#robert bob gray

[snowls-yt]

Robert Gray (Human Pennywise) Character Design for my slasher au 😳

[avianii]

Don't work with your parents- they have blackmail material in their wallets

this but with Top Gun (1986)

[jinglejails]

Robert "Bob" Gray (AKA Pennywise's non-clown form) as a stonky sewer rat. 🐀 My version has red-painted ovals on his cheeks. (●'ᴗ'●) Hope ya’ like him!

[thesightstoshowyou]

All Better

Bob Gray x F Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Noncon, daddy kink, breeding kink, medical terminology, clinic setting, blood, degradation, threats, creampie, stupid medical jokes

~~

Each day he’s in clinic, you print out the schedule for your physician. The schedule displays each patient he will see for the day, along with the type of appointment and duration.

Usually on the evening prior, you look ahead at the charts to see what the next day will bring, but yesterday’s shift had been hectic; last minute calls to schedule a blood transfusion, a STAT CT, coordinate a hospital admission. You hadn’t been given a chance to peek at the list until this morning.

A mistake.

The schedule sits innocuously on the counter, waiting for the physician, as always. You’re a competent nurse, after all.

Heart hammering in your chest, you stare at the last name on the list. God, of course, the one day you didn’t check ahead he had to show up....

Robert Gray - Physical - 60min

You’re not sure what it is about him. You can never put a finger on it, but there is something so incredibly wrong about Bob. His eyes, his grin, his speech, the way he walks.... Everything about him is wrong, rotten, vile.

You hear the heavy boot falls of Dr. Thompson as he stomps down the hall. Forcing a smile to your face, you stand, listening for any requests or orders he might have before you retrieve the first patient of the day. He scans the list, pausing at Bob’s name.

“What a way to end the day, huh?” he asks with a chuckle. You force a breathy laugh as Dr. Thompson moves away to his office. Swallowing thickly, your eyes close despairingly. Maybe you could go home sick....

It’s a whirlwind day. The third patient had required an ambulance to the hospital. The fifth needed several moles removed, all of which required sutures. An immediate MRI of the head and neck was needed for the sixth patient, a procedure which their insurance did not want to approve. DFA, nurse visit, pap smear, vaccinations, vaccinations, vaccinations. By the time 3:30 PM rolled around, you’d completely forgotten about Bob.

That is, until his name lit up in yellow on your computer screen, indicating he had checked in for his appointment.

Shit.

You glance around you, hoping to pass him off on someone else, but all your coworkers are with their own patients. You’ll have to be the one to room him.

Slowly, you stand and make your way out into the lobby. With each step, apprehension grows. Calm down, it’s just one weird guy, you can handle it.

“Bob?” you call. Immediately, you spot him across the room. His sky blue eyes are already trained on you, full lips curled up in a mischievous grin. They glisten under the fluorescents, like he’s been wetting them over and over.

Leisurely, he unfurls from his chair, standing to his impressive height and strolling across the lobby toward you. He walks with a limp...but maybe not. It’s so hard to tell with this way his gangly legs swing as he steps. Once again, he’s dressed like a man from another century; tweed slacks, suspenders, yellowing button down rolled up at the forearms, muddy dress shoes, hat clutched between spidery fingers.

The hair on the back of your neck stands on end the closer he gets, his eyes never leaving yours. You plaster a strained smile across your face as you greet him.

“How are you, Bob?” you ask, as pleasantly as you can manage, the cracking of your voice giving you away. Hastily, you lead him to the exam room. You hope to get this over with as quickly as you can.

“Well, well, old Mr. Gray has his favorite little nurse here to take care of him, so he’s good as new,” he replies in that strange, lilting voice. You see him leering out of the corner of your eye as you pull up his chart. Politely, you smile back, skin crawling frantically across your body.

“Anything in particular you want to talk to Dr. Thompson about?” you ask as you fill in your preliminary assessment. Bob tilts his head to the side as if he’s thinking.

“You know, there is something, just a little something....” he replies cryptically, his voice a sing song. You frown, look up to meet his baby blues—

Gold?

Heart stuttering in your chest, you blink several times in an effort to clear your vision. Blue, his eyes are blue. You could have sworn they’d been gold a second ago—

“Little girl’s seeing things, wonderin’ if her minds playing tricks, tricks, tricks...” Bob murmurs, his long fingers twitching in his lap. A glob of drool spills past his bottom lip, dribbling down his chin to patter onto tweed.

“W-What...?” you stammer, your breath coming in quick, little gasps, the noisy whoosh of your blood rushing in your ears. You scoot back on your stool, intending to flee the room, maybe even call security, but Bob is faster.

Spidery fingers wrap around your face, covering your mouth and nose and muffling your panicked shriek. You hadn’t even seen him move. Your own hands fly to his wrist, desperately tugging and clawing to get away, but Bob doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even flinch when your nails carve bleeding lines down his forearm.

Your eyes grow wide and horrified when he laughs, his face splitting into a manic grin filled to the brim with too many dripping needle-teeth. Animal panic surges through your veins, dosing your quivering muscles with strength.

You push to your feet, twist, rip your face out of Bob’s iron grip and let loose a piercing scream. That’s it, someone will have heard, they’ll send help—

Bob stands with you, free hand gripping the back of your head. He shoves hard, bending you at the waist and smashing your face onto the exam table. The impact knocks the air from your lungs and you’re left stunned, jarred, mouth gaping uselessly.

Just as your chest expands, function returning to shocked muscles, air mercifully flowing to straining lungs, Bob slams a hand down next to your face. You startle, a pathetic half-cry leaving your lips as exam table paper crinkles and tears.

His hand…. His hand…!

Bob’s hand and fingers have changed, morphed. His skin has darkened, digits elongated, terrible black claws now where fingertips should be. Deep grooves in plastic follow the path of the talons until they’re ripped away, shredded table fabric left in their wake.

There’s pressure against your rear and back as Bob leans over you, slick lips finding your ear, hot breath ruffling your hair. You cough, gag at the scent; rotting meat and melting ice cream all at once.

You whimper, wriggle, thrash, but he has you pinned to the table with his body weight. Teary eyes raise to the exam room door. Any second someone will throw it open and save you….

Noisy cackling in your ear jars you, makes your ears ring. Against your cheek, you feel Bob’s head shake slowly side to side in a ‘No,’ like he can hear what you’re thinking.

“Just you and Bob now, sweet pet. You and Bob Gray. Look!” As he speaks, the door swings open seemingly on its own. Your eyes widen, terror and disbelief turning your blood to ice when all you find is darkness, a void beyond the doorway. There’s no sound, no keyboard taps or phones ringing or vitals machines beeping.

Nothing. No one.

The ‘whowhatwhenwherewhy,’ the impossibility, the utter terror of such an unbelievable situation all muddle together in your racing mind until there’s nothing but buzzing. Your fear-addled synapses can only comprehend one thing: You’re alone. There’s no one coming to help.

There’s no one but you and this Thing behind you.

A gleeful giggle, a tremulous, “Now you see!” renews your panic. But there’s no where to go, no budging under Bob’s unyielding grip on your hair.

He snuffles near your ear, through your sweaty locks, sticky drool smearing across your skin as he sucks in your scent. “Pretty girl, pretty fear. So tasty. And. Wet.” That final consonant is so sharp as it pops off his tongue you wince, feeling it deep in your gut. A short, deep rumble follows his words—a chuckle—and then he’s singing, “Time for your check up, little girl.”

You squeak when that clawed hand brushes your hip, slides down the front of your scrub pants. Feather light, Bob strokes the apex of your thighs, tips of sharpened digits catching on your underwear until you’re shuddering.

Thighs shaking, it takes tremendous willpower not to buck and twist away. You’re terrified he will dig into your most sensitive flesh should you move, so instead you still, fighting the gathering wetness and tempting heat.

Shaky breaths leave your parted lips. One such breath takes the form of a mewl, your stomach dropping in shame at the sound. You grit your teeth, your traitorous tongue determined to loose more with every stroke of clawed fingers.

Bob titters; it’s a pleased, teasing sound. “Shy toy, but Daddy knows, he knows….” As he speaks, his dress shoes wedge themselves between your ankles and push, shoving your legs farther apart.

A squeal tears from your throat when claws twist, grab hold of your clothing, rip and tear until you’re bare from the waist down, tattered scrubs pooling at your feet. Tears welling in your eyes you plead, “No, no, please, don’t—

“Scared of the doctor, little treat? Nooo, noo, gonna make you feel all better. I smell something, something, something that needs examined, hmm?” He ruts his hips against your ass and it is then—face paling, terror suffocating—you notice the hardened length in his trousers.

Bob presses his mouth to your cheek so hard you feel the sharp sting of shark teeth when they dig into your flesh. Voice biting, he asks, “Think it’s that filthy cunt between your legs?” Sobbing, you shake your head, stammered pleas and garbled nonsense spilling from your mouth. All your words are drowned out by Its deafening, maniacal laughter.

Suddenly, your head is released and you hastily shove away from the exam table, only for claws to dig sharply into your back to shove you down again. You cry out, arch away, little pinpoints of blood welling up under each digit and soaking into your scrub top. Behind you, Bob ‘tsks.’

“The snack will stay still unless it wants to see its spine.” Tearfully, you nod, stabbing agony in your back holding you in place.

A snap meets your ears, then another. Bob undoing his suspenders, you realize. Twisting your head, you watch as he rips open the button of his slacks, only to quickly look away again when his thick, pallid cock springs free.

“B-Bob—

You pleadingly choke on his name, but the talons rip free from your back to wrap around your throat. Hard flesh slides between your folds when Bob leans down over you again, chilly spit trickling down your neck as he murmurs, “Daddy. Say it.”

“I-I c-can’t—

“NOW.” Claws tighten, pricking the skin of your throat, more stinging pain.

“D-Daddy!”

“Good girllll.” Bob’s hips surge forward, a strangled scream ripping from your throat as he buries every inch of his girth in your cunt. Bob hums appreciatively when your muscles spasm. They squeeze on nothing as he leisurely pulls back out, only to slam home again.

Every thrust jars you, rocks the exam table under your white-knuckled fists until it squeaks. The claw around your neck keeps your bleeding back arched and pulls you into Bob’s hips as he pops his cock in and out of your leaking hole.

Leaking…. You shouldn’t be, but you are, juices spilling down your thighs and cunt squelching loudly with each vicious thrust. Your mouth betrays you too, each snap of hips met with high-pitched keens that force their way out of your constricted throat.

Bob grunts, pants, mutters directly in your ear, “Sick little meal, needed Daddy’s help, needed treatment, hm? Its meat is flavored now, succulent,” he inhales noisily, drags his tongue through the tears streaming down your cheek, “Ripe with fear. Should Daddy take a bite? Sink his teeth in deep? Sup on the little treat’s horror?” You sob and tremble, head shaking hastily from side to side.

“No? ‘No,’ it says? This filthy little slut wants Daddy to keep fucking it instead! To fill it with seed and breed it until all it knows is how to beg and cum and float, float, float!”

The last word like a trigger, you tense, eyes crossing, world whiting out. Slick insides clench and flutter around hard, heated flesh, desperate to milk every drop of the promised seed. The unbidden orgasm is made even worse when a whimpered, “Daddy…” leaves your tongue.

A patronizing chuckle sounds in your ear, followed by a low, inhuman rumble that sends your heart into a frenzy. Bob’s hips stutter and he snarls, “Take your medicine.” Warmth fills your guts, overflows, spills down your legs and drips onto linoleum.

Gasping, quivering, dazed, you flinch when the clawed hand on your throat moves to your jaw. Thumb stroking your cheek, Bob nudges your temple with his nose. “Perfect toy,” he notes.

Without warning, he stands up straight and pulls away. No body weight to hold you to the table, your knees buckle and you crash to the floor in a puddle of spend and torn clothing.

Bob’s own clothes are righted, pants buttoned, suspenders back in place, scratches healed, hat clutched in two normal hands. No blackened digits, no claws. It’s as though nothing had changed at all.

Had it?

He crouches down before you and, fearfully, you meet his gaze. Blue eyes sparkling, buck-toothed grin stretching across his face, he holds out his hat. Bob’s movements are exaggerated as he reaches dramatically inside, like he’s performing a magic trick.

Slowly, he withdraws his hand. The stick of a lollipop is pinched between a long thumb and forefinger. Cherry flavored. You stare dumbly.

The wrapping crinkles, flutters to the floor as Bob peels it away. “Treat for a treat,” he states and pops it into your mouth.

[into-crazy]

Bob Gray nsfw thoughts

Bob Gray x Female Reader drabble

It's freaky fridayy and I've really been into Bob Gray lately. There's just something I love about that nasty old man, idk. Anyways, I had to get this off my mind. This is short and a tiny bit filthy.

Warnings- mature language, NSFW, SMUT, dry humping, choking, dirty talk, degradation, ages 18+

It had caught you off guard when Bob suddenly threw the door open and rushed at you with that angry look in his eyes. Good thing you weren't holding anything fragile, because it definitely would have slipped from your grasp. He grabbed you but you didn't know whether you should be aroused or afraid. Still completely unaware of the situation, you weren't prepared for what was going to come. You had no time to think, let alone react.

Next thing you know, you're on your back. Bob has you pinned to the ground as he hovers above you, pressing his pelvis against your own. The floor is a little dirty and dusty, you knew you should have cleaned it earlier. Guess it's too late for that now. It's all happening fast, in a hurry. Bob's restraining both of your hands with just one of his large ones. His grip is strong, you wouldn't be able to free your hands if you'd wanted to. Thrusting his hips forward, you feel how hard he is. He wasted no time in removing any clothing, from him or you. You're in your undergarments while he's still fully clothed. With his shoes on and all, he hasn't even bothered to kick them off.

You squirm around as he dry humps you roughly. His clothed, hard cock rubs against your heat, granting your clit some friction. Not enough to cum, but enough to make you moan and whimper. Quickly turning into a writhing, horny mess. Begging him to take you. To give you more. Something, anything more.

Though it's quickly become evident that Bob's focus is on his own pleasure at the moment. He is harsh and relentless as you uses you to take it. Rutting into you like an animal in heat. Breathing heavily against your slick skin, saliva dripping from his open mouth onto you. His other hand greedily gropes your body. Shifting between rubbing your breasts and squeezing your ass. His touches aren't gentle in the slightest.

Hot tears stream down your cheeks. It's torture. Your pussy clenches around nothing as you wish desperately for his fingers, his tongue, or his cock. The emptiness is becoming unbearable, you need to be filled.

"Bob- please, I can't take it! I n-need you!"

Your pitiful cries only spur him on more. His thrusts become harder and faster. Almost angry. His erection ramming repeatedly against your aching cunt. That's how he would be fucking you if there weren't any clothes in the way.

You continue begging him. "Fuck me. Please Bob, it hurts. Fuck me, fuck me!"

Bob's hand immediately wraps around your throat. Squeezing to shut you up because he's had enough of your mouth. Of your whiney complaints. "You're going to lay there and take it. Like the good, obedient whore you are. Hm, you got that?"

A pathetic squeak manages to escape your lips as you nod your head in compliance. Submitting to him without further words of protest.

He lets go of your throat to pat you on the cheek, a cruel smile creeps up his face. "Good, that's a good girl." He pants approvingly. His fingers brush away your tears and his drool. You look an absolute mess and he loves it. His eyes peer down your body. They land on your soaked underwear, his cock twitch at the sight of it. "Look at that, ha- oh you're dripping right through the fabric. Fuuck.."

His index and middle finger glide directly over that spot. Your body writhes in response to his touch. He grabs on to you and pulls you closer, holding you tightly against him. With a final thrust, his hips jerk and he cums hard. His hot, sticky seed making a mess in his trousers. Upon recollecting himself, he decides he wants to punish you because he made a mess of himself. It's your fault that he came all over himself, you are to blame for it.

He stands on his feet while you sit up on your knees. He stretches out the front of his pants to examine the wet spot on the crotch. Now you and him match. It irritates him.

"Oh ho ho, look what you did," he tsks. Grabbing you by the hair and pushing your face into his crotch. "You had me make a mess of myself. Better get to work cleaning me off."

You whine pitifully, rubbing your thighs together. "But I-I, I still need to-"

He cuts you off mid sentence. "Go on now. And if you do a good enough job, maybe I'll consider taking care of that needy cunt of yours."

[rhosmaryyn]

i wanted to draw moonica's robert gray au from youtube but might have yassified (drew him way too much like bill skarsgard) him too much i'm so sorry please forgive me;;

[violentbright]

https://pin.it/3L0zzSK

[alstanfordart]

Have some quick sketches of Bob Gray.

[grande-caps]

The Gray Man

Quality : HD screencaptures Amount :  2.950 files Resolution : 1.920 x 1.080 px

-Please like/reblog if taking!

[minilpark]

hi, welcome to my account! my name is mercedes (she/her) and i live to serve and fangirl with the people of whatever hyperfixation im on!

though i don't really consider myself a "writer" i do enjoy making little blurbs about whatever characters i am in love with!

requests are closed for hcs and ships! please read the guidelines for either before sending something in!

top gun

topgun hc guidelines

topgun ship request guidelines

dc comics

hc/blurb guidelines coming soon!

ship request guidelines coming soon!

marvel

hc/blurb guidelines coming soon!

ship request guidelines coming soon!

the gray man

hc/blurb guidelines coming soon!

[bfvbb]

When People Always Ask You Why You Drag Kids Down Sewers, But They Never Ask What’s Truly Dragging YOU down

[snowls-yt]

Pennywise

[kat330]

SWEET ‘n’ SOUR (Dec. 9, 2022)

SWEET (Good Twin)

Zimi Marlin, 5½ months old, namesake "Robert Zimmerman." Around the Martin-Lindroos home, a.k.a. Zimi Longstockings, Zimi Half-Stache, Zimi Zimmerman, Zimi White Nose, Pretty Boy Zimmerman, Zimi Big Eyes, Meister Zimmerman, and The Zimster.

SOUR (Evil Twin) *

Iggi Marlin, 5½ months old, namesake "Iggy Pop." Around the Martin-Lindroos home, a.k.a. Swagger Cat, Pugnacious Ignatius, Ignominious, Iggi Plop or the Plopmeister (always lies down with a plop), The Corsair (coarser hair than Zimi's), St. Ignatius of Pop, and The Igster.

* L'il Gangsta insisted on this disclaimer: "no snarl was that ... mid-yawn caught ... bad blurry besides ... i'm a good kitty ... at least as good as Zim is"  😺

[medicated-for-public-safety]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: IT - Stephen King Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Pennywise (IT)/Reader, Robert "Bob" Gray/Reader Characters: Pennywise (IT), Derry Residents (IT) Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Intimidation, Children of Characters, child death(s), The typical tags that come with a shapeshifting alien clown, Post-Canon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Additional Warnings Apply, Explicit Language Summary:

Your dearest Granda used to tell you so many horrifying things when you were a child, and yet you still listened to every word he said. You were the only one who would.

Now that you are an adult and he has finally passed, you find yourself in Derry, Maine to fulfill his final wish. You don't know why he wants an empty journal left at a little door that probably doesn't even exist somewhere under the old sewer system, and yet here you find yourself being guided by three young children anyway.

If only you knew what torment your actions would bring down upon you.

So I've been sitting on this for years. This story is going to be a challenge for me, and it's going to be...different.

The Pennywise I'm going for is all of the Pennywises we've encountered so far since the novel was published, and yet none of them. He'll be sort of an amalgamation of all of them, though I chose to go with the Bill Skarsgård Pennywise look after a long debate (not gonna lie, it's my favorite, appearance-wise). I've also put a lot from the book in here, but I'm trying to mix everything together in one palpable hellbeast, so please excuse the slow pace and long length of the first chapter.

Things will hopefully make more sense once the second chapter comes out.

Please bear with me!

[multific]

Memories of A Past

Pennywise x Reader

Summary: Before Pennywise became the killing clown of Derry, he used to be a simple man, your man.

Before a meteor hit, before all the blood and children cries, he used to be a simple man.

A simple man who worked at the circus. A simple man who was in desperate love with you.

He was your man.

And you were his woman.

His name was Robert Gray, better known as Bob Gray, better known as Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

Bob was the love of your life. He could make you smile all the time. He always had something up his sleeve and he loved your laugh.

Your father was against Robert. He often said you deserved better than a clown.

But you didn't care.

You married him and joined the circus. 

It was a simple life, but it was your life. Yours and your Bobby's. 

And soon, you were blessed with a child. A beautiful daughter who was loved by you and Robert.

"She has your eyes." he said as he smiled at you, tears in your eyes as you watched him with your daughter.

You had a lovely life. Robert made everyone smile with his dancing clown persona and your daughter was growing fast.

But then, something changed. One day, you could have sworn the man in front of you wasn't your husband anymore.

The man holding you during nights, the man who kissed you good morning, wasn't your Bobby.

And it scared you.

He scared you.

"You are the most precious." he often told you, whispered into your ear.

Everywhere you went, death followed. Children were dying left and right and you were extremely concerned. 

Then during the Easter Egg Hunt you had a feeling your husband had something to do with it, you couldn't confirm it though.

That evening, when you arrived home to your trailer, you noticed your husband still wearing his clown costume, he turned to look at you and you wanted to ask him. 

You needed to confront him, you needed answers. But your voice never came.

You weren't too sure what happened after. All you could recall were three bright dots, shining bright as you fell asleep.

Pennywise woke every 27 years. He woke to incredible hunger which he needed to fulfil.

He had you down in the debts. Keeping you there for centuries now, asleep, dreaming away.

Pennywise had an attachment to you. He wondered if it was because of the host he took. Taking Robert, he took his memories, and Robert's memories were filled with you. At first, Pennywise wanted to kill you, he saw you as a weakness, but he couldn't. 

And even after so so many years, he still couldn't let go of you. He kept you in your dream, so he would have you, floating.

Every time he woke up, he went to see you. His sick and twisted mind saw the beauty that you were. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek.

"You are the most precious," he whispered.

And while he was out there eating and scaring children, you and your Bob were trapped in a dream along with your little girl.

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGIARISE, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[thedroneranger]

Buzzing Romance

Robert "Bob" Floyd

Synopsis: You and Bob have always vibed, and now it's time for this budding romance to blossom.

Note: Hi, friends! I know I've been MIA around these parts. And I hate it, but priorities. Anywho, I wanted to stop by, drop this little gift and say happy Valentine's Day! And say thank you to those who continue to message, chat, tag and send asks 🖤 This fic is a companion to Vibe Check and Sending Vibes. Reading one or both will provide additional context but isn't mandatory. Enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ only, fluffy but sex toys.

Word count: 1.1k

Bob wanted tonight to be perfect. Along with dinner at a steakhouse you’d been jonesing to try, he had a beautiful bouquet of roses to give you. 

Ever the perfectionist, Bob had called his florist friend, Riley. Since Bob always made sure Riley was on the shortlist for any local Navy events, he had an open line of favors ready for redemption.  

A few days later, Bob spent over an hour in Riley’s shop, before she opened at seven in the morning, handpicking the biggest, reddest roses.

Later after work at home, Bob spent another 30 minutes adding the final touch. A 25th rose that would never die—as long as you kept it charged. He wanted to confirm that not even a petal was out of place, and the rose-shaped vibrator was well hidden so you didn’t notice at first glance. 

Meanwhile, you were at your place—a rare occasion on its own. However, you were also giddy to get glammed up and go out on a real date with Bob. The thought made you laugh. 

It was clear you and Bob were in this for the long haul, but nothing about your relationship was traditional. You’d been seeing each other exclusively—a mutual decision—for nearly a year but had yet to formally define the relationship. 

Hell, you were still discovering new things about one another. Barely a month ago, Bob found out about your culinary skills when you cooked him his favorite meal as a welcome home surprise. 

The same night he also saw you in something other than an oversized Naval Academy t-shirt for the first time. You thought Bob’s eyes might bulge out of his head when you donned a sheer nude bra and panty set embroidered with the most delicate flowers.

You were hoping Bob would have a similar reaction tonight when he saw you dressed up for something other than a work-related gala. Your gala gowns were always striking but also conservative since you were among colleagues and leadership. Secretly, you hoped Bob fantasized about what was under your garb during galas as much as you fantasized about what was under his dress uniform. 

Your phone shook you from your fantasies. Bob messaged to check that a 6:45 pickup left you plenty of time to get ready. After responding, you put your phone back on the bathroom counter to inspect your face one more time before going to your room to put on your outfit. 

Bob was having nearly the exact same thoughts about your relationship, firsts and fantasies as he stood in front of the mirror, deciding which switch shirt to pair with his slim-cut gray suit. It felt cliche, given the holiday, but he decided to go with a soft pink shirt. One last check of his carefully styled hair, and then Bob was sliding into his two-door 90s Silverado. 

Fifteen minutes later, Bob rolled to a stop in front of your rental. Flowers in hand, he strode to the front door. He poked the doorbell and waited. 

You didn’t even bother to look before you flung the door open. “Hi,” you sweetly greeted him. He nearly dropped the bouquet. Bob couldn’t help but let his gaze roam over your body. 

The sheer bodice and the low sweetheart neckline of your top had him reminiscing about his first night home from his last deployment. The silk high-waisted midi skirt and strappy heels you paired it with were the perfect compliment.

Remembering he was standing on your doorstep, Bob’s wits came about him. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you.” You chuckled. There was no way Bob’s cheeks weren’t as red as the flowers in his hand. 

“These are for you!” He gently held the bouquet out. 

Your face lit up as you used both hands to take it. “These are gorgeous! Do I have time to put them in water?”

“Of course.” Bob smiled. “I’ll get the door.” You thanked him and turned to go inside. He closed the front door and trailed you into your kitchen. 

“Here.” You gave him the bouquet back as you reached into the top of a cabinet to get a vase. While your back was turned, he adjusted the vibrator to be a smidge more obvious. “Come.” You waved a hand from him to join you at the sink. 

While the vase filled with water, you grabbed some scissors, and then turned off the faucet. Then you pulled a rose from the bunch to snip the bottom. “These are gorgeous, Bob.”

His smile widened. “I hand picked them.” You stopped to look at him in disbelief. He shrugged. You smirked as you grabbed another rose and trimmed the end before placing it in the vase. Bob watched as you continued to pick roses and diagonally trim the ends. 

Then, you saw it. You froze and looked at Bob. He was smirking. Your expression morphed to mirror his as you unearthed the rose-shaped vibrator. Your eyes flitted between him and the toy. 

“It’s kinda our thing, isn’t it?” He said with a wink. Bob placed what was left of the uncut bouquet on the counter. You also sat the vibrator there, and then wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands came to rest on your hips as he looked at you. 

“You never cease to amaze me, Bobby.” Your gazes were locked. Your fingers brushed the short hairs at the back of his neck. 

“I have to admit my intentions aren’t purely altruistic.”

“Oh?” Your eyebrow arched as he began to slightly sway you as if music were playing.

“I want to take my girlfriend to dinner.” Bob stopped moving and let his hands wander to the small of your back to pull you closer.

You bit your lip to cull the smile involuntarily pulling the corners of your mouth. “I would love for my boyfriend to take me to dinner.” You could feel the excitement in Bob’s embrace. “And afterward, I hope he’s willing to test out the gift he bought me.”

Bob’s face lit up with both a smile and rosy cheeks. He gladly accepted your lips against his and let his hand drop to cup your backside. You caught him off guard by nipping his lip when he gave you a squeeze. “Let’s skip dinner. I want to go straight to dessert,” he stated. You giggled as you uncoiled your arms from his neck and let a hand come to rest on his chest.

With a playful eye roll, you turned to the counter and finished trimming the roses. Patiently, Bob watched you situate the blooms. When you were done, you took the vase to the living room and sat it in the middle of the coffee table. While you admired your bouquet, Bob went to the bedroom to leave a single rose on the nightstand—ready to keep your romance buzzing.

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