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#robert bob gray
snowls-yt · 11 months
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Robert Gray (Human Pennywise) Character Design for my slasher au 😳
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avianii · 7 months
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Don't work with your parents- they have blackmail material in their wallets
this but with Top Gun (1986)
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jinglejails · 2 months
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Robert "Bob" Gray (AKA Pennywise's non-clown form) as a stonky sewer rat. 🐀 My version has red-painted ovals on his cheeks. (●'ᴗ'●) Hope ya’ like him!
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thesightstoshowyou · 10 months
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All Better
Bob Gray x F Reader (NSFW)
Warnings: Noncon, daddy kink, breeding kink, medical terminology, clinic setting, blood, degradation, threats, creampie, stupid medical jokes
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Each day he’s in clinic, you print out the schedule for your physician. The schedule displays each patient he will see for the day, along with the type of appointment and duration.
Usually on the evening prior, you look ahead at the charts to see what the next day will bring, but yesterday’s shift had been hectic; last minute calls to schedule a blood transfusion, a STAT CT, coordinate a hospital admission. You hadn’t been given a chance to peek at the list until this morning.
A mistake.
The schedule sits innocuously on the counter, waiting for the physician, as always. You’re a competent nurse, after all.
Heart hammering in your chest, you stare at the last name on the list. God, of course, the one day you didn’t check ahead he had to show up....
Robert Gray - Physical - 60min
You’re not sure what it is about him. You can never put a finger on it, but there is something so incredibly wrong about Bob. His eyes, his grin, his speech, the way he walks.... Everything about him is wrong, rotten, vile.
You hear the heavy boot falls of Dr. Thompson as he stomps down the hall. Forcing a smile to your face, you stand, listening for any requests or orders he might have before you retrieve the first patient of the day. He scans the list, pausing at Bob’s name.
“What a way to end the day, huh?” he asks with a chuckle. You force a breathy laugh as Dr. Thompson moves away to his office. Swallowing thickly, your eyes close despairingly. Maybe you could go home sick....
It’s a whirlwind day. The third patient had required an ambulance to the hospital. The fifth needed several moles removed, all of which required sutures. An immediate MRI of the head and neck was needed for the sixth patient, a procedure which their insurance did not want to approve. DFA, nurse visit, pap smear, vaccinations, vaccinations, vaccinations. By the time 3:30 PM rolled around, you’d completely forgotten about Bob.
That is, until his name lit up in yellow on your computer screen, indicating he had checked in for his appointment.
Shit.
You glance around you, hoping to pass him off on someone else, but all your coworkers are with their own patients. You’ll have to be the one to room him.
Slowly, you stand and make your way out into the lobby. With each step, apprehension grows. Calm down, it’s just one weird guy, you can handle it.
“Bob?” you call. Immediately, you spot him across the room. His sky blue eyes are already trained on you, full lips curled up in a mischievous grin. They glisten under the fluorescents, like he’s been wetting them over and over.
Leisurely, he unfurls from his chair, standing to his impressive height and strolling across the lobby toward you. He walks with a limp...but maybe not. It’s so hard to tell with this way his gangly legs swing as he steps. Once again, he’s dressed like a man from another century; tweed slacks, suspenders, yellowing button down rolled up at the forearms, muddy dress shoes, hat clutched between spidery fingers.
The hair on the back of your neck stands on end the closer he gets, his eyes never leaving yours. You plaster a strained smile across your face as you greet him.
“How are you, Bob?” you ask, as pleasantly as you can manage, the cracking of your voice giving you away. Hastily, you lead him to the exam room. You hope to get this over with as quickly as you can.
“Well, well, old Mr. Gray has his favorite little nurse here to take care of him, so he’s good as new,” he replies in that strange, lilting voice. You see him leering out of the corner of your eye as you pull up his chart. Politely, you smile back, skin crawling frantically across your body.
“Anything in particular you want to talk to Dr. Thompson about?” you ask as you fill in your preliminary assessment. Bob tilts his head to the side as if he’s thinking.
“You know, there is something, just a little something....” he replies cryptically, his voice a sing song. You frown, look up to meet his baby blues—
Gold?
Heart stuttering in your chest, you blink several times in an effort to clear your vision. Blue, his eyes are blue. You could have sworn they’d been gold a second ago—
“Little girl’s seeing things, wonderin’ if her minds playing tricks, tricks, tricks...” Bob murmurs, his long fingers twitching in his lap. A glob of drool spills past his bottom lip, dribbling down his chin to patter onto tweed.
“W-What...?” you stammer, your breath coming in quick, little gasps, the noisy whoosh of your blood rushing in your ears. You scoot back on your stool, intending to flee the room, maybe even call security, but Bob is faster.
Spidery fingers wrap around your face, covering your mouth and nose and muffling your panicked shriek. You hadn’t even seen him move. Your own hands fly to his wrist, desperately tugging and clawing to get away, but Bob doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even flinch when your nails carve bleeding lines down his forearm.
Your eyes grow wide and horrified when he laughs, his face splitting into a manic grin filled to the brim with too many dripping needle-teeth. Animal panic surges through your veins, dosing your quivering muscles with strength.
You push to your feet, twist, rip your face out of Bob’s iron grip and let loose a piercing scream. That’s it, someone will have heard, they’ll send help—
Bob stands with you, free hand gripping the back of your head. He shoves hard, bending you at the waist and smashing your face onto the exam table. The impact knocks the air from your lungs and you’re left stunned, jarred, mouth gaping uselessly.
Just as your chest expands, function returning to shocked muscles, air mercifully flowing to straining lungs, Bob slams a hand down next to your face. You startle, a pathetic half-cry leaving your lips as exam table paper crinkles and tears.
His hand…. His hand…!
Bob’s hand and fingers have changed, morphed. His skin has darkened, digits elongated, terrible black claws now where fingertips should be. Deep grooves in plastic follow the path of the talons until they’re ripped away, shredded table fabric left in their wake.
There’s pressure against your rear and back as Bob leans over you, slick lips finding your ear, hot breath ruffling your hair. You cough, gag at the scent; rotting meat and melting ice cream all at once.
You whimper, wriggle, thrash, but he has you pinned to the table with his body weight. Teary eyes raise to the exam room door. Any second someone will throw it open and save you….
Noisy cackling in your ear jars you, makes your ears ring. Against your cheek, you feel Bob’s head shake slowly side to side in a ‘No,’ like he can hear what you’re thinking.
“Just you and Bob now, sweet pet. You and Bob Gray. Look!” As he speaks, the door swings open seemingly on its own. Your eyes widen, terror and disbelief turning your blood to ice when all you find is darkness, a void beyond the doorway. There’s no sound, no keyboard taps or phones ringing or vitals machines beeping.
Nothing. No one.
The ‘whowhatwhenwherewhy,’ the impossibility, the utter terror of such an unbelievable situation all muddle together in your racing mind until there’s nothing but buzzing. Your fear-addled synapses can only comprehend one thing: You’re alone. There’s no one coming to help.
There’s no one but you and this Thing behind you.
A gleeful giggle, a tremulous, “Now you see!” renews your panic. But there’s no where to go, no budging under Bob’s unyielding grip on your hair.
He snuffles near your ear, through your sweaty locks, sticky drool smearing across your skin as he sucks in your scent. “Pretty girl, pretty fear. So tasty. And. Wet.” That final consonant is so sharp as it pops off his tongue you wince, feeling it deep in your gut. A short, deep rumble follows his words—a chuckle—and then he’s singing, “Time for your check up, little girl.”
You squeak when that clawed hand brushes your hip, slides down the front of your scrub pants. Feather light, Bob strokes the apex of your thighs, tips of sharpened digits catching on your underwear until you’re shuddering.
Thighs shaking, it takes tremendous willpower not to buck and twist away. You’re terrified he will dig into your most sensitive flesh should you move, so instead you still, fighting the gathering wetness and tempting heat.
Shaky breaths leave your parted lips. One such breath takes the form of a mewl, your stomach dropping in shame at the sound. You grit your teeth, your traitorous tongue determined to loose more with every stroke of clawed fingers.
Bob titters; it’s a pleased, teasing sound. “Shy toy, but Daddy knows, he knows….” As he speaks, his dress shoes wedge themselves between your ankles and push, shoving your legs farther apart.
A squeal tears from your throat when claws twist, grab hold of your clothing, rip and tear until you’re bare from the waist down, tattered scrubs pooling at your feet. Tears welling in your eyes you plead, “No, no, please, don’t—
“Scared of the doctor, little treat? Nooo, noo, gonna make you feel all better. I smell something, something, something that needs examined, hmm?” He ruts his hips against your ass and it is then—face paling, terror suffocating—you notice the hardened length in his trousers.
Bob presses his mouth to your cheek so hard you feel the sharp sting of shark teeth when they dig into your flesh. Voice biting, he asks, “Think it’s that filthy cunt between your legs?” Sobbing, you shake your head, stammered pleas and garbled nonsense spilling from your mouth. All your words are drowned out by Its deafening, maniacal laughter.
Suddenly, your head is released and you hastily shove away from the exam table, only for claws to dig sharply into your back to shove you down again. You cry out, arch away, little pinpoints of blood welling up under each digit and soaking into your scrub top. Behind you, Bob ‘tsks.’
“The snack will stay still unless it wants to see its spine.” Tearfully, you nod, stabbing agony in your back holding you in place.
A snap meets your ears, then another. Bob undoing his suspenders, you realize. Twisting your head, you watch as he rips open the button of his slacks, only to quickly look away again when his thick, pallid cock springs free.
“B-Bob—
You pleadingly choke on his name, but the talons rip free from your back to wrap around your throat. Hard flesh slides between your folds when Bob leans down over you again, chilly spit trickling down your neck as he murmurs, “Daddy. Say it.”
“I-I c-can’t—
“NOW.” Claws tighten, pricking the skin of your throat, more stinging pain.
“D-Daddy!”
“Good girllll.” Bob’s hips surge forward, a strangled scream ripping from your throat as he buries every inch of his girth in your cunt. Bob hums appreciatively when your muscles spasm. They squeeze on nothing as he leisurely pulls back out, only to slam home again.
Every thrust jars you, rocks the exam table under your white-knuckled fists until it squeaks. The claw around your neck keeps your bleeding back arched and pulls you into Bob’s hips as he pops his cock in and out of your leaking hole.
Leaking…. You shouldn’t be, but you are, juices spilling down your thighs and cunt squelching loudly with each vicious thrust. Your mouth betrays you too, each snap of hips met with high-pitched keens that force their way out of your constricted throat.
Bob grunts, pants, mutters directly in your ear, “Sick little meal, needed Daddy’s help, needed treatment, hm? Its meat is flavored now, succulent,” he inhales noisily, drags his tongue through the tears streaming down your cheek, “Ripe with fear. Should Daddy take a bite? Sink his teeth in deep? Sup on the little treat’s horror?” You sob and tremble, head shaking hastily from side to side.
“No? ‘No,’ it says? This filthy little slut wants Daddy to keep fucking it instead! To fill it with seed and breed it until all it knows is how to beg and cum and float, float, float!”
The last word like a trigger, you tense, eyes crossing, world whiting out. Slick insides clench and flutter around hard, heated flesh, desperate to milk every drop of the promised seed. The unbidden orgasm is made even worse when a whimpered, “Daddy…” leaves your tongue.
A patronizing chuckle sounds in your ear, followed by a low, inhuman rumble that sends your heart into a frenzy. Bob’s hips stutter and he snarls, “Take your medicine.” Warmth fills your guts, overflows, spills down your legs and drips onto linoleum.
Gasping, quivering, dazed, you flinch when the clawed hand on your throat moves to your jaw. Thumb stroking your cheek, Bob nudges your temple with his nose. “Perfect toy,” he notes.
Without warning, he stands up straight and pulls away. No body weight to hold you to the table, your knees buckle and you crash to the floor in a puddle of spend and torn clothing.
Bob’s own clothes are righted, pants buttoned, suspenders back in place, scratches healed, hat clutched in two normal hands. No blackened digits, no claws. It’s as though nothing had changed at all.
Had it?
He crouches down before you and, fearfully, you meet his gaze. Blue eyes sparkling, buck-toothed grin stretching across his face, he holds out his hat. Bob’s movements are exaggerated as he reaches dramatically inside, like he’s performing a magic trick.
Slowly, he withdraws his hand. The stick of a lollipop is pinched between a long thumb and forefinger. Cherry flavored. You stare dumbly.
The wrapping crinkles, flutters to the floor as Bob peels it away. “Treat for a treat,” he states and pops it into your mouth.
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into-crazy · 11 months
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Bob Gray nsfw thoughts
Bob Gray x Female Reader drabble
It's freaky fridayy and I've really been into Bob Gray lately. There's just something I love about that nasty old man, idk. Anyways, I had to get this off my mind. This is short and a tiny bit filthy.
Warnings- mature language, NSFW, SMUT, dry humping, choking, dirty talk, degradation, ages 18+
It had caught you off guard when Bob suddenly threw the door open and rushed at you with that angry look in his eyes. Good thing you weren't holding anything fragile, because it definitely would have slipped from your grasp. He grabbed you but you didn't know whether you should be aroused or afraid. Still completely unaware of the situation, you weren't prepared for what was going to come. You had no time to think, let alone react.
Next thing you know, you're on your back. Bob has you pinned to the ground as he hovers above you, pressing his pelvis against your own. The floor is a little dirty and dusty, you knew you should have cleaned it earlier. Guess it's too late for that now. It's all happening fast, in a hurry. Bob's restraining both of your hands with just one of his large ones. His grip is strong, you wouldn't be able to free your hands if you'd wanted to. Thrusting his hips forward, you feel how hard he is. He wasted no time in removing any clothing, from him or you. You're in your undergarments while he's still fully clothed. With his shoes on and all, he hasn't even bothered to kick them off.
You squirm around as he dry humps you roughly. His clothed, hard cock rubs against your heat, granting your clit some friction. Not enough to cum, but enough to make you moan and whimper. Quickly turning into a writhing, horny mess. Begging him to take you. To give you more. Something, anything more.
Though it's quickly become evident that Bob's focus is on his own pleasure at the moment. He is harsh and relentless as you uses you to take it. Rutting into you like an animal in heat. Breathing heavily against your slick skin, saliva dripping from his open mouth onto you. His other hand greedily gropes your body. Shifting between rubbing your breasts and squeezing your ass. His touches aren't gentle in the slightest.
Hot tears stream down your cheeks. It's torture. Your pussy clenches around nothing as you wish desperately for his fingers, his tongue, or his cock. The emptiness is becoming unbearable, you need to be filled.
"Bob- please, I can't take it! I n-need you!"
Your pitiful cries only spur him on more. His thrusts become harder and faster. Almost angry. His erection ramming repeatedly against your aching cunt. That's how he would be fucking you if there weren't any clothes in the way.
You continue begging him. "Fuck me. Please Bob, it hurts. Fuck me, fuck me!"
Bob's hand immediately wraps around your throat. Squeezing to shut you up because he's had enough of your mouth. Of your whiney complaints. "You're going to lay there and take it. Like the good, obedient whore you are. Hm, you got that?"
A pathetic squeak manages to escape your lips as you nod your head in compliance. Submitting to him without further words of protest.
He lets go of your throat to pat you on the cheek, a cruel smile creeps up his face. "Good, that's a good girl." He pants approvingly. His fingers brush away your tears and his drool. You look an absolute mess and he loves it. His eyes peer down your body. They land on your soaked underwear, his cock twitch at the sight of it. "Look at that, ha- oh you're dripping right through the fabric. Fuuck.."
His index and middle finger glide directly over that spot. Your body writhes in response to his touch. He grabs on to you and pulls you closer, holding you tightly against him. With a final thrust, his hips jerk and he cums hard. His hot, sticky seed making a mess in his trousers. Upon recollecting himself, he decides he wants to punish you because he made a mess of himself. It's your fault that he came all over himself, you are to blame for it.
He stands on his feet while you sit up on your knees. He stretches out the front of his pants to examine the wet spot on the crotch. Now you and him match. It irritates him.
"Oh ho ho, look what you did," he tsks. Grabbing you by the hair and pushing your face into his crotch. "You had me make a mess of myself. Better get to work cleaning me off."
You whine pitifully, rubbing your thighs together. "But I-I, I still need to-"
He cuts you off mid sentence. "Go on now. And if you do a good enough job, maybe I'll consider taking care of that needy cunt of yours."
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rhosmaryyn · 1 year
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i wanted to draw moonica's robert gray au from youtube but might have yassified (drew him way too much like bill skarsgard) him too much i'm so sorry please forgive me;;
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violentbright · 2 years
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https://pin.it/3L0zzSK
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alstanfordart · 1 year
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Have some quick sketches of Bob Gray.
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grande-caps · 2 years
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The Gray Man
Quality : HD screencaptures Amount :  2.950 files Resolution : 1.920 x 1.080 px
-Please like/reblog if taking!
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minilpark · 2 years
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hi, welcome to my account! my name is mercedes (she/her) and i live to serve and fangirl with the people of whatever hyperfixation im on!
though i don't really consider myself a "writer" i do enjoy making little blurbs about whatever characters i am in love with!
requests are closed for hcs and ships! please read the guidelines for either before sending something in!
top gun
topgun hc guidelines
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dc comics
hc/blurb guidelines coming soon!
ship request guidelines coming soon!
marvel
hc/blurb guidelines coming soon!
ship request guidelines coming soon!
the gray man
hc/blurb guidelines coming soon!
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bfvbb · 2 years
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When People Always Ask You Why You Drag Kids Down Sewers, But They Never Ask What’s Truly Dragging YOU down
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snowls-yt · 2 years
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Pennywise
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kat330 · 1 year
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SWEET ‘n’ SOUR (Dec. 9, 2022)
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SWEET (Good Twin)
Zimi Marlin, 5½ months old, namesake "Robert Zimmerman." Around the Martin-Lindroos home, a.k.a. Zimi Longstockings, Zimi Half-Stache, Zimi Zimmerman, Zimi White Nose, Pretty Boy Zimmerman, Zimi Big Eyes, Meister Zimmerman, and The Zimster.
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SOUR (Evil Twin) *
Iggi Marlin, 5½ months old, namesake "Iggy Pop." Around the Martin-Lindroos home, a.k.a. Swagger Cat, Pugnacious Ignatius, Ignominious, Iggi Plop or the Plopmeister (always lies down with a plop), The Corsair (coarser hair than Zimi's), St. Ignatius of Pop, and The Igster.
* L'il Gangsta insisted on this disclaimer: "no snarl was that ... mid-yawn caught ... bad blurry besides ... i'm a good kitty ... at least as good as Zim is"  😺
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jokersmeowmeow · 2 years
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In one of my latest posts I totally forgot about this lovely angel:
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Playing this adorable, bloody goofer aka my fav slasher of all time:
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I'm terribly disappointed in myself, how could I, Jesus... SO! I'm making up for it, I love them both and I wouldn't change a damn thing about it, which is probably why my brain has serious issues XD
Love & appreciation for the demonic, shapeshifting entity from outer space pretending to be a killer clown so IT can scare the shit out of people and eat kids 🤡✌️
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Link
Chapters: 1/? Fandom: IT - Stephen King Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Pennywise (IT)/Reader, Robert "Bob" Gray/Reader Characters: Pennywise (IT), Derry Residents (IT) Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Intimidation, Children of Characters, child death(s), The typical tags that come with a shapeshifting alien clown, Post-Canon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Additional Warnings Apply, Explicit Language Summary:
Your dearest Granda used to tell you so many horrifying things when you were a child, and yet you still listened to every word he said. You were the only one who would.
Now that you are an adult and he has finally passed, you find yourself in Derry, Maine to fulfill his final wish. You don't know why he wants an empty journal left at a little door that probably doesn't even exist somewhere under the old sewer system, and yet here you find yourself being guided by three young children anyway.
If only you knew what torment your actions would bring down upon you.
So I've been sitting on this for years. This story is going to be a challenge for me, and it's going to be...different.
The Pennywise I'm going for is all of the Pennywises we've encountered so far since the novel was published, and yet none of them. He'll be sort of an amalgamation of all of them, though I chose to go with the Bill Skarsgård Pennywise look after a long debate (not gonna lie, it's my favorite, appearance-wise). I've also put a lot from the book in here, but I'm trying to mix everything together in one palpable hellbeast, so please excuse the slow pace and long length of the first chapter.
Things will hopefully make more sense once the second chapter comes out.
Please bear with me!
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attapullman · 3 months
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If Only the Neighbors Knew | Neighbor!Robert "Bob" Floyd
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Summary: A month of stolen kisses culminates in Robert hosting the HOA meeting and getting you on his couch. The ladies of the neighborhood may make him blush, but only you can make your sweet neighbor weak in the knees.
Word Count: 5.2k
Warnings + Notes: Robert "Bob" Floyd x f!reader, 18+ only folks, swearing, unprotected pinv, oral (f!receiving), self-indulgent as per usual, too many italics. Oh, I am blushing and humbled at all the love that Neighbor!Bob has received! It's exactly a month later and now he's back and making us collectively drop our panties again, as well as all the other women in the neighborhood! But don't worry, he's only got eyes for you ;) Happy Holidays, my dears, thanks for reading!
meet Robert From Next Door here
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He’s setting up refreshments in the dining room. The perfect viewpoint to where you perch on his slate gray sectional, making small talk with the neighborhood. Knees primly crossed under your skirt, smile wide as you laugh about the neighbor kids’ shenanigans. And all he can think about was when you walked in, the soft flush in your cheeks when you said, “Hi, Robert,” and gave him the lightest peck on the cheek, as if you did it all the time. As if it didn’t make him weak in the knees.
The only perk of hosting the HOA meeting is that you’re in his home. The fact other people are also here? Not ideal. It’s been a month since he had you straddled on his lap, sweetly moaning into his mouth, and frankly he wants to send everyone home so he can try the same thing on his couch. 
But he offered to host because it’s the neighborly thing to do. Swung by the market on the way home from base and grabbed crackers and cheese, mixed nuts, and too many bottles of wine because once someone brings up the length of grass everyone turns to drinking.
He’s replenishing the plastic cups and water jug when he catches your eye. The small quirk of your smile, a silently flirty hi, has him flustered. Time to start this godforsaken meeting so he’s closer to getting you alone.
“So, Lieutenant Floyd, what’s new with you?” Mrs. Jacobs has already helped herself to enough wine by the time he joins the neighborhood in his sitting room. She’s flanked by her cronies - minions in matching sweater sets - and all instantly turn their attention on him. While not someone who normally turns heads, the day Robert Floyd bought his little bungalow with the creaky porch he was instantly the talk of the street. A young single Naval officer? The women could barely believe their luck. They were all married, but shameless flirting had never been out of question.
He takes a slow sip of his iced tea, biding time. On the other side of the room, he can feel your amused smile. The rumor mill would churn violently if anyone found out what was going on with you two. So you had been sneaking around the last few weeks. A few stolen afternoons kissing on the couch, errand trips turned into steaming up his truck’s windows. It’s been the best month of his life.
The WSO is spared answering when the president of the homeowner’s association clears her throat to start the meeting, shushing her grumbling husband. The collection of husbands sat at the back with their beers, arms crossed, giggling like schoolgirls at their comrade’s chiding. Normally Robert sat with them, but felt bold and came to sit near you on the sectional, one large decorative pillow acting as a barrier.
As expected, the meeting is trivially boring. While he tries to focus on repair costs and chimney safety, all he can think about is your hand only inches away. If he only shifted a few inches - only a few, it would be subtle - he could run the tips of his fingers along the back of your soft hands, intertwining your fingers and rubbing his thumb soothingly along your wrist. And if he was that close, he might as well dip his face into the crook of your neck, where the scent of your perfume was strongest and most delicious. While he was there, it would be so easy to press a k-
“Anyone have any questions about this?” He’s abruptly distracted from his daydream by several neighbors raising their hand, disgruntled by potential disruptions to their homes.
You catch his eye, eyebrows raised, curious on his thoughts about filter replacement. Or if he's as bored as you are. But he simply gives you a dazed, shy smile, his eyes lingering just a second too long on your lips.
The meeting adjourns - thank god - and neighbors create their cliques to download. It feels safe to start your own conversation (the first the two of you have spoken since you pressed a kiss to his cheek) and you turn to him eagerly. Just as you’re about to compliment his selection of cheese, a manicured hand reaches past you and touches Robert’s bicep.
Mrs. Jacobs and company have returned. “Lieutenant, before I head out I wanted to thank you again for taking care of my lawn last week. Such a big help.”
The tips of his ears blush pink, the tone of his neighbor’s voice a tad too suggestive for a simple chore. Mr. Jacobs was nearing his sixties and spent most of these meetings complaining about an old sports injury. It seemed the least the young WSO could do was offer landscaping help after all that rain last week. His mower was already out and he’d mown the Jacobs’ lawn without a second thought. 
It had helped you had been outside planting bulbs. He liked the eye candy in your slightly too tight jeans.
The women continue to praise him and his generous ways. His cheeks on fire as Mrs. Connelly gushed about how great it was to have a big, strong Navy man in the neighborhood. As much as he wants to look at you, the embarrassment flooding his system has his eyes glued to the hardwood.
“You know,” Mrs. Branaugh began, exchanging an excited glance with her friends, “the city hall fundraiser next month is a little short on volunteers for our auction. Any chance any other lieutenants would be available?” Her eyes shamelessly rake down his chest, practically salivating at the idea of fighter pilots parading around in suits. 
You feel the licks of jealousy itch at your palms. 
He sputters out words, unsure if they’re agreement or excuses. Robert’s suffocating on his embarrassment. Mrs. Connelly and Mrs. Jacobs delight in his blush. The latter gushes, “I’d be happy to pay any of them to mow my lawn this summer.” She turns to her friends and winks. “Shirtless, of course!”
You nearly spit out your drink. The host of the evening looks moments from passing out. Your middle aged neighbors are cackling, lost in their tipsy fantasies. It’s time for everyone to go home.
Thankfully most of the men are ready to leave the gossip fest and return to their abodes. Gathering up their wives and thanking Lt. Floyd for his hospitality, the neighborhood departs the tidy bungalow, calls of, “Come over for dinner sometime!” thrown over their shoulders.
Amongst those leaving is you, slipping on your winter jacket and adjusting a thick scarf for the short walk. Barely recovered from his neighbors’ lascivious comments, he’s sad to see you go. Wishes you would straggle behind and pretend to help clean up, only to ignore the dishes and catch up in the biblical way. He can practically feel your soft skin in his hands. But you give him that sweet smile of yours and follow Mr. Sampson out the door, the promise of another time.
He’s never hosting these meetings again.
After much coaxing from her husband, the last of his neighbors finally leave and he’s alone in his bungalow again. Finally. The cheerful oxford blue walls, the hand-me-down dining chairs, the framed photo of his squadron above the mantle. Being permanently stationed has its perks.
He makes quick work of cleaning, bringing the remnants of his makeshift cheeseboard to the kitchen before wiping down the dining table and straightening the couch cushions. The multitude of empty wine bottles are taken out to the recycling before turning off the porch light, ready to retire for the night. He’s getting a glass of water when a sound pricks his ear.
The faintest knock. So quiet he would miss it had he been anywhere else in the house. Instantly on the defense, tall, broad frame coming to its full height, he’s prepared for the worst as he approaches the back door that leads to his small yard. 
Another timid knock. 
The biggest, warmest smile takes over his face as he opens the door and sees his visitor. There you stand, cheeks pink with cold and your lip trapped between your teeth. You sneak. 
Robert quickly invites you inside, enveloping you with his warm body once you’ve toed off your boots. The hug has tension escaping every muscle, finally back in each other’s arms as it should be. The secrecy, while necessary, is the worst.
“Did you forget something?” His deep voice mumbles into your hair. You push back to look at his face, but his hands are steadfast on your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you. In the month of shared kisses and lighthearted flirting, he’s never had you alone in his house.
Resigned to resting your cheek against his shoulder, you reply, “Didn’t want anyone suspicious if I stayed behind.”
“Ah, so you did the ol’ double back?" You nod. "And you’re sure no one saw you?” His mischievous smile shows he’s all jokes, but in the back of his mind he’s curious if any of his neighbors saw you in the minute gap between your backyards. The same trek he’s been making for weeks after all the lights on the street are out.
You shake your head against his soft crewneck. It’s been three days since you’ve felt his warmth and you’re melting. The faint smell of sage and citrus - and a tinge of jet fuel - flooding your senses and you’re so glad you risked sneaking over. 
Watching him host the HOA meeting with his little refreshment table? So hot. 
While you both want to sit down over a cup of cocoa and catch up on how silly your neighbors are, something else is on your minds. It’s been lying dormant for weeks now, awaiting the moment to rear its head. And in the dim lighting of Robert’s house, on a quiet winter Friday night, the moment is just right.
The first kiss is intended to be innocent, lightly brushing his lips against yours to remind you of his affection. Enjoying the plush softness of your glossy lips. But when the softest of moans leaves you, desperation hits.
He needs you.
The two of you have been playing it safe - you are neighbors after all - but as mere mortals there are needs to be met. The softness of your skin. The broadness of his shoulders. The tension that has been building and building since he watched you dunk that tea bag and knew it was now or never.
You tear away from his face, as painful as it is, to rasp against his jaw. “Robert, your house is so nice. Can you show me your bedroom?”
Squeals of delight bounce off the hallway walls as he all but drags you to the other side of the house. His fingertips dig into your hips, a little too eager, his glasses slipping down his nose as he steals kisses. As he showers you in affection, you appreciate his home out of the corner of your eye. The small collection of black-and-white snapshots from different naval bases he’s worked on. A pencil holder that looks handmade. Your heart lurches for this man whose heart is too big for this bungalow.
Feet slow at a doorway, his hands steadying you against the frame. As you look up into his sky blue eyes, nerves shoot down both your spines. The delicious thought pops into your head that you’re finally going to see him naked and you feel lightheaded.
He can’t let himself think about your body or he will pass out.
His bedroom fits him. Lamps cast a cheery glow onto the mahogany dresser where he keeps a majority of the US Navy paraphernalia he’s been collecting since he was a child - little figurines and framed airshow stills. A large wingback chair sits cozily in the corner, laden with a flannel he had debated wearing; you’re glad he stuck with the buttery soft crewneck you can’t help running your palms over. And the main event, against the far wall, looking as inviting and luxurious as anything, is Robert’s king size bed. He prides himself on the curved wood headboard he spent a summer working on.
Tentatively, he takes your hand and invites you over the threshold. Your eyes rake over everything to find any red flags (none found - it’s okay he has a lot of plane figurines and not a lot of houseplants - he’s gone half the year, those plants are gonna die) before you let your fingers brush over the blue gray of his heavy plush comforter. Similar to his living room walls.
“You must like blue.”
Cerulean eyes sparkle. His fingers tangle in the cobalt cashmere of your sweater. “I really like blue.”
This time, your lips brush his. The softest sweep before letting yourself lean into him, greedily running your tongue across his thin lips, begging for entrance. His cheeks the softest mauve as he opens his mouth to groan his pleasure. Despite your new surroundings, it feels like home when your tiny pink tongue finds itself nestled against his.
A bolt of heat travels down your spine and your hands fist in his crewneck, torn between enjoying the soft fabric and wanting it off. While your hands are desperate and needy, running up and down his torso in indecision, he’s so soft and gentle with you. Fingers tracing the delicate slope of your jaw, a warm hand on your hip teasing the skin above your skirt. Sweet noises blown directly into your mouth as he savors your taste.
The past month has built this up. That year of tension? Absolutely nothing compared to the burning heat across your skin every time you see him now. You know how he tastes, how he smells, how he whines when you lick the spot behind his ear. The itch consuming your body needs to be scratched, needs to be tamed. You need him.
He seems to be on the same wavelength as you feel his hands lead your hips toward the bed, legs awkwardly backing up until they hit crisp bedding. The man keeps a tidy bed. You’re hopelessly more attracted to him.
Tenderly Robert lowers the two of you to the bed, your back relaxing against the blanket as your hair frames your face. The tips of his fingers trace your cheek as he appreciates how beautiful you are. Embarrassed by the attention, you pout until he brings his lips to yours again, loving the way his entire body encloses around you, keeping you safe.
Your legs have a mind of their own as they wrap around his hips, arms sliding down his torso. His cheeks heating as he catches onto you, his own hips rolling into yours. The low noises escaping your throat as he grinds against your bare thigh, turning him on even more. Your chest pressed against his, the swell of your breasts as your back arches - it’s heaven. If it weren’t for your grounding presence stroking a hand through his hair he would think Phoenix crashed the jet that afternoon.
Finally too impatient to wait any longer, you tug on the hem of Robert’s crewneck, silently begging for it to go. He sits up - awkward to do when his pelvis is glued against yours - and pinches the neck of it, shrugging it off his solid frame. Knocks his glasses askew a bit. When he turns back to you, white hot desire slaps you in the face. This six foot pilot, shirtless, with smoldering blue eyes behind fogged glasses and mussed hair? There are no words.
Who would have thought peppermint tea would lead to all this?
You lose yourself in his kisses again, running your hands along the smooth expanse of skin now available. Your hips desperately rutting against his for more friction, a pool of arousal settles in your underwear with how fucking good he looks covered in your affection. Your lips find his neck and suck, the sounds emitting from him indecent. His hands settle at the hem of your skirt, brushing the skin of your thighs as he worries the fabric, contemplating his next move.
“Please.” It’s quiet, but your plea nearly echos in the room. His eyes meet yours. “Please touch me.”
There’s no going back anymore. Reluctantly pulling away from your body, he lowers himself to his shins, large hands smoothing over your thighs. As he rubs soft circles into your muscles, the hem of your skirt shifts higher. His heart thuds at the sight of your gorgeous, soft thighs, completely on display for him. Tentatively he presses a kiss to your inner knee. When you don’t shy away, he pecks another slightly higher. His nose skims the thin skin and you whimper. It’s music to his ears.
Your skirt is nearly around your waist, delicate panties in view. Robert’s heart violently slams in his chest and his erection throbs, begging to be freed from his jeans. He can’t help but focus on the spot that conceals your center, your arousal wet and dark. 
His lips kiss your inner thigh again, just inches from where you desperately want to feel them. “May I?”
You’re frantically nodding, your fingers crashing into his as you work in tandem to get the offending little piece of lace off. As they come down, his kisses trail up, teasing the skin to elicit tiny whimpers. Hot breath skims your pelvis and it’s torture. He delicately places your knees on his broad shoulders, warm skin on warm skin.
Propping yourself up on one elbow, desperate to see his face, his pretty blue eyes smile at you as he finally, finally licks one broad stripe up your folds.
Your brain effectively short circuits.
Like a broken dam, once he’s had a taste there is no going back. Hot, thick swipes over your wetness, desperate to soak up your sweet arousal. Unintentionally his nose crashes into your clit, his messy tongue work bringing him deeper and deeper within you. Above him, you’re singing his praises, mouth open wantonly. “Right there! Right there!”
The hours he’s spent wondering what you taste like, if you’re even sweeter than your kisses, have paid off. He’s addicted. Wrapping his arms around your gorgeous thighs, obscene sounds squelching from his lewd tongue, he brings a thumb to your clit to draw deliciously tight circles. The way your back arches has him panting. 
It’s hard to tell whether it’s the tingle in your toes or the fiery knot in your stomach that grows faster. The way his tongue flicks over that ring of muscle has your head spinning. His lips capture a fold and suck, moaning at how sweet you are for him. 
“Taste so good, baby. Knew you would, my sweet girl.”
Your head falls back when a finger prods at your opening, slipping through your silky wetness. If his tongue was good, his fingers are a gift. A thick digit that reaches deep, finding that spongey spot that makes your stomach curl. It works its way back and forth, bringing moans to your lips and entrancing him as he watches you take him so easily. He can barely help himself when he slips in a second, salivating over how effortlessly you stretch for him.
“That’s my girl, so good.”
Two fingers deep and a hot mouth on your clit, the world is careening around you. All sense of direction lost, too hot in your sweater, hips desperately following his lips and fingers. Your hand shoves in his hair, holding him there because it feels so good. He thrusts deeper, stretching his fingers within your tight walls. The pressure against your cervix and clit make your head pound. And then suddenly…
“R-Rob-by!” You wail into the bedroom, voice lost amongst the hot air and salacious sounds coming from between your legs. Thighs tightening around his cheeks, knees buckling as you bring your legs to your torso, curling into yourself as your orgasm blindsides you. Your brain dizzy with pleasure and relief as he keeps working his tongue within you, one hand stroking your stomach soothingly as the other disappears over the edge of the bed.
Time disappears as you lazily ride his tongue until the oversensitivity kicks in. As your hips squirm away, he presses one last kiss to your clit before dragging himself up to stand. Despite only having two brain cells left after your orgasm, you’re instantly wet again watching how he grinds his palm against the thick bulge in his jeans. 
“That feel good?” Your eyes droop happily as you nod, a little sheepish. “You are so gorgeous, so good for me. I’m a lucky man.”
As you sit up on boneless limbs, he swoops down to press a kiss on your sweet lips. The tangy linger of your taste coats his mouth. By itself it’s sexy, but then you see the wet smudges and fog of his glasses, askew on his nose from where he pressed so hard into your cunt, and a deep groan escapes as you attach yourself to him again.
Reaching down, your fingers are desperately working the button of his jeans - the need to feel every part of him against you so dire - but he’s stilling your hands, kissing along your neck. A little flushed at how close he is to cumming at the thought of your hands on him.
His lips brush your ear. “Want to enjoy your mouth any other time, but I really need to be inside you. Please.”
You’re both openly moaning out your insatiable hunger as you fall back and scoot toward the pillows, sitting up on your knees to unzip your skirt and discard it and your sweater. His hand dips beneath his jeans as he soaks up your skin, the way your bra just barely covers your nipples. He makes no show of pushing down his jeans, pulling them from around his ankles along with his socks. His mind is carnally focused on getting you completely naked as he tugs the front of his boxer briefs down to relieve the pressure on his cock.
The two fingers suddenly make sense. Robert is a big guy - not quite as big as the rest of his squadron, but naturally takes up space with his broad shoulders and large hands - and you feel silly for not connecting the dots. His cock is thick, veiny and red tipped, balls bulging with cum. You gulp down a thick breath knowing he’s about to cram every inch of it into you. This is what you’ve been waiting for.
Since the moment Robert stood on your stoop and introduced himself, the magnet between you has fought harder and harder to bring you together. Pulling by invisible strings, bidding their time, until they finally snapped and you gave into your desires, hands rushing all over while taking time to learn the curve of each other’s bodies. Finding the freckles on his shoulders. Exploring the dip of your back. And as you lay beneath your next door neighbor, breaths heavy and nervous and excited, you allow the magnets to snap together fully as he slowly thrusts his hips until they mesh into yours.
He’s deliciously thick, stretching every part of you as he pants heavily into your neck. Kisses sooth your skin while your nails mark his. In the low light of the room, he gazes at you, so enamored with the way you look taking him. The obscene wet sounds of his hips meeting yours, slow and steady so he can savor the way you squeeze him. Your whimpered noises spurring him on.
You bring a hand to his cheek, using every ounce of will to focus on his sweet face. “This is…this is even better than I imagined.”
He couldn’t agree more. Paired with the dreamily debauched smile on your face, his hips piston faster, arms squeezing tighter as you moan wildly. Bodies vibrating with pleasure, your legs wrap around his thighs for the leverage to meet his thrusts. He grunts as hands tangle in his hair, pulling lightly. The eye contact is intense, unable to look away as you both feel the build up. God, his eyes are the perfect shade of blue.
Your fingers slip to your clit, ready to propel you to the finish, when his thumb knocks you away. His circles are tight and rough as he gazes at you with desire-dark eyes. “It’s okay, let me help you.”
Your kind and overly helpful neighbor. Who lends you his lawn mower and hangs up Christmas lights. Who always compliments your coffee. Who times his thrust with a harsh push to your clit and has you immediately careening off the cliff, seeing bursts of light as your second orgasm of the night envelopes you.
His mouth attaches to yours, tongue lapping up your taste, as you moan through your aftershocks. His cock is still deep, stroking that spongey wall as he works you through and chases his own pleasure. You’re still so tight around him and he’s ready to cum. Making sure his lips don’t leave yours, he draws back and thrusts deeply, watching the way your body surges with his strength. Once, twice, and your eyes roll back as he lets go, filling you with his spend so you have everything he can give.
A streetlamp flicks on through the window. You’re only just catching your breath when Robert slips from the bed. A tap turns, there’s some rustling, and he returns with a soft cloth to help you clean up. Too tired to speak, the two of you just exchange sweet smiles as he once again comes to your aid.
The bed dips and he’s back against your body, cocooned in his dreamy coverlet, clean-shaven face pressing kisses against yours. His cheeks the lightest pink as he lowly whispers, “Hi.”
You can’t help the wide grin that overtakes your features. “Hi.”
No other words are needed to express the satiated happiness bursting through your hearts and every pore. His arms wrap around your bare shoulders tighter. A full year of pining for you, of making any excuse to help out to be in your presence…so worth it for the way his whole body feels whole when you’re around.
Sleepy eyes flutter up at him, trying so hard to stay awake and enjoy this time together. He presses a kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger on the light layer of sweat his deep thrusts caused. If only his squadron could see him now, his sweet little neighbor half-asleep after a night with him.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he mutters into your hairline as he pulls the blanket around your shoulders. You barely hear him as you begin to dream about a sandy-haired man who brought you the sun, the moon, and the stars.
When the first streams of morning light begin pouring in - because someone was a little too busy doing the deed to close the curtain - two sets of eyes pop open. You’re facing each other, foreheads rested upon the same pillow, eyes half-slits as you adjust to the light. Robert radiates heat, and you curl even closer into him. His lips turn in a satisfied smile as you burrow into his chest.
As the sun rises higher in the sky, the two of you continue chatting in low voices. Legs tangled under the sheets, Robert’s head propped up as he listens to your story about accidentally setting your old kitchen on fire trying to make pancakes. His deep laugh crinkles his eyes, pausing to press the lightest kiss to the corner of your pouting mouth. 
You’re just starting to lean into the kisses - hard not to when he looks so kissable - when a grumbly gurgle sounds out from below the covers. Both of your eyes shoot toward your abdomen, a hungry monster in the midst.
“You hungry?” His eyes are so impossibly sweet. You nod slightly, embarrassed at your crass stomach. But he’s already giving you a kind smile and helping you out of the bed, finding a pair of sweatpants and a weathered soft hoodie to keep you warm. 
In plaid pajama pants, your neighbor guides you to his kitchen, with the cheery maple cabinets and old-fashioned diner clock, and settles you onto the bench seat in the breakfast nook. “Coffee? Tea…peppermint tea?”
It should actually be illegal how good he looks when he winks at you with that little smirk shirtless. 
“Coffee is fine,” you reply, your cheeks hot. He busies himself with coffee and contemplates what he has to constitute for breakfast, and you busy yourself with the day before’s paper. He’s started the sudoku, but abandoned it when his sister called. 
Vaguely familiar with the puzzle game, you look at the little scribbled numbers in the boxes to see where he’s left off. Either the mind-blowing sex or lack of caffeine has gotten to you, because you haven’t a clue where to start from.
A steaming mug is placed before you before an arm wraps around your shoulders, looking over your progress. “Yeah, I was stumped too.”
He walks you through his thought process, thick, long fingers tracing over the paper as he points out what should fill out each box. Your eyes stray to him over and over, enjoying how passionate he is about his daily activity. Watching him blush and tilt your head back to the puzzle every time he notices you staring.
You’ve finally gotten a few boxes sorted out when you remember your coffee. Placing a thankful kiss to his cheek, you take a small sip. 
“I don’t know how to say this nicely, but this is the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had in my life.”
Your expression is neutral, trying to keep the disgusted look off your face (unsuccessfully) and he bursts out laughing. Pushing the mug as far as possible from you, missing the delicious imported coffee in your own kitchen, you gladly accept the kiss he presses to your cheek as an apology for the worst thing you have ever consumed.
“How about you are in charge of drinks from now on and I’ll be in charge of food?” 
You eye him wearily. “If that’s how you make coffee, I’m scared to see what your cooking skills are like.”
He promises you that his mom requests his lasagna recipe every time he’s back home, and that he’s fairly capable of putting pre-made things in the oven. Good enough for you. Leaning in and molding your mouth to his, the two of you share enough kisses that his bad coffee grows cold.
Turning your attention back to the sudoku puzzle, eager to finish, Robert tightens his grip on your waist. Appreciates the way you look in his clothes after spending the night in his bed. The excited look in your eyes as you solve another box. God, you look so good in his life.
He muses privately that you should just sell your house. He has no plans to ever let you go.
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