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foreverrandomwritings · 1 year

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Hands

Summary: The 5 times Bob sees you looking at his hands and the 1 time he says something.

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x afab!Reader

Warnings: Mostly fluff but gets a little 18+ NSFW at the end, Minors DNI.

Word Count:1976

Masterlist

One

The first time Bob ever noticed you staring at his hands was during your third date. He had picked you up from your apartment and complimented the way that you had done your hair which had a blush working its way up your chest to your cheeks. Then he drove you to a nice Italian restaurant that you had suggested. The conversation was going smoothly. You were telling him a funny story about something that had happened at work that day. He was nodding his head appropriately, listening intently and laughing at the punch line of the story.

When the food finally arrived the both of you dove into your dishes occasionally talking to each other between bites about any random thing either of you could think of. He had asked you a question about your job while twirling some spaghetti onto his fork. When you didn’t answer him right away he looked up and saw that you were staring at his hand that was holding his fork. He didn’t think much of it assuming you had just zoned out and that's where your eyes landed.

You blinked after a moment of readjusting in your seat and shyly asked him “What was the question?” He gave you a reassuring smile before repeating the question. You answered him promptly and the awkward moment was forgotten. Once the main course was done you decided to split a piece of chocolate cake for dessert.

While eating the cake you giggled and told Bob that he had gotten some chocolate on his face. He brought the napkin from his lap up to his rosy face and wiped at the spot you had pointed at. He once again noticed your eyes fixated on his hands. But thought nothing other than you making sure he wiped it all away.

Two

The second time he noticed you staring at his hands was while you were at the Hard Deck with the rest of the Dagger Squad. You were sitting at a table with him and Phoenix as his front seater wanted to get to know you better. He was eating some peanuts as he usually did while at the bar observing the crowd of patrons, when he heard Phoenix ask “You okay over there?”

He looked up and noticed that you had been looking at him. More importantly looking at his hands as he cracked open a shell and moved it to his lips. He, much like your third date, assumed you had simply zoned out. Before he could say anything Payback was asking him if he wanted to play a round of pool to which he agreed knowing that Phoenix wanted some one on one time with you anyways to “talk girl stuff” as she had put it. He had been chalking the tip of the cue stick when he felt eyes on him. He looked up and noticed you looking at him again, still in conversation with Phoenix, but this time didn’t click that you were looking at his hands.

After playing two rounds of pool he had wandered back over to the table in search of a drink. You had noticed this and handed him his root beer. He thanked you with a sparkle in his eyes, happy seeing you fit into the family he had made. Your eyes drifted down from his eyes to his hand grazing yours. He figured that you had just been making sure he had a hold of the bottle before letting go.

Three

The third time he noticed you staring at his hands was while he was driving the both of you home from a day at the beach. He had handed you his phone when you settled into the passenger seat of his car. “Why don’t you pick some music for the drive back?” He asked you.

“Sure thing Bobby Boy.” you replied as you began scrolling through the pandora app until finding a playlist you deemed worthy. The sky was cloudy and the breeze was nice so you had your window rolled down. Your hair was whipping around your face but you had a beaming smile adorning your features.

After glancing at you a few times he noticed you looking at his hands on the wheel. You were still singing the x ambassadors song that came from the speakers in his car. After a couple of minutes he worked his right hand over to rest on top of your thigh. You had a faint blush on your face as his thumb brushed over the skin right above your knee.

He went to move his hand off your leg thinking maybe you were uncomfortable. But you put your hand on top of his, halting his movements. So he left his hand there for the rest of the car ride. He could feel your eyes moving towards his hand every once in a while trying to be discreet. He once again thought nothing of the looks.

Four

The fourth time he noticed you staring at his hands was while the two of you were attending a pottery class together. It was his idea as he knew you were wanting to branch out your hobbies and he thought it would be a fun activity for the two of you to do together. He for some reason was a natural where as you were struggling. The both of you were laughing as you tried to shape the sides of the bowl the way the instructor was demonstrating.

No matter how many times you tried the bowl would collapse in on itself. You were being a good sport about the failure though. A big smile on your face trying to intently listen to the instructor give you a different instruction that should’ve helped you but seemed to only make things worse. So Bobby being the ever caring gentleman he is, got up to help you.

His hands were covered in clay and water as they grasped your own dirty hands. He showed you how to move your thumb inside the bowl and your fingers on the outside with just enough pressure to build the wall and not make it fall down. As he was gently telling you a few tips that he had tried he noticed a smile on your face. Your eyes were following his hands on your own, eyes slightly glazed over as he pulled back. You gave him a soft “Thank you” as he sat back down on his stool.

Five

The fifth time he noticed you staring at his hands was while he was making dinner and dessert for the both of you. You sat at his kitchen island sipping on a glass of water asking him occasional questions about what he was doing. He started with a Blackberry pie recipe he used to make with his mamaw when he was younger.

You had mentioned before how you had never had a homemade pie and he wanted to change that. As his hands kneaded the dough for the crust occasionally reaching for more flour he answered your questions. His eyes moved up from his hands to see your eyes looking at them with the same glazed over look you had at the pottery class you had attended.

“Why are you adding so much flour to it?” You asked him slightly, cocking your head.

“You don’t want it sticking to your hands so the more flour you add the less sticky it gets.” He replied to you and decided that you must have been paying attention to his technique in hopes of being able to make your own pie. Then he was making way to dinner.

You had requested hamburgers, macaroni and cheese and broccoli. You volunteered to do the side dishes while he did the hamburger. As he worked all of the spices and worcestershire sauce into the beef he noticed your eyes drift down to his hands. You were biting your lip as your eyes scanned the work he was doing. You shook your head turning back to the stove after the water for the mac and cheese started to boil and dumped in the noodles.

Six

The sixth time he noticed you staring at his hands was the time he finally got up the guts to ask you about it. It was a quiet night between the two of you. You were deep into reading A Court of Silver Flames for the millionth time claiming this book was basically your bible at this point. Your feet were propped up on one of the ottomans you kept in your living room. There was a blanket draped over your legs and quite Jazz coming from your tv.

Bob had been occasionally glancing up at you as your brows furrowed at certain parts. There were times that your tongue would slip between your lips wetting them as your eyes scanned the pages. Those were the spicier scenes he had come to guess. As you looked up at him he noticed the same glazed over look in your eyes that you often got when you looked at his hands. That's when it hit him all those times that you had been looking at his hands. It was lust that crawled its way through you.

He decided then and there that if you looked at his hands again that he would say something to you. So that’s what he did. You glanced up from your book and caught sight of his hands working the knitting needles skillfully with the yarn to make a pair of socks. He abruptly halted his movements and cleared his throat. You jumped at the noise, a blaze of heat taking over your face at the realization you had been caught.

“Can I ask you a question darling?” His voice rasping around the words. You simply nodded your head in permission. “Do you have a thing for hands?” he asked you bluntly, deciding not to beat around the bush, wanting to hear the answer quickly as the bulge in his pants was rapidly growing. Your eyes were wide as your brain tried to catch up with the question. If your face was red before it must have looked like you just stepped away from a fire with the rosy hue deepening in color. You choked a little on the words that tried to make their way from you.

Bob dropped the needles and yarn from his hands and made his way over to you. He took the book from your hands, putting the bookmark between the pages you were on. You looked at him in awe as he pulled the blanket from your legs. You were barely able to see any color in his eyes as they were clouded with lust. You had both been intimate with each other many, many times already but the look in his eyes was not one you had seen yet. You swallowed the spit that formed in your mouth at the thought of what he had planned.

“Do you want me to show you what all I can do with my hands darling?” He asked you as his hands worked their way up your legs. You gave him a weak nod still in shock over how the night had turned. “Words please?” he prompted you as his tongue came out to swipe at his bottom lip.

“Y-ye-y-yes please.” You finally stuttered out and that's all he needed before he was picking you up and taking you to your bedroom. Your book and his knitting long forgotten as he kissed up your neck causing a moan to slip between your lips. A chill went down your back as he moved through your door. You knew that you were in for one of the best nights of your life. You really were a sucker for hands.

A/N: This little thing popped into my head after talking to @theeleggymeggy and @wkndwlff about hands. I am and always will be a hands girly. Also heres a little gift for you all.

Tags(Open): @wkndwlff and @sylviebell

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #fluff #slight smut #bob floyd #bob x reader #I love this man #all about hands #hands girly lol

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inkskinned · 7 months

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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

#writeblr #warm up #this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru #but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist #ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school.#like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it.#was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes.#but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create''#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work #part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just #like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent.#speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r #ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week #this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice.#''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism #imagine if we said that about literally any other profession.#''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt?#u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky''#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY #''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''

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