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delopsia · 4 months

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Silver & Gold | Bob x Reader x Rhett

Word Count: 7,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Bob's in deep internal debate, mentions of wedding planning, setting up a Christmas tree (no religious themes included, we're doing it for the ✨vibes✨), domestic fluff, protective Rhett if you squint, usage of a ribbon for light bondage purposes, cunnilingus, hand jobs, and thigh fucking. Brief Summary: Bob's having a crisis over whether he wants a silver or gold wedding ring. All you and Rhett want to do is set up the new Christmas tree. Shenanigans on the couch involving a ribbon ensue.

There goes that damn snowman again. Moving across the screen in all of its vintage, stop-motion glory, strumming his banjo, singing that infuriating song about silver and gold. Like it's so simple. Like you just get to up and have both. All willy-nilly, fully embracing the concept of childish indecision, ignoring the constraints of society, and normalization of picking only one.

...or maybe Bobby has simply fallen into the curse of overthinking.

It shouldn't be that hard. Silver or gold? It's simple until he's once again struck with the fact that he will wear this ring for the rest of his life. He had such an easy time picking metals for you and Rhett; he knew your favorites inside and out.

So why can't he make a decision for himself, the person he should arguably know the best?

"You're lookin' at that phone awful hard," Rhett grumbles from his left. Snug against the naked mattress, jeans clinging to his hips, tattered cowboy hat resting atop his belly. An offhandedly placed thing that both adds to his rugged, cowboy glory and conceals the softness he's acquired, hard muscle a little squishier now. Thicker.

Healthier.

"Like you haven't had your nose in that notebook all month," there's a pop in Bob's neck as he tilts his head, muscle, and bone protesting movement after being still for so long. "What are you working on, anyhow?"

Rhett's mouth closes, teeth audibly clattering together. Soft blue eyes darting up to the ceiling, "It's nothin'."

Those furrowed eyebrows suggest otherwise, but in the back of his mind, Bobby supposes he'll leave it there. Rhett'll talk about it when he's ready. It doesn't alleviate the genuine curiosity that has been brewing ever since that notebook appeared last month, but alas.

Door hinges squeal. Bare feet padding across the floor, a bundle of sheets concealing the face of the third person in the room. But he recognizes those arms as well as he does the ring on that dainty little finger—perfection, in your favorite metal and all.

"I thought one of you was gonna fix the door?" You chirp, dropping the sheets onto the bed in an unceremonious heap. Pillow cases and a stowaway face cloth spilling out, still warm from the dryer.

Rhett's eyes dart to meet with Bob's. Who's plan was that, anyway?

"I'll take a look at it in a minute," Bob's thumb blindly feels its way to the power button of his phone. Turning the screen off before he can be caught staring at rings for the umpteenth time this week.

But even though he's no longer staring mindlessly at his phone, those little rings sit in the forefront of his mind. Burned into his eyes, as he helps pull the sheets onto the bed. Silver and gold, and a make-believe third option, rose gold. All of them menacing with their ridiculously high numbers; within a reasonable price range, but still strange to think about. That much money for a uniquely shaped hunk of metal.

"Bobby."

Whatever happened to simpler traditions? A fancy rock would do him much nicer. Free of their metal confines and special in their own natural way, unhindered by the standards of man and artificially constructed value. Blue lace agate would quite suit him, or a nice geode, picked out with the vague guide of what felt right, then split into three.

"Bob?"

What ever happened to simplicity? Marriage sounded awfully simple as a child. Why couldn't it have stayed that way? Who can even settle on just one flavor for cake, and who the hell decided that more than two flavors were too many? Why can't there be multiple small cakes that each suit them, rather than fighting to even out clashing styles? Why must there only be one big cake?

"Robert Benjamin Floyd!"

"What?" Lifting his head, not quite expecting to find you and Rhett staring back at him. Rhett's hand is still outstretched, offering up a corner of the comforter. "Oh."

"Thought we'd really lost ya this time," Rhett's chuckling, a softened tease that he's uttered three times today. A newly formed habit, triggered every time Bob's mind slips down the slippery slope of what-ifs.

Your eyes narrow a little suspiciously; always have been the one to catch on to his internal stresses before Rhett does, or anyone else, really. The voice in the back of his head openly wonders what triggers the alarm bells, if it's the spacing out in thought or some minute shift in his expression.

For a couple of hours, he's able to forget about the concept of wedding rings entirely. Preoccupied with tackling the task of fixing the squeaky doors that were supposed to have been repaired before the house was sold to the three of you. Jumping from that and straight to dinner, bustling about the kitchen, gingerly guiding Rhett's wary hands in a feeble attempt to teach him how to knead dough.

Then there are the dishes to be cleaned, flour that needs to be ruffled out of a cowboy's hair, and the movie you three agreed to watch under the assumption that someone else had one picked out. As it panned out, nobody had a single title lined up, and it fell back on Rhett's number one Christmas default.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

In fact, Bobby doesn't catch himself thinking about the rings for the entire night. Until two tiny rings clank against the bedside table as you and Rhett remove them for the night.

Will his ring sit on that table, too?

"You're thinking again," he doesn't remember when you got into bed, but you're right here next to him. Pawing at your nose with the side of your hand after an itch that seems to have been bugging you all afternoon.

The pains of getting dusty Christmas decor out.

"I'm always thinking," he murmurs, blindly reaching out to curl a hand around your cheek. A daunting task without his glasses. Can see just enough of your face to know where all of your important features lie, but the finer details have gone blurry. Left with no choice but to move based on the terrain of your body, roaming up the soft skin of your cheekbone and up the hill of your nose.

There's movement from behind his back. The weight of a cowboy settling down, throwing a heavy arm around Bobby's waist, as he squirms closer. "Ain't we s'posed to be always thinkin'?"

Your eyes roll so hard that Bob worries they'll get stuck in the back of your head. "Something like that."

Rhett hums, the soft whiskers of unshaven scruff tickling Bob's shoulder, his head perfectly snug in the cap between shoulder and neck. In the very place he will stay for the rest of the night until Bob inevitably pries himself free come morning.

For now, though, he's not going anywhere. Making it so, so easy for you to snuggle in, your legs tangling with his and Rhett's, just close enough to steal some of their body heat but not enough to melt. A comfort that has taken you months to perfect and only works when Bob's body is there to block Rhett's burning velcro hands.

But you do take the liberty of blindly stroking your cowboy's arm beneath the covers, soft ups and downs that trace an exposed vein until you're certain he's smiling.

Sleep comes early, but then again, it always does when all three of you are here. Free of life responsibilities and the incessant call of the Navy, determined to take your favorite backseater away. Dreams burn a little sweeter when the three of you are crammed up against each other, even with all the space granted by this oversized Alaskan king mattress.

You're caught between the edges of sleep when you feel Bobby's hand against your cheek. Gingerly stroking something free of your skin, an eyelash, you suppose. A movement that sealed with a soft kiss, like it'll keep anything else from disturbing you.

Rhett whines. Bob shifts. Audibly giving him a kiss, too. Always keeping things equal.

It feels like your eyes are only closed for a couple of seconds. One moment, Bob is sliding his arm over your waist, and the next, you're snug as a bug in his arms, squinting against a bright beam of light. Aren't quite sure what woke you, but you're more than content to sleep a little bit longer. Squirming closer, readjusting your head against the pillow.

Thump thump thump.

One eye opens.

Thump thump thump.

Is someone at the door?

You don't have a clue who it could be. Nobody mentioned coming over for a visit, and you're more than certain nobody would invite themselves over without asking first. Not after you've made it clear that this weekend is reserved for setting up the—

shit.

The Christmas tree is here.

Your feet hit the ground before you can even comprehend what you're doing. Stepping into the pajama shorts you left on the floor as you scurry out of the bedroom. A slow-motion race that you're hardly awake for, darting down the stairs, through the living room, and past the kitchen.

The front door opens so quickly that the delivery driver jumps. Caught halfway off of your porch, ready to head back to his truck and mark it to redeliver another day.

You can feel his eyes raking across your body as you sign the little box on his tablet, but you're quite frankly not awake enough to find the words to do something about it. Sleepily resting against the door frame as he begins to head back to his truck, chirping that he'll even carry the box into the house for you.

His smile drops before he's finished turning around.

Rhett.

Forearms crossed over his chest, a protective, looming shadow that settles up behind you. His palm bracing against the frame next to your head, scruff tickling as he leans in to press his lips to your cheek.

"I'm glad you heard 'em," he grumbles, voice still at that deliciously low tone, rough with sleep and unspoken perfection, "'cause I sure didn't."

"That's because you could sleep through the rapture," you're speaking through a yawn, halfway into leaning against him when the driver comes back around the corner, oversized tree box in tow.

He leaves it right on the doorstep.

Evidently, carrying boxes into the house is a courtesy reserved for the single-folk. Yet, you can't complain too much because now you get to watch Rhett's biceps bulge as he lifts the box. A sight that could damn near make you drool this early in the morning. It's almost unfortunate that he doesn't have to carry it further. Is it too late to request to move the tree upstairs?

The box hits the ground gently, right by Rhett's feet; you wonder if he's realized that he only has one sock on.

Based on how he's hardly got his eyes open, you're beginning to wonder if he's even awake. His jaw pops as he opens his mouth, "'Y reckon we should wake up Robby?"

"He'll wake up soon enough," though you're the only one speaking, you're fairly certain that both of you are sharing the same thought.

Bob's always been quiet, keeping to himself on most occasions, but the silence that's overtaken him as of late isn't the kind you've come to know and love. His eyes going unfocused when he thinks you're not paying attention, wandering off into his own sort of world. There are no rules defining when it may happen: in the grocery store, in the middle of a movie, hell, he's done it in the middle of a conversation.

Just like he did it last night, with making the bed.

Surely, it can't be second thoughts about this whole wedding thing. No, that wouldn't make sense; he's the one who proposed.

You'll have to worry about it some other time; him, his thoughts, and Rhett's curious notebook be damned, there's a Christmas tree that needs to be set up, fluffed, and decorated.

A very big tree. Ten feet sounds a lot smaller on the screen.

"We either get one too big," Rhett's eyes flick over to the tiny tree sitting on your left. Scrawny, hardly two and a half feet tall, and happens to be last year's lesson about reading the dimensions, "or too small."

Your head tilts up. Straining to get a look at the top, still crooked from its time spent crammed in the box. "Do we still have them ornaments in the garage?"

Rhett's sigh echoes. "We're 'bout to find out."

Locating the ornaments is the easiest part; they're still sitting in a neat stack on a shelf, stacks, and stacks of unopened bulbs and a box of garland—silver, gold, fake popcorn,, all tangled with the neverending red ribbon and faux pine that decorated the banister last year. It's a lot, but it felt like so much more when it was just a memory.

"Where did the silver come from?" You don't remember those making their way onto the list of ornament colors, but unless your eyes are playing tricks on you, those on the bottom right are certainly silver.

In an instant, Rhett's face drops. "Was I not s'posed to buy silver?"

"We were only doing red, pink and gold, remember?" The color list Bobby wrote out last year is still taped to the box of ornaments you're holding. A long ranking of colors, all crossed out until it left you with three. Silver never even made it onto the list.

Rhett's eyes dart away, suddenly too embarrassed to look down at the offending color of bulbs he's collected in his arms. "Oh."

"Did you..." you're still connecting the dots as you speak, eyes flickering between Rhett's fading smile and the plastic decorations, "want silver?"

Wordless, he nods.

Okay. Silver it is. But as you go to put your armload of gold decor back, his frown only deepens, like that's not what he was expecting in the slightest.

"Why can't we do both?" He asks, brows furrowing.

You don't get what he's on about. "Silver and gold?"

His head tilts to the side, and you can almost see the puppy ears flopping with the movement. All big blue eyes and pure confusion. "Ain't they s'posed to go together?"

"What makes you think that?" Maybe it's the sleep still clouding your mind that's making it so difficult to understand what he's on about.

"They got that song," he's nodding in the direction of the living room, like that'll help him explain, "in that Rudolph movie."

So it's a Burl Ives song that gets a fourth color added to the tree—red, pink, silver, and gold.

Two dozen bulbs were perfect for the strangled excuse of a Christmas tree that you had last year. But with every bulb that you take from Rhett's hands, curling its brand-new hook into an artificial branch, you begin to wonder if there are even enough. The boxes of red disappear quicker than planned. Then come the pink, and now you're grabbing for the silver and soon the gold.

And it's still not enough. This tree is so large that it swallows up every ornament you hang from its branches. The massive gaps between bulbs are impossible to ignore, even from across the room.

"Y' think puttin' the garlands on will make it a little less...?" Rhett doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already get the picture.

"It can't hurt?" What's the worst that can happen, you make the tree look a little less baren?

Though it's easier said than done.

The bottom half of the tree is relatively simple: passing the garland back and forth, trying your best to keep previously placed bulbs from dropping to the floor. They fall regardless. One after the other, clanking across the floor and rolling every which way.

Then comes the middle portion, and suddenly, you're standing on the tips of your toes. Have long since given up on caring about what being knocked off, the muscles in the back of your neck straining to keep looking at what you're doing. Then comes the top of the tree, and neither of you can be bugged to even begin to try that without a second ladder. Instead reaching for the silver garland, beginning to wrap it in the opposite direction of the gold.

"Getting festive without me, huh?"

That isn't Rhett's voice.

And it certainly wasn't yours.

"G' mornin'," Rhett's smiling at the half-awake figure standing in the threshold.

Bobby's eyes aren't even halfway open, leaning his weight up against the wall. His sleepy grin doing nothing to distract from the short hair sticking in every direction, cheek still imprinted from a fold in the sheets.

He's heard Rhett. You know he has because his eyes dart right to him. But he doesn't react. Staring aimlessly at the shimmering tinsel in Rhett's hands, eyes seeming to conceal every thought in the world and nothing at all.

Right as you're about to call his name, his mouth opens.

"What if we got rings in both metals?"

Your hands freeze. "I'm sorry?"

"I mean—" His eyelashes are fluttering, pale pink tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. "Rings in silver and gold."

"You fixin' to put another ring on us, Robby?" Rhett's quicker to catch on than you are, thin lips twisted into a wild grin. Slowly spreading across his cheeks until his eyes curl with it.

Your attention darts back to the tinsel in your hands, silver overlapping gold, then to the thin golden band clinging to Rhett's ring finger. Your own is still bare, the ring sitting safely in its dish on the bedside table. Forgotten again.

Nobody ever talks about how hard it is to work up the habit of keeping a piece of jewelry on.

Bob doesn't realize it, but his thumb is idly stroking his empty ring finger. Not yet brandished with jewelry like you and Rhett because he hasn't even answered your question about what metal he prefers for his ring—

"Is that what you've been thinking all this time?" You blurt, hardly able to fight the urge to spring to your feet.

He doesn't need to even open his mouth. You know you've gotten your answer the moment his face turns a brilliant shade of ruby. Socked foot kicking at the floor, suddenly unable to look at you or Rhett any longer.

"I didn't..." his face only seeming to grow redder by the second, as he shakes his head back and forth, "you..."

You're so fortunate that this isn't your first speechless rodeo with Bobby. Have seen him fight to translate thoughts into words so many times that you have already put together what he's trying to say.

And you've only got a half second to realize that Rhett is bolting across the room before your ears are being met with an earth-shattering thunk. The house rattles as Rhett all but tackles Bobby to the floor, with no regard for the fragile decor sprinkled about around them.

Bob's feet are scrambling for purchase on the hardwood, socks giving him nothing but a smooth glide as he squirms beneath Rhett, squealing something you can't interpret. His big hands clutching Rhett's biceps, knuckles whitening as he tries to shove him off. But Rhett's got the upper hand, downright smothering with his weight.

"That's what you've been on about?" Rhett's shout is broken apart by his own giggles, knees thumping against the floor as he tries to straddle the wriggling hips below him. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Bobby's still kicking up a fight, hips bucking up hard enough to lift Rhett with it, if only for a second. "Like you ain't been secretive with that notebook, Abbott."

"It ain't secretive. It's a surprise!" Rhett's arms cross in front of his chest, frowning.

Did you miss the memo that you were supposed to have a secret project to be working on, too?

"Baby," Bobby begs, reaching aimlessly in your direction as if he has any hope of reaching you from a few feet away. "Help me."

But you're not entirely sure if you can do that. As you scoot closer, Rhett's attention darts to you, excited eyes daring you to try him. He's figured out how to win recently, and it's only a matter of time before he has you pinned on the floor, too.

You can't be bugged to even try fighting him for Bob's honor. Not only because you would lose horribly but because you're already preoccupied with leaning down and pressing your lips to the side of his cheek. Feeling the warmth of his flushed skin, the way his face wrinkles with that content smile.

"'s this what we're doing?" Rhett's asking as if he's not already leaning in, too. Audibly pressing kisses to the soft underside of Bob's jaw, where he's garnered the slightest bit of stubble overnight. "Kisses?"

And this room is far too quiet for Bobby's soft inhale to go unnoticed, his uneasy hand gliding up your arm. Always has to be holding on to something. In the corner of your eye, you can already see his other hand making a grab for Rhett's bicep, greedily squishing the thick muscle between his fingers.

Rhett's blindly reaching off to the side, mouth only briefly leaving Bob's flushed skin as he produces a thick, red ribbon. The silky soft one that had been hiding in the box of garland.

"Huh?" Bob's nose wrinkles, unable to do anything but watch as Rhett collects his wrists together, wrapping them in that smooth material. Only begins to squirm when it's too late. Rhett's already cinching the knot closed, forcing those pale arms back together as he finishes it off with an obnoxiously fancy bow. Perfectly pinned over his head.

"There we go," Rhett's grinning, leaning back in to nip at Bob's jaw, "first present of the year."

Bobby's eyes roll so hard that you briefly lose sight of those pale blue irises. Arms flexing as he tests the strength of Rhett's handiwork, frowning when he finds no give at all.

Not a word spoken, you flip to the same page that Rhett is on. Resuming your peppering kisses, tongue poking out to lick down Bob's pretty neck, working your way down to his collar. Nibbling where he's most sensitive, relishing in that surprised grunt. There's hardly any room for Rhett to fit, but he's squeezing in any way. Shoulder bumping into yours as he torments the opposite side, peering at you through the corner of his eye.

"In the middle of the floor?" There's no way Bob could have seen that look, but he's already understood what you two are up to. Wasting no time, with the way your unruly hands dip beneath his shirt, roaming over the soft expanse of his belly. Not quite as defined as Rhett, but equally loveable and squishy.

Rhett's beating you to it, shoving Bob's shirt up without a single shred of grace. "Y' got a problem with that, flyboy?" Thin lips wrapping around a soft pink nipple, yanking a gasp out of him.

"My back does," Bob's words are more of a mumble than anything else. An uneasy confession of the one thing he's guaranteed to suffer with in his career.

There are a number of solutions to this. Migrating upstairs to the comfort of the bed, grabbing a couple of the many decorative pillows off the couch and propping them beneath Bob's back, or even standing up and backing him up against the wall, perfectly cornered while you and Rhett have your way with him.

That list of solutions did not involve you sitting on the edge of the couch, with Bobby kneeling between your legs and Rhett sidling up behind him like the minx that he is. Wasting no time with peeling that thin t-shirt from Bob's pale body, exposing miles upon miles of lightly freckled shoulders and pale skin. And all Bob can seem to think about is getting his mouth on your inner thighs, daring to start right where the fabric of your shorts ends.

"'s this better?" Rhett downright purrs with those half-lidded eyes.

He doesn't get much of an answer. Just a weak 'uhuh' that's muffled by your inner thigh.

Idle, your hand combs through Bob's short hair. Has had enough time to grow past the rigid constraints of Navy regulations, the perfect length to curl around your fingers, tugging gently. Drawing his eager mouth closer, hot tongue trailing along your skin. Sending superheated bolts of lightning rippling up your nerves. Familiar warmth blooming between your legs, head beginning to spin the slightest bit.

That soft mouth of his is the definition of heaven. Sucking gently, adding his handiwork over top of Rhett's extensive assault from a few days ago, so dark that they've hardly faded at all. A mottling of patches that only worsen the further he works, all too eager to mark you up.

But it's a far cry from Rhett's vigor, working away at the crevice of Bob's neck. Loud. Reckless as he sucks a darkened mark into the thin skin stretched over his collarbone. Crafting a sinful trail leading down his back, a soft mark over every little knob in his spine.

Fingers curl into your waistband. Wordlessly urging you to lift your hips to let them slide past the soft curve of your ass, yanking the fabric down your legs and tossing them off to the side, underwear and all.

But Rhett's hands are on Bobby's hips, and they're certainly not yours. Which can only mean...

You're cut off before you can even begin to speak. Bob's flat tongue stroking between your folds, peering up at you from beneath his lashes. Dark, hardened gaze daring you to call him out on his antics.

He's slow. His hands dropping onto his lap, quietly concealing his newly found freedom, working with his mouth alone. Leaning in until his glasses fog with his own breath, lazily lapping at your sex, roaming feather-light over your clit, a ghost of what he could be giving you.

"Bobby," you gasp, and though your thighs are squishing his cheeks, it's impossible to miss the way his lip upturns into a grin.

Rhett bumps into him from behind, and that's all it takes to have the tip of his tongue pressing directly into that rapidly swelling button. A sudden pressure that damn near makes you squeal, yanking a hand out of his hair to muzzle yourself with. That darkened gaze hardens into a glare. Craves the sound of you whimpering his name, but there's not a damn thing he can do about it. Not if he doesn't want Rhett to see his untied hands.

He's pushing harder now. Aggressive strokes, swiping invisible x-shapes with this audibly wet noise that threatens to make your head float right off your shoulders. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that's a lot all at once.

Rhett's hand bumps into yours as he tangles his fingers in Bob's hair. Gently yanking him back with this absurdly loud pop, chin already glistening as he's hauled back to lean against Rhett's chest.

But it's not to torment Bobby or for Rhett to steal his fair share of attention. No, he's shoving Bob's pajama pants down his hips. Half-hard cock bouncing the moment it's free of its confines, a sight so distracting that you can't bring yourself to look away.

Until you realize that Rhett has long since lost his pants, that is. Your thighs squeezing together from the sight of them alone.

Rhett's brows knit together, suddenly perplexed with a realization you've already made. "When did y' get your hands—"

The end of that sentence never comes. Cut short by Bob's sudden burst of energy, blindly reaching behind himself to grab a handful of Rhett's dark hair. And it's like the fight immediately dissolves from Rhett's bones. Face softening as he's held in place until Bob can get behind him. Nothing but an unruly puppy that got put back in his place.

"Thought you knew better than to tie a sailor with a basic knot," Bob's chuckling into the shell of Rhett's ear, reaching forward to wrap Rhett's pliant arms in the ribbon. Not as decorative as before, opting for an intricacy that has you tilting your head, unable to keep up with what his nimble hands are doing.

You should have seen it coming. But quite frankly, you can only think about one thing right now, and it's certainly not the intricacies involved with tying a ribbon. Speechless as Rhett's pretty head is pushed between your legs. The scruff of his jaw scraping your mottled inner thigh, peppering it with a kiss.

"Sweetheart, can you look under that pillow for me?" Bob's pointing toward the decorative throw in question, the small square one that used to sit in his apartment, "Think we left the lube under there last time."

Blindly, your hand reaches behind it, patting against fabric and cushion until your fingers graze the cool plastic of the bottle.

But then Rhett's tongue darts to lap at your clit, suddenly too hungry to wait anymore, and you're fumbling with it. Nearly dropping it onto his back before Bob can even reach out to take it from you.

"Jesus, Rhett," you breathe, falling back to rest against the couch cushion, gazing down at the new, messy sight you've gained. The too-eager cowboy who doesn't have the strength to string you out like Bob does, so content that his eyes seem to smile as he gently sucks on your clit.

"'m sorry," he grumbles directly into your pussy, unable to draw himself away for even a second, "couldn't help it."

He's everywhere. Laving your clit with all the attention he can give and then dipping down to nudge his tongue against your neglected entrance. Shallowly working his tongue in and out, downright drooling into you, short little jabs that make you flutter around him. Only for him to break away the moment he's found a rhythm. Licking his way back up and over your clit once more. Collecting every bit of you, and yet he's still not satisfied.

Your hand settles against the back of his head, tangling your fingers in those long locks, pulling until you can guide him right where you want him, holding him in place. "Right there," you murmur with a shiver, "right there."

Though your grip is strong, it's not enough to stop him from jumping at the sudden appearance of Bob's lube-slicked hand dipping between his thighs. Carefully spreading the cool substance against the thin skin there, working his way up to his balls and the underside of his cock.

"What..." the rumbling of Rhett's voice sends sparks racing up your spine. Sends you involuntarily jolting up into his mouth, "are y' doin'?"

Your eyes are just open enough to catch the way Bob grins. "You'll see," is all he provides. Kneeling down to place his hands on the sides of Rhett's thighs, pushing them together so quickly that Rhett squeaks.

The first pass of Bob's cock between Rhett's thighs is a thing that surprises all of you. Rhett at the sudden appearance, you with the obscene sight, and Bob's muttering something about those pretty thighs being so fucking soft. His dick just long enough to brush against Rhett's heavy balls, gives him the slightest amount of attention.

And oh, does it have him whimpering into you. "Keep doin' that," he stutters, pushing impossibly closer into your cunt. Working you in earnest now, swirling his tongue around that swollen bud, punctuated with a soft suction that has your heart jumping in your chest. His body rocking with Bob's deep thrusts, bound arms helplessly pinned against the couch.

It's so much. Oh, it's so much. Your hips are beginning to squirm, legs clamping down around his shoulders, squeezing impossibly tight. Yanking on his hair, pulling him closer, only to try dragging him away. Don't know if you want more or less or exactly what he's doing right now, or, or—

"Untie me," Rhett's babbling all of a sudden. Sounds as far gone as you feel. "Please. Want, want...wanna hold..."

His biceps flex, straining against the thin ribbon with everything he can muster, the threads of the fabric audibly ripping as it's stretched beyond its limit. And it's all Bob can do to lean down and yank on the knot. Undoing it before it can be torn in two; technique doesn't always outweigh pure strength.

Rhett's arms are around your hips in an instant. Hugging you close like a man starved, and it's all you can do not to fall apart right here and now. Frantically pawing at his biceps, pushing at his head, unable to stop his hungry mewl from vibrating up your core. Impossible to avoid the pleased smile that plasters across his face, lightly sucking on your clit like it's his favorite candy.

"Rhett," you're whining, squirming helplessly as he downright eats you alive, tongue so sloppy that it's loud, has a sickly wet noise ringing in your ears,"Rhett I...I'm—"

"Cum on my face," pleading in that hopelessly deep voice of his, "Please, please, please."

You hardly feel it hit you. All you know is that your head is falling back against the couch cushion, and you're cumming on his burning tongue with a strangled whimper. Legs damn near locking around his scruffy face as your back arches up, fingers pulling so hard on his hair that it has to hurt. And yet he licks you through every jolted spasm, hot breath fanning out against you, humming in tune with your noises.

Bobby's pulling him away right as you grow oversensitive, pulling on those soft brown locks of hair, but you hardly expect him to haul Rhett up onto his feet. Blindly pushing him forward onto the empty space next to you, his back flat against the cushion, head falling haphazardly into your lap. Unshaven jaw glistening with you as he pries his eyes open, gazing up at you with that far-gone emptiness you've seen so many times.

Doesn't react as Bob squeezes into the little bit of space available, pushing Rhett's thighs up and together, guiding his cock through the small gap in them. Pretty pink cock head bumping right where Rhett's weeping length begins.

And Rhett's whimper sounds like your name. Big hand pawing around until he can get ahold of yours, squeezing it gently.

"Ain't you two a sight," Bob's grunting. Has only just begun to find his pace, but he's already begun to shake. Too close. Too fast.

It's enough to get Rhett's eyes fluttering, hips jolting upward, "Y' like my thighs too much." And he's going to be so sensitive once Bobby's done with him, thighs red and tender from the abuse, but fuck is all of that worth this. The sight of his trembling legs being held together, flushed cock leaking against his belly as his thighs are fucked for all he's worth.

On its own, your free hand lifts, traveling down to wrap around his neglected length. Letting the weight of Bob's thrusts push him in and out of your grasp. A shallow, lazy motion that makes his mouth fall open.

"You like that, cowboy?" You're teasing, voice a touch hoarse. Thumb finding its way beneath his plush head, swiping back and forth at the precum-covered underside.

"T-tighter," his hand squeezing yours a little harder as if to demonstrate what he's craving. And as soon as you follow his instruction, his back is arching off the couch. "jus' like that, jus' like—fuck."

But that's not enough. No, no, he's opening his mouth again. "Harder," he begs, pale feet defiantly kicking where Bob's got them held in the air, "Robby, fuck me harder."

"You're purty demandin' for a pillow princess," you don't know what's made Bob's accent slip out so suddenly, but it damn near makes your head spin. And though he's complaining, he wastes no time hardening his pace. Balls smacking against Rhett's flushed skin as his thrusts become heavier. Rough, just how Rhett likes it.

Knocks the rest of Rhett's words right out of his mouth, silences him right and proper. Dissolving into nothing but pitchy whimpers and hitched breaths. Noises growing higher and higher, until he's beginning to twitch in your grasp, your only sign that he's close.

"Cum for us," Bob's egging him on, pulling those shivering legs up to his chest, drawing him back into every thrust, "c'mon, be a good boy 'n cum."

Rhett's head lolls backward, eyes rolling, gazing up at you and nowhere at all. Eyelashes beginning to flutter and fall closed, cumming with a feather-light gasp that ought to knock you off your feet. Ropes of white paint his spasming belly and your hand, coating his spasming length.

And Bob's still fucking him, rhythmic pace dissolving into something sporadic, rubbing right against Rhett's oversensitive balls with every push and pull. Rhett's whines rising into hopeless cries, squirming, fighting to escape the way Bob's still railing into him.

Only takes a few shaky jerks of his hips for him to stall, too, staining Rhett's thighs and cock with rope after rope of cum. Glasses obscuring the way his eyes roll, head tilting back to show the new mottling of marks on his collar.

Everything is still. Quiet, except for two labored breaths, intertwining like the tinsel on the tree. Bob's shaky hand dips down, collecting some of the mess he's made of Rhett's thighs, lifting his cum-covered fingers to Rhett's swollen, parted lips. And all your cowboy can do is open his mouth and lick it off, too far gone to fuss.

Two pairs of exhausted eyes peer up at you as if to check that you're on the same page as them.

"What 'bout Floytt?" Rhett's blurting, all of a sudden, evidently unable to keep the silence for too long.

Bobby's eyebrows furrow, tilting his head down. "Pardon?"

For a moment, Rhett flounders. Mouth opening and closing. Seems to have completely forgotten how to conjure up the words he needs to speak. "Remember, the uh..." he tries, "las' name thing?"

You can't help but giggle. "You two are horrible at bringing up your ideas." Because what are the chances that you'd wind up with not one but two fiances who can't seem to give context to save their lives. Wildly blurting what's on their minds, under the assumption that you'll know what they're talking about.

"I take it that's what the notebook was for?" Bob's question is more of an observation than anything. To which he receives a nod and a faint 'uhuh' from Rhett. Can't be brought to provide a proper 'yes.'

It's not the solution you'd expected when it came to this last-name debacle. Debating on whose last name to take, the three of you are too passive to insist that your name be taken out of fear of hurting feelings. But the concept of picking an entirely new one didn't feel so personal. There's no special weight to the names you've found online.

"Floytt." It feels strange in your mouth and yet oddly familiar, as if it's been present from the moment you all met. Lifts your tongue like it does for the beginning of Floyd, still carries the short and sweet ring of the Abbott family name.

"Floytt." Bob's parroting you, pausing if only for a moment to think, and then opens his mouth once more, "I like it."

For a three-month-old debate, it sure did end abruptly. You can see it now: a pretty new name engraved on a plaque hanging below the mailbox. An obnoxious, cursive sign in the kitchen, as if you and your families can possibly forget something like a last name. Bills and new dog tags with the name stamped in pretty letters.

"Now we just have to plan the actual wedding," your smile wavers; you've got a little over seven months to figure out a theme, outfits, finalize who is being invited, and, worse of all, figure out the cake situation.

How is anyone supposed to layer Bob's beloved lemon on top of Rhett's affectionately chosen bananas foster? And then still have space for yours as well? Who gets to be the biggest layer? Who draws the unlucky straw to have the smallest? And how do you even begin narrowing down three icings to one? And themes. How the hell do you get a cowboy and a pilot theme to look good together on the same damn canvas?

You wonder if they'll object to three separate cakes.

"And finish the tree." Bob's nodding his head toward the half-finished decor; you've got to make another ornament run if you want to get anywhere close to having it done.

Rhett's resounding "ugh" resonates to your core. "C'n we take a nap first?" He grumbles, punctuated with a big, whining yawn. Batting those long lashes of his up at the two of you like it'll earn him some favors.

It does.

You're snuggled up with him in an instant. Squeezing in on one side while Bob takes the other, barely fitting onto these wide couch cushions. Your arm splayed out across the soft fat of Rhett's belly, squishy until he intentionally flexes the thick muscle there. Has rounded out in all the right places, in the chest, cheeks, ass, and cum-covered thighs.

A clean-up should have come before the nap, but you can't be bugged to get back up. And by the looks of it, neither can Bob.

"You're really gettin' us more rings?" Rhett's asking, half-lidded eyes flicking between the two of you as if he can possibly garner an answer from your expressions.

Bob's shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "Why not?"

And it's only now that you tune into the soulless drone of the television. A familiar, festive song chiming to life as a stop-motion snowman twists across the screen, mindlessly strumming his banjo, singing about silver and gold.

Quietly, Bob begins to hum along to it. A soft rumbling that draws a heaviness into your eyelids until you can no longer lift them. Drifting off to the tune of an old song and the deep rumblings of a Navy pilot who reaches over to stroke an eyelash from your cheek. Your wonderful little unconventional trio, with your extra partner, two colors of rings, and three separate wedding cakes.

Something pops. Hitting the ground with a shrill clatter; ornaments bouncing across the floor, twinkling lights flicking off within an instant.

One eye opens, peeking at your newly fallen Christmas tree.

It closes.

Rhett's elbow finds its way to nudge Bob's chest, "you're settin' it up this time."

"I wouldn't have to if you two woulda woke me up," you knew Bob would hit you two with that eventually. Always does, at some point.

"We were tryin' to let you have yer beauty sleep, flyboy," Rhett's chirping, in that taunting sort of fashion that can only mean one thing. You don't need to open your eyes to feel the playful glares being fired back at one another.

And then comes Bob's too-calm warning. "Don't start that."

"Well, I'm startin'!" And there they go, tumbling off the couch in an instant. Ornaments knocking around as they tussle about on the living room floor. Fighting to see who's stronger, as if this outcome will be any different, swearing between giggles as they twist and turn.

You don't get to take that nap.

#bob floyd #rhett abbott #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott #oneshot #x reader #afab reader #hawthorn au

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agender-wolfie · 1 year

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Guys. AFAB does not mean the reader is a woman, it means they have female body parts.Stop tagging and labeling fics as such if you really mean for your reader to identify as a woman. Ffs 🙄

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lenafromthenordiccoven · 1 year

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This Is Only Temporary - Part 1 of 3

(moodboard made by me, Top Gun Maverick screencaps by hd-screencaps, the rest is unsplash.com)

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x afab!reader x Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Rating: M – MDNI 18+

Word count: 5591

Warnings: Bob and Hangman being menaces, and so is reader (oops), smut, protected PiV (reader is on birth control as well), oral (f!receiving), fingering, voyeurism, threesome (MFM – in part 3), beginnings of polyamory, Hangman being a flirty dick who wants what he thinks he can’t have; I’m neither US Navy nor American, so reader isn’t either – meaning there might be a little, uh, criticism here and there (also, we all know aviators are cocky af, right?), alcohol consumption, not beta-read but I did try to proofread a bit

Summary: After months of irregular phone and video calls, and constant e-mailing back and forth, you finally get to visit your boyfriend, Bob, in California. What you didn’t count on, was the fact that the guest room in his new house was temporarily occupied by one of his colleagues. The same cocky aviator, who can’t help but hit on you when you first meet – and even after he knows, you’re taken.

Read on ao3

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3

Taglist: @formulapierre (If you wanna be added to the taglist, just lemme know)

A/N: This got a little longer than expected – but I’m also VERY rusty with fanfic and smut in particular. Anyway, part one of a little thing I just couldn’t get out of my head. Oh, and do yourself a favor and listen to Please by Saro while reading the smutty half of this. Cause I listened to it while writing and it just fits so fucking well.

The moment you stepped over the threshold of the Hard Deck, you felt his eyes on you. The noise of the other patrons hit you, as soon as you entered the bar, but you didn’t mind the anonymity that came with it – this time, at least. It didn’t take you long to find him in the crowd, sitting at the back of the bar in a corner surrounded by what you assumed were his new squad mates. Bob was staring shamelessly at you, and even from across the room you could see the surprise on his face.

You smiled to yourself. Originally, the plan had been for you to arrive in California on Sunday. But you’d managed to book an earlier flight without telling Bob, wanting to surprise him – and, admittedly, get to spend a little more time with him. The surprise seemed to have worked, if you were to judge the way his eyebrows shot up as he watched you walk over to the bar.

Although you wanted nothing more than to run straight to him and throw your arms around him, you decided to draw out the greeting a bit. You weren’t sure how much Bob had told his coworkers and new friends about you. He’d hardly been able to tell you anything about the last detachment that had taken him back to Top Gun, and probably into more danger than he’d wanted to admit to you. Now, he was set on staying in California for the foreseeable future, had even bought a house.

You finally reached the bar and were greeted by an older woman and a warm smile. “Hi, what can I get ya?”

“Can I get a Whiskey and Ginger Ale?” you asked. The woman nodded and you thanked her, paid for your drink and then turned back to face the rest of the bar while you waited for your drink. Again, your eyes landed on Bob, who still hadn’t let you out of his sight, and you were reminded of the first time you had met.

Dicky, a friend of yours and pilot for the Royal Air Force, had invited you to join him at an air show in Austria – a rare occasion, since Dicky usually didn’t go to these. Just like now, you’d been standing at a bar and Bob had been staring at you from afar. That was until Dicky had introduced you two.

‘It’s not often I meet a US naval aviator at these things. What, is there another war brewing in Europe that you need to save us from?’ you’d joked and had relished in the way Bob’s face had turned an embarrassed shade of crimson, before you’d apologized for the joke.

‘Oh no, no. Please, don’t apologize for that. It’s just... Don’t usually get called out like that,’ he’d replied. And the rest was history. You’d asked him out that same night and you’d developed a long-distance relationship that you had never thought you’d agree to.

Somebody clearing their throat next to you pulled you from your memory. You turned your head and were met by a thousand-watt-smile in a handsome face. Green eyes were looking down at you. “Haven’t seen you here before, sweetheart. You’re not Navy are ya, I would have remembered a pretty face like yours.” The Texan drawl sent a shiver down your spine, while the blond man’s words made you roll your eyes.

“Let me guess,” you said and looked him up and down for a second, taking in the khaki uniform, the golden blond hair and the tan, “you’re an aviator. Pilot by that grin. And you’re lonely, otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here and flirting with me? But you’re right, I’m not Navy and I’m not from here, either.”

The grin faltered for a second, before he turned up the wattage. “I like a woman with sharp eyes. And a brain. I’m Hangman.” He extended a hand towards you, and you took it, despite yourself. While you had to admit, he wasn’t bad looking, you weren’t interested in flirting with another cocky pilot. You got enough overblown male egos to deal with at home.

Still, you decided to play nice. “Y/N,” you replied. Then you took your drink and pushed away from the bar. “Just gotta say, uh, Hangnail: I’ve got a boyfriend. So, while this was … admittedly weird, I’m not interested in flirting with you. And I’m going to go find my boyfriend now, thank you very much.”

The grin turned into a smaller smile, but it didn’t lessen the sparkle in Hangman’s eyes. If anything, you felt like you’d just given him a challenge and he’d jumped at it. Your pulse quickened at the thought. And you remembered a conversation you and Bob had had two years into your relationship. About your feeling like you might identify as polyamorous. Sweet, darling Bob had reacted the way you thought he would: a little shy at the idea of adding other people into the mix, but not fully turned off by it.

“It’s Hangman, sweetheart,” the blond pilot corrected you, but didn’t step closer to you. A point for him. His lips were still curled into a smile, and for a second you feared, you’d given away your earlier thoughts. But before he could say anything else, you cut him off.

“Whatever. I like Hangnail better; you can hang your big ego up on that callsign of yours.” You turned and finally made your way over to Bob, who’d watched the whole exchange quietly.

You weaved your way through the crowd and finally reached the corner with the pool table where Bob was sitting next to other aviators. Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met his beautifully blue ones, as it did every time you looked at him. You ignored the confused looks from the other aviators, pushed past a darker-skinned man, who was bending over the pool table to take his shot and who you would soon learn was Coyote.

Bob slid off the stool where he’d been sitting and crossed the last few steps towards you. Without hesitation, you flung your arms around his neck while his hands came to rest on your waist, and you pressed a long, yearning kiss to his lips. You felt Bob sigh and practically melt into it. Your own tension and all the anxiety and worry of the last months drained away while your lips moved against his. It had been too long since you’d last seen him. Been able to touch him, kiss him, even just look at him without a screen in the way. Had your heart skipped a beat only seconds before, it now slowed, content and reassured that your Bobby was safe and sound.

“Hi,” you whispered against his lips when you both pulled away for air.

He smiled, before he breathed a “Hello to you too, darlin’” in return. One of his hands came up to caress your face, while you toyed with the strands of blond hair at the nape of his neck. “I missed you. So, so much.”

“Missed you too, Bobby,” you replied and wanted to add how worried you’d been. That for the last month before you’d gotten the call that he was safe and had returned from his mission, you’d felt like you could hardly breathe. That just holding him here like this in the crowded bar had lifted that weight off your chest. But before you could, Hangman interrupted. And with that the rest of the bar that had fallen away as your lips had met now came back into focus.

He pushed past you, deliberately stepping closer than he needed to. “Say, Bobby, why’d you never tell us about your girl here?” The sparkle in his eyes seemed to say, ‘Where have you been hiding her?’, but Hangman just opted to lean against the pool table instead.

Bob blinked at him. “Uh, well, it never came up. Right, I should introduce you to everyone. Darlin’, you’ve already met Jake – or Hangman.” He then pointed out everybody else in their little corner: Coyote leaning next to Hangman, Halo, Fritz and Yale sitting behind the pool table. Next to them were Rooster, Payback and Fanboy. “And Phoenix gotta be around here somewhere, too. Guys, this is Y/N.”

You said your hellos with an awkward wave and slightly wobbly smile. You’d wanted to meet Bob’s new squad mates, sure, but you hadn’t counted on that being tonight. Besides, the newly acquired knowledge that Hangman was part of Bob’s squad had you slightly mortified at what you’d said to him. Although given the way he was eyeing you, it didn’t look like he minded all that much.

“So, Y/N, how’d y’all meet?” Hangman asked, and only now did you notice the toothpick he was toying with in the corner of his mouth. God.

You quickly glanced at Bob, who was tugging you closer into his side, to check if he would mind you telling this story. He just nodded lightly at you, a wordless go-ahead. You turned back to the group, squeezing Bob’s side for a second. “We met at an airshow … six years ago. Well, almost. I was there with a friend, who flies for the RAF. Dicky introduced us and the rest is history, I guess.” You turned your head and smiled at Bob at the memories you two had made in the years prior. He blushed under your gaze, but didn’t break eye contact, mumbling a quiet “Yeah, and you asked me out” under his breath.

“Really? Would have thought, Baby on Board would have made the first move. With all the charm he’s got goin’ on,” Hangman replied. You scoffed at that but felt Bob’s fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your waist at the comment. And then you remembered something he’d told you weeks ago about a particular training day. How one of the pilots was getting under his skin and he was really trying not to let it get to him. But witnessing his reaction now, you knew, there was more to it than just Hangman making off-handed remarks about how you were out of Bob’s league. (Something Bob agreed with but would never admit in front of him.)

“Well, I didn’t really give him a chance to ask me out first. But at least I don’t hit on people that are already taken,” you shot back. Hangman blinked at you in surprise and a low groan went through the rest of the group. You guessed, the people he usually flirted with rarely put up a fight – and you would be right. But that didn’t stop your body from flushing with heat at the way he was staring you down now, a slight smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth, while he moved that damned tooth pick around with his tongue.

“Sorry, I didn’t know, you were with Bobby boy here, since he never talks about you.”

You knew what he was trying to do. Trying to throw another punch in Bob’s direction because he probably knew, he was getting under his skin. And to make himself look better. But it didn’t take. You just shook your head at him.

From that moment on began the onslaught of questions the rest of the Daggers lobbed at you. From what you did for work (photographer for the RAF) to where you were from and what you were most excited about seeing in California, apart from Bob, since it was your first time here (the sea, you admitted, even though you’d been to the coast in the UK and other countries in Europe before).

You’d lost track of time, but as you were sitting in Bob’s lap and telling the story of how you’d come to work for the RAF (a complete accident, actually), you were starting to feel the effects of the jetlag. Bob’s arms around you tightened for a second to get your attention before you felt his hot breath against your ear.

“If you wanna go home, just say the word, darlin’.”

Goosebumps erupted across your skin and a shiver ran down your spine. God, how you wished, he were using that low voice of his in another way right now. You turned slightly to face him. “Actually, yeah. That might be a good idea. Before I fall asleep right here.”

Bob smiled that lopsided smile of his that still made your heart beat faster every time you saw it. “You know, I don’t mind you fallin’ asleep in my lap.” He leaned in closer again to whisper in your ear. “But I was hopin’, we could get out of here to do something else…”

You felt the heat creep up your neck at the thought alone. Being alone with Bob after you hadn’t been able to touch each other for months? Who were you to say no to that? “Let’s go.” You slid off his lap and took his hand.

“Alright, guys, we’re gonna head out for tonight.” Bob threw an arm around your shoulders and began to steer you into the direction of the door.

“We still on for Dogfight Football tomorrow?” you heard Rooster ask. To which Bob replied with a “Sure thing. Need to get my girl some Beach time, after all.”

Your stomach still lurched when you heard Bob call you his. Even after almost six years together, the thought still made your body flush with heat. That you were his and he was yours. This sweet, shy-looking man, who hid a goof and a heart of gold as well as his undeniably masterful skills in bed behind those silver-rimmed glasses of his.

“I’ll see you two at home, Bobby,” Hangman said and gave you a nod and a light wink. You rolled your eyes at him. He really couldn’t help himself, could he?

His words didn’t even register until you were standing in the car park and Bob was asking about which car was yours. You pointed to the rental parked almost right in front of the door and were in the middle of handing him your keys when it hit you.

“What did Hangnail mean when he said, he’d see us at home?”

You watched Bob’s reaction closely, watched his pale face flush with red as he scratched the back of his head. “He’s, uh, staying in my guest room right now.” When he saw your eyebrows shoot up and your eyes widen, he lifted his hands in defense and added: “It’s only temporary. A pipe burst in his apartment and I offered to let him stay until he found another place or got it fixed. Whichever is faster.”

“Why?” It was a simple question, just one word. And honestly, it was the only word you could think of right now.

“Darlin’, he’s really not that bad if you get to know him a little better. Admittedly, I don’t like that he’s flirtin’ with you either. But that’s Jake for ya.” He snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him. “I swear, it’s only temporary and you won’t even notice he’s there. He usually stays over at the places of whomever he could pick up in a bar that night, so he’s hardly ever there.”

You sighed. It wasn’t your place to judge this arrangement anyway. Besides, it was sweet of Bob to offer his friend a place to stay. Even if you didn’t quite understand why, yet.

“Alright, can we go home now?” You put your arms around his neck and pulled him a little bit closer still.

“Of course,” Bobby breathed before leaving a quick peck against your lips. “I thought, you were tired?”

“I’m not that jetlagged, Lieutenant Floyd. Now, take me home.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned as he pulled you to your rental car.

The moment you stepped through the front door, Bob’s hands were on you. Well, it wasn’t like they’d ever left you the whole car ride over from the Hard Deck. But now he didn’t have to concentrate on driving as his hands roamed your body, and he pressed your back against the door. Your backpack and suitcase forgotten in the entryway next to you.

“I thought, I was going to get a tour of your new home?” you teased. But any thoughts of Bob leading you around his house and showing you all the different rooms left your head as he wedged his thigh between yours, his knee brushing against your clothed core. You couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth at the feeling. If you weren’t sure you’d already soaked through your panties and jeans, you would have now.

“Tomorrow, darlin’. It’s been too long since I touched you. Tasted you. Just gotta have you right now before I’ll burst. Please, may I?” His lips were brushing against your just ever so slightly while he spoke, and you just nodded before lurching forward to connect your lips with his. You both groaned into the kiss, all tongues and teeth and mingling breaths.

Bob pulled away first, his thumb stroking your cheek while the rest of his hand easily engulfed your neck. “Out loud, baby. You know I need to hear you say it.”

“You have me, Bobby, always.” Your eyes met his and you could swear, you could see his pupils dilate at your words. Then he was kissing you again and pulling away from the door. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, and he easily pulled you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.

You shed your clothes somewhere along the way to his bedroom, until you were both left only in your underwear. Panting, standing in the middle of the room while Bob dove in to nibble at your neck. You were sure, he would leave marks, but you admittedly didn’t give a fuck. You could cover those up. He was pulling you flush against his skin again, you could feel his hard length pressing against your hip in his boxers, while he was leaving open-mouthed kisses on your skin as his lips travelled lower.

Your head was spinning, your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your chest and run away with you following closely behind while the flames of desire ate their way through your veins, igniting your skin and that pool of arousal in the pit of your stomach. But before Bob could fully go down onto his knees in front of you, you stopped him. “Wait, Bobby. Wait.”

His eyes were on you in an instant, full of concern. Had he done something wrong? Were you too tired after all? “What’s wrong, love?”

“Nothing, just … Slow down, baby. We got all the time in the world. No need to rush this, hm?"

His chest was heaving with every breath. You were sure, he felt the same fire in his veins as you did. He stopped for a moment, just staring at you. “You’re right.” Then Bob swallowed, nodding his head quickly, before his lips quirked up into a smirk only you ever got to see. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

You cupped his cheek before you leaned in for another quick kiss. “I never doubt that, babe.” A giggle escaped you as he maneuvered you to his bed, gently pushed you down onto the mattress before moving to hover over you.

“We do have all the time in the world to hear you scream for me, darlin’.” His eyes flitted over your face, searching for any hint of doubt or discomfort. But he didn’t find any, would probably never find any. Not when you were finally getting a chance to hold him again.

He dove down, pressing his lips against yours. You moaned into his mouth when his tongue entangled with yours. One of his hands wandered down your side, over your thigh to your knee before moving back up. You squirmed against his body; his fingers so close to where you needed them. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and gently pulled them down your legs before flinging them into a corner of the room.

“Robby,” you sighed when he finally used his fingers to swipe through your folds.

“So wet for me already, darlin’. God.” He groaned, a low sound that you thought you could feel vibrate down to your bones. Bobby hung his head low, pressing a couple open-mouthed kisses to your neck and collarbone, sucking on the skin where your neck met your shoulders. “I’ve been thinkin’ about this every day since you told me you were comin’ to visit.”

“Please, Robby. Please, please, please,” you chanted as his thumb circled your clit. You wanted to tell him how much you needed him. How you needed him to meld to your bones, melt his body into yours and to never let you go. How you felt like your desire and love for him were going to burn you alive if he didn’t do something about it right the fuck now. But you couldn’t get the words out. Only a strangled moan managed to escape you as he pushed his middle finger in.

His other hand came up to caress your hairline, he lifted his head, pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Breathe, darlin’. Tell me what you need.” His voice low, raspy, his accent sliding down your spine, making you clench around his finger.

You breathed in through your nose before huffing in frustration. He was giving you what you needed, but it wasn’t enough. You needed him closer still. Needed to feel all of him. “Need you to … fuck my brains out until I stop thinking. Please. I think, I’m going to die if you keep this up.” You looked up into his eyes, putting all of your emotions into your gaze.

You heard his breath hitch in his throat, and he let a low moan slip out as you grabbed his ass and pulled his hips closer to where you needed them. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” He pushed his body up and away from yours a bit, pulling his finger out of you in the process. The movement made you whine in protest and paw at his biceps, his shoulders, anything you could get a hold of to pull him back down onto you. “I know, you need me to. And I promise, I will. I’ll give you everything you want. Just let me taste you first. ‘Cause I think, I’m gonna burst if I don’t do this first. Been too long, sweetheart.”

You groaned as he slid down your body, settling in between your thighs. One of his large hands came up to grab your right thigh and pulled up your leg until it rested on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin. Then looked up at you and paused. There was a pleading look in his eyes, one you rarely got to see. “Please, baby. Need to feel you,” you whispered.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Bob whispered back. And then he dove in. His nose bumped against your clit; the frames of his glasses dug into your skin as his tongue began to lap at you like a starved man. His low groan sent vibrations through your core, you moaned at the feeling. One of your hands shifted to tangle into his curls, pushing his head closer while you pushed you pressed your hips further against him to get the least bit of friction.

“Fuck, Robby. Keep going,” you mumbled. When he moved his face to suck at your clit and instead pushed his middle and ring finger into you, you made a noise between a moan and a sigh. You shifted your hips to get his fingers to go deeper to that spot where you needed them. Bob hummed in response.

You could feel yourself barreling towards the edge, but you didn’t want to let go just yet. While you didn’t think, Bob would make you cum just once this night – usually, if you hadn’t seen each other for a while, you both liked to take your time with each other and, well, sometimes you’d spend the whole night in a tangled mess of limbs.

Hearing Bob’s low “Let go, darlin’. I’ve got you. Just relax and let go” though, told you that you were in for a long night. And it was also the last little nudge that you needed to fully let go. The emotions coursing through your body heightened your senses and your first orgasm of the night hit you like a freight train.

“Fuck ... me,” you gasped before you went to chanting Bob’s name like your prayer as he helped you ride out your high with his fingers. He pulled his mouth away from your clit, instead pressed feathery kisses to your inner thighs.

“I thought that’s what we were doin’, darlin’,” he replied with a chuckle. It took you a second to figure out what he was getting at, but then you joined into his laughter.

You lifted your head, chest heaving and heart pounding in your chest as your core still ached for more. You still needed him inside of you, needed to feel all of him. To come undone on his cock and have him follow suit shortly after. “Depends … how you define sex, baby. Some people don’t count oral as sex.”

“I’d say, those people are idiots,” Bob grumbled and pushed himself up until he was face to face with you again. You couldn’t help the whine that escaped your mouth at the sight of his slicked-up chin. Then he was licking his two fingers clean; and you thought, you might pass out at the sight. How the fuck was your sweet, gentle Robby this fucking hot – and admittedly deservedly smug about his skills in bed? Even if that side only came out in your presence. Bob’s lips pulled up into a grin and he winked at you. “I know, my greedy little princess.”

He bent down to kiss you; you moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips and tongue. “Well, can you blame me? I haven’t been able to fuck, let alone touch, you in months. All I could think about the last few days was you. Your fingers. Your mouth… your cock. The way your body moves against mine … I could barely hold it together at work.”

“Jesus, Y/N. You sure, you never want to try out writing poetry or prose?” He kissed you again, only a quick peck that had you lean up to chase his lips.

Already, you could feel the burning desire for him build again in your stomach. You reach down to palm him through his boxers, and smiled at the hiss that escaped him. The way his eyes screwed shut in pleasure and his hips bucked against your hand. You reveled in the fact that you weren’t the only one being this affected, but that it was the same vice versa.

“Why? You like what I got to say?” Your other hand stroked over his cheek; he was leaning into your touch. But then you moved on, tangled your hand into his curls again – and tugged on them. He moaned, loudly, a sound that reverberated off the walls. And your smile only grew brighter. His hips bucked against your hand again, before he snatched your wrist away, pinning it to the bed above your head.

“You’re not fightin’ fair, darlin’.” He was practically purring now as you continued to play with his hair; sometimes tugging on the strands or scratching your nails over his scalp and down his neck.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’m not fighting fair? Take your pants off, Lieutenant, and fuck me.”

Again, you thought, you could see his eyes darken. The usual bright blue now stormier as the same desire raged in his veins that was ready to wreck yours again. “Yes, ma’am.”

He shimmied out of his boxers, and you couldn’t help but stare as his thick cock sprang free. He was rock hard, and you wondered why he hadn’t let you do something about that. But that was your Bobby. Always making sure you came first, even when he was less gentle and gave in to his darker, more dominant side. He leaned over you again, giving a softer smile as he opened the bedside drawer and pulled out a condom and a bottle of lube.

He made quick work of the wrapper, but before he could roll it down over his length, you put a hand on his arm. His eyes flicked up to yours in a silent question.

“Let me.”

He nodded, swallowed and handed you the condom. You took it and carefully rolled it down his shaft. You bit down on your lower lip when Bob hissed lightly at the contact, but he didn’t stop you. Instead, you could feel his gaze burn itself into your face. You squeezed a bit of lube onto your hand, gave him a couple quick pumps when you were done and grinned at the groan that rumbled through him.

Then his hands were on you again and he lifted you onto his lap, maneuvering one of the pillows around so he could lay you down onto it. He laced the fingers of one of his hands with yours and pressed it the mattress next to your head while he lined himself up with the other.

“Oh, fuck,” you groaned as he entered you, slowly, so he wouldn’t hurt you and you had time to adjust to the sheer size of him.

“Darlin’,” Bob whispered over and over against your lips before you lifted up your head and crashed your lips against his. Your legs wrapped around his hips and you sighed as you pulled him closer, deeper into you. Your free hand ran down his back, digging your nails into the skin of his lower back.

He began to move, slow and deliberate strokes. But it didn’t take long for the tension to build in your stomach again. Not with the continued praise and sweet nothings that fell from Bob’s lips, joined by you telling him what a good boy he was for you, how proud you were of him, how good he made you feel. When he let go of your hand and his thumb found its way to your clit again, you couldn’t hold back the second orgasm that washed over you. You were sure you screamed his name as you came – unable to give a fuck about what the neighbors might think. And yet, you could tell Bob was holding back. Which was strange, because he wasn’t usually one to have one go and be done for the night, Bob had more stamina than you’d ever thought possible with a man.

So, when your head had cleared and your breathing had calmed down again, you took your chance and – with your legs still wrapped around his hips – pushed to have him roll over on his back. You straddled his hips, slowly pushing yourself back down onto his cock until he was fully seated inside of you. You could feel him twitch at the anticipation of you riding him.

You pulled him up by his shoulders as you began to slowly grind your hips against his. “Why are you holding back, baby? You’ve been so good for me. Want to feel you cum for me. Please, Robby.”

“Fuck,” he huffed out and leaned his forehead against yours. While your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him as close as you possibly could, his fingers dug into your hips and thighs, trying to get you to move faster. “Want you to cum with me, darlin’. Please. Need to feel you squeeze my cock again.”

“Almost there, baby,” you replied and hid your face in the crook of his neck to suck at his pulse point. And it was true, while you kept grinding your hips against him and whimpered at the friction against your clit, you could feel your third orgasm build up.

“Fuck, that’s it, darlin’. Keep going. Don’t stop. Take what you need from me.” He moaned and his fingers dug even deeper into your hips. You were sure, he would leave bruises for you to see in the morning.

You screwed your eyes shut as another orgasm crashed down over you, still hiding your face against his neck to muffle your moans. Bob wasn’t far behind; you could feel him twitch inside of you as he drove his hips up into you. He bit down lightly on your shoulder as he came with a groan.

But what you didn’t know, was that you two had gotten an audience. Some time between your second orgasm and this one, Hangman had come home. And he had no qualms standing in the darkened hallway, watching you ride Bob as he wrung out every last drop of pleasure from you. You didn’t know that Hangman stood there, growing harder as he watched you. But Bob did. He locked eyes with the other man before squeezing them shut as he came. Bob might not have said anything in the moment. But you also didn’t know what this small act of voyeurism would lead to. Would have never expected it to lead to where it did.

#robert bob floyd x reader x jake hangman seresin #robert 'bob' floyd x reader x jake 'hangman' seresin #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #robert bob floyd x afab!reader #jake hangman seresin x afab!reader

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foreverrandomwritings · 1 year

Text

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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deakyjoe · 11 days

Text

Pattern Breaker

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader (afab)

Category: smut, fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love

Summary: A love confession turns to more once Bob knows you’re interested.

Warnings: 18+, smut (!!), protected p in v sex, f receiving oral (pussy eating king), vaginal fingering, grinding/dry humping, handjob, kissing, groping, scratching/marking, Bob fucks, love confessions, fluff, talks of bad dates, reader described as having hair and being shorter than Bob (but nothing else), swearing/cursing - let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 7.1k (it kinda ran away from me)

A/N: My humble contribution to the Bob Fucks Agenda 🫡

Consider buying me a coffee :)

Bob Floyd was head over heels in love with you.

Yet he had no idea what series of mistakes had landed him here. In the Hard Deck. With you. Sat next to him. In a tight booth. Your thigh pressed up against his. Tracing patterns with the tip of your finger on the back of his hand. Many would argue that this didn't seem like a bad thing. Why would something so intimate with someone he was in love with be a mistake? Well, the issue was that you were doing it in a totally platonic way.

You were doing it mindlessly too, as you engaged in idle conversation with Phoenix opposite you, which almost made it worse. Bob Floyd's brain was whirring at a million miles per second over something you were doing without even thinking about it. It took every ounce of self restraint to stop himself from moving. Closer to you or further away, he didn't know. But he tried to stay still. So very still. Just so you'd keep doing it.

He was also desperately trying to pay attention to the story you were telling Phoenix, about the latest bad first date you'd been on. It appeared to be a regular thing with you. A string of first dates where you knew before you'd even ordered the entrées that they wouldn't be the right guy for you. And you always had valid reasons, at least in Bob's opinion.

"He told me he doesn't like sunsets." You groaned. "Like, who doesn't like sunsets?"

Bob personally loved sunsets.

Phoenix frowned at you. "Did he give a reason why?"

Bob imagined that Phoenix was feeling a little guilty about the whole thing. After all, she was the one who'd set you up with this guy. But he was thankful for it. He didn't know what he'd do with himself when you finally managed to find the right guy and it wasn't him.

"Something about the day ending and having a mindset about being on the grind I think, I don't know." You sighed, pausing your finger's movement against the back of Bob's hand for a moment before carrying on. He almost had a heart attack when you pressed your cheek into his shoulder and started leaning against him as well.

"Sorry it didn't work out. I can find you another guy maybe, umm..." Phoenix trailed off with a thoughtful hum.

But you waved her off. "No, it's okay. I think I'm done with blind dates for now."

Bob's head snapped towards you. Oh?

"If you're sure." Phoenix started to rise from the table, pressing her hands into the wooded surface. "I think I'm gonna call it a night. See you two tomorrow."

"Goodnight, see you tomorrow." You smiled at her, nudging Bob with your elbow when he stayed silent.

He flinched away from you. "Ow! What? Oh. Yeah, goodnight."

Phoenix's eyes flicked between the two of you, an amused huff leaving her mouth before she gave you both a mock salute and left the bar.

There was a silence between the two of you for a moment as you relaxed against Bob's shoulder a little more.

"What about you? Ready to call it a night?" You asked, turning to rest your chin on his bicep so you could look up at his face.

He glanced at you briefly, turning away again when he realised how close your faces were in that position and cleared his throat. "No, I'm good here for a little longer. If you are?"

You nodded and sat up, extracting yourself from his touch completely. Bob almost sobbed at the loss of contact.

"Yeah, I'm good." You paused to take him in, how he wasn't looking directly at you. He did that sometimes. You always figured he was just a little awkward about eye contact. Which was a shame considering his eyes were your favourite shade of blue.

Bob did flicker his eyes towards you then, wondering why you were staring at him silently. "Are you okay?"

You shrugged. "I kinda wanted to talk to you about something."

"Yeah?" He turned to face you properly, knees angled towards you to show that you had his full attention. "What about?"

You looked at him for a few seconds too long, enough to make him anxious and you think that maybe you'd given something away with your eyes. "You know how when we met we just clicked?"

Bob was surprised at that question. But he knew exactly what you meant. So he nodded. "Yeah."

You scrunched your nose and looked away from him for a second. "Well, I'm not clicking with any of these guys I'm going on blind dates with."

He knew that, you’d said as much. So he really didn't know where you were going with this. "Okay...”

"I just wish it was as easy as it was with you. Like we just work together so perfectly, I don't even feel like I'm trying with you."

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, looking sideways at you. "Uh-"

Your eyes widened and you were quick to clarify, hands held up in apology. "And not like I don't put any effort into it with you but just like I don't feel as if I'm constantly trying to make it work, y'know?"

He nodded again. "Sure."

You sighed frustratedly. "Do you get what I'm trying to say here, Bob?"

"Not really." He shook his head and gave a weak, apologetic smile.

You chuckled. "I'm trying to say that I've never clicked with a guy like I have with you."

"Right." He straightened up.

"But we're just friends." You said slowly.

He hesitated. "Mhm."

You squinted at him. "To cut it short I'm trying to say that I think I'm in love with you."

Bob could have fallen out of his seat.

"Oh!"

Now, that caught him really off guard.

"Well, I'm trying to figure out my feelings for you. Because they're certainly more than friendly!" You laughed quietly. "Which isn't really fair. To me or to you. But it's gotta be done because I'm sick of not clicking with men and being on dates where I'm just constantly thinking of how much easier it would be if I were sat across from you instead."

Bob ignored most of your rambling, fixating on one little statement. "Why's it not fair?"

Your face crumpled momentarily. "It's going to make it awkward for you if I am in fact in love with you. And it's unfair for me because I might be in love with a guy who only views me platonically."

Bob looked at you for a moment, eyes wide and almost pleading, and uttered your name softly.

You frowned. "What?"

He gave you a meaningful look.

"You do view me platonically, right?" You leant backwards. "Right?"

He glanced away from you before looking back, giving a short and sharp shake of his head. No.

The world shook around you.

"But- but you never made a move. I thought that you..." You trailed off into distressed thought.

"Oh, I made moves. Just not very obvious ones apparently." He cleared his throat with a quick cough, scrunching his face momentarily in embarrassment.

"Why did you never just say?"

"I guessed that you weren't interested since you never seemed to reciprocate my- my moves." He scratched at the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed at the thought of his moves.

"But I'm all over you!" You exclaimed. "I'm so touchy!"

He froze and turned to you stiffly. "I thought you were just like that. With everyone!"

"Have you ever seen me touch another human being half as much as I touch you?" You said monotonously.

"Well..." He thought about it. He hadn't. You gave hugs, sure. But you certainly didn't stand with your head resting on anyone's shoulder, arms wrapped around their bicep like you did with him. You didn't sit next to anyone, legs resting over their thighs, like you did with him. You definitely didn't trace patterns on the back of anyone's hand like you had been with him earlier.

You let him think about it for a few moments before interrupting his thoughts. "You didn't answer my question. Why didn't you just say?"

Bob looked deep into your eyes, recognising the look of regret he could feel within himself. "By the time I had the courage to... the friendship was already solidified. And I thought it would ruin it."

"Oh, Bob." You smiled widely at him. "You should've said something. I had a huge crush on you when we first met."

Have a huge crush. Have.

He perked up slightly. "You did?"

No. Do.

"Yeah! I buried it after a while because I figured you weren't interested. And now I'm realising that I'm probably in love with you anyway." You found it almost funny how the two of you seemed to be in the exact same situation and yet had no idea how the other was feeling.

He decided to be honest. "It would certainly brighten my day if you were."

You had a thought suddenly. "Walk me home?"

Bob felt a sense of whiplash from the rapid change in topic. But didn't question it. "O-okay."

You grinned at him and motioned for him to get up, following him out of the booth and grabbing his hand once you were stood next to him. Not having to worry about closing out a tab with Penny since you'd been paying for drinks each time you ordered, you didn't hesitate in dragging him behind you out the back door of the Hard Deck and onto the beach.

You took a glimpse at Bob next to you, finding him already watching you. "Figured we could do the moonlit beach walk on the way back to my place."

He just nodded, not missing the way you were still grasping onto his hand as the two of you started walking in the direction of your home. The moonlight beach walk wasn't an uncommon occurrence between the two of you. You'd done it countless times before, in fact. It was just a nice thing to do that happened to involve some nice views that you both enjoyed. It just felt different this time, Bob thought to himself.

He had to ask. "Your last blind date, did he really not like sunsets?"

You looked at him, delighted by the seemingly random question. "Yeah. How off-putting is that?!"

"Very." Bob mumbled. "Y'know... I really like sunsets."

Ah, you saw what he was getting at.

"I know." You chirped. "I'll never forget the sunset on the day we met when you explained that the reason they're so colourful is because of the way the light scatters through the atmosphere. It was very purple that night."

His eyebrows shot up. He'd forgotten he'd told you that. But you were right. It had been very purple. He'd watched you take about thirty photographs of the sky. And knew then that he was in trouble.

The rest of the walk back to your place was quiet, a few passing comments made between the two of you as you pointed out a cute dog and Bob showed you where new flowers were beginning to blossom on a tree you regularly saw. Your hands stayed intertwined the whole time, swinging gently between your bodies.

It was easy. Just how it should be.

Silence shrouded the two of you as you approached your front door, wondering what was supposed to come next. Bob was still hung up on your sudden abandonment of your conversation back at the Hard Deck as you stopped at your door. Why had you dropped it?

The question escaped him as you suddenly tugged him a lot closer, so your chests almost touched, and lowered your voice.

"Come inside."

It wasn't proposed as a question, or even a request, but as more of a statement. Like you were telling him that he should follow you into your home to find out what happens next. Because of this, Bob could only reply with one thing.

"Okay."

There was no turning back now.

You beamed at him and rushed to unlock your door, flicking on a light switch once it was open and ushering him in behind you. Bob had been to your place countless times before, even crashed on your couch once or twice after nights there had run a little too long, but this time felt different. Just like the walk on the beach had.

He supposed it was because of what the two of you confessed earlier that night. But he still couldn't shake the thoughts about the fact that the conversation hadn't carried on to a point where he knew what was going to happen next between the two of you. Bob wanted answers. And he guessed that they were hidden in the depths of your home.

You guided him to your kitchen, offered him a drink which he politely declined, and stopped suddenly in the middle of the room to turn on your heel and look at him.

"Do you know why I asked you back here?"

He stilled a few paces in front of you. "Honestly? No."

You smiled at that. "Because I decided that I am."

Bob was even more confused. "Am what?"

You barked out a laugh like you suddenly realised you'd left out half of your sentence and that what you'd said had made no coherent sense. "In love with you. Absolutely head over heels. One hundred per cent.”

He said nothing in reply, sensing that you had more you wanted to say. He was right.

"And I wanted to be able to explore that possibility for us without prying eyes. In the privacy of my home." You huffed, slightly frustrated. Bob took a single step towards you. "I don't- I don't know how to say this."

He closed the gap, hands resting on your arms to reassure you. You'd never struggled to tell him anything and he certainly didn't want that to start now. "It's me. You can say anything to me. You know that. It's okay."

When you met his gaze again, your eyes were slightly glassy with tears. But you blinked them away. They were angry tears at yourself for taking this long to get to this point with him. It should've happened so much sooner.

Your eyes flickered to his lips. Bob knew what that meant, he was feeling it himself, but wanted you to say it.

Letting out a slightly shaky laugh, you composed yourself. "You might need to let me spiral and talk for a minute."

He smiled softly, surprised he wasn't doing his own spiralling and talking in this situation. "That's okay."

You nodded and sighed. "Okay, so. I don't want things to change between us. Well, I do. But, like, not everything. I still want us to be us. I still want to be able to tell you everything and have easy conversations and just go for walks on the beach and talk about meaningless things and have you explain stuff to me that you think I'll find interesting and sit close to each other just because we can not because we have to."

You stopped for breath and Bob felt like he was having to restrain his heart from bursting out of his chest.

"We'll still just be me and you and things will be easy between us. Like they always have been. But now... instead of sleeping on my couch after late nights, you'll- you'll sleep in my bed. And we'll kiss and, god, have a lot of sex I hope."

Bob chuckled at that and you joined him, happy to see that he wasn't freaking out at everything you were saying.

"We'll still be me and you but just... evolved. Right?"

Bob had started the evening knowing he was head over heels in love with you. He couldn't believe the night was ending with that love somehow growing even more, combining with yours to create some force that defied the laws of nature. The room was practically swimming in it, he could feel it prickling at the surface of his skin and taste it on the top of his tongue.

He nodded firmly at you. "Me and you but evolved."

You visibly relaxed under his hands and smiled giddily up at him. "Great, can you kiss me now?"

You didn't have to ask Bob twice.

The kiss started off sweet, almost innocent. A few, slightly open mouthed, pecks as the two of you giggled against each other. It was something new for the two of you. So even thought it felt right, it was still new territory to explore. But it didn't take long for it to take a turn. As soon as you opened your mouth fully to lick gently against Bob's lips, it was like something in him snapped.

An arm snaked around your waist and tugged you flush against him, chest to chest, and his other hand tangled in the back of your hair. His nose crammed into your cheek, his glasses falling slightly askew, as he licked into your mouth hotly with his head angled down to meet you halfway.

Your head whirled with the thought that he was good at this. Bob Floyd was an extraordinarily good kisser. Why hadn't you done this sooner?

You let out soft moans to encourage him despite him not even seeming shy about the idea anymore. In fact, Bob had no sense of restraint left in him. He'd waited so long for this, for you. And now he was lost in the feeling of your skin against his and the sounds you were making in reply to what he was doing. Which is why he let his hands drift across you more, not anchoring his touch to any specific place.

You felt like you were on fire, no time to breathe as breaks for oxygen were mere fractions of a second long. You'd never imagined him being capable of making you feel like this so quickly. Your lower abdomen burning with desire and your panties already practically soaked through. And he hadn't even touched you intimately yet. You could only hope that you were having half the same effect on him.

Bob's hands lowered themselves slowly, tracing along your ribcage, circling your waist, gripping at your hips, before he tentatively let them rest on your ass. You hummed in motivating appreciation and pushed yourself up even more to kiss him impossibly harder. He took that as a good sign, fingers digging into the flesh beneath them and rocking your pelvis towards his. Where you found that he was hard.

A noise rumbled in your chest, leaking out as a high pitched whine directly into his mouth.

Bob pulled away with a slight look of concern in his eyes which now held almost no trace of the blue shade you'd come to adore, pupils blown wide enough to engulf his irises. "Is this too much? We can slow down."

You shook your head, slowing down being the last thing you wanted. "No, I'm just surprised that you're so... handsy. I always thought you were a gentleman."

"Oh." He blushed a deep red, the colour reaching the tips of his ears. "I'm just eager, I guess. We can wait. I mean, I can wait. If it's too much."

You leaned back in closer to him, lips brushing across his. "Don't you think we've waited long enough?"

He did.

Somehow the second round of kissing was even more searing, almost consuming, than the first. Your arms wrapped around his neck, one hand gripping tightly onto his hair and tugging occasionally. Bob didn't let up squeezing at your ass after he'd realised that the sound you'd made previously was one of pleasure and not pain, rocking your hips into his a couple times more for good measure.

When his lips moved to trail a line of kisses down your jawline and onto your neck, your eyes practically rolled back into your head. This was too good to be true. You were stood in your kitchen, at almost midnight, and Bob was sucking a hickey into your neck. How was this even real?

You realised that if you didn't move soon then the two of you were going to end up fucking on the kitchen floor. And whilst you weren't totally against the idea, you figured you should at least offer him the comfort of a bed for your first time together.

"Bedroom, Floyd. Now." You gasped, grasping his hair to pull him away from your neck. But when you got a good look at him, you almost abandoned the idea completely. His hair was ruffled from where you'd been pulling at it, his glasses sat crookedly on his nose, his face was flushed a rosy pink, his lips were swollen and kiss bitten, and his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them. He was a sight to behold.

You snapped back to reality, fixed his glasses so they sat correctly on his face, clenched your legs together, and grabbed a fistful of his shirt to tug him behind you towards your bedroom. Bob, of course, had no complaints about this and followed you very happily. After watching you kick off your shoes as the both of you scurried down your hallway, he did the same. Not many thoughts were occurring in his brain at that moment, not any clean ones anyway, but one thing was certain as he looked at you: he'd never wanted someone more.

The bedroom door slammed shut behind him and before he had the chance to take in any of his surroundings he was pressed up against it and your lips were on his again, your hands desperately clutching at the bottom of his shirt to untuck it from his pants.

"Why- do- you- always- wear- your- uniform?" The question was asked between fiery kisses. Not that you were complaining. You loved to see him in his uniform. But he always looked so formal.

Bob waited until you were too distracted trying to unbuckle his belt to kiss him so he could get his answer out fully. "You once told me I look handsome in it."

You paused and tilted your head up to look at him. Taking in his open expression, you could tell that he was being honest. "God, I fucking love that you listen to me."

He laughed momentarily before his jaw snapped shut and he swallowed thickly as you began fumbling with his belt buckle again. "Your hands are shaking."

The observation was simple but had you freezing anyway. "Care to help a girl out then?"

Bob could tell that you were getting anxious, nerves suddenly overruling the initial excitement and lust. He could understand. He was currently running on the high of you dragging him to your bedroom. Maybe you also needed something like that to keep you going.

He glanced over your shoulder towards your bed and nodded towards it. "Lie down."

Bob watched as the fire quickly re-ignited in your eyes and you did as you were told, bouncing on the mattress as you sprawled yourself across it. Undoing his belt completely, he took a few steps towards you until he stood between your open legs.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows to watch him eagerly. The mattress dipped as he knelt on it and crawled across it until he was hovering over you.

You hummed quietly, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. "Hmm, I like this position."

He leaned in close, as if going to kiss you. "I thought you might."

His voice was low, rumbling deep in his chest. It was a tone you'd only had the privilege of hearing a few times before. During late nights when he was tired and could barely keep his eyes open as you continued to talk his ears off with meaningless nonsense but did so anyway just so he could listen to you talk. When he'd held you close to him during crowded nights at the Hard Deck and spoken directly into your ear so you could hear him over the sounds flooding the place. Moments that were intimate between you both but you'd been too oblivious to see as more than platonic.

It was the voice that Bob Floyd used to flirt with you.

You pulled back, wide eyed, to get a good look at him. "Oh, my god. You have made moves."

His brows scrunch for a moment, a confused laugh bubbling out of him. "Yeah, I said so earlier."

"I know but that voice." You poked his chest accusingly. "It's your flirty, sultry, bedroom voice! You've used it on me before!"

"It's not my-" He paused, thinking about it for a second, and then shrugged. "Oh, yeah. Maybe you're right."

"I like it, it's hot. Do it again." You giggled when he rolled his eyes, reaching your hands up to start unfastening the buttons on his shirt.

"And what would you like me to say?" His voice dipped back down to the low tone and you had to suppress a shiver.

"Anything. I just like hearing you talk." You reached the last button and helped him slide the shirt from his shoulders, revealing a white undershirt that you knew always resided underneath. The brown uniform shirt was discarded somewhere on your bedroom floor.

"How about how I think it's time for you to start removing some clothes? Since my shirt's off and my belt is unbuckled." His raised a finger to trace along the neckline of your t-shirt.

You whined. "Not fair. You're not even showing any skin yet. If I take my shirt off then all I've got is a bra on underneath."

Bob chuckled, low voice lost for a moment. "Is my white t-shirt not the equivalent of your bra?"

You pondered it for a moment. Maybe he was right. "Depends if you like the way my tits look in this bra as much as I like the way your biceps look in that white shirt."

He took a quick glance at his arms which were caging you into the bed, hand planted on either side of your head. "My biceps, huh?"

"A weakness of mine, I admit." You shrugged and sat up, pushing at his chest to give you some room. "Have to stop myself from biting them when I rest my head on your shoulder."

"For the record, I'd totally let you."

With a laugh you took Bob's hands in yours and guided them to the hem of your shirt, giving him a nod of confirmation. "You would now but let's be honest, it would've been a little unusual of me to just suddenly bite you before."

He tried desperately to keep eye contact with you as he pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside. "Maybe, but I wouldn't have said a word of complaint."

"I'll remember that for the future." You paused and noticed his frozen stare. "You're allowed to look, y'know?"

He knew but he was holding himself back with the knowledge that he'd probably go feral once he saw you without a shirt on. Just below his eye line he could tell that the bra you were wearing was lacy and pretty much see-through. He took a deep breath before looking properly and let out a very low groan when he saw that your nipples were hard and very visible through the fabric.

Bob's dick twitched in his pants at the sight. He feared he wouldn't last very long once the two of you actually got going.

You leant back on your hands and watched him look over you. It was kind of entertaining and certainly a confidence booster for you. "Like what you see?"

His eyes met yours again. "Shut up. You know I fucking do."

That sent a ripple of heat through you. Despite knowing him for so long, you'd never heard Bob curse. He'd let out the occasional damn at big inconveniences but never anything more than that. You figured it was part of him being such a gentleman and the fact that he loved to point out that his mother raised him right.

"Careful, Floyd. That dirty mouth will get you in trouble." You flattened your back onto the bed again, pulling him down on top of you by a handful of his shirt.

"If by trouble you mean with you underneath me then I'm willing to take that risk." His voice somehow got lower, a raspy edge being added to it. It's like he knew exactly how to break you.

You grabbed his face in your hands and pulled him down to kiss you again, you'd gone too long without feeling his mouth on yours, and you revelled in the grunt he let out against your lips.

This was a whole new side to Bob that you were seeing. And you were loving it. Somehow it was still so easy, the two of you continuing to just bounce off of each other and the sexual chemistry was luckily just naturally there as well. You thought it may have been slightly awkward between you but you'd never felt so confident about sleeping with someone in your life.

Bob realised he should probably check something before the two of you got any further so pulled away momentarily. "Do you have a condom?"

"Oh, yeah! Wait, hang on-" You slid away from him, hanging over the edge of the bed to rifle through a drawer in your nightstand. Producing a small box, you waved it triumphantly at him.

"Hoping those blind dates were going to be successful, huh?" He teased, reaching out to grab your waist to drag you back underneath him. He was relieved you had the box but if you didn't then he knew it wouldn't have stopped him from doing other things to you until you were able to buy some condoms.

Your jaw dropped. "No! Just never underprepared."

"I applaud your readiness. I'm sure if the apocalypse hits then we'll be thankful for your supply of condoms."

"If the apocalypse hits then we'll be tasked with repopulating the Earth and have to have lots of unprotected sex to do so." You bit back playfully, glad to see when his eyes fluttered shut momentarily at the mention of doing it raw. "Oh, you like that thought, huh?"

"You caught me. Guilty." He raised a hand in surrender before gesturing at you. "Now let's get naked so we can have lots of protected sex."

You had to fight back a surge of laughter but let a few giggles escape when you found Bob looking at you with an amused look of his own. You were glad that the two of you were still able to joke and be you even in an intimate moment like this, relieved that it didn't suddenly become serious.

Clothes were discarded and quick kisses were exchanged as the two of you inched closer and closer to where you both really wanted to be. After your bra had been unclasped and thrown into the void with every other item of clothing, and Bob had thoroughly explored your chest with both his hands and mouth, you fell back onto the bed with him on top of you for another round of kissing. It's like the two of you couldn't keep your lips separated for longer than necessary.

His bare chest pressed into yours, a sheen of sweat gliding between you, as he rocked his hips against you, grinding his hard length into your clothed pussy.

If you'd told Bob at the beginning of the evening that this was how his night would end then he would've laughed and told you he didn't believe you. But now that he was here, he couldn't have imagined it any other way. That's what made him realise that enough was enough.

He suddenly broke the kiss and sat up again, kneeling in between your legs. Hooking two fingers into the waistband of your panties, he made eye contact with you. "May I?"

You nodded vigorously.

Bob shook his head. "Words."

You could've orgasmed right there and then. "Yes, you can."

He took that answer and started to slide your panties down your legs slowly, helping you to lift your hips to get them off easier. Once they reached your ankles he plucked them off and cast them aside, planting a quick kiss on your calf before lowering your legs either side of him again.

You reached for the condoms to pass them to him, aware that you were only the one step of removing his underwear away before he'd finally be inside you.

But he pushed your hand aside, choosing instead to slide his palms down your thighs. "In a minute."

"We haven't got forever, y'know. Get on it." You laughed, curious as to what he was doing.

"Gotta get you ready first." He mumbled, pushing your legs apart so he could see better.

Oh? "I can assure you that I'm plenty ready and wet and would like your dick inside me now please."

"So polite." He hummed with a smile on his face. "And I can see how wet you are. Just gotta make sure that you're relaxed enough to take me."

"Somebody's confident about their size, huh?"

He laughed as he shook his head. "Would you rather me not go down on you?"

As much as you were teasing him not to, you very much wanted him to. "Fine, if you insist." You replied with a sigh and an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

Bob almost chuckled, but when he looked up into your eyes again he was met with an angelic vision. You were stretched out on the bed, naked, for him. All for him. He reminded himself to thank the universe at some point. But, before that, he needed to thank you by making you come.

He shuffled back on the bed, moving your legs over his shoulders as he did so, and laid flat on his stomach before you. And got to work.

Bob practically devoured you.

You writhed underneath his grasp, one of his arms thrown across your stomach to keep you in place, as he licked and sucked at you. Your clit throbbed against his tongue as he flicked it from side to side over the sensitive spot. One of your hands flew to tangle in his hair as your legs trembled on either side of his head.

"Oh- oh, my god." You panted, chest heaving with laboured breaths. You looked down at him to see that his glasses had fogged up. You let out a slightly strangled laugh at him as he decided to slide a finger into you at that moment.

"Fuck me. Fuck, fuck, fuck." You gasped and collapsed back onto the pillows.

Bob moaned into you and you let out a cry at the feeling of the vibrations running through you. His finger pumped in and out of you. Slowly at first before he increased the pace and then, once you were somehow even wetter, introduced a second finger.

And with two of his fingers inside of you, bending slightly to hit that sweet spot inside of you, along with his tongue making tight little circles on your clit, it didn't take long for the pressure to build in your lower abdomen and then suddenly explode through you. Your body shook with pleasure, a tidal wave of profanity and primal noises escaping your mouth.

Bob gave you no time to rest though, surging up your body and kissing you again, giving you a taste of yourself which had you moaning into his mouth. When he pulled back again, you smiled. His glasses were still foggy.

"Can you even see through these?" You asked, reaching up to take them off of him. Wiping gently at the lenses with your bedsheets, you awaited an answer.

"Not really. I usually take them off for this kind of thing. But I forgot. In the excitement." He looked away from you, embarrassed. Funny how he could still be shy despite having just eaten you out like no one else had before.

You hummed quietly, taking his face in your hands to direct him to kiss you again after you'd placed his glasses down on your nightstand as you wrapped your legs around the backs of his and bucked your hips up towards him. "Are we going to do something about you now? Because I know you've been hard since we first kissed."

"I was hoping you hadn't noticed how quickly that happened." The low, raspy voice was back and you felt yourself melting a little on the inside.

"Difficult not to when we were practically dry humping in the middle of the kitchen." You trailed a finger down his torso over his, extremely sculpted, abs and stopped at the waistband of his boxers, hooking the tip of your finger inside.

He watched what you were doing. "I did get a little carried away there, granted."

You paused, asking him the silent question of approval to carry on, before slipping your hand into his underwear and grabbing him. His skin was soft and velvety under your palm and, before you even had the chance to start stroking him, his dick twitched in your hand. "Mmm... so sensitive, Bobby."

He whimpered quietly, squeezing his eyes shut.

You reached for the box of condoms again, realising this probably wouldn't last very long if you did much else with your hand, and pulled one foil wrapper out. Quietly uttering his name to get him to open his eyes again, you pushed the condom against Bob's chest. "Put it on."

He didn't reply, didn't need to reply, just followed your instructions and did as he was told. Straightening up again into a kneeling position, he flailed around a little in an attempt to kick his underwear off. You tried not to laugh. When he succeeded, he ripped the packaging open with his teeth and rolled the condom onto himself in one smooth motion. And then he positioned himself over you, notching the tip of his length at your entrance.

He looked down at you for confirmation to go ahead.

You had one last teasing comment. "Your confidence in your size was warranted."

He huffed out a laugh. "I'd be insulted in your lack of confidence if I didn't love you so much."

Warmth bloomed through your chest. It had been implied several times throughout the night but hearing the words come out of his mouth meant so much more. He loved you.

You beamed up at him. "Glad to know that your love for me overrides any possible offence. I'll be using that to my advantage in future. Now please fuck me, I'm going crazy here."

Bob adored the way you were able to flip a conversation so easily. But he was glad you'd said it as he was beginning to experience his own temporary insanity being on the brink of having sex with you but not quite being there just yet.

He pushed into you slowly at first and then all at once, not being able to hold himself back. Once he'd bottomed out he paused for a moment, a choked groan leaving his throat. You whined at the stretch, glad for the previous orgasm prepping you for this.

"Just- just give me a second." Bob warned you, hanging his head as he took deep breaths.

Patiently, you waited.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for him to get a grip of himself as he eased out of you before slamming back in again. You gasped at the sensation. He set a pace, a steady yet almost brutal one. The loud sounds of sex filled the room and you hoped your neighbours were long asleep.

Bob buried his face in your neck, using his elbows to keep himself from smothering you. The noises he let out into your skin were heavenly and you were thankful that they weren't too muffled. You clawed as his back, making scratches that you'd have to apologise profusely for the next day.

"Fuck, harder please. Please harder." You didn't think it was possible for him to go any harder, the way he pounded into you already making the headboard shake, but you begged him to anyway. And somehow he found a way.

Your skin prickled with a burn where he slapped against you, one of his large hands sliding down to grip harshly at the flesh of your ass in order to pull you impossibly closer to him. He continuously hit that sweet spot inside of you, your eyes rolling back in your head at the feeling. The pressure was steadily building in your stomach, getting tighter and tighter with every thrust of Bob’s hips.

You clung onto his shoulders tightly as you plummeted off the edge, your thighs locking in on either side of him to lock him in place. Bob paused his movements for a second, feeling you clench around him as your throat formed a silent scream that came out as a gasp, and only started up again when you relaxed beneath him.

He pulled away from your neck to look down at you, finding a giddy smile on your face. He kissed you, all teeth and tongues, as he pumped into you a few more times before spilling into the condom. And then he collapsed on top of you.

The two of you stayed there for a couple of minutes, both catching your breath.

“I’m glad you had so many failed dates.” Bob whispered into the glistening skin of your chest.

You laughed quietly. “Me too.”

He eased himself up slowly, pulling out of you with a hiss, to dispose of the condom. “Do you think Phoenix purposely set you up on bad dates so you’d admit your feelings for me?”

You thought about it for a second. “Probably. She knows I’ve had a crush on you for forever. And I can’t think of any other good reason that she’d set me up with a sunset hater.”

Bob pulled back the covers on the bed and gestured for you to get in, crawling in beside you. “Can’t believe that guy.”

“I know!” You laughed and turned on your side to look at him. “Wished she’d done it sooner then we could’ve been doing this for a lot longer.”

He joined in on your laughter. “Trust me, we’ll have plenty of time now to be doing this a lot more.”

You smiled. “I’m glad.”

He smiled back. “Me too.”

You scooted closer to each other, limbs tangling together into one big mess, softs words of love exchanged between you as you drifted off into a peaceful sleep in each other’s arms.

A/N: this is the longest thing I think I’ve ever posted as a single thing… hope you enjoyed!

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bradshawsbitch · 1 year

Text

sweet as honey | bob floyd x f!reader

this is can be read as a continuation of my valentines challenge song fic 'best friend'!

this is based on an idea that @sebsxphia elaborated on as one of their lovely nonnys asked about bob practicing eating out on you😵‍💫 thanks for letting me write this out, seb!🫶

disclaimer; in my head, bob floyd is pussy eating king™ and i felt it was my civic duty to tell you all about it. man has been obsessed with it since he first saw a spread in a porn mag about it, and he'll be damned if he doesn't find out exactly what you like.

warnings; best friends to lovers, mentions of intoxication, cunnilingus, pussy drunk bob, afab reader, no use of y/n.

plot; you have always needed bob, but what if he forgets the one time he actually had you?

tagging people who might like; @lewmagoo @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @roosterforme @theharddeck @mothdruid @bobfloydsbabe @roleycoleyreccenter

Soft whispers of love confessions had turned to sleepy reminiscing as darkness fell outside of the window, starlight and moonshine illuminating the outlines of two bodies intertwined in between pristine white sheets. Bob had never thought that he would ever experience feeling so at peace and so whole - the way he had somehow always felt when you were around. This was different though, he felt like he’d finally come home after years of wandering around.

Even better, he had managed to make it out alive after the worst mission he’s ever flown. He had made it back to you. They had done it. The adrenaline should be overwhelming him, the emotional toil should be tearing at his insides - he should feel like a monster lurks inside his chest ready to claw and tear at his chest - but he doesn’t.

Bob only feels the soothing hands running over his face, only feels the soft breath ghosting over his face as words of love sink into his very skin. Only hears your soft giggles and your emotional voice telling him you loved him. You loved him. God, the very notion made Bob dizzy.

His larger hands had settled on your waist, his thumb softly ghosting over the same warm spot again and again. A couple of times he had noticed the motion had elicited goosebumps over your skin, and if he squeezed his hand slightly he sometimes felt you shiver.

It drove him mad. How responsive you were to his touch. He wondered if he could make your breath hitch, if he could have sweet, soft sounds spilling from your parted lips if he let his hands and lips roam all over your body.

In his mind, there were… fuzzy memories, that he was not entirely sure if they were memories, or just a recollection of a wet dream his teen self had conjured up of you. Either way, the details were rather blurry, but his mind was replaying soft sighs… your soft moans for him. It must have been a dream.

“Do you–” you trailed off uncertainly, voice still barely above a whisper “Do you remember that one night when we were 18?” Bob furrowed his brows at the way you avoided his attempts at eye contact, stubbornly keeping your face nuzzled into his neck.

“Darlin’, we spent many nights together when we were 18…” Bob smiled, letting his thumb brush softly across your cheek “You’ll have to give me a little more,” his voice was low as he tried to coax you into making eye contact with him again. Craning his neck to try to observe your face as you laid on top of his chest.

“You were drunk, I think - didn’t seem like it at the time…” you trailed off, again, Bob smiled softly, letting his palm stroke soothingly up and down your back.

“Unfortunately, I was drunk many nights back then too, Sunny. What is it you’re nervous to tell me?”

“Do you remember going down on me?” Bob’s eyes had fluttered shut some time ago, shot wide open at that sentence - jumbled flashes of sounds and sensations flooding his mind.

“Oh… oh god, that wasn’t— that wasn’t a wet dream?” Bob could kill himself. Could actually go back to the Super Hornet and try to do what Phoenix does with all of that pilot shit until he ran himself into the damn ground.

“You mean to tell me… that I have had the immense honor of having my fuckin’ face buried between your legs and it was not a dream?” he heard your nervous giggles, and groaned as he squeezed his eyes shut tight, before shuffling so that you were lying beside him, looking into your eyes - they looked apprehensive, perhaps a little bashful.

“I am so sorry, darlin’... I truly- I had no idea– I thought that was just one of many dreams my imagination conjured up about you,” Bob murmured, brows pinched together “Did I hurt your feelings terribly?” he never wanted to hurt you, never wanted to be the reason you shed any tears or felt any discomfort.

“I mean - I wasn’t sure, I mean I wanted you to, God, it’s all I ever wanted after it too! But I guess I was a bit upset a little while after when you never brought it up…” you trailed off, fingers tracing intricate swirls on his sternum, gaze following your finger carefully, avoiding his eyes.

“Sunny…” Bob spoke softly, his fingers tilting your chin up to look at him, searching your eyes before slowly letting his lips connect with yours, warmth spreading between the both of you as your lips moved together languidly.

“Will you please tell me about it?” murmuring against your lips, Bob wanted to see if your story could jog his memory of the first time he apparently ate you out.

He felt your lips quirk into a smile, before you broke away, nuzzling your face into his neck, where you placed soft, wet kisses that had his breath hitching, a small, soft moan leaving his lips as yours latched on to suck softly at his pulse point.

“Well… I asked you…”

It was late, the party had ended almost an hour ago, and you and Bob were lounging around in your childhood bedroom, walls covered in a soft pink - and your forgotten stuffed animals placed on bookshelves that were filled to the brim with books you’d read in your early teens. You’d told your mom several times you wanted to get rid of them, but she insisted that your younger sister might want them now that you were 18.

Bob was sprawled on the floor, chuckling softly at something he read in a women’s magazine you’d bought last week.

“What’s so funny, Robby?” you spoke softly from your bed, having laid down on the plush blankets and covers that were bunched in the middle of it. You’d stayed sober this night, wanting to make sure Robert made it home safe.

“They’re… dead wrong about some of these like ‘tricks to tell your boyfriend to do in bed’ stuff,” Robby replied, amused, twinkling eyes finding yours as you looked at him quizzically. “Oh yeah, think you know better than the women who wrote the article, Floyd?”

“Mm, I know I do. These women can’t have gotten good head if their best tip is to ‘tell him to spell the alphabet with his tongue’,” he scoffed before closing the magazine with a shrug. Licking your lips, you took in his lanky form spread out on your carpet, tight, black jeans sitting low on his hips - just giving you a peak of the grey boxers underneath.

“What do you think, huh, Sunny? Is that the best tip you’d give a lover?” he was smirking now as he looked up at you. Biting your lower lip, you shrugged “I don’t know…”

“Well, what’s felt the best when someone’s gone down on you then?” you were sure Rob could tell that heat had rushed to your cheeks and neck, warming your body as you avoided his gaze.

“I– no one’s ever made me cum with their mouth. They just wanna– get to the other stuff, y’know?” you hedged, finally looking at his blue eyes. His brows were furrowed, almost completely disappearing behind his horn rimmed glasses. “What do you mean?” his words were only a little slurred now, and he seemed more alert than he had been all night.

“I mean, most guys I’ve been with have been reluctant to you know… go down! They stay there for a little while and then sort of– deem you ‘ready’ for the important part, I guess,” you shrugged, as if this was universally known. Your girlfriends had all agreed with you, most of their boyfriends would only use their hands, or if they had to they’d be down there for a couple of minutes before wanting to get their dicks wet instead.

“That’s fucking insane!” Robby exclaimed, and you shushed him swiftly, not wanting him to wake your mother and father. “That’s fucking insane!” he stage whispered, making you giggle, as he made his way over to your bed, sitting down on the end of it. His palm wrapped around one of your ankles, slowly letting his thumb rub circles at the exposed skin there.

“Sunny… do you mean to tell me, you’ve never been given oral until you’ve cum?” Robert wouldn’t let you look away, and maybe you couldn’t have even if you’d wanted to, his blue eyes were so captivating… so beautiful. Shaking your head, you looked up from beneath your lashes at him.

“Do you want to?” Robby murmured, and you found yourself nodding before you could think twice about it. You’d always wanted Robby, always needed him. Craved his touch. And now he was offering it to you. “Sunny, you let me know what feels good, okay? I don’t want to hear a peep out of you unless it’s genuine sounds of pleasure, okay?” Rob’s voice was breathless as he leaned in to place fluttering kisses along your neck.

“Is this okay?” he murmured against your skin and you nodded as your eyelids fluttered closed, a small exhale leaving you as Bob’s frame hovered over yours after having gently laid you back against the pillows.

“Good, I’m gonna take your jeans off now, okay, sweets?” you appreciated that he was talking you through it, as if he instinctively just knew you - knew your very inner workings, even if he was a little intoxicated.

“Doin’ so good for me, Sunny… so pretty,” he sighed as he took in the cute pattern of your lacy thong. You’d only recently started wearing them, and found yourself happy that you chose baby blue ones - ones that when Rob gazed at them made you want to clench your thighs together at the groan he let out at the sight.

“No, baby - open for me, that’s it - gotta keep your legs spread for me, pretty girl,” the blond hummed before settling between your legs, your panties still in place, which confused you a little. “Relax, honey,” he murmured as he kissed your inner thigh, his strong hands gently massaging your thighs. His lips explored the soft skin of your inner thighs, making you squirm each time his hot breath came closer to your core.

There was an ache there now, and ache you had never felt with any previous partner. An ache so deep, so strong, that an involuntary whimper left you as you tried to grind down, desperately needing your best friend to touch you.

“Baby… Sunny, you’re soaked for me… made these pretty light blue panties a nice navy, hm?” Bob groaned, pressing his nose against your clothed pussy, inhaling before placing soft kisses on your mound and gently against your covered clit, eliciting a soft mewl from you.

“Smell fuckin’ heavenly, babe - probably taste even better,” Bob groaned, and as you looked down, you could see him shuffling his body around, one of his legs now tucked a little higher than the one that was stretched out below him.

“Still feelin’ okay up there, honey?” he murmured, looking up at you. Licking your lips you could only manage a pathetic ‘uh-huh’ in confirmation as Bob’s fingers pushed beneath your panties to drag up and down your wet slit.

“Robby!” a breathless whine tore from you as the pads of his fingers gently pressed against your clit, before slowly dragging down to your opening and back again.

“Fuck, you’re so wet… god,” Bob groaned, bucking his hips into the mattress once before he pushed the baby blue fabric of your underwear to the side to push his face closer to your cunt. His nose nudged at your lips, and you gasped as he let his pointed tongue tease the seam of your lips, his low moan at tasting you making your own hips buck slightly.

“Robby, please - oh!” you hadn’t finished your sentence before Rob licked a broad stripe from your core to your clit, where he gently laved his tongue over it, over and over again. Breathing hard, small, pathetic noises left you, your hands clutching at the covers beneath them - before you let one hand tangle itself in Bob’s blond tresses, tugging in time with his licks and suckles on your clit.

The hand that wasn’t holding your hips down sought yours out, and as Bob blindly found your hand, he intertwined your fingers for him to hold as he experimentally swirled his tongue around your entrance. He glanced up at you briefly, and seeing you panting and letting out soft mewls for him, he decided to try to let his tongue fuck into your wet hole. He’d seen in the various videos he’d studied that it drove some of the women wild, whilst some preferred getting only their clit stimulated.

As Bob fucked his tongue into your opening, you saw stars, a delirious and loud moan leaving you as your upper body shot up slightly - tugging harshly on his hair before biting your lips to keep quiet. As the muscle slipped in and out of you, shallowly at first and then deeper and more frantically the more Bob could tell you liked it, you noticed the bed was rocking slightly. Looking down, you could see Robby grinding his hips hard into your mattress, his own moans soaked up by your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, never want to leave… this fucking beautiful pussy,” Robby was whining, licking, laving, sucking on your clit before fucking his tongue into your hole again, making you moan, gasp and whimper beneath him.

“Rob, baby, fuck - I– I’m so fucking close, feels so good– you feel so good!” you were gasping for air as Rob slurped and sucked at your cunt, seemingly lost in his own pleasure as well, rutting his hips hard and fast against your covers.

“Fuck, please give it to me Sunny, give it all to me - fuck, wanna have you on my tongue…” Robert murmured laving his tongue over your clit, suckling it gently into his mouth before fucking his tongue into you repeatedly.

With a cry and a harsh tug on your best friends hair, you came undone in the most earth-shattering way - never in your eighteen years had you felt like this, had never felt so safe and taken care of as you did with your best friends face pressed deep in between your legs, eating your pussy as if it was the last thing he was doing on this earth.

A long, drawn out moan could be heard as Bob continued to lick you through your orgasm, seemingly reaching his own high at the same time you did as his hips stuttered and jerked against the mattress.

“How was that, honey?” Bob murmured as he kissed and licked your inner thighs clean, languidly letting his tongue roam over your core, seemingly not having gotten enough of you. A soft whine fell from your lips as you squirmed a little, feeling sensitive after having cum so hard. Rob chuckled softly before placing a kiss to your pussy, and resting his head against one of your thighs, his hand still held yours as he removed his glasses, placing them beside the two of you. He had his eyes closed, positioning your legs comfortably around his form, his other hand splaying on your lower abdomen under your shirt.

As his breathing evened out, so did yours. You stayed that way most of the night, before you woke up as the sun rose to illuminate your room, and you moved to close the drapes and go to the bathroom, to wash away the traces of Bob’s love.

“Oh god…” Bob groaned as you finished telling the story. Smiling, you placed a soft kiss on his lips “It’s still the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” you confessed with a shrug, as your best friend wrapped his arms tighter around you with a groan.

“Fuck, don’t tell me that Sunny… you’re drivin’ me wild… y’mean to tell me I’ve known my whole life what you taste like? What those soft little sighs, moans and whimpers sound like? The ones I’ve dreamt off as I’ve laid in my damn bunk missing you?” you could only laugh softly under your breath “M’afraid so, honey,” you stroked the back of your hand against his cheek.

“Would I ever be allowed that privilege again, baby?” Bob purred against your ear, nibbling softly at the lobe before placing a chaste kiss just beneath it.

“Oh, I definitely think that can be arranged…” you smirked, gently taking your bottom lip between your teeth as Bob again rolled the two of you so you were on top of him.

“Excellent, darlin’... but this time, I want you on top…”

#bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x you #bob floyd smut #robert bob floyd smut #my writing #smut

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lewmagoo · 10 months

Text

the ties that bind | bob floyd

description: in which your lover unravels you completely

warnings: 18+ only, bondage, orgasm denial, vibrators, daddy kink, light pussy slapping, some begging, spitting, aftercare

pairing: bob floyd x afab!reader

Robert Floyd was ruthless.

No one expected that of him just by looking at him. He was a quiet, passive person. He preferred to blend in, to watch from afar. No one expected him to have a mean bone in his body. And, really, he was sweet as pie. The greatest lover you’d ever known.

But, unbeknownst to all the friends who claimed he was “passive” and “timid”, he was also wicked, and he quite enjoyed having you entirely at his mercy, willing to do whatever he asked of you. And that was precisely the position you found yourself in at that very moment.

Bound to his bed, unable to escape, skin buzzing hot with anticipation, wondering what he was going to do to you next, and thinking that maybe, just maybe, you had bitten off more than you could chew when you had agreed to do this.

In the beginning, it had sounded like such fun. Wicked, sinful fun. You had been the one to bring it up, after all. You'd gone to your lover and proposed the idea. And he, ever the sinner, had eagerly agreed. The decision was mutual, and when he had asked you if he could do anything he desired to you, within reason and boundary, you had told him yes.

But now here you were, naked, writhing, trembling. He was above you, a devious smile on his sweet, handsome face. And at that moment, with his pale blue eyes burning right into your own, you were beginning to slightly regret even suggesting this whole thing. He was punishing you in the most wonderfully painful way imaginable, and you weren't sure how much longer you could handle it.

He had you stretched out across the mattress, arms tied to the headboard, legs bound and held apart so he could easily access the very center of you. Your skin was slick with sweat, eyes squeezed shut as you put every ounce of energy you had into holding on to what little control over yourself you had left.

You could feel that all too familiar burn in your lower abdomen, threatening to engulf you in searing pleasure. But you couldn't let go, not yet. You just had to hold out a little while longer, and you would finally get your reward. But goddammit, it was hard.

Maybe it would be a little easier if you could make noise, let out your frustration through cries and moans. But you weren't allowed to make a sound, though, per his rules. If you so much as let out a whimper, you would be denied your orgasm and endure whatever punishment he deemed fit.

When he'd told you this, you had underestimated just how hard it would be. Sure, I can be quiet, you thought. Now, you were wishing you had never let him make the rule, because all you wanted to do was scream at the top of your lungs.

You'd lost track of time. Had it been minutes? Hours? He'd had that damned vibrator against your cunt for ages, on high, a setting you rarely used together because it was so intense. But he was feeling ruthless today, and was quite enjoying the sight of you squirming uncomfortably, pulling at your restraints. You looked up at him with wide eyes, silently begging him to offer some relief from the intense vibration, but he refused to oblige.

Bob knew your body well, had you memorized like the back of his hand. He knew how you moved when you were about to tip over the edge, knew the look on your face, the tense in your muscles. And whenever he saw those telltale signs, he pulled the vibrator away promptly, leaving you to buck your hips into the air and bite your lip hard in bitter frustration.

He was enjoying this, really. He'd never seen you so desperate before, he had to admit. It had his head spinning, body warm with desire. All he wanted was to be inside you, feel your slick warmth envelop him. But he was exercising every ounce of self-control he possessed. He would be inside you all in due time. Right now, his priority was getting you to the edge again, give you just the slightest taste of release before pulling away just when your body was nearly at its peak.

He watched you bite the inside of your cheek, surely hard enough to draw blood. You were trying your best to respect his wishes, to follow his command. And for that, he loved you. You were his good little plaything, and he made a mental note to reward you tenfold after he was finished with you. You were handling this all better than he thought you would.

He ran his free hand down your bare stomach, leaning down to press a kiss to your glistening forehead. "Mm, you're doing so well, sweet baby. Hold on just a little longer and Daddy will let you come."

I have been holding on! You wanted to shout at him. But you bit your tongue - literally. If you yelled, it would surely earn you a bruised bottom and a denied orgasm. You could feel it, though. Searing through you like molten lava, threatening to burn you alive. Your chest began to heave, and as Bob looked at you, he saw the slightly panicked expression on your face.

Instantly, he turned off the vibrator, partly because he couldn't handle waiting any longer, and partly because he knew you were nearing the end of your rope, and he didn’t want to push you there quite yet. He set the handheld wand aside, reaching up to gently stroke the side of your face, praising you yet again. "You're being so good for me."

You nuzzled your warm face against his large palm before his touch was gone, leaving only a soft rush of air in its wake. The sound of him unzipping his pants had your cunt clenching around nothing, knowing that in a few short moments, you would be filled to the brim.

When he came back into view, he was completely bare, and you watched through hazy eyes as he reached down, lazily tugging that thick, heavy cock before he situated himself between your spread, trembling legs. In that moment, he wanted to tell you to beg for it, as he often did. But he wanted to see just how long you could stay silent.

Leaning down, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, tongue ever so slowly sliding over your bottom lip. Then he went lower, hungry mouth suckling at your soft breasts. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin and you huffed, bucking your hips up in search of him. He held you down with his hand against your pelvis. “Uh-uh, be patient,” he scolded.

Deft fingers danced along the front of your body before he caressed your spasming pussy, so swollen and hot to the touch. “Poor lil thing. Need me so bad, don’t ya?” He hummed with mock sympathy. You looked up at him with wide eyes, frantically nodding.

“Guess I’ll give the baby what it wants.” Then, he guided his cock toward the place where you needed him most, and he began to nudge into you.

At the initial stretch, you let out a gasp, trying so hard not to whimper. How on earth were you meant to stay silent when that gorgeous cock of his was currently beginning to split you right open? Your own arousal provided more than enough lubricant for him. "Look at you," he murmured, "soaked and ready for my cock."

You pulled at your restraints again, leaning up, hoping he'd kiss you again. But he ignored your silent plea, placing his hands on either side of your arms, holding himself up as he began to slowly thrust into you.

He couldn't help but groan deeply at the feeling of you, so snug and warm around him. He knew it wouldn't take long for him to reach his end, and he was glad that he'd edged you so much, because that meant you'd finish right along with him.

He brought his mouth down to your breasts again, sucking and biting as he picked up his pace, fucking into you more deliberately. Beneath him, you were trying desperately to keep your mouth shut, to remain silent as he carried on. But he was making it damn near impossible. He felt so good, filling you deliciously, each ridge and vein brushing against every last inch of you.

You closed your eyes, the sensations bubbling up within you growing too intense, enough to draw tears. They began sliding down the sides of your face and into your hairline, hot and wet. You moved in tandem with him, rolling your hips, wanting and needing more. You were getting close, simply from the stimulation of his pubic bone against your swollen clit, the gathering of sandy curls around the base of his cock only heightening those sensations with each brush against you.

If you stayed quiet just a little longer, you knew that he would let you come soon enough. In the beginning, he'd told you that you would only be allowed to come while he was inside you, and now, your sweet release was so close you could almost taste it on your tongue.

Bob was growing a little rougher, a little faster, a little deeper. He was making noise freely, groaning and growling, filthy words swimming through your head, telling you how good you felt, how wet you were, how you were made to take his cock. You wanted to scream, cry, wail. It was becoming so overwhelming that you weren't sure how much longer you could hold out. You were biting your cheek so hard you could taste copper in your mouth.

Then he was all but pounding into you, hard and fast and unforgiving, and you couldn't hold it in anymore. A scream bubbled up in your throat, and you let it free, filling the room with the shrill sound. That's when your lover stopped, going still as could be. When you opened your eyes, he was looking right at you. And that ocean blue you loved so much? It had gone nearly black.

He grabbed your face roughly, forcing you to keep eye contact. "What was that?"

"I-I-I'm sorry Daddy!" You began to sob, body undulating beneath him. "I c-couldn't help it!"

"That's not good enough." He pulled out of you, immediately climbing off of the bed.

"No, wait!" You gasped, "Daddy, please, I'm sorry, it just slipped out, I-"

But then, his hand was clamped over your mouth, eyes staring down at you so intensely you thought you would burst into flames right then and there.

"Shut your mouth, you brat," he snapped. "You are going to lay here, completely silent, until I come back. Do you understand me?"

You nodded, and he lifted his hand from your mouth. Tears were still streaming down your face, due to frustration, anger (mostly at yourself), and desperation. You sniffled, coughing and sputtering as you watched Bob stop to pull his sweatpants on. He only turned back to you to speak once more. “What word do you say if you need me to come back and untie you?” His face had gone gentle.

“Palomino,” you breathlessly replied.

“Atta girl.” He left a sweet kiss to your sweaty forehead. When he straightened, he was back to that strict persona. "You're staying like this until I come back into the room."

And then he was gone, leaving you stretched out and humiliated on the bed. It took you a long while to calm down, for the tears to stop and for your breathing to return to normal.

Meanwhile, Bob had made his way into the kitchen. Dinner time was approaching, and he wanted to have a meal prepared for when he was finished with you, because he knew your energy would be depleted, and that you would be starving.

He also knew this was torture for you, laying there, suspended and unable to do a single thing about it. He could only imagine how pliant you would be once he returned, willing to do absolutely anything he asked of you, just so you could get a release. And if he was being honest, that was what he wanted, because he, too, needed a release. He was still achingly hard within the confines of his pants, and he knew it wouldn't go away so easily.

To distract himself, he put on some music - classical, Tchaikovsky's 4th - and then proceeded to gather the ingredients he'd need. Pasta, of course. Something hearty and comforting, because he knew you'd need it after all the exertion he'd put you through.

He let himself slip into the process of preparing the meal. Cooking had always been therapeutic for him. Especially cooking for his lover. He put his whole heart into the meals he made, and you always swore you could taste the love in each bite.

In the bedroom, you could hear everything. The music, the clang of pots and pans. You could smell garlic cooking, and you knew he would take his sweet time preparing everything, just to further punish you. Damn him, the bastard.

Your shoulders were becoming quite sore from your predicament, and so were your legs. It was rather uncomfortable. It always was, but normally, Bob removed the ropes from you the moment he was finished. But not tonight, because he was far from finished with you.

It felt like hours had passed, even though it couldn’t have been more than twenty-five minutes. You were growing restless. So, in order to occupy yourself, you closed your eyes, attempting to create an elaborate story in your head. It did little to distract you fully, but it did help some. So you continued on. Eyes closed. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

And there was Bob, entirely at ease and unbothered in the kitchen, draining the pasta and moving over to stir the sauce. He tasted it, deciding it needed a little more basil leaf before pausing to chop one and tossing it into the deep red liquid. He knew you’d love the sauce, he’d outdone himself this time with it.

But you were not thinking about food. You were thinking about him. And you were beginning to grow angry at that point. Your patience was wearing thin. You knew this was what you deserved for disobeying his one rule, no sounds, but you couldn't be bothered to care. You just wanted him to come back and untie you. You thought about shouting for him, maybe eve safewording, but decided against it. You were nowhere near needing to use that word just yet. Bob’s intention was never to push you to have to use it, either. The word was merely there as a safeguard, and you didn’t find it necessary to use at the moment.

So, you remained silent, just as you'd been doing for the past thirty minutes. And finally, after what felt like eternity, you could hear his footsteps coming down the hall. An odd mix of both relief and anxiety swirled through you at once. Relief because you knew he would soon release you, and anxiety because you had no idea what was coming after.

A glass of water was perched in his hand, and a smirk was spread across his handsome face. "Look at my pretty little angel," he murmured, strolling towards the bed. "Still spread out for me, just the way I left you."

The clink of the glass being set on the nightstand reached your ears, but you didn't dare take your eyes off him to look at it. Bob's hand came to rest against your cheek, before traveling downwards, skimming over your breasts, stomach, and finally landing between your legs. Those beautiful fingers slid along your wetness, and you shifted your hips, only to be shocked entirely by a light slap to your pussy.

Even so, Bob had mercy on you. He'd punished you long enough, it was time to reward you. So, he reached up, taking the liberty to untie the bonds on your wrists. When your arms fell, you let out an audible sigh of relief, slowly lengthening your arms beside you as Bob moved to untie your legs. His fingers massaged over the marks the rope had left indented on your skin, and he moved down to press a kiss to each one.

For a moment, his eyes softened as he gazed at you. "You okay?"

You mustered a weak, but genuine, smile, and nodded. “I’m fine.”

Satisfied with that, Bob set the jute rope aside, and climbed onto the bed. He hovered over you, seamlessly moving to leave a deep kiss against your lips. His warm hands cupped your face, and he broke the kiss to look at you. "You can make noise this time around," he granted, and yet another flood of relief washed over you.

Bob made quick work of removing his pants then, tossing them to the floor below before settling between your legs yet again. You let your eyes flutter shut as you felt his heavy cock pressing against your soft, wet center again. His voice, sweet and low, floated through your head then.

"Beg for it, m’love."

With what little energy you had left, you spoke, voice wavering. "P-please...I need to come so bad, it hurts. Please let me come, Daddy. I’ll do anything."

If he was feeling spiteful, he would have demanded more from you. But in that moment, he needed his release as much as you did. So he took your plea with satisfaction, kissing you yet again as he slipped into you for the second time that night. The feeling made you whine, and you grabbed at his shoulders for purchase.

His movements were slow at first, gradually building. He covered you with his entire body, engulfing you in the safety of his big arms as he fucked you. He soon had you trembling, gasping, moaning. The ability to let out sounds felt so wonderful, and you were sure to let out plenty.

You were so painfully close. A full hour of stimulation still had you sensitive, even thirty minutes later. When Bob brought his hand down to the place where your bodies met, fingers pressing into your nub of nerves, you were keening beneath him, tears springing to your eyes all over again.

"Oh," Bob breathlessly sighed, "I can feel you tightenin' around me. You gonna come for me, sweet baby?"

"Y-yes," you squeaked, pathetically so.

So, Bob went a little faster, a little harder. And soon, he was fucking you right into the mattress, hitting all those wonderful spots inside of you at a steady pace, sending shocks of delicious pleasure surging through you, like electricity through a live wire.

He grunted and growled above you, trying his hardest to stave off his own orgasm. You were going to come before him, he was determined to make it happen. You’d been so good for him and you deserved it.

He was slamming into you at that point, the sound of skin on skin growing almost deafening. You cried out, clutching him hard enough to leave bruises. With your mouth parted, he couldn’t help but lean down to capture your lips with his own again.

"Come on," he gritted out, "I know you want to come for Daddy. Do it, come all over my cock."

You could only moan and whimper, writhing and thrashing against the mattress. Bob had a look of determination twisted into his features, a curl of sandy hair falling against his sweaty forehead. He wasn't going to let up until you were completely overwhelmed.

He grasped your face in his hand then, staring you down. You were trembling something awful at that point, sweaty, exhausted, nearly there. He placed his mouth against yours, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth before releasing. "Open your mouth," he hissed.

Obediently, you did so, and as your lips parted, Bob didn't miss a single beat, spitting into your open mouth before pushing it shut promptly after. "Swallow." Yet again, you obediently did so, always willing to do what he asked. The whole eroticism of it all was what pushed you over the edge, and with a desperate howl, you plummeted over that precipice, shaking violently beneath your lover.

Bubbly warmth engulfed you from head to toe, rushing through you in a surge so powerful you swore you blacked out. All you felt was utter euphoria, blanketing you like an intensely warm hug.

Above you, he watched it all unfold. He leaned back so he could watch the way your pussy clamped tightly around him, pulsing and contracting, milking him. As your body began to flutter down from the mind-numbing high, he soon reached his own.

With a low, open-mouthed moan, he fell apart, hips sporadically jolting into you as his spend seeped into you, claiming you as his own. If you weren’t so out of it you might’ve been able to admire that gorgeous face contorted in painful pleasure.

Soon enough, he fell against you, sweaty, spent, a complete mess. You held onto him, trying to calm down, though you were still trembling. "So good for me,” Bob sighed, “such a sweet pussy.”

He slowly and reluctantly moved to pull out of you, shushing your whine of protest. He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander, glancing down to watch the pearly white essence that had begun to drip out of your pulsing cunt. Then he gazed back up at you, brushing away strands of hair that stuck to your forehead from the sweat. "How’s my baby?"

The initial intensity of it all had worn off, and you were now left feeling sore and utterly drained. "I'm...I'm tired," you whispered, unable to utilize your energy to say anything else.

“Yeah? Is it okay if I move you? I wanna clean you up a bit.”

“Y-yeah.”

Ever so gently, he helped you climb out of bed, and he guided you into the bathroom, letting you lean on him when your legs threatened to give out.

He had you sit on the counter and spread your legs, where he carefully used a soft, damp cloth to wipe your center clean. He soothed you when you whimpered from the sensitivity. “I know. I’ll be quick,” he assured you.

He used another cool rag to carefully wipe your sweaty face. “Think you can handle a bath right now? Or is that too much?”

You considered this for a moment, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Too tired. Jus’ want to be wiped down.”

That was all he needed. He lovingly kissed your lips before he helped you climb down from the counter. After a quick full body wipe down, he then led you back into the bedroom, where he helped you change into one of his shirts and a pair of shorts. He dressed in his own pair of sweatpants once he had you settled.

Then, as you sat on the edge of the bed, he reached over to the nightstand to grab a bottle of water. He cracked open the lid and held the bottle up to your mouth for you to drink. It was cool, and did wonders to soothe your parched throat.

“You feelin’ up to eating anything? I made your favorite pasta,” he calmly suggested. As if on cue, your stomach rumbled eagerly.

You shared a look, and you giggled at each other. “Guess I’m hungry,” you said.

Bob nuzzled his nose against yours before he helped you stand, wrapping a strong arm around you. He took you down to the kitchen and guided you into a chair. However, it didn’t last long, because as soon as he sat down, you were climbing into his lap, craving physical contact.

“Wan’ me to feed you too?” He teased.

“Actually…I wouldn’t mind that,” you whispered in reply.

He kissed your temple. “Anything for my baby.”

Then your sweet Bobby began to feed you your dinner, purely out of love for you. It made your heart sing and tears of appreciation well in your eyes. You kissed his neck and thanked him. He told you he was happy to do it.

Once dinner was finished, Bob had an important question to ask you. "What do you want to do, sweet baby?" He asked. This was how it always was. After you allowed him the privilege of using your body, he always allowed you to choose how you wanted to be cared for.

"I wanna cuddle and watch something," you replied, to which he nodded.

"Coming right up," he said, yet again lifting you up. He left the dinner dishes, deciding he'd do them tomorrow. For now, his sole focus was taking care of you. You ended up in the bathroom again, where he placed you to stand on the floor. He kissed your forehead before pulling your toothbrush from the cup on the sink and squeezing toothpaste onto it.

Gently grabbing your face, he said, "Open."

You did so, and he placed the brush in your mouth, beginning the project of brushing your teeth for you. The gesture made you feel so deeply cared for. “There ya go. Go ahead and spit,” he finally instructed once he was certain he’d done a thorough job.

After the toothbrush and toothpaste were put away, it was time for bed. He helped you under the covers, and you curled up against the mattress as as you watched Bob search for a movie in your expansive DVD collection. Finally, he decided on something with Fred Astaire, one of his favorites, and popped it into the player before climbing into bed alongside you.

You curled up against his side, letting him engulf you in comfort and softness. Such a stark contrast to the rough, dominant man who'd just ruined you. You smiled to yourself, knowing just how much you loved him, and how much you always would.

"You were so good for me today," he praised, just as the opening credits of the movie began to roll, "how did I get so lucky?"

You shook your head, nuzzling against his neck. “I should be asking myself the same thing. I love you so much, Bobby. Take such good care of me"

"And I love you, sweet baby. Forever and always."

taglist:

@xoxabs88xox @alexandra8484 @kmc1989 @elusive-honeydew @vallyb @cdauni @happyrebelruins @bobfloydsbabe @myfandomchangesalot @mikpieboo @krys-orion @petersunderoos96 @eighthwvnder @mastercontrol123 @powerlvr25 @audri-janis @yanna-banana @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @chieflawyerpastatoad @roosters-girl @wkndwlff @acatwriteshere @backupcasmitchell @marchingicenotes7 @percysaidnever @cherrycola27 @diorrfairy @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @milesmillergf @damrlova @thedroneranger @bobfloyds @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts @withahappyrefrain @up-thereinthesky @peachystenbrough @lovinglyeternal @laracrofted @callsign-magnolia @gigisimsonmars

#bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfiction #robert bob floyd smut #bob floyd smut #robert bob floyd fanfiction

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topgun-imagines · 9 months

Note

congrats on 1 year!!! can I do strawberry and Bob Floyd?

Thank you!! And of course you can! :)

Need To Know an accidental call to your boyfriend on girls night leaves everyone shocked at a revelation they never thought they would have; bob fucks. Warnings: allusions to smut throughout but none actually, mentions of alcohol, mentions of a daddy kink, one mention of 50 shades of grey as a joke @bussyslayer333

The Capitan's Daughter an unlikely candidate has you breaking your dad (and brother’s) “no pilots” policy @callsignhoney

I Touch Myself being away from bob is hard, even if it is just for a couple of weeks. Warnings: 18+ only. smut. afab reader. phone sex. dirty talk. masturbation. a little dash of subby bob. @rhettabbotts

Who Hurt You you disclose to bob about a previous relationship and bob makes it his mission for you to feel safe and loved again. Warnings: mentions of past abusive relationships, mentions of traumatic memories, mentions of sexual assault, vomiting, angst, swearing, kissing, beginnings of smut with bob, nipple touching and kissing, praise, fluffy and soft ending. bob is a big softie who wants to protect you. @sebsxphia

Ebb And Flow sex is sometimes confusing for you to navigate, but bob floyd makes it easy. Warnings: mentions of shit sex, brief smut, p in v, f!oral receiving, f!masturbation, sex toys, daddy kink, swearing, kissing and fluff, fluff, fluff. @sebsxphia

Wedding Day the moments before bob realizes he’s going to call you his wife, forever. Warnings: swearing and fluff. @sebsxphia

The Ties That Bind in which your lover unravels you completely warnings: 18+ only, bondage, orgasm denial, vibrators, daddy kink, light pussy slapping, some begging, spitting, aftercare @lewmagoo

Shibari Bob finds himself in an interesting place between you and Jake. warnings: SMUT, edging, rope, Bob is a brat @topguncortez

Missions Accomplished Bob Floyd x Female!Reader | It's Bob's 30th birthday and the boys set up a mission for him to conquer. warnings: it's porn with a dash of plot. Virginity, Oral sex (f&M receiving), unprotected sex, PIV, pet names, hair pulling, cockwarming, cursing. @topguncortez

Fundamental Right Bob Floyd x Jake Seresin | Bob isn't sure what they are doing, but he's pretty sure him and Jake are dating | warnings: mentions of gay sex, jacking off, unprotected sex @topguncortez

He Sees All My Colors warnings: mentions of safe-wording (NO graphic details or violence during the scene, just partner not in the mood to participate), implications of mental health and dissociating. @peachystenbrough

Join In!

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mothdruid · 10 months

Text

The Physics of Love

Synopsis.

Physics l was a bitch. It was a miracle you passed it in the first place. That was four months ago though. The fall semester had finally caught up to you. Physics ll had caught up with you, and it wasn't playing nice. Just as you were about to reach your wits end, Professor Coleman offers you the help of one of his grad students.

Warnings.

Minors do not interact, this work is 18+. Each chapter will have it's own warnings on top of the series warnings. Smut, fluff, slight angst, swearing, alcohol use, depression, anxiety, trauma, mental illness, slight age gap, misogyny within STEM.

prologue.

part one.

part two.

part three.

part four.

part five.

part six.

#robert floyd #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfic #bob floyd smut #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x afab reader #tutor!bob floyd

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imawkwardlysoc · 1 year

Text

"only bought this dress so you could take it off"

Song: Dress by Taylor Swift

Pairing: bob floyd x reader (afab)

Warning(s): Allusions to smut (not written) & Aftercare

Word Count: 1,913

Summary: Y/N had just moved to Miramar and was invited to the Navy Ball in San Diego by her roommate. Soon when the both of them arrived, Y/N was met with a face she hasn't seen in a long time.

Backing away from the full length mirror, I admired the dress I picked out a few days ago. The muted gold beaded dress hugged my waist in all the right ways. With it being off the shoulder and a sweetheart neckline, it showed the right amount of chest without it being too scandalous.

“Wow, you look amazing.” I looked over to see my roommate, Natasha, entering my room.

“Are you sure? I mean is this appropriate for a naval ball?” I turned to face her.

“Yes, all heads will turn to you when you enter the ballroom,” she reassured me. “Who knows? Maybe a navy man will approach you and you end up going on a date with him, but if it’s Hangman, straight up reject him.”

I laughed at what she said. “Nat, I just moved here two weeks ago, I’m not looking for a relationship yet.”

Ever since I moved to San Diego two weeks ago, I’ve been more focused on my teaching job. I work at the local high school near a navy base as a science teacher. I was hired when the school year already started so I've been catching my students up since the substitute teacher they had barely got them learning.

“Well, the Lyft is almost here, you should finish getting ready,” she told me before leaving my room.

Slipping on a pair of gold heels, I grabbed my clutch and double checked the inside to see if I had all of the things I needed. Closing it, I walked out of my room and walked out of the house with Natasha after she locked the front door. Getting into the car, our driver started to drive us to the US Grant hotel.

“Hey, everything is going to be fine,” Natasha squeezed my hand. “All of the Dagger Squad is going to love you.”

We soon pulled up to the hotel and saw a bunch of naval higher ups in their uniforms with their plus ones. I’m pretty sure that I also saw some politicians entering the hotel. Natasha and I soon walked in and headed to the ballroom entrance where we showed our identifications along with invites.

When we walked in, I started to feel overwhelmed. Many members of the Navy and their plus ones filled the room while a live band played music.

“Oh, I see them!” Natasha started to drag me to where her friends were. “Guys, meet Y/N.”

I was soon met with two dark skinned men, one with a buzzcut, another one with a somewhat porno mustache, and one who looked like a real life Ken doll. She soon started to introduce me to them with their actual names and call signs. More of the members came and I was introduced to them along with her captain and his husband.

“Guess who finally showed up,” Jake announced. “How long does it take to get a soda?”

“Y/N, meet-” I looked over to see who came and I froze.

“Robbie?” His name fell out of my mouth.

“Y/N? Is that you?” He asked.

“Oh my god, it’s been so long.” I walked up and hugged him.

“It has.” He returned my hug.

“Wait, is this the Robbie you told me about?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded my head.

“Are we missing something here?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah, did you and Baby on Board used to have a thing or?” Jake asked.

“Baby on Board?” A confused look formed on my face when I heard the name he gave Robbie.

“No, we used to be childhood friends back in North Carolina,” Robbie explained.

“Yeah we’ve lived in the same neighborhood until I had to move to Arizona because my dad got a new job,” I nodded and pointed to Natasha. “That’s where I met Natasha.”

“And we’ve been inseparable until we had to leave for college.” Nat wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “It took me some convincing to get her to move down here.”

“Well, I had to finish both of my masters,” I told her.

“Two masters?” Admiral Kazansky raised his eyebrow.

“Yes, one in mechanical engineering and one in physics, but I also have a teaching credential for physics.” I smiled proudly.

“Do you mind if we continue this conversation while I get myself another drink?” The admiral asked me.

“I don’t mind at all Admiral,” I answered while linking arms with him.

While on our walk to the bar, he started asking me questions about my studies and why I double majored. I also talked about my time studying my undergrad at Cal Poly and getting my masters/teaching credential at the University of San Francisco.

Throughout our conversation, I glanced at the other side of the room to see Robbie talking to some of his squadron members. We would send each other a smile if we made eye contact with each other.

Soon a familiar tune filled my ears and the room. Placing my drink down on the bar, I faced the admiral.

“Excuse me sir, but I have to do something,” I excused sir.

“It’s no problem, also call me Tom.” He smiled and I nodded my head.

Hurrying myself to the other side of the room, I made my way to where Robbie was. When I saw him leaning against the wall as he listened to his friends, a smile came onto our faces as lyrics started to echo through the room. Handing his drink to Ruben, I grabbed his arm and dragged him to the dance floor as Come On Eileen played. (A/N I just imagine the dance scene in Perks of Being a Wallflower) We started to do the dance routine that we created when we were kids whenever this song played through the stereo. We continued to dance to the song and sang out the lyrics.

“Wow, it’s been a while since we last did that,” I caught my breath after he dipped me and we moved to a slow dancing position.

“I’m surprised that we still remember it,” he chuckled.

“After the amount of times we perform this dance in front of our families, I would be surprised if we don't remember the moves,” I looked up at him.

He still had the same face from what I remembered as a little kid, but it was more defined. He was still the shy and reserved kid that I knew of as I grew up.

“Hey, wanna head out?” He whispered in my ear which sent chills down my spine.

“Sure,” I agreed.

He led me off the dance floor and went to his squad.

“It’s been great meeting you all. I hope we get to see each other again,” I told everyone.

They all said their goodbyes and Robbie and I left the hotel ballroom. As Robbie and I waited for the valet to bring his wrangler around, I felt him put his coat over my shoulders and wrapped his arm around them. Leaning against him, I looked up at him and gave a smile. Soon the wrangler was pulled up and he helped me into the car. Getting into the driver’s seat, he closed the door and untied the tie he was wearing.

During the drive to Natasha and I’s house, we were sharing stories and memories from our childhood. He also explained the reason why Jake called him Baby on Board sometimes. I laughed at the stories that he had with his crew. I guess he’s glad that he’s permanently stationed here with his crew.

Pulling up in front of the house, he got out of the driver’s seat and helped me out of the car. Walking me up to the door, we stood there for a moment, waiting to see what happens next.

“Thanks for taking me home,” I thanked him.

“No problem, it’s nice seeing you again,” he smiled. “You look beautiful by the way.”

“Thank you,” I looked down at the ground and blushed.

I soon felt his fingers touch my chin and moved my head to face him. Don’t know the reason why but I started to feel my heart begin to race as my stomach fluttered. Leaning my head in as his did, our lips touched and moved. It continued for a few more seconds as it got more passionate until we detached, looking at each other with a blush on our faces.

“Did that just?” I asked.

“Yeah, it did,” he nodded his head.

“Well, I should head in now,” I told him and grabbed my house key from my clutch.

Unlocking it, I pushed open the door and walked into the house without closing the door. I tossed my clutch on the kitchen island and started my walk down the hallway to my room. Hearing the sound of Robbie’s footsteps entering the house, I looked over my shoulder a little and gave him a wink. Entering my room, I took off my heels and started to unzip the back of my dress.

“Need help with that?” I heard Robbie’s voice enter my room.

“Please,” I answered despite me not needing any help.

Chills were sent throughout my body as I felt his breath hit my neck as he slowly unzipped my dress. I bit the inside of my lip as he started to place kisses down my neck. With my dress off, leaving me in my undergarments, I turned and started to kiss him as he led me to my bed.

*Aftercare*

Tangled up in my bed sheets, Robbie laid flat on his back while I laid my head on his chest. One of his arms wrapped around my waist while the other drew circles on my thigh.

“Imagine if we told younger us that we’ll be in this situation,” I chuckled, looking up at him.

“I feel they would be grossed out,” he let out a laugh. “I miss this, I miss us hanging out with each other.”

“Me too,” I agreed. “It sucked that we weren’t able to keep in contact with each other.”

He nodded his head and hummed in agreement. “But hey, we got to see each other again even though it took over ten years.”

“True,” I laughed.

“I know I already said that you look beautiful but that dress on you is amazing,” he complimented me.

“Well, I should buy that dress in other colors if it makes you do this,” I smirked as I gestured to us in bed.

“Nah, anything you wear can make me feel like this,” he placed a kiss on my lips.

“This isn’t going to affect our friendship right?” I asked him.

“I already lost you once, not losing you again,” he said while pulling me closer to him.

I smiled and laid my head on his chest letting out a yawn. Closing my eyes, I drifted off to sleep.

*The Morning After*

Opening my eyes, I looked over to see Robbie still sleeping. Smiling to myself and last night’s events, I quietly got out of bed and threw on his dress shirt. Walking out of my room, I walked down the hall to the kitchen to see Natasha standing there with a cup of coffee and a smirk on her face.

“So, my backseater huh?” She asked.

“Shush,” I blushed a little while pouring myself a cup of coffee.

“Hey, just saying he’s a really good guy but you already know that,” she told me.

Soon we heard footsteps revealing Robbie in his boxers and hair disheveled.

“Yeah, he really is.”

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rhettabbotts · 1 year

Note

Lavender Haze smut 8 and 71 with Bob! Congratulations btw! ❤️

i touch myself - bob floyd

pairing: bob floyd x fiancée!reader

summary: being away from bob is hard, even if it is just for a couple of weeks.

w/c: 1.3k

warnings: 18+ only. smut. afab reader. phone sex. dirty talk. masturbation. a little dash of subby bob.

prompts: “i can’t sleep without you here.” “y-you’re not.... w-wearing anything under that are you?”

When Bob had to travel home for what was supposed to be a few days, you thought you could handle it. Those few days turned into nearly two weeks and you missed him terribly. You wanted to go with him, you really did, but you couldn’t afford to miss work and you were still house training your new puppy.

You spoke to Bob every night. He would call and listen to you vent about work, humming every now and then. He would complain about his aunt Ruth, how she still pinched his cheeks even though he was nearly 30. You smiled lightly, thinking about how it doesn’t bother Bob at all when you do the same.

It was a few nights before Bob was due home. You were nearly itching to be in his embrace. Your phone started ringing as you were rubbing lotion up and down your legs after your shower, signaling that you had an incoming FaceTime. Bob’s photo and name lit up your screen and you couldn’t hide the grin that erupted on your face.

“There’s my pretty wife,” Bob exclaimed, the apples of his cheeks flushed pink.

“Not your wife yet, Bobby,” you uttered matter-of-factly but your heart fluttered at the sentiment.

“Gonna be my wife soon, though.”

His hair was a little disheveled and his eyes were hooded, a telltale sign he’s been drinking. You knew he had been out with some childhood friends that night and you knew how Bob handled his alcohol. A couple shots of tequila and he was a goner. You set the phone up on the bathroom counter to finish your nighttime routine.

Bob rambled on about his time at home, mentioned several times how much he missed you and Apollo. His glasses were slightly askew and you knew he was laying in his childhood bedroom. The Star Wars posters were a dead giveaway. You loved listening to Bob talk. His slight accent was stronger since he had been home and you couldn’t stop the heat that coursed through your veins.

You braced your elbows on the counter and Bob stuttered, stopping mid-sentence. He had a perfect view of your breasts from your robe dipping and your lips quirked up in a grin at the way his eyes widened.

“You okay, baby?” You asked, knowing the answer.

“Y-you’re not.... w-wearing anything under that, are you?”

God, he was adorable. You shook your head and stood up straight, playing with the silk tie of the robe. He moved up in his bed, clearing his throat and straightening his glasses. You loved the effect you had on him.

“I miss you so much, Bobby,” you whispered, pressing your back against the bathroom wall and letting your fingertips graze down the column of your neck. “Do you miss me?”

“More than you know,” his voice was pinched, a roughness to it.

Oh, you were going to have so much fun with him.

Your fingertips made their way down your chest, brushing them over your hardened nipples through the soft material. The sensation causes your eyes to flutter shut and a whimper to slip from your throat. You could hear Bob’s labored breathing through the phone and when you opened your eyes, his gaze pinning you in your spot. You weren’t sure if it was residual heat from the shower or the way he was looking at you, but you felt dizzy.

“You know what I’m thinking about right now? I’m thinking about how good your hands feel. God, baby… Just wish you were here.”

The shoulder of the robe fell, exposing your right breast and you heard Bob inhale deeply. Bob loved every part of you but he always paid special attention to your chest. He loved getting his hands on them and you knew this was sweet torture for him.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, Bob. I’m gonna touch myself while you watch. And that’s all you can do is watch. I don’t want you to come until you’re home and inside me. Is that alright?”

You weren’t dominant or demanding often. It wasn’t something you were used to but sometimes… sometimes the feeling just overtook you. Especially when Bob sounded so pretty when he whimpered and whined.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

Hastily untying the belt and letting the scrap of fabric fall to the bathroom tile, you stood bare in front of your fiancé. The blacks of his pupils swallowed the cerulean blue entirely. His thin bottom lip was tucked tight beneath his teeth. You would never go a day feeling like you weren’t beautiful when Bob always looked at you like he was now.

You moved your hands to your breasts again, pinching the stuff peaks of your nipples until your back was bowing away from the wall. You wanted to close your eyes but Bob’s gaze kept you locked in on him. He had taken his glasses off at this point, and had moved higher against the headboard. He was enjoying the show.

You could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs as you continued your ministrations on your chest. You ached to touch your wet heat but you wanted to drag this out, wanted Bob nearly begging to see you.

“I love when you play with my tits, baby boy. You just love getting your mouth on them, don’t you?” You asked, smirking at the sound of his punched out moan. He was gripping the headboard railing to keep his hands off himself.

“Love it so much, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I know you do, baby. M’so wet for you, Bob. Should I touch myself? Show you how turned on I am?”

He whimpered loudly, chewing on his bottom lip harder and nodding eagerly.

Your fingers slowly slid down your sternum, tickling your lower stomach, before settling between your thighs. The first touch to your wet cunt made you jolt, a low moan escaping you without warning. Your index finger traced lazy circles around your clit, collecting the wetness and displaying them to Bob. His chest was heaving, mouth agape. His tongue slipped out, licking his lips and whispering your name.

“You want a taste so bad. I can tell, baby boy. Can’t wait until you’re home so I can ride your face. You always look so pretty between my thighs.”

You were clenching around nothing, your body begging you to fill your hole. The angle was awkward but when you worked two fingers inside, you melted against the wall. You thrust them in and out, curling them to brush over that spot that made you weak in the knees. You stayed silent for a while, letting out moans every now and then. Your eyes never left Bob’s. He looked like he was in near tears from how turned on he was.

His intense gaze and breathy whines led you to reach down with your other hand to rub your bundle of nerves once more. You were close and Bob knew that.

“Sweetheart, please. Please cum for me. Wanna see you.” His voice was gruff, laced with lust.

“Bobby, baby. Oh- oh god!”

Your orgasm washed over you in a wave of ecstasy. It took everything in you to stay upright, your legs turning to jelly as you came down from your high. As you opened your eyes again, you felt chills run down your spine at the look in Bob’s cobalt eyes.

You cleaned yourself up in silence, slipping the robe back on and moving to the bed to get settled for the night.

“I really do miss you. I can’t sleep without you here.”

“I know, my love. It’s just a few more days though. And then you’ll be begging to get rid of me again,” Bob said, smiling sweetly at you.

“Never. I’m never gonna let you go. Love you, Bobby.”

“Love you forever, my sweetheart.”

taglist 🤍: @nobody7102 @endofdays56 @bradleybeachbabe @daughterofthereaper02 @basiccortez @auroralightsthesky @buckys-estrella @hangmanbrainrot @marvelousmermaid @withahappyrefrain @wildbornsiren @queenbbarnes @floyd-luvr @top-gun-rooster @topgun-imagines @mrstabbymcwolfy @lt-bradshaw @therebeccaw @wkndwlff @luxuryberzatto @a-reader-and-a-writer @t-nd-rfoot @odegaardsreds @mxgyver

#shelby’s 750 celebration!#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd smut #robert bob floyd

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delopsia · 1 year

Text

You Problem | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 9,400 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Reader has the callsign ‘Weave.’ AFAB! Reader (who briefly wears a sundress for an outing), blowjobs, unprotected sex, food, grinding in public, "We can't keep our hands off of each other, so we'll see who breaks first, but oh would you look at that, we both broke!" trope. This is written as a stand-alone one-shot that just so happens to loosely continue the events of Better.

"Holy shit, your hands are cold!"

But your wayward step backward, made in an effort to escape, only backfires because your shoulders hit the chest of your assailant. Those offending hands scurry up your belly, unwilling to let you wriggle too far from their vicious, icy attacks. All the while, the criminal himself chuckles into your ear, deep rumblings that ripple all the way down your sore spine.

"Ts 'cause we were just outside, sweetie," Bob's teeth graze the shell of your ear, breath warming the cold-bitten skin there. Absently, your fist clenches the thin mattress in your bunk, anything to keep yourself from falling apart at the seams.

"No shit, Bobby," you'd debate on wriggling out of his grasp, but Bob's already made the decision for you. Forearms securing around your waist before you can bat an eye, anchoring you against him. The teeth tugging on your lobe rip any further words straight from your throat, such a simple thing that you've yet to grow used to.

Your heads snap up as heavy footsteps dance past the door, dangerously close. Not your crew; not a single pilot or flight officer on this ship has enough energy or reason to run like that.

Safe, for now, and by God, that is more than enough reason for Bob to return to his earlier assault. Lips soft against your bruised neck as they work their way down, seeking your collarbone like a man starved. The fading marks that mottle your skin aren't from the crash alone; no, the worst of them come from Bob's devilish mouth and honey-sweet tongue.

The mark at the base of your neck comes from a rendezvous in the showers, the poor skin used to muffle Bob's whimpered noises. You've been telling Natasha that this red mark on the side of your palm is from getting caught in the wreckage, but it's come from Bob's teeth. Bitten down on because you'd snuck up behind him and refused to quit jerking him off until he came all over your hand. There are fingerprints on your hips and a hickey on your thigh that you don't know how to explain yet.

"We're gonna get caught one of these days," and as you say it, your ass bumps back against him, pressing against a hardness that you've become oh so familiar with as of late.

He presses you forward, reducing the gap between you and the bunk you're so desperately clinging to, "what makes you think that?"

The argument formulated in your mouth is hindered by the wandering hand that's slipped beneath your bra, toying with an already hard nipple, sore from the unusual amount of attention it's received lately. "We haven't been able to keep our hands off each other since we got back!"

Images flash before your eyes, memories you're not sure if you treasure or fear.

Sex in a shack so old and decrepit that the medic ordered you both to get updates on your shots; you can't imagine what he'd say if he knew of the sins committed in there too. The discomfort of trudging through deep snow after you'd been dicked within an inch of your life, and the horror of realizing what was running down your leg while you were talking to Maverick following your rescue.

"I," kiss, "fail," kiss, "to see the problem here." Another kiss.

Rolling your eyes, "That's because you're thinking with the wrong head." His hold is just loose enough for you to turn around, coming face to face with your beloved backseater. Even through the darkness that's blown up his pupils, those thin bands of baby blue still sparkle at the sight of you. "That pretty head of yours does remember what will happen if we get caught, right?"

Those expressive eyes falter as the thoughts flicker through his head, a sight you've seen a million times before, and yet, you will never grow tired of it. There's something warming in the way his eyelashes flutter and his nose wrinkles.

He doesn't need to reiterate what will happen if you're busted; you'll never fly together again. Split up, never to be placed in the same unit again. Bad news, considering the latest push to keep your ragtag crew together following your recent string of unlikely success.

Licking your lips, you add to your statement, "We're gonna have to tell them sooner or later."

"Let's give it a while," he breathes, voice nearly lost to the incessant hum of equipment overhead; aircraft carriers aren't exactly known for their peace and quiet. "Figure us out before we worry about any know-it-all Admirals."

Such a topic can't keep his hips from pressing forward, won't prevent his greedy hands from taking hold of you and drawing you impossibly close. Always needs you as near as possible, can never have enough.

"I can work with that," understatement of the century; you can absolutely work with that "gives us some time to get 'hold of ourselves."

Bob's eyebrows knit together. "Hm?"

"Don't give me that look," but your words only make it worse because now his head is cocking to the side, unruly hair flopping over, "you know what I mean."

There isn't a single thought behind those eyes.

Reaching forward, you take his face into your hands, feeling the barely-there stubble scratch your hand as you squish his cheeks, "we can't even go twenty-four hours without jumping each-others bones, Bobby."

"Yes, we can?" His words come out distorted, unable to speak clearly, with you smooshing his cheeks.

You're just wicked enough to lean up and steal a kiss from his unwittingly picked lips, "you'll crack and be begging to fuck me in an hour, sweet cheeks."

"You makin' bets now, baby?" Incredulous, his eyebrows rise up into his hairline. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

And just like that, you've gotten under his skin. "What? Scared you'll lose?"

That left eye twitches. "First one to crack loses?"

Nod.

"You're on." And right as he says it, the door handle twists.

If there is anything that can be worse than being shot out of the sky by a surface-to-air missile, it's being carted off to an emergency meeting the moment you're off the aircraft carrier. Because the Navy can't let you crash and be done with it the moment you're rescued. No, you absolutely must attend this safety meeting that goes over every bit of common sense knowledge that has ever existed.

The dread that's settled into your weary bones is so heavy that you can hardly drag yourself into this crowded auditorium. Body moving so slowly that even Bob manages to catch up to you, crutches and all. It'll be some time before he can go back to running laps around you, but his injured foot has already healed enough for him to bear some weight on it.

"Did they invite every aviator in the country?" You're saying it more to yourself than anything, Bob just happens to be within earshot.

This auditorium is way too tiny for the number of people occupying it. Once perfectly organized fold-out chairs now lost to the sea of extra chairs, stashed anywhere they could possibly fit. Not a chair has been left unoccupied, even the ones reserved for the injured.

"Pretty sure they invited reserve on top of active duty," his crutch bumps into your heel as he speaks, but it's too gentle of a tap for it to be unintentional.

Tilting your head, you catch him motioning toward an empty corner a few paces to your right, "care to stand with me?"

It wouldn't be too difficult for you to cross the room and join the others; you can clearly see Maverick and them gathered up by the emergency exit door, but you find yourself following Bob anyways. He settles into the corner itself, weight partially braced against the wall. As soon as he's settled, those crutches are coming out from under his arms, left to settle next to him.

"Those still hurting you?" By the time you catch yourself, it's too late; your hand has already landed on his shoulder, rubbing affectionately.

"A bit," but he doesn't address your offending hand; if anything, he seems to be leaning into it, "fortunately, I've found some distractions." There's a hint of pink on his cheeks as he smiles at you, growing even wider when you inevitably shake your head. This whole boyfriend thing is...something.

It's not long before you find yourself regretting following him into this spot because the next thing you know, another group floods in through the doors. All of whom cram themselves right into your little corner. So tall that even Bob can hardly see over them, practically caging you in. It's a wonder if they even saw you two wallflowers because one of them has no problem stepping backward, right onto your foot.

Bob's hand curls around your waist, drawing you away from the foot crusher, "c'mere, stand in front of me."

Two steps to your right, and all of a sudden, your only problems are the warm chest that's pressed against your back and the warm breath fanning out against your neck. Better than getting your foot stepped on, but...

"Can you see anything?" You ask, leaning into him in order to be heard.

Lips ghost the shell of your ear, "Not a damn thing."

So it seems you're doomed to listening only, with nothing but irritatingly broad shoulders to stare at for entertainment. Cyclone's voice drones on and on from the speakers, so dull and mundane that you find yourself fighting a yawn within the first ten minutes. Proper sleeping habits, fire exits, alerting the janitorial staff if you hear a smoke alarm indicate a low battery, blah blah blah.

They couldn't have sent this presentation via email?

You could be doing better things with your time; everyone in this room could. There isn't a doubt in your mind that Cyclone has a Maverick that he could be chewing out right now. You could be getting dressed at the hotel and terrorizing Bob with your new sundress right now. Speaking of...

"Baby," his voice appears so suddenly that you nearly jump, "what are you doin'?"

Twitching your ass back again only earns a wayward hand on your hip, gripping tight but never quite making the move to stop you. He has no reason to; these guys all have their backs facing you. They don't even know you're here. Haven't the slightest clue that you're testing the waters, tentatively grinding your ass against your backseater.

"Whaddaya mean?" Relaxed as can be, you tilt your head to meet his eye. "I'm not doing anything."

His mouth opens.

You press harder.

The faintest hitch of breath slips through his defenses, ripped out of him so easily that you're tempted to see what else you can get. The hands-on your hips tighten, threatening to leave bruises in their wake, but they don't have the strength to stop you. It's almost easy, working him up until you can feel a familiar hardness against the curve of your ass. If you reach behind, you can probably map out the—

"Weave," one of his hands flies off your hip, clamping down on the small palm that's gliding against his clothed length, unintentionally squeezing himself. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, muffling the moan that's nearly escaped him. "Really tryin' to make me lose this, hm?"

In this position, there is absolutely no way he can retaliate. Can't reach beneath your shirt, can't attach his lips to your neck, hell, he can't even bury his face into your shoulder as you rub against him. The only thing he can do is tell you to stop, and yet that powerful little word never falls off his tongue. Hell, he doesn't even pry your hand from his cock, downright helpless as you trace him with a curious thumb. Following the curve of his plush head, then stroking down as far as you can comfortably reach.

The breaths gracing your ear are becoming heavier, the only indication of how you're affecting him, "Sweetie..." daring teeth bite at the shell, "you're gettin' me, ah, all riled up for nothin'."

Not missing a beat, you lean your head forward, freeing yourself of those devilish nibbles, "that sounds like a you problem."

All at once, the room begins to move. Blurry faces shuffle out from their seats and hiding spaces, now free to congregate as they please. Meeting over. Your bodies part within an instant, back to putting up your usual fronts.

Except, Bob's glasses have fogged up.

Giggling. "Can you even see?"

"Not a thing."

Truly, you doubt you would have agreed to this if Bob weren't involved. A big chunk of you longs for the comfort of your own bed, to relax in the serenity of your claw-foot bath, and not give a damn about anything during your break. If you had known getting shot down would reward you all with a three-week vacation, maybe you would have done it sooner.

But Jake just had to suggest that you all stay until after Cyclone's official 'you finally got the position you've been chasing for half of your life' party. "Room for more group bonding," he'd said. None of you live even remotely close to Top Gun, which can only mean one thing.

Staying in a hotel.

Tacky carpet that's old enough to vote, impossibly fluffy pillows and sheets tucked so well that it's a struggle to get them out, a crisp view of the beach. You've got the full package; the only thing that could make this better is a certain blue-eyed fool.

You wonder which of these sundresses would make his head spin the most.

There are only two options, but it's still such a hard choice. When you'd packed these, wooing your backseater hadn't been much of a priority, your only concern being comfortable during your special detachment. On one hand, you've got a tried-and-true favorite, lightweight with an open lace-up back. But the other dress is in your favorite color, and you've never gotten a chance to wear it.

Hm.

"Damn, Weave," you'd almost forgotten Natasha had snuck in, seeking your shower because hers isn't working, "who's the lucky fella who gave you those bruises?"

Unruly, finger-shaped spots poke out from beneath your shorts. Shorts that you chose to wear exclusively to hide said bruises from view.

"Some guy I met at the Hard Deck the other day," Your lie is fragile; you've only been off the aircraft carrier for three days, and these bruises are from last week.

But she seems to buy it because she doesn't press any further. Instead, she's distracted by the garments lying on your bed. "You still having trouble?"

Humming, you place your hands on your hips. Those ornery bruises twinge beneath your touch, silently crying for attention that you refuse to give them. "It's the dilemma of the century."

It takes some deliberating on her part, but ultimately, Natasha makes the decision for you, pointing toward her favorite of the two, "this one suits the restaurant better," she muses, toying with the hem, "casual but not too casual."

"All this thought, and half of the guys are going to be in graphic tees and khakis," your prime offender may or may not be your weapons systems officer. You're pretty sure that his biceps have outgrown most of those cheesy one-liner shirts. It's hard to tell if you're just happy the horrible shirts are gone or if you're selfishly thrilled that you've got something to drool over.

"It only serves to make us look better," her tone is nothing but positive, but the twitch in her eye tells you she's one pair of cut-off jeans away from homicide. "Roses amongst weeds."

In the hallway, you find that your unofficial crew has already gathered, leaning against the walls like a bunch of tacky decor. Ugh, you don't know what possessed Bob to wear that plain, tight-fitting black tee with his favorite blue jeans, but you hope this becomes a habitual outfit. His crutches are missing; it's difficult to tell if he's feeling better or just fed up with using them.

As soon as his eyes lay upon you, those soft eyelashes start to flutter like the wings of a butterfly, "y'ready to go?"

And it almost distracts you from the catastrophe occurring around you, almost. It seems everyone else has raided Bradley's suitcase because they're wearing the tackiest Hawaiian shirts you've ever seen in your life. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

Natasha's inevitable sigh is so loud that it echoes down the hallway, "Like I said, weeds."

If you paid attention, you're sure you'd be laughing at the inevitable confusion that comes from her open-ended words. If it's one thing Jake can't stand, it's not being privy to an inside joke. Once he starts asking questions, like a hive mind, the rest of them do. But you can't pay it the slightest bit of mind; no, you're too busy trying to avoid Robert Floyd's biceps.

Thick, unusually swollen from a recent workout, absolutely filling the thin material of those sleeves. To make matters worse, the veins in his forearms have decided to make a special appearance, the sight haunting you like a bad memory. You wonder what it would be like to trace them with your tongue—

"Earth to Weave."

You don't recall even stepping into the restaurant, but there's a plate of food sitting in front of you, completely untouched. "Huh?"

Who was even trying to get your attention? The fashion catastrophe on your right is busy bickering about the football game playing on the television, and Natasha's too far away for you to have heard her in the first place.

A hand squeezes your knee, "you still with me?"

An image flickers through the forefront of your mind, warm arms cuddling you into an equally cozy chest. The soft pitter-patter of a gradually slowing heartbeat beneath your ear as mindless fingertips draw shapes into your naked spine. Lips that tickle your scalp as they ask a simple, 'You still with me?'

"Sorry," blinking away the haze, you reach for your fork, "got a little lost in my thoughts there."

It's hard to figure out how you failed to notice Bob sitting right next to you, but there he is, expressionless as he watches you catch up to speed. He doesn't seem to be buying your excuse, but if he's got any staring accusations to make, he hasn't made them yet. "That's the first time I've heard you speak since the hotel," he says, but he doesn't phrase it like it's a bad thing.

Knowing him, he probably hasn't spoken since then, either.

"The appearance of the tacky Hawaiian flannels stunned me into silence," deadpanning. This time, it's your food that silences you, if only for a moment, "how is it that you're the only one not wearing one?"

Bob hums, idly chasing down a piece of ravioli that refuses to stay on his fork. "Dumb luck," eventually, he gives up and uses his index finger to scoot it onto the utensil. "Rooster was one shirt short, and I was the last to show up."

"You? Late?" Upping your dramatics, you place a hand across your heart, feigning shock.

There's that eye roll you were hoping for, so annoyed that he can hardly roll them halfway before he gives up on it altogether, "t's ironic, comin' from you."

It takes a moment before you understand what he's referring to. Day one of schooling at the famous Top Gun; you'd gotten in by luck alone; one of the referrals they sent backed out, and you were runner-up for his slot.

You still remember how cold your face felt when you stumbled into that classroom three minutes late and out of breath. How Fritz and Halo had exchanged looks when your instructor assigned you to a meek Robert Floyd, the only man in the room who couldn't find a pilot to partner up with. Even then, your first impression had been, 'He's cute.'

"I'll have you know," motioning toward him with the back end of your fork, "that I only ran to class because I heard there was a cute WSO in need of a pilot."

Mickey turns to glance over at you two. Your gaze rises to look at the television. Bob's drops to his plate.

No funny business going on here.

The hand residing on your knee glides up, nudging beneath the hem of your dress. It's barely concealed by the table, but if anyone were to drop something and bend down to fetch it, they'll surely catch glimpse of that non-platonic wandering. Unsuspecting, Mickey's attention returns to his conversation; what about, you aren't sure.

Leaning over toward's Bob's ear, "What are you doing?" Voice barely a whisper, fearing that your voice may carry too far across the table.

As if it has garnered a mind of its own, his hand rises even further, idly stroking the sensitive skin along your inner thighs. Up and down in slow, circular motions that have you fighting the urge to squirm.

"'m not sure what you're talkin' 'bout," that upward pull of his lip tells you otherwise; he knows exactly what you're talking about.

If he thinks you'll crack that easily, he's mistaken.

But oh, your thighs have gotten so sensitive as of late. Bitten, marked, kissed, showered in so much affection that you fear they'll never be the same. Even the slightest of touches have your heart lurching, anticipating sensations that never come. The food you're shoveling into your mouth is a poor distraction, nothing can take your mind off the mouth-watering sensation of that hand stroking your inner thigh.

Fingers nudge at the hem of your panties, not quite paying attention to the thin fabric, but close enough where he can easily slip beneath the hem at any time he pleases.

"So, Weave, after that near-death experience," at Jake's voice, you lift your head to look his way, "have you finally changed your mind on sharing the origins of your callsign?"

The entire table seems to lean closer, anticipating your verdict. On their own, your eyes flicker over to Bob. He's already looking at you, chewing on his bottom lip. The whites of his eyes are so visible that you almost miss those soft blue irises.

"Not a chance," you find yourself saying after a moment whilst you reach for your drink, "you'll just have to make up your own origin story."

Just like that, the room deflates. Shoulders fall, disappointed sighs piercing the calm restaurant air.

You've just wrapped your lips around the straw when you feel calloused fingertips delve into your panties. They're quick, wasting no time as an index finger strokes between your folds, seeking a certain little button that he knows better than the buttons in those fighter jets.

Gingerly placing your cup down, you lean over, "This is how you thank me for not embarrassing your ass?"

He finds it, and you jolt in your seat.

Asshole.

Reaching between your legs, you take hold of his hand and pry it out from where it's been terrorizing you. You'll pretend that you don't see the glistening of something wet on his fingers. Before he can ask what you're doing, you stand and head for the restrooms.

You'll give it maybe five minutes before he comes looking for you.

Only one side is open, as the other restroom door is marked with a simple 'Restroom Closed, please use the other one' sign. Fortunately, the open bathroom is the one you were heading for anyway. Inside are six unnervingly large stalls with the floor to ceiling doors that don't allow anyone to peek through the gaps. A sight that would usually be a pleasant surprise, but you're only here so that you can stare at yourself in the mirror.

You'd thought for sure that your reflection would bear an indication of what you were just up to, but absolutely nothing looks out of place. Even as you twist and turn, you find not a single indicator of your crimes. Except for, say, your slightly displaced panties.

"Leave it to Bob to be harboring a secret voyeurism kink," you grumble to yourself, reaching down to fix them.

Heavy footsteps echo off the tiled walls, and as you lift your head, you meet eyes with the culprit himself.

"I-I'm sorry," he stutters, cheeks a shade of cheery pink as he toys with the hem of his jeans. "I shouldn't have done that in public—"

He's still apologizing, but you can hardly hear it. There's a tent in his jeans, one that wasn't there before, and it's all you can look at. That cute mouth of his snaps shut the moment you step forward, grunting his surprise when you take him by the forearm and drag him toward the nearest stall. "W-Weave?"

"Before you ask," slamming the door shut behind you, "this game only applied to sex." You don't know what's come over you. All you know is that your knees are hitting the cold, hard ground, and your hands are busy popping that little silver button open.

Bob whines, pawing at your head, "What are you—here?"

You've barely even run your palm up against his boxers, and his head is hitting the wall with a painful thunk. A selfish part of you hopes he'll always be this sensitive, squirming from the barely-there contact as you reach inside, searching for him.

"That wasn't a problem a few minutes ago," and it's still not a problem. The real problem lies in the fact that he's not in your damn mouth yet.

His cock twitches the moment your palm wraps around him, heavy in your grasp as you draw him out of his confines. You've only had the chance to do this once before, unfamiliar with this position but eager to memorize it like you've memorized your fighter jets. Above you, Bob's frozen, completely still as you tentatively run your thumb beneath his flushed head.

"What?" Poking your tongue out, you flick your tongue along his slit. Oh, how he jumps at that. "Not so bold now, are ya?"

Weakly, Bob shakes his head no, "Weave."

"Stay quiet for me, pretty boy, or I might tell Hangman exactly how we got our callsigns," pausing after your threat, allowing yourself the pleasure of rolling your tongue around his cockhead, round and round, leaving him shimmering in the light.

You remember it like it was yesterday. A surprise night of drinking at the Hard Deck that got a little out of hand, how Bob had stumbled toward you and affectionately deemed you the 'Bob to his Weave' before planting a big ol' kiss on your cheek. Cyclone had been the one to discover you, and despite his best efforts, not a soul could pry the whimpery, cuddle-starved Robert Floyd from your side.

All these years later, he whines the exact same way. Only this time, it's because you're wrapping your lips around his sensitive tip.

"You...you wouldn't" At his words, you come to a screeching halt, allowing your teeth gently remind him that they're there. A soft, featherlight sensation that only serves to make him nervous, mouth gaping like a fish. "okay... maybe you would."

That's better.

It's too easy to fall back into what you were doing. Lapping at the underside of him as his hips writhe against the wall, you've got no choice but to suck on him just to keep his cock from popping out of your mouth completely.

"Baby," he gasps, voice so small that you barely notice it, "Baby."

Breathing in through your nose, you sink further down, seeking your comfortable limit. Inch by squirming inch until he gently nudges at the back of your throat. There's already an ache in your jaw as you draw back, swiping your tongue back and forth along a rare vein, such a simple thing that has him twitching.

Footsteps echo just outside the bathroom door. A stall door slams shut.

You're not stopping; instead, you only move quicker, eager to find a comfortable rhythm. Bob's hands fly up, audibly clamping over his mouth, and it's the only thing that can muffle that soft whimper of your name as you draw back to swirl your tongue around his tip. The slick sound seems so loud in this quiet little bathroom, bouncing off the walls, eager for someone to hear it, for someone to know what you're doing to your backseater.

Bob's cheeks have turned pink, the color spreading along his pale neck as you abuse this soft tip with your tongue. But it's not enough. You want, no, need to see his face turn bright fucking red.

With a heavy breath through your nose, you push your head forward, relaxing your throat the best you can as you take him a little further than before. The soft back of your throat only manages to kiss him before you're drawing back, fighting your gag reflex as you listen to the sudden bursts of breath that puncture the air. Breaths that can barely conceal the keening high in his throat.

Your voice is going to be wrecked by the end of this, but you need to hear that again.

It's easier to drop your head back down and fight the unpleasant reflexes when you know you're going to hear that. Sharp puffs of breath that rattle through your skull with every motion of your head, the poorly muffled whines that you'll never hear enough of.

You don't recall hearing a toilet flush or water running, but those feet carry themselves back out of the bathroom, disappearing into the restaurant from whence they came.

"'m close," he rasps, an octave deeper than it was before, "sweetie, ah, what about the game?"

Drawing all the way back, his leaking tip resting on your swollen lips, you give yourself a half second to think. "Fuck the pact," your voice cracks midway, but you can hardly pay it any mind as you take him in once more.

And then there are the footsteps again, flip flops smacking against the tile, but this time, your name echoes through the bathroom. "You in here?"

Natasha.

All you can see are the whites of Bob's eyes when you make eye contact. Carefully, you draw back, taking over with your dominant hand, "yeah?"

"Are you alright?" Her footsteps grow dangerously close to the door, but your hand just keeps working Bob's weeping cock, too amused by his squirming to stop. "You've been gone for longer than usual."

"Something made me sick," God, you hope she doesn't hear how hoarse your voice sounds right now, "I'll be out in a few."

Rolling your tongue out like a damn welcome mat, you place him against your tongue, peering up at your beloved systems officer from beneath hooded lashes. He's twitching under your hold, barely able to make eye contact with you before he has to squeeze his own eyes shut.

The poor thing is the color of a fire truck.

"You wouldn't know where Bob went by any chance, would you?" She's right on the other side of the door. Maybe three feet away at best.

"He might have stepped outside," humming like you're in thought, "We did get lunch together; if that's what's making me sick, then he might not be feeling too hot either."

Bob's hands come down just long enough for him to mouth one word, 'Close.'

Natasha hesitates for a moment, and then, "Gross. Alright, I'll see you when you come out then."

Your hand pumps once, twice, and before you can get a third stroke in, Bob's head cracks against the wall. A thick rope of pearly white hits your tongue and cheek; you've barely managed to get your eyes shut before a second splashes against your left eye. Hot, salty as it pools on your ill-prepared tongue.

"'m sorry," he pants, drawing away from your mouth, "hold on, you don't have to—"

But it's too late; you've already bitten the bullet and swallowed it down. You wish you could see his reaction because his surprised gasp is everything you could have ever hoped for.

"Please just hurry up and get your cum off my face," you croak, throat suddenly sore from all of the abuse it's received, "before they send Jake to come looking for us too."

Huffing, Bob audibly fumbles with a toilet paper roll, "I don't know how I'm gonna explain this one away, darlin'."

"That sounds like a you problem."

"And here y'all thought my movie suggestion was bizarre."

You're trying to convince yourself that your shiver is from the chilly night air, but it's hard to perpetuate such a lie when that movie is still flashing through your mind. "In hindsight, a Western was absolutely a better choice."

This dress was cute, but as you wrap your arms around yourself, you can't help but wish you'd chosen something warmer. You probably would have, too, if this addition to your outing hadn't been made the moment you left the restaurant.

"As opposed to...eels?" Bob's shoulder bumps into yours, a nudge that's not as subtle as he'd like it to be. You're not sure why he's asking you to turn left and head down the sidewalk, but you're in no mood to argue.

"In my defense," your jaw tremors as you speak, and you're not quite sure if it was the movie or if it's the cold that's causing it, "I was never informed of the eels."

"At least it wasn't a movie that has us checking to make sure nothing is following us?" At his own words, Bob tilts his head to peer over his shoulder, grinning pridefully when you giggle.

There's nobody on this side of the theater parking lot, not even a car; you can see your hotel sign from here, maybe a couple of blocks down the street at most. It would be so easy to just keep walking and snuggle up in your bed, but you did make a promise to wait on everyone else.

...but how upset would they really be if you took your sleepy-eyed self and left anyway? Something about that theater has made your nose feel stuffy, invisible hands have filled your feet with lead, and you can already feel the distant twinges of a headache.

"C'mere," Bob murmurs, opening up his arms for you, "'ts not like they're here to see us."

For a moment, it's the best thing that could have ever happened to you. He looks so warm, you can feel the heat radiating off of him, and yet... "We shouldn't," tightening your arms around yourself, "we've been pushing out luck as it is, Bobby."

"Sweetie, as respectfully as I can say it, you look rode hard and put up wet," and he says it so nicely that you can't tell what the hell he means by that, long-lost Texan drawl remerging, "At least let me warm you up."

Curse him and that goddamn accent.

It's hard to tell who steps forward first, but the next thing you know, you're burying your cold nose into his shirt as warm arms come up to secure you to his carefully sculpted chest. It's not fair; why does he get to be such a furnace while you're left to shiver to high heaven?

"Such a cold little thing." The icy ridges of his glasses tickle your skin as he punctuates his words with kisses, pressed anywhere and everywhere he can get them.

"Bobby—" lips against your own interfere with your argument, dizzying you with the artificial sweetness that he still carries on his breath. He always has been a sucker for movie theater candies, and you have to pry yourself away to keep from being sucked in, too, "what am I supposed to say if someone sees us, huh?"

For a second, you think he's considering it, but then. "That sounds like a you problem, darlin'."

You suppose it's your own damn fault for teaching him that.

In theory, getting caught would be a problem for both of you, but it's so, so hard to argue when those big hands rise to cradle your cold cheeks. Such a simple touch, and yet, all of a sudden, you're back in that abandoned shack again. Tremoring as you huddle up in your hiding place, silently praying nobody comes across you as you resist the urge to lean in and...

You shouldn't.

But oh, how you want to.

Internally, you're telling yourself that just one kiss couldn't hurt, but then his soft lips are molding to fit with yours, and your resolve is melting like snow on a summer's day. Barely there, stubble scratches your palms as they curl around his cheeks, such a faint feeling that fills your head with cotton.

It's barely been three weeks since the first time you felt these lips tangle with yours, and yet, kissing him feels familiar. The sensation of his delicate bottom lip between your teeth is something you've known for decades, fitting together so seamlessly that it feels like an art all of its own. This unspoken dance that has simultaneously been practiced for three weeks and three centuries.

On their own, your arms are sliding around his shoulders, one hand rising to tangle in short strands. It's the only thing that can keep you from floating away when he greedily leans into you; those sugary lips have become addicted, need to kiss every inch of you until he knows you better than he knows himself.

The last thing you want to hear is doors squealing open, familiar voices shattering the fragile silence of the night.

There's an ache that settles in your chest when you step away, the melancholy song of a heart that wants something it can't have. A heart that soars at the idea of telling the world who it belongs to but shatters into irreparable pieces when it remembers that not-so-perfect career you've worked so hard for.

"And here I thought you two had gone off without us," and as Jake unknowingly stumbles onto the scene of the crime, you quietly come to accept your fate.

It's going to be a long time before you get to so much as hold Robert Floyd's hand in public.

Your phone is buzzing.

You're so, so close to sleep. Eyes shut, mere seconds away from being wrapped up in the bliss that is sweet, sweet unconsciousness. A little bit longer, and you'll be mindlessly buzzing through a dream, not a worry or care in the world.

But now that you've identified the vibration patterns, easily recognized for an incoming text message, your curiosity refuses to let you drift off. Eyes still closed, you reach out, patting along the empty side of the bed until your fingers find the cold screen of your phone.

Fuck, why is your brightness setting all the way fucking up?

As your blurry vision focuses on the screen, the last name you expect to see staring back at you is Bobby's. Your sweet morning bird, with an inability to stay awake past midnight, texting you at one in the morning?

'Did you know...'

'That if you sleep next to someone at night...'

You have to reread the messages twice to even comprehend what he's trying to say here. A third message slides across your screen.

'The monsters can't get you?'

If you weren't on the brink of sleep, you'd roll your eyes. Instead, your thumbs dance across the screen, tapping lettered keys that you can hardly even see, to begin with. You hope your reply makes as much sense as it does in your head.

'Quit beating around the bush and come over already.'

It feels like you blink, and then there's a knock on the door, three soft taps that barely reach your ears. In hindsight, maybe you should have given Bob your spare key because dragging yourself out of bed is comparable to moving a mountain. Heavy feet padding across the thin carpet, you reach for the door handle and turn.

There he is.

Hair tussled, a shirt two sizes too big for him hanging low on his collarbones, a small, round stuffed animal clutched in his left hand. His smile is lopsided, barely there, and yet it still manages to make your heart flutter.

"Did you really carry your Squishmallow with you?" There's a roughness to your voice that kills your attempt at teasing him; it sounds like you've been gargling rocks all night.

"I'll have you know," he yawns, bringing the plush up to his chest, "his name is Stevon."

You will forever take pride in knowing that you were the one to surprise him with Stevon. You'd ignored all the perfect Stevons in favor of the one with a ripped ear because Bob's notorious for picking damaged items over unharmed ones. They've been best friends ever since you snuck the squish into his driver's seat.

It's hard to miss the bright-white bandages adorning Bob's ankle as he steps past you; he's minding it a little bit, not quite placing his full weight on it.

"Were the monsters scaring you two?" You're already halfway back into your bed, practically falling into the mattress.

"If by monsters you mean Mickey Garcia, then yes," for a moment, Bob idles at the end of your bed, staring like he's unsure of what to do all of a sudden. You have to pat the empty side of the bed in order to get him moving again, "he fell asleep with another Marvel movie blarin' again."

Leave it to the light sleeper to share a wall with the one guy who can't seem to keep his television beneath max volume.

The edge of the bed dips as he settles in, propping the spare pillow up against the headboard in favor of placing his head on Stevon. Getting him to admit it is like pulling teeth, but he only ever uses Stevon as a pillow when his neck is hurting him. Your hand feels unusually heavy as you reach out, curling around his nape.

An arm snakes out, curling around your back and dragging you closer, seemingly without any effort at all. You'd complain if you weren't already considering squirming closer, noses mere inches apart, knees knocking together as you situate yourselves.

"You're not worried that someone's going to come looking for you?" You're fighting a yawn, one that seems to bounce off you and right into Bob because he starts yawning too.

"I'll come up with somethin' to tell 'em," because his lie from earlier in the day definitely went over well. You're still figuring out how he managed to walk in through the front door after you'd just left him in the bathroom. "ain't none their business anyway."

There's that drawl again, gradually becoming thicker the more he speaks. Only ever seems to come about when he's sleepy, lacing around his words like an intoxicating spell. It's both a blessing and a curse that the accent faded during his late teens.

"You could pull another magic trick like you did earlier," the tip of his nose is cold as you press your lips to it, some chaste peck that you don't recall deciding to give him.

And just because you've given him one, Bob's got to lean over and give your nose a kiss, too, "there ain't no backdoor that I can sneak out of," the corner of his lip quirks upward, "and I can't exactly hop out a third story window."

"To be fair, you've survived a plane crash," your hand rises up from his neck, smoothing over his now soft cheek, stubble once again carefully shaved away, "what's another little fall gonna hurt?"

"Alright," you already know what he's about to say, "but you'll have to carry me around when I inevitably break my legs."

"In your dreams, hot shot," and then you're rolling over before that dumb, sideways grin starts making you do things you shouldn't.

The last thing you expect is to hear a heart-stopping gasp, the arm around your waist tightening, refusing to let you move any more than you already have.

"Bobby?"

Hot breath fans out against your neck, "hm?" Unusually strained. What is he...

oh.

You hadn't felt it until he twitched; your bodies crammed so close together that you unintentionally pressed your ass into his groin when you rolled over. Such a crime hadn't been on your mind until now.

However...

There's that inhale again, so sharp that it cuts through the air like a knife. "Sweetie." It's a warning, but it's also the weakest one you've ever heard. Had might as well be a suggestion because your wriggling doesn't stop. If anything, it only grows worse. Until his hand flies up and takes hold of your hip, gripping so tightly that you can hardly move. "Don't reckon you wanna start that again."

Fighting his grip, you tilt your head back to look at him, "but maybe I do." By the time the last syllable comes out of your mouth, he's already let go of your hip, opting instead to nudge two of his fingers against your lips.

Interesting development, but you'll take it.

As you welcome them into your mouth, eager tongue stroking up between them, he presses kisses into your neck. Soft, by the time you register one kiss, he's already moved, tickling your sensitive skin. His thigh wedges between yours, so close to where you want to feel him, but you can't quite grind on it in this position.

"That's good, baby," he praises, pulling his hand away right as you find a comfortable rhythm. It disappears beneath the comforter once more, and the next thing you know, the waistband of your panties is tightening as his hand dives inside.

Two wet fingers slip between your folds, intending to go elsewhere, but they take a detour at your clit. Gently rolling the little pearl between his fingertips, teasing it until it begins to swell, and then they're gone again, dipping even lower.

"You're—hah!" It's only been a few days since the last time you felt his fingers in you, but damn, have you already forgotten what it's like to feel one of them delve inside without warning. "You're moving pretty fast, for once."

Teeth appear on the shell of your ear, ready to litter it with little marks once more, "says the one who's as wet as the Pacific."

Even so, that first finger remains alone, testing the waters as it gently pumps in and out of you. Allows you that crucial time to adjust to the thick digit; his hands are so large that even one finger could be enough if he really tried. But you want more.

"More" is the best you can get out of your mouth. It draws out of you completely, "Bobby."

Then it's back, accompanied by a second, slowly working their way into your squirming cunt as he shushes you, "'ve got you, darlin', I promise."

They curl, stroking along your gummy walls with each gentle motion, searching lazily.

You don't know what to do with your hands, searching for purchase that you can't seem to find. The comforter is too thin, sheets are too tightly bound to the bed for you to get a handful. His index strokes over a familiar little spot, and both of your hands are diving down, grabbing hold of his wrist.

"There it is," he coos into your shoulderblade; he's smiling, and you can hear it, "is that the spot, baby?"

Rhetorical question. He knows that's the spot because he's fucking stroking it over and over and over. The side of his thumb presses against your clit, rhythmically rubbing against it in tune with his motions. You can hardly muffle yourself with the pillow, hips squirming, torn between leaning into it and wriggling away from his touch.

"Bobby," mewling, "Bobby."

"Y'want more, sweetheart?" At his words, you nod, but then he hums, like he's not quite sure of your answer, "Use your words for me."

How the hell are you meant to use your words when the only thing floating through your mind is his name? A soft wet sound comes from between your legs, slick noises brought on by his devilishly talented fingers that sound so, so loud in this quiet little hotel room.

"More," you don't recognize the voice that comes out of you, a few octaves higher than your normal tone, "please."

His hand is gone.

The only indication that he hasn't evaporated into thin air is the gentle tug at your panties, urging them down your legs. You've only got enough energy to get one leg out, letting them pool around your other ankle.

"Still got lube in your backpack?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

More words. God, what's the word you're looking for? "Yeah."

You'd much rather him hurry up and get in you already, but you can't bring yourself to be annoyed by the sentiment. He hasn't quite been the same ever since that time you snuck off into the fan room together; you hadn't been wet enough, but you'd both gotten so wrapped up in each other that you didn't notice until you suddenly yelped.

A piece of his soul may still be in that fan room, actually.

It takes him hardly any time at all, gone and back before you know it, the bed dipping as he audibly slicks himself up. On your own accord, you begin to roll over, but he's pushing you back into your former position.

"Stay like this for me, yeah?" Well, if he insists.

Forever passes before you feel the soft kiss of his cockhead between your legs, doing nothing more than push against you. You can feel yourself flutter against his tip, the pressure is there, but it's not enough to give you what you want. Not yet.

Tilting your head back to look at him, "What are you—"

As soon as your eyes meet, his hips twitch forward, finally, finally, pushing inside. Something tells you he wanted to see your reaction, but you'll have to save your question for later because the delicious pressure between your legs is growing. Soft walls gradually split wide open as he eases into you, inch by dizzying inch.

"I don't know how," his voice is already strained, and he's still less than halfway, "you managed to convince me that holdin' out was a good idea."

Lungs burning, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, silencing your mewls. You don't know how you even convinced yourself to go through with it. It feels like it's been forever since the last time you felt yourself flutter around his cock on that first inward push. A lifetime has passed since the last time he bottomed out and effectively punched the breath from your lungs.

"Move," you've barely had any time to adjust, but you don't care. God, you need more.

But he's taking hold of your leg, guiding it back until your knee is draped over his thigh. It feels strange, but as he slowly draws back, you can't say you hate it. Especially not when he pushes back in and grazes a certain little spot that sends you writhing.

Too quickly, he's finding his favorite rhythm, deep, short strokes that make you take every single inch of his cock. The underside of his length dragging deliciously against your quivering walls, angle altering on every inward stroke in search of a certain little something.

"Bobby!" Different colors speckle across your vision as he finds it again. Once he knows where that sensitive little spot is, he's driving into it every time.

"Fuck," he grunts, pulling your hips back to meet his next thrust, downright knocks your whimper right out of your mouth, "been missin' this lil' pussy of yours."

The cheap mattress beneath you squeaks with the movement, quiet noises that you fear will reach the ears of whoever is sharing a wall with you. You need to slow Bob down before the both of you disturb whomever that is because you know it's one of your coworkers, but all you can do is brace yourself against the mattress and push back into him.

An odd little noise dances through the air, barely loud enough to be heard over the noises coming from your own mouth.

"What are you laughing for?" You whine, trying and failing to look back at his sweaty face. Those thrusts are getting harder; if it weren't for the hand on your hip, you're sure he'd be pushing you across the mattress.

"Just realized," his hand dips down between your legs, index finger seeking out your neglected clit once more, "this is the first time I've gotten to fuck you on an actual mattress."

You'd reach back and smack him if it weren't for the sudden, short little spirals of his wicked finger. Rubbing you in tune with his thrusts, leaving you with no option but to bury your face into the pillow and take it. A shiver builds itself up in your muscles, too much all at once, but it's not enough. Still not fucking enough.

"Is that good?" God, he and his dick are going to be the death of you, "hm?"

The best you can offer him is a soft 'uhuh' as you paw at his wrist, thighs tremoring as you spasm around his thick cock. You're crumbling like a house of cards, head spinning like a top. Goosebumps dance across your skin, a wildfire rushing through your veins.

"Want me to cum in you again?" Bob just about growls as he speaks, and it's all you can do to reach up and cover your own mouth. You've never heard his voice drop so deep. "Pump your pussy nice 'n full until y'can't take another drop of me?"

His cock is starting to twitch, sharp little spasms that only serve to make you writhe even more. Muscles winding tighter and tighter, cunt clenching down around him while the nerves between your legs spark with invisible flames. Fuck, fuck, fuck you're close.

"Come on, Weave, cum on my cock for me."

Your heart just about stops.

You can hardly recognize the noise that's strangled out of you, cunt convulsing around his slowing cock. Shockwaves ripple up your spine, shaking down every bone in your body as your eyes roll back. There's a familiar heat filling you, Bob's fat cock throbbing as thick ropes of cum paint your pretty insides white. It's the only sensation that keeps you grounded, from floating out the window and disappearing into the stars above your heads.

There's an ache in your hip as he slides out from behind you, simultaneously returning your leg to the mattress. As you pant to catch your breath, you've got a sneaking suspicion that you'll be waddling tomorrow.

"Better?" Bob breathes, hand rising up to draw circles into your lower belly.

"Better," but there's a new problem between your legs, leaking out onto your thighs, threatening to get onto the only set of sheets you've got in this room. "But now I'm sort of...leaking."

You shouldn't have said that. He's going to say it, he's going to—

"That sounds like a you problem, sweetie."

You've got just enough strength to seize one of the many pillows and thwack him in the face with it. "We wouldn't be in this situation if someone didn't cum so damn much!"

A laugh saunters through the air while a big pair of arms slide beneath you, one around your shoulders, the other under your knees, lifting you from the bed as if you weigh nothing. "Maybe it's a mutual problem, then."

And it's definitely a mutual problem when you find yourself waddling out of the hotel cafeteria, chewing on a stale bagel as Reuben idly complains about the mice he heard squeaking at around one in the morning. But as Bob's smiling eyes meet with yours, you know that Reuben's going to be complaining about the alleged mice for many, many more nights.

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averagewriter-inthedark · 1 year

Text

She’s Still Preoccupied With 1985 🎤 | Bob Floyd x Rockstar!reader Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x modern-day rockstar!reader (childhood best friends/romantic), dagger squad (platonic), Bob x female!oc (past romance), male!oc x reader (past romance), The 1985’s!BandOCs (platonic)

Content Warnings: major fluff, angst, profanity, canon divergence (Bob is born in 1985 in this, making him roughly 34 during TGM & 37 in the year 2022), pop culture references, second chance romance troupe, suggestive content and light smut + implied smut (MINORS DNI!!) inspired by the song ‘1985,’ by Bowling For Soup | Female!reader—afab!reader (she/her) | wc: 17.2k

Premise: Join Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd as he looks back on his fairytale love story with childhood best friend and real life rockstar, who’s set to perform one last time on the country’s most iconic stage, in her band’s final show of their farewell tour.

Note: so after I wrote ‘It’s A Long Way To The Top’ with Maverick x 80sRockstar!reader, I had inspiration for someone from the dagger squad x modern-day rockstar!reader. I was going back and forth between Rooster and Phoenix, but this anon suggested Bob with a rekindled childhood best friend and I thought that was the bullseye. Once again feel free to imagine your friends as your bandmates, I just gave names to make it easier to write. I do not own any of the song or pop culture references, this is for fictional purposes. Let me know what you think! - Bee 🐝

Songs that are real life songs, but are used as ‘your’ songs in this imagine: ‘1985’ by Bowling For Soup, ‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls, ‘Some Nights,’ by Fun, ‘Pompeii’ by Bastille, ‘Payphone,’ by Maroon 5, ‘Let’s Get Lost,’ by Bats for Lashes & Beck, ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go’ & ‘Little Black Dress’ by One Direction.

——————————————————

Lt. Robert Floyd had seen a lot in his 37 years of life. Growing up on the plains of Montana, there wasn’t much for him until it came time to leave for college. There, life seemed to pass by quicker than the night sky. He’d experienced the hype of a Navy vs Army football game, getting wasted to the point he hated alcohol. Endless nights of studying that paid off when he received not only his diploma but also the rank of Ensign in the U.S. Navy. Then there was that time he nearly married his college sweetheart only to end things weeks before the wedding because he realized his heart belonged to someone else. In his career Bob pulled Gs with his pilot against the speed of sound in an F-18 and most recently, dogfighting SAMs out of enemy territory.

But no words could describe what Bob felt as he stood on the floor of Madison Square Garden with the people he called his best friends, waiting for the appearance of his one true love on stage.

The love that was once thought to be impossible, until fate was like, “These souls belong together. Once the time is right, I will work my magic.”

17 years prior in 2005, Bob was certain he’d never get the chance to tell Y/n L/n he had loved her since they were fifteen years old after hearing her voice on the radio.

“That was Kelly Clarkson’s ‘Since U Been Gone,’ part of her Grammy nominated album Breakaway released last summer. Clarkson is the favorite to win the award for ‘Album of the Year’ at next year’s Grammys. Up next is a new group recently signed to Capitol Records….here is ‘1985’ by, funny enough, The 1985s”

Something about the name of the group and title of the song had an odd feeling swirl through the then college student. Driving the car he was in was his roomate Derek and their buddy Adrian along with Derek’s girlfriend Willow.

Nothing could’ve prepared Bob for the voice coming through the speakers, the lyrics bringing back the memory of when she showed him the paper with them written down in her semi-sloppy handwriting.

“Debbie just hit the wall, she never had it all.”

“One Prozac a day, husband’s a CPA.”

“Bob, you okay?” Adrian tapped him on the shoulder, “You look a little pale.”

“Her dreams went out the door when she turned twenty-four.”

“Only been with one man, what happened to her plan?”

“This has a good beat,” Willow bopped her head.

“She was gonna be an actress, she was gonna be a star.”

“She was gonna shake her ass on the hood of Whitesnake’s car.”

“My mom could definitely relate to that,” Derek joked, stopping at a red light. He too was enjoying the song. It gave that classic rock feel that the 80s music his parents listened to had. Nowadays Hip-Hop and Pop are becoming the main genres of music on the radio.

“Her yellow SUV is now the enemy.”

“Looks at her average life and nothin’,” *guitar riff* “has been,” *guitar riff* “alright.”

Bob, who’s eyes were wide and heart racing, breathed in awe, “No way.”

“Since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna,”

“Way before Nirvana,”

“There was U2 and Blondie,”

“And music still on MTV.”

“Her two kids in high school,”

“They tell her that she’s uncool.”

“‘Cause she’s still preoccupied,”

Tears spring in Bob’s eyes, wiping them away before his friends could see when Y/n sang the final line of the chorus.

“With 19, 19…1985.”

That was how the future naval aviator discovered his childhood best friend had accomplished her dream. Breaking into the music industry. It’d been nearly four years since he’d seen Y/n, the two parting ways after her father took an accounting job in California, uprooting the teenager and her family from their home state of Montana.

They’d grown up on the same street, both their moms teaching at the elementary school. The two had pretty much gone through every grade together considering their school was small with few teachers. Every year they were in the same class, often sitting next to each other and spending time after school on the playground while their moms finished up for the day. Bob spent nearly every moment with Y/n as kids, becoming best friends when they were only five years old. But it wasn’t until the boy was twelve that he realized what a crush was….and boy did he have one on her.

Cherishing their friendship, poor Bob didn’t say anything about his surfacing feelings for his best friend. Even when the news of her moving was announced when they were 16, Bob remained quiet. It pained him to do so but he’d rather have her in his life than risk losing her if she didn’t feel the same.

In all the years Bob Floyd knew Y/n L/n, music was her life. It consumed her entire being with the young girl always humming a tune or singing along on the radio. When she was given a keyboard and guitar for Christmas, Y/n self-taught herself how to play until they could afford to put her in lessons. Then there were the notebooks.

At first it started as sticky notes with a verse or two, then it turned into loose pages of lyrics before finally the teenager wrote them all into notebooks. Anytime inspiration came to Y/n she was writing it down on whatever she could find. Napkins at a restaurant, receipts from her mother’s grocery run, hell even on her arm Y/n was writing lyrics so she wouldn’t forget. Sometimes she’d have the whole song complete before settling on a title, or a catchy title would come to mind but the lyrics would take time. Bob would always get annoyed when she’d steal his pen from out of his hand, but would let it go, understanding she had to write it down before she lost it.

At a football game he witnessed her unable to find a pen in time to write something on her arm before the lyric faded away. The teenager nearly sobbed right there in the middle of the stands, face in her hands as though to will herself to remember. “Are you okay,” Bob whispered, to which he received a sad groan.

“No….please don’t interrupt my thinking. I’m having a crisis, Robby.”

Y/n’s mom, who mentally still lived in the 80s, was the inspiration for her song ‘1985’, Y/n wrote at 15. Bob could still remember the day she raced up to their reserved lunch table, planting the paper in front of him, “Read this,” she was out of breath, but smiling nonetheless. Picking it up, Bob adjusted his glasses and let his eyes read over the words scribbled down that were separated into: intro, verse 1, chorus, verse 2, chorus, bridge, chorus, & outro.

“Wow,” he reads over the lyrics again, brows raised and feeling a connection to the song. It wasn’t hard to pick up on the fact it was likely titled ‘1985,’ which also happened to be the year they were born. “This is amazing, Y/n. Almost like….wait is this about your mom?” As her best friend growing up, Y/n’s mother was like a second mom to him….so Bob knew her obsession with the 80s and how she had plans to be an actress before she and her high school sweetheart, Y/n’s father, got married after college and had Y/n when they were 24. Then they had her siblings afterward and both changed their course of careers in order to raise them. The line that said ‘husband’s a CPA,’ is what really gave it away considering her father was an accountant. Debbie wasn’t her mother’s name, but even a rocket scientist could piece it together Debbie represented her.

Glancing up, he sees her guilty expression, offering a light shrug. “Is it that obvious?”

Bob never forgot that song. Even with all the ones Y/n showed him afterwards and when they lost touch two years after she moved, he never once forgot the song, ‘1985’.

It was a sad day when she told him the news. They were halfway through junior year, college applications around the corner and setting up for SATs/ACTs when she dropped the bomb, “My dad’s being transferred to California.”

The Coca-Cola he’d been drinking nearly went all over his steering wheel when he coughed, her words sending him into shock. “W-what-you’re moving?!”

“Next month,” she mumbled, head down to hide her face from his view. “My dad is there now looking at places for us. In the meantime Mom is dealing with the house while also applying to schools in the area my dad’s gonna be working.”

“Where?” Bob asks after a moment of silence, allowing him to fully process the news.

His best friend—who he was in love with—was leaving him.

Y/n sighed before replying with a sad chuckle, “Los Angeles. You know I would feel excited, seeing it was my plan to move to L.A after graduation, but I just can’t bring myself to.”

“Why?” Bob says softly with a frown, “This is your dream, Y/n. All you’ve wanted was to go there and audition for American Idol—or whatever that singing show is.” He was trying really hard to cheer her up, pushing down his heartbreak all the while. “This is your chance.”

“Yeah, but….” She glanced out the window, “what if it doesn’t work out? I don’t even know if I wanna go to college—which my mom still scolds me every time she gets the chance because she thinks I’m a fool to wanna pursue music. You know how it is,” Y/n gives Bob a knowing look, “she thinks of her life and wants me to go to school before selling my life away to a 9-5. I know she’s looking out for me, but God, let me make my own mistakes.” Her head leans on the window, “If it doesn't work out then that’s on me. But I’m not gonna give it up just because it seems out of reach. That’s what back up plans are for.”

Silence fills the car, the two letting their thoughts wonder. “Promise me something, Robby.”

“Anything,” he doesn’t hesitate.

“Promise me that even though I’m leaving, we’ll still be best friends. We’ll still write letters or talk on the phone…just don’t give up on me.”

Taking her hand in his, hoping she doesn’t feel the slight tremor as the words he so desperately wants to say are on the tip of his tongue, Bob gives her a look of love which she likely would believe is one of sincerity, “you’re my best friend, Y/n. I believe you will accomplish everything you set your mind to. When you make it big, I’ll be cheering you on every second and until then, we’ll talk every day if we have to,” he makes a face after thinking, “though maybe narrow it down to once a week so my mom doesn’t kill me for the phone bill.”

That makes Y/n laugh before reaching over the console to hug him. Arms go around his neck while his one arm awkwardly wraps around her side.

“I love you, Robby,” she tells him, sending his heart soaring. “You’re the only person I can count on in this whole damn world.”

“I love you too, Y/n.” ‘More than what you could possibly know.’ “I’ll always be here for you. Forever.”

He never thought he’d break that promise. But around the time of graduation things became so hectic in Bob’s life on top of the fact he was hurting. Hurting because he loved Y/n, and anytime they would talk on the phone or send letters he was reminded of the fact she was in California while he was stuck in Montana and they could never be together. Bob felt the only way he could save his heart and move on from that love was by cutting contact. It was his fault and he knew it when the letters eventually stopped coming and the phone stopped ringing every Friday. His mother could only relay an excuse to the girl so many times before Y/n eventually gave up. The last letter she sent him came two months after their last phone call, “So much for always being there, Robby. Have a good life, I hope it treats you well. -Y/n.”

He didn’t know what happened to her until two years later when ‘1985’ played for the first time on the radio for the whole world to hear. Tears lined his eyes, the man having to look out the window away from his friends. The flooding of emotion was overpowering, forming a sob in his throat.

She did it. She’s on the radio like she always dreamed.

“That was ‘1985’ the debut single of incoming rock band, The 1985s. Hits the nostalgia I gotta say—I feel we’re looking at some fresh new faces to the scene. Can’t wait to see what they have to offer in the future.”

The prediction of the radio host came true, when in 2006 the group released their debut album Established in 1985. Like their name, it referenced the year all members were born in which included frontwoman and occasional guitar player Y/n L/n, bassist Thomas Quinn, guitarist Farrah Cortez, drummer Xavier Hernandez, and keyboardist Pepper Renolds. All met at the University of California Los Angeles, and funny enough none were students in the music program. They were all in STEM/humanities with Y/n studying sociology with a minor in music, meeting the others when they formed a study group after they all had the same prerequisite classes their second semester.

It was at one of their meetups that Y/n couldn’t help but sing along to Journey’s ‘Faithfully’ and The Who’s ‘We Don’t Get Fooled Again,’ as they played on the little radio in the corner. “Damn Y/n,” Thomas looked amazed, “You got a voice, girl. How come you’re not studying music?”

“Same reason why you aren’t—don’t give me that look, Quinn, I saw that bass in your place when we were there last week.”

Next thing they knew Pepper mentioned she was a pianist who was progressing onto keyboard. Then Farrah said she played guitar and Xavier smirked, “all y’all need is a drummer and you can be a band….oh wait, have I ever told y’all I play drums?”

And thus, the 1985’s were born.

Months were dedicated to them building their sound and learning to be a band all while keeping up with their school work. Y/n was the brain behind all their songs, literally dropping the pile of notebooks onto the table one day saying, “I’ve got at least four albums worth of songs in these…maybe even more.” Working little by little they eventually got the tunes for several that they knew they’d want to release first if they managed to get discovered. MySpace was just starting out and Y/n took it upon herself to be bold, creating a profile for them. She listed her information since they didn’t have a band email set up. That would hopefully come in the future.

It was on MySpace that their lives changed forever.

Roughly after a year of working nonstop to create songs and develop their sound, the band uploaded a video onto the platform for ‘1985,’ in May of 2004. It almost looked like a music video, teaming up with students from the drama programs who were in need of doing their end of semester project. They had someone play Debbie, her husband, the two kids, and a group of extras. Even the yellow SUV Y/n’s mom drove was used as well as a poster of Duran Duran for the line in the second verse. The band would be in clips throughout the video, Y/n singing and playing the guitar. It took them the whole night spray painting a makeshift logo of ‘The 1985’s’ onto Xavier’s drum set.

When they first uploaded the video they were all like, “Even if no one sees it, this was still fun as hell to make.”

But little did they know it was going to be seen by many eyes…..including an executive of Capitol Records.

Y/n was just coming home from her shift at a local diner when she checked her email, dropping the water bottle in her hand and letting out an ear-piercing scream that woke her roommates.

“Y/n, my name is Martin Plaza and I’m a talent exec at Capitol Records. A member of my team came across your video on MySpace and we were impressed by your band and song, ‘1985’. We’d like to set up a meeting if you all are interested and please bring any demos you may have. Email me back as soon as possible or give me a call using the number listed below. Hope to hear from you soon. Regards, Martin Plaza.”

Y/n and the group could hardly contain their reaction at the meeting when Martin and a few members of Capitol Records were visibly pleased with what they were hearing. With so many songs they had recorded, they settled on bringing five, including ‘1985,’ and ‘Some Nights,’ which they were planning on uploading to MySpace next.

Martin and the team had excused themselves briefly before returning with the offer: a six year contract with Capitol Records releasing at least three albums during that period.

You can bet your ass they agreed. Signing their names before the sun could set on the horizon.

Champagne popped that night with Y/n crying against the receiver of her pink Motorola as she informed the news to her family. Her mother cried with her, her dad celebrating in the background while her siblings were like, “Don’t forget me when you become famous, sis.” What made her sad though after the call ended was when she went to dial Robby’s number, only to close the phone with a sigh. It’d been over a year since they last spoke, Y/n unsure where he even was or if he had a cell phone. The only number she knew was his home phone.

Curiosity and slight anger rising, Y/n dialed the number saved as his home landline, not surprised when his mother answered. “Y/n! Why hello, darling, I wasn’t expecting your call tonight.”

“Hi, Mrs. Floyd,” she sniffed, feeling tears prick in her eyes again. Y/n was not used to addressing the older woman by her last name. It felt awkward now to call her by her first. “I know he’s probably not going to come to the phone…but if Robby—Robert is there, could I…could I just speak with him please? It’s important.”

“Oh honey,” that was enough to indicate it wouldn’t happen. Y/n looked up to the sky, heart breaking in two at the fact her so called best friend, who she loved more than anything in the world, had completely discarded her. “Robert is uhh—he’s at the Naval Academy, sweetheart, I can give you his email or cell number—.”

“No-no-no,” Y/n interrupted, stunned by the news. “It’s fine. Uh, just never mind.”

“Honey—.”

“Sorry to bother you so late, Mrs. Floyd. Take care and thank you for your help.” Placing the phone in her pocket, Y/n allowed the tears to flow freely before moving back inside to where the party was. Only she could hardly enjoy it now. Instead she let her feet carry her over to the notebook placed on her backpack, removing a pen hastily from the pencil pouch and scribbling down the lyrics that were screaming in her head. The words that took over the paper went onto become their Grammy award winning singles, ‘Iris,’ and ‘Payphone.’ Iris became so popular it was used in several movies and tv shows after its release in 2006, earning the band the Grammy for ‘Record of the Year,’ to go along with their ‘Best Rock Performance by a Duo/Group’ and ‘Album of the Year’, three MTV moonmen including ‘Video of the Year’ and the American Music Award for ‘Song of the Year.’ Payphone was just as successful, topping the Billboard Hot 100 for 20 consecutive weeks and winning just as many awards as Iris.

Anytime the songs played on the radio or wherever he was, Bob had to change the station or frown until it ended. Deep down, he could feel they were about him—hurting him even more at the realization Payphone was basically saying how Y/n loved him and was trying to move on. Just in the way Y/n sang combined with the lyrics telling a story, it was obvious he had broken her heart. And they weren’t even together. They were just best friends…..who were too stupid enough to not admit their feelings for each other.

His senior year of college Y/n and the group were starting to become big, all the members taking a break from college in order to build their careers as musicians. Often Bob would check in to see how Y/n was, tuning into award shows to watch them perform. Pride and awe filled him watching her sing, living her dream just as he believed she would. He hated that he broke his word to her, and it seemed to affect Y/n whenever she performed Iris and Payphone, putting every ounce of emotion into each lyric.

At 21 Bob had finally entered a relationship with a nice girl from the Naval Academy. The possibility of him reuniting with Y/n was long out of the picture and his friends were getting on him to finally break out of his shell. They had no idea of his connection to the rockstar, but they could tell anytime they were on the radio Bob’s demeanor changed. Abby, a sweet pre-law student at the Naval Academy, was his first serious commitment, the two bonding over similar interests and plans for the future. Hope rose at what it could hold.

Until she and their friends decided they wanted to go see The 1985’s concert.

It was 2007, they’d just graduated and were commissioned to the rank of Ensign’s waiting to be shipped off to their respective duty stations. And Bob was engaged…..but he hadn’t really proposed in the traditional way. It was more of Abby pointing out if they wanted to get stationed together then it was best for them to get married and he just agreed. But a big part of him was hesitant to go through with it.

The news of Abby and their friends' desire to go to the concert made his stomach drop and head spin. Still in Maryland, they had gotten tickets to the show in New York at Madison Square Garden which was only a couple hours away. Abby had went ahead and got them as a surprise for Bob, not telling him until the day before the show.

“You guys go,” Bob initially said, praying she couldn’t pick up on the anxiety in his voice. “I—uh—I’ve got some things to get done—.”

“What things?” She scoffed, shaking her head as she laid out the outfit she planned to wear. “School is over, you aren’t planning to see your family until next week, and you don’t leave for flight school till the end of summer. What could you possibly do tomorrow night, Bobby?” He mentally cringed at the nickname, unconsciously thinking of how Y/n would call him Robby.

This wasn’t a good idea and he knew it. Already he was starting to think of her again. More and more by the second. Feelings were resurfacing, and Bob was fighting them hard. If he saw her on stage it was only going to confirm what he already knew.

That Y/n owned his heart. And no one else would have it. Not even Abby.

In the end, Bob found himself on the floor of Madison Square Garden of all places, wondering just how the hell their friends managed to get the area. The band was touring for their debut album, selling out within seconds and what made it more historic were they managed to get The Garden in their first ever tour. Usually groups/artists had years before they played at the Garden, settling for smaller venues in New York, but the 1985’s had become sensations.

The entire time they waited for the band Bob’s hands were shaking, the man unable to contain his tremor with each minute. Abby asked at one point, but brushed it off as him being excited when he didn’t give her an answer.

He was a little excited….but mostly fucking terrified.

Especially because they were very close to the stage. Like if one of the members happened to walk close to where they were standing they’d be spotted.

Bob should’ve fucking knocked on wood.

When the band came out Madison Square Garden erupted, Y/n belting out the lyrics to their opening number, looking like an actual dream. Her look was more of a modern take on rock n roll but still looked classic. Black leather adorned her body with cutouts to showcase some skin, arms covered in ink from the various tattoos and hips rolling to the beat of the drums causing the crowd to go crazy.

Y/n really knew how to work the stage and make it her bitch.

Bob was mesmerized. Utterly speechless as his eyes glued to the woman he once called his best friend. All he could do was stand there and stare, while willing his heart to calm down by how fast it was beating.

It was to be a two hour show at the least, and Bob didn’t know if he wanted to leave as quickly as he could or wishing the show would last forever. Seeing Y/n up close and performing before a crowd made him feel things he didn’t know were possible. Her dazzling smile, dancing across the stage and playing the guitar was everything he could’ve dreamed for her.

He loved her. Bottom line, Bob loved Y/n like no other.

When their eyes connected 30 minutes before the concert ended, causing Y/n to drop the microphone and throw her off for the remainder of the concert, Bob knew he couldn’t marry Abby.

He wasn’t sure if Y/n recognized him at first, but the rockstar had approached the side he was standing at to interact with the crowd when her gaze landed on his. Eyes widening, Y/n literally dropped the microphone causing the impact to echo through the speakers. Bob’s cheeks went bright red, unable to look away in their 2-second staring contest until Y/n blinked rapidly and cursed.

“Shit,” he saw her mouth as soon as the microphone hit the platform, bending down quickly to pick it up. “Sorry about that guys,” she nervously laughed, eyes glancing at Bob as though to make sure they weren’t deceiving her. A sharp intake of breath indicated she realized it wasn’t a trick. Walking backwards until she was back to the middle of the stage where the band was, Y/n’s tone became flustered, “U-uh, we only got a couple songs left in the show. We’re gonna take a quick five minute break so just hang tight.”

Bob could see the looks of concern from her friends/bandmates as she ran off stage, the group following behind. His heart dropped, rubbing a hand over his face to calm down the anxiety in his veins.

“What the hell was that about?” Derek laughed, “It was like she saw a ghost or something.” Everyone besides Bob agreed, none seeing the way Abby was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

When the band returned for the final act Y/n did her best to not look at the section Bob was in. Unlike everyone else in attendance, the Navy officer could pick up on the fact she was more tense than at the start of the show. Her voice shook lightly when delivering the lyrics to ‘Iris’, although it was as though she was putting more emotion than ever into the song, bringing tears to Bob’s eyes. Y/n also appeared to hold back tears, quickly transitioning the song to their next to avoid breaking down.

‘1985’ was the last in their set, everyone in MSG jumping up and down to the chorus and screaming the lyrics. Y/n smiled the entire time, finally letting a tear slip when the concert came to an end. To everyone it may have looked like the rockstar was overwhelmed with emotion at the fact she just played Madison Square Garden before a sold out crowd. But for Robert Floyd, he knew those tears were because of him.

Especially when they connected eyes again, Y/n’s lip quivering before turning away to hide her face. When she walked off with the band Bob felt his heart go with her.

“You’re hiding something,” Abby said with a soft tone when they arrived back home late that night. It was nearly 3 in the morning, the concert having ended at 11.

Bob tilted his head back, eyes closing to block off the rest of the world, “Please, let’s not do this.” He just wanted to go to bed and sleep the night away.

“You know, I always wondered why your knuckles would tighten around the steering wheel when their songs played on the radio, or why you look like you wanna cry anytime I sing ‘Iris’ at karaoke, why you can’t even look at me when I do,” she lists off, voice slightly rising. “Then there’s that box of letters you hide in the closet. And….and the photo album you won’t even let me look at. We’ve been together for a year, and you have not once told me you loved me.” By now Abby’s voice wavered, sniffing as she continued.

“I’ve been a fan of The 1985’s for close to a year now, but it wasn’t until tonight I actually read up on them. On Y/n…..” she saw how his body reacted, confirming her suspicion even more. “How she was living in L.A when they got discovered, but she grew up somewhere else…..She’s from Montana. The same town as you, Robert.”

“That’s just a coincidence—.”

“She went to the same high school as you!” Abby shouted, pushing off the wall she was leaning against. “You told me your town had less than four-thousand people—and only one high school. She would’ve gone there, Robert—in fact it said her mom was a teacher at the elementary school. The same one your mom taught at!”

By now Bob had enough, mouth tightening as he spoke calmly to his ‘fiancé’, “What do you want to know, Abby?”

“Who was she to you? Don’t fucking say shit like ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’—I saw her look at you,” tears pricked in her blue eyes. “How she looked like she’d been punched straight through the heart. She fucking dropped the microphone—and looked like she wanted to faint! Like you were a walking ghost. And you….you looked the same.” Pausing, she thought back to his face at the concert. There was no doubt Y/n and him had locked eyes, she heard him audibly react despite the noise.

“You looked like someone with deep regret. Someone who longed for a second chance. You looked like someone in love, Robert. Never have you looked at me that way.” Abby waited for him to respond, but Bob was unable to speak, expression unreadable causing her heart to break.

“Just please,” she breathed out, “tell me the truth, Bob. What was she to you?”

Silence filled the room, causing the tension to rise. It stayed that way until Bob finally sighed, face falling as he admitted what she already knew.

“She was everything. She is everything.”

When it came time to ship out two months later Bob was not the married man he expected to be. In all honesty, he was relieved. That night the argument had ended with Bob telling Abby he couldn’t marry her—he’d be hurting her even more if he followed through with it. Never could he love her the way he did Y/n and wouldn't put her through that. Going their separate ways was for the best. Even though he’d likely never be with Y/n, no one could compare to her.

Abby was angry as one could expect but part of her knew it was for the best. What good was it getting into a loveless marriage? She almost resented the rockstar, feeling like she could never enjoy the 1985’s anymore knowing the man she thought she spent the rest of her life with was hopelessly in love with his former best friend, who was the frontwoman of her favorite band. But then Abby took some time to think, and felt her heart break for Bob. She couldn’t imagine what it was like loving someone you couldn’t have.

Ending their engagement and agreeing to be friends, Bob told stories about growing up with Y/n—even bringing out the letters and photo album for her to see. It amazed the woman, flipping through the pages to see the singer when she was a child and teenager. It was almost funny to see how polar opposites the two best friends were, Y/n with her 80s band t-shirts and ripped jeans next to a Bob in his cowboy hat and flannels. As teenagers Y/n dabbled more in the grunge makeup. One photo made Abby laugh as it showed Bob with black eyeliner and glitter on his cheeks.

Coming across the end of the album was a half of a ‘Best Friends Forever’ necklace taped to the page. Abby frowned, “What happened between the two of you?”

This was a question he never thought he’d answer, thinking he’d go the rest of his life without anyone finding out his history with Y/n.

“After she moved we stayed in contact for about two years. We’d call every Friday—send letters from time to time ....” He paused, biting his lip as the frown took over. “But I stopped responding and answering.”

“Why?”

“It hurt too much,” he admitted, hating the way his heart clenched. “I never said anything because I didn’t want to lose what we had,” he looked to the ground, “but then it just became too overwhelming and I thought if we….if we drifted apart then I eventually could move on.”

Abby is silent, glancing at the picture of him and Y/n before looking back at the necklace, “Wanna hear something, Bob? Something you probably won’t believe, but I promise you it’s more likely than you think?” He looks up from the floor, brow raised slightly.

“What?”

“I think Y/n loves you.”

“Not in the way you think, Abby,” Bob deflects with a shake of the head. “And she definitely doesn’t anymore—she hates me no doubt.”

“No, listen to me,” she closes the album, setting it aside. “When did you two stop talking?”

“Around fall of 2003,” he tells her, look of regret in his visage, “in 2004 was the last time she phoned the house.”

Abby thinks back in her research of the band, shoulders dropping slightly, “That’s when they got signed to Capitol Records. ‘Payphone’ and ‘Iris’ came out last year, but Y/n said in an interview she wrote them the night they were signed—which had people confused because they’re sad songs that were written on a night that was supposed to be happy. Don’t you see?” She waves her hand at his now confused gaze, making her huff. “She probably had called your house hoping to tell you the news! Anyone who hears those songs knows it’s about heartbreak. And not the type of heartbreak you get by a friendship disintegrating, Bob. That’s the heartbreak when someone you love with your entire soul hurts you.”

“Abby please,” Bob pleads with her, water lining his eyes. Falling silent the woman leans away, solemn in her expression.

“All I’m saying is she loved you more than you think. And judging by her reaction to you tonight, I think I’m right when I say Y/n would give anything for you to talk to her again…..”

For years Bob thought about what Abby had told him that night they broke up. It kept him up at night especially when The 1985’s came up that day either in conversation or on the radio. There were times he was tempted to write a letter, but life would get crazy with the Navy and then in 2011 he was invited to Top Gun.

Devastated couldn’t even be the right word to describe how Bob felt when it was revealed Y/n had eloped with a Hollywood heartthrob. Not a fan of social media, Bob had just returned back to his squadron after graduating from Top Gun to turn on E! News where they were covering the story.

“Wedding bells are in store for rockstar Y/n L/n of The 1985s and actor Enrique Lorenzo from The Walking Dead. The two have been spotted throughout the year looking cozy at award shows and Lorenzo attending The 1985’s concerts in L.A and Atlanta. An inside source has gotten word the two applied for a marriage license two days ago and earlier this morning had a private ceremony with close friends and family in West Hollywood. Neither has confirmed if they have in fact tied the knot, but I would keep your eyes out. In the meantime, congratulations to the happy couple and we’re looking forward to seeing Y/n’s ring.”

It seemed like all the air had left Bob, turning off the tv in a flash but still pointing the remote as he stood stunned. Then his phone buzzed with messages.

“Honey, just checking in. Call me when you get home,” was from his mom, trying to avoid the obvious elephant and would rather discuss it over the phone.

“Have you heard the news?” Abby wrote. “I’m so sorry, Bob.” He actually appreciated that she wasn’t walking on eggshells. That she was upfront with him. Though it’d been over four years since their breakup, and Abby was now married with children, the two remained friends and often checked in with each other occasionally.

“It was bound to happen some time,” he replied before turning off his phone so he couldn’t receive any more messages.

The rest of the night he was pretty much a walking shell, then as the years went on Bob closed himself off. Hardly did he date, and when he did they only lasted a few months before the girls realized he was not ready for the commitment they were wanting. Some understood, others were more aggressive when spitting out their feelings. Never did he admit why he couldn’t love them the way they wanted. The only people who knew who his heart belonged to were Abby and his family.

2015 Bob was transferred to Lemoore when the news broke that Y/n and Enrique had divorced after nearly four years of marriage, however, they had been secretly separated for almost a year before it was finalized. Cursing mentally, Bob couldn’t help but feel a slight relief—which was completely fucked up knowing Y/n was going through a difficult time and here he was silently celebrating, as though he really had a chance now to make things right.

That should’ve been his sign to call her mother and ask for Y/n’s number, with the hope she’d give it to him. But then Bob felt it was too soon. Her divorce had just been finalized, he didn’t know the exact reason despite the former couple citing irreconcilable differences. Whatever it was, Bob wasn’t sure he wanted to know but at the same time couldn’t help but be curious.

He’d get his answer almost two years later in January of 2017 when he flew home to Montana to celebrate his birthday. It was his 32nd and his mother literally begged him to come home so they could all be together now that Bob’s sister had recently had twins and were there to visit. Wanting to meet his nieces, the WSO relented and booked a flight for the weekend after confirming his leave.

Suspicion filled him with the way his family was acting when he arrived. Almost like they were excited but nervous, which only confused the officer. He was in his service khakis, pulling his cap off when they got inside and removing his windbreaker before setting it on the coat rack.

That’s when he saw the black suitcase in the corner.

“Who’s is that?” He asked with a raised brow, noticing his mother slightly tense. It wasn’t a luggage he recognized as one of theirs, and it was as though it had just been placed there.

And his sister had already unpacked in her old room. So it wasn’t hers.

Blushing, his mother tried to find the right words, “Oh-um, It’s—.”

“It’s mine.”

32 years had gone by in Bob’s life and never did he think he’d experience anything close to cardiac arrest. But hearing Y/n’s voice, so close as though she was behind him, made him think he was about to die right then and there.

Then he turned around, slowly, heart beating so fast it was about to explode from his chest, and she was there. Standing at the end of the staircase in a beautiful black leather dress with matching knee high boots, her hair slicked back into a bun and minimal makeup showcasing her gorgeous face.

She was ethereal. Absolutely breathtaking.

The last time he saw her in person was when they were 22, before that was 16. Here she was a grown woman who’d been through a hell of a life. She looked beyond gorgeous, and Bob felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

Only her gaze was not as warm as the emotions Bob was feeling. Honestly he felt like he could be six feet in the ground with how she was looking at him. Betrayal, heartbreak, anger, but underneath it there was love and hope.

“Hello, Robert.”

He didn’t even know how to react. All he could do was stand there, speechless with his mouth slightly agape. Eventually he just breathed out, “Y/n.”

Stoic, Y/n glanced at his mother, “Mrs. Floyd, could you please give us a moment.”

“Of course,” the older woman nodded, bidding her son a glance, “We’ll all be out on the porch.”

Nodding in thanks, Y/n waited until she and everyone in the house had moved outside before facing Bob again. Chills ran up his arms when she let her eyes trail over his figure, remaining emotionless.

An awkward silence passed, neither really knowing what to say. Bob was hesitant to break it, hoping she would but Y/n just continued to stare at him. Both unable to form the words.

Finally he tried to say, “y-you uhh, wow.” He swore he heard her scoff under her breath.

“Yeah, wow,” her tone broke his heart, but then again Bob couldn’t blame her. After all, he’s the reason they drifted apart. When he didn’t reply, instead glancing to the ground, she scoffed louder, “That’s all you can really say? ‘Wow’? After thirteen years, Robert, all you have to fucking say to me is ‘wow’? No, ‘I’m sorry,’ no ‘I can explain everything.’”

Anxiety rising, Bob sighed which only made her angrier. “Y/n, I-I—.”

She couldn’t stop herself, “Why?” The question haunted her for over a decade. “Why did you just throw me away like trash—a-after everything we’d been through? You owe me the reason why you broke your word to me and made me feel like shit. I have waited and waited for years, Robert, hoping you would call or send a letter but now I’ve had enough so you can’t run away from me now. So start talking.”

“Y/n, I didn’t mean for y-you to feel like that,” he tried to explain, but the words were not the best, causing her to explode.

“How else was it supposed to make me feel!?” She threw her hands out. “That’s how it came off as to me! ‘All always be here for you,’ my ass, Robert. You remember telling me that? It was only two years—two years of us doing so well with the distance—I was even planning on surprising you for fucking Christmas and then it was just gone in the blink of an eye,” snapping her fingers, Y/n emphasized her point. “No explanation, no warning. Nothing to tell me you didn’t want to be friends anymore, having your mom give me excuse after excuse why you wouldn't come to the phone.” She pauses to calm herself, her tone kept rising with each word.

Bob takes the moment to speak, “It’s…Y/n, you have to understand it was never my intention to hurt you,” when she made a sound of, ‘yeah right,’ he rushed out, “Please! I fucked up, I know I did and I’ve regretted every second of it since then—and as much as I wanted to reach out and apologize, explain to why it happened…I just felt so ashamed and then I heard you on the radio,” a sad smile comes to his lips, seeing her stiffen at the mention of her debut. “And when I heard your voice, I just thought that was it. You didn’t need me anymore and believed you would forget about me eventually.”

“Forget about you?” Her tone went soft, eyes glistening. “You were my best friend—since we were fucking five, Robert!” He flinched, shame filling his veins. “We did everything together, I shared everything with you. My music—some of which were inspired by the fucking things we did,” the confession had his eyes widened a bit, “You think I would just forget all of that? Thirteen years worth of friendship down the drain? Sorry, but I’m not like you—I wouldn’t just ditch the only person I trusted most in this world because I was starting to become something. Did your mom tell you I called?” She suddenly asked, not letting him answer before she was ranting again, “It was almost a year after you threw me to the winds. The night I fucking met with Capitol Records and got offered the opportunity of a lifetime….I wanted to share that with you. Despite the fact we hadn’t talked for almost a goddamn year, I desperately wanted to hear your voice and tell you I did it,” her voice cracked at the end, causing tears to prick in Bob’s eyes at the sight she was fighting back her own.

“That I did it,” Y/n held back the sob threatening to escape. “You were the only one who believed in me, and I couldn’t even share that with you. Because you didn’t want me in your life anymore—and you know what that’s okay. Friendships come and go, but you couldn’t even give me the fucking respect to tell me. And then you come to my show!” Now she was shouting, “Yeah I know that was you, don’t even try to deny it. It may have been four years at that time but I know damn well that was you in New York. I cannot fucking believe you would come to my show and not even tell me! And then to not reach out after was a fucking slap to my face.” Her breathing was starting to get heavy, the woman pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t even recognize you honestly. The Robert I knew would’ve never hurt me like you did. He would’ve at least shown me some respect. He wouldn't leave me to wonder what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said sternly.

“Well it doesn’t feel that way now does it?” She said just as harsh, “Why?”

“Y/n, it’s complicated,” he put his hands to his neck, looking at the ceiling as he started to lose composure.

“Then tell me why!”

“Because I fucking love you that’s why!”

The words had left Bob’s mouth before he could stop himself. Silence ignited, the WSO covering his mouth with a hand as he went pale, staring at Y/n whose own mouth was parted. The confession had hit her full blast, causing her to stumble back as though she physically felt them possess her. A shaky hand came to her own mouth, looking away from the man when her eyes closed allowing the tears to spill on her cheeks.

“I love you,” Bob whispered, mirroring her expression. “I’ve loved you since we were fifteen, Y/n. I knew I felt something when we were twelve, but I just brushed it off thinking I was confused. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about you—and what we could have. But I didn’t want to lose you if you didn’t feel the same.” Opening his eyes, they locked on hers. God even when she cried she looked beautiful. “When you left…I thought it would be easier to move on. But then we talked every week and the feelings wouldn’t go away. No matter how much I tried. You took my heart with you to L.A. and you’ve had it ever since.”

He waited for her to respond, chest on fire with how bad his heart was racing. Fingertips were going numb as Bob stared at her with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t go back in time and change it as much as I wish I could. Please know, Y/n, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you. I won’t ask for your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. I won’t blame you if you walk out that door and we never see each other again. But just when you do, know that I’m truly, deeply, sorry.”

Time seemed to slow now with the two adults staring at each other. Now that it was all out in the open, Y/n seemed to be processing the whole thing. Bob couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Unbeknownst to him, Y/n’s brain was screaming, as was her heart. Lips quivering, the woman sniffed.

“You love me?”

“I do,” Bob signed after a moment. He no longer could keep it in, feeling the immense relief at being able to finally say it aloud.

“For years?”

“Almost seventeen.”

“Seventeen,” she repeated with an unreadable tone. “Y-you, I thought—your mom told me you were engaged.”

“That was in college,” he explained softly. “She was at the show with me that night. Saw how we reacted to each other and realized things I tried to hide. I ended things with her—I couldn’t trap her in a marriage that would make her unhappy—make me unhappy. She understood after a while and we stayed friends.” Bob rubbed his jaw, adding, “everyone else that came along was the same. I couldn’t love them the way they wanted me to. My heart wouldn’t allow it.”

Y/n leaned her head against the wall behind her, gazing at the ceiling, “A-and you were just going to go through life alone? Never planning to settle or be happy?”

“What good would it be hurting someone by committing to them when I couldn’t offer everything they would give me in return. They could love me, but I couldn’t love them, Y/n, and that’s unfair.” He wiped away a tear that slipped from his eye, no doubt his irises were red, “I’d rather be alone than do that to someone.”

She took a sharp inhale at that, more tears falling. “You should’ve told me,” her voice cracked, making him look away. Only to freeze when she said in almost a whisper, “Because we could’ve had all this time.”

“Wh-what?” Was his mind playing tricks on him? Or did she really just say what he thought she did?

Y/n chuckled, but it was more of laughing at how sad the situation was. Shaking her head, her eyes stayed on her boots as she said, “Did you ever wonder why I rejected Tyler Davies when he asked me to homecoming junior year, insisting I wanted to go with you instead?” Tyler was the quarterback of their high school football team. A senior, who asked Y/n to the dance and became the talk of the school when she said no. Many were jealous she even got his attention, riddled with shock she would reject the star player.

“Because you felt sorry for me I didn’t ask anyone?” He asked like it was obvious, causing her to huff.

“Because I wanted you to ask me,” his heart skipped again, “And whenever Melinda Perry would flirt with you in government I would literally send her daggers because of how jealous I was. Why do you think I warned you not to go out with her when you asked for my advice? Yeah I knew she was a snake to most of her boyfriends, but I was also selfish because I didn’t want you dating someone else. God, Robby, you were so blind. Even with your glasses you still couldn’t see that I loved you.” It was though he was on cloud 9, disbelief at what he was hearing.

Y/n loved him. At least she did when they were teenagers.

The next question couldn’t even form in his mind before she was lifting her head back up, shrugging when allowing the confession to fall from her lips. “And as much as I want to hate you right, I can’t bring myself to. Because I’m still hopelessly in love with you, Robby.”

Now he was the one stumbling back. “Y-you do?”

“I do. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen.”

He didn’t recall much that happened after that. Just that his feet were carrying him over to her, cupping her face in his hands and moving their faces close together. Lips just barely brushing over, he waited for her to make the next move. Y/n wasted no time, pressing her mouth to his and the two felt the eruption of warmth and love consume their bodies. Her arms around his neck, her fingers ran through his blonde hair causing Bob to groan. The sound made her gasp, allowing Bob to slip his tongue past her lips and heat up the kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips, bringing them back together.

“I love you too.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” His arms went to cradle her, pressing her against the wall. She simply nodded before kissing him back, “I forgive you, Robby.” God he missed that name. Only she could make him feel some type of way when she said it. He chuckled when she added, “Even though I should slap the fuck out of you.”

It was a miracle they made it up the stairs and into his childhood bedroom which was now a guest room. He had to remember to lock the door after setting her on the bed, praying to God his family would stay outside. There was music playing from what he could hear through the window so it made things easier when the two got lost in each other.

Clothes scattered the floor, kisses and hushed whispers shared between the two. Bob worshiped Y/n, letting his mouth kiss along every inch of her, trailing down any tattoos that coated her skin and paying extra attention in the places that brought her the most pleasure.

When he entered her they both sighed in bliss, moving as one until they reached a climax that brought them both to tears. All the time Bob whispered how much he loved her, Y/n repeating it each time. She moaned with each thrust and whenever she pleaded with him to do something Bob delivered it without hesitation. With her leg over his shoulder, chests pressed and mouths attached together the officer believed if he died right there it would be with a smile on his face. They came together, Y/n gasping his name as he eased them through their climax. When it was over Bob leaned down to capture her lips, wiping away her tears before removing himself to clean her. They basked in the afterglow, Y/n laying her head on his chest while he lightly traced the tattoos on her arm with his finger.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked, making her humm in response. “Enrique…”

The woman made a sound, lifting her head to gaze at him. “Enrique and I had been friends for some time—and we did drunkenly hook up once to get the sexual tension out of the way but that was it,” Bob controlled his reaction, though he couldn't say anything for he too had his fair share of one night stands. “The band’s contract was renewed and The Walking Dead was just starting out. The label and his producers thought it was a good idea for us to be seen together. Just to bring in some press for our upcoming album and the show. But we never felt anything more than friends for each other.”

Bob sat up a bit, causing her to lean on her elbows as she rested on her stomach. His expression was unreadable, “but you two were married.” Again Y/n let out a sigh.

“Enrique and I were friends so we shared things. He confided in me, I confided in him—Enrique was in love with someone who he couldn’t have. Ring a bell?” She raised a brow at him. “I was in the same boat. Just like how you said you couldn’t bring yourself to love anyone else, I couldn’t either. But at the time I thought you were married, Robby.” That had his eyes widened. “I called your mom after the concert that night, hoping to get to you and she told me you were engaged. So when I met Enrique and we both were going through the same thing, we thought ‘instead of being miserable alone, let’s be miserable together.’ Our publicists hated the idea, but we both believed we wouldn’t get our fairytale ending.”

Something in the way she said that last sentence had Bob think about Enrique Lorenzo. Most recently it was revealed he was in a relationship with fellow costar Simon Zahir, coming out as bisexual to the world with an instagram post of the two sharing a kiss.

“So you married him even though you didn’t love him?” Kinda like how he almost did with Abby. It made Bob frown thinking about it.

“I did love him, just not the way a wife should love their husband. And he understood because he couldn’t love me the way a husband would their wife,” she sadly smiled, “It was a mutual understanding where we would go and support each other at premiers and award shows, kiss for the cameras, all that was needed to show the media we were a happy couple. But behind closed doors we actually lived separately.”

Hesitant to ask, Bob waited a moment before saying what was on his mind the last couple years. “What made you two divorce?” The question made her give a small smile.

“Simon confessed to Enrique he loved him after they finished filming season four, and that he and his wife were divorcing. When Enrique told me… I could just see the hope in his eyes, and who was I to deny him his chance at happiness just because I didn’t want to be alone. It would have been selfish of me to. No, I told him the first thing the next morning we’d file but our publicists called and asked to wait until Simon was divorced before we went through with ours. That’s why we were ‘separated’ for a year,” she put quotes around ‘separated’. “We didn’t want to cite irreconcilable differences since it was a mutual decision, but the lawyers thought that was the best route to go.”

Bringing a hand up to caress her cheek, Bob asked the second question he wanted to know, “What made you come here?” She leaned into his touch, “you said you thought I was married. How did you even get here?” The last question was more due to the fact The 1985’s were currently on tour. It was another reason why he was so shocked to see her there when he arrived.

“We played in Helena last night. After the show I had this feeling I needed to come here, so I called my mom to get your mom’s number. That’s when she told me you were flying in today.” Her face turned to one of guilt, “I sorta feel like a bitch because tomorrow is your birthday and I came here knowing there would likely be an argument. Even though I thought you were married, I just really wanted to know the truth. It was eating me up. And with that feeling I needed to come here again after so many years, it sorta felt like a sign—if you can call it that.”

Leaning more into his hand, Y/n added, “I didn’t come with the intentions of winning you over or anything—especially under the impression you were married. I wanted answers, that was all. Although,” she kisses his wrist, “I’m not complaining with how things turned out.”

“Me either,” he agreed with a laugh. As he moved in to kiss her, a knock on the door interrupted causing the two to look like deer in headlights.

“If you two are presentable,” it was his sister, “then we’d be happy if y’all joined us for dinner sometime soon. But by all means, take your time.” She ended with a cheeky laugh before footsteps indicated she had walked away.

Bob let his head fall back into the pillow with a groan while Y/n giggled. She went to get up, but the man wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled into her neck. “I’ve waited too long for this.” Humming, he felt her hands go to his air, maneuvering them so he was on top of her.

Y/n gasped at the feeling of him becoming hard again, causing Bob to smirk as she wrapped her legs around him to offer assistance. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

In the haze of it all and as the weeks passed, the two began to live the life they dreamed of with each other. Neither realized they had forgotten protection that night….until Y/n was puking on the tour bus and counted the days since her last period.

“Look at me,” Bob held her hands. They sat in her hotel room in Sacramento, the band finishing out their tour in California before setting to work on their next album. When she called him that morning about her possibly being pregnant Bob got in his car and drove straight there. Thankfully it was a Saturday so he was off and had great timing. Pepper was kind enough to give her a spare pregnancy test she had on her, so Y/n waited until Bob arrived to take it.

Relieving herself on the stick, she kept it in the bathroom to wait for the results while she sat with him on the bed. She was crying, unsure how to feel. Part of her was excited at the idea of being pregnant and having a baby with Bob, but also feared it was too soon. They had just started dating, she was on tour until the end of the month, and they had been keeping their relationship quiet from the public so she was scared of what could happen.

For the WSO, he was going to be happy regardless of the outcome. “Look at me, Y/n. Everything is going to be okay. I am not leaving you—I swear to you, baby. If that says positive, then believe me when I say I will be the happiest man alive,” she whimpered, making him press kisses her cheek lovingly, “We’ll get through it together. You’re gonna be done with the tour in a few weeks and then we can take it from there. And if it’s negative then that’s completely okay too.”

When the results did come, the stick reading in small letters pregnant, the couple cried together with Bob pulling Y/n into his lap. “I love you—I love you,” he kissed all over her face, her cries turning into giggles. “It’s going to be okay, Y/n. I’m so happy, darlin’. So so happy. I want nothing more in this world than to have a baby with you. You’re going to be the best momma ever. I know it.”

October of 2017 brought Marcel Brandon Floyd into the world. Keeping her pregnancy a secret, no one besides the band and their families had knowledge of the birth of their son. Thankfully Bob’s identity was still hidden, both very careful to not let paparazzi catch them together. Especially with Y/n being pregnant they didn’t want to add on the stress of the media discovering their relationship. They planned to announce it on their own at some point once the baby had arrived.

It wasn’t until Marcel was roughly a month old that Y/n posted an Instagram picture with his tiny hand wrapped around her finger, ‘my world has arrived 🤍 10.20.17.’ The announcement had Y/n trending #1 on Twitter and talk show hosts calling to have her on the show. Y/n declined, she only really made television appearances with the band if they were performing, but that was only when they released new music.

Around the holidays was when Bob proposed. They were sitting by the fire, Y/n in his lap with Marcel in her arms when Bob simply said, “Marry me.”

At first she thought he was joking, but then he removed a velvet box from his pocket. Her eyes watered, “Are you serious?”

“More than I’ve ever been. You’re my person, baby. I’ve waited for this moment my whole life—and I won’t waste another second. Marry me, Y/n. Be my wife and I promise to love you even after death.”

He truly meant it when he said he didn’t want to waste another second. After she said yes, they put Marcel to bed and Bob made an appointment at the courthouse, both agreeing to get legally married and wait for a big ceremony some other time. They made love all through the night until the sun rose. In the morning the little family and the band gathered in the courthouse and tied the knot.

Y/n already knew the media was going to have stuff to say about her when the news broke. This was her second marriage, also happening in the spur of the moment like her first one. Only this time around it was with her soulmate so the rockstar couldn’t give a fuck what they had to say. She and Bob were coming up on a year, had a child, and planned to spend every second of their lives together. She loved him with every ounce of her being.

On instagram the picture posted was of their rings followed by one of them kissing where his face was hidden. “I’ve been keeping a secret from all of you. In January I reunited with my childhood best friend, who I was in love with way before The 1985’s were even thought of. Things happened in life causing us to drift apart, but we recently found our way back to each other and I plan to never let him go. He is my second half. The person I was meant to grow old with. I can’t put into words how happy I am and with the birth of our son, our little fairytale seems to be working out. Some of you may think this is all too fast but let me tell you this, we’ve waited a long time for this moment. I ask that you please respect our privacy and thank you to all who have supported me over the years. Much love, Y/n ♥️”

For almost two years the two kept their relationship under wraps from the media. Then in October of 2019, just before Marcel’s birthday Bob was called back to Top Gun. It’d been several years since he graduated from the program, surprised they even wanted him for the mission. With how timing was the WSO would have to report to Fightertown a couple days after his son turned two. Y/n had a beach house in San Diego, deciding her and Marcel would stay there while Bob was in his detachment and what made it better was Xavier and Farrah—who fell in love over the course of their years as a band— were both from San Diego, both currently there while the band took a small break. Bob would have to stay on base with candidates, but after training ended he’d come to the house to be with them.

Pepper and Thomas were back in L.A, but we’re working on beats for their upcoming album and sending the three what they had for them to add on or scrap if they felt it didn’t fit. They had a meeting with the two Zoom with Xavier and Farrah and their two young kids at Y/n’s place the day she got the call Bob was in an accident.

“Hello?” She answered the phone, moving to the side away from where Xavier was drumming. Marcel was in his little playpen, a pair of baby earmuffs over his ears to protect them from the loud noise.

“Hi….” The guy on the opposite end let out a soft chuckle. “I’m looking for uh, Y/n L/n?” His tone was that of someone who found it funny he was asking for someone he definitely thought wouldn’t be on the other end of the phone. Like he saw the name on the card and said, “there’s no fucking way this is the guy married to Y/n L/n,” but because of his job he had to call the number anyway.

“This is her. Who am I speaking to?”

The man went silent for a moment, before clearing his throat. “This is Lieutenant Royce from NAS Miramar medical group,” Y/n’s heart picked up as dread filled her, “Can you confirm you are the spouse of Lieutenant Robert Floyd.”

“Yes,” she rushed out. “I am. Is he okay? Did something happen?” Closing her eyes, she prayed she wasn’t about to receive the worst news imaginable. No, Bob had to be okay.

“There was an accident with his F-18 this afternoon, he had to eject—.”

“Excuse me one second,” she apologized before bringing the phone back slightly to yell at the drummer, “Xavier! Stop drumming for five seconds—I need to fucking hear right now!” The man winced as he mouthed, ‘sorry’ catching the ashen look on her face. Both he and Farrah set aside their instruments, watching Y/n turn away to speak again, this time more calmly. “Please repeat that for me, Lieutenant.”

When Royce heard the name of The 1985’s drummer being shouted at, the Lieutenant nearly forgot what he was calling for, “U-uh, yes. There was an emergency ejection in your husband’s F-18 this afternoon during training. He is okay minus a few bruises, but he will be staying overnight in our facility for observation.”

“Oh my gosh, okay,” she breathed in relief, bringing a hand to her mouth to calm herself. “Is there any way I can see him?”

“Do you have a dependent ID card?” She tells him yes and he says with a light cough, “Then yes you can come onto base and see him.” Royce gave the address, still finding it hard to believe he may have been talking with the frontwoman of the most popular rock band in the last 15 years. He really thought it was just someone who shared a name with her. But then again, they sounded very alike.

Thanking the officer, Y/n wrote down the address and rushed to grab her purse. “I have to go to base—something happened with Bob. Can you guys watch Marcel until I get back?”

“Of course,” Farrah told her, “go go, we’ll stay here and clean everything up.”

Practically speeding onto base, it was the first time she ever had to use her military ID, which had the guard at the front gate jaw drop. He maintained professionalism, scanning her card and nodding to the rockstar. As much as he wanted to ask for a photo the guy could tell she was in distress and it wasn’t a good idea. “Have a good day, Ms. L/n.”

“Thank you, sir. You too.” She waved apologetically, recognizing the look she often got from fans. Had the situation been different she would’ve happily chatted a little longer.

It was the same when she got to the infirmary. The receptionist, who looked to be in her mid twenties, dropped the apple in her hand while other young servicemen were doing double takes and whispering. “That’s fucking Y/n L/n.” “Are you sure?” “I’m serious! I had a huge crush on her in college. I’d recognize her anywhere.”

“Hi,” she offered a small smile, aware the guy to her left had his phone out trying to sneak a picture, likely tweeting the fact she was in a Navy hospital. “I’m looking for my husband, Lieutenant Robert Floyd. I received a call from a Lieutenant Royce saying he was here.”

Upon hearing his name, the gentlemen seated behind the girl with his back to her spun around, eyes bulging when they landed on Y/n. The chair almost fell when he stood abruptly. “T-that’s me. Yes I’m the one who called you, Ms. L/n. If you would follow me I’ll take you to him.”

“Thank you,” she walked behind him, ignoring the whispers and comments made by those around. By now TMZ probably got tipped off, she could already feel her phone buzzing—no doubt from her publicist wondering what the hell was going on. She made a mental note to call her back later to explain.

Royce knocked gently on the door before opening it, “Lieutenant—oh you have visitors I apologize,” he glanced over his shoulder to Y/n, still in disbelief on what he was about to say. Turning back to Bob, Royce gives a nod, “your wife is here.”

“She is?” Y/n heard Bob, and some murmurs of voices going, “Wife?” “When the hell did he get married?”

Pushing past Royce, thanking him briefly, Y/n entered the room only to stop short at the several pairs of eyes landing on her. Off to the side she saw a man with a buzz cut drop his bag of chips, choking on the one in his mouth, “What. the. fuck.”

The two standing in front of the bed—mouths agape—parted away allowing Y/n to see Bob sitting with his flight suit unzipped and tied around his waist. Exhaling in utter relief the woman rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, Robby.” She felt his arms go to her waist, pulling her closer as she hid her face in his neck. Y/n could literally cry with how happy she was to see him in one piece.

“I’m okay, darlin’.” He rubbed her back, aware his fellow aviators were staring at them with mixed expressions. They looked confused, disbelieved, shocked, and in awe.

The quiet, reserved, yet sometimes sassy WSO is married to the woman who's been ruling the radio over the last decade.

Who had seven fucking Grammy’s under her band’s name.

Pulling away, Y/n ran her hands along his shoulders, checking for any visible wounds. “What happened? Lieutenant Royce told me you had to eject?”

“There was a bird strike,” he explained, taking her hands and soothing them with his thumbs. “We lost both engines—Phoenix tried to get back control but we were going too fast and couldn’t save the jet. Had to eject at the last second—we’re okay though, I promise. Just a little shaken.”

“Thank God you’re alright,” she sniffed, hugging him again while kissing his cheek. “Leave it to you getting in an accident that makes me use my ID for the first time.”

“How was that?”

“Interesting. I was tempted to run the gate because I had no patience, but controlled myself. Getting arrested would not have been good.”

“No it wouldn’t,” he chuckled, pressing his lips to her forehead.

The clearing of someone’s throat ended the moment, Y/n removing herself from Bob to face the group of aviators who were still speechless by the scene. Smiling shyly, Y/n took in each of them. “Hello, I’m Y/n.”

“Oh we know who you are,” Fanboy said with awe, groaning when Payback smacked his shoulder with a disapproving look. “Sorry that was not the best thing to say. What I-I meant was we’re all fans of your work.”

“And by that he means we were all jamming to your music on the tarmac just yesterday, not understanding why Bobby here looked so smug when Seresin said he could totally get a shot with you if he ever got the chance,” Rooster added on, resulting in the blonde pilot to glare at him before blushing when the others started to laugh.

“Well now I sure as hell won’t try—I’m not that shallow to hit on a married woman, Bradshaw. Made that mistake ages ago and it was not pretty. Anyways, sorry Bob for what I said,” he held a hand up, “but let me be the first to say what a fucking G you are. And Y/n, it’s an honor to be in your presence. Big fan.”

Y/n raised a brow, smirking to her husband to see his reaction. He sure did look smug, keeping his arm around her waist. “A fucking G, huh?”

“He’s the one who said it,” he smiles before noticing she was alone when she arrived, “Where’s Marcel?”

“With Xav and Farrah. They were at the house when I got the call—we were working on some songs.” In the corner of her eye she saw Coyote and Fanboy visibly react to the mention of her bandmates.

“Forgive me for asking,” Phoenix finally spoke from her bed that was seated right next to Bob’s. “But weren’t you two childhood best friends if I’m not mistaken? Sorry if it’s too personal, but I remember seeing your post on instagram two years ago and I thought it said something like that.”

The couple smiled, confirming her wonders. “Yeah,” Bob looked at Y/n with love in his eyes. “We grew up together. Took a hell of a long time before we could get our chance at love, but it was worth the wait.”

For almost an hour the aviators learned more about Y/n and Bob’s relationship, literally saying it should be a romance novel with what life threw at them. The hopeless romantic in Phoenix couldn’t help but awe, feeling so much happiness for her backseater and the rockstar she’d been listening to since sixteen. They truly were the ultimate love story.

When it came time for the mission with Bob and Phoenix selected as one of two foxtrot teams, Y/n held onto him the entire night prior to him shipping out. He made love to her for hours, very slow and sensual ensuring she felt every inch of him. And when they climaxed a tear spilled from her eyes, “You better come home to me.”

He kept a picture of her and Marcel in his pocket the entire time. Before the jet took off of the carrier Bob gave it a small kiss before keeping it safe in his flight suit. The second they got back after successfully completing the mission he called his wife to tell her he was coming home. She practically catapulted into his arms when she picked him up from the docks, not giving a shit that the paparazzi had followed her there. By now the whole world knew who Bob was to her.

The rest of 2019 seemed to go by in a blur. They first thought 2020 would be the best year of their lives when it was discovered Y/n was pregnant again, having conceived the night Bob had left for his mission. She was just at the end of her first trimester when the entire globe shut down. When the rumors spread of a possible pandemic with the outbreak happening across the ocean, the 1985’s all took up camp in San Diego now that Bob had become an instructor with Phoenix at Top Gun. Thomas and his fiancé, who was an actress, didn’t mind moving, neither did Pepper and her girlfriend. The group were working on their sixth studio album and had celebrated 15 years as a group.

But they were starting to get burnt out, thinking it was time to go on hiatus.

Concerned with the virus and what it could have on her pregnancy, the two were very strict on keeping up with covid restriction. For at least three months Bob was working from home, the base shutting down with only certain personnel allowed on. Marcel was still too young to be in pre-school and daycare wasn’t needed since Y/n was home most days. And when she did have business meetings to attend or studio sessions he often traveled with her. Zoom became their best friend during the lockdown, with meetings happening frequently at the beginning to figure out what they were going to do going forward.

Y/n spent weeks going through what were the best records to put on the album. If this was going to be their last for a while then she wanted it to be their best. Two songs she knew she wanted were ‘Pompeii’ and ‘Little Black Dress’, while the other 13 were going to take time to decide. ‘Pompeii’ could definitely have people relate with how this lockdown was making them feel. On the other hand, ‘Little Black Dress’ was mostly for her, inspired by the time Bob went absolutely feral when she walked into the room wearing a little black dress.

It was one of her favorite memories.

And so the months went on and before they knew it they were welcoming a baby girl in July—right smack in the middle of a pandemic. The whole ordeal was unlike anything they ever imagined. Only Bob was allowed in the room, not even their son could come visit so little Marcel didn’t even get to meet his sister until days later. He was with Y/n’s mother who traveled down from L.A and quarantined in the weeks leading to her due date. Y/n hated hospitals, looking forward to bringing their daughter Brenda Rose home. Unfortunately no one else in their family or friends could meet the baby girl until spring of 2021 when things were starting to settle out.

That was also when The 1985s made the decision to go on hiatus, planning to release their album that summer before going on a final tour in 2022.

“This just in, pop rock group ,The 1985s, have announced a hiatus following the release of their upcoming album End of An Era set to drop at the end July. Frontwoman, Y/n L/n, posted on her Twitter a photo of the group in a sweet embrace with the caption, ‘when one chapter ends, another begins. Join us in 2022 as we say goodbye to the stage—thank you to everyone who has supported us since we were kids on MySpace. We hope to see you as we close this chapter in our lives, but don’t worry, the future can always surprise you. In the meantime, as Elvis would say, ‘The 1985s have left the building.’”

“It’s a sad day for fans of Grammy award winning rock band The 1985s. Earlier it was announced they are going on an indefinite hiatus once completing their impending world tour for their sixth studio album. Formed in 2003, the 1985s skyrocketed to the Billboard charts after debuting with their single ‘1985’ in 2005, going on to dominate the late 2000s and early 2010s with features on The Twilight Saga: Eclipse soundtrack, the 25th anniversary of We Are The World to raise charity for the Haiti earthquake, and accumulating a total of seven Grammys including taking home the big three: ‘Record of The Year,’ ‘Song of The Year,’ and ‘Album of The Year’ in 2008 for their second studio album Sugar, Spice, and A Little Bit of Rock ‘N’ Roll. The announcement of the hiatus has succeeded the news of bassist Thomas Quinn tying the knot with longtime girlfriend, Oscar Winner Amelia Bandera, who recently revealed she was pregnant with the couple’s first child. Last year frontwoman Y/n L/n welcomed a daughter with her husband—the couple’s second child since they wed in a private ceremony in 2017. And word on the street is keyboardist Pepper Renolyds is looking to adopt with partner Jenna Langdon. The married pair of the band, Xavier and Farrah Hernandez have had two children following their wedding in 2010 and have hinted at possibly wanting to have a third. It is unsure when the group is likely to regroup after 2022 comes to an end, but one thing is for sure: The 1985s have embedded their name as one of the bestselling groups of the 21st century. I’d say we could be looking at a possible induction to the Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame in the future, and a Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.”

Now here they were, November of 2022 at Madison Square Garden to take the stage one last time. Would they ever come back? Probably, but it would be some time before they did.

So they were gonna go out with a bang.

“I have twenty minutes until my ass needs to be on stage, Robby,” Y/n mumbled between kisses, back pressed against the door of her dressing room. His mouth went to her neck, roaming his hands all over her body that was covered in her usual leather, “That’s plenty of time.” The response had her giggle, moaning when he attacked her sweet spot making him smirk.

“Then you better do double time…we’re on the clock.”

Her glam team was going to be pissed when she came out with messy hair, glistening of sweat, and slightly smudged makeup, but she didn’t care. Not when her husband was rocking her world as he had her bent over the couch. His chest pressed to her back and hair in his fist, whispering absolute filth into her ear—saying he was going to have her on stage full of him and only he would know. But Bob also gave words of praise and love.

It wasn’t the first time he snuck backstage to rile her up before a concert. When they started the American leg of the tour in California he was at almost every show and would bring her flowers. Sometimes the kids came along, other times they stayed with Phoenix, but each time Bob would either get her pent up by teasing her as the minutes counted down…or would full on rail her. He'd be lying if he said he didn’t get off on the thrill of almost getting caught….or the fact anyone passing the dressing room could figure out what they were making their own music.

This time around in The Garden their kids were with Phoenix and Rooster, who were all waiting to get to their spots on the floor after wishing her and the band good luck. The others were already there, ready to have the time of their lives with the sold out arena. Bob needed to hurry because the stage manager was going to be knocking on her door any second.

They finished with minutes to spare, out of breath and panting with a light layer of sweat coating Y/n. Fuck she looked sexy in her leather and messed up hair, glistening as the light hit her. A smug look took over Bob, winking at his wife who just shook her head with a smile, “I’m gonna miss that now that the tour is over.”

“Don’t worry, baby. We still got after party.”

The rockstar ushered him out when the stage manager appeared, the aviator delivering a smack to her ass as he told her good luck. She smacked his in return causing him to yelp, “Naughty boy.”

Yeah he got some looks from his fellow officers when they got to the floor, Jake whistling under his breath as he went to check his watch. “Jesus Bob, you two were at it for a while. Were you trying to go for baby number three? I hope she’s able to walk on stage.” The comment had Phoenix slap his shoulder, “Can you not? We have kids with us,” she gestured to not only Bob’s children but also Payback's ten year old son and Hondo’s seven year old daughter. Then there was Mickey’s girlfriend carrying their toddler with baby earmuffs, the same Brenda and Marcel were wearing. “My bad,” Jake said, though the smirk remained on his face when Bob sent him a wink.

When the show started it was the most amazing thing any of the squad had witnessed. Some of them had seen the band in their college days, but it was obvious they were gonna top what they did ten years ago. There was a light rumble to Madison Square Garden with how loud it was. Flashing lights and smoke covered the stage, the countdown with a video montage hitting zero before The 1985’s opened with ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go,’ sending everyone who was still sitting on their feet. Bob put Brenda on his shoulders, Rooster doing the same with Marcel who were clapping and pointing to their mother, “Mommy!”

“Now, I’m searching every lonely place,” Y/n belted out the first line of the chorus, moving down the stage’s elongated platform that split the floor. “Every corner calling out your name. Tryna find you, but I just don’t know.” Xavier hit the drums with Farrah’s riff, Y/n holding a hand to chest, “Where do broken hearts go?”

“Are you sleeping, baby, by yourself? Or are you giving it to someone else? Tryna find you, but I just don’t know,” Pepper and Thomas joined the vocals, “Where do broken hearts go? Where do broken hearts go?”

When the song came to an end, Y/n let the audience scream for a moment before introducing the band. “Madison Square Garden!! New York City!!” The crowd screamed again, smiles on every member. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, theys and thems and anyone in between…. welcome to the ‘End of An Era’ world tour—our final show as we close out an actual end of an era,” Y/n moves closer to her friends with a sad laugh, hearing the sounds of protest from some fans.

“Let’s start off by introducing ourselves…..Mr. Thomas Quinn on the bass!” Tom hits some chords against the audience’s cheers, Y/n doing a little dance off to the side. “Miss. Pepper Reynolds on keys everyone!” The former pianist lets her fingers move along the keys, grinning wide and waving when she finishes. “Show me what you can do, Ms. Farrah Cortez,” the guitar solo sends the crowd into a frenzy, which only increases when Y/n introduces Xavier. “And last but not least, Mr. Farrah Cortez,” laughter rings out before she corrects herself, “I meant Mr. Xavier Hernandez,” the drums go crazy when his last name leaves her lips. She waits till he’s finished to do a bow.

“And I’m Y/n L/n,” she has to pull her mic away to hide her laugh, cheers ringing from every corner in the sold out stadium. “And we’re The 1985s.”

The energy throughout the concert was insane. Even during intermission and 5-minute breaks the audience was having a blast. The dagger squad, plus Hondo and even Maverick were dancing and singing along—the older man getting a literal PowerPoint lesson from his former students on everything there was to know about the group.

Y/n was very entertained when Bob told her that night, saying Maverick aced his test they’d given him. “You gave your old instructor, the famous Captain Mitchell….a test on our band and music? And he got a 100%?” His little nod and smile had Y/n jump in his arms, kissing all over his face, “You’re so fucking adorable, Robby. I love you so much.”

The first part of the show was mostly dedicated to songs on their most recent album, including ‘Pompeii’ and ‘Little Black Dress’. The latter had Bob blushing mad during the set, especially when Y/n came over to where they were at, eyes on him and curing a finger to get him to come to the edge of the floor. There the stadium exploded when she practically laid on the platform to lean over and kiss him, the cameras catching the scene to display on the giant screens.

Blowing kisses to her kids, she got back up and finished the song, smirking at how the dagger squad were whistling and howling in cheers. “Sorry I couldn’t help myself,” she giggled, moving back to her bandmates to prepare for the next set.

Though the tour mainly focused on their songs from their latest work, they called back to some old hits, including ‘Let’s Get Lost,’ which was written for the third Twilight movie soundtrack. “We got any Twilight fans here tonight?” Y/n chuckled at the screams, “I got one thing to ask then….Team Edward or Jacob?”

‘Some Nights’ was one of her favorites to perform, feeling a wave of nostalgia each time she did. It was a fan favorite as it was their second single ever released. The band harmonized on the track, all of them showing off their vocals with the ‘Oh come on,’ part of the song.

Y/n was hesitant to sing ‘Iris’ and ‘Payphone,’ considering they were about her husband, but he assured her when they were planning the tour set list that he wouldn’t be offended. They were some of her greatest works, the audience should hear them.

They even covered the iconic, ‘Don’t You Forget About Me,’ from the Simple Minds—most notably from the movie The Breakfast Club. “I hope you never forget about us, New York,” Y/n said when they finished, “Cause we’ll never forget you.”

Finally they were coming down to the final ten minutes and they had yet to play the song that started it all. “As we come to the end of tonight’s show, we just wanna thank each and every one of you for the support and love you have shown us tonight and through the years. None of this would’ve happened without you all—and we cannot thank you enough for sticking by us, you all play a giant role in what we do. And we’re going to miss you the most as we close this chapter in our lives,” Y/n pauses, feeling the tears prick her eyes. Glancing at her friends, she could see they were fighting back their own. They knew it would be an emotional night, and now they were minutes away from stepping off the stage for the final time.

“We started this journey when we were only seventeen and eighteen—and it’s been a hell of a ride since. Next year marks twenty years since we became The 1985s, seventeen since we made our radio debut, back when MySpace was still a thing,” she has to laugh at that, “What better way to end this tour—end this chapter, than by traveling back in time to the year that started it all.”

The reaction in the dome had little Brenda have to cover her hands over her muffs because it was so loud, Bob holding her on his hip and asking if she was alright. “Loud,” she said in her small voice, causing him to mentally awe.

“I know, baby, it’s loud. But the show is almost over and then mommy will be done, then we go home. Can you hold on for one more song? It’s your favorite one,” Brenda’s eyes brightened at the mention of her favorite song, nodding frantically making him laugh. “Okay munchkin, I expect to hear you sing along—except don’t say the bad word in it, understood?”

“Yes, dada.”

Phoenix was jumping up and down with Marcel in her arms, head banging with the little boy along with Rooster and Javy. Everyone was in delight, rockin out to the final number. Brenda sang along with Bob, the crowd harmonizing with them.

“She’s seen all the classics,” Y/n belted the second verse, hands moving on her guitar, “She knows every line. Breakfast Club, Pretty In Pink, even St. Elmo’s Fire.”

“She rocked out to Wham, not a big Limp Bizkit fan. Thought she’d get a hand on a member of Duran Duran.”

Her and Farrah were leaning their backs against one another, “Where’s the mini-skirt made of snakeskin? And who’s the other guy that’s singin’ in Van Halen? When did reality become TV? Whatever happened to,” she hit a riff, “sitcoms,” she hit another, “game shows? Sing it!”

The entire squad, the kids, and Madison Square Garden echoed, “ON THE RADIO!”

“Was Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana there was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. ‘Cause she’s still preoccupied with 19…19…1985!”

Her mini solo before the bridge had the crowd wild. Smiling the entire time, Y/n even went to the side where her friends and family were, making them all go crazy. “She hates time, make it stop. When did Motley Crue become classic rock?”

“Classic rock,” the band repeated.

“And when did Ozzy become an actor? Please make this stop,” Y/n hit a riff, “stop,” another, “stop!” Only the cheers could be heard during the slight pause before Y/n brought her hand back on the chords.

“And bring back Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana. There was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. ‘Cause she’s still preoccupied—sing it!”

“1985!!!”

“One last time Madison Square Garden!!” Not a single person in them dome didn’t sing along, everyone shouting the final chorus at the top of their lungs.

“Since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana. There was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. But she’s still preoccupied, with 19….19….1985!!!”

All the band members continued playing an extended outro, lights flashing all around as the crowd whistled and screamed. Y/n ran over to each side of the stage before coming to the middle, waving a hand to her band who were still going hard on the instruments before raising it and finally bowing.

On the floor, Brenda still in his arms, Bob wiped away the tears falling from his cheeks with his free hand. His friends were cheering, the entire scene overwhelming for the WSO as he stared at his true love as she took her final bow. Y/n was also crying, as were her friends when they finally closed the show shouting, “Madison Square Garden—New York City we love you! Thank you so much for being here with us and being the best crowd ever. Safe travels wherever you’re going and we hope all your dreams come true. Until we meet again….as Elvis would say, The 1985s have left the building!”

The crowd was still screaming, the five adults coming to the middle of the stage holding hands in the air before bowing. Then they all met in a tearful embrace, Y/n full on sobbing with Farrah and Pepper, overcome with emotion that it was all over. Waving to the crowd, they spotted dozens of fans in their line of vision crying, some even throwing flowers onto the stage. They all went to each side of the platform to blow kisses and wave, until finally walking off into the arms of their crew who’d been with them since 2005–where another heartfelt moment took place.

As soon as their families made it backstage, Y/n was dropping to her knees to allow Brenda and Marcel to run into her open arms. “My babies!!” Peppering kisses against their cheeks, Y/n held them tight as they said words of praise. “You were amazing, mommy!” “That was so fun!”

“Thank you, baby,” she kissed Marcel’s head, looking up to see Bob staring at her with absolute love and admiration. Gently moving him and Brenda to the side, Y/n stood up, only to squeal when Bob’s hands went to her thighs to lift her up, spinning them around.

“You were incredible!” He exclaims, stopping still but still holding her up. Their lips met in a searing kiss, “absolutely spectacular.” Her hands came up to cup his face, deepening the kiss as their children wrapped their arms around Bob’s legs. It was like they were in their own little world, oblivious to everyone celebrating around them. The band were with their kids and partners, the crew were popping off champagne.

“I love you so much, Robby,” she said against his lips, kissing him again when he said, “I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

When they pulled away, Y/n was a flustered mess, mirroring that of Bob who was looking at her like she was a goddess. “Don’t give me that look, Floyd. Not until we get to the hotel.”

“Can’t help myself, darlin’,” he chuckled, adjusting her in his arms before giving her another kiss.

“Eww,” Marcel groaned, making the couple laugh into the kiss. Bob set Y/n down, but pulled her close as Brenda and Marcel squeezed in between them.

“So what’s next then?” Bob whispered in her ear. “I know you can take the girl out of rock n roll…but she’ll always be a rockstar.” Y/n laughed, pulling away to gaze deeply in his beautiful blue eyes that she fell in love with as a teenager.

“Now, we live our lives. One day at a time. Together.”

Y/n really needed to thank her mom one day. It was because of her that the woman got to live her dream. After all, she was the one still preoccupied with 1985.

……….

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @poppyalice2001, @cutelittlepotatofry, @luckyladycreator2, @americaarse , @elenavampire21

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