud against your shoulder and came with a shuddering, broken gasp. Bob’s entire body tensed as he came–his cock pulsing deep inside you, hips stuttering against yours in involuntary thrusts as thick, hot ropes of cum filled you.
You felt everything.
The way his muscles tensed above you, taut and trembling. The low, broken sound he made as he buried his face in your neck. The way his arms curled tighter around your waist like he needed to hold onto something to stay connected to consciousness
“F-Fuck,” He choked out, hips giving one more weak, slow push. His release was hot and endless, spreading warmth low in your belly as his body finally started to give in. His breathing was ragged, the heat of it ghosting over your skin. He didn’t pull out right away.
Didn’t move at all for a long moment.
Just slumped forward, his bare chest sticky against yours, the last tremors of orgasm still rolling through him. His forehead pressed into your shoulder, and you felt him exhale with all the weight of a man undone.
Even the frames of his glasses were warm.
You let your arms slide around his back, hands splayed wide across the muscles there, sticky with sweat, anchoring you both. The only sounds in the room were your shallow, echoing breaths, and the soft hum of a distant hallway light buzzing just outside your dorm door.
Bob’s weight against you felt right. Heavy in the best way. Settled. Natural.
Your fingertips traced slow, thoughtless patterns over his back as you both lay tangled together, letting the afterglow settle around your limbs like warm syrup. Your heartbeats synced slowly–yours still fluttering, his gradually calming.
And then–
He shifted.
Lifted himself slightly on one trembling arm, the other brushing your hair back from your forehead. His cheeks were flushed, his lips pink, and his glasses crooked beyond saving. His smile was dazed. Soft. Glowing.
He leaned in and kissed you again. A soft kiss. Lingering. The kind of kiss that said thank you, and also more, and also stay.
When he pulled back, still breathless, still inside you, he murmured:
“We’re gonna have to start going to the library to study.”
You blinked. Confused. Flushed and blinking at him through the haze, your breath still catching a little in your throat.
“
Why?” You asked, voice hoarse but amused, one hand reaching up to gently smooth the short, light brown strands of his hair that were now sticking out in every direction.
His smile widened–lopsided and boyish, just a little cocky.
“Because we’re never going to get any studying done if we’re near a bed
” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “The temptation will be too strong.”
You laughed–light, breathless, your chest shaking under his with the sound.
“Well,” You teased, trailing your fingertips down the curve of his back, “There goes that positive reinforcement idea, then.”
Bob leaned in and kissed your cheek. Then the tip of your nose.
“I’m sure we can figure out a replacement,” He replied, “Something that can be done in public spaces.”
You burst out laughing.
He did too.
And you stayed like that–wrapped up in each other, laughter echoing soft and breathless into the quiet room.
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k1tk4ttt · 1 month ago
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dontpulloutman · 2 months ago
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7 minutes of lewis & yn talking about each other
singer!yn x lewis pullman (more) a/n: i have maybe 2 more singer!yn wips + 1 owen taylor wip. i'm super busy this week so i'm not sure when i can post those uhhh pls be patient w me ty ily i hope u like this
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The video begins with the oldest; it’s Lew seated in an interview with Jay and Monica to promote Top Gun: Maverick. “So, it’s safe to assume that all the flight training and exercise needed to stay in shape must take many hours. Who are your favorite artists to jam out and work out to?”
Lewis can’t hide the way his lips quirk, “Recently, I’ve been listening to a lot of Y/N.”
From the corner of his eye, he can see the way Monica and Jay look at him. Knowing glints in their gazes.
“Really?” the interview asks, “I didn’t expect that.”
“No, yeah. She’s great.” Lewis smiles.
“She’s really great,” Jay adds. Monica tries to subtly hide her smile behind her hand.
“I jam out to Bad Blood on the treadmill.” Lewis comments, cheeky smile plastered on his face before Monica changes the topic.
“Muses & Anecdotes, congratulations on the new album!” The radio talkshow host exclaims. Seated across from him, you smile. “Thank you so much!”
“It’s doing really well. All thirteen tracks on Billboard’s Top 20. How does it feel?”
“It feels amazing. I had some doubts about releasing an album entirely on my own again, but I was encouraged by some very close friends and I decided, ‘Hey, why not?’. Luckily, it’s working out so far.”
“It’s more than just ‘working out.” The host teases, and you let out a little laugh. “So, speaking of ‘muses & anecdotes’, can we perhaps have an explanation to what ‘muses’ and what ‘anecdotes’ mean? Not the Merriam-Webster definition, but the YN LN definition.”
You let out another laugh. Letting out a hum, you think of how to phrase your answer.
“When I first started to conceptualize the album, I knew that it would encompass thoughts and feelings of certain events over the course of six years. Anecdotes quite literally means an account of an event that is
 amusing or interesting.”
“And what does ‘muses’ mean to YN LN?”
The host eyes you, you catch the humor on their face.
“You know what it means, Rich.”
“I don’t! Promise!” the host is laughing.
“All of the songs in this album are inspired by and dedicated to a special person in my life.”
“That person being
?”
“Oh, stop it," you joke with a roll of your eyes.
The next clip is of a red-carpet interview for the premiere of Thunderbolts. Front and center of the video, Lewis is talking into a mic, he’s grinning at the question the interviewer asked him.
“My muse is here,” he’s grinning, head turning quickly to the side, down the aisle where you’re engaged in another interview of your own.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” the interviewer starts, “But is this your first red carpet together?”
“Yes, it is,” Lewis confirms, “This is
 Coming to an event like this has been something we’ve always wanted to do together, but it never really worked out in the past. I’m just happy we’ve finally done it.”
“How do you think YN will react to The Sentry?”
“Oh, I think she’ll hate him. I sent her pics during filming. She absolutely hated the hair. She’s in love with the Void, though.” Lew lets out a small laugh, mind recalling the texts you sent him when the trailer released.
“That was unexpected!”
Lewis gives a wink to the camera, “She loves his hair more.”
“I’m so excited. I’m such a huge fan of everybody, and Flo is one of my closest friends in Hollywood. I just — I can’t wait to see the whole film!” The next clip is YN on the same red carpet, with the same interviewer.
“And of course, you’re here for Lewis too?”
“Yes, of course,” you cut yourself off, turning your head to look for him, “Where is he? — Oh, there.” You see him ahead of you in the press line, talking to another interviewer. “I told him the reason I came today is to see the Void. I love his hair.”
“Lewis told us awhile ago. Not a fan of the blonde?”
“I am! Just
 I love the Void more.”
The next clip is a little blurry, taken under the dim lights of your most recent concert. The camera is focused on the stage, where you’re dancing to ‘Dress’.
I woke up just in time, now I wake up by your side
My hands shake, I can't explain this ah, ha, ha, ha
Say my name and everything just stops
The camera turns to where Lewis is watching you from the VIP tent, it zooms in on his face, his smile, and how he whispers your name, before the beat starts up again.
I don't want you like a best friend
Only bought this dress so you could take it off
Take it off
“I feel so lucky to know her.”
The final clip is from a Zoom interview, Lewis is leaned toward the camera of his laptop, a lazy smile on his lips, “She’s my best friend, my biggest supporter.” This whole press junket, ever since the two of you went public with your relationship, questions about your relationship never fails to be brought up at least once. He never gets tired of talking about you.
Comments (274)
ally_browne PARENTS
falsedg0dz yn cant stop yapping abt lewis she released bonus tracks of muses n anecdotes OUT OF FUCKIN NOWHERE???
lewpulledman this is the first celeb couple where i feel like they really like each other
bobonboard girlie cant stop singing abt how in love and horny they r for one another
l0vedstory hard launching at 6 years 
. we couldve had 6 yrs of them doing this
ynlewtruther I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT YN’S ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW
millsjules wait why? ynlewtruther she wrote some songs at lewis’s montana place and she said in the interview that she realized he liked her back when she walked in on him playing “snap out of it” by arctic monkeys on the drums dfhgjkdfhg milesjules WHAT???? thats hilarious
voidedyn yn 
 lewis 
. me 
. sabrina carpenter paris juno position
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the-shedevil-writes · 18 days ago
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A Night to Remember (Bob Floyd x Reader)
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DESCRIPTION: When Phoenix sets Bob up on a blind date with one of her closest friends, he’s already nervous. So when he finds her to be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, he’s convinced he’s out of his league. But as the night unfolds, he starts to realize they may work together better than he ever expected. WORD COUNT: 3.7k WARNINGS: Super fluffy. First date/Blind date! Reader is a big nerd- D&D and comics. Nervous Bob. Kissing. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!
Bob sat with his thigh anxiously bouncing in the booth at The Hard Deck. In a white polo tucked into a pair of black slacks, he held a small bouquet of daisies mixed with a few other light blue flowers. All at the advice of Phoenix, of course, who sat in front of him currently.
“You’re gonna be just fine.” She said, looking down at her phone to check. “I’m telling you, Bob. You’re gonna get along.”
When his pilot had come up to him, saying that she was setting him up, it was like she had experienced a stroke of genius and needed to experiment. She told him that she was setting him up with one of her close friends who had recently moved to San Diego. And that just made him all the more nervous. What if things didn’t work out, and now Phoenix felt awkward bringing her friend around? Or what if things didn’t work out, and now Phoenix felt weird around HIM? 
Bob didn’t exactly have the most experience with dating. He took a girl to prom once and went on a date or two after enlisting, but nothing ever came out of it. Next thing he knew, he was 30 and he felt like he was falling behind all his friends who were either getting married or had at the very least a boatload of experience. This blind date felt like walking into a minefield.
“Do I look alright?” He asked with wide eyes
“You look like your usual dorky self.”
Then her phone chimed, and Bob’s head whipped over to it. Phoenix looked and nodded. “She’s here. I’m gonna walk her in then
 It’s all up to you, bud.” She tapped the table excitedly as she got up.
“Don’t say that.” Bob groaned, nervous out of his goddamn mind. 
As she left and walked out the front doors, he looked down at the flowers that he had gotten. According to Phoenix, she liked blues and pinks. But they didn’t have any pink flowers
 He hoped they sufficed. He gently moved some of the flowers with bent stems and fixed the arrangement so nothing was falling out. 
After a moment, he looked back up and saw Phoenix open the door for someone. Her. His jaw dropped slightly, and he suddenly understood why Phoenix refused to show pictures. If he had seen pictures, he would’ve believed it was some kind of prank. She was gorgeous. She wore a simple, white dress with a square neckline that fit snugly on her figure. Her hair was down, and it gently blew in the beach breeze, then settled as she walked inside. His eyes traveled down her legs to see the little red heels she wore. 
Dear God, what was Phoenix thinking, setting her up with him? His entire face turned pink, and he had to force himself to manually breathe. He watched Phoenix point him out, and his date turned and smiled at him. Bob quickly scrambled to stand at her beautiful smile like he was called to attention. Should he walk to meet her? Should he wait by the table? 
But she was already walking towards him. 
“Bob?” Her sweet voice called out as she got close enough. 
He nodded nervously. “Hi.” His own voice sounded like sandpaper in his head.
She smiled again. “I’m Y/n. Phoenix’s friend.” She looked him up and down with a small smirk, and it made his heart pound in his chest. Was that a good look? Or a bad look? 
Bob put his hand out. His internal thoughts screamed at him that a handshake was entirely stupid, but she took it excitedly. Then he remembered what was in his other hand. 
“These are for you.” He said with his typical crooked smile, and he held out the flowers.
She gasped and her face lit up like a Christmas tree. He silently prayed a thank you to Phoenix. Taking the flowers in her hands, they complemented her perfectly. 
“Thank you so much. I’ve never gotten flowers on a first date. That’s so thoughtful.” She said
“Well, Phoenix helped me pick out which ones you might like.” He admitted. It felt like a dumb move to say that, but he kept to his guns. “Wanna- wanna sit down?”
She nodded and looked over at the booth before sitting down. Bob followed to sit across from her. Then he quickly realized-
“Wait! Uh- would you like a drink?” He asked 
“Oh. A water would be nice.” She smiled
“Got it.” He nodded before awkwardly scooching back out of the booth.
When he made it to the bar, he was practically hyperventilating. There sat Phoenix, who watched him with a smug smirk. Bob got the attention of Penny first. He didn’t wanna make it seem like an excuse to talk to Phoenix. Maybe he was overthinking all of this.
“Hi. Can I get a water and a Diet Coke? Actually, make that a water and two Diet Cokes. Please.” Bob said. He figured he might as well get her something just in case.
Phoenix’s laugh finally brought his attention to her. 
“You look like you’re gonna pass out, Floyd.” 
His eyes widened at her. “What were you thinking? My first date in years, and you set me up with a girl I have no chance with?” He asked quietly through gritted teeth.
She rolled her eyes. “Just. Talk to her. You’ll see.” 
Penny slid over the two Cokes and the water glass. He quickly scooped them up and walked back over to the table, looking back at Phoenix nervously.
Y/n looked up at him with eager eyes as he sat back down. 
“You like Diet Coke?” She teased him about having two.
He chuckled nervously and slid into the booth again. “I do, but the other one’s for you in case you wanted something other than water.”
She smiled. “Thank you. You’re sweet.”
The words were so simple, yet his face turned a bright shade of pink. 
She took a sip of her water, very obviously eyeing him up and down again with a small smile around her straw. After she swallowed, she started:
“So you’re Phoenix’s WSO?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I backseat for her. She’s great. Uh- she tells me that you’re her friend from school?”
“Mhm! We’ve been close friends since elementary school. All through high school, too. But then she enlisted, and I went to college. It’s been nice seeing her again.”
“What did you study?” He asked curiously. The small talk didn’t feel as painful as he had anticipated a blind date would be. She felt easy to talk to.
“Aeronautical Engineering.” She explained, “That’s why I moved here. Got a gig being a mechanic.”
Bob’s heart stopped slightly. She engineered planes- his first and greatest love. And that had to mean she was incredibly smart. Not that that surprised him. She held herself like she was.
“Wow. That’s- that’s awesome. We really owe you guys more appreciation. We get to fly cause you guys do all the math.” He said genuinely.
“I like you, Bob. You don’t gotta say all that.” She joked.
His face blushed harder, and his eyes widened. “No! No- I really mean it. It’s true. I couldn’t do what you do.”
She laughed at his nervousness and leaned forward to push his shoulder. “I’m just giving you a hard time.” She took another sip of her water and put her elbows on the table. “So, Bob, what do you like to do, other than boss Phoenix around?”
He looked down at his hands with a tight chuckle. He knew he should tell the truth. There would be no point in lying and acting like he was much cooler than he was. The conversation was going so well so far
 but he felt like he could screw it up here. He didn’t hit the gym or go partying on the weekends. He spent most of his time alone.
“Well, uh- I come here every Friday with the squadron and that’s pretty fun.” He started to clarify that he wasn’t a complete loner, “I hike sometimes. But honestly, I play a lot of video games. Like
 a lot of video games.” 
It didn’t feel like a special answer. He didn’t feel interesting in any sense of the word. But he watched as her eyes brightened.
“What games?” She jumped to ask.
“Oh uh-” He couldn’t help his stammering, “I collect a lot of retro stuff. Mostly games for the Atari. Pac-Man, Galaga, that sorta thing. But I also play the usual Call of Duty, Battlefield, Counter Strike
” He felt like he was talking too much. Well, it was more than what he’d usually say on a Friday night with the squadron, at least.
“Oh goodness, I’m so bad at FPSs.” She giggled, shaking her head, “But that’s so cool that you collect all that!” 
What. He swallowed and tilted his head, almost confused. She found that
 cool? 
She continued. “There was one summer where I spent every weekend trying to get myself on the scoreboard of the Frogger machine at the movie theater. Phoenix wanted to kill me.” She chuckled.
“Did you?” 
“Third place. Still pisses me off that I couldn’t get higher.” She said lightheartedly.
“We’ll have to play it on mine sometime so you can beat my score.” The words had slipped out so easily. An implication that he wanted to see her again. He blinked, hoping it wasn’t too forward.
But instead of seeming weirded out, she nodded excitedly. “Yes! That’d be so fun.”
Bob smiled and let out a relieved sigh. This was going so much better than he assumed it would. By this point, he figured he’d screw it all up. He cleared his throat. 
“What do you like to do besides fixing planes?” 
She blushed and looked down at her drink. “It’s a bit embarrassing.” 
“I just told you I spent my weekends playing Pac-Man.” 
With a small laugh, she shrugged.
“Well, I’m a bit of a nerd. I collect comics and love superhero movies. I could talk your ear off about them. Also
 god this is so dorky.” She started with a bashful smile, “I like playing D&D. So sometimes when there’s a campaign going on, I’ll spend my Saturday night doing that.” 
“Like dungeons and dragons?” Bob asked 
She nodded. “I know it’s totally nerdy, but it’s so much fun. Have you played?”
He blinked hard and shook his head with a smile. “No, but I’d like to.”
She just
 completely and utterly out-nerded him. He looked over at Phoenix at the bar, who nodded at him like ‘I told you so’. This felt too perfect. Too good to be true. 
Forty-five minutes later, they were both laughing in the booth. Bob didn’t want to say that he was surprised by how funny she was. But he didn’t expect to be laughing so hard that he had tears in his eyes. She was just so unapologetically herself, and that came with witty phrasing and side jokes that punched hard. After their laughter subsided, he looked at her, and it just slipped out:
“Do you wanna go for a walk?”
He didn’t want the date to end with just some colas at Hard Deck. 
“I’d love to.” She smiled, “Haven’t gotten to see the beach much.” 
He nodded and stood up from the table. After he gestured for her to go first, she walked toward the door. They both noticed the raised brow and glare that Phoenix sent their way.
“We’re going for a walk!” Y/n waved excitedly at her.
Phoenix smiled at that, seeming relieved that she wasn’t going home with him. Bob would never. He knew that taking a girl home on the first date was pretty normal these days, and he didn’t judge anybody who did. But his mother raised him to never do that. She’d probably kill him if he ever did. Knowing her, he didn’t want to test that.
“Have fun. I’m heading home.” Phoenix said as she signed her bar tab. “I’m trusting her with you, Floyd. If you do anything stupid, remember who’s controlling the jet you’re in tomorrow.” 
Bob swallowed and nodded. He wouldn’t dare. But also the threat of Phoenix doing everything in her power to make him vomit in his lap was a genuine one.
“You got it.”
Then they walked out the door.
The night beach breeze hit, and her hair swayed softly. Lit by the warm lights pouring from inside the bar, she looked gorgeous in the night time. He wished that he could photograph her. The light hit her perfectly, and the shadows enhanced her features. His confidence felt strengthened from the success of the earlier conversation/
“You look really pretty tonight.” He choked out. “I-I should’ve said it earlier, but I was so nervous. Still so.”
She froze, looking up at him with an almost shocked expression.
“Thank you.” She said, and for the first time that night, she was the one blushing and not him. It felt good to make her suddenly shy. It reassured him that
 maybe she could like him too.
Looking down at the ground, she suddenly reached out her hand. Bob looked at it and his head picked up with a small inhale. Quickly, he wiped his hands on his slacks, hoping they weren’t too sweaty. He walked forward and took her hand in his. His hand dwarfed hers just ever so slightly.
Fingers intertwined, they walked towards the beach. Suddenly, he was hyperaware of every function in his body. How sweaty his hands were. How his heart was thrumming in his chest. How his breath kept getting stuck in his lungs. And he was also very well aware of how her hand felt in his. There were small callouses that matched his- no doubt both from their lines of work.
When they reached the sand, he stepped forward in his dress shoes. But when Y/n stepped forward, her heels sank into the sand with a little ‘Oh!’ She wobbled unsteadily, and Bob quickly grabbed onto her waist to steady her. After she gained her balance again, she looked up at him. His arm was wrapped around her, and they both took in each other’s shocked faces. Until she started to laugh, and he joined softly with her.
“We can stick to the sidewalk.” He said, “I don’t wanna get your nice shoes all sandy.”
He gently moved them back to the sidewalk. She giggled and kicked her feet, letting sand pour out from her shoes.
“It’s a little too late for that.” 
His eyes widened, looking down at her red heels that were now covered in an opaque sheen of dust. “I’m sorry-”
“No, no! It wasn’t your fault.” She laughed, “Come on, I’ve barely seen the beach yet.”
The starry night sky blanketed them as they started walking again, hand in hand. He tried to look around and not stare holes into her, but he also wanted little glimpses of her every now and then. The soothing rush of the ocean waves nearby hushed over them. The night was peaceful as they were the only two people on the beach. It felt like they could be the only two people in the world.
“Some weekends, the squadron all comes here, and we’ll spend the whole day just playing football.” Bob said softly, “Phoenix is really good.”
“That sounds so fun.” She said, “There aren’t exactly beaches back in Alabama. So it’s strange to be so close. Like on the drive to work, the ocean is just there.”
“It’s nice. It’s really nice.” 
There was a gentle silence, and Bob wanted to keep talking, but then he couldn’t figure out how to continue the conversation. Luckily, the tension didn’t feel awkward. It just felt
 different. 
They walked near one of the small cliffs, and she looked to him with a thrilling look in her eyes. “Wanna go up?” 
Bob nodded, “I think there are stairs. ” 
Making their way around the other side, sure enough, there were wooden stairs embedded into the side of the small mountain. She climbed up first, and Bob drifted his eyes away to make sure he wasn’t looking up her dress. 
Once they got to the top, the breeze was slightly stronger. And she turned back to face him as he made his way up, her hair blowing with a small smile. After a brief heart attack for Bob, she looked away and looked out to the ocean. 
“It’s so pretty.”
He nodded and joined her at her side. “You should see it in the day. Or even better, in a jet. It’s great. You can see the whole stretch of beach, and the ocean goes so far back. It’s insane.”
She smiled. “Is it fun? Being able to fly?”
“Wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t.” He answered with his hands in his back pockets, taking in the view. “Though there’s the downsides. Like possibly dying.”
“You better not.” She lightly threatened with a raised brow. “I’d like another date.”
Bob’s head whipped over to look at her. Sure, he had mentioned playing Frogger earlier, but now she was initiating the idea of another date. 
She giggled at his reaction and shook her head as she looked back out at the view.
“What? Are you surprised? Didn’t think this date was going badly
 but if you think so-” She teased 
“NO!” He practically leaped forward to hold her hand again. “No.” 
She laughed and shoved his shoulder playfully again. “You’re cute.”
“I think this date is going great. Better than I thought. NOT THAT I THOUGHT IT WAS GONNA BE BAD JUST-” Bob stammered. 
Her little teases had him completely flustered and off his game. And with her looking at him expectantly with a raised brow, he couldn’t help the nervous laughter that escaped him. 
“I was scared that I was gonna mess everything up. If I’m not doing that right now.” He explained.
She took his hand and moved it to her waist, stepping closer. 
“You’re doing just fine.” She reassured, looking up at him and putting her arms on his shoulders. “You should know that
” She leaned into his ear, “I was nervous, too.”
“No way.” He scoffed, naturally wrapping his arms around her waist now.
She nodded. “Uh huh! Phoenix showed me your photo, and I thought you were so cute.”
He looked away, unbelieving. A perfect girl like her being nervous around
 Bob Floyd? That felt simply impossible. But when he turned back to face her, she was looking up at him in a way that was almost
 antsy. She took a deep breath, and her eyes had an anxious glint in them. 
Her hair blew in her face, but before she could fix it herself, Bob took his hand off her waist and gently brushed her hair behind her ear. Now he could properly see her pretty face, and he didn’t want to stop.
“Phoenix didn’t even show me a photo
” He admitted, “I think she thought that if I saw how
 beautiful you are, I’d be too scared to do this.” 
“Still scared?” She asked, coming a little closer.
He chuckled breathlessly, “Terrified.”
They both laughed, and it just happened naturally. Their faces leaned in closer to each other. She moved one of her hands from his neck to cup his cheek and pressed her lips to his. He sighed, completely relieved. It felt like if he didn’t keep himself in check, his legs would give out. He deeply inhaled her vanilla perfume, and she tasted like the Coca-Cola from earlier. The kiss deepened, and he pulled her as close as he could without completely squeezing her. When he felt her nails travel up the back of his head, he was done for. 
She pulled back softly, and he looked down at her. 
“Jesus Christ-” He murmured breathlessly.
Now that made her laugh. She leaned in again, and right before his lips, she said 
“You’re telling me.”
They kissed again, and Bob wished he could do this forever. 
They stayed out much later than they should’ve. Just walking, looking at the beach, talking, and of course, kissing each other every chance they got. A little past midnight, Bob walked her to her car. A small white sedan that was still parked at The Hard Deck.
“You okay to drive? It’s late.” He offered, standing by her door.
She nodded. “I’ll be okay. I know you gotta get up soon.” 
There was a small silence, then she added.
“I’d love to do this again.” She said softly. A tilt of hope in her voice.
Bob smiled. “Me too
 Phoenix gave me your number. We can schedule a day to play Frogger.” He had never found it so easy to talk to someone before.
“That’d be great. I’ll see you then.” She said.
He opened the driver's door for her, and that brought a smile to her face. She walked up to him and kissed his cheek before getting in.
Smack happy, he shut the door for her and waved her goodbye. As she drove off, he slowly trailed his way to his truck. He flipped the keys in his hand with a goofy smile on his face. It was like a high he’d never experienced before. The most beautiful, smart, and fun girl he’d ever met
 wanted to do this again sometime. 
He couldn’t help but punch the air with a dorky ‘Yes!’ once her car disappeared. He quickly grabbed his phone from his pocket to see a notification from Phoenix.
PHOENIX: So how’d it go?
Unlocking his truck, he texted back.
BOB: Holy. Shit. I owe you for life.
PHOENIX: I told you, dumbass. 
Once he got in the truck and shut the door, he opened his phone again. He found the number that Phoenix had sent him earlier and sent a text.
BOB: This is Bob Floyd- Text me when you get home safe. Had a great time tonight.
He was practically vibrating in his seat as he turned his phone off and started to drive home. His thigh bounced in his seat again. But instead of anxiety, it was out of sheer adrenaline. 
His phone burned in his pocket. But he’d later see the message
Y/N: Home safe. Thanks for the best date I’ve ever been on.
And he’d be too wired to go to sleep. 
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cowboybeepboop · 2 months ago
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Rescue
"Please, p-please, I want you to make me feel good."
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Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x f! Reader 
Genre: Smut
Word count: 3.8k
Warnings: Needy and whiny Bob, kind of a dom fem reader, oral m! recieving 
a/n: Sorry chat.. This is such a ramble, but I  LOVE BOB omg Lewis Pullman is on top!!! As always, send any requests you have my way! I will write for any fandom or character, but I would especially love some Lewis Pullman character requests 😛
Bob stood in the dimly lit room, a flickering fluorescent light casting eerie shadows across the sterile walls. His arms were shackled behind his back, held tightly in place by Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, a woman who radiated calculation and control.
He felt utterly isolated. No one was treating him with any kindness; he was merely an object to them, a tool to be used and discarded at their convenience. After his shift into Sentry and then the Void, she’s kept him locked up in this damn room. 
The room he was kept in was small and confined, barely large enough for him to move a few paces in any direction. The air was thick and stale, almost stifling. There was no comfort here, no human kindness. It was as if they wanted him to feel isolated and forgotten.
Bob looked around the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner. The only sound was the steady hum of the fluorescent light and the occasional clink of his shackles as he shifted his weight. He tried to take deep breaths, to keep his fear and anxiety at bay, but it was getting increasingly difficult.
While he could use his powers, he’s simply just too scared to bring out the void again. So instead, he spends his time pacing his tiny concrete room. The fluorescent light overhead flickered intermittently, casting strange shadows on the sterile walls. 
Every now and then, he would glance up to see if the light was about to go out completely. 
He was exhausted. 
Not just physically, but mentally as well. The constant fear and anxiety of being in this small space with no human contact was taking its toll on him. He could hear footsteps in the hallway outside, but no one came to visit him. 
They weren't even giving him any food.
After Valentina realized she couldn’t *use* him for what she wanted, she decided not to deal with him at all, assuming he would be too fearful to try and escape. Plus, if he did use his powers against her once again, she would just hit her kill switch. 
You'd been working with Bucky and the "Thunderbolts" to rescue Bob from Valentina's capture. This plan only works if everyone works together, which, for the most part, they've been doing pretty well, at least until you became involved. 
Creaking open the door, you hold your breath as you step into the small and dimly lit room, the sound of your footsteps on the cold concrete floor making the space feel even more claustrophobic. The room is barely illuminated by a single flickering fluorescent light above.
As you enter, you notice Bob pacing the length of the room, his arms shackled behind his back, looking exhausted and tense. He glances over at you, his eyes widening slightly as he realises that someone has entered.
"You're Bob?" Your voice is gentle while you creep over to him, eyes roaming over him, taking in his timid stance. 
Bob pauses in his pacing as you approach, his body tense and wary, but he nods slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y-yes, I’m Bob,” he says softly. He studies you warily, his eyes darting to the knife between your teeth before returning to your face.
"I'm Y/N, I'm gonna get you out of here, alright?" You slip the knife into your pocket, skillfully you begin to pick the locks on his shackles, which are surprisingly weak for being meant to hold someone with his powers. 
Bob looks at you with a mix of surprise and relief, his eyes widening slightly as you begin to pick the locks on his shackles. "You're...you're here to help me?" he whispers, his voice cracking slightly.
He watches you with a sense of awe as you work on the locks, clearly impressed by your skill. The locks seem to come undone surprisingly easily, given the fact that they're meant to hold someone as powerful as him.
"Of course, I'm here to help you." You smile sweetly at him, brushing your fingers against his shoulder, offering some comfort, waiting for Bucky's all clear signal. 
Your touch seems to momentarily surprise him, and he flinches away from it, before realising that you’re trying to help him. He gives you a small, hesitant smile back, clearly not used to any kind of human contact in this place.
As you wait for Bucky's signal, the tension in the room continues to build. Bob glances around the room, his eyes darting to the door, clearly anxious to get out of here as soon as possible.
Bucky lets you know that it's time to move, you carefully pull out your knife again, preparing for any necessary defense. "Come with me, Bob, stay close and hold onto this just in case." You hand him the blade, pulling out a small gun as both of you move toward the exit. 
Bob takes the blade from you, holding it tightly in his hand. He follows you closely as you move towards the exit, his footsteps quiet behind you. He’s clearly on edge, glancing around the room as if waiting for someone to come bursting through the door.
The gun in your hand is a reassuring presence for him, and he sticks close to your side, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of danger. As you reach the door, Bob places a hand on your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You'll p-protect me, right?" he whispers.
"I'll keep you safe," you respond gently, using your free hand to pat his hand that's resting on your shoulder before moving forward. Putting your focus back on getting him out. 
Bob nods at your reassurance, his hand remaining on your shoulder for just a moment longer before pulling away. He takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to steel his nerves as you move forward, your focus now fixed on getting him out of this place.
Together, you move through the building, keeping an eye out for any guards or obstacles in your path. Bob keeps close by your side, gripping the knife tightly as he follows you, his eyes darting around nervously.
With Bob safely in the back of the vehicle, you let out a ragged sigh of relief. The adrenaline that had been rushing through your veins starts to wear off, and you suddenly feel the overwhelming tiredness of the rescue mission catch up to you.
As soon as the vehicle starts moving, you look over at Bob, who is now sitting next to you, still clutching the knife in his hand. He seems just as exhausted as you are, if not more, his eyes tired and weary.
Brushing your fingers over his hand, you gently pull the knife away from his grasp. "You're safe now, Bob, I promise." The team knew that Val wouldn’t come after them, not with their hold over her, so it would be an easy trip back. 
Bob doesn't resist as you take the knife from him, his grip loosening as soon as your touch. He looks up at you, his eyes weary and tired, but there's a glimmer of trust there now, a hint of vulnerability that he couldn't have shown before.
"Thank you," he whispers softly, his voice hoarse. "Thank you for getting me out of there."
"Of course," you grin at him, scooting closer to his side so he can rest against your shoulder. "You should rest, close your eyes."
Bob looks at you with a tired expression, seeming hesitant for a moment. But then, as if too tired to resist, he starts to lean into your shoulder, his head heavy against your body.
He lets out a weary sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he begins to relax, finally feeling safe in your presence. "I...I haven't slept in days," he admits quietly, his words slurring slightly with exhaustion.
"You deserve some good rest, Bob." You run your fingers down his arm, attempting to lure him to sleep.
Bob's eyelids seem to grow heavier with every passing moment, his body sagging against yours as fatigue washes over him. With your gentle touch, he seems to relax further, his breathing beginning to even out as he drifts closer and closer to sleep.
He mumbles something, a single word that escapes his lips in a tired slur. "Safe," he whispers, his voice barely audible.
A few weeks have passed since you all successfully rescued Bob, and thankfully, Valentina never tried to take him back. You sigh as your training with The Winter Soldier ends in another defeat, lying against the exercise mat, you take a few steadying breaths.
Bucky stands above you, a smirk on his face as he regards your defeated form. He offers a hand to help you up from the mat, his grip firm as he pulls you to your feet.
"Not bad," he says, eyeing you up and down. "You're getting better." Despite your defeat, there's a hint of pride in his voice, as if he's impressed by your improvement.
You catch a glimpse of Bob outside the room, letting go of Buckys hand and ignoring his compliment, you practically skip over to him. "How are you doing this morning, Bob?"  
Bob looks up as you approach, a small, shy smile forming on his lips as he sees you. "M-morning," he manages, his voice soft and tentative. "I'm, uh, I'm alright," he says, running a hand through his messy blond hair. He glances down at the floor, then back up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before darting away.
"Wanna grab breakfast with me?" you grin sweetly, stretching and cracking your back. 
Bob nods shyly, a slight flush on his cheeks as he watches you stretch, his eyes darting away quickly when he realises that he was staring. He shoves his hands into his pockets, looking every bit the shy, awkward, but sweet man you're beginning to learn he is.
"Uh, yeah, that sounds nice," he replies, barely managing to meet your gaze. He's clearly trying to hide his nervousness, but failing miserably.
"Here, let's grab something from the kitchen, and then we can watch a movie in my room!" You're giddy at the thought of spending more time with him, you’ve been doing everything you can to get him more comfortable with you. 
Bob nods eagerly, his eyes lighting up at your suggestion. "Yeah, that sounds great," he says softly, a small smile on his lips. He follows you eagerly as you lead him toward the kitchen, his footsteps light behind you.
"Movie in your room?" he asks, a hint of surprise in his voice. "J-just the two of us?"
"Yeah, why not?" You grab some cereal for both of you, focused on the small task at hand. 
"Uh, no reason," he says sheepishly, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks again. "I just, uh, didn’t expect it to be just the two of us." He fidgets nervously as he follows you back to your room, his hand occasionally clenching and unclenching at his side.
You open the door for him, gesturing for him to walk in. "Well, we can keep things purely PG," you tease as you shut the door behind you, which is more a less a goal of yours than anything else. 
You find him simply irresistible; his kind, sheepish demeanor gets you weak in the knees. The two of you have never been alone in a private space very long before, so this opens up the opportunity for more than just friendly interactions.
Bob's cheeks visibly redden at your playful comment, and he lets out a small, nervous chuckle as he steps into your room. He looks around, taking in the space with a sense of curiosity and wonder. It's clear that he's a bit out of his comfort zone.
"Purely PG," he repeats, his voice cracking slightly. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, waiting for you to lead the way.
"Come sit," you plop on the bed, patting the mattress beside you. "We can find something together," your heart races as you notice the flush of his cheeks. 
Bob hesitates for a moment before slowly walking over to the bed and sitting down next to you. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his body tense and stiff as if he's afraid to get too comfortable.
He glances at you, his cheeks flushed red, as he tries hard to avoid your gaze. "Uh, sure," he stutters, his eyes darting around the room. "What do you like to watch?" he fumbles with the sleeves of his shirt. 
"I like comedy, shit to take my mind off of... Well, all of this." You scoot closer to him, reaching over his lap for the remote on the other side of him. Your breasts slightly brushing over his thighs with your swift movements. 
Bob's eyes widen and his cheeks flush bright red at the unexpected contact, and he tries hard to keep his gaze averted.
He lets out a soft, strangled noise, something between a whimper and a gasp. There's a brief moment of tense silence as he tries to recover his composure, his body completely stiff under your touch.
"You can relax, y'know," you grin as you turn the TV on, enjoying his reaction to your subtle touches. "I don't bite, Bob."
Bob blushes even harder at your words, his body slowly starting to relax under your touch. He tries to laugh it off, though the sound comes out as more of a nervous cough. "I know, I know," he stutters, his eyes flickering over to you before darting away again.
You find a random movie, glancing over to him, you question, "Is this okay?" Bob nods, his body visibly relaxing a bit more as he hears your words. He risks a glance at you, a small, shy smile appearing on his lips.
"Yeah," he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is...yeah, this is fine." He shifts a little closer to you, his thigh now lightly brushing against yours, as he focuses on the movie playing on the screen.
Butterflies fill your stomach as you notice the small gesture he makes; it's nothing crazy, but it's the first time he's really initiated anything between you since the day you met.  
Bob seems to realise what he's done, and he quickly stiffens up again, his cheeks reddening once more. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression a mix of nervousness and shyness.
"Uh, sorry, I, uh...sorry," he mumbles, his gaze darting back to the screen. 
"Hey, it’s okay! Don't worry about it at all." You both begin eating your breakfast, your eyes wandering to him every once in a while to admire his adorable features. 
Bob seems to relax a bit more with your reassurance, his body slowly unclenching as he starts to eat his cereal. He notices you glancing at him, and every time you do, he can't help but feel his cheeks heat up again.
He steals glances at you as well, his gaze darting over to you every now and then, his eyes lingering on your face for just a moment before darting back to the screen. There's a growing sense of comfortable intimacy between you two.
With a sigh, you push the empty bowl to the side, content with the feeling of fullness, you lean back on your arms with a small yawn. Bob finished eating his cereal as well, placing his bowl beside yours. He glances at you as you lean back on your arms, a slight smile on his lips as he hears your yawn.
He looks more relaxed now than he did when you both first walked into the room, his body no longer as stiff as before. "You tired?" he asks softly, tilting his head slightly to the side as he looks at you.
"Yeah, Bucky kicked my ass in there," you groan, thinking back to the morning training. "He always does." 
Glancing over to him, your lips curve into a small smile as you move to rest your head in his lap. "Is this alright with you, Bob?" You’re making some sneaky moves, which you know you shouldn’t, but fuck, the way he looks at you has your body aching. 
Bob blushes furiously as you rest your head in his lap, his body stiffening for a moment before relaxing again. He tentatively places a hand on your shoulder, his touch light and gentle.
"Yeah," he mumbles, sounding a little breathless. "I
 I don't mind." He seems surprised that you're being so close to him, but there's a hint of pleasure in his eyes as he looks down at you.
"You're so cute," you give him a slight teasing response, nuzzling into his warmth as you relax, eyes slowly fluttering shut.
Bob blushes even harder at your words, a soft, startled noise escaping his lips. He's not used to being called cute, and your teasing comment has thrown him off slightly.
He feels a pleasant shiver run through his body as you nuzzle into his warmth, and he unconsciously starts to stroke your shoulder gently with his hand. "Y-you're the one who's cute," he mumbles, his words coming out a little indistinct.
It was your turn to be flustered now, his response catching you off guard. "Yeah? You think so?" You bite down on your lip, fingers tracing small shapes into his thigh mindlessly. 
Bob seems to realise that he's made you flustered this time, and he can't help but feel a small sense of pride in it. He looks down at you, a small smile on his lips as he notices your fingers tracing shapes on his thigh. 
He subconsciously moves his hand from your shoulder to your hair, his touch light and tentative as he starts to run his fingers through it. "Yeah," he says softly, his eyes flickering away from yours briefly before returning. "I...I really do think so."
Bob's breath hitches slightly as he feels your hand moving further up his thigh, your nails grazing him, sending a wave of tingling through his body. He tries to keep his composure, his eyes darting away from you for a moment as he struggles to control his reaction.
"S-stop that," he mumbles, his voice shaky and uneven. "You're teasing me," he practically whines the last part.
"Teasing?" you question, knowing exactly what you're doing, fingers getting achingly close to his crotch. 
Bob lets out a soft whimper as your fingers get ever closer to his crotch, his eyes widening as he looks down at your hand. His cheeks are flushed red, and his words come out as strangled stutters, "You know you're teasing me."
His body is tense under your touch, every muscle coiled taut as he tries to control his reaction to your actions.
"Is it okay?" You shift slightly, lips pressing gentle kisses onto his clothed thighs. "Can I touch you, *tease* you like this?" your fingers continue their wandering, slowly inching closer and closer to his cock. 
Bob's breath hitches at the feel of your kisses on his thighs, his eyes fluttering shut as he tries to control the sensations coursing through him. His hands clench and unclench, and he can't help but whine softly under his breath.
He nods, his head tilting back just a bit, and his voice comes out as a strangled whisper, "Yes, yes, it's okay. You can, uh, you can touch me like that."
You fumble with the waistband of his sweat pants, slowly exposing his lower half, eager to taste him, to take care of him. "I wanna make you feel good, Bob..." Your lips continue their torment, but this time against bare skin. 
Bob's breathing becomes more ragged as you start to expose his lower half, his body quivering under your touch. He lets out a soft gasp, his eyes wide and fixed on you as you begin to lay kisses on his bare skin.
"Oh, God," he manages to groan out, his thighs trembling with anticipation. He wants you just as badly, his words coming out in a breathless, needy whisper, "Please, p-please, I want you to make me feel good."
You push Bob's boxers down, revealing his hardened cock. Your eyes rake over the length of him, admiring his size and girth before you lean in closer, letting your warm breath tickle his skin. 
Bob's entire body jolts at the sensation, his cock twitching in anticipation of what's to come.
You wrap your soft, warm lips around the tip of his erection, your tongue swirling around the head as you gently suck. Bob's hands instinctively grab onto the bed sheets, knuckles turning white with the effort it takes not to touch you. 
You can hear his muffled gasps of pleasure as you slowly take more of him into your mouth, your teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin. Your hands come up to gently caress his thighs, the smoothness of your skin gliding against his. 
Increasing the pace, your tongue dances around his shaft as you take him deeper, your throat muscles tightening around him. You can feel him getting closer and closer to the edge with each stroke, his hips bucking slightly as he tries to keep still.
The wet sounds of your mouth working him fill the air, mingling with Bob's breathy moans. You're thorough in your ministrations, not wanting to leave any part of him untouched. 
Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, pumping in rhythm with your mouth, your other hand gently cupping and playing with his balls.
Bob's breathing becomes more erratic, his moans growing louder as you work him closer to climax. His thighs quiver under your touch, and you know he's close. You look up at him, eyes locked with his, the intimacy of the moment almost too much to handle.
With one final, deep suck, you feel his cock pulse in your mouth, and with a strangled cry, he releases, his warm seed filling your mouth. You swallow it all, not missing a drop, the taste of him lingering on your tongue as you pull away, giving his sensitive tip one last lick before sitting back with a satisfied smile. 
Bob's body goes lax, his eyes fluttering shut as he tries to catch his breath, a blissful expression etched onto his face.
The room is filled with the sound of his heavy breathing, and the sight of his spent cock against his stomach is incredibly satisfying. You lean up to kiss him, sharing the taste of him on your lips, and whisper, "I told you I'd take good care of you."
Bob's mind is completely overwhelmed by pleasure, his body trembling beneath your touch. He can barely form coherent thoughts, his whole world reduced to the sensations you're bringing him. Your name escapes his lips in a breathy moan, and he clings to the bed sheets tightly, trying to anchor himself to reality. 
When you finally pull away, he pants heavily, his body flushed and spent. He looks up at you, his expression one of pure bliss, and he can barely manage to speak, his voice rough and low as he whispers, "You're...you're incredible."
Here’s part 2 😛
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that-one-fangirl69 · 13 days ago
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I've seen a lot of ff writers apologize for their fic being "self-indulgent" which baffles me cause like is that not the entire concept of fanfiction?????
SAY IT WITH ME FOLKS, "FANFICTION IS SUPPOSED TO BE SELF-INDULGENT"
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bluegardenn · 23 days ago
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The way I become this every time I see this man

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