#tutor!bob floyd

[mothdruid]

The Physics of Love - Part One

series masterlist | prologue | part two

pairing.

robert 'bob' floyd x afab!reader

word count.

2.3k

warnings.

kind of fluff, insecurities, swearing, mild sexual content, this content is meant for those who are 18 and older.

authors note.

our two cuties finally met! and they both have a few lesser than holy thoughts about each other. these two are big nerds, so let's not forget that there will be a lot of big nerd talk in this series.

A hiss passed your lips as you hurried across campus. Coffee had spilled out of the hole of the lid of your cup, searing your hand a little. You weren’t sure why you thought you had time to get coffee, but you did anyway. After a late night of studying stats you needed a little kick. What you hadn’t needed was waking up fifty minutes late. You only had forty minutes to get ready, get coffee, and run all the way to the study room. 

You weren’t sure why you agreed to a study time so early. It felt like you couldn’t say no. This guy was helping you after all. So whatever time he picked, you agreed to. You just hadn’t expected the time to be nine in the morning. There was a reason why you mainly took afternoon classes, and this ‘Bob’ guy was about to find out. 

This was going to be the first time the two of you met. It had only been emails up to this point. A rush of excitement flowed through you at the thought. The way Professor Coleman had described him to you set your expectations high. An extremely smart kid from the Carolinas who was on the path of becoming an astrophysicist, just like Professor Coleman. A part of you was worried though, wondering if he might treat you how a majority of the other douchebags in the STEM fields did. 

You quickly, but quietly, opened the door to the library and rushed to the study rooms. Once you found the room you took a congratulatory sip of your coffee before entering. The handle of the door was cold against your skin, reminding you this was the only point you could back out. After you entered that room you would be stuck, getting tutoring lessons from a genius. And if you didn’t, well, you’d be giving up your hopes of becoming a hydrologist. 

Cool air filled your lungs as you took a deep breath. Your grip tightened on the handle, turning it slowly, then opening it. 

It was quiet, save the soft rustling of a few papers. The scene itself was intriguing. A lean looking guy leaned over the study table, fingers flipping through pages of a book. He didn’t even budge to look up at you, as if you weren’t even there. So you took more time to take him in. 

He had soft brown hair that waved and curled slightly at the edges. A solid gray colored flannel covered his upper body, a white t-shirt on underneath it. Wire rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. These beautiful ocean-like blue eyes that were staring at you. 

Oh fuck.

“Oh, hi, you're the hydrologist, right?” His voice had a soothing tone to it. 

“Yeah, and you’re the astrophysics guy, right?”

He let out a little chuckle, smiling while adjusting his glasses. 

“That’s me,” he offered out his hand as he stood up, “but you can call me Bob.”

You took his hand and shook it. It was softer than you anticipated, the shake and his skin. “It’s nice to meet you, Bob.”

The corners of his lips seemed to be pulled up in another smile, making your heart flutter. A part of you wished Professor Coleman would have told you he was this cute, but finding out on your own was proving to be entertaining. The soft pink tint to his cheeks was more than amusing, giving you a small boost in confidence. You slung your bookbag off your shoulder, setting it near one of the table legs while reaching for your chair. Without warning Bob scurried around, heading for your chair. He kindly pulled it out, offering the seat to you with a gesture of his hand. 

“Oh, you didn’t need to do that,” you assured him. 

All he did was nod as you sat down, helping push your chair in as you scooted closer to the table. Professor Coleman said he was nice and patient, but someone this gentlemanly was not what you expected. You rubbed the patch of skin behind your ear, a nervous tick you had had since middle school. Bob made his way across the table, sitting down across from you. He grabbed a few loose papers, fitting them into the book he was reading. It was only after he closed the book, pushing it off to the side that he focused on you again. 

“Coleman said you were having trouble with some physics?” He looked over at you, a more serious look on his face now. 

The pink tint to his cheeks had evaporated from his skin. The pad of your middle finger paused, softly sitting on the skin behind your ear. The nail of your middle finger scraped your skin lightly as you brought your hand down. After placing both of your hands onto the table, stretching your fingers out lightly, giving him an awkward look. 

“It's not really just some physics,” you broke an awkward smile, “it’s more like most of it.”

Bob raised an eyebrow at you. 

Yeah, you knew it was a lot. A part of you panicked, wondering if he was going to back out now. Or even make a comment about how physics tended to be harder for ‘your type’. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to say that, but men had surprised you before. 

“Okay,” Bob made a contemplative frown, “what physics are you good with?” 

There was a flutter in your chest. This was different. He was different. No one had ever asked what you were good at before, especially with the subject you struggled the most with. The closest thing you had got was Professor Coleman encouraging you after barely passing an exam. 

“I wouldn’t really say I’m good at any of it, more like what I’m okay at.” You offered him an awkward smile. 

“Okay, what are you okay with then?” Bob crossed his fingers, hands settled on the table. 

God, those hands were gorgeous. You thought everything about him was gorgeous, but his hands were an exceptional characteristic. The way they flexed in the slightest while he was flipping pages earlier. Veins prominent and begging for your attention. Your mind wandered for a moment, wondering what his hands might feel like to be all over your body. Roaming and grabbing at the expanses of your skin. You pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind, then slowly pulled your fingers in to form a soft fist. You knocked your knuckles on the table lightly before responding. 

“Fluids and thermals,” you looked at him with a more serious look this time, “basically the only stuff that’s needed for my field of study. Or at least the stuff that I might use.” 

“I can work with that,” Bob smiled as he adjusted his glasses. 

A part of you panicked. What did he mean he could work with that? 

“What do you mean?” You couldn’t help the concern that bled into your tone. 

“Oh I, nothing, just trying to get an idea of what I’m going to study up on.” Bob said. 

Bob’s cerulean eyes stared into yours, a sincere look settled on his features. You could tell he was being earnest, no malicious intent behind his words. You hadn’t noticed the tension in your shoulders until then. Your guard was up and he just happened to be the one caught in the crossfire. His eyes flicked down to your hands, curled in fists. His hands parted, laying them palm flat on the table. 

“Why geology?” Bob asked with a smile. 

It seemed out of left field, but it helped to relieve your tension. Physics was the last thing on either of your minds for the rest of the session. The next two hours were filled with sips of your coffee and bouts of laughter. You spouted on and on about how even though the world always bounces back, we still need to put in the effort to maintain it while the human race is here. By the time you left you felt relieved, ready to trust Bob with teaching you the ways of electric currents and quantum physics. 

-

Bob felt like the breath had been knocked out of him from the moment you walked in the study room. Your disheveled appearance, backpack haphazardly slung over your shoulder, and coffee cup in hand was breathtaking. He didn’t mean to be awkward, but it couldn’t be avoided. Bob knew that he had always been awkward. So when Professor Coleman approached him for a tutoring opportunity, he was a little shocked. But he knew that Professor Coleman trusted him, so he would put his best efforts into this. 

Which was a little hard at first. Bob was so taken with you, wanting to know everything about you. He couldn’t help resist the urge to get up and get your chair for you, mentally kicking himself for such an odd gesture it came off as. He had barely known you for two minutes and he was already acting awkward. 

Bob could tell you were a little on guard, especially after the chair incident. The way your shoulders had tensed when he asked what type of physics you were good at. He wasn’t trying to shame you or anything of that nature, god no. He just needed to truly know what parts of physics you were decent with. It would allow for him to brush up on some of the other subjects he hadn’t used in a hot minute. Yeah, he was an astrophysics grad student but that didn’t mean he used all types of physics daily. 

Then he asked the fateful question of ‘why this degree’. 

Bob had been fascinated with space since he was a young child. Growing up he was gifted lego rocket sets for christmas, a telescope for his birthday, astronaut ice cream randomly. He had his eyes focused on being an astronaut as a child, but that all changed in middle school. After a field trip to a nearby museum with a space exhibit, he realized that being an astronaut wasn’t for him. He didn’t want to go to space, he wanted to be the person sending people to space. Being able to understand space enough to build something and have it survive the vacuum of space? That was the true dream. 

Hearing why people choose their degree and field of study always interested Bob. From his friend Mickey picking world languages to ‘bridge the gap’, or Bradley picking political science to travel the world, or Nat chemistry because it just clicked for her. But no matter who it was, they always had a compelling reason for him. Yours was the most compelling by far. 

Minerals and rocks had always fascinated you, but water? The way it was all interconnected? Now that was your favorite thing, and it was captivating to Bob. The way you talked about how you knew you had been spoiled growing up in the Great Lakes region. Fresh water being so abundant that the idea of a drought or water shortage had never crossed your mind. Bob could feel your passion ebb and flow as you spoke about it more and more. 

Bob had to take geology for his undergrad, but nothing in depth. Hearing you talk about a section of science he was familiar with but not completely knowledgeable of was exciting. All the gaps from his class years ago were being filled. Water was so simple yet so complex. They way you animatedly talk about it, making barely decipherable diagrams with your hands, trying to explain to him in the best way. It was cute. 

Bob flushed at the thought. Only to be saved when you checked your phone. That led to him checking his own, realizing you two were five minutes of the allotted study time. 

“Ah shit, I’m sorry I used up all the time,” you apologized while getting out of your chair. 

“It’s fine, I wasn’t keeping track of the time either.” Bob grabbed his books, placing them in his backpack. 

He watched you stand up, tossing your coffee cup in the wastebasket then tossing your bag over your shoulder once more. Bob couldn’t help but stare at you, focusing on more of your features. The way the harsh fluorescent lighting made you glow like an angel. The college campus sweater you had on must have been one size bigger, creating a little bit of a baggy look. The way your athletic leggings were hugging your legs, making his mind wander slightly. He wanted to know what your legs might look like uncovered, potentially wrapped around his waist too. 

Bob looked away when his eyes flicked back to yours. He still had to give you his number after all of this too. He scratched the back of his neck, “Can I give you my number?” 

“Oh yeah, of course, I meant to ask you for it earlier,” a big smile pulled across your lips. 

Bob felt his heart swell when you smiled. Bob took your phone after you offered it to him, typing his number in under the new contact layout. You took it back from him, adding a little pair of glasses after his name unknowingly to him, before typing out a small text. 

“There I sent you a text.” 

Bob checked his phone seeing a new text notification. 

“Got it,” Bob said with a smile. 

“So, I’ll see you next time?” You asked. 

“Yeah, you’ll see me next time.” Bob answered. 

He watched you leave the study room before he grabbed his own book bag. He placed a strap on each shoulder, making sure his bag was secured to his back before leaving. He made his way out of the library and into the hallway, heading to meet with Professor Coleman. Before he walked into Coleman’s classroom he checked his phone to properly read your text. 

hey starboy

Without a second thought Bob created your contact, adding the wave emoji after your name.

taglist:

@wkndwlff

@thedroneranger

@callsign-sprout

[em1i2a3]

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!)

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.

[goosewithtwoos]

OIL AND WATER

pairing: Bob x Reader

Summary: Your days at the Naval Academy were stressful. You needed some stress relief

"Floyd." You groan as he pushes his thigh between yours.

The two of you had been studying for your midterms in the library, numbers slowly blurring together as your eyes began to close.

Mathematics had never been your strong suit. You had enlisted in the Marines after highschool, did two years and then transferred to the Academy. It had been too long since you'd looked at a math problem and it was biting you in the ass.

Floyd, on the other hand, was a genius when it came to arithmetic. He had offered to tutor you and you had graciously accepted.

That was also how you found yourself in this current predicament.

Putting the textbooks back on the shelf had led to Floyd's arm accidentally trapping you in. Which led to you looking up at him, batting your lashes, and the rest was history.

You were both hungry and tired and stressed. Your life was dedicated to studying and preparing to commission, you didn't have time to do much else. But now, you were taking all the time you wanted.

Floyd's thigh was pressed right between your legs, giving you something to rock your hips against.

The friction felt like heaven. Living with two other girls meant you didn't have much time to get off. He tenses his thigh, giving you something even better to grind on.

Strong arms wrap around you, one pressing against the small of your back while the other gripped the back of your neck. It was so possessive, so needy, so unlike him. It drove you wild.

He presses you higher up against his thigh, his lips never leaving yours.

At a particularly good movement of your hips and his thigh, you gasp, eyes flying open, bodying slumping.

"Shh," He coos. "Can't get caught." He presses a kiss against the side of your mouth. The cool metal of his glasses felt nice against your flushed face.

"Floyd," You mutter. He presses another kiss against your cheek while you try to compose yourself. "Feels so good."

He hums, the hand on your back beginning to rub soothing patterns that you would later think about and think as sweet. But right now, his hands on you, your heart felt like it was going to explode in your chest.

You raised yourself onto your tip toes and he took the opportunity at your new height to lift you more, pressing your back against the shelves. You could feel the shelf beneath your ass, almost like you were sitting on it. Thank God they were bolted to the wall otherwise you were sure you'd knock them over.

It was impossible to stop your hips from moving. You had been so pent up, so long since you'd last felt someone against you.

"Fuh-Floyd." You whisper as your mind short circuts. The friction against your clit was addictive. The hand from your neck came forward to your chest, grabbing your breasts and massaging them through the fabric.

You had never been into that before but the way they fit into his hands felt so right. He moans into your mouth and the sound gave you the encouragement to get more handsy yourself.

Your hands grab his wasit, thumbs running across his abdominals. In this position, it was easier to move his hips on your own accord.

You were never one to act out on emotions like this, but with Floyd, it was easy to drop your resolve. You didn't have to be the hard ass everyone knew you as. You didn't have to hold your bearing as he kissed you like the world was soon ending.

Floyd kept you moving against him until the feeling bubbled up into your throat. Your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." You groan, head rolling back. The books behind you softened the blow ever so slightly. No amount of pain could take you away from this moment.

"That's it, that's a good girl." Bob was saying. "Come on, get yourself off on me. Good girl." He stretched out the 'o' in the final good, western accent slowly making its appearance. Your hooded eyes found his face only to realize he wasn't even looking at you, he was looking at your hips. Why not give him a show?

Your hips swivel, spelling out your name, first and last, before it became too much.

"Come on, good girl." His accent was in full swing and you felt more like he was taming a horse than talking to you.

"Floy-" You weren't able to even get his name out before his hand slapped over your mouth. It was a good thing he did because you came with a moan only a few moments after and he was able to muffle the sound.

Your eyes closed, head falling forwards this time onto his shoulder.

You felt his chest shudder as his hands gripped your ass like a vice. He pulled you up against him one last time and before you could cry out about the overstimulization, he came into his trousers.

He slowly let you down, hands moving to your waist. His glasses went askew as he placed his forehead against yours. You both were panting but it was the best feeling you've had in a while.

"Good job being quiet." He chuckles.

"Good job keeping me quiet." You reply, looping your arms around his shoulders and around his neck.

"There's uh...there's a 96 coming up soon. Want to do something?" His voice was small, like he was almost expecting rejection.

You press a small kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"As long as I don't have to be quiet."

[vivalas-vega]

Hello again! It's Syd 🥰🩷

I sent an ask a few days ago but I just saw your post about sending more so here I am! (& good luck on your journey quitting vape, you got this!! 🩷)

Here's an idea:

(Could be with bob, nat, jake, roost, it's up to you really) Reader just got home from work and starts rambling about work gossip with her partner while getting undressed to take a shower. The partner stops paying attention to the story as she lifts her shirt and takes off her pants, ogling at the brand new set of lingerie they had never seen her wearing before.

Reader is busy walking around the room gathering her skin care products & pajamas while going off on a tangent about a particularly annoying coworker. Noticing her partner isn't responding, she playfully asks "are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?", finally turning to find her lover on the edge of the bed with a dreamy look on their slightly flushed face, reaching for her as they ask "is that a new set...?"

Could be just fluffy with a hint of suggestive or smutty😌 feel free to change it anyway you want it!

hello !!! thank you so much for sending this request in and I'm so sorry that it took me an unreasonable amount of time to post !!! but, my first Bob fic ! this just screamed Bob to me, I took some creative liberties but I hope I did your request justice!

focus / bob floyd x reader

word count: 1k (short and sweet!)

warnings: a little spicy at the end but otherwise pretty pg-13!

“Bob, you home?” you asked, shutting the front door behind you as you dropped your keys in the bowl and slipped out of your heels and coat. Excitement had been radiating throughout your body, threatening to rattle you apart from the inside out the entire drive home. You were sitting on a rather juicy piece of intel you’d been counting down the seconds to be able to share with your partner… the first and usually only person you told anything and everything.

“Bedroom, honey!” You heard him call out and you raced down the hallway, bursting into the room with sheer glee written all over your face. “Good day at work?” he asked, amusement creeping into his tone.

“No, not at all actually. Remember that case I’ve been working on I regretfully cannot tell you anything about? Client withheld something major and I spent the entirety of my day reworking the whole thing… after I’d just done that yesterday.”

“Then what has you so excited?” He watched as you took off your watch and earrings, delicately placing them in their respective homes atop your dresser. The book he’d been reading was abandoned the second he heard your voice echo throughout your shared home. If you were even remotely in his presence there was nothing else that could hold his focus, not that he would have wanted anything else to take precedence over you anyways.

“So, in the break room today I overheard something I definitely wasn’t supposed to, regarding a certain coworker and her husband.” you started, eyebrows raised as you watched the excitement on his face mirror your own as he shifted down the bed to listen with rapt attention.

“Please tell me this is about Denise,” he almost begged. This particular saga of workplace drama was a personal favorite of you two.

“Oh, is it ever. She was on the phone with her husband in very hushed tones arguing about the pick up and drop off schedule for their kids when she suddenly said ‘this has nothing to do with him’.” you continued, placing your blazer in the hamper.

“Him, as in the kids tutor, right?” he asked and you nodded. 

“Mmhm,” you confirmed. “But the real pièce de résistance of this story is who made an impromptu stop by the office today… with flowers.” You’d already discarded your silk camisole and were sliding your favorite slacks off… a beautiful shade of emerald green fitted perfectly to your body before flaring out and creating the illusion your legs were a mile long. They weren’t just your favorite though, and you were completely unaware of the way Bob’s eyes tracked their movement down your curves into their puddle on the floor where you bent over to pick them up and he suddenly felt as if the room had gotten warmer.

“Is that so?” he asked, while his attention was hung on your every word a few moments ago, if you’d asked him any follow up questions on what you’d just said he’d have no response… he was far more interested in the black lace adorning your body, particularly in the fact that it was unrecognizable to him.

“Mmhm,” you hummed again, still blind to the way your boyfriend was looking at you as you moved around the room, lost in your after-work routine of shedding your work persona before your shower. “It’s as if she’s unaware of the fact that we all know, or maybe she is aware and just doesn’t care. It’s incredibly ballsy. You know, I actually like her husband, of course I know nothing of their home life and I know better than anyone the public façade can be polar opposite from the reality behind closed doors but he does seem like one of the good ones.” You’d paused for his response, expecting agreement or a snarky quip but when you were met with silence you turned around to find his eyes far lower than you anticipated. “Bob? Are you even listening to me?” you asked, pretending to be annoyed but really you were anything but as you saw the lovesick look on his face.

His head snapped up, eyes wide like a man caught, “sorry sweetheart, I just… is this a new set?” he asked, swallowing harshly as his hands reached out and caught your hips, tugging you to stand in between his legs. He was looking up at you with pure adoration, the kind that knocked all the air from your lungs and rendered you almost speechless. Your first meeting by chance at the Hard Deck all those months ago had done nothing to prepare you for the man before you… timid glances and bashful smiles, earnest conversation and a chaste kiss to your cheek after walking you to your car. There was nothing timid or bashful about him now, nothing chaste about the way his fingers trailed up your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake as his eyes raked your form, fire burning within those blue eyes.

“It might be,” you teased, moving to straddle his thighs and his arms were quick to cage themselves around you, locking you in place and keeping you from falling backwards.

“And you expect me to give a damn about Denise when you’re parading around this room looking like this?” he asked, pressing kisses along the column of your neck.

You gripped his jaw, pulling his face back and forcing him to look at you. “You’re damn right I do.” you shot back, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

“My apologies, ma’am, but I’m afraid your beauty is a bit distracting.” he replied, pulling your hand away and kissing the inside of your wrist. “Besides… I think my attention would be better served elsewhere.” he added before continuing his path up your arm and to your collarbone where you couldn’t help but tilt your head back, a soft sigh falling from your lips.

“I think you might be right,” you agreed, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling his head back to press your lips to his. The previous topic was entirely forgotten now with your excitement channeled directly towards the man beneath you… the one person you wanted to share everything with and the one person who could make you gladly abandon anything and everything for.

taglist: @callsignspirit @thegodessc @failuretothrivestuff @olliepig @cruelmissdior @underaveragefangirl @grxcieluvr @amatswimming @camilaricci @nolita-fairytale @dempy @pinkpantheris @aviatorobsessed @tiredqueen73 @pono-pura-vida @binnieslove @nik2blog @waklman @abaker74 @halstead-severide-fan @percysaidnever @memeorydotcom @eli2447 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @Genius2050 @stargazer-88 @chloeforde @kmc1989 @casa-boiardi (if your name is struck through it means I couldn't tag you, sorry!)

[be-co-me]

Masterlist

My Hero Academia

Shouto Todoroki

Undercover Hero: TW/CW: Self-Harm (quirk related) - 4.6k Words

Summary: You're Shouto's personal assistant and have kept it well hidden that you were nearly a hero too. A near deadly encounter reveals this to Shouto.

Haikyuu!!

Tsukishima Kei

Puppy Love: TW/CW: Slight mention of animal abuse. - 1.9k Words

Summary: A puppy finds its way into your life, and your quiet neighbor helps you out.

Bokuto Koutarou

Trigonometry Trouble: A/N: There's some confusing math involved, but I hope I explained it well! - 2.2k Words

Summary: The out of your league volleyball captain needs your help with math, and in exchange, teaches you a thing or two in return.

Miya Atsumu

Anonymous: 1.9k Words

Summary: Homework help proves to be more useful with a cute tutor.

Terushima Yuuji

Party Foul: 5.6k Words

Summary: You meet the life of the party at your mundane coffee shop job on campus. You get invited to a party that takes an awry turn.

Attack On Titan

Levi Ackerman

All I Want For Christmas Is You: 6.8k Words

Summary: The day before Christmas Eve, you happen upon your new roommate's living room calendar and discover that his birthday also happens to fall on Christmas and after a drunken night of meeting his friends and getting to know each other better, also discover he doesn't have a family to spend Christmas with, so you offer him your own.

En Plein Air: 5.7k Words

Summary: A mysterious raven haired painter seeks solace in your flower laden patio and glasses of whiskey when he finds his hidden job turns awry. This is my submission for @kentopedia's valentine's collab event, Love Through The Ages. I urge you to go check out the rest of the fics as they are written and posted! (It tried to link it but it won't work for some reason!)

Drafts

Levi Ackerman (AOT)

I haven’t written a title nor a summary I am proud enough to post. Just know it is line cook Levi Ackerman and server Reader! I don’t usually write series fics, but I’m going to try with this one.

Robert "Bob" Floyd (TGM)

Icarus: Too Close To The Sun: N/Ak Words

Summary: With the help of your father and the use of your recently acquired degree, you land a spot in North Island as an aerospace physiologist, training the top gun fighter pilots to adapt to the elements of the altitude.

Arthur Freeman (Inception)

Totem: N/Ak Words

Summary: As a government employee specializing in neuroscience in the United States, you are recruited, unbeknownst to you, by the forger and point man of the quite literal dream team of extractors.

Tyler Owens

When It Rains It Pours: N/Ak Words

Summary: As a graduate student studying biometeorology, your last college semester is spent outside the safety of your now big city apartment and spent in the torrential weather patterns of 'Tornado Alley' with the so called best storm chaser around. His shit talking of your chosen field of study and talk of forgetting your roots would make for a long semester.

There are more in the works, just nothing I have gotten a solid title nor summary worked up for.

[ereardonlibrary]

Ereardon Masterlist

Masterlist

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

You Again [Miniseries]

It’s been five years since you last saw your childhood best friend and first love Jake Seresin. But fate, or coincidence, has you back in Jake’s life and he’s desperate not to lose you again.

Slow Burn [Full length series]

After a one night stand with Hangman disrupts the fresh start you were looking for when moving to San Diego, the unexpected pregnancy forces you and Jake learn how to live with each other and tolerate one another. As the months go by, you slowly get to know the real Jake beneath the facade he puts on, but when old flames and work obstacles threaten to topple everything, your new relationship is put to the test.

As It Was [Full length series]

When Jake Seresin calls to tell you he’s accepted a permanent position at Top Gun, you’re elated to finally be living in the same city as your best friend. But everything changes when Jake tells you his news — he has a new girlfriend, and he’s serious about her. And while you want to like her, for Jake’s sake, something about her feels wrong. Jake's arrival in San Diego also puts you in the direct path of Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, who has set his sights on you despite being Jake’s sworn enemy. Every move Rooster makes, Jake intercepts. What game are these two playing, and why is Jake more concerned about you moving on with Rooster than he is about his own relationship?

He'd Let Her Go [One-shot]

Jake meets the love of his life in college, but after years together he realizes the best thing he can do if he really loves her is to let her go.

My Girl [Full length series]

Jake Seresin could be the answer to all of your dating woes. He’s the full package: steady job, mature, dependable, attractive to a fault. The polar opposite of every guy your age and he’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a partner. But there’s one roadblock: he’s a single father to four-year-old Ellie. Jake is looking for a level of commitment you’re not quite sure you’re ready to give, and he’s not willing to bring someone into his daughter’s life who isn’t there for the long haul. And even if you are stepmom material, is Jake ready to let someone back in his life while still mourning the recent loss of his late wife?

Robert "Bob" Floyd

One Night [One-shot]

You have your eyes on Bob at the Hard Deck, but have to shoot down Jake Seresin first.

Gas Station Tears [One-shot]

After your boyfriend dumps you, your car stalls out in a gas station parking lot. Luckily, Bob Floyd happens to be there to fix your car. Can he fix your heart, too?

It Was Never Him [One-shot]

You catch your boyfriend Rooster making out with a girl at the Hard Deck and only one person can comfort you in the aftermath: Bob Floyd.

What Are You Thinking? [One-shot]

Bob Floyd is a quiet man. Sometimes you have to ask him what he’s thinking just to know what wheels are turning inside of his head. He always gives you a response, until one day, years into your marriage, he turns the question on you.

Friends Don't [Full length series]

Bob has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly volunteered to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late?

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Come Back [Full length series]

Eight years ago, Bradley Bradshaw was just a college boyfriend who broke your heart. Now, he’s back in your life after a coincidental reunion, and he’s adamant about starting up a friendship. Will it be possible to be just friends with Bradley, or is he inevitably going to end up ruining everything you’ve spent the better part of a decade rebuilding?

Too Far Gone [One-shot]

Your life changed forever the moment you fell for Bradley Bradshaw. But his life wasn’t an easy one to fit into. He had more baggage than lost and found at JFK airport. You were always one for a fixer upper. Bradley could be your ultimate passion project. But was he too far gone for you to save him?

His Best Friend's Wedding [Two-part series]

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw has been your best friend for a decade. He’s also your fiancé’s best man. So when he shows up at your hotel room the night before your wedding, it’s just because he’s your friend, right?

Rhett Abbott

A Place Like This [Full length series]

Rhett Abbott has never met a girl like you. You’re a corporate city girl in Wabang on borrowed company time — he thinks there’s no way you would waste it on him. So when you fall for the local bull rider, you’re both a little surprised. What will it take to get Rhett to realize he can give you everything you’re looking for? And will Rhett be able to reconcile the fact that your job is literally to dismantle Wabang and break apart the only place his family has ever known?

Other writing

I ask him for stories 

Heat

[it-happened-one-fic]

Smooth Waltz - Wouldn't Mind Waltzing Again - Strictly NRC Dancing

Author Notes: I'm considering changing how I title these fics to include the name of the featured character, but I'm not sure. If you could please, comment your opinions on this. Also, Fun Fact: This is actually one of the first fics I wrote for this entire series. It also required a surprising amount of research despite the fact the dance featured is the waltz. It turns out there are a lot of differences between the varying forms of waltz. The performance in this fic was heavily inspired by  Lacey and Pasha’s Smooth Waltz to “A Daisy in December” on So You Think You Can Dance . It's a very elegant performance with lots of interesting lifts. I really recommend you watch it.Just like the rest of this AU/series the reader is female for this fic. I hope you enjoy!

If you would like to read more this AU/series, the fics can be found here: Strictly NRC Dancing AU Master-List

Type: Fluff/dance AU/ female reader/Kind of romantic

Word count: 1519

Azul adjusted the cuffs of his jacket’s sleeves, feigning calm when he actually felt anything but. What was prolonging his suffering by forcing him to wait? 

None other than his very own partner. You.

As per the ‘rules’ you had to wear whatever outfit Crewel had designed for you which, evidently enough, took a while to put on this time around. 

Crewel himself had to slip into the dressing room with a concerned expression on his face after you’d poked your head out with a slight frown and whispered something to the teacher. Now all that could be heard was muffled cursing about your apparently pesky outfit. 

Azul glanced up towards the clock, a small frown on his face as he fought to keep his mind spiraling any further than it already had.

He’d already gone through the steps and choreography of his waltz fifteen times before it had reached his turn to dance. The only thing that had given him pause was Ace’s… performance with the pitiable Jack Howl.

That had been a train wreck and a half which had everyone cringing in sympathy for the beastman.

The door to your dressing room creaked open, snapping Azul out of his self-comforting thoughts of how at least his performance wouldn’t be as bad as theirs had been.

 There was a soft clicking sound as you walked out, apparently in heels, with your skirt swaying gently with each step.

You smiled apologetically as you reached him in the middle of the floor, “Sorry, there was a situation with the zipper….” 

Azul almost wanted to ask, but he thought better of it as the music slowly started to filter out in the room, already setting the well-known pacing for the dance. 

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

“It’s not a problem,” He was proud that he was still capable of managing a slight smile and smooth bow despite his gradually increasing nerves.

Conversely, you seemed completely calm as you curtsied and accepted his slightly trembling hand, just before slipping easily into proper hold.

He had no doubt that, for your part, the waltz would be flawless. Both Crewel and Trein had been your teachers, with Crowley supposedly tapping in to help ever so often. You’d already been graded on your waltz with Vargas and you had danced perfectly.

Which meant any flubbing would come down to him and him alone. And that simple fact was enough to easily put the usually confident housewarden on edge.

The music provided a slow, steady beat to pair with the slow and steady waltz Azul gradually began to lead you through. Matching the beat, the two of you gently swayed. Bobbing up and down with the music. 

To those who watched, it almost looked like the two of you were floating across the surface of a tide’s gradual ebb and flow. Your pale, swirling skirts making up the seafoam of the imaginary water.

Azul’s mind frantically maintained its steady beat keeping, determined that he was not going to mess this up and have to take yet another dance class or face Floyd’s tutoring again. 

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. 

At odds with his tenseness, you simply seemed to be content with following his lead, a gentle smile on your face. The perfect princess for a prince who would no doubt be far more confident and poised than Azul felt at the moment.

But Azul knew full well that he was no dancer. Changing from eight tentacles to two legs and learning to walk had been difficult enough. The mere idea of dancing was daunting at best and now that he was having to do so in front of the majority of NRC’s student body with his image on the line. Well, it was terrifying.

Perhaps that was why you were so calm though… You had nothing to lose. You’d already passed a dance class, so this performance had no bearing on your overall grade. You live in Ramshackle Dorm, of all places, and spent most of your time with Grim, so your image couldn’t really get worse.

You spun out, any easy graceful motion that left him bracing for the next part. The lift.

He could still hear Trein’s words from the lessons, “Strictly speaking, there aren’t any lifts in waltzes save for the Smooth and the Viennese waltzes variety of the dance. However, a majority voted for lifts to be allowed during your performances even if you are doing a slow waltz…. I must stress though, if you do not feel you can lift your partner with ease, do not try. Dropping your partner or injuring them in any way will result in an automatic failing grade.”

Azul was not concerned about being able to lift you. He’d been practically made of muscle his whole life, what with him being an octopus merman. Despite his small stature, that fact hadn’t changed when he’d come upon land.

 In no way were you heavy to him, and he proved to both himself and you in your hour-long choreography session that he could lift you with ease.

What Azul was concerned about was executing the lift properly. He was not naturally elegant and he knew he had two left feet so he needed as many points as possible. And that meant he had to execute the moves he could pull off so well that it would raise his overall score.

He knelt and you leaned back, both of you knowing exactly what to do, but with him not knowing exactly how smoothly this would go over.

And yet, all of his concerns had all been for nothing. You easily continued to lean yourself backwards and over his shoulder, fully trusting him to support you.

His other arm reached back, catching you as you locked your arm with his, supporting yourself to some degree as he straightened.

Nimbly, you swung your legs around as he let you slide on around him until he was simply holding you up by your arms and spinning freely with you as you faced out and away from him.

The song came to its lilting end as you touched down in a seated position on the ground and smoothly spun so you were facing him, arms outstretched towards with that same easy smile on your face. As if you had never doubted him for even a second.

In reality, the dance could end just like this. With him standing and looking down at you while you looked up at him, your hands reaching up to him in a silent request. But that wasn’t what the two of you had decided.

You had both decided to put forth your very best till the final notes of the tune faded into oblivion, leaving the two of you in silence. A dance was a performance after all, so perform you would.

He knelt, a hand reaching down to cradle your face as you did the same. Cradling his face in your hands and ending your dreamlike waltz eye-to eye.

He didn’t actually get to hear the final notes of the song since applause soon overtook the gradually quieting music. You blinked as the cheers rose, Floyd’s voice notable within the raucous noise.

Azul managed to keep himself from jerking away too quickly from raw embarrassment. Instead, opting to just lean back and continue feigning calm as he helped you back to your feet.

“Clever of you to add that lift and spin in Azul, it raised your score considerably,” Crowley had started speaking before the two of you had even finished turning to face your, or rather his, judges.

Trein nodded, “Though I am more of a proponent for sticking to the rules laid out regarding which dances have lifts and which ones don’t, I must admit that was incredibly well-executed and within the parameters of this test.”

“Well, he did perform a smooth waltz, not a slow one. So he didn’t actually break any rules,” Crewel looked pointedly at the other teacher as he spoke and received a frown from the older man.

Silence ensued as all of the staff members looked from one to another, nodding as they seemingly reached a conclusion.

Azul’s hands were trembling again he noticed, and evidently you noticed too since your hand found his. Squeezing his palm lightly as you glanced his way before you looked back towards the panel. He didn’t know if he was mortified or touched by your actions of silent comfort and reassurance.

But all of those concerns fled his mind as Crewel spoke, “Well pup. It isn’t full-marks since you flubbed a few steps, but you pass.”

Azul was proud to say he did not lose his composure, even as you turned, clapping slightly with sparkling eyes as you looked his way, “You did it, Azul!”

He met your enthusiasm with a smug grin and ‘of course I did’ attitude. But Azul could not deny that he was relieved it was over with. Just like he also couldn’t deny that he wouldn’t mind waltzing again. At least not if it was with you. 

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[blue-aconite]

For the made-up fic title..."Taking Attendance"? 😘

Sweetheart, you've awoken the tribbles.

Bob liked school. It was no secret that the Floyd's youngest boy had a knack for learning. So it came as no surprise that he volunteered to become a tutor for other students during his junior year. He was well liked in school and he enjoyed helping others. To him, it was a win-win situation. Rebecca hates math with a burning passion but unfortunately it is one of the subjects she needs to pass in order to graduate. If accepting help from Bob Floyd is what's going to help her to achieve her goals, so be it. But studying with Bob turns out to be more difficult than expected. He's sweet and handsome, a dangerous combination. But she's determined to make it through the semester. Bob has seen her around before but spending time with Becca is a dream come true. No one will blame him if he drags their sessions out a little, right? If it meant spending time with her, he'd gladly do it.

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it

[rebelliousstories]

You Caught My Attention

Relationship: Robert “Bob” Floyd x Adelaide “Honey” Corbin OC

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of drinking, and neglectful family

Word Count: 2,488

Part of the Young Love and Old Money Series

Chapter 1//Chapter 3

Main Masterlist: Here

Summary: Winter break is here, and Christmas is around the corner. After hanging out for over a year, Adelaide and Robert realize something’s about the other person while they talk about their upcoming plans for the holidays.

December 19th, 2004

“Bobby!! That’s my book. Give it back!” A young girl shouted, just underneath a treehouse in the woods. Robert, or as he was now known as Bobby, dangled a book of poetry over the head of the girl. He wasn’t much taller in terms of height, but he had yet to grow into his arms that could dangle the object over her head.

“Honey, it’s winter break! You don’t need to be readin’ some school book right now when your best friend is in front of you!” He responded to her, keeping the book away. Adelaide was getting frustrated with Robert at this point. She stomped her foot and crossed her arms while he continued to laugh. Finally, Robert placed the book. At a height she could reach, but he thought she wasn’t going to reach. When she did, he raised it right back up above them. She hit Robert in the stomach which made him double over, and drop the book. Adelaide was quick to grab the book before it could hit the ground. Her tutor would have her head if there had even been one spec of dirt of the book.

“For your information, Robby, this is A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. It’s one of my favorite Christmas stories. It’s a classic.” She said confidently, walking over to the ladder to get into the treehouse. As she started to climb, she took her time as she was going up with one hand. Robert came below her as he finally recovered from the hit. He waited at the bottom of the ladder and kept his eyes down until she went up.

He made the trek up as well, faster with his two hands. Adelaide has already pulled the book back out and was about to start reading again. Robert sighed loudly, pulling the girl away from her book. She glanced up as he fiddled with some random leaf that had sought refuge in the treehouse. When he sighed again, Adelaide quietly closed her book and looked at Robert expectantly. He noticed that he finally had her attention and happily set the leaf down and turned towards his friend.

“So, what’s your mama ‘n ‘em doin’ for Christmas this year?” He asked eagerly. Adelaide sighed this time and shrugged her shoulders. Her family was beginning to not be a subject that she wanted to dwell on.

“Momma and Daddy want to go somewhere where we can see snow. They’re thinking England. We have a vacation home there.” She said quietly. Her lips were down turned; her eyes found more interest in the floor than the boy in front of her. Robert noticed this immediately.

“Hey, now I didn’ mean to make ya upset, ya know that. England sounds nice. Course it might be a little cold for someone with hillbilly blood like me but I think you’ll have fun.” He spoke quickly. The girl simply shook her head at him.

“No. It’s not that. It’s just… I’d rather be here. I don’t really like the cold and momma and daddy are just gonna make up stay inside all day cause of the snow. I wanna be here, with you.” She admitted. She still had yet to look up, not wanting to see the look she could feel Robert giving her. But he simply leaned over and hit her gently in the shoulder. That knocked her out of her intense staring contest with the floor, and instead, brought her eyes up to him.

“I wish you was gonna be here too, Honey.” He spoke softly. She smiled and ripped her eyes down again. Robert moved closer to her and hit her again, this time his shoulder was against her shoulder. That sent the girl into a fit of laughter which Robert fell into as well. After a moment of silence, she looked over towards her best friend.

“So, what’re your folks and you doing for Christmas?” She asked, genuinely curious. Robert’s smile increased ten fold when he thought about everything that would be happening soon.

“Well, my other folks are gonna start coming into town in the ext few days. Most of us still live here, but we do have a few aunts and uncles that moved out years ago. But they always come back for holidays and birthdays. Or just a random Tuesday in June because ‘the pools are better here than they are in the city.’ I jus think they’re missin’ home too much.” The way he spoke, it made her happy to hear how happy he was about his family.

Robert launched into details about his family. All his cousins coming together under one roof for games and running around. How in years past they would dare each other to do crazy things like jump into the freezing lake near the treehouse. All the different games they made up and played while the adults enjoyed time together. He talked about how sometimes the kids would get sick so some years teams would be uneven. The girls were usually playing board games all day, while the boys would join them later in the evening to play those games. They spent the days running around the area, and their nights in front of the fireplace, in a warm house, surrounded by family.

“Oh and I haven’t even gotten to the best part! The food!! Oh there ain’t nothin’ like momma’s cookin’ on Christmas. She always makes us a feast and my aunts bring over food too so there’s lots of leftovers that we eat a lot of. The greens, the pies, and the Christmas ham.” Robert closed his eyes and let himself imagine the food that was sure to come in a few days. Adelaide giggled at his reaction, and Robert looked at her.

“Alright hotshot. Whatcha family doin’ for food? I bet you eat good with all y’all’s money.” He said, wistfully. Yes they had plenty to eat, but oftentimes, they ate of the land. They only took what they knew they’d eat from the crops they grow. They try not to go to the store for foods that they grow, sometimes it’s unavoidable. But with how rich the Corbin’s were? He couldn’t imagine what kind of feast they had.

“Um… they usually throw a Christmas party. We have ham, cranberry jelly, and green beans. Sometimes bread, sometimes not. We really only eat whatever the cooks prepare for us. Usually if we’re good, momma will convince the baker to make us some cookies or a cake for us to share. If we spend Christmas in the states, we’re usually hosting politicians or important people like that. But if we go to England,it’s just daddy’s business partners. I try and stay out of the way most of the time. That’s why I like to read. I can get away from my current situation without leaving the area I’m forced to be in.” Robert was stunned. There was no family gathering for her? No running around with her cousins or siblings? And Christmas dinner was suppose to be the best food of the year. They wore matching frowns as they processed the information. But Adelaide saw how she made her best friend sad, and was quick to put on a smile.

“But that’s enough about me. My life isn’t as interestin’ as yours.” She said, hoping to diffuse the situation. Robert peered at her above his glasses. He readjusted them back onto his nose and he held a shy smile on his face. He readjusted his position in the house and leaned against the wall. His eyes drifted down towards the book in Adelaide’s lap.

“Why do you like that story so much?” He questioned, still staring at the book in her lap. Adelaide now broke out into a genuine smile as she began to describe her bolted Christmas story.

“Well, it’s just a wonderful redemption story. Scrooge learns through three different ghosts the true meaning of Christmas. He forgot that it isn’t ‘bout money, but spending it with those you love. It’s about people being nice for the sake of being nice, and giving to charity because you want to.” Her eyes sparkled as she spoke. The gush of love for the story became apparent to Robert. He watched her delve into the history of the story and how it became the story that defined the Christmas spirit. He never stopped her, or turned away from her. She kept his full attention for her whole explanation. Her hands moved around as she explained away, adding life to her speech. Adelaide noticed that Robert had gone quiet and quieted down herself.

“Sorry. Teacher always says that I talk too much when I explain something.” Her hand came up and rubbed her neck that was starting to flush with color. Robert snapped out of his mute status and quickly put a stop to that.

“No! No. Don’t apologize. I like hearing you talk about things you love. You’re clearly passionate about that. I really enjoyed it.” He said sincerely. Her face still blushed heavily, but she wore a shy smile. Robert held a matching smile, which caused both of them to laugh at the awkward situation. The tension slowly melted away with each laugh they let out until the atmosphere turned calm in the treehouse.

“I need to be gettin’ goin’. I still need to pack before we leave for England tomorrow.” And that brought the mood back down. Robert looked at his feet, before peering over his glasses at Adelaide.

“When will I see you again?” He asked quietly, not wanting his best friend to go away and be where he can’t even talk to her. Adelaide noticed his melancholy mood and quickly made her way across the house to hug him. She rested her head on his shoulder, while his found a place on top of her head.

“Oh, Robby. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I should be back in town on January 2nd. It won't be that long Robby. And if I can come back before the new year, I’m gonna tie my ribbon to my mailbox. You’ll see it. I promise. I’m comin’ back before you know it.” She replied, trying to ease his mind. They sat there for another minute or so before Robert started to move. Adelaide untangled herself from him and followed him out the treehouse.

It was their normal walk home. They joked around, laughed, and tried to push each other over. Robert walked his bike as he usually did. They intentionally walked slowly, trying to prolong the inevitable. Adelaide didn’t want to go to England for the holidays and see snow. She wouldn’t even be able to play in it. She’d be forced to stay inside in pretty dresses and eat dinner with other rich people’s kids that also didn’t want to be there. Rich people that her father worked with would spend the night ignoring her, as the adults were kept in one side of the house. The kids in the other part.

Robert didn’t want to spend the holidays alone. Sure he was gonna have his family but he was looking forward to seeing Adelaide around the holidays. He had a bracelet that he had made just for her waiting in his room. He though she was going to be around so he didn’t bring it. Guess it would have to wait till she got back. Maybe if she’s around next Christmas, he can give her a present on the day. But for now, he watched as her mansion came and into view.

Adelaide was saddened by the sudden appearance of her house. She never hated that house more than now. All she wanted to do was to stay with her best friend. When they reached the driveway, they stopped. Both were staring at the house, but neither made a move to go near it. She turned to Robert who’s nose was just barely starting to turn pink from the cold.

“Well, thanks for walking me home Robby.” She said quietly, looking down at her shoes. Robert smiled at her.

“Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I let you walk alone in the cold? It’s Christmas after all.” He replied, suddenly feeling warm; but it wasn’t from his sweater. Adelaide reached up and gave him a hug, which he reciprocated. It made him feel good inside to watch over her as they walked home. It made him feel valued. They let go of each other, but before Adelaide turned away to go towards her house, she leaned up. She placed a small kiss to Robert’s cheek, which was now thoroughly red and walked away. Robert smiled and leaned on his bike as he watched her walk towards her home. Before she got to far, she turned back around and waved at him. He waved back and watched her sneakily disappear into the house. Once she was safely inside, Robert began his trek home.

She always ended their walks home together the same. A hug, kiss on the cheek, and a wave. There wasn’t anything different about this time versus the others, but it stirred something in Robert. He felt…. He didn’t know how he felt. All he knew is that Adelaide was important to him. And he would do anything to make sure she was happy and safe. His thoughts kept him company the whole way home, and when he drifted off for the night; Adelaide was his last thought.

Meanwhile, Adelaide was sneaking into her room at her house. Her parents were too consumed with their glasses of scotch in the living room, next to the fireplace to care. Her nanny was so busy packing that she didn’t realize that Adelaide hadn’t been there to help. Her older siblings were so enraptured with plans of what to do in England that they didn’t notice that she was just now getting ready for bed. Adelaide was confused. She knew what love was, it she didn’t understand it. Her parents rarely if ever told her that she was loved, and her siblings couldn’t be bothered. But Robert made her feel all warm inside. Like nothing in the world was wrong s long as she was with him. She didn’t need to worry about her messed up family or school. She didn’t need to worry about what image she was putting out to the world. He made her feel like she could be herself, not some image of herself.

As she got ready for bed, Adelaide was consumed with thoughts of Robert. He treated her like no one had before. Human. Someone more than a name, more than a title or status. He saw her for who she was. When she finally was able to calm her racing mind, she dreamed of Robert and the future they could have.

[ddarker-dreams]

Misc Info. (God Darling/HWR Reader/SR Reader)

God Darling

Age: 4,500  Nickname(s)/Title(s): Vephar, The God of Sand, The God of Love, The Starry-Eyed [Maiden/Bachelor/Lover], That Spiteful Spouse (via Venti)

Favorites

Season: Summer “It warms my heart to see families and couples of all ages walking the shoreline. Ah, what sweet memories it stirs in my heart.”  Food: Seafood  Musician: Xinyan “This generation’s penchant for innovation is astounding. I simply adore that... what’s it called again... rolling rock? Rock and role? Morax, cease your snickering, you senile bag of bones...!”  Song: Hazy Light Book: String of Pearls  Quote: “Only broken memories and fragments of the past were turned into stories, and stories turned into legends, passed down among the people... Even deities and adepti alike would feel sentimental upon hearing such ancient memories that surpass the mortal world.” ― Moonlit Bamboo Forest

Fun Facts

God Darling used to forge divine weapons, and within the canon of The First Contract, created Rex Lapis’ Vortex Vanquisher. 

They were closet to Guizhong and informed only her about the special steps necessary to enter their realm (current day Yaoguang Shoal), to keep their people safe in the Archon War. Guizhong shared this with Rex Lapis upon his prompting.

Fishermen from Liyue pay homage to Vephar before and during their voyages. Some even keep jars of sand from the shoreline as a charm, a superstition said to be capable of earning the god’s protection. 

In their non-mortal form, God Darling bleeds sand instead of blood. 

God Darling is able to discern the descendants of their followers who survived Rex Lapis’ massacre upon laying eyes on them for the first time. They claim the initial meeting to be like “Hearing ocean waves through layers of noise”, and tend to dote upon the descendant throughout their life.  

HWR Reader

Age: 20 (During Hell Within Reach) 24 (During Hunter x Hunter)  Nickname(s): Icy Maiden, Mentally a Grandma (via Ash upon watching HWR Reader struggle to understand what LMAO means)

Favorites

Season: Winter Food(s): Chicken breast, salmon, legumes "I require high intakes of protein to maintain appropriate energy levels.” Musician: Elton John Song: Money by Pink Floyd TV Show: Game of Thrones / Twin Peaks Movie: You Were Never Really Here Book: Les Misérables Video game: Akinator “How does he always guess what it is I’m thinking?”  Quote: “Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.” ― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Fun Facts

HWR Reader has the highest kill count out of the three main protagonists (she lost track of the number a long time ago). 

The worst cook of the three here, she’s set off the fire alarms and caused an evacuation in her building from making toast. 

HWR Reader’s received a perfect GPA during her tutoring and was considered an ideal pupil, aside for one problem. She was required to learn to play an instrument, and chose the piano, but refused to take her gloves off during practice. Her tutor wasn’t brave enough to push the issue.

HWR Reader ranked 8th in the Phantom Troupe’s arm wrestling competition.

The only member of the Phantom Troupe to ever best her at chess is Chrollo. Their current scores are 3-2, with HWR Reader winning the most by a slim margin (he’s already scheduled a rematch). The only other member who has come close to beating her is Franklin.

SR Reader

Age: 18 Nickname(s): Dumbass (via Fugo), Signorina (via Giorno), Traitor (via Narancia when she confessed to preferring Biggy over Tupac)  

Favorites

Season: Spring Food: Anything sweet Musician: Daft Punk Song: Babooshka by Kate Bush TV Show: (Says ‘The Sopranos‘ as a joke, but it’s actually Seinfeld) Movie: (Says ‘The Godfather’ as a joke, but it’s actually What About Bob or the original Suspiria)  Book: Pride and Prejudice Video game: Animal Crossing Quote: “To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love.” — Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

Fun Facts

SR Reader is from Queens, New York, and often debates the others over New York pizza being better than Neapolitan margherita pizza. In truth, she likes them both and equal amount. She just likes passionately debating things since it’s fun watching others get riled up.

She pretends to be a tourist incapable of speaking Italian when people annoy her. 

Alongside her talent in ballet and dance, SR Reader is a proficient singer, falling into a mezzo soprano range. However, she’s shyer about her singing. Anyone who wants to hear it must plan an Ocean’s 11 style heist and sneak up on her.

SR Reader attended mass with Mista one year upon his prompting and got in trouble for falling asleep during the proceedings.

Her Stand, Scarlet Ribbons, has a habit of styling SR Reader’s hair without her knowledge. When caught and shooed off, her Stand skulks away to brood until consoled.

[mothdruid]

The Physics of Love - Prologue

series masterlist | part one

pairing.

robert 'bob' floyd x afab!reader

warnings.

insecurities, previously experienced misogyny in STEM, self-doubt. this content is meant for those who are 18 and older.

authors note.

professor coleman (hondo) is a real one who loves his students. but let me know what you think so far! i will be doing a tag list for this series, so if you would like to join that, let me know.

The red ink stared back at you menacingly. Every minus one, minus two, minus three points marks taunting you. Sixty-eight out of one hundred. It wasn’t the worst you had scored in the class, but it was too far into the semester for you to drop. If only you had actually considered it a few weeks ago. That foolish woman in STEM mentality got the better of you though.

“If there are any issues with scores, let me know after class.” Professor Coleman announced.

It was as if the whole classroom failed, many students hanging back to talk with Professor Coleman. And you were no exception, slowly packing your bag while leaving your test on the table. You flipped through it a little bit as you waited after packing. It wasn’t that you were embarrassed, you just weren’t sure what to do from here on out.

“Issue with your score?” Professor Coleman asked.

You shook your head, letting out a soft chuckle.

“No, I just,” your hand tightened on the marked up papers, “don’t know what to do.”

Professor Coleman gave you a questioning look. You watched as he adjusted his glasses, staring at you with an odd kindness. The tension in your shoulders started to dissipate, your body finally relaxing enough to let your frustration sift into worry.

“If I don’t pass this class, boom, bam, degree gone,” you set the packet on the table. It was annoying to think that this class would potentially make it or break it for you. Stripping you of that geology degree you had yearned for since junior high. Math? A struggle but doable. Chem? Not too bad. Physics? The bane of your existence.

“It’s not like the final is next week. You have passed both exams so far.”

“Barely,” your hands were starting to clench up. It was a nervous habit, one you couldn’t seem to shake.

“Still passed though,” Professor Coleman offered you a smile.

"My degree requires a C plus, something that looks impossible right now," you sighed, tightly running your forefinger and thumb across your forehead to block your vision. It was beyond frustrating.

"Have you thought about looking for a tutor?"

A tutor? Was he being serious? How could anyone help you learn this cursed subject? Let alone get you to retain the information. Plus, you had tried it last semester. It ended in a bit of a failure, on your part and the tutors.

"Yeah, last semester. Tutor got frustrated because I couldn't pick it up, and I got frustrated about not picking it up quickly and it was just," you removed your hand only to be greeted with a soft frown, "it didn't work."

"Would you be willing to give it another try?" Professor Coleman asked, pushing his hands in his pockets.

"I uh… I don't know. I'm not a huge fan of the tutor program here, especially after last semester." You looked over at him with a frown and shrugged. "Maybe this is the universe's way of telling me to give up on geology."

"Hey, some of the best things in life are hard to get, and this might be one of them." Coleman smiled softly at you.

Doubt with a hint of shame swirled around your mind. A storm cloud that didn't want to dissipate. As much as you wanted to believe his words, it was hard. It was hard enough to make it in this field anyways. Hell, any STEM major was hell to get into. It was exceptionally worse though being a female in the field though. You had had classmates and professors act as if you didn't belong among them. And now, it felt like it was all true.

"What if I found you a tutor? Hand picked by me," Coleman shrugged, his words catching your attention.

"Oh, you don't have to do that, I can just fail and go about taking it next semes-"

"I don't want to see you fail."

The two of you stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Coleman had been the first professor that had seemed to actually care about how you did, which was rare for a STEM professor. Most of them had a sink or swim mentality with their subjects, but not him. Not good ole Hondo.

You had heard about Professor Coleman through a few of your other classmates in your program. He used to be an astrophysicist for NASA but then decided to pursue the field of teaching. Or at least that is what you heard through the grapevine. He taught a collection of undergrad students and grad students. You heard Professor Mitchell call him crazy one time for teaching so many students, but you didn't think that Professor Mitchell had much room to talk.

"I don't know if anyone you pick will put up with my incompetence for physics," you hate to admit it, but it was true. You were incompetent at the subject, basically hopeless.

"You're not incompetent, we all have areas we struggle with. I have the perfect person in mind anyways," Professor Coleman said with a smile while leaning back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah? Who?" You gave him a curious look.

"It will be a surprise," Coleman said as he pushed up off his desk. He took a few steps over to you. "He will be helpful and patient, because it sounds like you haven't had much of that so far."

"But what if–"

Professor Coleman held his hand up to stop your words.

"No buts, and please just trust me."

"Fine, but if this doesn't work out," you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, "you're paying for my second semester of Physics ll."

Professor Coleman grinned, holding his hand out for you to take. The two of you shook hands, sealing the deal. As much as you didn't want to, there was an overwhelming feeling about you failing flowing through you. It felt like the only outcome, all your insecurities about your place in the world bubbling to the surface. But somewhere, deep down inside of you was a bubble or two, telling you that this tutor would help you survive the rest of the semester.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Fic Rec Tag

Rules: Recommend us 3 of YOUR fics: 1 that is "most popular" and 2 that are "hidden gems!" Then tag some folks.

Tagged by @residentdormouse

thank you so much love <3

Most Popular: the echo (or the answer)

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

complete / 6 out of 6 / 48,752

Collective Note Count Across Chapters: 837

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin/OC, Werewolf!Jake/OC, Robert "Bob" Floyd/OC, Werewolf!Bob/OC

Warnings: language, angst, werewolf lore, werewolf mating stuff, violence, gore, explicit smut, slight love-triangle

cross-posted to my AO3

The town of Marnmouth, Washington has carried a dark secret for centuries. Werewolves live among them, roam in their forests, and live peacefully amongst the humans they live alongside. To everyone else, it's just an urban legend, but to a select few, it is reality and truth. One such as these is Veronica Bradshaw - human sister to the Alpha of Blue River pack, Bradley. But across the river in Bellmoral, another werewolf pack is forced from their territory and into that of Blue River. Will Ronnie remain loyal to her brother, or will the opposing Alpha, Jake, seduce her to the other side?

it's a werewolf au y'all not much else to it lol

Gem 1: The Princess and The Freak

Fandom: Stranger Things

WIP / 1 out of 8 / 2,353

Collective Note Count Across Chapters: 34

Pairings: Eddie Munson/OC

Warnings: fluff, mutual pining, tutor/student to lovers, angst, misunderstanding goodness

Eddie is determined to graduate this year, so he seeks helps from a tutor. Only the tutor he finds is Princess of Hawkins HIgh, Lydia Gasper.

I know I only posted one chapter of this and then immediately got sucked into the Top Gun Brainrot but I do still love this story and what I have planned. It takes place the semester before season 4 and Eddie and Lydia are just....Perfection, your honor.

Gem 2: The Power of Suffering

Fandom: The Maze Runner

WIP / 3 out of 9 / 11,804

Collective Note Count Across Chapters: 145

Pairings: Gally/OC

Warnings: violence, aged-up characters, blood/gore, angst, friends to lovers, gally being very soft

Gally was one of the toughest and one of the strongest fighters the Right Arm had ever seen. He took no shit, lead with an iron fist, and had a wit like a whip. But combat medic Joan got to him in a way he couldn’t really describe. She was kind to the point of stupidity, honest, and always saw the best in people. She broke down his walls and forced him to face the vulnerable part of himself he wanted to bury. But what happens when these two opposites are forced to face their feelings for each other instead?

Another WIP I'm determined to come back to someday. I love Will Poulter he is my BOO. And I really just love this fic. I did this really cool thing where there is a book quote, read by a character, at the end of each chapter that goes along with the theme of that chapter.

No pressure tags friends, just know I love you and would love some fic recs!: @a-reader-and-a-writer @loverhymeswith @blue-aconite @laracrofted @indynerdgirl @princessphilly @clydesducktape and anyone else who sees and would like to join!

[orbemnews]

Bhaskar Menon, Who Turned Capitol Records Around, Dies at 86 In 1970, Capitol Records’ business was struggling. The Beatles, the company’s top act, were defunct. Hits were scarce among its remaining roster. That year, the company lost $8 million. It needed a savior, and it found one in Bhaskar Menon, an Indian-born, Oxford-educated executive at EMI, the British conglomerate that was Capitol’s majority owner. He became the label’s new chief in 1971 and quickly turned its finances around, driving a gargantuan hit in 1973 with Pink Floyd’s album “The Dark Side of the Moon.” He later ran EMI’s vast worldwide music operations. Mr. Menon, who was also the first Asian man to run a major Western record label, died on March 4 at his home in Beverly Hills, Calif. He was 86. The death was confirmed by his wife, Sumitra Menon. “Determined to achieve excellence, Bhaskar Menon built EMI into a music powerhouse and one of our most iconic global institutions,” Lucian Grainge, the chief executive of Universal Music Group, which owns the Capitol label and EMI’s recorded music business, said in a statement after Mr. Menon’s death. Vijaya Bhaskar Menon was born on May 29, 1934, to a prominent family in Trivandrum, in south India (now Thiruvananthapuram). His father, K.R.K. Menon, was the finance secretary under Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru; the first one-rupee notes issued after India’s independence from Britain bore his signature. Mr. Menon’s mother, Saraswathi, knew many of India’s leading classical musicians personally. Mr. Menon studied at the Doon School and St. Stephen’s College in India before earning a master’s degree from Christ Church, Oxford. His tutor at Oxford recommended him to Joseph Lockwood, the chairman of EMI, and Mr. Menon began working there in 1956. A proud British institution, EMI controlled a wide musical empire, with divisions throughout Asia, the Middle East, Africa and South America. While there, Mr. Menon assisted the producer George Martin, who later became the Beatles’ chief collaborator. In 1957, Mr. Menon joined the Gramophone Company of India, an EMI subsidiary; he became managing director in 1965 and chairman in 1969. Later in 1969, he was named managing director of EMI International. Capitol, the Los Angeles label that had been home to Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra and Peggy Lee, was reeling from business missteps and declining sales, and EMI installed Mr. Menon as its president and chief executive. He slashed Capitol’s artist roster, tightened budgets and pushed for more aggressive promotion of the label’s artists. In 1972, Mr. Menon learned that Capitol was at risk of losing the next album by Pink Floyd, which blamed the company for the poor sales of its previous albums in the United States. Mr. Menon flew to the South of France, where Pink Floyd was performing and, after an all-night negotiating session, they agreed on a deal. Mr. Menon commemorated the terms on a cocktail napkin and brought it back to Capitol’s legal department in Los Angeles, said Rupert Perry, a longtime executive at EMI and Capitol. “The Dark Side of the Moon,” released by Capitol with a huge promotional campaign, was one of the biggest blockbusters in music history; it stayed on Billboard’s album chart for 741 consecutive weeks and has sold more than 15 million copies in the United States alone. Led by Mr. Menon, Capitol continued to have success in the 1970s with Bob Seger, Helen Reddy, Steve Miller, Linda Ronstadt, Grand Funk Railroad and others. In 1978, EMI put its music divisions under unified management as EMI Music Worldwide and named Mr. Menon chairman and chief executive. He remained in that position until retiring from the music industry in 1990. From 2005 to 2016, he served on the board of directors of NDTV, a news television channel in India. In 2011, an ailing EMI was sold to Sony, which bought its music publishing business, and Universal Music. In some ways, Mr. Menon was an outsider in the Southern California music scene. “I was a very unusual and unlikely sort of person to be sent here under those circumstances to take overall executive command of Capitol,” Mr. Menon was quoted as saying in “History of the Music Biz: The Mike Sigman Interviews,” a 2016 collection published by the industry magazine Hits. Mr. Menon’s wife recalled in a phone interview that when they married, in 1972, Mr. Menon told her, “There are only two Indians in L.A.: Ravi Shankar and me.” She recounted stories of the two men — old friends from India — scouring the city’s exclusive west side in vain for good Indian food. In addition to his wife, Mr. Menon is survived by two sons, Siddhartha and Vishnu, and a sister, Vasantha Menon. Although Mr. Menon was primarily known as a manager of the business side of the labels he ran, he had the respect of many musicians. In the 2003 documentary “Pink Floyd: The Making of The Dark Side of the Moon,” Nick Mason, the band’s drummer, recalled Mr. Menon’s efforts in promoting the band’s breakthrough album, calling him “absolutely terrific.” “He decided he was going to make this work, and make the American company sell this record,” Mr. Mason said. “And he did.” Source link Orbem News #Bhaskar #Capitol #Dies #Menon #records #turned

[standbyphoenix]

‘River on the Rise’ by Debra Blake for Vegetarian Times, March 1988 (Part II, final)

How the family took their vision to Hollywood dates back 10 years ago, to their final days in Venezuela. The family had little money when they left the religious community and River, along with his sister Rainbow, often took to the streets, restaurants, and even airport waiting areas to sing to people, entertaining them while trying to earn a dollar. River had been playing guitar since before he was 5 years old, and his talent became increasingly apparent to Arlyn and John. Back in the States, the family headed straight for Los Angeles, where Arlyn took a job at a broadcasting company to get the family's collective foot in Hollywood's door.

"We weren't going for the glamour or the fame of it all," Arlyn says. "We were going to take the kids' talent-which was so obvious-to us-and turn it into something and help make change at the same time. That's why we went."

Weren't they afraid that the kids wouldn't share their vision, or perhaps lose sight of it as the endless glittery parties began to welcome them, threatening to turn them into Hollywood brats?

"No," says Arlyn. "I knew they wouldn't get into the Hollywood scene. We had our own business to attend to, and it wasn't Hollywood. It was making change in the world."

River's business is making change, too. He's clear on that score. "If I didn't think I could be a part of a movement that could influence," he says, "and be a part of helping and change, if I couldn't help that through what I'm doing, I wouldn't do this. But I'm seeing that through this position-in this career, and where I have these magazine interviews- I can be an example, and I think that's important. In all the interviews I do, I say something about my being vegan. I don't want to come off as if I'm a savior. I'm only a very small part of anything, but I think it's important to be involved. I'm interested in meditation and finding spiritual fulfillment. But for me to just go off and devote my life to monkhood in the jungle would be ultimately abandoning the world, and the consciousness would be on a selfish level. I think I can do a lot more good for this planet if I am out there."

River is still young. Does he share his mother's confidence that he'll be able to withstand the pressures that Hollywood places on young people-pressures that make them grow up quickly, losing their dreams and ideals in the process?

"Being out there," River says slowly, looking around at the giant oak trees on the lawn, "you can go astray, and everything can be destroyed. I'm aware of that, but I don't think I'll get into that. Maybe I'm lucky; I'm not really attracted to all of that now. I think I'll be strong enough, but I do see there's that chance.

"You can't really make any plans about things like this, though. You go with the flow but still against the grain, not for the ego of it but for the belief of it. The only thing I have to show is how I live. The vegan thing is one of the main things. I'm a peaceful person; I think that's manifested through how I live. I don't start trouble. But time will tell."

River has moved around a lot over the years. He was born in Oregon, went with the family to South America as a young child, and has lived in countless California towns. He's traveled-sometimes with only part of the family-to different countries to film on location. Just before last Thanksgiving the whole family moved to Florida, where they now reside. They wanted to leave the Hollywood scene and revive ideals about living in the country.

Florida winter afternoons are warm, and River spends hours in the garage, hunched over his new 12-string guitar. His hands are square and strong, and after so many years they're used to playing the chords that sound good to him. He has the guitar plugged into an amplifier, and the rock rhythms echo out in the yard. He's not in school (he was privately tutored for most of his life), and he says he's not interested in working until the summer. These days he's mostly hanging around, traveling a bit, hoping a bass guitarist will read the signs he placed around the University of Florida campus. "Needed," the signs read. "Bass guitarist with young blood who's into progressive rock and roll, jazz. For demo recordings." River is looking for a buddy to jam with.

If he didn't have his acting career, River thinks he could be a musician. He's driven to it. "I love music," he says. "It's so much a part of me." The roster of his favorite musicians is long and eclectic; he's especially into early Squeeze and U2. But the rest of his list reads like the playlist of an early '70s FM station. "I like jazz, folk music, Bob Dylan. Older Bowie and old Roxy Music to fall asleep to. I like old Steely Dan music and some Pink Floyd. Old Led Zeppelin, too. The Beatles are my Bible; that goes without saying. And I like classical music."

Modern music disappoints River, and he doesn't like much of what's commercially produced. His tastes in books and movies also show that River has one foot in a different age. He sounds a little frustrated by that, and says things like "movies nowadays. ..books nowadays. .. music nowadays."

He doesn't see too many new movies, preferring witty, intelligent classic comedies, and he likes the great slapsticks. But his idealism comes through even here. "I haven't seen Cry Freedom [about Steven Biko, a martyred black South African], but it's top on my list for a real conscious movie. And I liked Brazil. I like intense movies. Did you ever see Brother Sun, Sister Moon? It's about St. Francis. I felt a rebirth after I saw that."

He doesn't find much time for reading, though he'd like to, but somehow he's picked up a lot of information on health and political issues. The novels he's read, or would like to read, are those that kids grew up on 15 and 20 years ago: Catcher in the Rye and Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger, Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha, Richard Bach's Illusions, Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicles, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.

As for his own movies, he's hot enough to be selective about the scripts he accepts, and he's been pretty happy with the results. "I feel no need to invest in a movie unless I have an incredible passion for it," he says. "And one that will not only be good for me but one I can be proud of-one that's a benefit to society. I always hope the movie will, if nothing else, be a part of good art and influence people in a good way."

Up to now, there's been no compromising in River's work, and he's not planning on changing his record. Even as a child, no commercials he ever made endorsed white bread, and when he was in Seven Brides, the family made sure he wouldn't have to go fishing or wear a coonskin cap.

River still chooses carefully, hoping the ideals he lives by will be reflected in the characters he plays. He liked his character of Chris Chambers in Stand by Me, directed by Rob Reiner. "Chris came off as a victim of the mentality of his town, but he was a good person. He was a great friend, he was loyal and he wasn't an idiot-not just a big dumb l2-year-old. He was a real sweet guy, smart and intelligent. A good character."

The last movie he worked on was Sidney Lumet's Running on Empty. (Lumet directed Dustin Hoffman in the Academy Award-winner Tootsie.) River plays the son of parents whose antimilitary activities have kept them on the run for years. River likes the character but sees him as a victim, too.

"In dramas, kids usually are victims, either to their parents or to society:' River explains. "I want to get away from that. It would be wonderful to see someone already in a clear-minded reality take it from there and maybe go beyond that, show what can happen."

He can't say precisely what kinds of films he'd like to do or what kind of work will draw him next. Theater would be interesting, perhaps, and possibly directing at some point. Unlike many actors, he's not even thinking about who he'd like to work with. "I would like to work with Rob Reiner again," he says, "Maybe just a cameo role in one of his movies. But for the most part I don't think like that. I figure that time will tell, and if it's right, I'll meet the right people and work with them at some point." Outwardly, River has few doubts about himself, as an individual and as a Phoenix family member. "I'm definitely an individual," he said. "I feel very secure as an individual. And I'm proud of my family and what we've done together. I'm a product of my family, just like everybody else. These are my roots.

"I just want to live my life. Acting is what I love to do, and it's worked out this way. I don't know if it's God's perfect plan or whatever, but for me, not only do I love it and get great satisfaction out of it, but also I can work my beliefs in. I'm free to believe in what I do, and I can share those beliefs with others. Not in a preaching way, not telling others, but just by what I do. I find that very fulfilling."

After lunch-tabouli, nori, blue corn chips, tofu omelet, tahini dressing-River and Rainbow, like older brother and sister in any family, take the family jeep to pick up the other kids from school. Back home, River runs into the yard to swing on the rope hung from one of the oaks. "Hey, look at this!" he yells. While Rainbow watches, River laughs, jumps high and grabs hold. 

A Phoenix on the rise.

[full-imagination]

Nancy Smith Lineberry

Nancy Eugenia Smith Lineberry, 72, of Pauline, SC, died Sunday, November 10, 2019, at her home. Born June 6, 1947, in Spartanburg, SC, she was the daughter of the late Bomar Boyd Smith and Mabel Dean Finch Smith. Nancy was the last surviving member of her family. Nancy was a 1965 graduate of Dorman High School. She attended Spartanburg Junior College for two years. It was during those years that she met her future husband, and the LOVE of her life, Ben Lineberry. Nancy attended Winthrop College and received a B.A. in secondary education. Several years later, she received her M.A.T. at Converse College, and then her Thirty-hours above the Master’s at USC-Spartanburg. She was a member of Philadelphia Baptist Church where she served as a Youth Sunday School teacher in the 1970s, a Vacation Bible School teacher, and was as a member of the church choir. She served for 32 years as pianist for the church, following in the foot-pedals of her mother who played the piano for thirty-plus years and her grandmother, Mrs. Tweetie Finch who played the piano from the late 1890s through the early 1920s. She enjoyed the many trips to Ridgecrest with her best friend, Diane Owings who played the organ for the church. Nancy was a mainstay in assisting several music directors for the church over the past thirty years. Nancy taught First Grade at Roebuck Primary and Roebuck Elementary School for thirty-eight years before retiring in 2008. She was a reading teacher and tutor at Woodland Heights and West View Elementary for six years and retired in 2014. She was a true-to-form country girl as she enjoyed helping her brother Dean in the garden. Nancy became an excellent cook, too. This was shown as her husband’s parents, J. E. Lineberry and Sarah H. Lineberry, both now deceased, enjoyed Nancy’s good southern country-style Sunday dinners. This trait was taught to her by her mother, Mrs. Mabel Smith. Nancy enjoyed going on trips to the beach with her husband and their two sons Benji and Marcus. Over time, these trips would include a host of friends and family. Traveling with friends was another enjoyment that Nancy enjoyed doing with her husband, especially to Disney World with good friends, such as: Steven Krawczvk and Kathy Causby, Larry and Phyllis Mauldin, Carroll and Diane Owings, and Marshal and Susan Morgan and their two daughters, Amanda and Jessica. Then there were those trips to Gettysburg and Monticello. We cannot forget the long drive over that high bridge on the way to visit beautiful Williamsburg, Jamestown, and Yorktown. Oh, one must add that wonderful trip by the Bob Morgan Tour to New York City with Carroll Owings and Diane. Can’t forget the trip out to the Statue of Liberty, ‘Ground Zero’, or up to the top of the Empire State building and Central Park. All of this was made so much more enjoyable as it was during the Christmas season, too. Nancy always enjoyed being with her friends, especially those Christmas trips up to the Biltmore Estate when all eight of our friends traveled the corridors wheeling Phyllis around in a wheelchair in that mansion. I believe we made a big spectacle of getting Phyllis up and down those stairs, too. Adding to the enjoyment that evening, it started snowing. Of course, we can’t forget the beach trips with Mary and Toey Lee, as well as attending those Clemson Football games. Nancy enjoyed visiting Mary, her best friend from high school, at their large farm in Alcolu. Everyone enjoyed those fish camps, too, especially LEE’S KITCHEN at Murrell’s Inlet. Nancy enjoyed helping her sons develop into fine young men and was proud of them as they developed a keen interest in the Marching Band at Dorman. Nancy was thrilled to take her mother, brother, and Aunt Elizabeth with us in 1994 to see Marcus playing in the drumline for the Dorman High School Marching Band as it marched around the entrance square to the Magic Kingdom. She would forever thank Etta Jenkins for helping her sons develop that wonderful touch on playing the piano, too. Nancy enjoyed attending those piano recitals at Case Brothers for Etta’s Classes. Besides musical playing, Nancy enjoyed seeing her sons participate in youth baseball games as well as playing on the Philadelphia Baptist Church softball team with their father. Besides being a devoted Christian lady at Philadelphia Baptist Church, Nancy was a professional schoolteacher, par excellence. Her peers at Roebuck admired her a great deal and enjoyed working closely with her on several school projects. Mrs. Annie Means knew she could always depend on Nancy to accomplish whatever task was before her. But her peers truly loved Nancy, as she was there to help in any capacity for the school and for the first-grade teachers. But most of all, Nancy was that dedicated teacher who was there for the student and several of her students compliment Nancy to this very day. Thank you all for being Nancy’s good friends like Nancy Nettles, Gina Tate, Linda Tanenbaum, Tracie Love, Judy McKinney, and a host of others, too. Also, Nancy served as an excellent teacher who would take a practice teacher and help in the molding of an excellent, future teacher for the educational systems throughout the upstate region. A good number of those student-teachers went on to become excellent teachers. They never forgot their mentor and their friend, Nancy Lineberry. As time passed and grandchildren entered the family, as well as step- grandchildren, Nancy enjoyed the many trips to the beach and to Disney World with her very large extended family. It pleased her greatly to see Josh continue his education at Spartanburg Community College. Morgan is a sophomore at the College of Charleston. Danny attended SCC but has undertaken a job in construction. Ben and Reese were a pleasure for Nancy as she has enjoyed watching them grow up over the years and helped them with homework after school. She is proud of Reese and her dancing and piano playing, too. She admires her grandson, Ben, for becoming the outdoor sportsman. Survivors include her husband of 49 years, James Benjamin “Ben” Lineberry; son, James Marcus Lineberry (Angie); daughter-in-law, Carly Lineberry; grandchildren, Ben Lineberry and Reese Lineberry; step-grandchildren, Josh Whitley, Danny Whitley, and Morgan Whitley and cousin, Carolyn Finch Fowler (Joe). In addition to her parents, she was predeceased by a son, Benjamin Boyd “Benji” Lineberry; and brother, Boyd Dean Smith. Visitation will be 1:00-2:30 PM Friday, November 15, 2019, at Philadelphia Baptist Church, with funeral services following at 3:00 PM, conducted by The Rev. Kiah Graves, The Rev. Monty King, and The Rev. Edgar Boles. Burial will be in the church cemetery. Pallbearers will be Marion Finch, Adam Finch, Eric Finch, Joe Fowler, Carroll Owings, Scott Payne, Jared Bishop, Brent Mitchell, and Larry Mauldin. In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to Philadelphia Baptist Church, “Capital Repair Fund”, 3119 Hwy 56, Pauline, SC 29374. Floyd’s North Church Street Chapel from The JF Floyd Mortuary via Spartanburg Funeral

[mothdruid]

The Physics of Love- Part Two

series masterlist | prologue | part one | part three

pairing.

robert ‘bob’ floyd x afab!reader (nickname Nova)

word count.

2.8k

warnings.

kind of fluff, insecurities, swearing, mild sexual content, this content is meant for those who are 18 and older.

authors note.

bob did it! he asked nova on a date finally!! i figured since i'm writing this story so broken up, i'll upload it as a 'series' still, but it'll be more like an anthology. i've been best with writing a lot in concise order. so this is the best you're gonna get from me.

“How’d it go?”

Bob looked over at Mickey, a confused look on his face. Bob knew exactly what Mickey was talking about, obviously. He had told Mickey and Nat, but not the rest of their friend group. Who were all currently sitting at the table in Jake’s house.

“How’d what go?” Jake asked.

Bob looked away from Mickey, now realizing that everyone was focused on him. A rosy tint covered his cheeks now with the spotlight in him. Bob took his glasses off, setting them on the table. He ran his palms over his face, anxiety immediately starting to bubble. There was a reason that Bob didn’t bring up his dating life. It wasn’t that he didn’t have one, it was just limited in a sense.

He grew up in a small town in North Carolina. A limited amount of people lived there, and most other people his age weren’t interested in the things he liked. He kept to himself for the most part, not getting his first girlfriend until college. Which only happened thanks to the help of Mickey and Javy. That only lasted a few months, like every relationship he had been in. They all ran the same course in his mind. Meet, date, fuck, leave. It didn’t help that with college, it seemed like everything had a time limit on it.

“Bob here had a little date the other morning,” Natasha teased from the kitchen.

It was their monthly dinner night. The one night a month that all of them made sure to reunite. Since graduating college they had limited time together. They made sure to do this though, not wanting their friendships to rust and potentially crumble.

“A date?” One of Jake’s eyebrows lifted.

“No, it wasn’t a date,” Bob corrected.

“No?” Mickey asked.

“No.”

“Then what was it?” Jake questioned before taking a drink from his beer.

“I tutored someone,” Bob answered.

Jake looked at Natasha and Mickey with a certain look. Bob slipped his glasses back on before explaining more.

“Professor Coleman told me that he has a student that needs tutoring. Said he thought it’d be a good graduate opportunity for me, so I agreed to do it. And that student just so happens to be female, who needs help with a subject that I’m good at.”

"Ooo, I didn’t realize you were into the whole student teacher thing,” Jake quipped, smile plastered on his face.

“I’m no-”

“Oh, Professor Floyd, I need all this help, pretty please,” Mickey mocked. He posed outrageously a few times, trying to appear flirtatious.

Bob rolled his eyes, deciding that this was his own personal hell. Just as he was about to respond the doorbell rang. Bob quickly got up, heading to the door and away from the dining and kitchen areas. Even though he wasn’t in the room, he could still hear Jake and Mickey going on about Bob’s, apparently, new teacher student kink. Behind the door was Bradley and Reuben, Reuben holding two nice bottles of wine.

“Thank god,” Bob muttered.

“What a greeting,” Bradley said with a confused smile.

Bob shrugged not exactly sure what to say.

“Is Jake being Jake?” Reuben asked as they stepped in.

Bob closed the door behind them. He took the bottles from Reuben, allowing for Reuben to take his coat off.

“Mickey and Jake are bein-”

“Hey!”

All of them jumped a little bit. They all turned to see Natasha in the archway to the kitchen. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest.

“What the hell took you two so long?”

“Well, Reuben took forever to decide on a wine.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said no reds,” Reuben chimed in.

“Yeah, cause reds are gross,” Bradley said.

All of them made their way to the kitchen. Bob was beyond thankful that Jake and Mickey had stopped their jokes about Bob’s tutoring. The dislike for red wine continued as they got into the kitchen. Natasha and Bob got their own glasses of wine while everyone greeted each other. Eventually, it was finally reinstated that Reuben was the only person who actually liked red wines.

“You guys are just so uncultured,” Reuben joked.

“Uh-uh, you don’t get to call me uncultured,” Mickey pointed a finger at Reuben, “my culture is very different from all of yours.”

All of them erupted with laughter. They all got settled, now only waiting for Javy to show up. It was going to be a little late for that, Javy informing them earlier about the last minute emergency that came into the clinic.

“Seriously, Bob, how’d the tutoring go though?” Jake asked after a sip of beer.

“It was, it was good. She’s bright, doesn’t give herself enough credit.” Bob explained.

“Freshman?” Bradley asked.

“No, junior,” Bob replied.

“A junior taking Physics two? Isn’t that a little late?” Natasha added.

“Woe, woe, physics two is what you’re tutoring?” Jake seemed shocked.

Bob took a drink of wine, silently thanking Bradley for making Reuben get a pink wine.

“Yeah, physics two to a geology major.”

“Isn’t that basically their whole degree?” Jake asked.

“No, bagman, it’s not,” Natasha’s tone was stern.

Jake put his hands up, not wanting Natasha to get upset.

“I didn’t mean anything by that, I’m just asking.” Jake was cautious with his words this time.

“Well, however much physics they need,” Bradley started, “Bob’s the man for the job.”

Bob smiled as they all agreed, toasting to Bob and his success with tutoring.

-

“Check?” You asked, pushing your paper towards Bob.

“Check,” Bob said, his fingers brushing yours as he grabbed your paper.

You leaned back in the chair, heat pooling in your cheeks, waiting to hear that you were wrong. Again.

The day had been long, two classes that morning, then study hall, and now tutoring. Your brain felt fried at this point. And optic equations weren’t really helping. The one thing that did seem to help was Bob though. Ever since exchanging numbers the two of you had been texting.

Was it as often as you wanted? No. But were you complaining? A little bit.

Ever since meeting him you wanted to know more. What was his favorite food? Movie? Where did he come from? Why for the love of god was he pursuing astrophysics for his masters?

No matter what the answers, you would show up to these meetings every week. They had slowly become the highlight of your weeks. Being able to watch Bob work, flipping through pages while writing down equations with no issue. It was oddly captivating, seeing his brain work at such a high level seamlessly. Like a super computer at work.

“Three is wrong,” Bob said, offering the paper back to you.

“Seriously?” You snatched the paper, looking the equation over again.

“Very,” Bob had a small smile on his face, soft wrinkles forming near his eyes.

You sat the paper back down, flipping to the page in your text book breaking down the equation. After pulling up the notes on your computer you another attempt.

“So, why astrophysics?” You asked.

Bob watched you try the problem again, not paying any attention to him when you asked the question.

“It’s cool,” Bob awkwardly answered.

Not a lot of people asked Bob about his interests, aside from Nat and Mickey. Hell, even when Jake asked him about things he got a little surprised. Obviously he was more than a little surprised right now. The cute girl he was tutoring was asking him about himself, how could he not be surprised?

Yeah, he had been texting you, but they were pretty surface level texts. Simple things like ‘when do you have class?’ or ‘hope you have a good day’, and even ‘do you want a coffee today?’. In all honestly, it was mainly you texting him and him responding with surface level answers. He just wasn’t exactly sure what to say or what to do. As much as he wanted to ‘shoot his shot’ as Bradley would say, he was afraid of scaring you off.

“Just cool?” You peaked up from your paper, “That’s it? No other reason?”

Bob noticed a little bit of a playful tone in your words.

“Yeah, kind of,” Bob said with a small smile.

“Well, what makes it kind of cool then?” You honestly just wanted to have a little bit of distraction while trying the equation.

“Space, stars, black holes, rockets, all of it. It’s just really cool.” Bob watched your pencil etch on the paper. “It’s just cool to learn about the things that are hard to understand. The intangible being somewhat tangible? I just want to understand it all more, help others understand it too. Kind of like you and geology.”

You looked up at Bob smiling.

“But geology is tangible,” you joked.

“I’m pretty sure there are things that you can’t touch in geology, like lava,” Bob said. He put his elbows on the table, reaching over to your paper, “Now let me see this.”

“Why, it’s probably not right this time either,” you offered him the paper reluctantly.

“Don’t doubt yourself,” Bob reassured you, taking the paper from you.

“Doubting is all I’ve been taught to do in this field.”

It was meant to come out as a joke, nothing more. But the way Bob face changed almost broke you. It wasn’t a big change, but it was still enough of one. A silence started to hang between the two of you. It felt as if your body was going to cave in on yourself, shoulders drawing closer together as you made yourself smaller.

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t apologize.” Bob’s gaze locked with yours, sincerity in his blue eyes.

“Being in STEM hasn’t been easy on me,” you let out a soft chuckle.

Bob sat there, staring, waiting for you to say something. He adjusted his glasses before you spoke again.

“This isn't anything towards you, cause you’ve been nothing but kind to me,” you crossed your arms and pulled them close, “but my life in STEM has been man after man telling me that this isn’t for me. No matter how hard I’ve tried, easy or hard the subject, it’s been a big fat you’re not good enough. It really starts to weigh on you after a while, why do you think I took physics so late?” The word vomit was followed with an awkward laugh, “Sorry, I-”

“I said don’t apologize, and I meant it,” Bob reached out, offering a hand to you across the table. “I know it might not mean much from me, especially because I’m not in your field, but you do belong here.”

Something had started to well up in your throat, tears pricking your eyes lightly. The muscles through your body started to relax. Your shoulder straightening out a little, arms not held so closely together. The soft shell you had created was dissipating, cracking at the seams. You reached out, taking his hand and focusing on the soft skin of his palm.

“I- thank you, but are you sure? I mean, I can’t even figure out optical equations.”

“Listen,” Bob’s hand squeezed yours, “I can only imagine what people have said to you, but they are all wrong. Like I said, you belong here, probably more than all those people who told you those things.”

His other hand came down to cover your clasped hands, provoking you to do the same. The two of you sat there for a moment, staring at each other and holding hands. You gave him a sarcastic ‘okay’ look, earning you a playful ‘I’m being serious’ look. The both of you broke into smiles while continuing to hold each others hands. A rosy color had started to appear on Bob’s cheeks.

“Have you ever been to the Cranbrook Institute of Science?”

The question took you a little off guard, but it warmed your heart.

“Everyone in STEM here has, but I’d be happy to go again,” you looked away for a moment as warmth filled your cheeks.

A bit of surprise touched Bob’s features, surprised by your answer. He thought it might be a long shot, asking you on a date, but he was hoping that after the last few weeks you’d be up for it. He really wanted to ask you prior to this session, but his nerves got the better of him. The possibility of tutoring becoming awkward would be the death of him.

“Are you sure? Because if you think that would make it awkward or anything, I don’t want that for you. And I don’t want it to seem like you have to come with me or anything. I promise that even if you say no, I’ll tutor you to the best of my abilities.” Bob’s nerves always made him word vomit.

“Hey,” it was your turn to squeeze his hands, “I’d be more than happy to go, especially with you, starboy.”

Excitement blossomed through Bob, the nickname making his heart ache. Most nicknames he earned were full of teasing, and maybe yours was to a degree. But he liked it. It felt personal, something full of love, something he wanted more of.

“Okay,” Bob said while nodding softly.

You squeezed his hands one more time before letting go. The two of you adjusted yourselves, sitting across from each other once again. A smile cracked across your face as you watched Bob adjust his glasses once more. There was a small grin plastered on his lips. He grabbed your paper once again, looking it over.

“Oh, and number three is right.”

-

It felt like your heart was going to jump out of your chest. Barely balancing on the balls of your feet on each step, you ran up the steps to your apartment. You had to tell your roommates immediately, they would get a kick out of it. Once you got to the door you punched your code into the keypad, hearing the tone of acceptance and unlocking of the deadbolt. You took your backpack off as you opened the door, setting it on the floor as the door closed.

The hard material of the door caught you, keeping you up straight when you fell back onto it. You rested your head back on the door, smile plastered on your face. You couldn’t stop thinking about it all.

The way he had looked at you. Those words coming out of his mouth with a type of shy confidence. Every time he had adjusted his glasses made your heart flutter. God, it was so fucking nerdy and you loved it. The seriousness that took over his face when double checking your work. It was the face you had been dreaming about for weeks.

The dreams had ranged from innocent to devious. Hand holding, cuddles, and coffee dates were some of the softer things, thoughts that lingered for hours after you woke up. Then there were the dreams that had you craving more. Hands on your hips, head between your thighs, and a sensation of being filled up. Those thoughts lingered for more than a few hours. Honestly, those thoughts never left your mind.

“You good?” A familiar voice asked.

You opened your eyes to see Mara and Alex staring at you. They were sitting at the kitchen table, books and laptops open with papers all over the place. You toed your shoes off before lugging your backpack to the table. It made a thump as you placed it on a chair you pulled out.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, "a-ok.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, Mara smiled and shook her head.

“Spill,” Mara said.

“Did you guys fuck in the study room?” Alex asked.

“Oh my god, no. Alex why-”

“Tell, now.” Mara demanded.

“I may or may not have a date on Saturday,” you smiled and put your hands flat under your chin, jokingly showing your face off.

“Fucking finally, it’s been weeks since you two started whatever this is,” Alex explained, “the slow burn was becoming too slow for my taste.”

You stuck your tongue out while flipping Alex off, moving over to the cabinet for a glass.

“Where’s it at?” Mara asked in a cheerful tone.

“Cranbrook,” you answered, pulling the water pitcher out of the fridge to fill your glass.

“Of course,” Alex chuckled a little.

“What?”

“It’s just a little,” Alex paused for a moment, “nerdy.”

“Says the one who took your last date to an arcade.” You stated.

Mara laughed and agreed with you. You made your way back to the table, moving your bag from the chair and sitting down.

“It’s a different nerdy and you know it,” Alex said.

“It’s a smart nerdy,” Mara added.

Alex rolled her eyes at the both of you.

For the rest of the night you three sat at the table, working on homework and scrolling through tiktok on occasion. You had explained everything to them, the way he asked you and the time you’d be meeting with him on Saturday. Mara and Alex had been teasing you ever since you started your tutoring sessions. They had both convinced themselves that he was the one for you, so they made sure you looked your best on the day of.

tags:

@wkndwlff

@thedroneranger

@callsign-sprout