callsign-mongoose

[callsign-mongoose]

so here’s to you.

[callsign-mongoose]

I MUST READ THIS LATER

Crazy College Experience

[Hi! It's my first fanfic(Uploaded), so PLEASE BE NICE. I mean, roast me if needed, LOL, I hope you like it. It's a little smutty, but yeah, nice!]

word count - 2.1K

Summary - One crazy night with the Frat boy Bob, of you vomiting on his bathroom floor and drunkenly confessing your weird kinks to him, made him realize how crazy and pretty you are. Now you are fully aware of the crazy mess you both made. 

Warnings- Bad grammar, swearing, 18+, smut, Vomiting, University(yes that is a warning okay)

-

The day was usual, and nothing ever happened to you. The only thing that makes your day different is the path you took today going to astrophysics class. The different path you took, there was one main reason. It was a longer path from your other class, but one thing or more like one person you wanted to see before class. Bob Floyd usually took this pathway class right after his first class; knowing this information sounded like a stalker, but it was nothing like that. Your best friend, who took the same class as him in the morning, casually saw him taking this way. As your best friend, she told you to make it today and take it this way instead of the shorter and faster way to class. And you saw him in his blue windbreaker and a grey hoodie walking your way to class. You were behind him, admiring how he walked and bopped his head to the music he was listening to. You were feeling like a stalker once you realized the way your friend was walking with you, giggling, making you snap back to reality. 

“You look like a stalker, babe.” She links her arms around yours. “Do I really? Oh shit! he's looking, walk faster now.” You both walked faster, past him and your best friend teasing you, making you blush and giggle. “Do you think he heard us? Omg, what if he did.” Your BSF smiles and says, “I kinda hope he does so that he can make a move!” You just laugh, but deep inside, you think deeply about whether he ever would ask you out. 

You finally made it to class and sat next to your friends, and you saw him walk in and smile at you. And sat in front of you and saw him take off his jacket, seeing his hoodie lift a little bit, making your thoughts go wild and stare at him for a bit too long before he just sat down as he started talking to his friends still not realizing you're still staring at him. “You know it's rude to stare.” You snap out of your crazy thoughts, looking next to you; your friend Natasha giggles as she is the one who caught you staring at the man right in front of you. Thankfully, she whispered to you, but you still think about Bob's shirt lifting up, which made you blush about the crazy thoughts in your head forming. 

The class was painfully long and tedious. What didn't help was your thoughts going in and out of the crazy and dirty thoughts you were going through about Bob, like how you just want to kiss all over the waistband of his pants, making him beg for you to touch him. Whenever he puts his hand up to ask a question, you can see the veins on his hands, making you think how it would look around your throat or deep inside of you, hitting the spots you can barely hit yourself. You tried your hardest to pay attention, but it was one of those days when you only thought of the man in front of you writing notes and talking to his friends. All thoughts suddenly disappear once your professor says the lecture ends early, putting you out of your misery. “Thank god I want to eat or sleep, made even both!” Your bsf says, and Natasha just nods, agreeing, but you get up getting your bag ready for lunch; you see the three guys in front of you smiling, and they just awkwardly cough, and one speaks, breaking the tension. “Hi, pretty girls, I’m Jake, and that's Bob. You probably know Bradley already.” the two waved. You only knew Bradley from Natasha introducing us on the first day of class, but that was it. Then Bradley spoke, grabbing our attention to him. “Well, it's Friday today, and we were wondering if you guys wanted to come to our party tonight at our frat house. If you are free, of course.” we all looked at each other and smiled, knowing we didn't have plans other than sleeping or studying for me. Natasha smiled, nodded, and said to the boys, “Of course, well, try and fit you into our hectic schedule.” Your bsf just giggled and spoke, “Yeah, of us sleeping and her studying until the sunrise, but of course, well, try and free up our schedule!” she said and pointed at me for the studying part, making me smile and nod knowing that Bob’s eyes were staring into mine making me feel flustered. 

-

It was finally time for the party. You were nervous and started thinking of ways to escape this. Still, you remember telling Natasha that you would study on Sunday instead of your usual Friday night of pulling an all-nighter to study for any classes you needed to study for. At the same time, your bsf was taking anything you said as no, you are going no matter what since Bob is there. But you knew why she wanted you to be there: so she could jump and make out with Jake without you trying to leave the party early. Ultimately, you end up going. So you wore your red leather jacket and a black mini dress with red cowboy boots that you bought so long ago but never wore until now. “Wow. Babe, you need to wear more of this. Damn, Bob would definitely jump on to you seeing you like this.” You just giggled, knowing your bsf has not seen you dress nicely since you never go out unless you needed to.

You were mostly next to Natasha at the party, giving you drinks while your bsf was already upstairs getting her much-needed make-out session with Jake. She's been crazy about him, so you were just with Natasha and Bradley, who were trying to stay sober so his friends could have fun. You hadn't seen Bob once yet, and it was already the middle of the party, and you were already pretty drunk. It's probably close to the limit, but Natasha didn't realize it at first, so now she’s just giving you food and water to at least help. Honestly, it did not. You were still drunk and now ready to vomit everything, but you didn't want to ruin the fun, so you told Natasha you were going to look for your bsf. In reality, you were going to throw up. You finally saw a bathroom without people making out. You went on your knees, sat in front of the toilet seat, and let everything out, trying to move your hair out of the way but getting annoyed and almost crying. “I’m so stupid for coming when Bob isn’t even here. Fuck this stupid hair. I wanna just chop it all off!” You were talking to yourself, cursing and throwing up, realizing how stupid this was until you felt a hand wrap around your hair and a hand going up and down your back. “I’m here now. Don't worry now; just let it all out. Baby.”

You froze, realizing whose voice that was. And you look up, seeing Bob’s eyes looking at you with a soft and concerned look on his face. And you started crying and stopped vomiting, “Omg, fucking god, you are not supposed to see me like this. It's like a crazy drunk girl throwing up in someone’s random bathroom. Also, why does it smell so fucking good here?!” You drunkenly ramble on how crazy you look, not even realizing the man is wearing a brown cowboy hat, having his whole southern look on him. He just smiled, wiped your face with a face towel, and helped you get up and clean up. You look up at him, and whatever you were drinking, you call his name, and he looks at you, giving you a look that you couldn't make out what it meant. “Tell me what’s on your mind, cowgirl.” You blushed as he looked at your red cowboy boots, looked up to your eyes and smiled. You sit there quietly now, realizing what he was wearing. He was wearing a brown cowboy hat and a black shirt that hugged his figure nicely, seeing that he was starting to grow pecs and denim jeans with brown cowboy boots. All you can think about is riding him like a cowgirl with his cowboy hat on your head, screaming his name.

You finally spoke after seeing him squirm under your glaze of dirty, crazy thoughts running through your mind. “If you call me anything other than my name, I might just orgasm right here, right now. And I have so many crazy dirty thoughts, but you in that damn cowboy hat just add to so many of them.” He looks at you, mouth slightly open, wanting to say words but cannot speak. You continue standing up and walking closer to him. “I want those beautiful hands touching me all over, inside and out. I want to ride you all night long wearing that hat and screaming your name. Giving you marks all over your arms and stomach. I am doing everything in my power to show you how crazy I can be about you. Bob Floyd, I want you so badly.” you were now so near him, waiting for an answer or anything for him to do, but he just looked into your eyes, trying to see what you really felt like. He spoke almost in a whisper, “Cowgirl, please just kiss me and do everything to me. I’ve been waiting for so long, baby. I want you, and make me yours. I’ll do anything you ask for-” You stop his rambling and start kissing him and touching his arms, grabbing them to wrap around your waist and one on your ass. 

He then grabs them, massaging them, and his fingers feel so beautiful on your ass, and they tremble a little bit, making their way up your waist again. You pull away, breathing heavily, seeing how he looks, swollen lips and wild, crazy cerulean eyes looking at your lips and back to your eyes. You smiled and said, “Cowboy, just fuck me here already, please. I need you, cowboy, I really need-” Before you can finish your sentence, you feel his hands wrap around the back of your thighs, lifting you up onto the counter of the bathroom while passionately kissing you. You then started kissing and leaving small but definitely marks on his neck and small kisses on his jaw. He whispered to you, “You planned to go to my bathroom and wear the most beautiful dress for me. You are a bad baby girl, and you are all mine.” He makes quiet whimpers and moans of your name as you continue to mark him up, not caring that it would probably show. You pull away again, realizing what he said, “Wait, this bathroom is yours…Bob! I’m sorry, oh god, this is not what I thought this night would happen.” He just chuckles and quickly speaks, realizing the look on your face. “I don't mind it. I'd rather it be you than some couple making out. You look heavenly on my countertop, anyway. This is a win, so stop worrying and keep kissing me.” You smile and do what he says, making you blush and slowly go from drunk to tipsy. You felt his hands travel all around your body until they stopped at the bottom of your bra. “Please just touch me, Bob.” He smiled and kissed you again as you felt his thumb over your bra, massaging it slowly over your nipples. You moan, feeling his teasing fingers play with your sensitive blub. He then stopped all his movements, pulling away. You both looked at each other breathlessly, chest rising and falling looking at each other and you quietly spoke. “Is there something wrong? We can stop if you feel uncomfortable. I don’t mind at all-” he shushed you and began to say something to you. “As much as I wanna continue and keep kissing and touching that heavenly body of yours. But you are drunk, and I wanna take out my cowgirl first before I bring her to bed first, if that's okay with you?” You smiled, nodded, and began to speak, “Can we worry about the date tomorrow and keep kissing for now? Please, My cowboy.” And you grab his cowboy hat, grab his wrist and move him to his Bedroom. “Okay, date tomorrow at seven, wear something nice. But for now, get on the bed and ride me cowgirl.” 

You smile, and you both return to what you were originally doing, but on the bed and naked.

[callsign-mongoose]

This is so Bob coded and you can’t tell me any different

[callsign-mongoose]

EVERYONE NEEDS TO READ THIS RIGHT NOW BECAUSE ITS SO DAMN CUTE

Sprinkles of Love

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: It's Bob's birthday and you want to do something special for him. The problem is that you've only been on two dates, and you can't get out of your head about making that first move.

Word Count: 6.6k

Author’s Note: Happy Birthday to my #1 Guy, Lewis Pullman! I thought we all deserved some sweet Bob fluff to celebrate!

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, featuring the jitters and nervousness that comes with a new relationship.

You glanced at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, your fingers itching to reach for it where it sat taunting you on the counter near the cash register.

Biting down on your lower lip, you peeked surreptitiously over your shoulder before finally picking it up, your finger hovering hesitantly over the green messages icon.

“Are you finally going to text him or are you just going to keep staring longingly at your phone all day?”

Your cousin’s teasing voice startled you, pulling you out of your silent reverie as you fumbled the phone, nearly dropping it to the floor in your haste to get a grip on it and shove it inside your apron pocket.

Alexandria just laughed in response, her dark eyes sparkling as she slid a tray of freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies onto one of the display case shelves. Normally, you would have complimented her on how amazing they smelled, but given the knowing smirk she was sending your way, you stuck your tongue out at her instead.

“Stick your tongue out at me all you want,” she told you, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “But I know you, and I know how badly you want to text him. So why don’t you just do it already and save yourself all the torment?”

“Lexie,” you groaned, your phone suddenly feeling like a rock inside your pocket. Why did your cousin have to know you like the back of her hand?

You were saved from having to elaborate, however, when one of the timers dinged in the kitchen, signaling that the newest batch of muffins you and Lex had put in a little while ago was finished. She shot a pointed look in your direction, making it clear the conversation wasn’t over, before turning on her heel and going to take the muffins out of the oven.

Since it was the usual mid-morning lull and the only customers currently inside the bakery were a college student working on her laptop near the window and two elderly ladies enjoying conversation over scones and tea, you figured you should be both a good cousin and a good employee and go help Lexie in the back.

Despite the fact that you had already been working at the bakery for a few months now—ever since you had moved to San Diego—you still couldn’t help but be blown away whenever it hit you that your cousin had really accomplished the dream she’d been chasing since you were little girls. For as long as you could remember, Alexandria had been wanting to open up her very own bakery, a cozy little spot where people could come to read, hang out, and relax, all while enjoying some homemade treats and delicious coffee. It seemed like just yesterday that the two of you were playing with her Easy-Bake Oven, and now here she was—living the dream as a successful small business owner. You couldn’t have been more proud of her. Or more grateful that she’d given you both a job and a place to live when you’d decided to follow in her footsteps and make the move out to California.

Lex was like the big sister you never had. She gave the best advice and she knew you inside and out. Which was normally a good thing, but judging by the way she was looking at you from under her dark lashes, you knew today was going to be one of those days where she insisted on pushing you out of your comfort zone.

You sighed in exasperation as you helped her set the freshly baked orange cranberry muffins—a favorite among her loyal customers—on the cooling rack. “I wish I hadn’t even mentioned it. It’s not that big of a deal,” you insisted, supremely conscious of the weight of your phone pressing against your thigh as you worked.

“If it’s not that big of a deal, then why do you seem to be making it one?” Lexie replied with that razor-sharp wit of hers, winking when you shot her a dirty look over your shoulder.

“I’m not!” you insisted, although you knew that was a complete and total lie. You were being ridiculous and you knew it, but every time you even thought about sending him a message, your heart started pounding inside your chest and your palms got all gross and clammy.

Lex crossed her arms over her chest, throwing an exasperated look heavenward. “Babe, you’ve already been on two dates with him and he wants to take you out on another. Do you seriously think you’re going to send him running for the hills if you send him a text wishing him a happy birthday?”

When you heard it out loud, it did sound pretty stupid. He was such a great guy, so sweet and attentive and caring, and he had done nothing to indicate that he was losing interest or that he would be freaked out by such a simple message. But still…

“I do want to text him,” you confessed, biting your lip as you carried the empty muffin tray over to the large sink where your cousin washed all her baking supplies.

“So what’s holding you back?” Lexie asked, her voice gentler this time as she leaned her hip against the counter, clearly trying to understand. She’d seen your heart get broken enough times to know that you were much more cautious now when it came to entrusting it to other people.

You sighed softly, fiddling with the strings on your pink-and-white striped apron as you tried to put your feelings into words. “It’s just—we’ve only been on two dates. I mean, they were really amazing dates, but still. Only two. And our birthdays only came up once in passing on our first date. He never mentioned it again, even when he called the other night to ask me if I’d like to go out this weekend. So on the one hand, I do want to text him to wish him a happy birthday, but on the other hand, what if it weirds him out that I remembered? What if he thinks I’m some kind of obsessive stalker and gets the ick and then ghosts me?”

“For wishing him a happy birthday?” your cousin questioned skeptically, her eyebrows rising until they were practically touching the edges of her blunt bangs.

“I’ve been ghosted before for less,” you muttered in embarrassment, knowing that your love life was a disaster compared to your cousin, who had been with her soon-to-be-husband since high school.

Lex softened immediately, stepping beside you and wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders. “I know,” she murmured soothingly, rubbing your arm with a gentle hand. “But those guys were jerks who didn’t deserve you. From everything I know about this guy, he sounds so great. He seems like the kind of guy who would be happy that you remembered his birthday.”

Honestly, you couldn’t argue with her there.

Bob Floyd was unlike any man you’d ever met before. He was everything you’d ever hoped to find but had feared you never would, the kind of perfect that seemed too good to be true, the gentleman that you had thought existed only in fairytales.

It had been over a month now since he’d stepped off a storybook page and walked into your life.

You could still remember that afternoon so clearly. It was a Saturday, and the bakery had been surprisingly dead. Lexie had decided to run to the bank, leaving you in charge of things in her absence. You’d been rearranging some of the pastries in the display case when the bell over the front door chimed, signaling a customer.

Stepping up to the counter, the words of greeting died in your throat when one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen in your life approached, a shy smile stretching across his face.

“Hi,” he greeted you in a soft-spoken voice, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, and yet you’d never seen a guy look better.

“Hi,” you echoed, your eyes widening as you got lost in a gaze as blue as the cornflowers that grew in your grandparents’ backyard.

The two of you just stared at each other for a couple minutes, neither of you saying anything, even as the air between you seemed to spark and hum with electricity.

“Um, I was, uh, hoping that you still had some cupcakes left. I know it’s a little later in the day and my neighbor who recommended this place said that you should always get here early, but, um, I have a little barbeque that I’m going to and I wanted to bring some dessert. I’m hopeless at making anything myself,” he rambled, his eyes crinkling as he laughed somewhat nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

It was only when he cleared his throat awkwardly a moment later that you realized you hadn’t yet responded to him.

“Oh! Cupcakes!” you exclaimed, your voice coming out a little louder and squeakier than you had intended. “Of course!” Running your hands down the front of your apron, you shook your head slightly to try to knock some sense into it. You walked over to the display case, indicating that he should come take a look. “Normally we’d already be sold out of a lot of these, but it’s been quieter today than usual, so we still have plenty left. I guess it’s your lucky day.”

“Seems like it,” he smiled, his blue eyes latching onto your face.

Something about the way he said it made your insides feel as gooey as the batter Lexie used to make her double chocolate fudge cake.

“How many cupcakes do you need?” you asked, working overtime to keep from getting flustered.

“I think two dozen should be fine,” he replied, his eyes roaming over the display case shelves. “Hmm, they all look so good, I wouldn’t know where to start. Do you have any recommendations?”

“The lemon zest cupcakes are really popular. So are the red velvet and the coconut cloud. Oh, and the German chocolate.” You laughed sheepishly. “Honestly, they’re all really good.”

He laughed in response, a small dimple appearing in his cheek that only further endeared him to you. “Which one is your favorite?” he asked, his voice so earnest it made your chest ache.

You didn’t even have to think about it. “The funfetti,” you told him, indicating the vanilla cupcakes baked with rainbow chips and topped with swirls of vanilla frosting and an extra dash of sprinkles.

“I’ll take a dozen funfetti cupcakes then. And you can surprise me with the other dozen,” he grinned, making you smile.

“I hope you and everyone at the barbeque enjoys,” you said after you finished ringing him up, sliding the two boxes of cupcakes towards him.

“I’m sure we will. This place comes highly recommended,” he replied with a smile. “Are you Lexie, the owner?”

“No, no, I’m her cousin,” you explained, introducing yourself by name.

“I’m Robert Floyd,” he said, holding out his hand to you. “But everyone calls me Bob.”

“Very nice to meet you, Bob,” you beamed, sliding your hand into his and shaking firmly. His hand was large and warm and calloused and it felt like yours had been made to fit inside it.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he murmured softly, holding onto your hand for another second or two before slowly releasing it. He was quiet for a moment, then added, “I’m sure I’ll be back again soon.”

“We serve really good coffee,” you said suddenly, desperate to find a reason to get him to come back. “And we open really early. You know, if you want to get some on your way to work.”

Bob’s beautiful blue eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “I’ll be sure to do that. Thank you.” He picked up his boxes of cupcakes and turned towards the door. Before he left, he shot you one last smile that melted your insides. “See you around.”

After that, Bob Floyd had found plenty of reasons to stop by the bakery. The following Monday, he’d stopped by in the morning to grab coffee for him and his friends on his way to work. That was when you’d learned that he was a naval aviator stationed at North Island.

“You were right about those funfetti cupcakes,” he told you, patting his stomach with a grin. “I think I ate about half the box before I thought to share them with anyone else.”

Your eyes crinkled and you felt your skin grow warm as you smiled in response. “Good, I’m so glad.”

You made sure to slip a cupcake in with all his coffee orders, a gesture which he didn’t fail to notice, judging from the extra large tip he left in the jar.

“See you soon,” he smiled, balancing all that coffee in his large hands as he backed out of the bakery.

From then on, he was there practically every day, stopping in for coffee or for some cupcakes after work. He often picked up things for other people—his friends or his neighbor who had recommended the bakery to him. But for himself, he always stuck with the funfetti cupcakes.

“I know I should branch out and try something new,” he told you one day through a mouthful of sprinkles. “But I can’t help it—these are just so good.”

It had taken nearly two weeks for Bob to work up the nerve to finally ask you if you might be interested in getting dinner with him sometime. You’d had to bite your tongue to keep from immediately screaming, “YES!” in his face,

The two of you spent your first date at a gorgeous little seafood restaurant right on the water, and then went for a long walk on the beach afterwards. It was truly the best date you’d ever been on. Bob was a perfect gentleman, attentively listening to everything you had to say and making you feel as though he actually cared about what was important to you. He’d even draped his jacket over your shoulders as you walked by the water, noticing the way you were shivering slightly in the dress you’d worn. You had been hoping he would kiss you at the end of the night, but like the gentleman that he was, he’d simply brushed your cheek with his lips, asking in a hushed voice if you’d like to see him again.

You wanted that very much.

On your second date, Bob took you mini golfing, something you’d told him that you hadn’t done since you were a little girl. You didn’t think you’d ever laughed so much as you did that night, no matter how terrible you turned out to be at miniature golf. Just like on your first date, Bob walked you to your door at the end of the night, his hand resting on the small of your back as you turned to look up at him, your eyes begging him to give you a proper kiss goodnight.

He had to duck his head slightly as he leaned in closer, a lock of his honey-colored hair draping across his forehead as his gaze latched onto yours, your breath mingling as the two of you inched closer and closer.

It was a soft kiss, sweet and chaste. His lips just barely brushed against yours, sending a shock of electric currents up and down your spine. When he pulled back, the both of you were flushed and stammering.

“C-can I call you tomorrow?” he asked, still so shy even after two dates.

“I hope you do,” you whispered with a smile, squeezing his hand before slipping through your front door.

Faithful to his word, Bob had called you the next day. The two of you were supposed to be going out again this weekend.

But that brought you back to your current dilemma—his birthday. You knew you were being stupid about this. Texting him for his birthday wasn’t tantamount to a marriage proposal. It wasn’t like you were trying to throw him a surprise party or invite yourself over for cake. It was a text message for crying out loud. And even though it had only come up once, he had told you when his birthday was. It wasn’t like you had gone to North Island and asked to see his personnel file.

The truth was, you were just terrified of screwing things up. You’d gone on plenty of dates with guys who had seemed really nice, who you had really thought were into you, only to be ghosted or flat-out rejected. Deep down inside, you knew that Bob was different from all those other guys, but still—the thought of sending him running made your stomach twist into knots.

“Babe, you know what I’m going to say,” Lexie murmured, your cousin’s voice pulling you out of all your convoluted thoughts. “If you never take a risk, then nothing’s ever going to change. I know you’re nervous, but just go for it. The worst that happens—seriously, the worst case scenario—is that he ghosts you. But you know what? If he does that, then he wasn’t worth your time anyway. And if he doesn’t? Well, maybe he’ll start to fall even harder for the gorgeous girl who remembered his birthday.” She grinned, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug.

“Ugh, why do you always have to be right?” you grinned ruefully, pulling back from your cousin’s embrace and fiddling nervously with the scrunchie on your wrist.

“It’s a gift,” she replied with a wink, turning to look over her shoulder when the bell over the front door chimed. “I’ve got it,” she told you, squeezing your arm before heading back out to the front.

That left you alone in the back kitchen, your phone burning a hole in your apron pocket and your heart hammering inside your chest.

“Okay, don’t be an idiot,” you murmured to yourself. As far as pep talks went, it was far from the most inspirational, but it did the job as you pulled your phone out. “It’s not too much too soon. It’s just a text,” you breathed out. “It’s just a text.”

Opening your messages, you found Bob’s name—he was right near the top after texting you just yesterday—and opened up your conversation thread, chewing on your bottom lip.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you tapped out a quick message that you hoped was short, sweet, and to the point and hit send.

Happy Birthday, Bob! I hope you have a wonderful day! 🥳🎉

You felt hot all over as you shoved your phone back into your pocket, your pulse stuttering in your veins as you wondered how long it would take him to see it. From what he had told you about his job, he often spent hours in the air each day, so chances were good he didn’t even have his phone on him right now.

You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and determined not to think about it. A task that was much easier said than done. But as you walked back out into the main part of the bakery, you found that a small crowd had formed, so you jumped into assisting your cousin behind the counter.

“Well?” Lexie asked under her breath as you helped her fill a couple boxes with a dozen cinnamon chip muffins.

“I sent it,” you murmured in reply, purposely avoiding her direct gaze. “But I haven’t heard anything back yet.”

As much as you had tried not to, you’d been compulsively checking your phone every five minutes.

Lex shrugged and waved it off. “It’s still early yet,” she said confidently, carrying the boxes over to the patiently waiting customer.

You threw yourself into various tasks around the bakery, anything that would keep your mind off your phone. You restocked the shelves in the display cases, organized the money in the cash register, wiped down the counters in the kitchen, scrubbed the baking pans, frosted cupcakes, replaced the coffee beans, and waited on any customers who walked in.

A couple of times, your phone buzzed in your pocket and your heart jumped into your throat, only to sink down to your stomach when you pulled it out and found that it was just an email notification or a text from your mom.

The longer you went without hearing from Bob, the harder you had to work to convince yourself that he wasn’t ignoring you.

No. He wasn’t ignoring you. Bob wasn’t like that. You were sure of it.

It was a little after noon, just when you’d taken a cup of coffee into the back for a short break, when you felt your phone buzz again, vibrating against your thigh through your apron. Swallowing nervously, you put your coffee down and reached into your pocket, a small gasp escaping you when you saw Bob’s name on the screen.

You could scarcely unlock your phone fast enough, opening up the text thread to read his reply.

Wow, you remembered! That means so much to me. Thank you! ☺️ Sorry it took me a little while to respond—we were doing some test flights, but I’m on my lunch break now and I’ll be on the ground for the rest of the day. How are you?

It took every ounce of self-restraint you had not to scream and jump up and down like a little girl. It felt like a boulder had been lifted off your shoulders. You hadn’t freaked him out! He hadn’t ghosted you! It was just like Lexie said—he was happy that you remembered.

Grinning like a fool, you leaned against the counter and typed out a response, not caring that your coffee was getting cold.

I’m doing great! Glad to hear you got some flying in on your special day ✈️ Doing anything to celebrate?

It was only after you had sent the message that you began to fret that it sounded like you were being nosy about his plans, or worse, trying to insert yourself into them.

But then Bob responded a minute later and put your worries to rest.

Nothing too fancy. My friends ordered lunch and got me a cake. They sang “Happy Birthday,” too, even though I begged them not to lol. I usually keep it pretty lowkey on my birthday.

You smiled as you wrote back, Was it a funfetti cake?

His next response came in no time at all, and it made your stomach flutter to imagine that he was focusing entirely on you and your conversation during his lunch break.

If only! It was really good, but I don’t think anything compares to those funfetti cupcakes 😋

At that moment, Lex walked into the back, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw the huge smile plastered on your face. It felt like it was going to get permanently stuck there.

“Well, well, well,” she grinned, sidling up next to you. “Should I take that glowing smile to mean you finally heard back from your lieutenant?”

You ducked your head shyly, your cheeks growing warm. “He isn’t my lieutenant,” you insisted.

“Mhm, sure,” your cousin grinned, laughing loudly when you nudged her in the side. “So it worked out after all? He didn’t say you were a freaky stalker? I shouldn’t be expecting the police to burst down the door any minute?”

“Okay, okay,” you groaned, realizing how ridiculous you’d been behaving that morning. “You were right. It all worked out. He was very touched that I remembered his birthday,” you murmured, sheepishly scuffing your sneaker against the floor.

“I’ve gotta say it—told you so,” Lex smirked victoriously, wrapping her arms around you and planting a kiss on your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, feigning annoyance even as you grinned and returned your cousin’s hug. “You know, Bob was actually just texting me that his friends at work got him a cake, but that it just doesn’t compare to your funfetti cupcakes,” you told her with a proud smile.

“What can I say? They are pretty damn delicious,” she winked, her chest puffing up with pride. A sudden thought struck her as she looked at you. “Hey, what time does Bob get off from work?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Usually around six or seven, I think,” you told her, your brow wrinkling in confusion. “Why?”

“Hmm, perfect,” Lexie mused, tapping her chin as she glanced over her shoulder.

“What do you mean?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. Your older cousin was always plotting something.

“I mean that the bakery closes at five-thirty,” she said, as if you weren’t already well aware of that fact. When she realized that you weren’t exactly catching her drift, she went on, “Which means you could invite Bob over for a little after hours birthday treat if you’d like,” she grinned.

“Lex!” you gasped, scandalized.

Your cousin threw her head back laughing. “I didn’t mean that you should jump his bones in the middle of the bakery! I’d actually prefer it if you didn’t do that,” she chuckled teasingly. “I just meant you could surprise him with something sweet, on the house. Something we make here,” she added with a pointed look that made your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment.

“Oh,” you mumbled, nodding your head slowly. “Right. Of course.” You cleared your throat slightly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not! Anyone who makes my cousin this happy is welcome to free cupcakes anytime,” Lex said firmly, cupping your face in her hands and beaming at you.

“You’re the best,” you told her, throwing your arms around her and squeezing her in a tight hug. “I’ll text Bob now and see if he thinks he’ll be up for it.”

“If you’re the one asking, I’m sure he will be,” she winked, nudging you playfully before turning to go back to the front counter.

Once she was out of sight, you turned your attention back to your phone and bit your lip, trying to think of the best way to phrase what you wanted to ask him.

Speaking of funfetti cupcakes, any chance you’d want to swing by the bakery on your way home from work? We close at 5:30 today, but we make special after hours exceptions for our best customers 😉🧁

Was that stupid? That probably sounded stupid. Would he think that you were suggesting a quickie on the bakery floor the way you thought your cousin had been suggesting? Oh God, could you unsend that message before he got it?

I would love to! Is 6:45 too late?

This man didn’t cease to amaze you.

No, that’s perfect!

See you then ☺️

You tried your hardest to smother the smile that was threatening to completely overtake your face, but you couldn’t do it. This man gave you butterflies like you’d never experienced before in all your life, and the thought of getting to see him in just a few hours made you feel like you were going to burst from excitement and anticipation.

You didn’t even have to tell Lexie what Bob had said. The second she saw your face, she just smiled knowingly and told you, “I’ll be out of here by six.”

Time had never seemed to move so slowly as it did that day while you waited for closing time to finally come around. Lex observed your growing impatience with amusement, giving you as many odd jobs as she could to hopefully make the minutes go faster.

When the clock finally chimed five-thirty, you practically sprinted towards the door, locking it and flipping the closed sign around to ward off anyone who might have tried to stop by for a last minute treat.

“Good thing business is so good or I might get mad at you for scaring off customers,” Lexie teased.

True to her word, your cousin helped you clean up and then was heading out the door by six o’clock.

“Have so much fun,” she told you, blowing you a quick succession of air kisses. “And tell Bob happy birthday from me,” she added with a wink before slipping out the door.

With your cousin gone, that left you about forty-five minutes to finish getting ready before Bob arrived. You quickly set a playlist of classic 60s tunes to play softly through the speakers—you and Bob had discovered you had a similar taste in music about halfway through your first date—and then hurried into the bathroom to fix up your hair and apply a little bit of make-up. You usually didn’t bother with much when you were working, but you wanted to look nice for Bob.

Once you were done getting ready, you went into the back to get his little birthday treat set up—Lexie had made a fresh batch of funfetti cupcakes towards the end of the day just for the occasion. You had just finished placing one of the cupcakes on a small plate with a lace doily and inserting a candle into it when you heard a faint knock on the front door.

Your heart rate immediately began climbing as you ran your hands over the T-shirt and jeans you’d worn today, hoping you looked halfway presentable. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, you stepped out into the main part of the bakery and felt your legs instantly turn to Jell-O at the sight of Bob standing at the door, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. You’d only told him once in passing how much you loved them, and he had remembered.

Wow, that really did mean a lot.

“Hi,” you greeted him, standing in the open doorway and beaming up at him.

“Hi,” he echoed, that little dimple making an appearance as he smiled down at you. After a beat, he seemed to suddenly remember that he was holding the flowers in his hand. “Oh, these are for you,” he said, holding them out shyly.

“They’re beautiful, Bob,” you breathed out softly, accepting them with a smile and pressing them to your nose. “My favorite. You remembered.”

“Just like you remembered my birthday,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling with an emotion you couldn’t quite name, but which you knew you felt just as much as he did.

The two of you stood there like that for a few moments, just gazing into each other’s eyes and smiling dreamily. Then you came to your senses.

“Come in, come in,” you told him, stepping out of the doorway so that he could enter and then closing the door behind him. “Gosh, these really are such beautiful flowers. That was so sweet of you. You didn’t have to get me anything. It is your birthday, after all,” you said, guiding him to a table in the center of the room.

“I wanted to,” Bob replied, taking a seat. He was still in his flight suit and he looked so handsome. “I’m happy that they made you smile.”

“It’s hard not to smile when I’m around you,” you told him, the words slipping out of your mouth before you could think twice about them. Your cheeks grew warm when you realized how vulnerable they were, and you buried your face in the bouquet once more.

Bob’s cheeks had grown rosy as well, and you noticed that his leg was bouncing nervously underneath the table. “I feel the same way,” he murmured softly.

You could have thrown your arms around him and kissed him right then and there, but then you recalled the actual reason why you had invited him over.

“I have a surprise for you,” you said suddenly, smiling brightly as you laid the bouquet of flowers down on the counter. “Wait right here and close your eyes,” you told him, waiting until he had done so before hurrying into the back and lighting the candle you’d tucked into his cupcake.

When you stepped back into the main room on quiet feet, you found that Bob was still patiently sitting with his eyes closed. Your heart swelled with deep affection—and was it possible something even deeper? You had never met anyone like him and you were certain you never would again.

It was at that moment that you realized “Be My Baby” by The Ronettes was currently playing through the speakers, as apropos a sign as you could imagine.

You cleared your throat slightly as you approached the table, the candle sparkling in front of your face as you brought it closer to the birthday boy.

“I know you said you weren’t a big fan of being serenaded with ‘Happy Birthday,’ so I’ll spare you my vocals,” you teased, setting the plate down in front of him. “But Happy Birthday, Bob.”

Opening his eyes, Bob glanced from your face down to the cupcake and then back up to you again. He seemed at a loss for words, his eyes growing wide behind his glasses.

“This is—this—thank you,” Bob finally said, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

You smiled, sitting down beside him and gently resting your hand over his. “Blow out your candle before it melts into your cupcake,” you giggled.

He grinned at the sound of your laughter, leaning in closer to blow out the single candle, though he kept his eyes fixed on you the whole time.

“Lexie baked them fresh this afternoon. There’s a whole bunch more in the back that I’m going to be sending you home with,” you told him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his face lit up.

“What did I do to deserve all this? This is the best birthday present ever,” Bob chuckled, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing lightly.

“I’m glad you think so,” you murmured, glancing down at the table shyly. “The truth is, I was a little nervous to text you earlier.”

Bob looked surprised at your admission. “Why?” he asked, astonished.

You bit your lip and hesitated, but then decided to be honest. Like Lexie said, if you never took a risk, then you never got to see anything change. “I know this is going to sound so stupid, but I was worried you would think it was too much if I texted you for your birthday.”

“Too much?” he repeated, his brow crinkling in obvious confusion.

“You know, just because you had only mentioned your birthday once. I thought maybe I would seem too desperate or clingy or something if I reached out. I thought it would freak you out,” you confessed. “I know that sounds pretty dumb when I say it out loud.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Bob assured you, shaking his head slowly. “I know what you mean. To be honest, I think I’ve had that problem myself. Y’know, coming off too eager and scaring girls away,” he admitted, blushing as he ducked his head.

“Oh, Bob,” you murmured in understanding, lacing your fingers through his. With all the other things you two had in common, it shouldn’t have surprised you that a crappy dating history was something else you shared. “You could never scare me off,” you promised him.

Lifting his head, he smiled at you and reached out slowly, his fingertips stirring a few wisps of your hair as he brushed your cheek lightly. “And you could never freak me out. It meant so much to me that you remembered my birthday. It made my whole day, in fact. Even more than the funfetti cupcakes,” he said, his eyes crinkling. He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, then added softly, “I remember everything about you.”

“You do?” you whispered, feeling a sudden surge of emotion well up in your throat.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Your favorite movies, the fact that you like tomatoes but hate ketchup, the way you throw your head back when you laugh really loudly. Your favorite flowers. I remember it all.”

“Bob,” you breathed out, the tears brimming in your eyes as your gaze dropped from his eyes down to his mouth.

You weren’t really sure who moved first, but soon enough, Bob was holding you in his arms, your lips pressed together in a kiss that was much less chaste than your first one, but just as sweet. Your arms snaked around his neck, one hand burying itself in his soft hair, the other resting on the nape of his neck. He let out a soft groan in response, one of his large hands resting on your hip and the other splaying across your back, holding you close.

It was a kiss that was so much like Bob himself—gentle, kind, tender, sweet, affectionate, attentive. He didn’t demand more than you were willing to give, he didn’t try to take anything from you. He just wanted to make you feel how much he cared about you, wanted to make you feel special and cherished. And he did. You hoped more than anything that you were doing the same for him.

Because the truth was that you were already falling for Bob Floyd, and falling hard.

When the two of you finally pulled back—a mutually hesitant parting borne solely of the need for oxygen—you smiled breathlessly, closing your eyes as Bob rested his forehead against yours.

“Okay, maybe that was the best birthday present ever,” he chuckled quietly, his lips brushing against your temple.

“I think so, too, and it’s not even my birthday,” you grinned, resting your head against his shoulder. “Are you going to have your cupcake?” you asked, glancing down at where it sat on the plate, still untouched.

“Mhm,” Bob nodded, wrapping an arm around you and brushing his fingers up and down your arm. “But there actually is something I’d like to ask you first,” he said, suddenly sounding nervous.

Lifting your head, you looked up at him, trying to figure out why he suddenly looked so flustered.

“Of course. What is it?” you questioned, resting a hand on his arm.

“Well, all of this has been amazing,” he began, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. You had noticed they had a tendency to slide down when he was particularly nervous. “But there actually is one more thing that I’d really like for my birthday this year.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously. “What is it?”

Bob swallowed deeply and then looked directly into your eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Your lips parted as a little gasp of delighted surprise escaped you. It may have been Bob’s birthday, but it felt like you were the one being showered with gifts today.

“Oh, Bob, yes! Yes!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him and pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Yes?” Bob repeated between kisses, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yes,” you told him seriously, cupping his cheek in your hand. “Nothing would make me happier.”

“Oh, darlin’,” he breathed out, the term of endearment falling easily off his tongue in that adorable midwestern accent of his. He pulled you into his arms once more and kissed you soundly.

You giggled softly as you reached for the funfetti cupcake and removed the candle, holding it up for him to take a bite. “Happy Birthday, Bob.”

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman #top gun fandom #top gun 1986

[callsign-mongoose]

….

#character letters #letters from comfort characters #letters from top gun characters #top gun 1986 #top gun fandom #marvel

[callsign-mongoose]

Bachelorette Bookclub

Pairing: Robert "BOB" Floyd x Reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: Drunk brunch with your brides maids, They are kinda bitches, a couple sexual jokes but most of this is fluff.

Word count: 1.5k (It's just a little Blurb)

Essentially, your celebrating your bachelorette brunch with your girls and the question of how you and your fiancé met comes up!

A/N: I just thought this was a cute idea! I've been struggling with writers block recently so please help if you have any ideas you really want someone to write! Send them to me!

On to the show

Mimosa buzzed giggles were being shared in the corner of the booth. Your closest girlfriends sitting around enjoying their 4th glass in their ultimately bottomless mimosas. 

Girl brunch had always been a part of the schedules no matter how they changed. Besides, no one was going to miss out on your bachelorette party. It was a rather simple idea, everything about the wedding was simple and you and your fiancé Bob liked it that way.  A girls weekend at a nearby hotel, it was more about enjoying the time spent together than getting plastered bar crawling for one night. 

From just over the flowerbeds sectioning off the patio of the restaurant from the rest of the hotel, a crowd of guys came bounding through wearing their swim trunks and holding towels chanting, “Pool Bar! Pool Bar! Pool Bar!” The group seemed to be almost carrying one man in the middle who seemed like he was simply embarrassed to be there. His cheeks all red, shaking his head laughing as his friends continued to pull him down the hall. 

It was your man, your fiancé, your Bob. You never knew how he managed to stay so docile and sweet when surrounded by so many brash impulsive men. You had become close with the rest of Bobs team, Natasha was a given, she was the first right of passage, everyone else was just entertainment. As much as you loved them, they weren’t anything that you’d want to spend every day with. 

Your friends had started to giggle once again as they watched the horde of a Batchelor party run by. “He really is… a catch hon.” Lydia, one of your bridesmaids commented before turning to Adyson giving her a look. It was very clear her words were condescending, and it wasn’t appreciated. “Yeah… babes you could have done so much better, look at him, has he ever had fun a day in his life? He looks like the human embodiment of a piece of paperwork… his friends are hot though and look like so much fun.” A fit of laughter and sexual comments erupted from the group of drunk women as they fawned over Bobs coworkers. 

“Hold on, hold on, we need to at least let her defend her pick.” Lexi, your maid of honor spoke up, clearly not having the rest of the parties’ rude comments. “Remember who the one getting married is, at least our bride can hold a stable relationship.” Lexi shot Adyson and Lydia a look that made them immediately shut up as they had both been known to find new lovers every week. “Why don’t you tell them how you and Bob met, that’s such a cute story. It perfectly encapsulates the relationship you have with your soon to be Hubby.” 

A light flush crossed your cheeks, grateful that Lexi had been able to reign in the chaos that had been caused by the alcohol, “Fine fine, I’ll tell it… I’m surprised you can’t recite it yourself by now Lexi” You teased placing your mimosa glass down. 

“Well, it started because I was hunting down a book for a class that I was taking. A recommendation from the professor…”

------------------------------

“Haust, Heidi, come on where’s Heinlein.” Your fingers brushed over the spines of the books as you glanced at the authors names. The authors name sounded so foreign in your mind now that you had repeated it about 10,000 times over trying not to forget. 

The spine had been worn in but the name of the book could be read enough to tell, that was it, The Tunnel In The Sky. Lifting your hand to pull it off the shelf a larger hand grazed over yours, rough finger pads just barely kissing your knuckles before pulling away. “Oh.. sorry, I didn’t realize-“ 

He was handsome, but that was one of the last things you noticed about him. Eyes scanning his plain gray crewneck, then to his dark blue baseball cap, noticing how his hair was peaking out around the sides, very clearly pushed down against his head. Blue eyes seemed to fit the man, captivating and friendly, even if his facial expression was concerned about their interaction.

Perhaps the most interesting about him was the fact that the stranger hadn’t even tried to grab the book again, simply stepping back to allow you to take dibs, pulling it off the shelf. 

“It seems like we’ve both got good taste huh?” You said trying to break the rather awkward silence that had thickened between the two of you. 

The man gave a chuckle that reassured you he was just as nervous as you seemed to be about the situation. “Yeah… are you familiar with it?” He asked gesturing towards the book that was now in your hands, “Someone’s definatly read it plenty of times, the spines been subjected to lots of love.” 

You milled the book over in your hands, fingers tracing the spine now that the stranger had mentioned it. “Yeah…” Your mind wandered for a moment before you realized there was a first part to the question the man asked. “Oh! Uh, no no, it’s my first time reading it actually. I’m taking a history class right now over at SDCC (San Diego Community College) and my professor mentioned the book during a lecture and I got curious.” Feeling like you had talked far too much about yourself, you swallowed shallowly, “Um, what about you? Do you know much about it?” 

The stranger just shook his head, “No, not really, just the basic synopsis I read online… I’m actually reading it off of a recommendation too. I tend to stick to Non-Fiction books, and my friends sorta tease me for it… in a good way,” he added quickly. “Anyway, my best friend suggested this book as a good way to kinda, get out of my normal comfort zone. I’ve been trying to expand my horizons lately.”

Your nose wrinkled trying not to giggle, “So reading a different genre of book is expanding your horizons? No offence but it doesn’t seem like you live a very fast paced life.”

“You have no idea.” His head shook and it was clear something about the situation was ironic to him. 

The interaction could have ended there but you weren’t quite ready to say goodbye to the handsome stranger quite yet. Besides, there hadn’t been any decisions that decided who’d get the book. 

“Here,” You tried to offer holding the book out for the man to take, “I don’t need to read it right now, I can always just rent it later, it’s no big deal.”

The man shook his head gently pushing the book back into your grasp, “Your doing it to farther your education and understanding, I couldn’t get in the way of that.” 

“And your trying to expand your horizons and tastes, that’s important too.”

After a tense moment of silence and a range of eye movements to try to encourage the other to take the book, the man’s lips broke into a smile, eyes shifting to the book shelf. “Okay… how about this, a benefit to us both. We take turns, make it kind of a book club thing.” He offered smiling. “We read a chapter or two, then switch off, once we each read a couple chapters we meet for lunch, and talk about it?” He offered with a hopeful smile. 

How could you resist, intellectual conversation with a handsome guy over lunch? Yes please. “Alright, that sounds like a deal…” You pulled out your phone, handing it to the man to put his number in, once returned to you, it was quick to go into your pocket. 

Attention turning back to the man who had put himself into your phone as Bob Floyd, you noticed him reaching back up to the shelf for something. He grabbed another book, a second copy of “Tunnel In The Sky”, a grin spreading on his face, “Huh… another copy, weird.” 

You laughed quietly “guess we went through all that trouble of making a plan for nothing huh?”

“Not necessarily, perhaps I just chose to ignore the second newer copy in favor of the well loved copy and the opportunity to talk to a beautiful girl.” The grin on his face said it all, he was being confident, but it was new to him, and it suited him well. 

------------------------------

All the girls around the table had been lulled into having their hands on their chins like children gathered for story time. “Aww, all that just to talk to you? How cute.” Adyson said her lips curling into a grin.

 “It worked didn’t it?” You responded holding up your left hand with the engagement ring on it, “He’s perfect guys, I couldn’t care less if he’s a bit timid. Bobby shows when it really counts.” 

What was a warm and tender moment quicky changed as Lexi pretended to hide her mouth to comment “He show’s out in the bedroom too.” 

A shriek escaped you as you slapped Lexi’s hand from her mouth in a playful manner as the rest of the girls laughed.  So what if Bob wasn’t the biggest, or the loudest, or the most smooth. He was yours, and that was all you could have asked him to be. 

#top gun fandom #top gun #bob floyd #baby on board #Hes simply too cute #top gun maverick #natasha phoenix trace #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfiction #Bob fucks #just not right now #fragile floyd #i love him your honor

[callsign-mongoose]

I’m not ashamed to say that #Bob Fucks is truth.

oral technique [part two] | b.f

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x f!reader word count: 2449 warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], oral sex [f & m receiving], reader rides bob’s face in a parking lot, a mind blowing blowjob, male moaning, whimpering, bob has a praise kink, bob gets head, bob’s a virgin in this, it’s pure filth

summary: in which you give bob head

author’s note: @attapullman convinced me to write this a while ago. everyone say “thank you morgan” 🤭

part one | oneshot | masterlist 

If there was one thing you knew for certain, it was that you never wanted to be “just friends” with Bob. You’d had feelings for him for a while, enjoying the time you spent together that made your feelings develop tenfold. 

He was smart, usually the smartest person in the room. His shyness and shy nature made it seem like whoever commandeered the conversation ruled him out of the running. But you knew ��� he’d mumble under his breath with correct facts, never needing anyone else to confirm for him. He didn’t want the recognition, or everyone’s attention on him. 

But you? He craved your attention. He enjoyed the smug grin you wore whenever he corrected someone. The look you shared with him whenever the person he was correcting was Hangman. You understood he didn’t like being the centre of attention, and so you basked in his victory quietly. 

A game of truth or drink brought forth your feelings for someone in the circle. While everyone tried to ask you questions about who it was, you’d always take a sip as you held Bob’s gaze. You understood how embarrassed he’d feel if the entire group knew; the merciless teasing and insistence on setting the two of you up. The way you viewed it, he’d act on it once he was ready to, once your hints and lingering touches became more obvious. 

You hadn’t been surprised to watch Bob drink when the question about virginities came into play one night. He was a private person, and if he didn’t want to talk about his experience – or lack thereof, – you’d do what you could to draw the attention away from him. Even if that meant over exaggerating your own experience, everyone was quick to move on and forget that Bob had drank instead of telling a story. 

It was how Bob decided to confide in you, and you soon learnt that he was still a virgin. He’d told you with his head hung in shame, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. You hadn’t made fun of him, no. Instead, you’d offered to teach him how to go down on a woman. 

By practicing on you. 

Sure, it was fuelling your own agenda, but Bob was eager to learn and you were more than willing. 

Your mind still spun in circles whenever you remembered that night. The way his hands and mouth felt on you, inside you. His lust-blown pupils and crooked glasses, hair a mess from your hands and your slick coating his chin when you finally let him up. 

“You taste so good,” he’d uttered, mouth barely an inch from your heat as he’d made the confession. You replayed it over and over again whenever your fingers expertly brought you over the edge. 

You wanted him again, of course you did. Your skin felt alive whenever you were in close proximity to him, his cheeks always rosy whenever you looked in his direction. Your little secret. 

He drove you wild. 

He’d told you about his crush, and you’d finally confessed to yours. He’d been bashful and shy, asking, “wait, really?” It made you chuckle as you tenderly cupped his face and said, “yeah, Bobby, really.”

Getting it out in the open had been the first step. Sure, you’d skipped a bunch by offering to teach him how to eat you out, but it had been more than worth it. Since then, he’d asked for more “tutoring sessions,” which you were more than happy to oblige with. 

It had reached the point where you’d catch him staring at you hungrily from across the room and you’d make an excuse about being tired. Bob would offer to drive you home, and he’d wind up with his mouth on your cunt, making you scream his name. 

Tonight was much the same, except Bob was feeling a lot more confident about himself around you. He’d softly kissed the skin behind your ear as he’d given you a hug. His fingers wandered dangerously high under your dress. But tonight you had a plan to pitch a new idea to him, something new you could show him instead. 

You wanted to switch places. You wanted to be the one on your knees, driving him wild with your mouth and hands. You wanted to make him come undone and listen to all the pretty noises he’d make. 

You announced you were feeling tired not too long after catching Bob ogling your chest. He was being discreet about it, to the point you knew all your friends were oblivious, but you caught him. He blushed something fierce before offering to drive you home. 

You had a routine down pat. No one questioned the two of you leaving together. No one questioned the blush on Bob’s cheeks. They all assumed he had a crush and would never act on it, but they underestimate you. Your own crush on Bob that only he knew about. 

Outside, you marched towards Bob’s car with purpose, but he was hot on your heels. 

“Eager, are we?” He asked cockily, catching your hand and spinning you around. Pressing his body against yours as he backed you up against the door, hands on your thighs under your dress. 

Your breath caught in your throat as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, giving you almost what you wanted. You let out a small whine, “Bob,” and he chuckled. 

“Here?” He teased, sliding his hands further under your dress. “Anyone could catch us.”

“Doesn’t it excite you just a little bit?” You countered, hands fisting his shirt as you cocked your head to the side. “The thought of me riding your face in a parking lot? On your knees, Lieutenant.”

Bob groaned as he sank to his knees on the gravel ground. He didn’t care about the large stone beneath his left kneecap. All he cared about was having you fuck his face and making you cum harder than you ever have before. 

He started with the soft kisses along your thighs, fingertips pushing up the material of your dress as he inched his way higher. His mouth was hot against your already warm skin, teeth nipping and tongue laving at your soft skin. Your thighs were covered in his little ministrations, marks of his time spent between your legs making you come undone over and over and over again. 

He kissed you over the material of your panties, taking a deep inhale of your delicious sex as he moved the material to the side. 

“Spread your legs a little more,” he instructed, shuffling himself forward a little more. He wanted you perched on his face properly.

You did as he said, leaning back against the side of the car. One hand tangled itself in his hair, the other lifted your dress so you could see him. Bob wasted no time licking a bold stripe up your centre, flattening his tongue so he could taste all of you. 

You whimpered as he found your swollen nub, his tongue dancing over it. Tasting, teasing. 

He’d become more bold in his actions since his initial first time eating you out. You’d taught him what you liked, the failsafe combination of his mouth on your clit and two fingers hooked inside your cunt, drawing out an orgasm time and time again. But he’d wanted to try more, make shared experiences. You’d been more than willing to let him practice. More than willing to accept any time he wanted to spend with his face buried in your cunt. 

You gasped as he stiffened his tongue and pressed into your tight entrance, arms hooked under your legs as you felt him bear your weight. The delicious squelching and slurping had your head falling back against the door with a soft ‘thunk’ that didn’t stop him. He moaned against you as you started bucking your hips, grinding your clit against his nose. 

The gates to heaven were at the apex between your thighs and Bob’s tongue held the key. 

“Bob,” you gasped, feeling the coil in your abdomen tighten. 

But he didn’t stop. He helped guide your hips when your thrusts grew weaker, your hand growing tighter in his hair to the point of pain, making him moan against you one more time. 

“‘m so close, baby,” you purred. “Fuck, just like that. Such a good boy.”

Bob’s groan was low and guttural, your words spurring him on. His cock strained against his pants almost painfully. His own hips bucking for any kind of friction as you used his face to come, body shuddering without any further warning and your slick gushing from your cunt with a vengeance. 

He slurped and gulped and moaned up a storm as your legs closed around his head, eyes blinking out spots in your vision. 

When he felt you gently stroking his hair, he helped you lower your legs to the ground before he gazed up at you. His glasses were askew, pupils lust-blown and and goofy, fucked out smile on his face. The lower half of his face was still covered with remnants of your orgasm, as well as spotted across the dark material of his shirt. 

“Such a good boy,” you repeated, just to watch his eyelids flutter close under the praise. “C’mon.”

You helped him stand, admiring the wet patch staining his jeans. The first time he’d cum while eating you out, he’d been embarrassed. Now he felt pride, that getting you off was enough to get him off. You never made him feel bad for it, but you were hoping he’d be ready to go again by the time you got home. 

Bob happily drove, holding your hand while you rested in the front seat. The silence was peaceful, and by the time you made it to Bob’s place, he kissed you hungrily. 

“Want you to ride my face properly,” he told you. “Straddling my face while you use me to get off.”

Your breath hitched at the idea, your hands tangled in his hair as you tasted yourself on his lips. You shared a moan as he pressed you up against the door of his apartment, fumbling to get the key in the lock so you could continue inside. 

“I have a better idea,” you told him, voice sultry as you kissed along his jaw, lips brushing against his air. “I want to reward you for being such a good boy.”

Bob whimpered as the key turned in the lock before the door opened. He held onto you as you stumbled a bit before kicking the door closed. 

“What’s that?” He asked, voice thick with desire. 

“Get on the couch, baby,” you instructed, watching him drunkenly stumble towards the couch and plop down. You slowly walked towards him, his eyes tracking you. His breath came out ragged as you reached for a decorative cushion and knelt on it in front of him. 

“Oh, I–you don’t,” he stammered, swallowing thickly as you ran your hands up and down his thighs, slowly parting his legs. 

“You’re always so good to me, baby. I wanna be good for you.”

Bob moaned as your hands reached for the button on his jeans. “Please. Please,” he begged. “Fuck, I don’t–I won’t last.”

His breath came in short pants as you peered up at him. 

“It’s not about lasting long, baby. It’s about getting you off. Enjoying the feeling of my mouth,” you assured him. “Please? Please can I suck your cock?”

He keened in response. “Yes, fuck. Please.”

You smiled sweetly, enjoying how wound up he already was at the prospect of your mouth on his cock. He lifted his hips without much prompting, helping you to remove his soiled pants and underwear. His cock sprang to life and rested heavy against his stomach. Thick and long with an angry red tip and droplets of cum streaking down his length. 

You rubbed your hands along his thighs, nails lightly raking down to just above his knees, still spotted with dents from the gravel. His cock twitched as you pressed a kiss to his pubic bone, a soft gasp falling past his lips. 

You lightly wrapped your hand around his cock, peering up at him through your lashes as you licked and sucked his balls. Bob’s hips bucked of their own accord as you started to stroke your hand up and down his shaft. Precum oozed from his slit with each stroke from base to tip. 

Taking a page from Bob’s own oral handbook, you licked him from base to tip, tongue delving into the puddle of precum. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he whined, doing his best to watch your delicious assault on his cock. 

You wrapped your lips around his tip and hummed, laying your tongue flat against the sensitive underside and gently sucking. Your mouth salivated as he groaned, hands fisting the couch cushion beneath him and you reached for one of them, bringing it up to your hair. 

“Guide me slowly,” you instructed. “Find my limits.”

You let your spit trickle down his length, saving more in your mouth before you took him in again. He gently urged your head further down, eyes widening as his cock slowly disappeared in your mouth. 

“Fuck, baby,” he panted. “Takin’ me so well.”

You moaned around him, watching his head fall back at the sensation. You wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, the other lightly playing with his balls. Working him into a state you’d only dreamed of. 

When you gagged around his cock, his eyes flew open and his grip lessened in your hair. You held his gaze even as your eyes watered and you worked to take him in further. 

When you slowly lifted your head, a large bridge of spit from your mouth to his cock had you grinning. You hands continue working his cock. 

“How you feeling, baby?” You asked him. 

“Good, so good,” he moaned, your thumb rubbing circles at the ridge under his cock. “Fuck, I need your mouth.”

You hummed as you obliged, sucking the tip of his cock while you continued to jerk him off. Slowly taking more of him into your mouth as he guided your head. Starting to quicken your motions as his hips bucked and his balls pulled in tight. 

“I’m close. I’m gonna–fuck,” he grunted, whining as you continued your blissful assault until his seed filled your mouth. Hand wound tightly in your hair as you pulled off him with a ‘pop’, mouth full of his salty cum as you swallowed his load. 

You hummed, swiping at the corner of your mouth before sucking it clean. 

“Good boys should always be rewarded,” you praised. 

JOIN THE TAGLIST: @callsigncowboy @cheyennep3107 @kmc1989 @auroraseddie @eloquentdreamer @mamachasesmayhem @yuckosworld @attapullman @sherlockstrangewolf

#bob fucks

[callsign-mongoose]

This incredible woman!

Stilettos and Sea Turtles, Iceman x OC

Summary: Anywhere but a Christmas benefit sounds good to Tom Kazansky, especially six days before leave. But it's a merry little Christmas for him when someone at the bar catches a little more than his attention.

Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x nameless!femOC

Warnings: slight swears, shameless flirting, Cougar being adorable with his wife, smoker Ice that unravels me in the best possible way.

Stilettos and Sea Turtles

Between the steady pulse of overplayed, tired Christmas tunes and the murmur of hushed conversation, it’s no surprise that the bar is packed. Men dressed to the nines, a mix of dress whites and traditional slacks and suits stand at the ready with credit cards and cash—even in the crisscrossing shadows of lowlight and after-five dark there’s bland indifference splashed across the sea of faces. Irritation, impatience. Some stand on toes, looking for better halves or opportunities across the room, in the mosh of cocktail dresses and floor length must-haves—creasing finely polished rental shoes, no doubt. 

Bartenders and waitresses nearly sprint circles around the aged walnut bar—flitting in and out around tables, hushed apologies as they contort through too-close bodies and little floorspace like bats. Lost in the lowlight of ambiance and good times, deep pockets, and charitable contribution. ‘Tis the season for alcoholism to come full circle, for bad decisions—somewhere, some guy is fumbling a ring around his pocket, dreading making a scene. Unable to hide excitement over the next perceived chapter a thrilled and shrieking “Yes!” may promise. 

There’s three hundred people here. Six days before Christmas. And that hardly seems to stop anybody from progressing the night along—certainly hasn’t stopped the band from setting up. The valet from taking keys and directing to coat-check. Auctioneer from selling bidding numbers at the front door, heaven forbid. 

No, the veins of this pace are thrumming with anticipated thrill. Alcohol and what’s-for-dinner wafts through the air like it’s been pumped in through ventilation. Fifteen dollars a plate, it should be nearly tangible in the air—charitability aside. Who the hell charges $15 a head to eat at a charitable auction and dance? Practically asking you to bend over while giving it to you in the ass.  

Honestly, to say this is the last venue Tom Kazansky wants to be six days before shipping out for holiday leave is an understatement. To stay the least. But Cortell had insisted—fucking Bill. Roping him into an event. Six damn days before he could be passed out somewhere on the familiar, creamy sands of the Big Island. 

In his own house, on his own two thousand dollar mattress. That he hasn’t seen for a year and a half. Driving his car. Consuming food straight from the islands, that isn’t fried or been sitting in a freezer for a month and ten days. Watching copious amounts of Christmas-vacationing tits on the beach, stone’s throw from his back door. There’s no less than two dozen other thing Ice would rather be doing at the exact moment he takes his number from coat-check, but, too little too late. 

The reminder on that damn calendar hanging above his cot, circled in bright vermillion Sharpie marker, basically is branded into the back of his membrane. Has been, since Theresa called and asked him if he’d be there. Here. And what else could he say but Yeah, Ter, sure? Never was able to deny Terri Cortell anything, really. Especially when she asked in that sweet southern little accent of hers. Cougar had just chuckled at his wife and told Ice he’d see him around Christmas, to stay “Fucking safe and in the air,” a sentiment that he hadn’t necessarily been trying to take literally but had managed nonetheless. 

Because the Navy was nothing if not demanding, even if Viper had cleared them to attend the same damn charity event his own wife was dragging him to. Ice won’t soon forget the look on the man’s face, the smirk when he’d reminded his boys to baby their dress whites. Chicks dig the whites. Not a mistake, having them hanging on the back of the door. Nearly sparkling in their milky glory. Guaranteed a few smiles and flirty giggles, if nothing else. 

Slider had all but rapped the calendar off the wall this morning when he’d knocked a knuckle against the date, havig greatly anticipated this event all quarter. Ron had spent the better part of the afternoon preening like something out of Men’s Health, all the way down to trimming his sideburns and breaking out the cologne his mother had sent for Christmas last year. Ice had nearly rolled eyes out of his skull watching his backseater sprint back to their assignment for more Trojan’s. As if this was high school. And not a function demanding a semblance of adult responsibility.  

Not that he was surprised. Slider was nothing if not expecting a quick fuck and a pretty smile in heels and a dress at a flashy San Diego party. And December 19. Coronado Comm. Center, 5:15PM OPEN BAR couldn’t have read anything less. And it’s not wrong, if Tom thinks about it honestly. If the shoe fits, wear the damn thing. 

But the date scrawled on his calendar, the conversation with Terri. All on a loop in the back of his head. Like a broken record, or a film reel that won’t stop churning out projection. And as he slides his hand into his pocket for his lighter and pack of smokes, Ice can’t really shake that fact that this is the reason he isn’t home right now. That’s he’s not up to his neck in SPF and his mother’s Pina Coladas, in Blue Christmas reruns on his father’s front porch while mother drones on about commitments and her Association functions.  

It sounds like first world problems, sure. But he’s earned these problems. Being the son of a retired Admiral has its charms—charms Tom Kazansky is more than opportune to cash. He hadn’t put up with his father’s demanding shit for nothing. Kazansky privilege was the least this life could offer him. 

Smacking the smokes against his palm, he makes a quick pass over the floor of the community center for Slider. Separated from his wingman, again. Of course. Sent two different directions for coat check, and despite Slider being significantly taller than the average male specimen, he’s nowhere in the sea of fine dress and hushed murmurs. 

Slipping a smoke from the pack between his fingers, he lights up. Sharp nicotine and Marlboro warmth spin into his blood like familiar demons. Ease the chilled knife of irritation that’s been cutting between his ribs since this morning. Thank Christ for the cigarettes he’d forced Slider to stop for. For the bar he’s definitely imbibing in. Ridiculous amounts of booze he’s going to consume. 

Dress whites and aviators-on nearly promise any drink he could ever want, but that comes later. After he’s planted his presence at the bar and made it more than known that he’s not here with anyone important. Ask about how the night’s going, if any of the bartender’s have worked this event before. Almost seems effortless, really. It’s all a part of playing the field, looking the part. And if Viper and any of his brass is here, well—the part is the most important thing he can play. 

Sucking on his cigarette until the hot tension between his shoulder blades eases, Tom outs the end of the smoke on the heel of his shoe before flicking it in the nearby trash. Smoothly cutting his way towards the bar. Slipping between sequins and silks, feathered hair and perfume that spins through the air like delectable poison. He draws attention like he’s canvas, setting the entire room on edge. 

The whites stick out like sore thumbs in a crowd like this. Draws the right attention. unattached women are the easiest to make—they all but flock. The married are a little more subtle, but not by much, reaching up on toes for looks of their own. And Tom likes the way it feels, if he’s honest—power and sex, all the arrogance of the Navy cocktailed into a heady wake that ticks up his heartbeat. Loosens his shoulders in the right ways. 

After a few dozen whispered apologies and cool smiles, he’s elbowed his way up to the bar. Catches strong hues of vodka, tequila. Saccharine sweets of grenadine; the warmth of hops. Even though the music is loud, even though there’s no less than a few hundred conversations happening in the air, the rattle of ice and the pour of a finger’s worth of bourbon is unmissable. Roars like a demonic energy that magics his attention, almost immediately, to the bartender that slides to a stop in front of him. 

No less than forty, the guy looks rough. Exhausted, at mach 10. Already. And the night has just started. 

Rough 40 doesn’t have to ask what Ice wants—the expression on his face pulls “Bourbon, rocks,” from him like it’s nothing. The warm oaks and sweet vanilla swirls of bourbon is the single best way to kick this event into high gear—or, rather, his ass into this event. Nothing short of two fingers’ worth is what he expects as the man nods, spins on his heel, and moves to concoct the drink nearly out of thin air. 

Within seconds it skids across the counter, bumps into his arm to a sloppy stop. Elbow knocked against the walnut wood of the bar, Ice leans heavily against the lacquered wood to scan the audience that’s gathered for this event. It’s for underprivileged kids, if he remembers. Salvation Army, something or another. An auction, dance, and dinner all rolled into one helluva extravaganza scheduled to Cinderella around midnight—a mightnight he’ll be long gone before. 

And honestly, it’s a good cause. Decent. One that he can get behind, even if being here is the last thing on his agenda. And speaking of agenda—the hell was Cortell? His blonde crop and whites won’t be missable—Terri’s sparkling smile aside. Checking his watch, it’s half after. Cortell was meeting him here around six. 

Slider still unaccounted for, Ice takes a slow draw on the bourbon. It spins his blood in all the right ways, and it’s good—almost as good at the hushed little giggle that crops up behind him. That almost enunciates the tick of heels on the floor, strikes the air dumb and paralyzed as white-hot energy rumbles to an all-stop against the edge of the bar. 

Fresh meat. 

It’s all enough to draw his attention over his shoulder. Swift glances make a once-over at the modest little dress standing there, hugging all the right places. Not offering nearly enough to the imagination. It’s simple, charcoal tones. Cut to the knee. Almost more business than pleasure, but not in a bad way. And it’s all complete—gaudiest, funniest looking Gingerbread earrings. Mis-matching rings and a watch at least designed for a Harvard graduate, nothing less. Short, almost controversially short hair that protests gel in ringlets at the top. Right down to the most ridiculous neon-green stilettos that she’s managing like a champ. 

Even behind aviator’s and in the low event lighting, she looks fantastic. Like a million and one dollars all rolled into a sweet little package that’s smiling in red lipstick and glittery eye makeup settings off the earrings enough to make him smirk. Her side profile is simple. And the more Ice watches, the more tells she reveals. It takes some work. But she fidgets with the hem of her dress. Fingertips brush the straps on her shoulders. She continually smooths the back of her hair, and in a few moments of just simply existing in the same atmosphere, Ice knows. He can see through the gambit, all the curves and the sparkle and the red lipstick. 

Discomfort. Apprehension. Uncertainty. It balances there like she’s Vegas neon on a tightwire—and she may as well be. Those are four inch heels. And much like pulling back the stick and getting lost in the sun, he’s blinded by the transparency such little tells can reveal. If only we’re quiet enough to watch, to understand. To see. 

And maybe that’s it. Maybe nobody sees her. Has seen her. Past tense. Or maybe they have, and that’s the entire point. Divergence is a powerful agent. Grasp attention with the little things so you ignore the elephant under the rug, as it were. Dazzle them with the right smile, the right accessories—the perfect lie. That things inside are just as perfect as they are outside. And make them lie, right along beside you. Bedfellows in the dance of deception and wicked shadows. 

He knows the game. Pretty well. Has seen it before. Lived it, even. In some ways more than others.  

And it takes a heartbeat, if that, for her to notice unsolicited attention to the elephant she’s trying to shove under that proverbial rug. Side eye would thin him without shame, if he would let her disarm with just a passing glance. As if she isn’t trying to be slick at all and show her cards. It’s like playing chicken in the air, in a sense. All cock and brazen bravado under a canopy of sunlight and cumulous. Who will break first? 

And Ice is just about to maybe apologize for staring, but—can his perusal even be labeled unsolicited? Electric-green stilettos and on-brand earrings, the way that dress hugs perfectly. It’s hardly fair to expect nobody to stare and label attention as unsolicited when the opposite sex walks in looking like that. You can’t blame a guy. 

Though she’s hardly the type he goes for. And he knows, just by the few heartbeats of watching her against the bar. How she rocks forward on her toes. Drums her nails against the bar. How she scrunches her nose and bobs her head to every damn song blaring through the PA while the live band sets up. All telltale signs of energy, personality bubbling beneath makeup and a tight dress. 

“Hey,” and it’s unusual that they speak first. The first move is always the advantage. Ice is still smoothly considering the cut of her in what he’s pretty sure is a lacking-the-jacket sheath dress when she turns on a heel to full-front face him. Earrings lightly dancing, making the damn Gingerbread couple look alive. Eyes flicking up, he smoothly pushes off the bar to stand. Slips the aviators into his hair, making a show of looking her over just one last time before conversation demands his attention. 

Her hand is still on the bar, a single nail lightly tapping against the clutch purse that, for a minute, he doesn’t remember noticing. It’s the most offensive neon yellow he could imagine.  But somehow it only makes the corner of his mouth curl, because of course it is. Another layer of the element. Shifting on her feet, her brow lifts expectantly. She’s waiting for his response. Poised like a knocked arrow, ready to fly. 

And in three, two, one, there it is—the telltale cock of the hip. It’s too easy, almost. It prompts the slow roll of his tongue along his bottom lip. Her once-over of him takes him hostage, for a second–he didn’t expect it. Isn’t sure how to process the little jut of her chin, either. And it’s like injecting hypodermic needles beneath his epidermis, the way her lips pull into a little, but aha!-all-the-same, grin. 

Almost aimlessly his hands set to palm out the Marlboros and his Zippo, again. Her brow pops, maybe not expecting this, but it’s a power move. More distraction, smoke and mirrors. 

Ice makes a show of drawing out a smoke, of tossing the package on the bar. Rips that flint and lights up like it’s as easy as Sunday morning, and the organ pumping blood in his chest rests a little easier against his ribs as warm nicotine chases down his throat. Lights up his blood like a control panel, puts things back into perspective. 

He takes his time responding. Because the little flush on her cheeks is a pretty pink. He likes it. More than he should. 

“Hi.” 

And she must like it, because she smiles again. Ice realizes that she’s not offering anything else, on purpose. Waiting for him to line up his aim, perhaps. Little muscle tightening in her jaw, the resolution to not break first is there. Damn. He takes a deep breath off the cigarette, smoke tumbling from his lips. Don’t take the bait. 

“Can I get you anything?” 

And it shocks him more than Ice is prepared for. His brow lifts a little before he shrugs a shoulder, smiling behind his cigarette a little as she ships to rest her hip against the bar. He’s not sure if it’s an invitation to continue conversation or if it’s a polite gesture. She’s definitely eye-fucking him a little. Flirty, to a degree. 

Time to drive the knife a little deeper. First blood. 

“It’s a free country. Can’t stop you even if you did.” 

Her smile purses into a pert little “o” that drags her eyes to her feet for a second. Not before they snap back, like a boomerang. Blinking a few times, the fan of her lashes against creamy skin is spectacular. Deliberate, perhaps, to draw attention to her eyes. 

And it’s worked, because Ice hasn’t ever seen such an inferno of sapphires before—they almost burn. Intense in a way he’s only ever seen in Pete Mitchell, but not in the same way. Alive, yes. Intelligent. Wild and dangerous in the wrong ways that somehow always shake out okay. 

But something simmers behind hers, something that Mitchell doesn’t quite have. He can’t put a finger on it. Yet. 

“Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way.” Leaning over the bar, her fingers catch the arm of the bartender and she flashes him two fingers. Looking back to him, her eyes flick down the uniform. “Though it looks pretty good on you, Lieutenant.” So Neon Stilettos can read rank. 

Impressive. “Is that right.” 

She settles back from leaning over the bar and smooths a hand over the front of her dress, pulling at the hem with a little tug. “You look healthy enough to me.” Corner of her mouth lifting, she shrugs a shoulder. Ice couldn’t miss the little bite of her bottom lip for anything, the muscle in her jaw flexing. He can see the wheels turning for all of a few seconds. Taking the break in conversation to drag the cigarette again. 

“But this,” she smiles, “Smoking is bad for you, Lieutenant," she tsks, leaning in to pluck the cigarette from his lips and holding it delicately between her fingers. It burns there between her fingers before she brings it to her own lips, taking a deep breath. He's captivated as the smoke curls  from her lungs, carried away in the air between them. 

"See," she smirks, "bad for you." Stunned into captivated silence, his heart crashes against his ribs. In a single maneuver she’s toppled every conclusion he’s drawn in the minutes he’s been standing here, breaths from gawking. It’s like nosediving, almost. Mach 10 in the wrong direction. But he isn’t mad about it. 

Stumbling around a reply for a minute, his brow lifts. 

Fuck me. "And for you?"

It’s rapid fire. Ice realizes she’s in the element–in her element. Confidence sparks in the corner of her eye, like she’s entered the arena. Blade drawn and ready. He could never miss it, the way her shoulders roll back ever so slightly, opening up her chest. How the corner of her mouth ticks with an ever-suppressed smile she knows will be more of a tell than anything. The game is on. 

Her eyes flutter to an easy half master as she shifts her weight a little against the bar. "Well I can't just toss it," she contemplates before bringing the smoke back to pouty lips. "I'm a concerned citizen. Littering's bad for the sea turtles." She holds another breath before the Marlboro comes tumbling from her lungs, slow and easy. Controlled. The way he likes it. 

 "I guess you think that makes you an exception to the rule." Despite himself, Ice finds his lips curling up. "And here I thought you were a bad girl." And before he realizes how forward the innuendo is, it’s out in the open. Swirling between them like warm Marlboro smoke, snapping and crackling like white-hot embers. She doesn’t exactly strike him as, well, that type. 

Maybe he’s been hanging around Kerner too long, maybe—Christ help him. 

Maybe he’s been hanging around Maverick a spell too long— "For the right someone?" And it makes him pause. The last of the ember sends tendrils wafting past her face before she scuffs it out on the bottom of her shoe, still perched between long fingers. "Baby, I just might be."

Almost making a show of the length of her leg, of how absolutely fucking sexy she looks in those neon stilettos, she turns to flick the end of the cigarette into the ashtray perched on the bar, her smile all but quicksilver. Biting the corner of her lip she takes the two drinks that slide to a stop in front of her between bejeweled, lithe fingers and brushes his shoulder as she slips by. 

“Thanks for the smoke, Lieutenant,” eyes casting down to the wings on his breast, she looks up through her lashes, almost sweetly. “Stay safe up there.” Eyes rolling to the ceiling, her lips curl up into a full smile. Ice couldn’t miss the little pink of her tongue wetting the seam of her mouth, or the full thud of seemingly every organ screaming against his skeletal system. Fairly certain he can’t feel any of his extremities, he realizes his blood is bubbling in his ears as she slips away, stilettos ticking off the floor. 

From his place at the bar he watches her crowd into the press of people, drinks lifted in preservation effort. Once he’s sure she’s well and gone from sight he releases a full breath. Some faint, pretty smell of perfume lingers in her wake, cocktailed with the heavy scent of smoke and nicotine. 

Tom’s blood simmers like low fire in his veins. He’s fairly certain the heat racing across his musculature could fuel at least a handful of locomotives—and for a second, he’s not sure why. She’s not the first pretty face to put him through the paces. Despite himself, he can’t quite shake the sparkle in her smile. The light that flickered behind her eyes, alive and dangerous and familiar. It takes a drink to remember he didn’t learn her name. Another cigarette to finally settle the twitch in the base of his gut that ever threatens to drop into his cock. 

Fingers drumming on the bar, he doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath again until the sharp barb in his chest reminds him that yes, he still needs oxygen. Sucking in a breath as he takes his drink between fingers, he pauses when he spots movement in the crowd. Bouncing, a hand lifted above heads in a frantic little wave. Blonde hair pops around shoulders and bodies, eyes pointed in his direction. 

His smile is cocksure as Terri dances her way through the bodies crowding around the bar, Cougar all but staggering behind her as she tugs him along, their fingers interlaced tightly. Ice doesn’t miss the protective arm that snakes around her middle as Bill pulls her close against his chest, her smile all but dazzling like Vegas neon as she slaps eyes on him. 

“Well there he is, Mr. Sex himself,” her drawl is as slow as the smile creeping across her lips, “Look at you, dress whites an’ aviators and all. Tom Kazansky, you’re liable to make a grown woman cry.” Her hand slips over Bill’s around her middle as her head tips back against his shoulder, giggling, “Coug, you should go roundup a priest. I’m liable to need confession.” 

Rolling his eyes, Ice shakes his head and moves from the bar when she breaks away from Cougar’s embrace. Hang lingering in her husband’s as she moves to kiss his cheek sweetly, Tom’s hand lingers at her waist for a fraction of a second. The curl of her hair brushes his shoulder when she wraps him in a hug, and he returns the sentiment. Whispering something in his ear he can’t quite catch, Ice angles to ask her to repeat, but freezes at first blush of the perfume that lingers on her skin. 

It’s the same perfume. Neon Stilettos. Freezing, Terri shuffles back a little, hands on his arms. “Ice? You okay?” The look on his face must be a stroke of awful, because she splutters out a little laugh. Brows lifted as her pretty eyes scan over his face. “Whoa, Iceman—taking your callsign a little bit too literal, ain’t ya? What’s up?” 

He isn’t exactly sure how to explain, but thank God for Theresa and her powers of perception. Because he doesn’t have to before she’s already moving on. “Didn’t you hear me, Kaz? I said I had someone I wanted you to meet—she’s fresh all the way from the great, frozen lakes of the north. Pretty and ready for a San Diego good time.” Squeezing his arms, Tom is drawn back into reality at her wagging brows—and as Cougar steps up to relieve his wife from Ice’s hands still on her waist. 

“Ice,” Cougar extends a hand, his other arm snaking back around Terri’s waist. It’s been forever since he’s actually seen Bill, so Ice considers the man’s hand for a heartbeat before clapping his hand into Bill’s. “Good to see you, man. Top Gun looks like she’s treating you well.” 

“Thanks, Cougar.” They shake, break, and Bill shuffles his better half towards the bar, her standing on his toes giggling as her husband’s nose brushes the soft of her neck. Moving back to his place at the bar, he orders an Old Fashioned for himself, Terri’s martini, and Bill’s Whiskey 7 all in a breath as the bartender passes by. 

“Make that a virgin!” Terri’s calling to the bartender snaps his attention like a rubber band, first to her knowing smile, then to her abdomen. He doesn't miss the little bump for anything. It peeks out in her tight, white dress like the sun.

“Yeah, I know—don’t look at me like you don’t know Cougar is fucking his wife on the regular.” Spluttering, and before he can even congratulate Cougar for knocking up his wife, again, Terri’s already turned to face him. “So. Thomas,” Terri’s nails drum against the lacquered wood as Bill cages her against the bar. He can’t help but notice they both look fantastic. She’s nearly glowing, Cougar hasn’t ever looked better, facial hair aside. “About this girl I want you to meet.” 

“Here we go," 

“Oh, stop!” She reaches to push at his shoulder, giggling brightly. “I promise she’s better than the last one,” Cougar cuts him a side glance so sharp that for a second Ice wonders if his carotid is still intact. But Terri notices, and she swats at her husband with a less-than-serious hand, rolling her eyes. “Oh come on. She was bad but she wasn’t that bad.” 

“She organized her lingerie drawer,” Ice’s brows lift before he draws the aviators back to their perch on his nose. And Theresa’s mouth opens to respond, but he cuts her off with a lifted, impatient finger, “by textile, Ter. Textile.” Shaking his head, he leans an arm heavily against the bar. Kicks his foot over the other. “You can’t argue with that, Theresa.” 

“No problem fucking her though, huh Ice?” 

And that stings, a bit more than it should. Terri’s brow is cocked for all of a few seconds before the superior look flies off her face to accept the virgin martini, sliding Bill’s whiskey over to him easily. Nodding to the bartender in thanks for the Old Fashioned, Ice lifts it for a drink while Terri’s popping an olive into the pocket of her cheek. 

“So, Cougar—” 

“—now, unless you’ve got a steady girl, I’m assuming you’re up for meeting this girl I’ve got picked out for you, Tommy,” Terri doesn’t look from her work of spearing olives back into place, head canted to the side as she lifts a shoulder to Bill’s nuzzle against her collarbone, “trust me. She’s gorgeous, she’s funny, and perhaps the best part—she doesn’t have a lingerie drawer.” This cracks a smile and produces a little chuckle, which prompts a slick little look from Cougar’s wife. 

“Is that right?” 

“Fuck yes it is. I checked.” His peering over the aviator’s produces a quick about-face and two lifted fingers that find her heart. “Scout’s honor, honey. I wouldn’t do that to you—”

“You already did, Ter,” 

“—you didn’t let me finish. Again. I wouldn’t do that to you again.” 

Cutting a look to Cougar, who takes a slow drink of his whiskey, Ice lifts his chin a little before turning the discussion over to the Lieutenant. Terri is all but buzzing beside Cortell, he can see it. The optimism painted across her face is adorable, accentuated by the glow of a new pregnancy. Eyes skating over her, he looks back to Cougar. Somewhere he knows that Cougar wouldn’t let his wife set up an Academy buddy without at least having some reservation. 

And as if he can read his mind, Cougar shrugs. “She’s a honey, Kazansky. Take my word for it.” Cougar’s word hasn’t meant much since leaving the Academy, at least in the department where sex is concerned. Even before Terri, Cougar had a pretty good taste in women he remembers. He wasn’t ever without a steady girl, even before he’d knocked Terri up and made her a blushing bride. 

Better Bill to set him up than Slider, who couldn’t tell a fuck from a football unless it hit him in the dick. “Alright, you win, Cortell,” his sigh his almost primadonna as he rolls his eyes, knuckling the aviator’s into place properly as he watches Terri’s face go from black-and-white to technicolor like the Wizard of Oz Halloween special, “but listen, Ter. I’m not really—” 

“ —I’m gonna go find ‘er, I’ll be right back,” moving to kiss the corner of Cougar’s lips, she brushes by Tom’s shoulder before clapping his other with a strang hand, “trust me on this, Ice. You’ll love her. You’ll salivate, I swear to God.” Crossing herself as if he could pass as a priest, both he and Bill watch her sashay away, nearly bubbling out of her heels. 

And it’s minutes, maybe, that he's sharing a conversation with Cougar on his new assignment before Terri’s calling for both of them, blonde head of hair bobbing to look over shoulders all over again. Even in heels, the woman is a shrimp of a thing. Cutting a look to Cortell, Cougar takes his wife’s drink and Ice falls in line behind him, moving away from the security of his perch at the bar. 

Melting into the crowd of people that’s all chattering and socializing, Cougar’s extending the virgin to his wife as Terri clutches the hand in hers a little tighter, nudging slightly for its owners to step up into their conversational circle. Ice casts his gaze across the crowd for any happening chance of Slider right at the exact moment the familiar scent of cigarettes catches his nose, and it’s like lightning that his gaze snaps back to the conversation. He almost boomerangs backwards, and subliminally the muscle in his jaw is locked lest its hinge fall open to gawk stupidly. 

Eyes cutting to her feet as if his eyes could deceive him, sure enough. Neon Stilettos. And Ice has missed the introduction almost entirely, and would’ve probably the entire thing, if Cougar hadn’t nudged his arm to shake him out of it. 

“—cousin, from Minneapolis. This is Tom Kazansky, a friend of Bill’s from the Academy.” And all at once, Terri releases her cousin’s hand, gesturing between the two of them, her hand heavy with Bill’s overpriced engagement ring. Ice’s attention couldn’t be more glued to the eyes that linger over the rim of what appears to be a new drink. And fuck all, they are flirtatious. And raking across his veins like she’s breathing fire over him. 

“The guy from the Layton mission, honey.” 

And her eyes are focused on Cougar for all of a microsecond before they pull back to him. Sparkling. Swirling, like temper-spun waters. Willpower, it takes willpower not to get lost in his own thoughts—his cock between his legs that nearly jumps at the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth, the way he can feel his skin buzz with electricity when she shifts her weight in those utterly ridiculous shoes he would so enjoy fucking her in. And Tom hasn’t had thoughts that bold in more than a while, but he can’t quite dismiss them when her head cants to the side. Making a show of looking him over. 

Seconds, and he isn’t sure how to play this. To tell Terri that they’d already had a great eye-fucking session or to keep that to himself. What a dilemma. His tongue clicks off the back of his bottom teeth as pregnant silence swells between their group; she’s looking at him knowingly. Like she can read his mind. Another cool, slow drink punctuates the little lift of her brow—should we or shouldn’t we? 

Drink, slip a hand into the pocket of his dress pants, play it cool when he’s anything but ice-cold and no mistakes. The warm alcohol splashing the back of his throat is almost enough to cover the cough of surprise—Neon Stilettos sidles up to him, the cut of her nearly perfect against the plains of him. She slips an arm around his neck, moves in to brush her chest against his. And within a heartbeat, before he can even think beyond the instinctive pull to wrap an arm around her waist, those plush red lips are skipping along his bottom lip. Teeth catching just so, the hum of a chuckle rumbles against his breastbone—and she kisses him, softly. Sweetly. Purposefully. 

She tastes like booze. Cigarettes. Like sin, a mistake that’s got him in a tailspin. Dizzy like he never remembers being. Oh shit. Oh fuck. 

And before Tom can register that punched-out feeling in the base of his gut, she’s turning in his embrace to wrinkle her nose at Bill and Terri. The hinge of their jaws has failed, pert little “o’s” stark against the positively flaming red of their faces.

Ice would think to care if Bill is catching air if he were able to think past the pistoning heart against his ribcage, the buzz humming in the back of his skull. How his fingers feel divinely molded to the flare of her hip, how her hand feels so at home and match-made as it skips along the buttons of his dress uniform. It takes him looking at the drink in his hand to register that he’s now white-knuckling the half-empty Old Fashioned like it’s the only thing keeping him planet-side.

“Thanks, cuz, but—we already met. At the bar,” her head cants to the side as she studies the lines of his face. “Right, Ice?” The way she says his name, the way it sounds from between pretty lips is insane. Like screaming twin engines, like touchdown on adrenaline when he isn’t thinking straight and high on a win. “Tom and I had a lovely chat about the sea turtle population and what the Navy is doing about preserving San Diego’s beach wildlife. It was great.” 

Ice watches how she drinks in his expression, like the world outside this moment is little to nothing of importance. Feels the steady jump of her heart against his breastbone—it’s strong. Assured, constant. Like it’s comfortable, not going anywhere. Her knee gently brushes the front of his thigh before it gently slats between his. And his spine shoots to an all-soldier straight, as if a rod has dropped down the length of his back. But it isn’t as strange as it is fiercely hot, and her arm falls from around his neck. Fingers easily slipping down his arm to find his free hand. 

And before he can confirm or deny anything, she’s whirling about on her heel to face her cousin and Bill, smiling brightly. Her, “I need another drink, does anyone want anything?” follows her as she bleeds from his side, backstepping through the crowd in the direction of the bar. Hand still in his, she tugs him away from Cougar and Terri after her. “You can help me, Sunglasses.” Plucking them from his nose, she slips them into her hair and turns, her fingers slipping home through his. 

He needs control. Whiplashed between the twitch of his cock and the drunk of her energy still on his lips, Ice doesn’t think. For what is probably the first time in his life. It’s hardly a career move, hardly anything more than a gut reaction and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but it’s something. And the recklessness of it feels good. He gets how Maverick can live his life like this, can gamble with this feeling that pits out the gut and stings the nerve endings like sweet poison. 

Unwilling to concede another step in the direction of the bar, he sidesteps in the other direction, tugging her along sharply to his side. Foot over foot, stumbling into his side, his arm slips around her waist like it’s made for it. Briskly steers them off the main floor, past coat-check. Past the eyes that maybe cut for a second to watch him high-tailing out of there, to a nowhere-important hallway that’s barely lit. Smells like Clorox. 

And the muted, through-wall chattering of the benefit is all but roaring in his ears when he shuffles her against the wall, stepping to brace her against the sheetrock like she’s planning on being somewhere other than right here in his sights. And for a second his eyes skate over her, checking for irregularities—for any sign of hesitance, all-stop. But she’s so there, all breathless and pinks cheeks, those stupid little gingerbread earrings dancing off every shallow rise and fall of her chest. And for a second he swears to God he can’t think straight when she bites the little corner of her bottom lip, eyes darting to his mouth and then back to his. And maybe it’s been too long between moments, because he’s a little jump when her fingers curl into the line of buttons on his shirt, material taut as she crooks a finger for him to come. 

“Well?” She’s still a little breathless. He can feel her elevated heartbeat as he steps closer, chest brushing against hers. “Chicken out, Lieutenant?” Arm slipping around his neck again, her other hand moves to card her fingers through his hair. It feels damn good. Good in a way he can’t remember. “For a second there I thought you were gonna do something—Kazansky, was it?” Half-mast eyes and the flutter of thick lashes tell him she hasn’t seriously forgotten his name. He still doesn’t know hers. But that can come later. 

He chuckles, isn’t able to help the smirk that ticks up the corner of his mouth. “You are bad,” his tongue skates his bottom lip, hand bracing against the wall as the other plays with the back of her curls, memorizing how the texture of it feels against his fingertips. 

And before he can say anything else, she’s fishing the cigarettes out of his breast pocket. Retrieving one with seductive, lithe fingers. And it slips between plush lips like nothing, before she slips the package of Marlboros into the front of her dress, tight up against the cleavage that fills out the front of her dress. 

He can’t help the chuckle as he ducks to brush his nose along the line of her jaw. “Anyone ever tell you smoking’s bad for your health?” The tang of her perfume on his tongue is strong, but good. She chuckles a little breathlessly as he guides her hand to his chest. Her head falling to his shoulder is so Hollywood is almost makes him laugh. 

“Maybe once or twice.” 

taglist: @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @chicomonks @dakotakazansky @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake @aviatorobsessed @kmc1989 @imp-number-3 @spicydisaster14 @thescreamingpeach @your-local-crzy-lady @radical-sky @bisexual-watermelons @mongoosesthings @gothidecorem @philcoulson-redtapeninja @itsgoghtime

#tom iceman kazansky #top gun #top gun 1986 #top gun imagines #iceman x reader #iceman x oc #val kilmer #tom kazansky #iceman kazansky #top gun iceman

[callsign-mongoose]

I AM SCREAMING, I NEED IT

Can I request a slider home for the holidays mood board? I feel like he would be the kind to surprise you, he somehow convinced a superior to give him a couple days off for Christmas so he could come home. He would be the sweetest.

hey nonny darling! thank you for celebrating with me! 🥰

|| sliding home for christmas ||

time together as a family is a gift

You and your children hadn't expected Ron to be home for Christmas. He wasn't due to come home until after the new year. So, imagine the surprise of you hearing your twin sons and your daughter squealing "Daddy!" while playing outside. You immediately picked up your 18 month old boy from his playpen and waddled as fast as you could with your 7 month belly to get outside and see if it was true. That your husband was home. And sure enough, there he was. In his tall, goofy glory, still in his flight suit, with your children climbing him like a jungle gym. Was he home from being in the middle of the ocean early? Yeah, yeah he was. But you weren't going to question it. You were just happy to have your Ronnie back.

thank you again for celebrating with me nonny darling! i hope you like it! love ya!

you can find all of the moodboard for this celebration here! -> unwrap us!!

[callsign-mongoose]

Robert Floyd Coded

[seductively takes off glasses]

wow you’re fucking blurry

#top gun fandom #top gun #bob floyd fanfiction #bob fucks #robert bob floyd

[callsign-mongoose]

He is our piano man, and our lover man, and our every man, he’s just our man. Get a letter from the man today!

[callsign-mongoose]

THIS IS AN ICEMAN POST NOT MAVERICK DESPITE WHAT THE THUMBNAIL IS.

Iceman’s always under pressure but he stress relieved by writing you letters. 💖

#top gun 1986 #letters from top gun characters #top gun fandom #tom iceman kazansky #top gun iceman #top gun

[callsign-mongoose]

This doesn’t help the Bob fucks train

how to motivate Bob Floyd:

#got me screaming! #bob floyd #lewis pullman #robert bob floyd #top gun fandom #top gun #top gun 1986 #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell

[callsign-mongoose]

Is it too sad? Nah, getting a letter from goose would make it better because he wouldn’t be dead.

[callsign-mongoose]

Maverick is a big shot, but he will take time out of his day to write to you.

#character letters #letters from comfort characters #letters from top gun characters #top gun 1986 #top gun fandom #marvel #letters from marvel characters #marvel fandom #jake hangman seresin #peter parker

[callsign-mongoose]

I’ve got such an idea but I just can’t

[callsign-mongoose]

“lemme wake you up.”

charlie young x reader.

￫ description: charlie will always take care of you, no matter the situation. based off this thought i had here.

￫ w/c: 500.

￫ c/w: cnc, p in v, sex, fingering, swearing and charlie’s jokes.

￫ a/n: this is the first thing i’ve written in ages. it feels nice to get the gears turning and put something out! my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

The combination of working late, a serious traffic collision three streets down from his office and a cancelled train, caused Charlie to slowly enter your apartment, hyper-aware that the door hinges on your front door needed oiling, again.

He slipped his shoes off and padded through to your bedroom at the end of your apartment. he knew he would find you sleeping, but how you were sleeping caused him to choke back a grumbled groan.

You were lying partly on your front, your arms tucked under the pillow, one knee hiked up and your other leg stretched out. It was summer and your air conditioning unit was seriously on its last legs, therefore you opted for nothing but a thin sheet to cover you at night. The sheet, by the time you had kicked it down with your legs, was hanging off the edge of your bed. You were wearing one of Charlie’s old college t-shirts, but your lack of any other items of clothing (including underwear), is what made Charlie groan how he did.

You stirred slightly and mumbled out, “Charlie, baby. Hey. Y’ home.” Your voice was laced with sleep and your eyes barely opened, but enough for a smile to break out on your face as you watched how Charlie stripped down from his work attire and joined you in being naked.

“Hi, princess.” Charlie hushed out with his smirk quirking up on his lips at the sight before him. You felt the mattress dip by your legs as he climbed on, and then you felt his large hands smooth up your calf and squeeze on your thigh. You heard him let out another deep and grumbled groan.

“Sorry, baby. I couldn’t stay awake.” You muffled into your pillow, not avoiding Charlie’s hot touch and backing closer to him.

“Oh, my baby. It’s fine, I know how hard you’ve been working.” His voice was full of sincerity and you groaned quietly as you felt his fingers slink up your thigh and work closer to your bare cunt. “I can still take care of you, princess.”

His fingers now pushed deep inside of you with ease and you let out a louder moan.

“Fuck, Charlie. Lemme wake up a bit more…” You whimpered as he removed his fingers and your pussy felt empty, already missing his tender and pinpoint touch.

He shushed you gently, but there was still a chuckle in his voice. “Baby, it’s fine.” He reiterated his statement from earlier before letting out a final satisfied groan, followed by a curse of your name. You matched his groans and bucked your ass back to meet his hips. You gently bit down onto the pillow under your face as the width of Charlie’s cock stretched you out, and ever so slightly nudged against the sweet spot buried inside of you.

“I’ve got you, princess.” You heard his voice again and you could practically hear his smirk.

In a sing-song humorist tone, before he buried you to the hilt he told you, “Lemme wake you up, with my penis.”

tagging those who may be interested: @sunblchdfly @sugarcoated-lame @oncasette @sarahsmi13s