content: rodrick wants to show you how to play the drums, but the both of you get distracted and the lesson turns into something very different.
words: 1,8k
warnings: smut MDNI ! 18+ only!!!, kissing, fingering, a lot of touching
………
It was a warm summer evening and the sun was almost set outside of the Heffley’s garage, where you and Rodrick were spending your time together. You were sat on the sofa which was placed in the middle of the room, while Rodrick was seated on his usual spot, playing the drums.
It had become a casual thing that you were watching him play and you enjoyed it a lot. He just looked so damn good drumming like that. He was always so passionate about it, breaking into a small sweat and turning his hair into a complete mess. Safe to say that you never got tired of it.
After watching him play for some time you grabbed a magazine from the coffee table beside you, which you had placed there few weeks ago. Now you were laying on your stomach, kicking your feet in the air while the sound of the drums continued to play in the background.
Inside the garage it was quite warm so you were wearing one of Rodricks band tshirts and some pair of shorts, while your soft hair was laying loosely over your shoulders and grazing the small of your back.
Thats when the sound of drumming suddenly stopped. “Baby, come here. Wanna show you how to play.”, Rodrick said out of nowhere. You turned your head around and looked at him. He sat there shirtless, only a pair of dark blue jeans on and his boxers peaking from underneath them, his chocolate brown hair a slight mess as he stared back at you with a gesturing look on his face. God, did he look good, you thought to yourself. So you put your magazine back on the table, stood up from from the sofa and walked your way over towards him.
“Rodrick, you do know that my instrumental skills are utterly bad right?”, you told him as you stood in front of him, looking down at his face. Ever since you were a kid
“Oh, stop it. Thats what Im here for.”, he answered you casually as his one hand grabbed your hip and pulled you closer towards him, while the other kept ahold of the drumsticks. “Come sit.”
Thats when he pulled you down towards him, making you sit on his lap facing the set of drums. Your back pressed against his torso as his arms found its way around your waist towards your own hands, positioning them into the right drumming position. His body was warm. A nice sort of warm that made you feel at ease, while his head was placed over your shoulder next to your own head. His soft breath fanning over your shoulder and neck, giving you a sensational feeling of tingles all over your body.
“Okay so you’re gonna hold the drumsticks while I’m gonna play some bit. That way you can start to get the right feeling alright?”, he told you. He placed the drumsticks into your hands and put his around them, so that he could lead the drumming. As he got started and played some sort of beat on the different drums and cymbals, you just sat there kind of dumbfounded not knowing how any of it worked. You just let him lead the drumming and watched the way he moved your hands and played.
After some short time of playing he stopped and put your hands back down. “See, it’s not that hard. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”, he said from beside you. “I doubt that.”, you answered with soft laugh. “You were the one playing just now.”
“Yeah well I think it suits you very well. You look incredibly sexy sitting on my lap like this.”, he responded, burying his face in your neck. He started kissing the spot up and down, moving further up towards the spot behind your ear. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer towards him into his chest. You closed your eyes in satisfaction and let out a quiet sigh at the feeling of his warm lips pressing against your skin.
“Hm, you think so?”, you softly asked him back. Your free hand made its way up towards the back of Rodricks neck, tugging at the nape of his hair.
“Hell yeah.”, Rodrick answered lowly while he continued kissing the edge of your jaw closely to your ear.
He took the drumsticks out of your other hand and placed them on some desk which was standing nearby the drums. When his arm found its way back around your waist, his hand glided up further up towards your breast, lighlty squeezing it over the fabric of your shirt. The feeling of it made you let out a soft moan and you turned your head sideways, so that you could finally kiss him.
As the gap between the two of you closed, both your hands moved to the back of his head and started playing with his hair. Meanwhile his one hand, which was placed on your tit, slowly started moving further down and went underneath your (his) shirt. It grazed lightly over your stomach until he cupped the curve of your breast again. This time the only thing keeping you from his touch was your light pink lacy bra that Rodrick really loved on you. Whenever you wore it, he couldnt keep his hands and eyes away and practically drooled at the sight of you.
His fingers slowly went into the inside of your bra, so that he could hold your bare breast, squeezing it. His other hand kept a firm grip on your hip holding you in place as you deliberately started grinding onto him. The feeling of your ass moving against his crotch made him let out a groan into your mouth. Your hips moved carefully back and forth, pressing against his now semi-hard dick, making him harder and harder after every movement that you made. God that felt good. You could already feel your arousal dampen the lacy underwear that you were wearing underneath your short shorts as the heat between the two of you started to grow.
The both of you continued your sloppy kisses, your mouths and chins now slickly wet from the saliva you were swapping. Your hands were still tangled in his now completely messy hair as you shared eachothers hot and short-cut breaths.
Thats when you felt the his hand that was just holding tightly against your hip also move under your oversized t-shirt. His fingertips brushed gently against your stomach and slowly started moving towards the hem of your shorts. His fingers hooked under the soft material and traced the outline of it. He only did that to tease you, you were for sure. His other hand continued kneading your breast and pinched your nipple every now and then, causing you to let out soft moans against his wet lips.
His fingertips now lowered themselves towards your panties and started moving against the dampened fabric, brushing over your clothed clit. This made you moan out loud, parting your lips from his and closing your eyes in satisfaction. Rodrick kept on kissing you, from the corner of your mouth over your jaw and back towards your neck, sucking and lightly grazing his teeth against your skin. Damn.
You turned your head back, facing the set of drums again, though your eyes were still closed tightly. You led your head fall back against the top of his shoulder when you felt his fingers slip under your underwear and started moving towards your entrance. They started moving up and down there, spreading your arousal all over your pussy and his fingers. He let out a satisfactory sigh at the feeling of how wet you were, turning him on even more.
“You’re such a tease you know that?”, you told him in an angelic soft tone.
Without answering you felt him slowly entering the tight walls of your pussy with two fingers. You gasped at the feeling, inhaling a sharp breath through your parted lips, while he continued pushing in further and was at the same time still sucking and licking on your neck. His breath against your skin was warm and started to become unsteady as his lust started to grow. Rodricks thumb was moving small circles over your clit, satisfying and making you even more wet than you already were. meanwhile, your grinding against his dick started to become very sloppy, completely focusing only on the way his hands and fingers worked on your body.
His fingers started moving in and out with a perfect rhythm, your wetness coating his long and slender fingers, causing you to shut your eyes even tighter and making you moan out loud. The feeling in your lower belly was growing warmer and tighter after every movement he made and one of your hands grabbed firmly on his arm, nails digging into his skin, while the other was still placed behind you and pulling on his soft and tousled hair. “Fuck”, you moaned out loud as his fingers started slipping in and out of you at a now faster pace. The feeling was so unbelievably good that you couldn’t find any other words than that.
“Come on baby, cum for me. I know you are close, sweetheart.”, he whispered softly into your ear. And he was damn right. You were close, really close. Heat was spreading through your entire body and you couldn’t think straight anymore. You were a moaning mess under him, because he knew exactly how you liked it and what made you satisfy.
After a few more times of his fingers moving in and out of your warm and wet pussy and his thumb pressing against your sensitive clit, your orgasm erupted through your body. The growing knot inside your lower belly now releasing and satisfying you throughout every nerve and muscle inside you. You let out a loud moan at the euphoric feeling, clenching your thighs tightly against one another and around Rodricks hand, keeping him in place. His fingers were still inside of your now tensing and tight walls, riding out your high with slow movements until you were completely satisfied.
When the heat inside of your body and the pace of your heartbeat slowly started to fade and slow down, you opened your eyes again and turned your head back towards Rodrick. “That was really fucking good.”, you told him, now face to face and still trying to catch your breath. “And unbelievably hot.”, he answered back with a proud grin plastered across his face. You let out a soft chuckle and smiled back at him, before moving closer and pressing your plump lips together into a passionate kiss. You turned back around in his lap, after his fingers pulled out of your wet entrance, and positioned your legs on each side of his leg, as the two of you continued your lustful antics for the rest of the night until you both were completely satisfied.
content: rodrick wants to show you how to play the drums, but the both of you get distracted and the lesson turns into something very different.
words: 1,8k
warnings: smut MDNI ! 18+ only!!!, kissing, fingering, a lot of touching
………
It was a warm summer evening and the sun was almost set outside of the Heffley’s garage, where you and Rodrick were spending your time together. You were sat on the sofa which was placed in the middle of the room, while Rodrick was seated on his usual spot, playing the drums.
It had become a casual thing that you were watching him play and you enjoyed it a lot. He just looked so damn good drumming like that. He was always so passionate about it, breaking into a small sweat and turning his hair into a complete mess. Safe to say that you never got tired of it.
After watching him play for some time you grabbed a magazine from the coffee table beside you, which you had placed there few weeks ago. Now you were laying on your stomach, kicking your feet in the air while the sound of the drums continued to play in the background.
Inside the garage it was quite warm so you were wearing one of Rodricks band tshirts and some pair of shorts, while your soft hair was laying loosely over your shoulders and grazing the small of your back.
Thats when the sound of drumming suddenly stopped. “Baby, come here. Wanna show you how to play.”, Rodrick said out of nowhere. You turned your head around and looked at him. He sat there shirtless, only a pair of dark blue jeans on and his boxers peaking from underneath them, his chocolate brown hair a slight mess as he stared back at you with a gesturing look on his face. God, did he look good, you thought to yourself. So you put your magazine back on the table, stood up from from the sofa and walked your way over towards him.
“Rodrick, you do know that my instrumental skills are utterly bad right?”, you told him as you stood in front of him, looking down at his face. Ever since you were a kid
“Oh, stop it. Thats what Im here for.”, he answered you casually as his one hand grabbed your hip and pulled you closer towards him, while the other kept ahold of the drumsticks. “Come sit.”
Thats when he pulled you down towards him, making you sit on his lap facing the set of drums. Your back pressed against his torso as his arms found its way around your waist towards your own hands, positioning them into the right drumming position. His body was warm. A nice sort of warm that made you feel at ease, while his head was placed over your shoulder next to your own head. His soft breath fanning over your shoulder and neck, giving you a sensational feeling of tingles all over your body.
“Okay so you’re gonna hold the drumsticks while I’m gonna play some bit. That way you can start to get the right feeling alright?”, he told you. He placed the drumsticks into your hands and put his around them, so that he could lead the drumming. As he got started and played some sort of beat on the different drums and cymbals, you just sat there kind of dumbfounded not knowing how any of it worked. You just let him lead the drumming and watched the way he moved your hands and played.
After some short time of playing he stopped and put your hands back down. “See, it’s not that hard. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”, he said from beside you. “I doubt that.”, you answered with soft laugh. “You were the one playing just now.”
“Yeah well I think it suits you very well. You look incredibly sexy sitting on my lap like this.”, he responded, burying his face in your neck. He started kissing the spot up and down, moving further up towards the spot behind your ear. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer towards him into his chest. You closed your eyes in satisfaction and let out a quiet sigh at the feeling of his warm lips pressing against your skin.
“Hm, you think so?”, you softly asked him back. Your free hand made its way up towards the back of Rodricks neck, tugging at the nape of his hair.
“Hell yeah.”, Rodrick answered lowly while he continued kissing the edge of your jaw closely to your ear.
He took the drumsticks out of your other hand and placed them on some desk which was standing nearby the drums. When his arm found its way back around your waist, his hand glided up further up towards your breast, lighlty squeezing it over the fabric of your shirt. The feeling of it made you let out a soft moan and you turned your head sideways, so that you could finally kiss him.
As the gap between the two of you closed, both your hands moved to the back of his head and started playing with his hair. Meanwhile his one hand, which was placed on your tit, slowly started moving further down and went underneath your (his) shirt. It grazed lightly over your stomach until he cupped the curve of your breast again. This time the only thing keeping you from his touch was your light pink lacy bra that Rodrick really loved on you. Whenever you wore it, he couldnt keep his hands and eyes away and practically drooled at the sight of you.
His fingers slowly went into the inside of your bra, so that he could hold your bare breast, squeezing it. His other hand kept a firm grip on your hip holding you in place as you deliberately started grinding onto him. The feeling of your ass moving against his crotch made him let out a groan into your mouth. Your hips moved carefully back and forth, pressing against his now semi-hard dick, making him harder and harder after every movement that you made. God that felt good. You could already feel your arousal dampen the lacy underwear that you were wearing underneath your short shorts as the heat between the two of you started to grow.
The both of you continued your sloppy kisses, your mouths and chins now slickly wet from the saliva you were swapping. Your hands were still tangled in his now completely messy hair as you shared eachothers hot and short-cut breaths.
Thats when you felt the his hand that was just holding tightly against your hip also move under your oversized t-shirt. His fingertips brushed gently against your stomach and slowly started moving towards the hem of your shorts. His fingers hooked under the soft material and traced the outline of it. He only did that to tease you, you were for sure. His other hand continued kneading your breast and pinched your nipple every now and then, causing you to let out soft moans against his wet lips.
His fingertips now lowered themselves towards your panties and started moving against the dampened fabric, brushing over your clothed clit. This made you moan out loud, parting your lips from his and closing your eyes in satisfaction. Rodrick kept on kissing you, from the corner of your mouth over your jaw and back towards your neck, sucking and lightly grazing his teeth against your skin. Damn.
You turned your head back, facing the set of drums again, though your eyes were still closed tightly. You led your head fall back against the top of his shoulder when you felt his fingers slip under your underwear and started moving towards your entrance. They started moving up and down there, spreading your arousal all over your pussy and his fingers. He let out a satisfactory sigh at the feeling of how wet you were, turning him on even more.
“You’re such a tease you know that?”, you told him in an angelic soft tone.
Without answering you felt him slowly entering the tight walls of your pussy with two fingers. You gasped at the feeling, inhaling a sharp breath through your parted lips, while he continued pushing in further and was at the same time still sucking and licking on your neck. His breath against your skin was warm and started to become unsteady as his lust started to grow. Rodricks thumb was moving small circles over your clit, satisfying and making you even more wet than you already were. meanwhile, your grinding against his dick started to become very sloppy, completely focusing only on the way his hands and fingers worked on your body.
His fingers started moving in and out with a perfect rhythm, your wetness coating his long and slender fingers, causing you to shut your eyes even tighter and making you moan out loud. The feeling in your lower belly was growing warmer and tighter after every movement he made and one of your hands grabbed firmly on his arm, nails digging into his skin, while the other was still placed behind you and pulling on his soft and tousled hair. “Fuck”, you moaned out loud as his fingers started slipping in and out of you at a now faster pace. The feeling was so unbelievably good that you couldn’t find any other words than that.
“Come on baby, cum for me. I know you are close, sweetheart.”, he whispered softly into your ear. And he was damn right. You were close, really close. Heat was spreading through your entire body and you couldn’t think straight anymore. You were a moaning mess under him, because he knew exactly how you liked it and what made you satisfy.
After a few more times of his fingers moving in and out of your warm and wet pussy and his thumb pressing against your sensitive clit, your orgasm erupted through your body. The growing knot inside your lower belly now releasing and satisfying you throughout every nerve and muscle inside you. You let out a loud moan at the euphoric feeling, clenching your thighs tightly against one another and around Rodricks hand, keeping him in place. His fingers were still inside of your now tensing and tight walls, riding out your high with slow movements until you were completely satisfied.
When the heat inside of your body and the pace of your heartbeat slowly started to fade and slow down, you opened your eyes again and turned your head back towards Rodrick. “That was really fucking good.”, you told him, now face to face and still trying to catch your breath. “And unbelievably hot.”, he answered back with a proud grin plastered across his face. You let out a soft chuckle and smiled back at him, before moving closer and pressing your plump lips together into a passionate kiss. You turned back around in his lap, after his fingers pulled out of your wet entrance, and positioned your legs on each side of his leg, as the two of you continued your lustful antics for the rest of the night until you both were completely satisfied.
{ ! } contains: rodrick heffley x reader, senior year / last homecoming, mutual pining, mild insecurity & self-doubt, intense kissing / makeout, smudged makeup, rodrick being rodrick, moms meddling,friends gossiping, fluff with tension
you’ve known rodrick heffley so long that it doesn’t feel like a choice. he’s just… there. always has been. your moms became best friends sometime before either of you could form memories, which meant shared holidays, shared carpools, shared birthdays where rodrick blew out candles too hard and spit everywhere. it also meant you grew up hearing his name constantly, even when he wasn’t in the room.
his mom adored you in a way that felt aggressive sometimes. she called you “sweetheart” and “angel” and once told your mom, right in front of rodrick, that she wished he’d “end up with someone like you instead of some girl who scares her.” rodrick nearly died on the spot.
you and rodrick had always existed in this weird in-between. too close to be strangers, too familiar to be anything else. he teased you relentlessly, but never crossed certain lines. he acted like you annoyed him, but showed up every time you needed help. by senior year, people noticed. friends whispered. classmates stared. your group chats wouldn’t shut up about it.
“just go together,” your friends said.
“it’s your last homecoming,” they reminded you.
“his mom already wants you dating,” someone laughed.
they weren’t wrong.
the idea didn’t even come from rodrick. it came from his mom, sitting at your kitchen table one afternoon, smiling like she’d cracked some secret code. “it’s your last homecoming,” she said, pouring herself iced tea. “you two should go together. it would make sense.”
rodrick stared at the wall like he’d dissociated.
“mom,” he said. “no.”
“why not?” she asked innocently. “you already know each other. i trust her. her mother trusts you. and it would make me feel better.”
that last part was what sealed it. guilt. obligation. mom logic.
two days later, rodrick stood on your porch, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, hair clearly not styled so much as existing. “my mom won’t leave me alone unless i ask you,” he said flatly. “so… do you wanna go to homecoming with me.”
it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t smooth. but it was honest.
you said yes.
now it’s the night of homecoming, and rodrick is sitting in your bedroom because both your moms insisted he come early “so you wouldn’t be nervous.” he’s wearing a striped button-up that looks like it was pulled straight from the back of his closet, a black tie loosely knotted like he gave up halfway through, sleeves not even rolled neatly. his hair’s brushed, barely, like someone reminded him at the last second. he smells like deodorant and that same old cologne he’s been using since sophomore year.
you do your makeup first, carefully, because you don’t trust yourself not to mess it up once the dress is on. the dress hangs in your closet, staring at you. you thought it was cute when you bought it. white fabric, tiny black polka dots scattered across it, a fitted top and a flared skirt that falls in soft layers. black piping along the edges, a thin black ribbon tied at the waist. it felt sweet. pretty. simple.
now it just feels… young.
when you step into the closet to change, rodrick turns away without being told, suddenly quiet. when you come back out, the dress feels heavier than you expected. not physically. emotionally.
you face the mirror.
and immediately hate it.
“oh my god,” you say. “i look like a kid.”
rodrick turns. stops short.
“what are you talking about?”
you tug at the skirt, watching it sway. “the polka dots. i thought they were cute, but for homecoming they just look childish. like i’m going to a birthday party, not a dance. i look stupid.”
he exhales sharply, frustrated, and steps closer. “you don’t.”
“yes, i do,” you say. “i look like i’m playing dress-up.”
“no,” he says, firmer now. “you look… different. like you’re not the same person who steals my fries and yells at me for breathing too loud.”
you glance at him. “that’s not helping.”
“you look grown,” he says instead. “like, actually grown.”
you shake your head. “you’re lying.”
something in him snaps. maybe it’s senior year. maybe it’s the way you keep tearing yourself down. maybe it’s the fact that his mom’s stupid idea is suddenly making too much sense.
he grabs your waist and pulls you into him, hard enough that it knocks the breath out of you. his mouth crashes into yours, urgent and rough, like he’s done pretending. his hands slide up your back, fingers digging in, kissing you like he’s been holding this in for years and finally gave up trying to be normal about it.
it’s intense. messy. heated. the kind of kiss that makes your thoughts short-circuit. you kiss him back without thinking, fingers gripping his shirt, heart racing. he kisses you like he’s frustrated and relieved all at once, like this is overdue.
when you pull away, dizzy, you shove his chest.
“are you kidding me?” you snap. “my makeup.”
he looks at your smudged lipstick, then grins. “worth it.”
you groan and grab your makeup bag. “sit down. don’t move.”
he does immediately, watching you redo everything, eyes glued to you, quiet in a way that feels serious. you fix your lipstick, clean the edges, smooth everything out. when you’re done, you look at him through the mirror.
“you barely even tried,” you say, nodding at his outfit.
he shrugs. “yeah, but you did. that balances it out.”
you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.
“everyone’s gonna talk,” you say.
he shrugs again. “let them. it’s the last one anyway.”
for once, rodrick heffley doesn’t sound like he’s joking.
Summary: The San Diego Padres are saluting the U.S. Navy during their upcoming game, and the Dagger Squad has been invited to attend. Hangman's only goal for the game? Get you and Bob to finally act on your feelings and confess to each other.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY (I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume), fluff, friends to lovers, pining, language, female reader, language, maybe some incorrect descriptions of the Navy, suggestive and steamy but no smut, some suggestive and steamy PDA that's borderline not appropriate for public spaces, Padres don't do a kiss cam but lets pretend, I'm a Pirates fan (please pity me) so maybe some incorrect descriptions of Padres games and Petco Park and San Diego
“There’s something about a Padres jersey that has our own last names on the back that’s kind of really cool,”
You’d shot Natasha an eye roll from across the room, catching the specially made Padres jersey with your last name stitched into the back when she’d tossed it your way. In turn, you’d grabbed the one lying on your bed, ‘Trace’ stitched into the back, and tossed it over to where she sat cross-legged on your bedroom floor. You tugged your tank top down over the pink, lacy floral bra you wore before plopping down on your bed with your jersey in hand.
“Is it bad that I kind of hate them?” Nat raised her eyebrow as you held out your jersey in front of you, examining the dark brown fabric and gold stripes, before laying it down on the bed next to you. “Not the jersey itself, but that it has our names. Kind of wanted to wear my Bogaerts jersey to the game.”
Nat hummed, dragging herself off the floor and throwing herself down on the bed beside you. You cast a glance down at her, just to see a cheeky grin on her lips.
“Dying to wear Bogaerts’s name on your back-”
“Please, Phoenix, we all know she’s dying to wear the last name ‘Floyd’ on her jersey,”
Hangman’s unexpected voice was not a welcome one, as he came strolling into your bedroom to lean against the doorframe with that signature smirk of his. His presence only garnered a groan out of you as Nat sat up, laughing at the comment.
“Right, almost forgot about her undying love for our teammate-”
“I don’t remember saying you could come in,” you interjected, sending Jake a pointed look, ignoring Natasha’s comment the best you could with red creeping up your neck. His grin only widened as he lifted his hand, dangling his truck keys in the air with a little shake.
“Perks of having the spare key to the ladies’ apartment. Your fault, you entrusted me with it. Best friend perks, and whatnot,” he waved his hand dismissively, before giving you a pointed look in return to your own. “I’m also your five-minute warning that the Bradshaw Bronco just picked up the pizza and beer for lunch and should be here soon, since neither of you likes checking the groupchat. Sometimes I wonder if you two have muted it.”
“I’m terrified that they somehow shoved Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote in the back of that thing,” Natasha chimed in with a fake shiver, shooting Hangman a sly middle finger for his groupchat comment. Her actions made you laugh, nudging her shoulder with your own.
“True, those three are the most brutal during dogfight football. Lord knows what happens when they're in close proximity to each other-”
“Ladies, we have more pressing things to discuss!” Hangman interrupted, clapping his hands as he stepped toward the bed, standing directly before the edge with his hands resting on his hips. That alone had you and Nat sharing a look of amusement, but Jake Seresin was all business. “I’m determined to take ‘Operation Peob’ to the next level tonight…and by next level, I mean get you, our little flower, laid.”
You weren’t entirely sure if your brain was short-circuiting or if you’d actually heard your best friend right. Truly, though, knowing Jake as long as you had, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been speaking total nonsense. Judging by the pained groan that Nat let out at your side, you knew you’d heard him right.
“Operation Peob-?”
“It’s his stupid 1000-step plan to get you and Bob to fess up that’s not working,” Nat explained with a shake of her head. “He’s been at it for months. I’ve helped, obviously, because I’m sick of seeing you two pining after one another, but the mashup of ‘Peony’ and ‘Bob’ is just terrible.”
“That time we invited you guys out for drinks, but we both canceled last second, so it was just you and Bob? My plan,” Hangman grabbed your desk chair, wheeling it over in front of the bed to sit backwards on it, that shit-eating grin on his face that you just wanted to smack off. “Or when I started that childish game of seven minutes in heaven to lock you guys in a closet? Or when I blamed that screwed up pre-flight checklist on you and Bob so you’d be held later together-”
“I’m sorry, you did what-?”
“Point is,” Jake quickly interjected, cutting you off midsentence. “I’ve tried every single trick in the book, everything I could think of, and you two are dense. Hell, it’s like trying to talk to two brick walls, you refuse to act on shit! So, I’ve got a foolproof plan in line tonight, even Nat thought it was a good idea.”
“True, might be his best one yet,”
You looked between them as they both looked at you expectantly. Natasha Trace, your best friend and roommate, one of your closest confidants. Jake Seresin, your childhood best friend, whom you, for some reason, followed straight into the Navy because you couldn’t bear to be without him. Two people you adored more than life…who sounded certifiably insane right now.
“Guys, I’m not in love with Bob-”
“You are,” they both cut in simultaneously.
There was no reason to argue. These two people knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes, so of course they’d picked up on it.
Robert “Bob” Floyd, the bane of your existence. Not really, because you knew if he wasn’t in your life, you’d probably spend your entire life somehow searching for him. Your other best friend, who had somehow claimed that title in the few short weeks leading up to that Uranium mission. The man who, when you started sobbing as you held him in the hospital hours after the bird-strike during training, you realized you were falling head over heels in love with.
But that was months ago, before your special detachment became a permanent squadron in San Diego. You weren’t falling anymore, you were in love, and if you had to watch him do another round of push-ups during Maverick’s drills while his arms strained and sweat in the California heat, you were going to, quite literally, gnaw the bars off the enclosure you’d closed yourself into in your mind.
“It’s not my fault he’s so hot in such a fucking nonchalant way,” Nat and Jake laughed the second you dramatically threw yourself backward on your bed. “Seriously! Sure, he stutters when he’s nervous, and he’s got those stupidly cute glasses, but Jesus Christ, if he’s not the most adorable man. But, then you, Hangman, manage to piss him off and he gets this-this fucking air of slight confidence around him, he gets so quick and witty with his comments and I’m, like, two seconds from climbing his tall, slender ass like a fucking tree.”
Word-vomit, but you didn’t care. There was no use lying anymore. Jake and Natasha were silent for only a moment before Nat’s laughter finally managed to escape her.
“Wow, you have it worse for Floyd than I thought you did!”
“I seriously don’t even think he realizes how hot he is,” you shouted, completely exasperated as you threw your arms out toward the ceiling. “He thinks girls don’t pay him any attention, meanwhile I feel like a total ass the way I’m eyeing him like a piece of meat everytime his shirt rides up on the beach. Then–the worst part–he’s out here holding doors for me, brought me a bouquet of flowers for my birthday, texts me good night and good morning every day–a thing that COUPLES DO–even makes sure he walks on the outside of the sidewalk when we’re all in downtown. He’s, quite literally, driving me insane because he’s the definition of the perfect man. As if he crawled straight out of my childhood diary.”
No one else could get a word in before the doorbell rang, and you froze. Natasha laughed again, grabbing onto your arms and tugging you back into a seated position on the bed before climbing off of it herself. Jake had already put your desk chair back across the room and was halfway to the door before he shot you a wink over his shoulder.
“No, you’re driving yourself insane by not just jumping the man’s bones, given that he’s clearly just as obsessed with you as you are with him. But have no fear. Trust in Phoenix and me, and Operation Peob will go just perfectly tonight-”
Nat gave him a shove to the back, pushing him out of your bedroom.
“Give her a damn minute, I think she’s still processing the fact that she just finally owned up to her crush. Just go get the door…and think of a new name for this dumb operation of ours on the way there, too,”
They were gone in seconds, and you could hear the unmistakable sound of Rooster announcing himself the second they opened the front door. You? You were stuck in place, thinking back over all of those moments Jake (and subsequently Natasha) had thrust you into over the last few months.
That dinner hadn’t been awkward in the slightest with just you and Bob. Honestly, you’d stayed there for upwards of four hours just talking and laughing about anything and everything like you usually did. He’d let you drink, picked up the bill without letting you even reach for your purse, and drove you home. That childish seven minutes in heaven game wasn’t even awkward. They’d shoved you both into a hallway closet in Rooster’s apartment, you’d wrapped Bob in a hug, and just laughed about your friends' antics in the dark of the closet. No one was even surprised to see you wrapped around one another when the door finally opened: the second Bob had gotten comfortable around you, the pair of you were attached at the hip like that all the time.
You loved him, but you could never tell where he was at when it came to your blurry relationship, so you always danced on the edge of wanting to say something and biting your tongue. But if Hangman was this insistent, could he see something you couldn’t? Did he know something you didn’t?
“Any chance I could get some help with these pizzas?”
And suddenly, there he stood. Tall, lean, sandy blonde hair still perfectly swept to the side on top of his head, balancing three boxes of pizza in his hands, along with the box of garlic bread and mozzarella sticks (a special request from you). Your eyes betrayed you, straying from his face and down his body.
Shorts, an item you didn’t get to see quite often on him, but man, did he look good in them. A white t-shirt that clung to him just enough to drive you insane, his dog tags lying directly in the center of his chest. Overtop of that was his own personally designed Padres jersey, gifted to the entire team for Navy appreciation night at the ballpark, but unbuttoned in the front so that it lay at his sides…and, god, were you having thoughts about running your hand down his chest and over those abs you knew he was hiding-
Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you glanced back up to meet Bob’s eyes and caught sight of the blush clearly embedded into his skin, and shot out of bed.
“Jesus, Bob, were they not going to help you at all?” you asked incredulously, taking two of the boxes from him as you tried to rid yourself of the inappropriate thoughts you were having of your best friend. He only laughed, shaking his head at your question.
“I mean, they at least took the beers,”
“Of course they did,” that comment got another laugh out of him. Easily, you joined in on the laughter, kicking his shin lightly. “Let’s go, dork, you know where the kitchen is.”
Like it usually was once a week, you and Natasha’s Southcrest apartment were overrun by the loud sounds of the men you called family, your squad, all gathered in the living room. This time, it wasn’t for game night or movie night, but instead in preparation for the San Diego Padres game later that afternoon, one the organization had personally invited your squadron to be recognized at for their Navy appreciation night at the ballpark. An opportunity to stand on the field during the pre-game festivities, the chance to watch Maverick throw the first pitch, lower-level seating on the third baseline, and your own custom Padres jerseys to wear to the game. A sweet deal, all around, that your squad was more than happy to accept.
“So, a baseball game,” Bob managed to speak, standing at your side in your tiny galley kitchen that two people could barely fit in. You were taking boxes from his hands, laying them out on the small bit of counter space you did have. “I-Is this a bad time to say…I’ve never been to a baseball game?”
“Never?” you questioned him, raising an eyebrow at him as you took the final pizza box from his arms. You couldn’t help the way your lips quirked up as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know Montana doesn’t really have a team, unless you just root for the Rockies, but you never went during basic? Not a White Sox game, or a Cubs game?”
“Nope,” Bob accentuated his word with a little pop of his mouth, leaning back against the sink behind you while you squeezed past him, grabbing the plastic plates you and Nat had picked up for today the last time you went grocery shopping. “I’m relying on you to show me the ropes.”
“Depends what I have to work with here, baby-on-board,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder at him with a gleam in your eye as he rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nickname. “You know anything about the game at all, or did you really grow up under a rock?”
With everything laid out, you flipped around, leaning back against the counter behind you with Bob directly across from you. A mistake, in that tiny galley kitchen, the lack of space making the position feel more intimate than it needed to be. Bob’s legs seemed to instinctively spread slightly without a word, allowing you to stretch out your own between them.
“If you’re in the field, don’t let the other team score. If you’re hitting…score,” Bob smiled as you laughed at his explanation. “Pretty basic stuff, but I get the gist of it, Peony.”
“Yeah, it’s a very basic understanding of the fundementals, but I can work with it,” you assured him with a grin of your own, catching your eyes flicking down for just a moment to those dog tags resting against that white shirt that had no reason to look as hot as it did on him. “Should take you home with me sometime to a Rangers game, that’s where I really shine. And it's how I ended up with my callsign-”
“Your favorite flower,” Bob chimed in immediately before you could finish your sentence, your eyes catching on the way his Adam’s apple throbbed for just a moment after he said it, his eyes averting from yours and instead to the fridge, as it was the most interesting thing in the kitchen. “How Hangman started dragging you along to games, and you fell in love with the game. But then, every time you went together, they won, like you were the secret good luck charm of the team. And when he learned that peonies just happened to represent good luck…it all fell into place.”
You desperately tried to fight off your blush when he looked back at you. You and Jake had told that story about your callsign months ago, way back during the start of training for the Uranium mission. You didn’t want to think too hard about the fact that he remembered every detail of it, instead choosing to clear your throat with a very over-exaggerated nod.
“Yeah, see…you know the story. Promise you, though, Rangers games are a thousand times better. You’ll have to come home with me sometime, when we get time off,”
“Would…your family like me?”
Yeah, in your rant to Natasha and Jake, you’d forgotten to mention moments like this. He held the door, he bought you flowers, walked closest to the road on sidewalks, texted good morning and good night, and then sometimes he just…said things. Things that just came out of left field. Comments that felt like they were straddling the line of friendship and something more, too afraid to commit to one side or another fully, as if afraid to make the leap.
His eyes held something in them you couldn’t place; you could only describe it as uncertainty. Your eyes betrayed you once again, glancing at his lips where he was just barely biting into his bottom lip, before glancing back to those blue eyes you adored so much, hidden behind those glasses that were just so him that the thought of them kept you awake at night.
“Yeah. Too much, probably,” you settled on, though there was an unmistakable air of nervousness in your tone. The air in the entire kitchen had shifted with just a single sentence, the heaviness tangible, and you felt like you were going to suffocate looking into those piercing, soft blue eyes. “They’d probably never let you leave. You’d be stuck with us.”
“I-Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” your response came quickly, still laced with nerves, just as his was. But the whole time, neither of you looked away. “I’d choose you to be stuck with.”
He’d straightened slightly at that comment from you, squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms in front of his chest, the jersey lying around his shoulders tightening around him at the movement. Your eyes watched, tracked every little movement as a pang of heat flashed through you at just the sight of the muscles strewn through his biceps and forearms stretching with the movement. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. You followed suit, then stopped yourself. An invisible line was still drawn in the sand between you both, no one quite sure enough to take the leap and talk about it all. To talk about the tension, or the heated stares, or even the softer looks exchanged when you both thought the other wasn’t looking.
“Hey, my two favorite brick walls! You two somehow making love in a 75 square foot kitchen against the fridge, or can we eat some pizza with these beers?”
If there was anything that could break a moment, it was Jake Seresin. His over-confident tone shouted out from the living room, and you could hear the unmistakable sound of Natasha hitting him and the rest of the squad laughing.
With a groan and a roll of your eyes, you looked back at Bob. He wordlessly passed you the paper plates you’d set down on the counter, avoiding your eyes, even as his fingers brushed yours for a moment longer than they needed to.
The moment might’ve been ruined, but the ‘what ifs’ still hung heavy in the air like they had been for months.
“Shut it, Seresin, before I call your mother! Come get food, you hooligans, I know what you’re all like hangry and I’m not in the mood for it today,”
With pizza and beer distributed around the group, everyone found themselves seated around the limited seating that you and Natasha had in your living room. Rooster and Coyote were already taking up two-thirds of the couch, Payback and Fanboy were fighting over the beanbag, Nat had taken her favorite spot on the floor in front of the coffee table, while Bob took his usual place on the loveseat. With a beer in hand and pizza loaded up on your plate, you made your way over to the last spot on the couch. Hangman, being his typical annoying self, practically vaulted over the backside of the couch, almost knocking Bradley’s beer out of his hand as he let out an indignant ‘hey!’ at the action.
The wink Jake gave you, and the laughter that Natasha tried to cover up, were enough to tell you that this was definitely planned.
Without even sparing a glance at Bob, you took a seat on the other end of the loveseat, as far away as you could given that little moment in the kitchen not long before. You ignored the wiggling eyebrows that Jake was sending your way as Rooster scrolled through the various streaming services on your living room TV, trying to find something to watch to fill the time.
“We’ve got time for one movie; my turn, since Javy picked last week on movie night,” there was a collective groan through the room at Bradley's choice, ‘The Shawshank Redemption,’ simply because it was his usual choice during movie nights. “First pitch is at 4:10, but Mav told me they need us ready to go by 3:45 for the opening ceremony stuff. He said to meet him and Penny by the home plate gate, and someone from the home office would meet us out there.”
“I’ll take the ladies and Bob in the truck,” Jake threw in, with a sly wink sent your way. “The rest of you boys can ride with Rooster. Figured we could park in that garage off Tenth Ave since we wanted to hit up Tom’s Watch Bar after the game. Hope you ladies are cool with us crashing here tonight, because I’m not in the mood to drive home later.”
“Ah, yes, I’m sure our landlord will love a noisy, drunk group of fighter pilots staying here,” you’d shot back at your best friend, garnering another round of laughter from the group. “Nat and I aren’t sharing our beds, and we’ve only got the one air mattress, so fight amongst yourselves for sleeping arrangements. Now start the damn movie before we run out of time.”
With how often Bradley chose Shawshank during his pick on movie nights, there was barely any watching of the movie actually occurring. Payback and Fanboy had taken to giving dramatic renditions of the dialogue in terrible accents, leading to laughter throughout the room for every second of the movie.
Barely half an hour in, with pizza and sides finished off, your phone buzzed. A notification that you were added to a new group chat called ‘Operation Peob’ was the last thing you were expecting to get.
At this point, you shouldn’t be surprised. Especially with Jake. He’d been this way since high school, always butting into anything that had to do with your love life and trying to give you a push, so his meddling here wasn’t surprising. Natasha’s willingness to help and agree with Hangman, of all things, had you thinking that maybe this pining had gone on for far too long.
You and Bob were close; you sat close plenty and had been in enough semi-intimate settings with one another. What could it really hurt?
Tearing your eyes away long enough to glance at Bob for just a moment, you swore you could see his eyes dart away from your legs crossed underneath you and back to his phone in his hand, but chalked it up to seeing something you wanted to see. What you could see was that blush coating his skin. So, with a small boost of confidence, and the knowledge that Nat and Jake were definitely watching with renewed interest out of the corners of their eyes, you swung your legs out from under you and draped them across Bob’s lap without a word, bringing your eyes back to the movie screen to ignore your own skin’s flush.
You weren’t the only people in the room, but god, in those few short moments afterward, did it feel like you were. The movie felt quieter, the laughter of your friends was drowned out, and the only thing you could force yourself to think about was the fact that your bare legs were resting over Bob’s own bare legs. How warm his skin was, how it felt against your own, and you let your mind wander to how you’d give anything to feel any other part of-
Then, Bob’s hands were on your legs.
Holy shit, Bob’s hands were on your legs. And you were frozen in place.
Gentle and yet firm all the same, it was clear just in his touch how big his hands truly were as they seemed to engulf your skin. One found its place just around your knee, skin warm to the touch and igniting a fire under his touch, and what you wouldn’t give for that hand to rest just barely higher above your knee and on your thigh. His other hand rested itself right around your calf, and there only seemed to be a moment of hesitation before his fingers began to knead little circles into your muscle that had you biting the inside of your lip to keep back a noise you’d never utter in the presence of your squad.
You’d spared a quick glance at Bob out of the corner of your eyes, but his gaze never moved from the TV screen. So, you’d averted your own gaze to the movie too, but not before catching yet another obnoxious wink from Hangman and an impressed look thrown your way from Natasha.
Even as the movie had ended, and everyone was putting their shoes back on and unplugging their phones from their chargers in order to head out the door to the game, neither you nor Bob brought it up. Not once as you’d gotten off the couch, or as he’d let you use his shoulder for leverage to slip your beat-up tennis shoes on, or even as he climbed into the backseat of Jake’s truck, taking your hand in his own to help you inside.
Even in that short, barely ten-minute ride to the stadium, that heat hadn’t left your skin, and those thoughts refused to purge themselves from your head. You could only hope the same thoughts and feelings were running through Bob as he kept his gaze focused on the San Diego streets out the window.
“How did we manage to beat Rooster here?” Hangman complained the second that his truck was parked on the third floor of the garage, popping his front seat forward so that Bob could exit, helping you out as well just as he helped you in. “We left at the same fucking time, it’s not that hard to get here.”
Your hand slipped from Bob’s with a grateful, albeit nervous, smile that he reciprocated the second your feet landed on the ground of the garage.
“We took National Ave, they probably took Ocean View and hit some traffic,” Natasha shot back, rounding the truck before setting her sights on you. “You have the sunblock, right? I don’t feel like being burnt to a crisp today.”
You tossed the bottle from the back of the truck over to Nat before it was passed around to all of you, though Hangman swore he ‘didn’t need any’ and that he’d just get even more tan in the sun. He lost that argument when you, once again, threatened to call his mother.
With Rooster arriving just moments later with Coyote, Fanboy and Payback packed into the Bronco, parking beside Jake’s truck, the Dagger Squad was on the move toward the stadium.
It was barely a walk to the stadium, your chosen parking garage not even a street away, as your group made it’s way down the sidewalk in the direction of the home plate entrance. You and Bob brought up the rear, and you were barely a few steps down the sidewalk before his hand found the small of your back, sending a shiver up your spine, and easily switching places with you so that he walked along the edge closest to the road.
“Why do you always do that when we’re walking somewhere?” you ventured to ask him, bumping your shoulder lightly with his as you crossed one of the main roads heading toward the stadium. Bob shot you a soft smile as his hand found your back once more, guiding you slightly out of the way as a group of rowdy teenagers went barrelling past you all.
“Roads can be dangerous, just…don’t want you getting hurt is all,” was all the answer he offered, his hand finally leaving the small of your back after lingering for a moment longer than it needed to.
God, he really was a gentleman. That smile seemed to be etched perfectly into your face until your eyes glanced at your teammates in front of you, and the jerseys all bearing their last names hanging from their shoulders.
“Fuck,” Bob glanced over at you as you groaned, rubbing at your face. “I left my fucking jersey back at the apartment. Mav is going to kill me.”
Barely a second later, Bob’s jersey was bunched up in his hands as he presented it out toward you as you walked. Your eyes shot open as you looked at him, shaking your head, but his grin only widened.
“Take mine-”
“Bob, Mav specifically told us to wear our jerseys tonight, he’s going to be pissed at you if you don’t have yours on,”
“He’ll go easy on me, it’s fine,” he tried to assure you, lips quirking up slightly more into a smirk. “He’s still pissed about that argument you and Hangman had mid-flight the other day, he won’t go easy on you.”
Part of you wanted to argue, but there was something in the look in Bob’s eyes and the flutter it sent through your chest that had you taking the jersey from him without another word.
The first thought that ran through your mind was that it was bigger, much bigger than your own jersey that was still bunched up on your bed. You were trying desperately not to think about the fact that those biceps you found yourself distracted by almost every night you guys were at the Hard Deck, in civilian clothes or in your khaki uniforms, had been hugged by this fabric just moments prior.
The second thought was the smell; unmistakably his cologne. Bob never tended to wear a ton of it, but you’d been in close proximity enough to him to pick up on it over the last few months. Cypress, a woody smell that felt like the definition of lying in nature, surrounded by pine trees, and a hint of bayberry, another woody scent that brought a hint of sweetness to the smell.
The final thought that crossed your mind the second it was slipped over your shoulders completely was the fact that you were, quite literally, wearing his name on your back. When you’d turned to look at him again, breathless just from the idea, you swore you could see his pupils almost darken just a touch as he licked at his lips, his eyes flickering away from the back of the jersey and to your face again.
“Thanks,” you’d managed to speak as it felt like heat was coursing straight through your veins. Bob nodded, and you couldn’t help but notice the bob of his Adam’s apple.
“Of course,” the lower tone to his voice had parts of your body that you were not willing to think about in public practically aching with the need to touch him. “It looks good on you.”
Bob could’ve meant the jersey looked good on you, or he could’ve meant the name ‘Floyd’ looked good on you, but boy, were you hoping he meant the latter. Unfortunately, you’d already made it to the home plate entrance without even realizing it, and Maverick didn’t look particularly happy with how long he’d been kept waiting while Penny chatted with the woman from the front office there to lead you through the ballpark.
“I said we needed to be on the field by 3:45, that didn’t mean show up at the gate at 3:40,” Maverick shot at the group, before his eyes found Bob hiding in the back next to you. “Bob…push-ups after the next round of training, I said everyone needed to wear their jerseys today. We’ll discuss how many later.”
The eyes of every single one of your friends seemed to shoot back to both of you. Judging by the smirks on everyone’s faces, they all knew for a fact that you hadn’t been wearing your jersey when you’d all left and Bob had been.
“It’s nice to see you’re all here!” the woman from the front office greeted them all, and you were mentally thanking her for saving you from an embarrassing confrontation with your team. “We’re on a time crunch now, so please quickly follow me so I can get you guys to the field before the opening ceremony begins…”
As you all followed her through the gates of the ballpark and down toward one of the sections that would allow you access to the field, Hangman fell back into step beside you and Bob for just a moment. He leaned in, lips barely grazing your ear so he could speak only to you.
“Step two was to somehow get you in his jersey, but you both beat me to it. At this rate, you’ll be fucking by the fourth inning-”
You attempted to land a punch to Jake’s shoulder, cheeks blaring red, but he’d dodged it with a laugh, falling back into step ahead of you with Natasha and Coyote. It took everything in you to avoid killing him, or looking at Bob, as you made your way through the crowd of Padres fans toward the field.
“So,” Bob chimed in after a moment, his hand catching onto your forearm lightly and tugging you to his side before an already drunk older man could spill his beer on you. “You ever been on a professional field before?”
“Once, back in high school,” you answered him, cheeks still burning as Bob’s hand didn’t leave your arm, keeping you at his side as you squeezed through the crowd of the sold-out, late afternoon game. “Globe Life Field, it’s where the Rangers play. We took a field trip, got to see behind the scenes, and take photos out on the field.”
“I assume there wasn’t a huge crowd of almost 40,000 when you were on the field, though,”
“Not in the slightest,” you laughed, glancing back over to Bob as he laughed with you, though you could hear the nerves in his voice. You raised your hand, placing it over his on your arm with a little squeeze of comfort. “Don’t worry, it’ll be just fine. We just have to stand, listen to ‘God Bless America,’ watch Mav hopefully not mess up the first pitch after the National Anthem, and then we can go enjoy the game.”
Your reassurance seemed to do the trick as you walked through the gate at the end of section 114 and onto the field. The woman who had walked you down was positioning you all in a line around home plate, telling you each where to stand, while entertaining whatever it was that Hangman seemed to be animatedly telling her. You watched as she seemed to think something over for a moment, her eyes flickering toward you, before it looked like she agreed with whatever Jake had said, getting a fist bump out of him.
When you met his eyes with raised eyebrows, he’d only sent you a wink and took his place in line beside you.
Though your squad had just barely made it to the field on time, things had gone off without a hitch. The stadium announcer had introduced your squad to the crowd for Navy Appreciation Night with thunderous applause from the sold-out stadium. The local man singing both ‘God Bless America’ and the National Anthem was perfect and got his own standing ovation. Maverick’s ceremonial first pitch…could’ve been better, given how far in the left-hander’s batters box it ended up. You were all thankful that Penny was standing off to the side to get it on video for blackmail at some point.
“Section 116, row D,” Maverick informed the entire group once everyone was off the field, crowded back near the concessions as the first pitch of the game was thrown, and the Padres versus Mets game was officially underway. “Penny and I will go find seats, one of you bring us back a nice tray of nachos!”
Nat was quickly swept up by Hangman, Rooster, and Coyote, dragged off in the direction of one of the local pizza shops that were set up within the park, while Payback and Fanboy darted in the direction of a local beer company not far from that pizza joint.
“Well, baby-on-board,” you teased, spinning around to stand in front of him with a grin. “Ready to have some real ballpark food?”
Bob laughed, hand once again finding the small of your back even though there was a much small amount of people littering the walkway now that the game was underway, and he set you down a grin that had you ready to kiss him on the spot.
“I’m ready for the full experience, flower,”
That’s how, barely a minute later, you had Bob over at one of the self-serve food stations as you loaded your arms with food. A giant tray of nachos with cheese for Mav and Penny, two footlong hot dogs for yourself and Bob, and two comically large waters balanced on top. Bob was laughing again, trying to hold you steady so you didn’t drop any of the food on the way over to the checkout area.
“The footlong hot dogs are a necessity at any ballpark you visit- don’t laugh at me!” more laughter bubbled out of you as Bob shook his head with a grin, taking items out of your arms and scanning them through the self-checkout. “I’m giving you the true baseball experience, including the over-priced food. Nachos are a staple, too, Mav has good taste. And we can’t forget the water, this San Diego sun is brutal.”
Bob picked up the small packet of peanuts still left in your hands, shaking it with a raised eyebrow in your direction.
“And peanuts?”
“Another ballpark classic…I also know how much you love them, you’re always eating them at the Hard Deck,”
He looked at you for another moment, his smile almost visibly softening, before he shook his head and turned back to the checkout in front of you both.
“God, you’re adorable,”
You weren’t sure Bob had meant to say that as loudly as he did, given the flush crawling up his neck directly after, but he had. And that simple statement had you frozen in place, just watching him as he paid for the food without a complaint. Even as you both moved to the condiment station, slathering ketchup and mustard over both of your hot dogs before gathering the supplies and heading toward your seats, that little comment had you almost on autopilot.
“Finally, you two missed the entire first inning!”
It was Bradley’s voice that finally shook you awake. It was true, the Mets had gone down easily in three batters, just as the Padres did, and the second inning was already well under way. With a fake laugh, you shot Bradley the middle finger that had everyone laughing, before passing the nachos off to Maverick and moving toward the final seats in your row for your team.
They’d shoved you and Bob off on the end of the row toward the middle, placing you right between Coyote and whatever random group had unfortunately been stuck beside you all.
“Okay, I feel like I have to see what’s so damn good about these things now,” Bob announced one you both were seated, leaning over to ‘clink’ his hot dog off the side of your own with a shared laugh with you. You held off on your own, simply watching him and the way his face contorted slightly after a single bite. “It’s…it’s not terrible, but I think I’ve had better just from Bradley on the grill. Not worth the price.”
“No, but you’re paying for the experience,” you reminded him with another giggle. Ketchup and mustard were plastered to the side of Bob’s face from that one bite alone as you grabbed one of the napkins from his lap, reaching up to wipe it away. “Game has barely started, and you’re making a mess of yourself, Floyd.”
It wasn’t until you locked eyes with him that you froze, realizing how intimate a position that simple action put you both in. Just barely a few inches away from one another, close enough that you could see the faint smudges on the lenses of his glasses and study the exact shade of blue his eyes were. Close enough to, once again, watch the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, to get a glimpse of that flush in his cheeks that never seemed to leave. Your throat went dry instantly, but you couldn’t look away. Your tongue darted out to lick at your lips, and for once, you didn’t miss the way Bob’s eyes darted down to the action, lingering on your lips for a moment longer than needed, before finding your eyes again. It was hard to miss the way his pupils dilated the second they met your eyes again, or even the slight catch in your breath at that action.
“Hey! Didn’t Mav say something about acting professional today? Ballpark is no place to be eye-fucking each other, you two,”
If Hangman interrupted another moment with Bob today, you were personally going to bury him in the ground. His mother would forgive you; she loved you. Even so, you tore yourself away from Bob and the ruined moment, focusing on the game as you sent a blind middle finger down the row toward him as Mav lectured him about swearing with children around while the others laughed at the antics.
The game managed to go off without another comment from Hangman for a few innings. It was an evenly matched game, for the most part, both the Padres and Mets having some errors that led to runs that shouldn’t have been scored. At one point, on a blown-out call at second base, you jumped from your seat, screaming at the umpires just like many in the stadium were. When they’d finally set it off for review and corrected the call you returned yourself to your seat, shooting Bob a sheepish smile as he watched you in amusement.
“Sorry…grew up going to games with my dad, and with Jake. I get a little intense sometimes when they don’t call things right,”
Bob smiled and seemed to hesitate for just a moment before he stretched his arm over the back of your chair, his fingertips just barely brushing over your shoulder as he focused back on the game.
“It’s okay…it’s cute, seeing you all passionate,”
Bob Floyd was, once again, driving you insane. This time, you had no idea if he realized he was or not.
By the seventh inning stretch and a crowd performance of ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’, your group had participated in three rounds of the wave, Coyote, Payback, and Fanboy had gotten up and given a fantastic rendition of Sweet Caroline along with the crowd that had gotten them projected onto the scoreboard. And Bob? His arm never moved from it’s place, and every so often he’d lean over toward you to mutter a question about the game right into your ear.
“Wait,” he’d leaned over for another question, and you could feel his breath ghost over the shell of your ear. It was hard to tell if you were hot because of the sun or because of Bob’s proximity at this point. The seventh inning had just ended with an out on the Padres runner at first, and they were slowly transitioning over into the eighth inning. “Why did the Mets throw to first to get that runner out when there was a guy on second?”
Ladies and gentlemen, please direct your attention to the scoreboard in left field. It’s time for the Petco Park eighth inning…KISS CAM!
“It wasn’t a forced out,” you explained to Bob, ignoring the cheers of the crowd over whatever announcement had just been made as you pointed toward the field to explain. “Since there was only a runner on second, he’s not forced to move because there’s no one behind him. If they want to get him out, they have to tag him with their glove and the ball.”
“So why not do that?” Bob questioned, glancing away from you and toward the scoreboard as the crowd continued to go wild, and you continued to explain.
“It’s not a guarantee that they’ll get him. With only two innings left, plus the score being tied, you want to throw down the runner on first and give yourself the best chance of an out. You want to end that inning as soon as possible, and while the runner is already in scoring position at second base, his chances of scoring increase greatly if he reaches third base, and you give him a chance to do so if you don’t get that runner at first out-”
“U-Uh…Peony?”
You glanced at Bob as he interrupted your explanation, tilting your head quizically at him. He glanced back at you, eyes wide and jaw slack as he pointed to the scoreboard, and you finally followed his gaze.
The Kiss Cam, broadcasted right on the scoreboard for the entire park to see. And the camera? Centered directly on you and Bob.
In a rush, the cheering of the entire stadium came straight back to you as you and Bob sat frozen in your seats, just staring at the screen as the camera stayed locked on you both. You spared a glance down the line at your friends, you squad, and they were all on their feet cheering for you both. Even Maverick and Penny were cheering.
“KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!”
The entire stadium was cheering and chanting, and it didn’t look like the camera centered just a few rows down from you both was leaving anytime soon. At least, not without what it came for.
Slowly, you turned back to Bob, eyes still wide and words caught in your throat. He was still leaning in toward you, arm still on the back of your chair. But there was a smile on his lips; nervous, but with a faint hint of something else in the quirked edges. Something that felt a lot, in your head, like hope.
You? You were terrified, but knew that you had to make a split-second decision, one that could potentially change everything…for the better or worse.
But one more second looking at those gorgeous blue eyes, or at the way his tongue peeked out to just run over his bottom lip, had you mumbling ‘fuck it.’
Your hand wound around the back of his neck before you could stop yourself, tugging the handsome WSO closer and brushing your lips against his like you had dreamed of for months.
Even though the cheers around the stadium, practically from your friends, got louder in that moment, it was all drowned out in your own ears the second you had Bob Floyd’s lips on yours.
Gentle, polite, even a little unsure at first, was what that kiss felt like. Just the smallest touch, but the biggest leap over that blurry friendship-or-more line you’d been dancing along for so long. But the feeling, the softness of his lips, the leftover taste of vanilla chapstick, and the fluttering in your chest had your hand gripping his neck just the slightest bit harder, tugging him closer as your other hand grabbed onto the armrest between you both as if to keep you grounded. That seemed to be all Bob needed to respond in kind.
His hand left the chair behind you, curling around your shoulder to hold you as close as he could, given the awkward positioning the ballpark seats allowed. You swallowed the groan that left Bob’s lips almost involuntarily with your own mouth as his hand gripped your shoulder as tightly as it could for just a moment. While at once it was gentle and unsure, those insecurities were long gone. Bob’s lips moved against you clumsily, desperately, just trying to memorize the feel of your lips against his.
As quick as it had happened, it ended. The cheering stopped, the camera disappeared, and you and Bob pulled away from one another. A simple kiss, no more than five seconds, broadcasted for the entire stadium to see, but it had wrecked you. Inside and out, that mere moment had solidified that you were hopelessly in love with Bob Floyd, and there was no one else you’d rather be in love with. And, given the blown pupils, the heavy breathing, and the flush etched into Bob’s skin, you were praying it had solidified the same thing for him, too.
“And THAT, Dagger Squad, is how you finally get two brick walls of human beings to figure their shit out!”
You didn’t want to look away from Bob, not at all, even as the baseball game before you finally resumed play for the eighth inning. But you stole a glance behind you to Hangman as he leaned over everyone, ignoring his lecture about swearing from Maverick again, shooting you a wink as the rest of the squad looked toward you and Bob happily.
“The office worker, when you were talking to her earlier…did you plan the kiss cam?”
“I told you I had a foolproof plan for tonight, and it worked! Operation Peob can officially be labeled a success, in my eyes. At least, partially,”
“Operation Peob?”
Your attention was brought back to Bob as he asked that question, a dopey smile on his lips as his fingers kneaded into your shoulder comfortingly. You breathed out a laugh, hang sliding from his neck to rest over his chest, right on top of his dog tags like you’d thought about so many times before.
“Hangman’s terrible nickname for his plan to…get us together,” you dug your phone out, flashing him the groupchat from earlier as he let out a breathy laugh at the contents of the messages. “Nat was in on it, too.”
“Guess, she was playing double agent, then,” Bob dug his own phone out, opening another group message and flipping the phone toward you to read with a grin.
There was nothing you could do, nothing you needed to do, after seeing those messages besides laugh. Bob laughed with you, your forehead falling against his forearm as you both shook with laughter, the game behind you on the field long forgotten.
“Well, if there’s one thing I know for certain now, it’s that our friends suck at coming up with ship names,” you pointed toward his phone incredulously. “I don’t know what’s worse, Peob or Boney!”
“Boney is at least a word, I’d argue that Peob is worse. Given that Hangman came up with it, too, it makes sense,”
You laughed again, before finding yourself just completely lost in those blue eyes you’d fantasized about for so long. Bob was looking at you, too, as if lost in a daze where the only thing he could see was you. That dopey smile that refused to leave his lips was sending yet another flutter through your chest and heat to places that you didn’t need to be thinking about in public.
“So…how long?”
It was Bob’s turn to pause, thinking over your question. His arm moved from the back of your chair as your hand slid off his chest. His hand, though, only found a home right on the skin of your thigh, exactly where you’d wanted it to rest just hours ago. The feel of his skin on such a sensitive part of your body, the pressure of his grip into the muscle under his hand, had another bolt of heat shooting down your spine as your body leaned into his touch, practically begging to be touched by him.
“The first time we met, at the Hard Deck. Hangman was being a dick to me, as he so often can be, and you took his ego down with a single story from your middle school dance. I knew the second you did that…that I was utterly fucked. It only took Phoenix and Rooster a day to figure it out, too,”
If it were possible to love him more, you did in that moment. Your hand came to rest on top of his, squeezing it as the crowd cheered for the home run that had just been hit by Xander Bogaerts. Your entire attention was on Bob, though, just as his was on you.
“I realized it after the bird strike, even though I think I was already feeling something before that. To see you all scratched up, to not know if you were okay until we got to the hospital, and then the way I just broke down crying when I saw you…it was hard to ignore after that,”
Bob’s smile only widened, giving your leg an affectionate squeeze.
“We wasted a lot of time being too scared to do something about this, didn’t we?”
“We did,” you gave him a small nod, thumb tracing circles onto the back of his hand as he gave you another squeeze. “Why did you never tell me?”
“Well, at first, I was sure that you and Hangman were a thing,” he couldn’t contain his laughter as you let out a fake gag at the thought. “Trust me, after one day of training with you guys, I realized that was ridiculous. After that, we became friends, and…I got nervous. You made me nervous, like, beyond comprehension. Still do. I tried sometimes to make it obvious, with the flowers on your birthday or when I’d ask if you wanted to get dinner.”
“And to think, I was just complaining to Jake and Nat this morning that those little moments were driving me insane,” you laughed at yourself, letting your head come to rest on his shoulder as you let your eyes focus back on the ending of the game. “I was nervous, too, you know. That’s why I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”
There was silence between you both for a moment, just the cheers of the crowd around you, before Bob’s lips pressed to your hairline. In that moment, you were cursing yourself for not having said something sooner, for depriving yourself of being Bob Floyd’s for as long as you had.
“I’d wait again if it meant I got you in the end,”
Even in a crowded stadium, it was like you and Bob had found yourselves nestled into your own little world. As the game ended and the crowd dispersed to the streets, your group waiting until you were some of the last few to leave, you still stayed wrapped up in one another. Bob’s hand easily found yours as your fingers intertwined with one another on instinct, tying yourselves to each other as you moved with your friends out of the stadium. While the snide comments from the team thrown back your way had both of you blushing, neither of you dared to let go of one another.
The second you hit the streets outside of the stadium, fully able to observe the fast-setting sun, Hangman was leading the charge around the stadium in the direction of the bar he had mentioned hitting up after the game. He was met with no protests from the group, everyone wanting to celebrate the Padres' 8-6 win in the ninth, and also the ‘culmination of months of pining’ as they’d all glanced back toward you and Bob in the back of the group.
That’s where you both stayed in a comfortable silence with one another, simply watching your friends act like absolute psychos on the sidewalk in front of you. Bob placed himself closest to the road again without even asking, your hands never unlinking as they swung between you both.
“So, since we already kind of beared our souls to each other in those uncomfortable ballpark seats,” your smile only grew at the laugh Bob couldn’t help but let slip over your comment. “Where…does that leave us?”
He glanced over with that adorable smile, the one that was making you weak in the knees, and brought your hand up to his lips to leave a gentle kiss right to your skin.
If he wasn’t careful, you were going to get arrested for jumping his bones in the middle of the downtown sidewalk. Bystanders be damned, your need for this man was outweighing just about every single rational thought you had.
“This leaves us at me needing to take you out on a date like a proper gentleman, first,” was his response, letting your hands fall back down between you both. Your eyes didn’t leave the side of his stupidly handsome face, and your mind couldn’t help but wander to those late night thoughts that invaded your mind about him, or the way that white t-shirt looked entirely too good on him right now, or how you wanted to just grab him by the dog tags and tug him closer-
“Does being a proper gentleman mean you won’t fuck me before the first date, too?”
As your cheeks reddened, eyes quickly turning back to your friends ahead of you, you decided that you were going to blame Jake for that little outburst. How was it his fault? No idea, but you’d been blaming things on him since you were a child, so why not continue that trend into adulthood.
There was a yank on your hand, your body spinning until it collided with Bob, who had stopped right in the middle of the almost empty sidewalk. It didn’t take a second for your eyes to meet his, and you swore you could feel your knees wobble just at the look in his eyes: pupils blown and a heat dancing through them. He looked as if he wanted to devour you here, in the middle of the sidewalk, and the feeling was mutual. His large hand slid around your waist to your lower back, dipping under his jersey and barely pulling your tank top up so that his hand could rest against your bare skin. You knew in that moment that you must look absolutely wrecked.
“Yeah, a proper gentleman would at least buy you dinner first,” his tone had dropped incredibly low, a sound that nearly stopped your heart, and his grip right on your hip tightened. “But my patience is wearing a bit thin, especially when you’ve got my name sprawled across your back.”
“Well,” with your hands lying against his chest, you allowed your fingers to curl around his dog tags just like you’d thought about so many times today, tugging him toward you with a smirk on your lips. “Guess it’s a good thing my patience is wearing thin, too.”
Bob’s smile quirked up as he leaned in, just as you leaned up to him- until two arms wrapped around your waist and practically tore you from Bob’s arms, landing you over a broad shoulder with a yelp.
“Baby-On-Board, Peony! I expected more from you two!” Seresin. Of course fucking Jake Seresin had to ruin everything again, holding you over his shoulder like a scolded child as he let out a ‘tsk.’ “Public displays of affection can make people very uncomfortable!”
“Jake, you’re going to be lucky if you ever step foot in an F-18 again when I’m done with you,” there was murderous intent in your tone as he turned on his heel, continuing the walk toward the bar with a laughing Penny, Mav, Coyote, and Payback surrounding you both. You hit him once on the back with your fist, not that it did anything to him, before speaking just loud enough for him to hear. “You’re the one who was bitching at me to get laid!”
“Not in the middle of the damn sidewalk, though, little flower,”
“I wasn’t going to fuck him on Park Boulevard, but damn, at least let me kiss him! This is what you wanted!”
“Step one was the legs, step two was the jersey, step three was the kiss cam, and now welcome to step four: more tension. Have some faith in me, and our little baby-on-board is going to be begging to fuck you before you’ve even had a drink,”
You grumbled something along the lines of ‘castrating’ him before accepting that he wasn’t going to put you down anytime soon, at least not until you got to the bar. Resting your chin against your hand popped against Jake’s shoulder, you couldn’t help but smile as you watched Bob. Rooster was at his side, arm slung around his shoulder as he muttered something that had a blush coating your WSO’s cheeks, Phoenix and Fanboy laughing beside him. When Nat met your eyes, a smirk crawled across her own face.
“Comfortable up there, Peony?”
“Just peachy, Nat. Trying to calculate how hard I have to swing my leg in this position to take away Jake’s ability to breed,”
With more laughter from the group, your eyes found Bob’s, and he was already looking at you with the softest smile you’d ever seen that had your heart racing like it always did around him. Annoying friends or not, as long as he kept looking at you like that, you’d put up with it all.
By the time Hangman had trekked all the way around the stadium and across Gallagher Square to the sports bar he wanted to visit, the sun had set. The inside was already packed from what you could gather through the windows as Jake finally set you back down on your feet.
“We’ll go get a tab started,” Coyote announced, most of the group following in after him. Jake nodded in his direction, holding the door open for your group as he glanced down at you with a smirk. Your glare hadn’t softened at all toward your best friend.
“You ever pull that shit again, and I will tell the story about how you fell off your horse when you were eight,”
“Damn, pulling out the deep cuts,” his tone was indifferent, the cocky bastard just choosing to shoot you a smirk and a wink as he stepped inside the bar door as well. “It’s packed in here, go see if there’s some outdoor seating.”
Yeah right, like you gave a shit what Jake wanted at that point.
An arm snaked it’s way around your waist, hand resting against your stomach as a pair of lips you were slowly growing accustomed to the feeling of pressed to the side of your head. You didn’t hesitate to lean back against Bob, craning your neck to look him in the eyes as he smirked down at you.
“Enjoy your ride?”
You huffed, elbowing him lightly with no malice what-so-ever.
“No, especially when there’s another man I’d rather ride,”
Even as your cheeks flushed at your own confident statement, you didn’t look away from Bob, giving you a full view of the way his eyes darkened at the comment. He glanced to the bar entrance, before behind you both, before his hand wrapped itself around yours and tugged.
“Come on,”
The bar did have an outdoor patio, but given the raging humidity still in the San Diego air as night time set in, everyone at the bar had opted to sit inside with the air conditioning. Bob wasn’t stopping at the patio, though, guiding you around the bar tables and out past the patio to the secluded section behind the bar, hidden from the main walkways with trees blocking the view in from Gallagher Square.
Nervous giggles left you in those moments once you were well and truly along, just barely illuminated by the string lights hanging on the patio just a few feet away. Those giggles ceased, your breath catching, as Bob stalked toward you as if he was the hunter and you were the prey, backing you up until your back was flush with the brick wall of the building covered in darkness.
Then, he was on you.
It’s hot, its messy–its the kiss of two people who have been starving to get their hands on one another for months. You practically unravel, putty in Bob Floyd’s hands, those same hands that are caressing up your bare thighs and to your waist then back down once again, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Your fingers were threaded through hsi sandy blonde hair, tugging at the strands with every movement of his lips against yours and every swipe of his tongue just along the edge of your own, leaving his taste lingering in your mouth as you craved more.
One of his hands trailed down the back of your left thigh, gripping into the flesh and tugging it up around his waist, holding it there as he ground his hips toward your core as a breathless moan tumbled from your lips.
“I-In the interest of, uh–oh god–of putting it all out there,” you barely managed to get your words out, fingers tightening their grip in Bob’s hair as his lips trailed across your jawline and down your neck, nipping just enough at the skin that there were sure to be little marks left in the morning. “You…you realize I’m hopelessly in love with you, right?”
“I hope so, because I-I’m in love with you, too,” breathy, wrecked Bob Floyd was testing every ounce of your patience left, his words ghosting over your neck as he nipped at your skin once more, accentuating it with another roll of his hips. “If we’re being completely honest, then…can I say something?”
“As long as you don’t stop touching me,”
His laughter vibrated against your skin, his lips trailing back up your neck until they hovered right in front of your own, giving you the perfect view of his lust blown gaze. If you even had breath left to catch, it did, as the hand on your waist moved to the front of your jean shorts, fingers just barely dipping past the waistline and ghosting over the skin of your lower stomach.
“These shorts,” he snapped them back against your skin, the other hand still holding your thigh tight around his waist squeezing tightly for just a moment. “Have been killing me for hours. The legs on my lap? Nice play by Hangman, I’ll admit. You’ve been driving me insane for hours.”
“You think seeing those biceps and forearms in this t-shirt hasn’t been driving me insane?” your gaze flickered to said shirt and dog tags before returning to his eyes. “But…just hours?”
“No, for months,” he was quick to counter, leaning in an stealing another bruising kiss from you, barley pulling back so that his lips still brushed yours as he spoke. “When it’s hot out on the tarmac and you unzip your flight suit, and I can see the sweat dripping down your chest. Today, wearing my name on your back like it’s your own. But the one that never leaves me…when we all went up to the the Mission Beach Boardwalk. You wore that little maroon sundress, the one that barely comes to your knees. And I don’t know why, maybe you wanted to kill me o-or maybe it was one of Hangman and Phoenix’s stupid plans, but you didn’t wear bike shorts that day. You bent over to look at something in one of the shops, and I saw them clear as day: pink, lacy, covered in flowers, and barely covering an inch of your skin. I haven’t stopped thinking about them since.”
Desire coursed through every inch of you at his words, at the memory of that day. To know that Bob really did think of you in the same depraved way that you did him only had your want–your need–for him increasing tenfold.
The ghost of a smirk crossed your lips as one of your hands left his hair. He watched it as your fingers trailed over his shoulders, down his bicep as your nails dug into the skin just slightly, down his forearm as your nails traced his veins, before settling over the hand still gripping to your shorts. Hooking a finger around his, you dipped it fully below the waistline of your jeans as you heard his breath catch, looping it around the edge of your panties and tugging them upwards until they were just barely visible: pink, lacy, and covered in flowers.
“It’s a matching set,” you whispered in a sultry tone, his eyes finally finding their way back to yours with a newfound heat in them, and you swore you could see a thin layer of fog overtake the lenses of his glasses. Leaning in just barely, you caught his lower lip between your teeth, biting just barely enough for a groan to elicit from somewhere deep in his chest, another shot of heat going straight to your core, espeically as his hips once against ground forward as if they had a mind of their own, and there was no mistaking the size of the rigid bulge pressing against you now. “Guess it’s your lucky day, Floyd.”
“It will be when you’re finally under me,”
“You’ve got me pressed up against a wall,” you managed to joke breathlessly, hand finding it’s way back up to his hair. His fingers stayed dipped past the waistline of your shorts, slowly finding their way around to the back, his whole hand almost dipping lower now as the heat of his hand spread out across your entire ass, squeezing just hard enough for you to stutter out another gasp against his lips. You felt his lips curl into a smirk at the sound. “I-Isn’t that good enough?”
“Baby, I’m not fucking you against a wall with our Captain probably thirty feet away. No, when I finally get to fuck you, I’m taking my time until you’re ruined,”
Yeah, fuck anyone on this team that joked that Bob Floyd must have been vanilla in bed, or that he’d be awkward and stutter his way through any sexual encounter. He had you willing to put your entire career on the line for a misdemeanor just to finally feel him like you did in your dreams.
“Damn…I leave you two alone for ten minutes and baby-on-board looks like he’s two seconds from whipping it out,”
Jake Seresin was a dead man. Worse than a dead man, not that you even knew what could be worse, but the second you could get your hands on him you were going to strangle him. Or beat him. Or hold a pillow over his face until he finally stopped breathing and you never had to hear hid stupid voice again.
Your head fell to Bob’s shoulder, hands still wound in his hair and refusing to leave. He let out a soft, but you could tell embarrassed, chuckle against the side of your head, the hand on your ass slipping back to your waist, his other hand finally letting your leg drop back to the ground.
“Something you need, Bagman?”
“Was just seeing if my hunch was right and you two wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off one another,” you tilted your head against Bob’s shoulder in order to fully look at your best friend, your death glare doing nothing to deter his smirk and wink. “As usual, I was right, given that you were well on your way to a misdemeanor. I think you two should be thanking me, this is all thanks to my brilliant foolproof plan for the day-”
“Seresin, I know you like hearing yourself talk, but if you interrupt me one more time I’m going to ride Bob right in front of you just to make sure you’re scarred for life,”
It was Bob’s turn to laugh, squeezing your waist gently with another kiss to the side of your head. Jake’s smirk only widened as he took his hand out of his pants pocket, tossing something in your direction. You let one of your hands leave Bob’s hair to catch what he’d thrown, both you and Bob looking down at your hand: Jake’s truck keys.
“No scratches, that’s all I ask. And no sex in the truck,” Jake sent another wink in your direction, shuffling backward toward where he’d come from. “Rooster is designated driver, Phoenix and I will just squeeze in with them. I’m sure I can keep them busy here for three…maybe four hours, if that’s enough time for you jackrabbits to get rounds 1 through 5 out of your systems. Just wrap it, please, I don’t feel like calling your mom and informing her that you’re pregnant anytime soon.”
You and Bob could only stare at the place in which Jake had just been standing for a moment in shock, trying to process what had just occurred. Then, you laughed, spinning the keys around in your hand.
“He’s a dick, but I guess he’s a good wingman…at least on the ground. Remind me to thank him-”
Bob’s hand was on your chin, tugging your face back to him as his lips moved headily against yours, swallowing the moan you didn’t even try to suppress as that bulge nudged against your thighs once more. Lust, love, adoration, need, it was all prevalent in the heated kiss as Bob pulled away, hot breath ghosting over your lips.
“Thank him later. I’ve waited long enough to fuck you, flower,”
summary: bob floyd was in a pickle. his ma and pa were expecting him to bring someone home for his older brother’s wedding. are you up for the challenge of being his fake girlfriend for the week? or will it ruin your friendship?
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, oral fem and male receiving (bob eating it from the back), male masturbation, roommates/friends to lovers (my fav trope sue me), no use of y/n
word count: 14.3k
a/n: bob is a total mama's boy in this, but in such a good way. can you guys tell i just love bob so much? i hope you enjoy!
masterlist
your call sign: bee
In a month, Bob was expected back in Montana for his older brother's wedding. But he stared at the most recent missed call from his Ma and grimaced. How was the wedding already so close? And how had he dropped the ball this badly?
A few months earlier...
"Ma, yes, I'm still coming," Bob spoke into the phone pressed against his cheek and shoulder. His hands were folding his fresh laundry as it lay out on his bed.
"And your older brother needs to know if you're bringing someone with you, honey. There's no shame in coming home alone again..." his mother said in a sweet voice, but Bob knew what the underlying tone meant. All his life, he never had anyone to bring home. It was like an ongoing joke inside his family at this point. No high school or college girlfriends seemed acceptable at the time, but now he was a Navy pilot and couldn't get a girl? Well couldn't get the girl he really wanted.
Before he even thought about what he was saying, he blurted out a response, "I'm bringing someone."
What.
"What?! Robert Floyd, you better not be messing with me!" his mother squealed over the phone. "Jim!" Bob had to pull the phone away from his ear with a grimace as his mother shouted for his father. "He's bringing someone!"
"About time," he could hear his father's gruff voice on the other end of the call. "Was gettin' worried about him out there in California. That boy's not built for the beach."
"Oh, you hush! Honey, I'll go ahead and let Mark know. I love you!" his mother's excitement could be felt through the phone, her voice all high and pitchy.
"Bye Ma, I love you," Bob huffed out. What did he just do?
"How's she doing?" Bob jumped at the sound of your voice, quickly turning to you. You lounged against the door frame of his bedroom, wearing nothing but a sports bra and some running shorts. He hadn't expected you to be home from your run with Phoenix so soon.
"Ma? Oh, uh, yeah, she's good. She's good, nothing new, y'know," he fumbled through a response, trying to not to look at the way the beads of sweat ran down your neck.
You hummed at him, "That's good. Are you still up for Thai food tonight? The new place on 4th?"
Of course, he was. When you first mentioned it last weekend, he had almost jumped at the opportunity. Sure, he liked Thai food, but sitting across from you and sharing a meal was what Bob really cherished. "Yep! Yeah, that sounds good. Ready in an hour?"
"You read my mind, Bobby," you said with a grin as you backed into your room across from his.
Present time…
“What’s wrong?” you saw the scowl on Bob’s face as he stirred the pasta like he had a personal vendetta against it.
“Huh? Oh, um, just thinking about my brother’s wedding,” he said like even the thought made him sick.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you said as you prepped the various vegetables on the countertop around you. “I love weddings. The outfits, the candles, the flowers! I can’t wait to get married. And I don’t want to have a big wedding, y’know? But like more of a backyard, summer barbecue type of vibe. Oh! And I want all my bridesmaids in different color dresses!”
Bob watched you as you described your perfect wedding, mentally taking notes. The way you had set down the knife to wave your hands around was adorable. You were always so animated, unafraid to show your emotions.
“But Bobby, the best part about weddings is…” you left the ending open for him, ushering him to fill in the blank.
“The cake?” he questioned. To be honest, he was trying to appeal to your sweet tooth.
“I mean, yeah, that’s pretty high up there. But no, it’s the look right before the first kiss. So many people say it’s the first look or the actual kiss, but for me it’s that moment where everyone knows what’s coming next and the purest emotions are on the bride and groom's faces,” you explained in pure joy and awe, like you had experienced this feeling yourself. It was sweet to watch. Your wonder and love for the simple things were something Bob loved about you.
“But, why is that moment better than the first look?” he asked innocently.
You sighed wistfully. "Just that moment when you can see the excitement on the groom's face, and he can barely contain himself. And the bride is usually so bashful, but always so excited. It's just so sweet, Bobby."
It did sound sweet. If Bob and you were getting married, he doubts he'd be able to contain his eagerness before the first kiss. No, he'd be way too focused on you to even listen to the officiant of the ceremony. Surely, he'd forget what to say, and he'd be a mess through his vows.
Bob was quiet for a minute or two, and you wondered what was going on in his head. You saw the way he had a small smile on his face, like it was hidden and just for him at this moment. And the way his shoulders relaxed, going more and more slack as time passed.
"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" you asked him with a teasing smile.
"Yeah, maybe," he chuckled and went back to stirring the pasta. Bob wanted to stay in this moment forever with you. It was so domestic. Cooking together in the kitchen you shared, laughing and throwing each other playful looks, talking about weddings. Maybe one day you'll talk about your wedding. Anything you wanted for the big day, Bob was sure to agree.
Living with you had been both the best and worst thing for Bob. A few months into the program, your lease was about to let up, and you were scrambling to find a new place. Bob hadn't known you prior to the mission that brought you all down to San Diego, but you had become close very quickly. Being two of only a few backseaters in the squad, you and Bob had spent a lot of time together in training and going over mission briefs. He had met a handful of WSOs in his time in the Navy, but knowing you was like a breath of fresh air. You never diminished your position or your knowledge, even when other pilots would question your place in the military. It was a learning curve for him to be around at first; seeing you go toe-to-toe with cocky pilots was daunting. He learned that's where your call sign came from, Bee. You were sweet, but could sting when you wanted. Soon, he got used to it, becoming more confident in himself in turn.
When you joked about bumming it on Phoenix's couch until you found a new place, Bob chimed in, "You can stay at mine. I have a spare bedroom, never really got around to using it."
"Wait, really?" you asked, fully turning your body towards him. You always did that, too, gave your full attention to whoever you were talking to. It was a bit intimidating. Bob was only now getting used to it, but still felt his heart beat pick up.
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind having a roommate," he said with a soft smile.
"Oh, Bobby, I could kiss you right now!" you said with a big grin, squeezing his forearm. He wished you had.
It wasn't until you had fully moved in that Bob realized the full consequences of his actions. You were horrible to live with.
Not in the way that you left dishes in the sink to "soak" all week, or you forgot to switch your laundry out for hours on end, or even in the way that you would blast music loudly at 2 in the morning. No, you didn't do any of those things. In fact, you always cleaned up after yourself, and Bob too, taking his plate right from his lap before he could protest. You cleaned the whole apartment, top to bottom, on Sundays. Your music carried throughout the hallways as you moved from room to room. Best of all, you baked! Every week! Trying a new recipe and being a little messy was your favorite way to unwind from a hectic work week, and lucky for Bob, he was your taste tester. Sure, you brought in your treats for the entire squad on Mondays, but Bob got to sit at the counter and watch you work. You would always gravitate towards him during this time, either letting him try the new brownie batter before you added more sugar or asking him how many chocolate chips are too many.
You were a great roommate. Always so courteous and kind. Anyone would be lucky to share a space like this with you. But it was torture actually living with you.
Too many times, Bob has caught a glimpse of you walking around in nothing but a shirt and some panties. To be fair, it was almost always after you had showered and were walking to your room. But as Bob watched you track down the hallway, he cursed himself for offering up the room in the first place.
And since moving in and getting closer, you had become even more touchy than usual with him. You were quick to give out hugs and other normal affectionate gestures to everyone on the squad, Bob included, even when he had only known you for a few weeks. But now, it was like Bob's personal space was your personal space. You always pressed into him when maneuvering around the small kitchen. Bob always held his breath, feeling you up against him, reaching for the oregano or paprika. Recently, too, your hand would work its way into his windswept hair after long days at the beach. The way your nails would drag against his scalp made him want to groan every time.
But worst of all were busy nights at the Hard Deck. On multiple occasions, barstools would fill up quick, only leaving the squad with two or three seats. It was fine for most of the night, with everyone so invested in the latest match of pool between Bradley and Jake. But after a few hours, you needed a break and always found your way into Bob's lap.
"I can get up, so you can sit," Bob stammered out the first time you sat on his lap. The rest of the squad shared amused looks, careful to hide them from both of you.
"It's okay, Bobby, I know you wanna sit too. Plus, you're comfy," you said, wiggling around trying to find the best position like he actively wasn't about to combust.
A bump of your hip snapped the man back into your kitchen. "Everything okay over there, space cadet?" you asked, tilting your head to look at him better.
"Mhm, yeah. I'm okay," he said in a small voice, the smile on his lips not quite reaching his eyes.
Furrowing your brows, you wondered what was making Bob so distant tonight. "You know you can always talk to me, right?" you offered with a small smile. People say that but rarely mean it. But you meant it, and you wanted him to know that. He just nodded his head and continued stirring the boiling pasta. "Okay, Bobby. I'm here when you want to talk," you said as you rubbed up and down his back. You swore you saw a chill run up his spine.
You watched the way his face continued to fall as you worked on dinner. Bob was always quieter than you, so gentle and sweet. But you hoped whatever was bothering him would go away, or that he would talk to you about it at least. As the night continued, he gave you those small smiles, and your worry just grew.
જ⁀➴
"Why don't you just ask Bee?" Phoenix questioned as she grabbed the drink Penny put on the bar top. The Hard Deck was busy with patrons in all corners of the joint.
"I can't just ask her!" Bob squeaked out; he felt his cheeks flush at the thought of it.
"Why not? Because you have a crush on her? Come on, Bob," she teased him with a shit-eating grin on her face. She watched him slump against the bar as if she had just punched him in the gut. "If you won't take me, then why not Bee?"
Bob sighed, given that they had this conversation almost every day. Before training, after training, and even during training. Even the clear blue skies weren't safe from Natasha's questions. "It's not like I don't want to take you. But my parents know you. They're expecting me to bring someone home, y'know."
"Someone to give them grandchildren," Phoenix cackled as Bob groaned loudly. Penny placed his fizzy soda on the bar with a smile, knowing all about the man's debacle. Natasha thanked her, and they made their way back to the squad.
"Don't say that! I don't even, I can't even think- Oh jeez, Phoenix. No more talking about this. I've decided." The pilot swore she had never heard his voice that pitchy before. Bob shook his head as he wove through the crowd of people.
Once they had settled back into the fray of the squad, Natasha finally took to giving actual advice, not just teasing her back-seater. "I think you should just be honest, tell her. It's Bee."
"Oh yeah, let me just tell her I've been in love with her for months on end now. She's gonna think I'm a creep! Luring her into my apartment, making her live with me," he half shouted, half whispered at her. "And I also said, I didn't want to talk about this. Especially with her right there." Bob glanced at you laughing freely with Bradley, head thrown back. Your energy was contagious to the people around you, as he saw Bradley and Mickey spotting matching smiles. Bob found himself smiling to himself, too.
"She wanted to live with you, idiot. And I'm not saying confess your love. Just ask for this favor. You don't have to give anything away if you don't want to," she said matter-of-factly. If only it were that easy. Within minutes of you being in his childhood home, Bob would surely fold and show all the feelings he's been trying so hard to hide. One conversation and approving nod from his mother, and he'd propose on the spot.
The pair were too entrenched in their conversation to see you making your way over. You didn't mean to snoop, but you couldn't help overhearing snips of their chatter.
"I just don't know what I'm going to do. I have to tell Ma I'm not bringing anyone," Bob muttered, dragging a hand down his jaw.
"To the wedding?" You whipped around and saw Bob's eyes almost pop out from behind his glasses. Phoenix, however, let a mischievous glint dance on her face as she watched the two of you. Directing your attention back to Bob, you continued, "Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But if you need someone, I'll go."
Natasha let out the biggest cackle you had heard; it even caught a few of the other aviators' attention. She looked to Bob, who seemed to be frozen in time, and decided she would do her best friend a solid.
"His family is expecting a girlfriend. That's why Bob is having such a hard time," she explained. But you just furrowed your brows further at this.
"I'll be your girlfriend," you said. At this, Bob nearly fell off his barstool. "I mean, I can be your pretend girlfriend for a week. I'm really good with parents and family and stuff. And we know each other well, too! I'm sure we'd be a convincing couple. So, yeah. If you need someone." Suddenly, you felt awkward under his gaze. You definitely gave it away. Who just proclaims they'd be someones fake girlfriend?
You met Jake's gaze from across the pool table and saw him biting down on his bottom lip, trying to suppress the grin on his face. Flashing a 'Help me!' face in his direction, the blonde man made his way over to you.
"Offering your fake girlfriend services again, Bee?" he asked with a raised brow. Both Phoenix and Bob shot him quizzical looks. "Bee came out to dinner with my folks when they were in town a few weeks ago. They were on me about not settling down, but she quelled those fears. Swear I've never seen my mom fall in love faster."
"Really?" Bob asked, looking between both of you. "You met his parents?" A flash of hurt crossed his face. You had missed it completely, but both Hangman and Phoenix caught the distress on his face.
"That's perfect! Right, Bob? Bee would be great," she hit his arm, trying to snap him out of what Jake had just said. The three of you looked at Bob, waiting for his response.
He nodded slowly before responding, "Yeah, I mean, if you're okay with missing the full week. I'd love to take you." Natasha grinned at his recovery, mentally noting to pat him on the back about it later.
"I can talk to Maverick about it tomorrow. I'd love to come," you said bashfully. Jake smiled knowingly at your response. He locked eyes with Natasha and winked. The woman just rolled her eyes but got the signal.
"When was the last time I beat you in pool Hangman? I think my trophy needs a little dusting off," she challenged, gaining the attention of the squad and taking it off Bob and you.
"Looking for a rematch? I'm happy to oblige," Jake said in a sickeningly sweet tone. He stepped closer so only she could hear the next part of his sentence, "I'll win this game, just like I'll win our bet."
"In your dreams, Seresin," she scoffed. "Rack 'em!"
જ⁀➴
Jake's couch had become a second home to you at this point. Its cushions surely remembered the way you would slump into them every weekend. Being Jake's back-seater was a challenge at first; you were never one to back down, and neither was Jake. It wasn't until you both had figured out that instead of going up against each other, you could turn your focus on the pilots around you. So as time went on, you bonded over your love for college football, dad rock, and surprisingly, the Great British Bake Off.
"Oh come on, Tom! No one is going to win with a ganache like that," Jake exclaimed from the end of the couch. There was no quippy response from you, and Jake raised an eyebrow in your direction. You had been like this all week. Mopey and weird. Your usual trash talk to other pilots or Maverick was replaced with a stone-cold face. It was just as intimidating, but Jake knew something was up.
Clutching the throw pillow in your arms, you couldn't even focus on the monstrosity that was Tom's cake on your screen. No, all that ran through your head was how you were going to contain yourself around Bob and his family. In just two days.
With a whack, fabric came flying on top of your head.
"Ow! Jake!" you exclaimed, immediately putting your arms up to protect yourself from further attacks.
"Jake! Don't Jake, me," he sassed you, only making the pout in your lips grow deeper. "What is going on with you? Is this still about Baby on Board?"
"Don't call him that," you grumbled, taking your pillow and whacking him across the chest.
He just rolled his eyes and continued, "Seriously, you need to get it together. Baby on Board and his family are expecting a perfect girlfriend, and right now, you're this."
You scowled at him as he chastised you. "Jake, that's mean. I just," you sighed before continuing. "I just don't know how I'm going to do this. A whole week? He'll know!"
Your dramatics were nothing new to Jake, but when it came to Bob, it seemed like you dialed it up tenfold. "This opportunity has been placed in your lap. I think you should take advantage of it, embrace it," he suggested.
"That's easier said than done," you mumbled.
This upcoming week made you queasy just thinking about it. It wasn't that you didn't want to go to meet Bob's family. No, you wanted all of it. But not like this. From the first day you met Bob, you knew you were in for it. His cute glasses and sweet smile almost had you confessing by the end of the first week.
When he asked you to move in with him, you had happily agreed. But as the arrangement unfolded, you realized what kind of agony would be in store for the near future. The way he always carried in all the groceries, not letting you lift a finger. How he always drove you, never letting you sit behind the wheel, no matter what kind of day he had. And he was so handy around the apartment, too. One day, the garbage disposal in your kitchen stopped working, and just as you were about to call someone, Bob brought over his tool kit and got down on his knees. It was way more attractive than it needed to be.
But these little daily pains were nothing compared to what you had walked in on about a month ago. You were about to go on your daily run with Phoenix when she called you from the car to cancel. Turning your keys and walking back into the house, you slipped off your sneakers and began padding down the hallway towards your room.
Just as you were about to head into your room, there was an odd sound. At first, you thought it was the apartment, settling, or something that people always say when a building makes noise. But as you paused, clutching your shoes and phone close to you, you knew it was something else. It was him.
His moans were unmistakable, so vocal and loud. And you froze. For a few seconds, you just stood there, listening. Listening to Bob falling apart. The schlepping of his hand against himself was unmistakable. The rocking of the bed, too. You had to peel yourself away from this. Away from his noise. So that's what you did.
You tried to forget it. But a part of you wanted to remember, as horrible as that sounds. You hadn't been able to look Bob in the eye for a few days after, and when you did, the heat in your tummy would start again.
The thought of sharing this week with Bob was more daunting than any mission you had ever faced.
"Hey! Are we going to watch this episode, or are you just going to sit and stew the whole night?" Jake's voice snapped you out of your thoughts.
"Sorry, just a little worried still," you said quietly. Jake had never seen you like this before, so in your own head.
He slid down the couch and placed an arm around your shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. Everything will be okay, I promise. Your biggest worries right now should be if Tom can figure out his presentation for the judges."
You giggled at his teasing. "Fucking, Tom," you murmured under your breath.
"Yes, fucking, Tom! God, he's selling it!" Jake boomed next to you, throwing you into another fit of laughter. "Seriously, Bee. Don't worry too much about this week."
"I will be texting you live updates every hour, I hope you know," you said with a grin.
"Wow, only hour updates. I was expecting every 5 minutes," Jake teased, poking into your sides. You just swatted his hands away, fighting off a smile.
જ⁀➴
Stepping onto the packed dirt and smelling the fresh Montana air was a relief to Bob. The picturesque mountain ranges were illuminated by the strong moonlight, and the sky was lit up by thousands of twinkling stars. It was something to get lost in, and that's exactly what Bob found as he turned to look at you. "It's so beautiful," you said, eye going a little wide, and your voice was quiet. Bob figured it was from your hours of traveling, maybe partly from the awe of the view.
Without looking away from you, he responded, "Very beautiful."
Bob's moment of peace with you was interrupted by a swift closing of the front door and a cheery voice. "Bob! Oh, honey, you made it safe!" an older, but spry woman ran up to Bob. You looked at the pair as they embraced and caught a look at them, side by side. Bob was much larger than the woman, towering over her. His arms stood out against her frame as your eyes trailed across his large muscles and hands without even realizing what you were doing. And his nose, it was the same as the woman who stood next to him. The cute button was something you always caught yourself looking at when tracing the map of his face.
A squeal snapped you out of your daze, and you were quickly met with a tight hug and a rushed introduction of Bob's mother's name, Pam. "Oh wow! You must be Bee! You are so gorgeous. I don't know why Bob kept you hidden from us for so long." She leaned back a bit and took you in, dragging her hands across your frame and face. You giggled at her ministrations.
"Thank you for having me this week. I'm so excited to get to know you all," you said with a sweet smile.
"Oh, we are so happy to have you, Bee! Such a cute little nickname, you don't mind?" she asked, but continued on anyway. "We were a little worried about Bob for a while there. Honestly, never thought he would-"
Bob's eyes widened, knowing the long list of stories his mother could tell you. "Alright! Alright, let's not talk about all that just yet," he cut her off with a blush that dusted his cheeks.
"Honestly," you started, gaining the attention of both Bob and his mother. "Bob is the best thing that's ever happened to me. You raised such a kind and thoughtful man. I'm so thankful for him." Your eyes met his as you spoke, sharing a look of genuine care. Pam caught the way you looked at her son and smiled knowingly.
"Well, you two had better head on up to bed. Your Pa is sleeping, but he'll be up bright and early. And everyone will be over tomorrow night to meet you, Bee," Pam said, finally letting you out of her grasp. Instead, she placed a hand on your lower back to guide you inside.
You turned to grab some of your bags to take inside, but instead saw Bob balancing all of your luggage in his hold, just the same as when you left the apartment and at the airport. He shot you a look, telling you to head inside. You rolled your eyes, but mouthed 'thank you' as you kept walking with his mother.
She led you to a small bedroom upstairs in the rustic-looking house. It was cosy, a queen bed with golden colored quilt, a small adjoining bathroom, and a small window with lace curtains. She gave you another quick hug and whispered 'goodnight' before heading back down the stairs to bed.
Bob set down your bags and let out a deep breath.
"You okay? Wanna shower first? You had a long day," you said, a hand coming to his shoulder and rubbing it sweetly. He melted into your touch, unconsciously leaning into you.
"No, no. You go first, I'll be okay," Bob said softly, trailing off a bit towards the end. You had been traveling since that morning, and you could tell how tired the man in front of you was. Your flight was a few hours long, and since his family didn't live in Bozeman or Billings, Bob had to rent a car and drive 3 more hours out to the small town.
"Bobby, go shower and get ready for bed. I'll unpack and lay out the clothes for tomorrow." You took your hands and placed them on both sides of his shoulder, pushing him into the bathroom as he chuckled lowly.
Bob gave you a tired, but grateful look before he closed the bathroom door carefully. Today had been long, but seeing the way you interacted with his mother made it all worth it.
Stepping under the warm stream of water, Bob felt his muscles relax instantly. He didn't want to take long in the shower, knowing you were waiting for him, but he also needed a few moments to himself. Reflecting on your day together, Bob felt himself getting half hard at the thought of you.
On the plane ride over, you had fallen asleep against his shoulder, your body angling into his. With your odd positioning, your tits were pressed right up against him for the majority of the flight. It took everything in him to keep his gaze straight ahead on the action movie playing on the little screen in front of him and not your soft, full chest.
His right hand drifted down, gripping himself firmly.
And your hair. You had been tucked right under his chin, and the scent of your shampoo was overwhelming. Sometimes, Bob would catch a whiff of it floating down the hallway after your showers, but now it was coming at him in waves. He felt like such a creep, but what was he supposed to do? Push you away from him? Bob didn't know the next time you would get so close to him.
Now, his cock stood proud under the stream.
In the car ride over, you had made it a point to keep him company since it was so late at night. Finding a radio station that played old country music, you began to sing along to almost every song that played. After the fourth song, Bob knew it wasn't a fluke that you knew all the lyrics so well. You explained that your college roommate was from Wyoming and was constantly playing her music in the dorms.
Bob knew he needed to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn't help the way he looked over to your figure sitting beside him. Your lips moving along to whatever song was playing, your thighs pressed up against the leather seat of the truck, and the way your hand would occasionally find its way to his upper back, rubbing soft, smooth circles into it, all drove him to glance over at your sweet face.
His pace was steady now.
Bob felt so dirty, touching himself like this with you, only a thin wall away. But he knew if he didn't do it now, he wasn't sure when he would get a chance this week. So he hunched over the corner of the shower, trying to focus on anything but you. But like every time before this one, Bob's mind only wandered to thoughts of you.
What would you look like with water cascading down your tits? Or how your back would arch into the tile of the shower as he fucked you from behind. Best of all, how your face would twist with pleasure as he drilled into you, making you cum all over his thick cock.
That's what always got him to finish. Thinking about you, your pleasure. He caught the groan in his throat before it sounded, instead biting down on his free fist, whining lowly.
After cleaning up fully, Bob looked around the bathroom and realized he hadn't brought any clean clothes in with his. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he stepped out sheepishly.
At the creak of the bathroom door, you looked up from your place on the ground. You were met with Bob's nearly bare form. Water droplets from his hair were dripping down his shoulders, finding their way down his chest and waist. As you tracked one of the droplets, your eyes stopped when they met his waist. Bob's v-line was even better than you had imagined, and you had thought about it a lot.
He had an aversion to taking his shirt off around others, and that was reasonable. Especially in front of a bunch of macho, testosterone-fueled Navy men. But you had always wondered what he looked like under the kaki uniform he wore so often. Seeing it up close almost had you drooling.
"Forgot a change of clothes," he explained in a quiet voice. You just hummed, not trusting your voice. Pushing up off the ground and padding over to the dresser, you opened a drawer, and Bob found all of his clothes folded and set perfectly. His heart warmed at the thought of your delicate fingers working across all the clothing he had packed for the week. You had obviously taken care of his stuff first, as your luggage was still open on the floor.
Bob grabbed a change of clothes and kept his voice at the same quiet tone, "Thank you, Bee." You smiled up at him, staring a bit too long. But quickly, you fumbled to grab your nightwear from your bag and made your way into the bathroom.
Bob dropped the towel from his waist and began to dress. He didn't miss the way your eyes trailed down his body, and honestly, it made his stomach flip. Just as he was about to lie down and call it a night, he realized you hadn't discussed the bed situation. Bob would never want to make you uncomfortable, so he shuffled down the hall and found his way into the spare linen closet, grabbing a fluffy comforter and some blankets to lie down on the floor beside the bed.
Not too long after, you emerged from the bathroom and furrowed your brows at the sight of the empty bedroom, expecting to see Bob knocked out on the bed from such a long day.
"Down here," Bob's voice startled you as his hand shot up in a lazy wave from the other side of the bed.
"Bob? What are you doing?" you asked the man, walking over to see him laying down on the makeshift bed he had set up on the hardwood floor.
He rubbed the back of his neck, not quite meeting your eyes. "Didn't want to make you feel like we needed to share the bed or anything like that."
"We've literally fallen asleep on the couch together," you said, narrowing your eyes as a teasing smile made its way to your face at his chivalry. "I don't mind sharing the bed at all, Bobby. And that can't be comfortable."
"No, no. Ma's got the best blankets. Feels like a cloud," Bob explained with a soft smile.
You narrowed your eyes at the man before speaking, "With you back? Do you remember earlier today when we got off the plane?"
Bob recalled the moment of weakness. He had stretched out a bit too far after sitting for hours on end and felt a tug throughout his body, wincing a little. You had fused over him for the next 30 minutes, almost refusing to get in the car if you couldn't drive. But Bob, of course, got his way.
He looked as if he was about to argue with you. Bob was hardheaded sometimes, but you knew just the right thing to say to knock him out of it.
"Plus, if your mom comes to wake us up and she sees you sleeping on the floor, everything would be ruined," you offered. Seeing a look of recognition flash across his face, he nodded slowly, like he was considering your words. "Come on, Bobby. I'll help you fold everything and put it back."
You giggled as he sprang up from the floor, a hand already coming down to his lower back.
"I knew your back was going to hurt! Comfy my ass," you said, smacking him lightly across the chest. He just smiled at you, joining in with some soft chuckles that warmed your heart.
Curling into bed, you felt sleep hit you almost immediately. Letting your eyelids droop, part of you wanted to stay up and think about tomorrow. To pick Bob's brain about who might show up. Worry about what they would think of you. But the sound of Bob's voice made your heart slow and breathing even out.
"G'night, Bee. Thank you again for coming with me," Bob told you, not even sure if you were lucid enough to hear him.
"Anything for you, Bobby. Goodnight," you said in the softest voice he thinks he's ever heard from you. Your words slurred a little and were definitely muffled by the pillow, but he still heard you. He saw your eyelashes flutter across your cheeks as you settled into sleep. The way your mouth opened slightly, lips parting so delicately. How your body seemed to curl into itself, making you look so small and fragile.
Wishing to hold you close to his chest like earlier today on the plane or to grasp your hand to hold in his sleep, Bob just stayed up for a few minutes longer to watch your sleeping form. Soon enough, his thoughts of you became muddy and distant as sleep took over, claiming you both now.
જ⁀➴
Bob had awoken to soft beams of sunlight streaming through the lace curtains. Everything was quiet, and Bob let himself lie for a moment, taking in the peace. Just as he was about to stretch and get up, he looked to his side and saw you.
Your cheek was still flushed up against the pillow, and your hair was in a bit of a mess as it rubbed on the fabric. It wasn't rare that Bob got to see you relax, but it was rare to see you completely void of all concerns. Usually, you were still holding some type of resistance in your shoulders or furrowing your brows slightly, even when lying across the couch at the end of the day. But now, you looked completely free. He smiled a bit at this.
Like you had sensed him mentally tracing the outline of your nose or the apples of your cheeks, suddenly your eyelashes fluttered, and you opened your eyes.
"G'morning, Bobby," you half mumbled-half whispered into your pillow. You weren't sure he understood you until hearing his telltale chuckle that was seemingly reserved for you.
"Morning, Bee," he said softly, voice a little deeper than usual. You chalked it up to the morning hours, but it still made your tummy flip. "Did you sleep well?"
"Mhm," you hummed. Bob saw that you made no effort to move from your comfortable position and chuckled again.
He often teased you for being so out of it in the mornings, but Bob had never seen you so unguarded. On the weekends you had off from training, you would usually pad into the kitchen, eyes still a little puffy and your movement still a little soft. There was one time Bob had to quickly intervene before you poured your coffee into your cereal bowl instead of your mug. But right now was different.
"Don't laugh," you grumbled. "Need like five more minutes. Or maybe ten."
Just as Bob was about to say okay and lie back under the covers with you, he heard a familiar pattern of steps making their way up the hallway.
"I'm afraid you're not going to get that, Bee," he spoke, seeing your brows fold in on themselves at his words. But soon, the bedroom door opened, and Pam was rushing to hug you good morning.
"I can see Bob has been soft on you, letting you sleep in," she joked as you shot up in the bed to meet her embrace. "We Floyds are early risers! Better start building the habit now."
"Oh, I know. Bob's up every morning at the crack of dawn, it feels like. Always hear him trying to be so quiet around the apartment," you said with a yawn as she drew away from you. Bob's cheeks heated at the thought of you being so in tune with his morning routine.
"Well, I won't rush you this morning, but breakfast will be ready in 20 minutes. Then we'll head into town afterwards, alright, Bee?" she said with a fond smile on her face. You nodded your head, saying a quick thank you as she closed the door and left.
The room was silent for a few seconds as you and Bob shared a small smile and knowing look at what had happened. "I'm only getting up early for her this week, Floyd. Don't expect any new habits when we're back home," you joked, a teasing smile on your face.
"Oh, I know. Wouldn't want to disrupt your morning routine of inside-out jeans and backwards shirts," Bob said with full seriousness as he pushed the covers off his body.
"Whatever that happened like one time," you said, pursing your lips. Hearing his laughter fill the air made your face flush with embarrassment. "One time! It was one time!"
Your protests at his teasing had no effect. Instead, Bob's laughter seemed to increase ten-fold as he doubled over in the bed.
"Bob, stop! It was one time!" you whined now. "You said it wasn't that bad."
His laughter subsided as he began to speak, "I know, I know." There was a silence that lasted for a few seconds until he spoke again, "But it was so funny, Bee." With that, Bob burst out laughing again as you half groaned, half laughed loudly.
From the kitchen, Pam smiled to herself, hearing her son's laughter carry throughout the house.
જ⁀➴
That night, like Pam had promised, Bob's extended family was over. Honestly, Bob was a little worried for you. His family could be a lot, and given that this was the first time he had brought anyone home, he expected everyone to poke and prod at you. But as his family filed into the house, your bright smile had never faltered.
Sometime after dinner but before dessert, Bob had lost you in the crowd of Floyds. He had walked through the house about ten different times at this point, looking for you, but you were nowhere to be found. Seeing the worried look on his face, his father gently grasped his son's shoulder to gain his attention.
"She's outside," he said lowly. Bob nodded and walked with purpose towards the back porch. His mind racing, thinking of all the possibilities that would've pushed you to escape outside. Were you crying? Was this all too overwhelming? Did someone ask you a rude question? Had you finally gotten sick of him? Sick of this role you were playing?
Right as he was about to push the door open, Bob paused. He saw you outside, but you weren't alone.
Gathered around you in the grassy field was a gaggle of small children, all laughing and smiling. Bob couldn't tell exactly what you were playing with the children, but after one of his younger cousins ran up to you and tapped your hip, he understood immediately. Bob smiled to himself, seeing you take off into a run as all the children screamed joyfully.
"She's sweet. Reminds me of your mother." Bob was snapped out of his trance as his father spoke. "Good job, son," he added, hand coming to clap softly on Bob's back.
Bob felt his heart race watching you. He knew you were perfect, living with you and being best friends had proven it to him. But he had never seen you like this, so carefree and thoughtful. Sure, there were nights when Jake or Bradley would get a bit too carried away at the Hard Deck, and you would be right by their side, taking care of them. But it wasn't even close to this.
Bob saw you chase around the children, never gaining too fast on the younger kids, but still giving the older ones a run for their money. He watched as all the kids gravitated towards you, all of their smiles and laughs being thrown your way. And Bob understood this feeling deeply. He had always felt a pull towards you. It came out in various ways, like always finding your eyes when Coyote would say something outrageous during training. Or bursting out into synchronized laughter whenever Jake would ultimately lose another game of pool to Nat. And his favorite was the way you would find your way over to Bob whenever you were in a large group. You could talk to Jake or joke around with Bradley, but whenever the full Dagger Squad was together on a crowded night at the Hard Deck, you were glued to Bob's side. These moments let him know that you were undeniably in each other's orbit.
Finally, Bob pulled open the door and walked out to you and your new friends.
"Uncle Bob!" one of the children exclaimed. You whipped around, seeing Bob walking up to you with a small smile on his face.
"Thought I lost you in there," he joked. You smiled, not speaking but walking closer to meet him in the middle. He met your kind eyes, but upon looking into them further, he squinted a little at you. Just as he was about to step back, you lunged forward.
"Tag! You're it!" you blurted out, giggling as you sprinted in the opposite direction. The children seemed to follow your example, all shrieking and laughing as Bob took off.
Suddenly, you heard little cries of your name. Turning around, you saw Bob gaining on you. Before you knew it, his hands grasped your waist, picking you up a few inches off the ground, bringing you into his chest.
Tucked close into him now, you felt his breath on the back of your neck. The heaving of his chest against your back had you squirming. "Can't get away that easily," his voice close to your ear. Biting down on your lip, careful to not let the whine out, you felt your tummy flip at the position he had you in.
You had come outside to escape, yes. But not from Bob's never-ending list of uncles or aunts. From him.
During dinner, he had been nothing but kind to you. Caring. Attentive. And it had been like that all day. From when you left the house and went into town with him and his mother, you hadn't as much as blinked before Bob made sure you didn't have to lift a finger. Sure, he had done this to a certain extent back in California, not letting you open the door or always opening glass jars for you when in the kitchen together. But today was a different level.
Pam insisted on getting you a pair of real, genuine cowgirl boots. She marched you into "Jesse's Boots & Shoes" and immediately sat you down on one of the little benches. After gathering what seemed like half the merchandise in the store, she came back to you with stacks of boxes full of different types of boots.
As you began to bend down to untie your shoes, Bob suddenly appeared in front of you. On his knees.
"I got it, don't worry," he said, before delicately unlacing your shoes. His large, warm hand flew up underneath your calf, and the other shimmied off your shoe. Then he looked up with that sweet smile and repeated the whole process on your other foot. You could've sworn you saw Pam snap a picture.
Later in the day, you made it back to the house and were helping Pam fix up some lunch. She handed you a big yellow onion and a kitchen knife, but before you could even take hold of the wooden handle she had outstretched to you, Bob had rushed into your view. Stealing the onion out of your right hand and gently pushing you out of the way of the cutting board, you looked at him incredulously.
"I know how watery your eyes get. I got it, just go sit down," he offered with that same sweet smile.
"I can cut one onion, Bobby," you said, playfully trying to grab the onion from his hand. He just raised his hands above his head, ensuring you wouldn't be able to reach him.
"I got it, Bee. Don't try to argue," he challenged, raising his brows. Huffing, you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the small smile that was creeping on your face.
Pam once again snapped a picture. This time, giggling to herself a bit like she knew this was going to happen.
The third time was right before everyone had arrived. You were upstairs, checking your hair one last time and making sure your outfit looked okay, when you noticed you had forgotten to put your necklace on this morning.
After retrieving the delicate piece from the bathroom, Bob had seemingly appeared. Seeing the jewelry in your hand, he walked forward with purpose, holding out his palm. You raised an eyebrow at his actions.
"Seen you do it a million times," he started. "Let me."
You nodded, not trusting your voice once again, dropping the piece into his hand. Softly, his free hand came down to your hip, guiding you to turn around.
Then, you felt his arms go around your shoulders, not touching, but there. It was so quiet in that moment. The only noise you could hear was the creaking of the old house and Bob's soft breathing close to your ear. It was distracting. Maddening, after the day you had.
Clasping the necklace around you, his hands dropped. Turning back around, you were met, once again, by the same sweet smile.
"You look beautiful, Bee," he told you before backing out of the room. "I'll be downstairs whenever you're ready."
Driven outside, you had wanted to sit on the porch for a bit. Think about what this weekend really meant for you. For Bob. For your friendship. But your plans were quickly interrupted after feeling a little tug on your leg and hearing a quiet invitation to a game of tag.
"Robert Floyd, you'd better let go of that girl! We've got apple pie coming out the oven!" Pam's voice drew you back into the heart-racing position you were in. Bob was quick to set you down, smoothing his hands over your hips in an effort to fix the creases in your dress that his hold had caused. But you saw the raging blush that crossed his face and burst out into a fit of giggles, and soon, all of his younger cousins were doing the same thing.
"I think this might be your inside-out jean moment," you teased with a smile, seeing the blush turn to a darker shade.
"Not funny," he said sternly, but you could tell he was trying to hold back a laugh.
"Mm, I recall saying something earlier this morning like that." You grinned at him, walking closer to the house, but your body was still fully facing the man in front of you. "But Bobby, it's so funny!" you laughed, throwing your head back. Bob couldn't help but smile, even if it was at the expense of his own actions.
What neither Bob nor you realized was the crowd of onlookers peaking through the windows, watching as Bob Floyd was struck with a look of love.
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You had been right. The look before the first kiss was the best part of a wedding. Bob doesn't remember the last time he'd seen his older brother so giddy.
You, on the other hand, had missed it completely. Looking at the man who sat next to you instead. You saw the way the corners of Bob's mouth pulled upwards, smiling brightly.
The week had gone smoothly, both of you getting away with touches that were a little more lingering than usual or looks that called for a deeper conversation. To Bob's family, this looked like restraint, manners, and control. To you, this was torture, heartache, and suppression. You didn't know how many more instances of Bob's big hand on the small of your back you had in you before you broke completely. His gentle guidance and care throughout the week had been something that you reveled in. Returning to California, returning to normalcy, it all seemed so distant.
Sipping some champagne, you sat with Bob at the reception. Stringed bulbs lit up the night. Bright colors popped from all of the flowers that seemed to be placed on every table. And sweet music filled the air, inviting everyone to dance.
Bob studied your face under the night sky and limited lighting. You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Dread filled his heart, though. The thought of this week just being a glimpse into what life would be like if he got up the courage to ask you to be with him weighed heavily on his heart.
Going to bed with you every night was something Bob didn't even know he was missing, but now he craved it so deeply. Being able to talk to you and share his thoughts with you right before bed. Getting to hear you ramble on, either about your worries or joys, was something he began to love more than anything. The way your voice would begin to taper, become gentle, when you were truly tired and ready for sleep. How you supported your face under your small palm while talking with him in the dark. How your eyes would become glassy and glazed over as you finally hit the pillow. These moments became precious to him.
"All couples! Head to the dance floor now! Tell your partner how much you care about them, and let's dance!" The DJ's voice broke Bob's train of thought. Without thinking, he rose out of his seat and offered you a hand.
Sheepishly, you took it, letting him guide you.
A soft, slow melody filled the air as you began to take your place with Bob. His hands brushed your hips, stiff, like he was in middle school, and it was his first time slow dancing. You chuckled a little under your breath.
"What's got you laughing now?" he asked, soft and sweet. Eyes searching yours with intensity you had only seen from him this week.
You looked at him for a moment and just grinned, like you knew something he didn't.
"Just so stiff, Bobby. Relax," you told him, pushing into his space a little more. Your hands found their way around his shoulders, palms settling on the broad plain of his back. Now, your face met his chest, and you melted into him.
Bob felt the sway of your hips and the light movement of your feet. If it wasn't for you, he would've stood still, not knowing what to do with you like this. Sure, he had danced like this before. But it was never this intimate. This deep. This connected.
At any moment, Bob felt like he was going to let the words spill out of him. Tell you how he was really feeling. It seemed so easy.
The way you interacted with his family. Cooking with his Ma, talking about college sports with his Pa. Even the way you talked with his brother and sister-in-law. Though it was brief, you made an immediate connection. You and his sister-in-law, chatting away like you had grown up together. And he didn't miss the way his older brother shot him a look of surprise, but approval.
But it wasn't just about them. It was also about the way you just fit so well into his life. Sure, you weren't an early riser, and Bob had learned this weekend that you weren't the best with large animals, but he didn't mind. If being with you meant slow mornings where you would coax him back to bed, hands grasping for him to come lie with you beneath the sheets, he'd be okay with that. More than okay. And if the biggest animal you owned was a chocolate lab, that would be okay by him, too.
Slowly, his large hands came around your waist, more secure and grounded. And Bob closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. Taking in this moment with you was the most important thing to him.
You danced under the twinkling lights and stars, no concern for the people around you. No concern that this was fake, that it was all pretend. Because right now, it felt real.
Hearing the thump of Bob's heart calmed you. It was grounding you, just like the gentle guitar in the background. You swayed like that for a while, but eventually the pounding of his heart and the steadiness of his figure became all too much. While the music swelled, so did your chest. Heaving up and down at a much more rapid pace.
Bob, feeling the sudden shift in your energy, pulled back, but just slightly. Still close enough to hear the hitch in your breath, to see the quiver of your bottom lip.
Your eyes blinked rapidly. Looking up at Bob seemed like an impossible task. But with a gentle touch to your chin, you did.
"Bee?" he asked softly. Concern written across his face.
"I'm sorry," you said, even quieter. With slow moments, you pressed your lips to his.
Your lips were softer than he imagined. The way your lips slotted between his was like second nature. And before you could pull back, he learned in deeper. Taking the hand that was under your chin and pressing it into the back of your head. Meeting you in the kiss, he pressed closer to you, and you felt the strong hold he had on your hip.
Bob wanted so badly to lick into your mouth, to mix your spit. But he restrained himself upon feeling the slight jump below his waist.
The solid kiss made your tummy turn in a way you didn't think was possible. Something deeper took hold of you as you melted, once again, into the man in front of you. The heaving of your chest was still present, but now it was fueled by want rather than anxiety.
Pulling away slowly, your breathing was heavy. Your eyes searched his, trying to see what he was thinking. What would his reaction to your impulsivity be?
Before your question could be answered, you were being pulled by one of Bob's cousins, urging you to go line up for the bouquet toss.
Bob watched as you were ripped away from him. His hand came up to grab onto you, but his fingers slipped against the fabric of your dress. Your eyes widen, head whipping around to look at him. But just as quick, you broke your gaze.
જ⁀➴
As soon as the door to the guest bedroom clicked shut, you immediately began apologizing.
"Bobby, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, and I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking," you said, hands coming up to your face in an attempt to hide from him.
"Bee," Bob tried to cut in, but you could barely hear him over the sound of your racing heart and rambling words."
"I didn't mean to ruin this. Ruin this weekend and make you feel uncomfortable. Ruin what we have. Our friendship," you kept going, stomach now turning at the thought of losing Bob from your life.
"Bee," he started again, but still you weren't hearing a thing he said.
Your hands now rubbed nervously down your dress, like you were trying to wipe off what had happened earlier that night. "I'm gonna go take my stuff and sleep in the bathroom or something. You don't have to share a bed with me tonight. And if you want me to move out, I will. I'm sorry, I just, I don't know-"
"Bee!" Bob's voice startled you into silence. He stepped closer to you, reaching for your hands, trying to quell your nervous energy.
Bob's hand closed around your wrists. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you looked at your best friend.
"Tonight," he started, hand rubbing softly against yours. "What did the kiss mean?"
He took a deep breath as you just stared at him.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," you said, feeling tears well up in your eyes.
"I'm not mad, and I'm not uncomfortable. I just," he took another deep breath before continuing. "I just want to know what it meant to you. Why you did it."
A tear slipped down your cheek at his soft-spoken words.
"I love you," you said quietly as more tears fell from your eyes. "I kissed you because I love you. Because I'm in love with you. I'm sorry, Bobby."
You felt your world crumbling around you. Years of friendship, laughter, and good memories all seemed to blur past you. Surely, when you got back to California, Bob would ask you to move out. The thought made you sick to your stomach.
Bob stared at you, silent. He felt like he was dreaming. All week, he had been trying to tell you how he felt. Been trying to get the words out. And here you were, saying everything he was thinking.
His hands quickly came up to your face, wiping the tears away. You couldn't look at him, eyes closed and body closing in on itself.
"Bee, will you open your eyes, please. I just want to talk to you," Bob pleaded. "I need to tell you something. Need you to look at me."
You shook your head, starting to feel like everything was all too much. Of course, he was still being sweet to you. After everything, after all of what you said and did. The thought made more tears come to your eyes.
"Please, please look at me," he asked again, thumbs now stroking your cheeks. Bob could see the internal debate you were having as your lips pushed deeper into a pout.
But after a few seconds, you opened your eyes. Blinking away the last bit of tears, you tried to look at the man in front of you.
As soon as your eyes met his, Bob smiled at you sweetly. "I love you. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner. And I'm sorry about this week. I should've told you how I was feeling, but I thought everything would go okay. That we could just go back to being normal after all this."
Your shoulders relaxed with his admission, your mouth opening just a bit to look at Bob in awe.
"But we can't," you said, voice still small. It made Bob's heart ache thinking about all that you were feeling this week, knowing he was feeling the same way.
"No, I don't think we can." His eyes dropped to your lips for a split second. If you weren't watching him so closely, you would've missed it.
Something in your stomach turned at the thought of kissing him again. Your chest began to rise and fall much like it had earlier.
Still holding your face in his hands, Bob leaned in slowly. Slow enough to let you pull away if this was something you didn't want. Slow enough that seconds felt like minutes.
Finally, your lips met for the second time that night. Less rushed than before and softer. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.
The kiss was sweet. Bob's heart was racing out of his chest, having you like this. He was content letting your lips brush up against each other in a soft manner. But each time you kissed, he got hungrier. It wasn't until you let a soft sound slip past your lips and into his that he pressed into you harder.
Suddenly, Bob was walking you backwards into the bed. You felt one of his hands leave your face and come down to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him.
"This okay?" he asked breathlessly as you nodded, not trusting your voice.
With that, Bob got to work on the zipper at the back of your dress. He felt your hands in his hair, on his arms, pulling him in closer. Finally, the dress dropped and you let it fall to the floor.
Bob's eyes scanned your body. Wearing the prettiest set of black lace underwear and a matching bra, he felt his stomach turn. You were perfect.
Quickly, his hands were all over your body as you fell back with him on the bed. Feeling his hard length grind down on your barely clad heat had you biting down on your lip. Bob worked his mouth against your neck, looking for the spot that would make you moan against him. His licking and biting made your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him even closer if possible.
"Please, Bobby. Need you," you whispered. His head shot up to take you in. Your eyes were blinking quickly, like you were struggling to keep them open. Your mouth parted slightly, like you couldn't take deep enough breaths. Your hair splayed out around you, like you were an angel come down from heaven.
"Want me to touch you?" Bob asked as you whined, head nodding. "Gonna have to be quiet for me, okay? I wanna help you."
"Okay, I'll be good. Promise," you said, eyes searching his. Waiting for his movements to change. Waiting for him to help you feel good.
His hands moved from your hips down to your heat. Only one hand cupping it at first, while the other worked at the back of your bra. Pushing into your underwear, Bob's big hand began to feel you everywhere. His thumb quickly found your clit, and you thought you were seeing stars as he rubbed it softly.
You felt the tightness of your bra loosen, and Bob's other hand quickly moved to take it off you completely. Seconds after, his mouth came down to your pebbled nipple, swirling his tongue around it, sucking it into his mouth.
Your jaw dropped at the feeling. His kisses and ministrations made your hips jump up into his hand. "Need more, wanna feel your fingers," you said softly, trying to keep your promise to him.
Popping his lips from your tits, Bob looked at you with darkened eyes. "Being so good for me. I can feel you, so wet for me," he praised you, but still, his hand made no effort to move further into your heat.
Your brows furrowed at this, and you propped yourself up to look at the man lying above you. "Bobby, please," you whispered, kissing his cheek sweetly.
There was no way he could resist you when you asked so sweetly. His hand made its way towards your opening, stretching your underwear a bit. Bob played with you a bit more, and you whined into the pillow next to you.
"Sorry, honey," he whispered into your ear. "Just love your little pussy so much."
Your jaw dropped at his dirty words and at the feeling of two of his fingers stretching out your heat. They felt so thick, and Bob knew exactly what he was doing, moving them with expert precision. Pushing in slow and deep, reaching your spot almost immediately, your back arched off the bed into his touch.
Bob watched as you crumbled at his touch. It had to be a dream. The way your tits heaved up and down made him dizzy. Your face, now driven into the pillow next to you, silencing your noises, made his cock jump from beneath his trousers. You lying on the bed, almost completely naked, and he still fully dressed, made him bite down on his lip hard.
He was trying to take his time with you. Be gentle. Get to know your body. But every noise that escaped you and every look of longing you shot him made his resolve crumble. He could spend hours like this, with you at his disposal to play with. But sweat beaded down his forehead in restraint. Bob had to know what your tight pussy felt like around his cock.
A hand on his bicep pulled Bob from his thoughts. He felt your pussy clench up at his fingers, and he instantly moved his thumb back up to your clit. The reaction was immediate. Your body curling off the body and into him, Bob leaned into you, taking one of your tits into his mouth again, sucking harshly this time.
"Oh, fuck," you whispered as your orgasm ran through you. You never knew your orgasms could be so intense, but with Bob's constant attention to your body, you had never felt better.
Delicately, he pulled his fingers from your entrance and leaned down to kiss you sweetly.
"You're so beautiful," Bob said breathlessly. Then he brought his fingers up to his mouth, and you felt your pussy throb all over again at the sight of him licking your slick from his fingers. "Taste so good, too," he said, popping his fingers from his mouth. "Can I taste you?"
You nodded, but apparently, this wasn't enough for him anymore.
"Wanna hear you," Bob spoke softly. "Killing me, not being able to hear all your cute noises."
"Sorry," you said bashfully. "Yes, please."
"Don't gotta say sorry. Doing so good for me, my beautiful girl." Bob leaned in to kiss you again, making you feel his want and warmth as he licked into your mouth. His mouth traveled down your body, stopping to suck dark marks into your throat and all over your tits. But you didn't stop him, not really caring about how you would cover them up in the morning. His nips and licks were much more convincing than anything your brain told you.
Finally making his way down to your heat, Bob pushed your underwear to the side. Licking a broad stripe with his flat tongue, he tried to feel all of you. Your thighs worked to close around him, but his strong hands came up to grip them just hard enough to remind you of his strength, but not hard enough to hurt you. Continuing, he kissed all over your heat, much like he had just licked into your mouth. The movements made you dizzy.
Focusing on your clit, you felt one of his hands leave your thigh and dive into your heat again.
"Bobby," you whined. Quickly slapping a hand over your mouth, remembering what you had promised him. He looked up at you, chuckling a bit at your movements. But the vibrations against your heat only made you squirm and cry out more.
Removing his mouth from your heat, he kissed your thighs sweetly.
"Need me to help you, honey?" he asked, voice low and eyes dark as they looked at you.
"Mhm, please," you whispered, still moving your hips against his fingers.
He smiled at your movements. "So needy," he whispered more to himself than anything. "Didn't think you'd be that way."
Your tummy flipped at his admission. Even if he hadn't explicitly said it, just thinking about Bob touching himself to the thought of you made your pulse race like crazy.
Pulling your underwear away from your heat, Bob tossed them across the room. His hands now moved to your waist, picking you up effortlessly, flipping you on your tummy softly.
Your neck craned back, a puzzled look on your face. But he was already meeting you half way, coming up to kiss you again and ask a question.
"This okay, honey?" Bob asked, one hand coming to raise your hips. Another guided a pillow beneath them. Your stomach turned at the thought of what he was about to do.
"Yeah, it's okay," you whispered. He smiled at this, placing a sweet kiss on the crown of your head. But soon, his hand was pushing your head into the pillow, tucking your hair behind your ears, making sure you were comfortable. But still, his hand came down to guide you into the plush surface beneath you.
Not seeing Bob and only feeling him was something you never thought you would love. But the way his hands dragged down your body, fingers toying with your body, and firmly kneading your ass made your breathing sharp and shallow. Bob made his way down to your heat once more, licks more confident and sure now.
Sure enough, you whined into the pillow underneath you, pushing your hips back into Bob as he continued to work at your entrance. His tongue pushed in and out of you, sucking harshly. Hands spreading your ass, allowing him to kiss you better, get deeper.
It was quick for you to feel the familiar tug in your tummy return, ready to snap at any moment. Snaking a hand under your tummy and to your clit, Bob worked diligently to make you feel good, rubbing tight, small circles.
Your hand flew back, trying to grasp at anything you could. Your fingers found his golden locks, and you gripped them tightly as you came for the second time that night.
After a few last licks, Bob kissed up your back, letting his body sink into you a bit. It wasn't until his kisses reached your neck that you felt his hard length straining against your ass.
"So good, honey," he whispered, placing sweet kisses against your hair once more. "Gonna go get a towel to clean you up, okay?"
Soon, he moved to shift off the bed. But you shot up, grabbing his forearm.
"What's wrong?" Bob asked, concern evident on his face as he looked at you. He wondered if it had been too much. He had indulged a little bit, but he thought that you were feeling good. Or maybe he was pulling away too soon, maybe you wanted to cuddle a bit more before he got up. But what you said next made his heart jump.
"Wanna feel you. Do you not want to?" you spoke softly, forehead creasing in on itself.
Bob smiled at your question, coming back into your space, pressing his lips to yours. You smiled into the kiss, too. Something about them was so sweet and gentle, but so deep and longing at the same time.
"Course I do, just didn't want to push anything," he spoke, pulling away a bit. "And, I don't have anything here. I didn't bring any condoms," Bob whispered the last bit, like it was a secret.
"I'm clean and on birth control," you offered with a small smile that Bob swore would be the death of him.
"Me too," he said, immediately backtracking at the sound of your giggles. "I mean clean. No birth control."
Your smile grew wider at his words. Even when Bob didn't mean to, he made you laugh, always making you feel good.
"Can I see you? Think it's a little unfair you're still dressed," you teased him. Even with the faint glow of the moon and the soft bedside lamp, you were able to see the way Bob's ears turned pink.
Without a word, he began to unbutton his shirt. Scooching toward him on the bed, your hands made quick work of his belt, button, and zipper. Bob would've laughed at your eagerness if he weren't feeling the exact same way. Kicking off his pants and underwear and whipping the shirt off over his head, Bob stood before. Your tongue peeked out a bit at the sight of him.
His abs are sculpted and molded to perfection; you were able to gawk at them more openly now than a few nights ago. As your eyes traveled further, you saw his V-line, prominent and defined. And his length stood proud in front of you. Chills ran down your spine at the thought of taking all of him. You leaned down, falling on your elbows before him. Kissing his pink tip, your tongue began to kitten lick at his head.
Bob groaned audibly at the sight in front of him. Your ass up, mouth working against his length, and eyes looking up at him for approval. This wasn't real, surely. Any minute now, he would wake up in bed, spoiled underwear once again. But as you moved to take his length further in your mouth, Bob couldn't deny what he was feeling.
Knowing that if you sucked his length much longer, he wouldn't last, Bob softly grasped your head in his hands, moving you away from his length and instead onto the bed like you once were.
Lying back on the bed, you watched as Bob moved over your body. Settling on top of you, you found yourself face-to-face with him. Smiling at him, your eyes met, and you couldn't help but laugh a bit to yourself.
"What's got you so happy?" Bob asked, leaning down to kiss your neck as you let the giggles flow freely. He smiled at you, the kisses sweet rather than searing like they were before.
"I just love you," you whispered. Bob's head shot up, dopey grin now on his face.
"I love you," he whispered back. Leaning down to kiss you again, you thought about how you would never get used to this. Just a few hours ago, you were anxiety-ridden with thoughts of losing your best friend to a dumb mistake. Now, all your nerves were still on fire, but for a different reason. Bob's lips worked against yours until you felt your tummy flip again, and it seemed he felt the same way; one of his hands moved down to grip his length. Guiding himself to your heat, you felt Bob shudder in your embrace, but his lips never left yours.
Bob groaned against your lips as he pushed into you. Only a few inches at first, seeing the way your body would react to him. Your chest heaved, and your eyes screwed shut at the unfamiliar feeling. But your hands pawed at his chest and back, trying to bring him closer to you.
"Doing okay, honey? Feel good?" Bob asked, watching your face for any signs of discomfort.
You whinnied a little as you answered, "Feels good. So good. You're so big."
"You can take it, can't you, honey?" Bob asked, pushing a bit more into you as your jaw dropped at the feeling. He was now kissing up and down your throat again, unable to keep himself away from your soft, dewy skin for too long.
The man felt you pulsed around him. Your heat seemingly needing more from him. Before Bob could ask, you spoke in a breathless whisper.
"More, please. I can take it."
With that, he pushed into you fully. Balls settling against your ass, pelvis meeting yours. His arms came around under your back, bringing you tight into his embrace. Bob made sure to hold onto you, made sure he was taking care of you.
When he started moving, it was filthy. The sounds couldn't be masked as he moved in and out of your heat at a steady pace, deep enough to be hitting your spot in just the right way. Your bodies began to sweat and shine under the soft bedroom light.
You tried biting down on your lip, tried to not let the sounds escape you, but it was no use. The way that Bob moved above you drew out soft, airy noises. Bob saw that you struggled to control yourself and fully feel pleasure, so he took matters into his own hands.
Placing a large hand over your mouth, Bob met your eyes. They shot wide open at first, maybe a flicker of embarrassment, but soon they became droopy again as you focused more on his thrusts into you.
"It's okay, honey," he leaned down to talk near your ear. "Know it feels good. Just gonna help you a little."
You nodded at his words, clenching around his length again. Your moans were now muffled behind his big hand. The feeling of Bob asserting himself over you made you dizzy. You knew he was confident and could take charge if need be, but this was something else. Bob worked with precision, seemingly adjusting to your every move. It wasn't long until his other hand left its spot on your hip and made its way down to your heat once more, circling your clit in what you now learned was your favorite way. His big thumb moved in tandem with his thrusts, and you opened your eyes to look at the man above you.
Bob, seeing the way your eyes glossed over, kissed your lips, briefly moving his hand before placing it back and speaking, "It's okay, I got you. Wanna feel you cum around me."
With that, the knot in your tummy unraveled. Shaking against Bob, you pushed your body as close to his as possible. Still working into you, Bob felt the way you squeezed his length and couldn't hold back anymore, coming to his high with you.
Slowly, Bob moved his hand from your mouth and instead stroked your hair, placing a kiss on your hairline. You smiled at his actions, despite being exhausted from your rigorous activities.
"I love you," Bob told you. He watched as you relaxed against the bed, shifting slightly to hold you better.
"I love you, Bobby. Thank you for inviting me this week," you said sweetly, sharing another kiss with him as he was still nestled inside you, neither of you moving to get up just yet.
He smiled at your words. Thinking back to this week and all that had happened, Bob was grateful you were by his side. From his rambunctious family to the quietness of rural Montana, you fit in perfectly. Bob couldn't wait to bring you back, properly this time.
જ⁀➴
Like always, you and Bob went along with the squad's outstanding Saturday night plans at the Hard Deck, not caring that you had just gotten back to California a few hours prior. Jake grinned at the sight of you walking into the Hard Deck, hand in hand with Bob. He watched as Bob carefully guided you through the crowd of people, delicately holding onto your waist and shielding you from the rowdy patrons.
"Well, well, well," Jake teased as soon as you had both made your way over to the pool table full of aviators. "Looks like my plan worked."
Bob's brows furrowed at this, immediately looking to you.
"No way, Bagman, you aren't getting the credit for this," Phoenix chimed in, abandoning the game of pool.
Now it was your turn to look at Bob with confusion on your face.
"I was the one who sold Bee about the parents thing," Jake argued. You felt your face flush at his admission of your white lie.
"Well, I was the one hyping Bob up for weeks about getting her to come," Phoenix fought back. Bob closed his eyes, not thinking he could survive the look of amusement on your face.
Suddenly, both of your pilots turned to you.
"So who did it?" Phoenix asked. Both you and Bob looked at each other, puzzled.
"Oh come on," Jake said exasperatedly. "You know what were talking about. Who made the first move?"
The squad was silent, watching both you and Bob under a microscope, it seemed. A slight tilt of Bob's head in your direction made Jake cry out triumphantly, pumping his fists into the air.
"I knew it! I knew it! Suck it, Phoenix," Jake whooped as onlookers watched with amusement at his antics.
"Knew it?" Bob asked, almost scared for the answer.
Jake grinned at the both of you. "Yup!" he said, popping the ending syllable in a way that made Nat's eye roll even farther back into her head. "I knew Bee would make the first move. She's gutsy! No offense, Baby on Board."
"Jake," you chastised, but knew the nickname was all in good fun now.
"Where's my twenty dollars? My wallet seems to be missing something," Jake faux-questioned, turning his attention to Phoenix.
Digging into her back pocket and sifting through her wallet, she slapped a crisp twenty-dollar bill into Jake's outstretched hand with a groan. Jake almost giggled in delight, a sound you had only heard come out of him once or twice.
"I just want to say," he started, raising his glass to the group, "that I, Jake Seresin, best pilot among us, was instrumental in ending our suffering. That is, watching these two dance around each other forever like little lovesick puppies."
The group groaned at his statement, but raised their drinks nonetheless. You giggled into Bob's shoulder, and he smiled widely at the sound. His eyes found yours and saw a playful look on your face. Before he knew it, you leaned into his space, pressing your lips to his.
The group watched as he melted into your touch, half-cheering and half-whistling.
Pulling away slightly, you smiled at the man next to you. Bob's cheeks were now dusted with pink, but he still wrapped a hand around your waist, bringing you close into his hold.
summary: you met bob back at the academy and fell for him fast—but you never dared risk the friendship... now you're both stationed at north island and for once the timing might be right, until you overhear him say some things that cut deep and make you question everything you thought you knew
notes: okay i'm a little nervous about this one, like i hope it's good??? i hope you like it! the start is a little slow, i struggled there, but it picks up! i promise! again, i had no self-control with the word count, and as always, please let me know what you think!!!
warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, bit of angst, miscommunication (kinda), italics, bob makes a joke about a stutter, some cheesy moments, reader wears a skimpy dress (but detail is vague and there is no detail about body-type), angry bob, dancing with a guy that isn't bob, very horny, a bit of boob commentary, and SMUT (male masturbation, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, and a lil titty worship bob floyd) 18+ ONLY MDNI!!!
word count: 21530
your callsign is lucky
You’ve known Bob Floyd since your second day at the academy.
You were running late to a classroom session on naval aviation history when you ran into him—tall, sweet, with dark blue eyes and the prettiest smile you’d ever seen. As it turned out, you were both late for the same class, and got chewed out in front of twenty or so of your brand-new flight school classmates. At the time, it was mortifying, but now it’s one of your favourite stories—because that was the moment that bonded you for life.
You’ve been in love with Bob Floyd ever since he drunkenly told you at flight school graduation—the boy’s a serious lightweight—that you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.
Well, okay. Maybe you were already halfway there, but that was the moment that really sealed the deal. He was so flushed and pretty, stumbling over his words, looking at you like you were the sole reason for his existence on planet Earth. How could you not fall in love with that?
But he was really drunk, and he didn’t remember a thing the next morning. So you decided not to bring it up. After all, you would soon be deployed to opposite sides of the world. It never would’ve worked.
Still, over the years and across continents, you managed to stay close. Through separate assignments, long stretches of radio silence, and deployments that kept you off-grid, you never lost touch. You saw each other when you could—once or twice a year, if you were lucky—and every time, it felt like no time had passed at all.
You tried dating—at least as much as anyone in the Navy can—but no one ever stuck. Not the way Bob Floyd did.
Then, as fate would have it, Bob got tapped for a special detachment on North Island—your base. And suddenly, years of loving him from afar turned into months of loving him from a now suffocatingly close distance. Because after that detachment, Bob’s new squad—the Dagger Squad—was commissioned as a full-time elite unit under Maverick’s command.
So here he is, on North Island. And here you are too. Practically living in each other’s pockets, even if you’re not flying on the same team. So what could possibly be stopping you from telling him how you feel?
Oh, right. Just the tiny, humiliating fact that you’re still way too chickenshit to risk the friendship for something more.
“Lieutenant,” Maverick says, stepping up beside you and catching you off guard.
You blink, dragging your eyes away from the squad—his squad—training just outside the hangar up ahead.
“Captain,” you reply, nodding.
He smirks. “Thinking of trading in those shiny fifth-gens for something with a little more grit? Or are you just here to watch Hondo torture my pilots?”
You huff a laugh, adjusting the helmet tucked under your arm. “The Super Hornet’s got plenty of grit, but let’s be honest—she’s no Lightning.”
Maverick chuckles, nodding slowly.
“Actually, I was looking for you,” you say. “Cyclone wants me to offer a brief training program on the F-35’s latest software package—maybe even get your team some sim time.”
His eyebrows lift. “A training program from the Navy’s golden test pilot? Let me guess—does Simpson know how chummy you are with my squad, or was this more of a personal initiative?”
“It might be a little personal,” you say with s sheepish grin. “But I’ve seen the way you look at my jet. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t kill for a flight.”
“A joyride?” he asks. “I thought you said simulator time.”
“For them, yeah.” You nod toward the squad. “But if a decorated captain, such as yourself, wanted to take her for a spin... well, who am I to stand in the way?”
He laughs again, looking past you at the aircraft you’d just landed.
“She quick?” he asks.
“Today? About six hundred knots. But that was a low-level test profile.” You pause, eyes glinting. “Push her right, she’ll break Mach 1 easy. Mach 2 if you’re feeling brave. And willing to eat the paperwork.”
“Tempting,” he says with a sigh. “But I think I’ve racked up enough disciplinary notes for one career.”
You smile. “Then fly her like a gentleman.”
Maverick’s gaze flicks back to the squad as Hondo shouts for twenty more burpees. Then he narrows his eyes at you. “Who put you up to this?”
You blink. “Sorry?”
“Phoenix asked me just last week if they’d ever fly anything other than Hornets. Yesterday, Hangman starts asking about Lockheed sim protocols. And now you show up, conveniently volunteering?”
You press your lips together, wondering how long you might be able to stall—but really, what’s the point? It’s Maverick. He’ll figure it out sooner or later.
“Okay, fine,” you admit. “They’ve been on my ass about it for weeks. I knew I could get Cyclone on board—and yeah, they said the only way you’d bite was if I offered you stick time.” You smile, just a little. “But to be fair, the F-35’s part of the Navy inventory now. Could be relevant training. And... I wouldn’t mind a few weeks of hanging out with my friends at work. Or their legendary captain, for that matter.”
Maverick exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It’s like raising teenagers.”
“So,” you say, lifting a brow, “that’s a yes?”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s still a playful spark behind them. “Yeah, fine.”
You grin. “Excellent. We’ll start Monday. Can’t wait to teach alongside you, Captain.”
“Don’t make me regret this,” he mutters.
“Oh, please,” you say. “I know you’re at least a little excited about flying my jet.”
His gaze flicks back to the F-35 on the flight line, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I better go break the news to the squad.”
You laugh. “Good luck with that. Fanboy said he’d kiss you if you said yes.”
Maverick pauses, grimacing. “Fantastic.”
Then he flashes you that signature smirk, gives a quick nod, and walks off across the tarmac. You watch for a few minutes as he approaches his squad, stepping up beside Hondo first and—quietly—telling the CWO what he just agreed to. Hondo nods before calling the squad in with a bark, and you stay put, watching with amusement as Maverick delivers the news.
The reaction is immediate—grins, high-fives, celebratory shouting. You see Natasha step forward to ask a question, and when Maverick gestures in your direction, Mickey turns and yells, “I fucking love you, Lucky!”
You laugh softly, giving them a lazy salute before turning toward your own building. You’re looking forward to it too—not just the flying, or the teaching, or the excuse to hang out with your friends. But the chance to spend a few weeks working a little closer to Bob.
And maybe—just maybe—you can figure out what the hell you’re going to do about him.
-
“I still can’t believe you got Cyclone and Mav to sign off on the training,” Reuben says, shaking his head despite the smile tugging at his lips.
You lift your beer, shrugging as you sip. “They don’t call me Lucky for nothing.”
Mickey squints, tilting his head. “Wait, do you have a history of charming your superiors?”
Natasha snorts into her drink. “No. That’s not how she got her callsign.”
Your eyes snap to her, brows raised. “Wait—Bob told you?”
She presses her lips together, rocking her head side to side. “Not exactly. I saw your contact name in his phone and kind of... figured it out.”
Your cheeks flush instantly. “Oh my God.”
“Hold on,” Reuben says, leaning forward. “Bob gave you your callsign?”
You nod. “Yeah. And I gave him his.”
That’s all it takes for the three of them to dissolve into laughter.
“Oh, so you’re the creative genius behind Bob,” Mickey teases, leaning back. “Do tell. How long did that brainstorming session take?”
You roll your eyes and jab an elbow into his ribs. “You’re such an ass.”
“No, but seriously,” Reuben says, still grinning. “Why is it just... Bob?”
You shrug, rolling your beer bottle between your palms. “Because he didn’t like any of the others. There were a bunch of nicknames being thrown around—some dumb, some mean. He told me one day he wished people would just call him Bob. So I made sure they did.”
“Oh,” Mickey mutters. “That’s kind of boring.”
Natasha shoots him a look across the table. “I think it’s sweet.”
Reuben gestures toward you. “Okay, fine. Then how’d he come up with Lucky?”
You hesitate, trying not to squirm under the weight of their attention. “Because I’m his lucky charm.”
Reuben blinks. “Seriously? It’s that personal?”
You nod. “Yeah. Back at the FRS, every time we were paired up—sims, training hops, even written exams—he’d ace it. Said he never did that well without me.” You shrug a little, smiling. “Eventually he started joking that I was his lucky charm. Then it got shortened to Lucky, and everyone assumed it was about good fortune or gambling or whatever. But it was always just… him.”
Natasha huffs a quiet laugh. “That’s fucking adorable.”
Mickey leans forward, brows drawing together. “Wait… have you guys ever—”
“Evening, misfits,” Jake drawls, cutting in with impeccable timing. “Lucky, did I hear you landed yourself a job bossing us around?”
Bradley, Javy, and Bob fall in behind him, all wearing the same mildly pained expression—no doubt from enduring a ten-minute car ride with Weekend Jake. That’s what the squad have started—affectionately—calling him when he’s at his worst, all smug smiles, cocky one-liners, and shameless flirting. Which, of course, tends to happen every weekend.
“Just part-time,” you say, matching his smirk. “Try to contain your excitement.”
Jake’s gaze drops, then climbs back up—slow and deliberate. “Oh, I’m containin’ a lot right now. But you in a flight suit, telling me what to do? That might push me over the edge.”
Mickey and Reuben chuckle while Natasha groans.
“I need a drink,” Bradley mutters, turning toward the bar.
You shake your head, trying not to laugh. “Keep talking, Seresin, and I’ll have you running laps around the tarmac.”
Jake slides into the booth across from you, still grinning. “And I bet you’d love the view.”
You roll your eyes and glance at Bob, still standing beside Javy. His eyes are locked on Jake—not quite angry, but definitely not amused.
“Hey, Floyd,” you say, “wanna sit?”
Bob’s lips twitch as he slides into the booth beside you, dark blue eyes catching yours. “Think you’re ready to be an instructor?”
“Oh yeah,” you say, ignoring the flutter in your chest as his thigh brushes yours. “I was born for this.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Born bossy, maybe.”
“Hey,” you say, bumping your shoulder against his. “Don't be rude.”
He turns to face you—really looking at you—and for a moment, the noise of the bar fades just a little.
“You already telling me what to do?” he asks, voice low, playful.
You narrow your eyes. “What if I am, Lieutenant? You going to listen?”
Something flickers at the corner of his mouth—teasing, but quiet. “If I don’t?”
“Jesus Christ, you two,” Jake cuts in, loud and obnoxious. “Save it for the bedroom.”
Bob startles slightly, the colour in his cheeks deepening as he tears his eyes away from yours.
“Fuck off, Seresin,” you mutter, shooting him a glare. “You’re just jealous.”
Jake leans back, smug. “Jealous of what, sweetheart?”
“That I don’t flirt with you the way I flirt with—” You stop short, the rest of the sentence stuck in your throat, but it doesn’t matter—the implication is obvious enough.
Jake’s eyes sparkle like he’s just won the goddamn lottery, and everyone else around the table fights to contain their laughter.
“Go on,” Jake says, far too pleased with himself. “What were you saying?”
You shoot him a deadly look. “Fuck you is what I was saying.”
He tips his head back and chuckles, hand over his chest, and that’s all it takes for the rest of the squad to join in. All but Bob, who’s now focused on picking at the corner of a cardboard coaster, cheeks pink and lips curved into the softest smile.
It isn’t long before Bradley returns with two beers in one hand and a beer and a coke in the other. He sets the drinks down—coke for Bob—and nods at you to scoot over. You shuffle further into the booth, closer to Mickey, and Bob does the same—closer to you. His arm slides closer, brushing yours, and his knee presses deliberately into your leg, inch by inch stealing your space. The scent of him—sharp, familiar, intoxicating—floods your senses, and your pulse spikes before you can stop it.
God. You think you’d be used to it after all these years.
“So,” Bradley says, leaning forward, oblivious to the earlier conversation, “we start Monday?”
You nod. “Yep. Think you’ll be able to handle a big boy jet?”
Bradley scoffs. “Please. I’m one of the best pilots in the world.”
You roll your eyes.
“God, I can’t wait,” Mickey says from your other side.
“Why are you excited?” Natasha asks, brow furrowed. “There’s no backseat in the F-35, and you’re definitely not flying it.”
“Well, not the actual jet, but I still get sim time,” Mickey says, turning his big brown eyes on you. “Right?”
You shrug. “That’s up to Mav.”
He groans, dropping his head on the table with a thunk. “Being a WSO sucks.”
“Your career choice, dude,” Reuben chuckles.
You spend the next hour or so talking about work—because it’s hard not to when you all work together—but eventually Javy wanders off to chat with a woman who hit on him at the bar, and Natasha challenges Bradley to pool. Jake jumps up too, announcing that he’ll play the winner, leaving you and Bob behind with Mickey and Reuben, who are deep in an argument about whose turn it was to unload the dishwasher this morning.
You turn to Bob, brows raised. “Think I’m going to need another drink.”
He nods, laughing softly as he slides out of the booth. You follow and start heading toward the bar, glancing over your shoulder only when he mumbles something about going to the bathroom. You just nod, then turn back and step up to the bar, flashing Penny a wide grin.
“The usual?” she asks.
You nod. “I’ll get a round for the whole squad.”
She nods once and moves to grab the drinks while you fish in your back pocket for the cash you shoved there before leaving your apartment. You’re just about to drop it on the bar when someone slides up beside you and slaps down a credit card instead.
“It’s on me,” the man says, his smile too confident to be genuine, “if you’ll tell me your name.”
You blink, brow furrowing as you wonder where the hell men like this get their audacity.
“And if I don’t?” you ask, sliding his card back toward him. “You still covering eight drinks?”
His eyes widen just slightly, his fingers hovering over the card. “Eight? Damn. You must be thirsty.”
You think about saying something snarky, or telling him simply to piss off—but you don’t. You bite your tongue, turning back to Penny with a quiet thanks as she sets the drinks on a tray and you hand her the cash.
“You Navy?” the guy asks, undeterred.
“Does it matter?”
He shrugs. “Just lets me know what I’m in for.”
You take a deep breath, choosing not to respond as you reach for the tray of drinks.
“I got it,” Bob says, appearing beside you, his hands brushing yours as he takes the tray from the bar.
You turn to him with a cheesy grin—not hard to fake when you’re looking at someone like Bob. “Thanks, babe.”
He pauses, eyes flicking between you and the stranger.
“I was starting to worry,” you say, sliding an arm around his waist. “You were gone so long.”
Thankfully, Bob’s not an idiot—and this isn’t your first time pulling this move.
“Sorry,” he says, falling into it with ease. “There was a line.” He glances at the guy. “Hey, I’m—uh—her boyfriend. Bob.” His cheeks flush lightly. “And you are?”
The guy hesitates, his eyes darting between the two of you. Then he steps back. “Got it. No worries. Have a good night.”
As soon as he’s gone, you drop your arm and step away, breath catching—not from the strange guy, but from the heat still lingering between you and Bob. The weight of his body beside yours. The feel of your fingers pressed into his waist. The clean scent of him, warm skin and sharp cologne. It’s dizzying. And familiar. And still somehow too much.
“Thanks,” you murmur as you fall into step beside him, following him toward the others crowded around the pool table.
“No worries,” he mutters, eyes focused on the drinks.
Once you reach the group, everyone takes their drinks and gets back to their conversations—which mostly consists of trash-talking between Bradley and Jake. You and Bob find two stools nearby to occupy while watching the game play out.
“Why do you do that?” he asks suddenly, turning to you with a slight frown.
You glance at him. “Do what?”
“Shut guys down all the time,” he says. “Tell them I’m your boyfriend.”
“Oh.” You lean back a little, trying—and failing—to read his expression. “I guess I’m just not interested. And it’s easier to say I’ve got a boyfriend than deal with rejecting them outright. Safer, too. You never know what someone might say or do if they feel slighted. Especially after a few drinks. So... I use you. Does it bother you?”
He shakes his head. “No. Just curious.”
You nod, then glance back toward the pool table. “Okay.”
There’s a short pause before he adds, “But why don’t you give any of them a shot?”
You frown. “What, like... why don’t I date?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I know you’ve dated before, but I don’t think I’ve seen you go on a single date since I got to North Island.”
Wow. Shocking insight. Maybe he’s not as observant as you thought.
You snort softly. “Are you saying I should date more?”
“I don’t see why not,” he says, eyes dropping to the floor. “You get hit on all the time.”
You roll your eyes. “I do not get hit on all the—”
“Yes,” he cuts in, meeting your gaze again. “You do. All the time. You should hear what half these idiots say about you when you’re not around.”
A smirk tugs at your lips. “All flattering, I hope?”
He groans and rubs the bridge of his nose, right where his glasses sit. “You really don’t want to know.”
You laugh into your drink, taking a long swig before glancing over at him. “Alright, Floyd. Since you’re so concerned—who should I date, then?”
You know he won’t say it. But you want him to. You want him to say me. Right here in the middle of The Hard Deck, with Natasha eavesdropping and Mickey still ranting about how his flight suit is too tight around the biceps. It wouldn’t be romantic, or particularly special—but you don’t care. You’ve waited long enough. You just want to hear him say he’s tired of guys hitting on you. Tired of Jake’s locker room bullshit. That he wants you to date him. That he wants you.
“I don’t know,” he mutters, cheeks flushing as he looks back toward the pool table. “Rooster, maybe. He seems like your type.”
Your heart drops, frustration crawling up under your skin. “My type?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Tall, pretty, a little cocky.”
You narrow your eyes, watching the side of his face. “You think I go for cocky?”
He doesn’t answer—just shrugs, eyes locked on the game.
“You’ve known me this long, and that’s what you think?”
He cuts you a sidelong glance, brows raised just slightly. “You dated a bunch of assholes at the FRS.”
You stare at him. “A bunch? What, like... two?”
He shrugs, eyes flicking to yours. “Maybe it just felt like more. Every second day someone was asking me for your number.”
You scoff. “Yeah, right.”
“No, really,” he says, deadpan. “It was ridiculous.”
You narrow your eyes, fighting a smile. “I don’t believe you, but whatever.”
Your gaze drifts back to the pool game, watching as Jake leans in for a shot, easily sinking two balls and earning a hard eye-roll from Bradley.
“Anyway,” you say, glancing back at Bob. “I haven’t exactly seen you dating since you got here.”
Not that you really want to see him dating. Not unless it’s you.
He shrugs again. “Wasn’t talking about me. Was talking about you.”
You roll your eyes. “Okay, fine. You want me to date? I’ll find someone to date.”
Then you tip back your beer, draining the rest of it in two burning gulps. Bob blinks, the colour in his cheeks deepening as you smack the empty bottle down on a nearby table. You give him a tight smile before turning toward the pool table, stepping up beside Jake and curling your hand around his bicep.
“Mind if I play next?”
Jake’s green eyes sparkle as he looks down at you, his gaze devouring every inch of your face now so close to his.
“Keep touchin’ me like that, darlin’, and I’ll say yes to anything.”
The rest of the weekend passes in typical fashion. You spend half of it cleaning your apartment and stocking up on groceries for the week, and the other half watching movies with Bob and Natasha.
Bob doesn’t bring up the whole dating thing again—you’re starting to think he never wanted to bring it up in the first place—and he definitely doesn’t mention how you flirted with Jake for most of Friday night. He does, however, roll his eyes when you laugh at something dumb Jake sends to the group chat.
By Monday morning, you’re more than ready—and honestly, kind of excited—to start training the squad on F-35s. You even get up extra early, take a little more time with your hair, and spritz on a few extra sprays of perfume. Not for anyone in particular. Definitely not for Bob.
You’re the first to arrive in the briefing room—of course you are, you’re nearly an hour early—so you start setting up, keeping your hands busy in an attempt to burn off nervous energy.
Eventually, Maverick and Hondo stroll in, both looking smug with obnoxiously oversized travel mugs full of coffee.
“Mornin’, Lucky,” Hondo says, dropping into a seat in the front row.
“Hondo,” you say with a smile. “Mav.”
“Ready to wrangle a room full of overconfident aviators?” Maverick asks, settling into the chair beside him.
You take a deep breath and face the room, hands on your hips. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Got any tips?”
He grins. “Try not to sweat—they can smell fear. Don’t be afraid to pull rank, either. You are technically their superior—Lieutenant Commander.” He pauses, waiting for your reluctant nod, because you do tend to forget that you outrank them. “And don’t look Floyd in the eye, or you’ll get flustered.”
Your mouth drops open.
Hondo chuckles. “And that’s not a general rule. That one’s just for you.”
Your eyes flick to him, heat creeping into your cheeks.
Maverick laughs. “Uh oh. Maybe we shouldn’t have flustered her right before the children arrive.”
“Who are you calling children?” Bradley asks, stepping through the doorway with a suspicious frown.
Maverick and Hondo giggle like schoolkids, clearly thrilled to spend the next few weeks not running the show.
“Why’s Lucky all red?” Mickey asks, trailing in behind Bradley.
Reuben’s next, followed by Javy and Jake a few seconds later.
You shake your head and clear your throat, pretending to shuffle through papers like it’ll somehow erase the mortification of Captain Pete fucking Mitchell knowing about your very inconvenient crush on one of his lieutenants.
It isn’t long before Natasha and Bob walk through the door, sliding into two front-row seats and making your heartrate ratchet up. But it’s fine. It’s cool. You can easily look past the front row. Just focus on Jake’s stupidly smug face in the second.
“Alright,” you say as the digital display flickers to life, revealing a clean model of the F-35. “Welcome to your crash course in fifth-gens.”
Mickey whoops quietly while the others grin and settle in with wide, eager eyes.
“The F-35s are in the Navy’s rotation now,” you say, gesturing to the display. “And as an elite unit, you never know when you’ll be called to fly one.” You tap your tablet, watching the display zoom into a detailed cockpit layout. “One seat, all teeth, glass cockpit, full stealth. No one’s holding your hand up here—not even your WSO.”
“Good,” Reuben grins. “Mine’s bossy.”
Mickey gasps, spinning toward him in mock betrayal.
“Yours is unemployed,” you reply, laughing under your breath. “These are single-seat jets.”
Mickey rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, pouting like a three-year-old who just got told no.
Your eyes flick instinctively to Bob—to the other WSO in the room who might have cause to be annoyed—but he’s not. He looks... entranced. Calm and focused. Brows pinched slightly, lips parted, eyes locked. Like he’s hanging on your every word.
You clear your throat and turn back to the screen. “You already know how to fly. I’m just here to make sure you don’t fly this like you fly your Rhinos. The rules are different. The feel is different. And the margin for error is a hell of a lot thinner.”
You swipe on your tablet and the diagram shifts to a wireframe helmet interface.
“Helmet display system, full 360º situational awareness. You don’t need to flip switches anymore—you think, and it’s there. Feels like a video game... until it doesn’t. You screw up in here, and the jet doesn’t just let you know—it makes sure you remember.”
You glance up—and have to fight the smile rising at how focused they all are. Every one of them watching you like you’re briefing them for an op.
“We’ll run through some ground school and system orientation,” you say, “then you’ll hit the sim. I’ll be in the control room, and Mav will be breathing down my neck.”
Maverick chuckles. “Only if you mess up.”
“So I’ll be fine,” you reply smoothly, not even sparing him a glance.
Laughter bubbles from the squad—oohs and chuckles layered over each other. But it’s Bob’s expression that makes your breath hitch. Wide-eyed. Pink-cheeked. Watching you like he’s trying to commit every second—every last detail—to memory.
You blink, heat flaring in your neck, and glance toward the back of the room. “Questions? Comments? Unsolicited opinions?”
“Yeah,” Jake pipes up. “You free after this?”
Hondo snorts. “Sure. Right after she drops her standards by about ten thousand feet.”
The room breaks into laughter as Jake rolls his eyes and flips Hondo the bird, sinking back in his seat.
“Alright,” you say, laughter still lacing your voice as you reset the display. “Let’s start with a systems brief.”
The squad moves in a slow wave, rising from their seats and shoulder-bumping their way to the tablets at the front of the room. But Bob hesitates, his gaze lingering on you a beat too long—warm, steady, and unblinking. It settles on your skin like a gentle pressure, like a whispered touch. You feel your cheeks flush and the hairs on the back of your neck rise.
All from a look.
God. Maybe you should listen to Maverick’s advice a little better.
By the end of the day, your voice is hoarse and your cheeks are aching from smiling so hard. You shouldn’t be surprised, but they were easier to teach than you expected. Of course they were—they’re not idiots. They’re highly trained, elite naval aviators. And just because they’re your friends doesn’t mean they’d dare give you a hard time. At least, not in front of their CO.
After Maverick asks a few questions—mostly about your training plan—he claps you on the back and dismisses the room. The squad filters out, calling their thanks as they go and muttering to each other about everything you just showed them.
Bob stays behind, still planted in his seat, brows furrowed as he scrolls through something on his phone. It’s not unusual—he used to wait for you after class almost every day at the academy and during the FRS—but still, your heart kicks up just a little.
“How’d I do?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder as you collect your papers.
He looks up, a soft smile on his lips. “Amazing, actually.”
You turn toward him, tilting your head. “You sound surprised.”
“I am,” he admits. “You made all that tech-speak sound so... easy. No one would ever guess you used to stutter on t’s and p’s giving presentations back at the academy.”
Your cheeks flush, eyes going wide as you let out a soft gasp—half scandalised, half amused. “Robert Floyd. How dare you bring that up.”
He chuckles quietly, ducking his head. “Sorry. It was too easy.” Then he glances up again, dark blue eyes wide and sincere. “But really, you did great. I’m really p-p-proud of you.”
“Dude!” you exclaim, staring at him in disbelief as he laughs a little harder.
You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face—especially not with the way Bob is laughing, shoulders curled, cheeks pink, and his smile lighting up his whole face with something stupidly charming.
“I can’t believe you,” you say, hugging your notebook to your chest. “You’re going to blow my cover as a super cool, incredibly sexy fighter pilot.”
He shrugs. “You can still be super cool and incredibly sexy with a stutter.”
Your cheeks burn even hotter, and you quickly turn back to the desk looking for an excuse not to look at him—picking up a pen you’re pretty sure isn't yours.
“Want to grab dinner?” he asks.
When you turn back around, he’s standing—tall and adorable in the most infuriatingly delicious way. The kind of way that shouldn’t make your chest ache and your thighs clench... and yet, here you are.
“Sounds good,” you say, trying to keep your voice light. “What’re you thinking?”
“Pizza?”
You nod and move toward the door, stepping into the corridor ahead of him and starting down the hall. A brief stretch of quiet follows, broken only by the soft clunk of your boots against the vinyl floor—not awkward, just a little... tense. Or maybe that’s just you. Because for some reason, Bob smells especially good today. He looks especially good too—hair slightly tousled, cheeks pink, and brows drawn as he clearly gets caught up in whatever’s on his mind.
Then he glances at you. “The other night—Friday night—at the bar...”
You raise an eyebrow. “What about it?”
“Did—” He pauses, breath hitching as he looks away. “Did you go home with him?”
You stop walking. “With who?”
He hesitates, stopping one step ahead before turning back to face you. “Hangman.”
Your eyes go wide. “What the fuck? No.”
“Oh,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “It’s just... Phoenix said—”
“Phoenix is messing with you,” you cut in, brow furrowed. “Why the hell would I go home with Hangman?”
He shrugs. “You two looked pretty friendly. I thought maybe—”
“Okay, give me some credit,” you say flatly. “I do still value my dignity. And for the record—cocky isn’t really my type.”
He glances at you, eyes curious beneath a gentle frown. “Then... what is your type?”
You open your mouth, but hesitate. You know what you want to say—that it’s him. It’s always been him. But you can’t. Because you’re too damn chickenshit, even after all these years. Even with him looking at you like that.
“I—I don’t know,” you mutter, starting to walk again. “But whatever it is, it isn’t Hangman.”
There’s a short pause—only brief—before he mumbles, “Okay... good.”
Good? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
The word bounces around in your head all evening. When you’re not talking to Bob about pizza toppings, tomorrow’s lesson plan, or whatever bizarre National Geographic doc he’s just watched, you’re thinking about that damn word.
Good.
It’s so maddeningly vague it practically echoes off your apartment walls the second you slam the door shut behind you.
Good?
Who does he think he is, trying to validate your taste in men? You don’t need his opinion. You don’t need his approval. You don’t need Bob Floyd acting like he gets a say in who you do or don’t go home with.
Good.
Seriously? The fucking audacity. Every time you think maybe—just maybe—Bob isn’t like other men, he says something infuriating like that.
“Ugh,” you groan, throwing yourself face-first onto your bed. “Fucking good.”
A minute later, your phone pings. You grope blindly across the duvet until your fingers close around it, then roll your head to the side, squinting at two notifications from Bob.
BOB FLOYD
📎 [Image attachment]
‘Look what I found at the bottom of my drawer… those ridiculous Canada moose boxers.’
And there he fucking is.
Standing in front of his bedroom mirror. Shirtless. Hair still damp from the shower. Wearing nothing but a sweet smile and those goddamn novelty boxers you bought him as a joke two Christmases ago—bright red, with tiny maple leaves and cartoon moose that say eh? across the waistband.
Holy fuck.
Your mouth goes dry. Your brain short-circuits. You can’t do anything but stare. Not even breathe.
His body is glorious—which is something you’ve known, but never been intimate with. And holy shit, if you’re not about to get intimate with this fucking photo.
He looks like some Greek god carved from alabaster. All smooth muscle and obvious strength, like he moonlights as a Michelangelo sculpture.
It’s obscene. This photo is ridiculous. He has to know what he’s doing. Surely he’s not that naïve.
And what the fuck are you supposed to reply with?
You scramble upright, breathing hard, holding your phone so close to your face the screen fogs up and—
Oh my God. You’ve got your fucking read receipts on.
You need to do something. Say something—anything—before he realises what a complete creep you’re being just sitting here, staring at this photo.
With trembling hands, you type the first thing that comes to mind: ‘Aw! Cute!’
“…Cute?” you repeat out loud, staring at your phone.
A little notification pops up beneath your message.
Read. Immediately.
“Cute?!” you say again, more outraged now. “What’s fucking cute about that, you idiot?”
You scroll up and tap the photo again—the one that is anything but cute.
Your face is burning. Your brain is mush. You need help. Professional help.
But first…
You need an hour alone with your vibrator, eyes squeezed shut, and that image burned into the backs of your eyelids.
-
Bob doesn’t send you another photo of his moose boxers.
The next morning, he just texts to ask if you want him to pick you up a coffee on his way into work—and you say yes. You don’t talk about the photo. Or the boxers. At all.
But you can’t stop thinking about it.
You can’t even look at him without picturing those ridiculous boxers and that even more ridiculous bulge—which only gets more obvious the more times you go back to check the photo. You’re honestly thinking about just saving it to your camera roll. Because what if you accidentally double-tap and react to it? You should’ve just done that at the start—but no. No, you said ‘Aw! Cute!’ like some proud mother seeing her son in his soccer jersey for the first time.
And of course, you and Bob talk every day, so the thread just keeps moving on—but you’re not. You have to scroll all the way back up every time. Then he sends something else and it jumps to the bottom, which means you have to start all over again.
Honestly, it’s getting a bit ridiculous. You were staring at it the other day in the middle of the goddamn mess hall, like some depraved freak.
Or maybe you’re just deprived. Maybe you just need to get laid so you can stop ogling your best friend like he’s the finest cut of perfectly cooked steak and you haven’t eaten in a week.
“Lucky?” Hondo says, interrupting your spiralling thoughts with a quirked brow. “You good?”
You shake your head, blinking until the data feeds in front of you snap back into focus.
“Shit, sorry,” you mutter, clearing your throat.
You hit a few buttons and flip the comms switch.
“Rooster,” you say, eyes on the external visuals of Bradley’s current sim mission. “Radar contacts at three and seven o’clock. Engage with BVR missiles on my mark. Weapons hot?”
“Weapons hot, Lucky,” he responds. “AIM-120 locked on three o’clock target.”
Your gaze flicks to the instrument panel and HUD feed—seeing what he’s seeing.
“And try not to light up the whole sky this time,” Mav cuts in dryly—his professionalism fading as the day drags on. “Last sim, you nearly cooked Hondo’s coffee with that missile launch.”
Hondo chuckles. “That was a precision strike. Coffee was inferior.”
Your eyes bounce between the radar, sensor data, and pilot input feedback, tracking his procedure. Then the simulated missile launch sound fills your headset.
“Target’s going down,” you say. “Good shot, Rooster. Keep it tight—bandits are manoeuvring fast. Radar lock at five o’clock. High-G turn recommended.”
“Got it. Pulling seven Gs. Lining up for a guns pass.”
“Hope you’re smoother than your last attempt,” Mav says. “Remember, trigger discipline.”
Bradley chuckles. “Roger that. I’m a professional… mostly.”
Maverick laughs too, lounging back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying not being the one in charge. You roll your eyes and refocus on the data feeds, watching as Bradley successfully finishes the sim.
“All targets neutralised. Nice run, Rooster.”
“What was my time?” he asks eagerly.
“You’ll find out in Monday’s debrief,” you reply.
“Did I beat Hangman?”
You roll your eyes. “Sim complete. Control out.”
You cut the comms and turn to Maverick. “Want to call it a day?”
He sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It is Friday. We could give them a choice.”
You arch a brow, silently asking him to elaborate.
“Go home or let the back-seaters have a go in the hot seat.”
Your lips curl into a smirk. “Oh, I think I know what the answer is going to be.”
Ten minutes later, after Hondo retrieves the rest of the squad from the debrief room, Mickey is seated in the pilot’s seat and the others are crammed into the control booth behind you. The excitement is palpable—everyone watching the data feeds with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
“Alright, Fanboy,” you say through the control mic, flipping a few switches on your console. “You’re up.”
“What’s the scenario?” he asks, adjusting the straps like they might protect him from what’s coming.
“Nothing fancy,” you reply. “Just a soft sim. Basic intercept, two bogeys, no weapons fire. You’re just flying the pattern.”
“So… a baby sim?”
“Basically. You’ll be fine.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Which one is go?” he asks, pointing vaguely at the throttle quadrant.
You slap your forehead. “You’re joking, right?”
“I’m not a pilot,” he says, almost offended. “My job is to press the red button and whisper sweet nothings to the radar.”
“That explains so much,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “It’s the throttle. Left side. The big one.”
“Oh. Sure. Of course. Totally knew that.”
He moves it gingerly, like it might explode—and the sim lurches forward, making him let out a sound that’s way too close to a yelp.
From behind you, Reuben cackles. “Dude’s gonna crash before he clears the runway.”
“Shut up!” Fanboy shouts from inside the cockpit. “I am a majestic flying machine.”
You snort. “You are a danger to national security.”
“Luckyyy,” he whines, tipping his head back against the seat. “Help me. I’m in a metal coffin and I don’t know what I’m doing.”
You sigh—loudly—and get up, grabbing your headset as you move out of the control booth.
“I’m coming in,” you mutter.
You swing the cockpit open and climb inside like you’ve done a thousand times before, stepping up beside him.
“Okay,” you say, leaning forward. “Feet off the pedals. Hands off everything. Just look at what I’m doing.”
“Yes, sir,” he says with a little salute. “Watching and learning.”
You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“I know,” he says, grinning now.
You flip the right switches, get him levelled, and the sim steadies out.
He exhales. “Okay. Okay. I’m flying. Right?”
“You’re flying,” you say. “Barely. But still.”
He glances up at you. “Am I your worst student ever?”
“Top three,” you say sweetly. “But I have faith. Now throttle up. We’ve got some baby bogeys to chase.”
Mickey grips the controls for dear life, knuckles turning white. The sim jerks forward awkwardly as he pushes the throttle, and you can practically hear the panic rising in his voice. “Uh… okay. I think I’m moving? Maybe?”
You step closer, trying not to crack a smile. “Just keep it steady. You’re flying a jet, not trying to take off in a rocket.”
He leans forward, squinting at the instruments. “Which one’s the afterburner? The big red button?”
“Don’t touch the big red button,” you snap, slapping his hand away. “Just keep the nose up. Remember your basic turns—left, right, not a nosedive.”
The sim bucks suddenly.
“Oh no! No, no, no!” he exclaims, eyes wide and face pale.
You bite back a grin, keeping your voice steady. “Relax. You’re doing fine. Just… don’t crash.”
But it’s too late.
The simulated alarms start blaring and the screen flashes red: Warning! Critical altitude!
“Fuck! Uh, do I pull up? Or…”
“You eject,” you say dryly.
“Eject?!” Mickey’s voice cracks as he looks frantically across the controls. “How do I do that?”
You point at the eject handle. “That thing right there. Pull it now before you break the simulator.”
With a loud mechanical whoosh, the sim jolts violently as Mickey’s ‘ejection’ sequence initiates.
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Well, that was impressive. The quickest crash I’ve ever seen. But hey—points for dramatic exit.”
Mickey groans, covering his face with his hands. “Can we try again? But with less dying?”
You pat his shoulder. “Maybe next week. I think you need a little more ground school.”
He sighs and stands up, hanging his head as he exits the cockpit. You can only imagine the scene waiting for him in the control booth, a small part of you actually feeling a little sorry for him. Because if these pilots are anything, it’s cocky—and the last thing they need is someone, especially a squadmate, proving that what they do is kind of legendary.
“Alright, Floyd,” you say into your headset, feeling heat curl behind your ribs. “You’re up.”
A few minutes later, Bob climbs into the cockpit, adjusting his headset as he awkwardly manoeuvres into the pilot’s seat.
“Do you want me in or out?” you ask, trying not to sound like you want to stay in the cramped space with him.
His eyes are wide as they scan the control panel. “Uh, in. Please. If that’s okay.”
You nod, biting your bottom lip to hide a stupid grin. “Of course.”
He settles in, straps up, and lets his hands hover hesitantly over the controls.
“Mav,” you say, “is the sim reset?”
“Confirming sim reset. You’re good to go,” he replies.
“Okay, Bobby.” You lean in beside him, ignoring how his warmth wraps around you—his scent filling your nose and making your head spin. “You ready?”
He nods, jaw tight, eyes locked on the instruments in front of him.
“Alright, relax. You’ve got this,” you mutter, shifting just a little bit closer. “Feet on the pedals. Throttle up slowly.”
He moves cautiously, brows drawn, and the sim lurches forward—but not violently—before steadying under his grip.
“See,” you say with a soft smile. “Already doing better than Fanboy.”
He chuckles quietly, almost breathless.
“Now keep her steady.”
“Trying,” he mutters, eyes flicking between the HUD and display screens like he’s done this a hundred times—except for the white-knuckled grip giving him away. “This is a lot harder in practice.”
You laugh softly. “This is the fun part.”
He exhales hard through his nose, adjusting his grip. “Are they supposed to be this sensitive?”
“They’re not sensitive. You’re just heavy-handed,” you say, nudging his wrist lightly. “Small movements. Gentle.”
He hums like he’s not sure he believes you, but follows the instruction anyway.
You lean a little closer, pointing to a flashing radar contact. “You’ve got one on your left—easy turn, then line up a missile lock.”
Bob squints at the data, then at you. “Define easy.”
“You know, not what Fanboy did.”
He huffs another quiet laugh, fingers moving more confidently now as he banks slightly left and steadies his line.
“There we go,” you say. “See? Not so bad.”
His eyes flick toward you, only for a second. “Only ‘cause you’re here.”
You glance at him—but his focus is already back on the screens, tongue caught between his lips in concentration. Your heart thuds a little harder, breath catching as the cockpit suddenly feels a whole lot smaller.
You’re crouched beside him—arm pressed against his, knee nudging his thigh—and all you can think about is that goddamn image of him in those stupid little boxers and everything it did to your insides.
If it weren’t for the cameras, live feeds, and multi-million-dollar equipment in here, you might be seriously considering jumping his bones right now.
“Uh, Lucky,” Bob says, clearing his throat. “Noise.”
You shake your head, refocusing. “Alright, you’ve got tone. Fire.”
“Fox three,” he says, flicking the switch—and the target explodes a beat later.
You grin. “Nice shot.”
He looks over at you again, eyes wide and shining, cheeks pink, and chest rising a little too quickly. “What’s next?”
“Bring her around. Evasive manoeuvre. You’ve got a bogey on your six.”
He shifts quickly, throttle pulling back.
“Flaps down. Come into a right bank,” you instruct, watching him move a little smoother this time.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says under his breath, completely focused.
It shouldn’t make your pulse spike. Or have you shifting your weight, pressing your thighs together, suddenly too aware of your own skin. It shouldn’t mean a damn thing.
Yet those few words, coming out of his mouth, tighten that knot behind your hipbones until it aches.
“Jesus Christ,” you mutter.
“What?” he snaps, panic lacing his tone.
“No—Nothing. Just pull up five degrees, you’re drifting.”
He does so without hesitation.
Your eyes flick across the data feeds, checking everything like it’s second nature—because for you, it is. It’s as easy as breathing.
“I’m impressed, Floyd,” you say, offering a small smile. “With a little more practice, you could probably swap seats with Phoenix.”
Natasha’s voice crackles in your headset a second later: “No way he’d be flying this well without his lucky charm. So unless you’re planning to ride on his lap, I think I’ll stay on the stick.”
Bob’s eyes go wide, and the sim shudders as he struggles to maintain control. An alarm blares, but you’re already moving, one hand wrapping around his to keep the sim steady—and avoid another Mickey-style disaster.
“You told them?” he asks, not angry—just flustered.
You glance sideways at him, still holding steady, a sheepish smile pulling at your lips. “Phoenix saw my name in your phone. She guessed.”
He shuts his eyes with a sigh, cheeks flushing.
“Hey!” you nudge him with your knee. “Pilots don’t get to fly with their eyes closed. Focus.”
He huffs a breath, straightening in his seat, brow furrowed again. “Right. Sorry. I got it.”
“You sure?”
He nods, firm, and you slowly let go, easing back into position beside him.
The sim levels out, alarms silenced, radar clear—and Bob exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole time.
“Okay,” you say. “Let’s bring her in. Easy descent. Keep your nose up just a touch—perfect. Throttle back.”
He moves with steady hands now, more confident than when he started, guiding the simulated jet toward the landing zone with practiced care. The wheels touch down on virtual tarmac, and the whole simulator gives a soft jolt before going still.
The screen flashes: MISSION COMPLETE.
You blink, a little stunned. “Holy shit.”
Bob whips off the headset, hair mussed, cheeks flushed. “Did I actually—?”
“That was amazing,” you say, grinning at him. “You nailed that.”
He scrambles out of the seat, turning toward you, half-tripping over a strap—and—
He falls forward.
You try to dodge, but it’s no use. He crashes down on top of you, sending you flat onto your back on the simulator floor, your head knocking against something on the way down.
“I—sorry—oh, God—” he stammers, eyes wide.
He braces a hand on either side of your head, face hovering just inches above yours.
“Are you okay? Your head—”
Your giggles cut him off, laughter spilling out as you lay beneath him, one hand rubbing your head and the other caught somewhere on his waist.
“I—I’m okay,” you manage, breathless and blushing, if slightly concussed. “Guess I’m a good luck charm and a crash mat.”
He lets out a quiet, unsteady laugh, chest pressed flush to yours, breath ghosting over your cheek.
“Phoenix is right, you know?” he says, voice soft. “I couldn’t have done it without you here.”
Your laughter fades, breath catching.
There’s a beat—just one long, tight heartbeat where he leans in, eyes darting between yours and your lips like he might actually do it. Like he’s about to close that distance.
And then—
The sim door yanks open with a loud clang.
“BOBBY!” Mickey exclaims, his grin upside down from where you’re lying. “Oh, shit, are you two making out?”
Bob scrambles to his feet, very awkwardly given the severe lack of space. “No! I wasn’t—I didn’t—”
“Technically, he tackled me,” you say, sitting up and holding out a hand for Bob to help you.
Once you’re both upright, you climb out of the sim and into the chaos of the squad, all cheering and clapping like he just landed an actual carrier op.
“Hell yeah, Floyd!” Javy says, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble.
Reuben chuckles. “I thought you were gonna puke, but that was clean as hell!”
Natasha smirks, arms folded as she steps up. “Guess that lucky charm really works.”
You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool—but your skin is still humming, your heart still racing. And Bob?
Bob won’t stop glancing your way. Because the mission might be over, but whatever just happened between you two is still very much mid-flight.
After everything calms down, Maverick congratulates Bob on not crashing—giving Mickey a very pointed look—and dismisses the squad. They gather their things from the briefing room and file out slowly, leaving you to finish filing the post-sim report.
“We’ll meet you outside?” Natasha asks, hesitating at the door.
You nod. “Yep. Won’t be long.”
“Good. We’re going to the bar to celebrate Bob’s success and Mickey’s disaster.”
You snort softly, eyes dropping back to the tablet in your hand. “Sounds good.”
Her footsteps fade down the hall, and you type through the report with quick, practiced fingers.
Your heart still feels like it’s in your throat, beating too fast and too hard. Your cheeks are hot, your lungs are tight, and you swear you can still feel every inch of where Bob’s body had been pressed against yours. And God—it was a lot.
If you’re honest, you don’t really want to go to the bar. Not just because you’re there too often already—but because you’d rather go home and get off to that stupid picture of Bob in his moose boxers while thinking about his body on top of yours.
You shake your head, exhale hard, and tap ‘submit’ on the report. Then you tuck the tablet into your bag, throw it over your shoulder, and flick the lights off on your way out.
The corridor is dim, lit only by the glow of late-evening sun spilling through the high windows, washing the vinyl floor in hazy orange. You can hear chatter up ahead—probably the squad, waiting—and you pick up your pace.
But then you hear your name. Not your callsign—your name.
“As in Lucky?” a voice says, incredulous. “She flies F-35s now?”
“Yeah,” Bob replies, his voice unmistakable. “She’s really good. A great teacher, too. She—”
“She’s fucking hot,” the other guy interrupts.
You frown, slowing your steps as you edge closer to the wall. The voice is familiar—but you just can’t place it.
“I was always jealous of you, man,” the guy says. “Back in flight school you and her were close. And at the FRS. Don’t tell me nothing ever happened.”
“No,” Bob says quickly. “We’re just friends.”
“Shame. Still hot though, right?”
“Um... I guess.” Bob’s voice tightens—strained and uncomfortable.
“C’mon, man, relax. She’s a smoke show.”
There’s a brief pause. Then Bob clears his throat.
“I don’t really like talking about people that way. Especially not her.”
“What, you’re not into her?”
“She’s my friend,” Bob says, like that answers everything.
“Not what I asked,” the guy chuckles. “You into her or not? Because I’m not stepping on your toes, but if she’s fair game—”
Your heart thuds, heavy and fast, caught high in your throat.
“No,” Bob says. “I’m not into her. She’s a friend. I wouldn’t go there.”
That stings—but what comes next carves the breath right out of your lungs.
“She’s too intense,” he says, a sharp edge to his voice. “She’s reckless, and she can be selfish. She—She's not worth the trouble. There’s too much baggage.”
Your stomach drops. Hard.
Each word hits you square in the chest, knocking you breathless. Your head swims. Your vision blurs—not just from tears, but from that unmoored, disoriented rush that hits when the floor drops out from under you.
“Who cares about baggage?” the guy asks with a low laugh. “As long as she’s not selfish in bed—”
You turn fast, bracing a hand against the wall to steady yourself. You can’t listen anymore.
Tears fall freely now, and you don’t even care. You walk—back the other way, toward the far door, away from the voices. Away from him. You’ll take the long way around base if you have to. It doesn’t matter. You just need to get home.
Your ears ring. Your skin prickles. The sting in your eyes sharpens into something meaner, hotter—like your tears are trying to scald their way out.
His voice replays in your head, cold and clinical, like you’re a job hazard or some inconvenient mess he has to manage. Not worth the trouble? Too intense? Baggage?
Fuck. That.
Your hands are fists before you even realise it, nails biting your palms, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. He doesn’t get to talk about you like that. Not after everything. Not like you’re just some reckless, selfish… thing.
Not when he knows you. Not when he was just hovering over you, whispering soft words, looking at you like maybe you meant something.
The heat builds behind your ribs, under your skin, in the back of your throat. You want to yell. To throw something. To go back and make him say it to your face. But you don’t.
You wipe your cheeks with the heel of your hand, set your shoulders, and walk faster—like you’re chasing down a storm, or maybe just trying to outrun it.
-
That night, your phone doesn’t stop. Messages pour in from the squad—asking where you are, if you’re okay, when you’re coming to the bar. Bob even calls. Four times. But you don’t answer. Instead, you send a single text to the group chat saying you felt sick and had to go home. Technically, not a lie.
You barely sleep. You toss and turn for hours, drafting messages you’ll never send and crying into your pillow until you’re too exhausted to cry anymore. By four a.m., you give up. You pull on your gym clothes, lace up your sneakers, and run to the beach like you’re trying to outrun years of friendship.
You spend the whole weekend in self-imposed exile, licking your wounds like a cornered animal. No music. No TV. No calls. You just want to sit in it—the heartbreak, the fury, the raw, awful ache of it all—because for once, you don’t want to get over it.
Because it was Bob.
Bob Floyd, who’s been sweet and steady and quietly wonderful since the day you first met him—always looking at you like you’re the only thing that really matters. He knows you, sometimes even better than you know yourself.
Or at least, you thought he did. And maybe that’s what hurts the most.
Because you’ve loved him, in one way or another, for a long time. And now he’s the one who broke your heart.
Sweet, considerate, doe-eyed Bob Floyd.
Fuck that guy.
By Monday morning, you’re feeling a lot less dramatic and a lot more focused on work. You just want to get this little program done, get the squad up to date with fifth-gens, and then you can go about avoiding Bob Floyd until one of you inevitably gets restationed. But until then, you have to at least be civil. You don’t have a choice.
The squad is already half-settled when you walk into the briefing room, just a couple of minutes late—intentionally. If you arrived any earlier, someone might’ve tried to talk to you. Joke around. Ask where you’ve been. And you’re not really in the mood for chit-chat.
So you walk in with a neutral expression, eyes trained forward, coffee in one hand and tablet in the other.
From the corner of your eye, you can see Bob sitting in his usual spot at the front, hands folded tight in his lap. He glances up the second the door opens—and breathes. It’s so visible it’s almost a shudder, like he’s been holding it in all weekend.
You don’t answer. You just keep walking until you reach the desk, setting your coffee down before turning to face the room.
“Let’s talk about Friday,” you say, tapping your tablet to wake it up. “Three out of five of you got tagged within the first five minutes of simulated contact. That’s a problem.”
There’s a long beat of silence. A few glances are exchanged, but no one calls attention to the fact that you’re clearly skipping over the usual ‘good morning’ or any of the soft lead-ins you normally give. No one dares.
Bob’s eyes stay locked on you, his brow drawn in quiet worry. He doesn’t look away all morning. Not once.
And you don’t look at him at all.
After going through BVR refresh and radar discipline, you give Maverick a nod and he calls lunch. You keep your head down, eyes on your tablet, fussing with it as the soft shuffle of feet out the door fills the room.
Maverick walks up to you, says something about a meeting he’s being forced to attend this afternoon, and you give him a nod. Then he walks out and the room goes quiet. Until—
“Hey,” Bob mutters, still sitting in his seat.
You turn your back on him, placing your tablet on the desk and picking up your phone. “Hi.”
“That thing work?” he asks.
“What thing?”
“Your phone.”
“Oh,” you say flatly. “Funny.”
Silence stretches between you—thick and heavy—full of words left unsaid, and a few that never should’ve been heard.
“So,” he finally says, pushing to stand, “you feeling okay?”
“Yeah,” you mutter, opening your email like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “Just an upset stomach. I’m fine now.”
“Really?” he presses, stepping closer.
You sigh heavily and look up—not at him, just at the back of the room. “Really, Bob. I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t answer your calls, I felt like shit. Just wanted to sleep and watch movies.”
“What’d you watch?”
“Back to the Future,” you say—too quickly, without thinking.
And shit. Why would you admit to spending the whole weekend watching one of his favourite movies?
“Without me?” he asks, full of mock-offense.
Your lips twitch, and you hate that they do. So you take a deep, steadying breath and turn to face him—eyes locking with his, your expression dangerously neutral.
“Do you need something?”
He frowns. “What do you—”
“Like do you have a question about what we just debriefed or...?”
“Oh.” He blinks. “Um, no.”
You nod. “Okay, good. Then you should go to lunch.”
He stares at you for a moment, eyes darting across your face, trying to decode what you’re very carefully hiding. But he can’t, because you’ve been perfecting this cool, practiced nonchalance for the past forty-eight hours and you know you have it down pat.
“Okay,” he mutters. “Lunch. Are—Are you coming too?”
You shake your head and turn back to the desk. “No, sorry. I’m going to be selfish and spend my break reviewing the sim footage I didn’t get to over the weekend.”
“That’s not—” he hesitates, clearly confused. “That’s not selfish.”
You whip back around, brows raised. “Isn’t it?”
There’s another beat—just a brief pause where he looks at you like you’re suddenly some complete stranger.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, voice soft.
You nod once. “Yep.”
Then you turn around, step behind the desk, and drop into the chair, opening your tablet. He stands there for a moment longer, watching you with a furrowed brow, eyes narrowed. But you don’t look at him. You just start pulling up the footage and flipping open your notebook.
Eventually, he leaves, but not without casting one last glance over his shoulder—looking like a damn kicked puppy.
You sit in the briefing room trying to focus on sim footage until ten minutes before the end of lunch. Then you sigh, stretch out your limbs, and start packing up your things for the afternoon’s training. You’re halfway to the sim building when your phone buzzes with a text from Maverick:
‘Hondo got pulled into this meeting. Use the WSOs in the booth.’
Great. More time with Bob. And this time, the room’s even smaller.
With another heavy sigh, you continue making your way toward the building—dragging your feet through hallways and up the stairs until you reach the tech staff for the usual system readiness checks. Once everything’s good to go, you sign on as controller and head into the prep room where the squad is waiting.
“No time to waste,” you say, skipping any kind of greeting. “Hangman, you’re up first. Bob, Fanboy—you’re in the booth with me. Let’s move.
Then you turn and walk out, the only sign they’re following you the quiet shuffle of boots behind you.
You get Jake set up in the sim, then slip into the control booth, taking the farthest seat and pulling your headset on without a word. Mickey settles hesitantly beside you, and Bob takes the last seat—now one person too far away to read whatever expression is on your face.
“I’ll handle comms,” you say without looking up. “Monitor the readouts, call out any anomalies. Stay focused, watch what I do, and you can run one of the later sessions.”
“Copy,” Mickey replies.
“Copy,” Bob mutters.
You can feel his eyes on you, boring into the side of your face. He’s leaning forward—very unsubtly—watching you with a creased brow as Mickey pretends not to notice the suffocating tension in the booth.
“Hangman, you ready?”
“When you are, boss.”
You tap the screen, starting the sequence. “Simulation beginning. Weapons hot in thirty seconds.”
Your eyes stay locked on the data feeds, one hand adjusting the sim’s tracking overlay, the other scribbling notes into your tablet. Everything is running clean—Jake’s flying sharp, you’re locked in, and for a moment, it almost feels easy. Peaceful.
But still, you feel Bob’s gaze. Heavy. Relentless. You don’t look at him, but you know he’s watching—trying to read between your words, between your silences, between the way you didn’t so much as glance in his direction when you walked in.
“Hangman, confirm radar lock,” you say, fingers flying over the controls with practiced ease.
“Confirmed. Two-band lock at forty-five miles. Tracking steady.”
“Maintain altitude for another thirty seconds, then begin a slow descent to angels eighteen. Push to intercept on bandit two.”
“Copy that. Repositioning.”
A beat later, Mickey pipes up, “Hey, I’m seeing a drift on the right bank—check pitch trim, two percent off.”
“Good catch,” you say, glancing at the readout to confirm. “Hangman, adjust pitch trim two percent to port. You’re drifting wide.”
“On it. Thanks, Fanboy.”
You glance over at Mickey, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Nice eyes.”
He throws you a cheeky wink before turning back to the screen. You try not to look at Bob—but you can’t help it. His cheeks are redder now, his eyes wider, and he looks… indignant.
After Jake, Javy jumps in the sim, then Bradley, then Reuben—and for him, you have Mickey run the comms. They work well together, and you only have to jump in once or twice to adjust an instruction.
Then finally, it’s Natasha’s turn.
“Bob, comms are yours,” you say. “Mickey, stay on readouts.”
Bob hesitates just a fraction too long before replying, “Copy.”
Once Natasha is strapped in and the system’s reloaded, you settle back in your chair beside Mickey. Bob shifts awkwardly two seats down, headset on, posture a little too tight to be comfortable.
“Pilot ready?” you ask.
He glances at his monitor. “Ready.”
You nod. “Run it.”
The sim lights up again, and Natasha’s voice crackles through the speakers—calm and clipped as she begins her sequence.
You fold your arms across your chest, eyes on the screen—eyes on Bob. He’s steady at first, brow furrowed in concentration, tongue caught between his lips as he tries to remember the training. But you can feel it—the edge in him. Every call he makes lands a half-second late. Every glance your way lingers too long.
He’s nervous. And you almost feel bad. Almost.
But then those words ring through your head—and if he’s going to call you intense like it’s a bad thing, then fine. You’ll stare at him—intensely—until he either screws up or helps Natasha fly this sim clean.
Your gaze flicks to a warning light, brow furrowing as you sit up straighter.
“She’s pulling too hard,” Bob says. “She should dump speed before—”
“That’s not going to cut it in the F-35,” you cut in. “You’ve got to lead the roll differently. Weight’s distributed rearward—she floats differently.” Then you glance at him, eyes narrowed. “You know… all that baggage.”
There’s a beat of silence. Bob shifts. His eyes flick between you and the screen, nerves creeping higher.
“We’ll adjust the parameters,” you say, turning back to the screen.
Your hands move across the controls as you focus on Natasha, reassuring her that she’s flying fine. Bob tries to refocus too—to keep his eyes on the feed and talk her through the next manoeuvre.
But he can’t. His gaze keeps drifting—toward you, confusion drawn tight across his brow.
You can see the frustration rising. He doesn’t get it.
But he knows something’s wrong.
- Bob -
After Natasha’s successful sim, you give the squad a quick debrief before mumbling something about catching Maverick before he heads home. Bob wants to stop you—to say something, anything, just to get you to talk to him—but you don’t give him the chance. You slip out while he’s stuck in conversation with Reuben and Mickey, too polite to cut them off.
Eventually, everyone leaves the debrief room and starts walking across base—to their cars, the barracks, or in Javy’s case, the pharmacy, because he’s now convinced he got mono from the girl he hooked up with over the weekend.
“Coyote, if you go to medical one more time this month, they’re going to assign you your own parking spot,” Natasha says, watching him split away from the group.
“You’re always exhausted,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes.
“That’s ‘cause his standards are low and his stamina’s even lower,” Natasha mutters with a smirk.
“What was that, Phoenix?” Javy asks, already halfway down the path.
“Nothing!” she calls back. “Good luck! Maybe you’ll finally get that cute receptionist’s number!”
The group laughs, because everyone knows Javy has been trying—and failing—for months to get her number.
“Doubt it,” Jake says, veering off toward the parking lot. “Dude’s got no game.”
One by one, they all drop off—until it’s just Bob and Natasha. The two of them walk in silence for a few minutes. An easy, companionable kind of quiet while Bob loses himself in his own gnawing thoughts.
“Okay,” Natasha says, stopping suddenly. “What’s wrong? You look like someone just cancelled Christmas.”
Bob glances up. “Hm?”
“Don’t hm me,” she says, propping a hand on her hip. “You’ve been weird all day. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, I just—”
“Is this about Lucky?”
His stomach drops, nausea creeping up his throat until he’s pretty sure he can taste what he ate for lunch. He hesitates, meeting Natasha’s stare—keen eyes narrowed, brows raised. She’s not letting up anytime soon, so he might as well spill.
He sighs. “Yeah. Don’t you think she’s acting… off?”
Nat shrugs. “Maybe. A little. But everyone’s allowed to have a bad day. What makes you think it’s personal?”
“She ignored me all weekend, and she hasn’t smiled at me once today.”
Natasha rolls her eyes. “So? She doesn’t owe you a smile every day, Floyd. And she said she was sick. Maybe something happened that you don’t know about.”
“But she tells me everything,” he mutters.
“Oh my God,” Natasha groans. “You sound so entitled right now. Just because you’ve been friends forever doesn’t mean she owes you constant access. If she’s having a hard time, maybe stop thinking about yourself and just give her some space.”
Bob knows she’s right—at least partly. But he also knows you, and whatever this is, it isn’t just a bad day.
“Fine,” he mumbles. “Space. Got it.”
“Good.” She nods. “And then when things go back to normal, you two can go back to pretending you’re not stupidly in love with each other.”
Bob’s breath hitches. His heart kicks in his chest, stuttering into an uneven rhythm as he looks at her, eyes wide.
She meets his gaze, unflinching—smug and all too knowing.
“Please,” she says with a laugh. “It’s so obvious. Don’t even try to deny it.”
He doesn’t. He can’t. His thoughts are spiralling too fast to land anywhere solid.
He’s not stupid—he knows he’s in love with you. But the idea of you being in love with him? That feels impossible.
You’re so passionate, so driven—maybe a little intense, but that’s what makes people follow you. It’s why he trusts you with his life. And, sure, you’re reckless sometimes, but never thoughtless. You lead with your whole heart, and Bob wouldn’t be who he is today without you.
He knows you—your stories, your scars. He’s kept your secrets, walked with you through fire. Everything you carry—all the history, the experience, the baggage—you’ve never carried it alone.
He’s been carrying it too. Willingly.
Because you’ve always been the brightest thing in his life. And that’s exactly why he can’t imagine a world where someone like you could ever love someone like him.
“Have you stopped breathing?” Natasha asks, brows drawn.
Bob clears his throat, blinking until his vision refocuses. “Yeah—um, no. I’m okay.”
She narrows her eyes. “You sure? You look pale.”
“I am pale,” he says dryly, eyes dropping to his boots.
She snorts softly as they keep walking, heading in the general direction of the base’s front offices.
“You coming this weekend?” she asks after a beat.
Bob frowns. “Where?”
“Hangman’s birthday.”
Right. Jake’s birthday party. At a club. Not exactly Bob’s scene.
“I don’t know, it—”
“You can’t bail just because you hate clubbing,” she cuts in. “It’s not just another weekend—it’s his birthday. You don’t have to drink, just show up for a couple hours.”
Bob sighs, still watching his boots move with each step. He knows he’s going. He hates it, but he’ll go. He’s too polite, too well-raised—and Jake is his friend.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “I’ll come for a bit.”
“Great,” Nat grins. “Then at least I’ll have you, if Lucky’s still in her mood.” She pauses, tipping her head thoughtfully. “That’s if she even comes.”
After swinging by base office to pick up the squad mail—since Maverick was too busy today—Natasha drives Bob home. The car ride is quieter than usual, and Nat knows Bob is still trapped in his own head, but she doesn’t press.
Once home, Bob goes through the usual motions. He strips off his uniform, showers, changes into sweats, and starts making himself dinner. The only step missing is the one where he usually gets off with your name on his lips.
God, he knows it’s depraved, but he can’t help it. Especially now that you’re stationed on the same damn base.
Well, except today. Today he can help it, because the guilt weighs heavier than usual. He knows something’s wrong—and he has a sinking feeling it’s something he did. He just can’t figure out what.
His first thought was that stupid photo he sent—the one with him in moose boxers. He wishes he could say he had no clue what he was thinking, but God, he did. He was thinking that maybe you wouldn’t realise he was sending a damn thirst trap if it carried some other meaning. Some nostalgic, almost innocent meaning. Maybe you’d see it as a joke but still catch the way he was tensing—so fucking hard—in the mirror. Maybe there’d be a moment where he wasn’t just your best friend, but someone you could want for something more.
“Fuck,” Bob mutters, pressing his forehead against the cold fridge door. “What is wrong with me?”
Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to cover it. That photo was a lapse in judgment—a desperate Hangman move to get you to look at him differently. And God, did it backfire.
Cute? You called him cute.
He shakes his head. Sure, the boxers weren’t exactly sexy, but cute?!
He wishes he could rewind and stop himself before he became that much of an idiot. But that’s just what you do to him. You make him stupid. That’s been the story since the day he first met you.
Back at the academy, he was smitten—instantly, though shy at first, a little guarded. Until you wore him down. It didn’t take long before he was snorting at your stupid jokes, grinning like an idiot every time you caught his eye, and spending countless nights in the study hall with you and your secret snacks, sharing headphones.
Then came flight school. Different tracks—him training as an NFO, you training to be a pilot—meant less time together. But still, you stayed close. You found ways to sneak off, to steal moments, naïvely planning futures that felt just within reach.
Almost everyone assumed you were a thing, but whenever Bob corrected them, it turned into a whole different game.
He got so sick of being asked for your number that he started making up ridiculous excuses.
‘Sorry, she doesn’t have a phone.’
‘She only uses Morse code.’
‘Do you have any carrier pigeons?’
When you both deployed after the FRS, he felt almost relieved. Almost. Until he realised that with him halfway across the world, there was nothing but the relentless demands of military life standing between you and finding a boyfriend—or worse, a husband.
But as fate would have it—or perhaps dumb luck—you both ended up stationed on North Island together. Single. Very single, as you’d told Jake before shutting him down completely.
And God, Bob wants nothing more than to make you very un-single, very fucking attached to him. But he just can’t find the guts to do it—not when it might blow up in his face and ruin years of friendship, a bond so precious he’d do anything to protect it.
If there’s even a bond left to protect. Because right now, Bob Floyd is pretty damn sure you hate him. For something he can’t even remember doing.
The chime of the oven timer startles him out of his thoughts. He spins around, turns off the heat, grabs a dish towel, and carefully pulls the tray of lasagna out. He lets it cool while cueing up the next Nat Geo doc he’s been wanting to watch, making a little nest of pillows on the couch before settling in with the lasagna in his lap.
He eats quickly, eyes flicking between the screen, his dinner, and his phone buzzing incessantly on the coffee table. He can tell it’s the group chat, but the messages are popping up too fast to follow. From what he can gather, you’re all talking about Jake’s birthday party.
When he’s finished eating, he takes his plate to the kitchen, rinses it half-heartedly, and returns to the lounge. He grabs his phone off the table and flops forward onto the cushions, sprawled across the couch, propped up on his elbows as he scrolls through the chat.
It’s mostly Jake and Javy arguing about their big birthday plans, broken up by Mickey and Reuben’s commentary, Natasha’s sharp little quips, and Bradley just reacting to every second message like he’s not even reading.
And then... there’s you.
It started when Nat made some snarky remark about Jake wearing a sparkly suit so no one forgets it’s his birthday. You replied with an innocent comment about not knowing what to wear, and Natasha—naturally—told you to send options.
So you did.
The first photo is a mirror selfie in a deep red satin slip dress that barely hits mid-thigh. The fabric clings to your hips and gapes at the chest—like it was designed to slip off a shoulder. One hand holds your phone, the other casually throwing up a peace sign, as if you’re not standing there wrapped in something that could pass for a napkin.
Bob’s mouth goes dry. His eyes go wide. And he stares for just a little too long.
The second photo isn’t a selfie—it’s been taken by someone else. Probably on the night you last wore the glittery silver dress. The flash is on and the image is a little blurry, catching you from behind, turning with a smile thrown over your shoulder. There’s a glimpse of thigh, the bare slope of your back, and a glint in your eye that knocks the air out of him.
He exhales so hard it turns into a groan. With a slight wince, he shifts and adjusts his sweatpants, already regretting every choice that’s led him to this moment.
The next one is back in the mirror. You’re leaning against your dresser—just out of frame, but Bob knows exactly what your room looks like. The dress is little, black, and absolutely criminal. It fits like sin and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
If Bob were standing, he’d need to sit down. But he’s already on the couch, lying down with his now painfully hard dick pressed into the cushions. How the hell do you do this to him with just a few photos?
The last one is a close-up selfie in your bathroom mirror. The flash is on and you’re standing close, angling the camera low to catch the way the fabric dips between your breasts and hugs your waist like a secret. There’s hardly any of your face in frame—just the hint of a smirk.
“God,” Bob growls, dropping his head—and his phone—as his hips begin to grind into the cushions.
This is insane. You are dangerous. Surely you know what you’re doing. You can’t be that naïve.
He almost hates that the whole squad is watching too—seeing you like this, picturing you in the ways Bob has been picturing you for years.
With another low groan, he shifts onto his back and stares at the ceiling. After a moment, he shuts his eyes—and instead of pushing them away, he lets every perverted thought he’s ever had of you wash over him.
Your body draped in that silky red dress. Your lips curled into that sinful little smirk. Your legs, on full display in those ridiculously short skirts.
He pictures you as he slips his hand beneath his sweats, fingers wrapping around his painfully hard, leaking length—stroking once, then twice. His breath stutters. His free hand grips the cushion beside him, trying to ground himself as his hips lift ever so slightly, chasing more friction.
He imagines you climbing into his lap, all warm skin and wicked intent, whispering some teasing little comment that sends blood rushing so hard through his body he thinks he might actually lose it.
His cheeks burn and his heart races, desire and need building in his chest until it’s almost too hard to breathe.
His breath catches when he pictures you arching into him—skin slick with sweat, hands tangled in his hair, whispering his name like a prayer.
He ruts up into his hand again, faster this time, lips parted and eyes still shut tight.
His movements grow faster. Rougher. Desperate.
God, he knows he shouldn’t—he knows even now—but he can’t stop.
He pictures your body beneath his—soft gasps filling the air, lips parted, eyes fluttering closed. His hands on your tits, your hips, your ass—anywhere he can reach. Everywhere. Branding you like you’re his to keep. And—
His body seizes, muscles going tight as pleasure crashes over him in hot, dizzying waves. He spills into his sweats, hips still moving, rutting up and down, chasing the fading heat until all that’s left is a breathless ache.
“Fuck,” he rasps, collapsing onto the cushions, skin flushed, heart hammering.
He lies there for a few minutes—sticky and spent—as guilt creeps in... but so does a sharp, undeniable hunger for more.
Eventually, the insistent buzzing of his phone cuts through the post-orgasm haze, and he reaches for it with his free hand, grabbing it from where it fell beside him on the couch.
The group chat is still alive with a flood of inappropriate comments and ridiculous emojis from Mickey—all thanks to your photos. Everyone’s got an opinion on which dress you should wear, most leaning toward the last one with the low neckline.
Then, at the bottom of the thread, Natasha’s name pops up again: ‘Bob, your opinion?’
Bob huffs a small, humourless laugh. Yeah. His opinion is painted on the inside of his fucking sweatpants.
- You -
You only agreed to go to Jake’s birthday because you were pretty sure Bob wouldn’t.
Okay, that’s not the only reason—Jake’s your friend, and you’re not about to bail on his birthday just because you’re emotionally fragile. But knowing Bob probably wouldn’t show? Yeah, that made it a lot easier to say yes.
Bob’s never enjoyed clubbing—not that you can blame him—but on top of that, it’s been a weird week. You’ve softened a little, but not much. You stopped shooting him scathing looks or cutting him off mid-sentence, but you’ve still been avoiding him
You remembered how to laugh with the others—how to joke around—because the squad didn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t deserve to suffer just because Bob said the wrong thing and you’re too hurt to deal with it.
But Bob? You refuse to be left alone with him. You don’t speak to him unless you absolutely have to. You don’t ask him questions. You don’t meet his gaze—no matter how many times he tries to catch yours.
Not that he’s trying all that hard anymore. If anything, he seems… quiet. Sad. Distant in a way that twists something sharp in your chest. Like he’s pulling back. Giving you space. Like he’s trying not to upset you.
And maybe that should make you feel better. Or worse. You’re not sure.
Either way, you know it’s childish. The guilt’s been gnawing at you all week. But every time you start to feel too bad, you remember what he said. How he really sees you. The way he talked about you like you were a problem. Like you were too much. And then the guilt dies out.
Because why should you feel bad when he’s the one who decided you were too intense? Too reckless? Just… baggage?
He doesn’t care about you—not the way you care about him. He doesn’t even like you. Not really.
You’re not even sure why he’s sulking so much. If he never really liked you, why does it matter?
“Holy shit, Lucky,” Jake drawls the second you step out of the cab. “All this for me?”
The dress you settled on isn’t tight, but it moves like liquid when you walk—clinging here, skimming there, draping in all the right places. It’s black, sleek, and cut low at the front, dipping between your breasts just enough to make anyone looking forget what they were saying.
The fabric is soft and slinky, catching the light in subtle waves as it shifts around your body. The hem flirts with the tops of your thighs—high enough to turn heads, low enough to play innocent if you really wanted to. There’s a slit up one side, just enough to show off a teasing flash of leg when you walk—or more, if you’re not careful. Paired with your favourite boots and a gold choker around your neck, the whole look whispers danger and dares someone to ask what you’re doing later.
“Not just for you, Seresin,” you smirk. “But since it’s your birthday, I’ll let you look all you want.”
You step up and give him a hug, mumbling ‘Happy Birthday’ against his chest as his hand drops just a little lower than it should.
“You look fucking hot,” Nat says when you turn to her.
“All for you, baby.”
She grins. “I knew you’d be mine tonight. Wanna get out of here?”
“Show me the way.”
You both start giggling, linking hands as you make your way down the little footpath toward the club’s front entrance.
“Wait, nobody move,” Mickey calls from behind. “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”
There’s a soft thump, followed by a little whine—probably Reuben or Bradley smacking him over the head.
“We couldn’t all fit in the cab,” Nat says. “So Bob’s picking up Coyote. Might be a little late, though.”
Your heart stutters. “Bob—Bob’s coming?”
She nods, brow furrowing. “Of course. It’s Hangman's birthday.”
“Oh.” You swallow hard, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of skin—which is a lot—on display. “Cool. Cool. That’s cool.”
“Is it?” she asks, laughter creeping into her voice.
You give her a tight smile and nod a little too quickly—not at all panicked.
“Oh, boy,” she sighs, slowing to a stop in front of the club doors. “This is going to be a fun night.”
The club is busy, but not overcrowded. There are two bars and two dancefloors, one on either side of an open-roof courtyard scattered with tall bar tables and several large booths along the back wall. Out here, the music isn’t too loud—which must be the point.
Javy has managed to reserve one of the booths for the squad, while the rest of Jake’s friends—who make up most of the bar crowd—hover around the high tables, some already drifting onto the dancefloors. It’s not early, but it’s not quite late either. The DJs—one for each floor—haven’t started dropping bangers yet, but from the vibe so far, it’s clear this place gets wild.
“My first birthday request,” Jake says as you all settle into the booth, “is a round of shots. No pussies.”
There’s a round of laughter, a groan from Natasha, and a cheer from Mickey. You, meanwhile, are more than happy to get some liquid courage into your system as soon as possible. Ideally, you’ll be halfway to shit-faced by the time Bob shows up—just enough to shut your goddamn nerves up.
A few minutes later, Jake returns with a tray of tiny glasses, each filled with that golden liquid you know is going to burn. Jake Seresin and his fucking Fireball.
“To Bagman,” Natasha says, raising her shot.
Everyone follows. “To Bagman!”
You wince as the cinnamon heat scorches down your throat, hitting your empty stomach like a lick of flame. Jake slams his glass down with a grin, Mickey gags, Reuben grimaces, and Bradley and Natasha sink their liquor with concerningly straight faces.
Bradley disappears then to get the first round of proper drinks while Jake launches into a story about his wild thirtieth—offering more detail than anyone asked for, and definitely more than anyone needed.
You laugh along with the others, chiming in here and there, but your eyes keep drifting to the door. Every time it swings open, your heart gives a stupid little jolt—only to sink again when it’s not him.
You try not to let it show. Try stay present, sipping your drink and throwing in the occasional sarcastic comment, but your thoughts keep circling.
Is he still coming? Did he change his mind because of you? What’s he going to think of this ridiculous little dress?
You shake off the spiralling questions, turning your attention back to the table just as Mickey launches into a story about his own latest birthday—which involved more tequila, less pants, and at least one stolen golf cart.
After finishing your first drink, you excuse yourself to the bathroom—partly because you sculled a litre of water before coming, and partly because you want to check yourself before Bob arrives. It’s dumb, but you don’t care. You might be mad at him, but you still want to make his jaw drop.
And if this dress does anything right, it’s making jaws hit the floor.
You walk down the short hall, passing one of the dancefloors. There are two large doors marked as accessible toilets, then the men’s, and finally the women’s. You slip inside, duck into a stall, pee quickly, and wash your hands.
The mirrors in the women’s room, though, are annoyingly small and set far too high. You can barely see below your collarbones—even when you jump, which is definitely not recommended in this dress. With a frustrated huff, you step back out and slip into one of the accessible toilets—surely that’ll have a mirror a little lower?
The accessible bathroom is spacious and way nicer than the regular stalls. There’s a black marble vanity bathed in soft, glowing light, plenty of grab rails lining the walls, and—best of all—a full-length mirror stretching from floor to ceiling, perfect for a proper once-over.
You check your dress, adjusting how it sits on your shoulders and hips, then give a little twirl. You push your boobs up just a touch, swipe beneath your eye for any smudged mascara, and slip back out into the club.
You weave your way through the crowd, the bass humming beneath your feet. There are more people now—hovering near the bars, drifting between dancefloors. You try to ignore the looks you’re getting, but a little shiver still rattles down your spine. You feel seen. Too seen.
Maybe this dress wasn’t the best idea.
You step into the courtyard and glance up, spotting the booth where your friends are and—
Bob.
He’s standing just in front of it, half-turned away, arms folded as he talks to someone inside the booth. And thank God for the distraction, because holy shit—you can’t stop staring.
He looks... different. You’ve seen him in civilian clothes plenty of times before, but tonight? Tonight, those dark blue jeans cling just right to his long legs and criminally good ass. And that black long-sleeve button-up—jet black, just like your dress—looks like it’s seconds from bursting at the seams across his shoulders and arms. It’s sharp, clean, and a devastating contrast to the flight suit you’re so used to seeing him in.
And then there are those dorky cowboy boots. Always the boots. Somehow they just make it worse. Make him more him. And that makes your thighs clench.
Then, slowly, he turns. It’s casual at first… until he sees you.
His jaw drops. Literally. His eyes go wide.
He looks like a deer in headlights. No—worse. He looks like someone just hit him in the chest with a defibrillator. You’re not even sure he’s breathing.
It takes everything in you to keep your pace steady, your expression neutral—to walk across the courtyard like your knees aren’t about to give out.
Not that he’s looking at your face. Not until you’re standing right in front of him.
“Bob,” you say, voice tight, before turning sharply toward Javy. “Coyote!”
Javy’s eyes go wide as he takes you in—then flick toward poor, frozen, shell-shocked Bob—before his mouth splits into a hesitant grin.
“Lucky,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “You look—I mean, that dress—”
“Save it, big fella,” you laugh. “I’m sure Hangman will make up for it with a dozen inappropriate comments once he’s had a few more drinks.”
Javy chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m sure he will.”
You slip into the booth and settle beside Natasha, taking a sip from the straw of the drink she slides your way.
Bob is still standing there. He hasn’t said a word. You’re still not sure he’s breathing. He’s just staring—eyes wide, dark, and so full of something you can practically feel them dragging over your skin.
Okay—maybe this dress was a good idea.
After another round of drinks—and another of shots—everyone’s feeling a lot looser. Except Bob.
He’s nursing his coke with a tight jaw, his eyes flicking between you and whoever’s currently taking their turn staring at your boobs. It’s usually Jake.
And as much as you’d love to enjoy making him suffer, you’re not entirely sure what’s going on with him. You can’t tell if he’s pissed that you’ve been cold all week or feeling—undeservingly—protective because you’re wearing more birthday suit than dress. Either way, the way he’s looking at you is… unnerving. Almost feral.
His attention makes your skin prickle, your pulse jump. Because behind his eyes is something dark. Something dangerous. Something you’re not used to seeing in Bob.
So, like any emotionally well-adjusted person, you do the obvious thing and suggest another round of shots.
You’ve just swallowed your third nip of Fireball when you hear a frighteningly familiar voice rise over the thrum of music.
“Hangman!” he exclaims. “Happy birthday, bro!”
Your stomach drops. It’s him. The guy Bob was talking to that night.
Your eyes snap up, wide, landing on a familiar face you’ve known since flight school.
Bob’s eyes are wide too—but not with surprise. No, his are flat, dark, brimming with something else entirely. Something heavy. Tense. Possessive.
Something that doesn’t look like Bob at all.
“Harvard!” Jake grins, standing and leaning across the table to shake the guy’s hand.
They greet each other with loud enthusiasm before Brigham turns to the rest of the group—saying hello, smiling, working his way around.
He saves you for last. And you’re not nearly naïve enough to pretend you don’t know why.
“Lucky,” he says, drawing out the last syllable as his gaze drops straight to your chest. “Lookin’ good, darlin’.”
“Thanks,” you reply, plastering on your sweetest smile. “Wanna sit?”
Brigham has the choice of sitting beside either you or Bob, and with the way Bob’s trying to telepathically murder him—and the way your tits are sitting—it’s no surprise he chooses you.
“You know,” he says as he settles in, “I was just talking to Bobby about you the other day.”
Your heart lurches, but you keep your expression steady.
“Really?” you ask, voice thick with faux shock. “Bobby didn’t tell me that.”
Brigham chuckles. “Yeah, I bet. I think Bob’s been tryin’ to keep you all to himself.”
Bob’s scowl falters, a flicker of something—maybe worry—flashing across his face. Your heart stutters again. But then those words echo in your head, and with a sly smile, you shift a little closer to Brigham.
Okay, sure, you’re not attracted to the man—like, at all. In fact, you’re not attracted to anyone whose name doesn’t start with Robert, end in Floyd, and come with a pair of wide, dark blue eyes in the middle. But if it’s going to get under Bob’s skin? A little flirting can’t hurt.
After all, he’s the one who called you reckless.
“Well, Harvard,” you say, leaning in. “Fortunately for you, I don’t belong to anyone. And if you’re feelin’ lucky… maybe later I’ll let you feel real lucky.”
Javy, sitting across from you, chokes on his drink—coughing and spluttering into his hand as everyone turns toward him with confused eyes.
Except Bob. Bob’s stare doesn’t move from where your hand rests on Brigham’s arm.
You spend the next hour pressed against Brigham, nodding along as he talks about his latest deployment. Apparently, he’s just returned to North Island. After the special detachment—the one with the Dagger Squad—he was sent back to his original squadron, then reassigned here and there before finally landing back in San Diego.
You couldn’t repeat a single detail if your life depended on it. Because all you’ve been able to focus on is Bob.
The way he keeps glancing over, the way his posture shifts every time Brigham leans closer, the sharp tick in his jaw. His knuckles are white around a lukewarm bottle of coke, and he hasn’t said more than a few words since Brigham sat down.
The more you drink, the bolder you feel. You start meeting Bob’s gaze when you catch it—at least, when it’s not locked on Brigham—and every time you do, your pulse jumps. And with each slow, alcohol-fuelled beat, the urge to confront him grows. To finally ask what the hell he meant that night. To find out if your friendship actually means anything to him—if it ever meant anything at all.
But just as you part your lips to speak, Jake jumps up and declares it’s time to hit the dancefloor.
You cling to that interruption like a lifeline.
Because as you slide out of the booth and watch Bob disappear into the crowd—heading toward the bathrooms, not the dancefloor—you realise confronting him now, like this, is only going to end badly.
The music shifts as you step onto the dancefloor—heavier bass, deeper tempo, something slow enough to roll your hips to and fast enough to forget why you’re here. Lights flicker overhead, casting streaks of colour as you melt into the crowd. Brigham finds you in the haze, hands landing low on your hips like it’s second nature, and you don’t bother correcting him. Even if it feels… wrong.
You sway with the rhythm, arms draped loosely around his shoulders, fingertips grazing the hair at his nape. You laugh at something he says—not that you heard it—but the sound slips easily enough from your lips.
For a moment, it’s easy to pretend—until you see him.
Bob.
He’s leaning against the far wall just beyond the edge of the dancefloor, half-turned toward Bradley like he’s part of the conversation—but he’s not. His posture’s easy, arms folded, one boot crossed over the other. But even from across the room, he doesn’t quite fit.
Sweet, awkward Bob. All long limbs and stormy eyes in a neon-drenched club that makes no sense around him. His body’s turned toward his friend, but his eyes?
They’re on you. Locked. Unmoving.
There’s something electric in his stare. Not soft, not sweet—hungry. It holds you there, stills your breath, makes the air around you feel thicker. He’s not blinking. He’s not smiling. He’s just watching, like you’re the only thing in the room.
And you feel it.
The heat rising up your neck. The low, tight pull in your belly. That wild, reckless urge that’s been coiled in your chest since he walked in.
So you play it up. You let your head tip back, let your body roll with the bass, just a little slower, a little deeper. You lean closer to Brigham, letting your fingers trail down the front of his chest like you’re having fun—like you’re not thinking about Bob at all.
But you can still feel that stare. Like it’s touching you. Burning through you.
When your eyes find his again, he still hasn’t moved.
The beat throbs under your heels. Brigham’s hands stay loose on your hips. The lights flash, the alcohol hums in your blood—but none of it matters. One song blends into the next. Bob never looks away.
You try not to keep looking. But you do. Because the longer you stay on that dancefloor with a man you don’t care about, the longer Bob stares.
Still against the wall. Still pretending to talk. Still watching you.
So—after three boring songs—you smile, tilt your head, and let your hand trail down Brigham’s chest again, moving slower, closer.
You catch a flicker of movement in your periphery. And when you glance over again, Bob is gone. Your heart skips, but before you can even fully turn, fingers wrap around your wrist—warm, firm, unrelenting.
Then he’s there. Beside you.
He moves quickly, taking you with him as he strides across the dancefloor with dark eyes and a clenched jaw, weaving through the crowd like it isn’t there. He looks out of place—so out of place—but he doesn’t care. Not now. Not with purpose in every step and his hand on you like he’s never letting go.
He doesn’t say a word. Just pulls.
Past dancing strangers, through the heavy heat of the club, and into the dim hallway outside the bathrooms—where the music dulls just enough, the air shifts, and suddenly there’s only the two of you.
He lets go of your wrist like it burns him. “What the hell are you doing?”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
Bob’s chest rises and falls, his eyes wild. “What—What are you doing?”
“What’s your problem?” you bite back.
“My—? My problem?!” His voice pitches up as he drags a hand through his hair. He laughs once—dry and disbelieving. “I—I don’t know. I wish I knew. But you’ve iced me out all week, and now you’re doing this?”
“Doing what?” you demand.
“This! This isn’t you! This is—it’s—I don’t know, it’s—”
“Reckless?” you cut in. “Intense? Oh—sorry. Is my baggage showing?”
He flinches. You see it—clear as day. Like the words punched him in the gut.
You’ve never seen Bob like this—so worked up, so flustered, like he’s been holding something back for too long and it’s finally starting to slip. His jaw is tight, his cheeks are flushed, and there’s a fire in his eyes that doesn’t quite fit the Bob you know.
He looks tense. Frustrated. On edge. Not at all like someone who doesn’t care.
And that’s the most confusing part.
“Why would you say that?” he asks, voice dropping, shoulders sagging.
“I didn’t,” you reply. “You did. Last week.”
He takes a deep breath and tips his head back, realisation settling heavy and hard. “God. Lucky,” he sighs. “I didn’t—”
“Save it, Floyd,” you cut in, voice rising over the music. “I don’t want excuses. Or lies. If that’s how you really felt about me, you should have just said so. I wouldn’t have burdened you with my friendship all these years.”
He shakes his head. “No. That’s not how I really feel. I—I didn’t mean those things, I just—”
“Then why would you say it?”
He hesitates, brow furrowing. “Why didn’t you tell me you overheard?”
You huff, disbelieving, throwing your hands up. “Seriously? What would you have done if you heard me talking shit about you?”
“I—” His breath catches, his eyes dropping to your chest, just for a second, before snapping back to your face. “I don’t know. But you should have said something. God. Lucky, you don’t understand.”
You fold your arms—very aware of what that does to your breasts. “Understand what?”
“That I’m in love with you,” he blurts out, each word sharp and undeniable. “I’ve been in love with you for years. Since the first day I met you. And I said those things because—because that’s what I do. I keep you to myself. I tell guys you don’t have a phone. Or that you’re gay. Or—or that you only communicate with fucking carrier pigeons.”
Your breath catches sharp in your throat. Emotion rises in your chest, wild and fierce. The world feels unsteady, like you’re caught in a dream—sounds blur, lights twist and shimmer at the edges of your vision—and Bob fucking Floyd just told you he loves you.
“I’m sorry I said those things,” he says, stepping forward, voice lower now. “But I’m also sorry I’ve lied to you for years. Because I love you more than you know. And—and I’ve cockblocked you more times than you know too.”
His lips twitch into a nervous, watery smile—half proud, half terrified. His eyes are still wide, still a little dark, but now so full of hesitation it makes your heart ache.
He’s never told you because he doesn’t think you love him back. Even now, he’s bracing for the blow. Waiting for the laugh, or the ‘let’s just be friends’ speech.
God. He looks so sweet. So nervous. So heartbreakingly Bob Floyd—even in the middle of this stupid club with its stupid lights and its stupid music.
Without a word, you grab his wrist and shove open the door to one of the accessible bathrooms. You step inside, drag him in after you, and let the door fall shut—sliding the lock into place with a sharp click that echoes like a gunshot.
“What are you doing?” Bob asks, voice low, unsteady.
He’s backed up near the vanity, caught in the soft overhead light. It sharpens the lines of his jaw, glints off his glasses, and makes his eyes look lighter—more exposed. He looks completely out of place here. Nervous. Overwhelmed. Already unravelling.
“Making sure you can hear me,” you say, your voice softer now as you take a slow step forward.
The room doesn’t feel nearly as spacious as it did earlier. The air is thick—charged and humming with everything unspoken, everything the two of you have been holding in.
Bob nods. Barely. His hands twitch at his sides, his eyes glued to the floor—like he’s bracing for impact, waiting for the moment you let him down gently, tell him he’s just your friend and nothing more.
You close the distance, lift a hand to his jaw, and tilt his face up—until he has no choice but to look at you.
“I want you to hear me when I tell you that I’m in love with you too, Bob Floyd.”
His eyes go wide. A breath escapes him in a soft, stunned gasp, his cheeks flushing even deeper. “You what?”
“I love you,” you say, steadier now, lips curving into a soft, slow smile. “I always have. I don’t know how we both got so stupid, but God… I was wrecked when I heard you say those things. I love you so much I was ready to ask for reassignment just to get away. I love you so much I haven’t even thought about loving anyone else since the day I met you.”
He blinks hard. His chest rises and falls like he’s forgotten how to breathe.
“You love me?”
“Yes, you idiot,” you say, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt. “Now fucking kiss me.”
You pull him down—and he doesn’t hesitate.
One hand grabs your waist, the other tangles in your hair as he crashes into you, mouth on yours like he’s been holding back for years. It’s not gentle. Not careful. It’s messy and breathless and full of all the things he never said. His lips are hot, desperate, a little clumsy at first—but God, he learns fast.
You gasp against him, and he takes it like a reward, deepening the kiss as he walks you backward until your tailbone bumps the edge of the vanity. Then he’s lifting you—strong hands beneath your thighs, gripping like he’s afraid you’ll vanish—until you’re perched on the counter, legs parting to pull him in.
The marble is cold beneath your bare skin, but his body is warm between your thighs.
He kisses like he means it. Like he’s starved. Like he’s been on fire from the moment he saw you in that dress and now he’s finally letting himself burn. His hands are everywhere—your hips, your waist, your jaw. His mouth barely leaves yours, just enough to breathe before he’s right there again, hungrier this time.
You twist your fingers in his hair and pull, and he groans—deep and low, like the sound was dragged straight from his chest. His glasses slip crookedly down his nose, but he doesn’t bother fixing them. You catch the way his eyes darken even further behind the askew lenses, wild and hungry.
“This stupid dress,” he breathes against your lips, voice thick with want.
His hands roam possessively beneath the fabric, fingers digging into your waist as he grinds his cock against you with a needy roll of his hips. You feel the thick, hard press of him right where you need it, and the heat between you sharpens—filthy, hungry, and impossible to ignore.
“God, Lucky...” he rasps, voice rough as gravel, lips nipping at your neck.
Your fingers find the collar of his shirt, fumbling with the buttons as his wet mouth trails along your collarbone. When he finally looks up, his glasses catch the light—glinting at a wild, crooked angle.
“You look ridiculous,” you tease with a smirk.
He flushes, just the slightest hint of insecurity flickering through his fierce gaze.
“Ridiculously fucking sexy,” you whisper, leaning in, lips brushing his jaw.
His hands explore with increasing urgency, and you arch into him, breathless and burning.
“Lucky...” he growls, voice low and ragged. “I need you.”
You pull him closer, heart pounding. “Then take me.”
That’s all it takes. His hands are moving instantly, pushing your dress down over your shoulders in one fluid motion. Your bra follows—tugged down and discarded with zero ceremony—because he’s not wasting a second.
Then he’s on you. Everywhere.
His mouth is hot and open against your skin, dragging across your chest in feverish, reverent kisses. He palms your breasts like he’s dreamt about this—like he’s memorised them in his sleep—and he’s not shy about it either. His thumbs roll over your nipples, teasing until they’re tight and aching, and when you gasp, he hums like he’s pleased with himself.
He nips your collarbone, teeth just shy of cruel, then licks away the sting as he trails lower—lips, tongue, breath—until he closes his mouth over your left nipple.
Your hips jerk. You don’t mean to, but you can’t help it. Desperation coils hot and deep in your core, tightening with every flick of his tongue.
His hand finds your other breast again, rougher now, pinching lightly at your nipple as he sucks, and you can feel his smirk even as his mouth stays latched to your skin
“Bob—fuck,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. “Your mouth—”
He pulls back just enough to blow cool air over your wet nipple, and your back arches, involuntary, like he’s got a string tied to your spine.
“What was that?” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “You wanna fuck my mouth?”
You groan again—louder, needier—as he shifts to your right breast and sucks hard, deep, slow, like he’s trying to ruin you one perfect kiss at a time. Your thighs clamp tight around his hips, grounding yourself against the pressure of his body, the friction of his jeans against your bare legs, the delicious hardness pressing between them.
He moans into your skin, and the sound vibrates straight through you.
“Bob—” you gasp, voice thin, shaky. “N-Need you. Now.”
He finishes with a soft bite to your nipple that makes you jolt, then drags his mouth back up to yours—kissing you hard, deep, claiming. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, rougher than you mean to. He groans again, like he likes the sting.
Then he grinds against you.
His hips roll forward, dragging the full, thick length of him right against your soaked core, and you gasp into his mouth. There’s too much friction, too much heat, not nearly enough relief. Your thighs twitch around him, clenching on instinct.
“Bob,” you say again—this time low, warning, wrecked.
“‘S okay,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “I got you.”
His hands slide down your body, slow and possessive, until they find your hips. He squeezes, hard—fingers digging in like he’s trying to anchor himself—and then pushes your dress up, bunching the soft fabric around your waist. And now there’s almost nothing between you.
His breath catches. He pulls back just enough to look—and groans, deep and guttural.
“You’re perfect,” he says, reverent and hungry all at once. Then his mouth is back on yours, more desperate this time, like he’s seconds from losing control.
Your hands fumble at his shirt, yanking buttons through holes until you reach his belt. Your fingers work quickly, sliding the leather free, popping the button, lowering the zip. His hips buck forward when your hand brushes against him, thick and hot beneath his boxers.
“Are you sure?” he rasps, voice barely holding together.
You nod, breathless. “I’m sure.”
His lips crash back to yours, and then his hands leave you for just a second—long enough to shove his jeans and briefs down past his hips—before they’re back, gripping your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the vanity.
His thumbs dig into your skin, like he needs to feel you everywhere. And God, the bruises are going to kill you tomorrow—but you want every single one.
You reach between your bodies, sliding your hand into the space between his low-slung jeans and your bare thighs. He jerks at the first touch—his breath catching, hips stuttering forward.
“Fuck,” he chokes, voice ragged. His forehead drops to yours, like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
You wrap your fingers around him—hard, hot, thick—and stroke once, slow and firm.
He groans, deep and broken. “Jesus, Lucky—don’t… don’t tease.”
You bite back a grin, stroking again just to feel him twitch in your hand. “Then hurry up and fuck me.”
That shatters whatever was left of his restraint. His hand finds the thin scrap of fabric between your legs and pushes it aside, fingers grazing through the wetness there. His breath hitches again.
“You’re already—” He swallows hard. “God, you’re so wet.”
He grips your hip, braces his other hand behind you on the counter, and meets your eyes—searching, asking—before he thrusts forward.
Slow at first. Deliberate. Like he wants to feel every second of you stretching around him.
You gasp, spine arching, mouth falling open. He’s thick, the stretch almost too much, but your body gives way like it’s been waiting for this. For him.
“Holy shit,” he groans, jaw slack as he sinks into you. “You feel—fuck. So good. So good.”
You clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in, and he starts to move—deep, rolling thrusts that drag moans from your throat before you can stop them. His glasses are still askew, fogging with heat, and you’re obsessed with how he looks like this—wrecked, gorgeous, utterly undone.
His hands find your waist again, yanking you flush as he grinds into you with a frantic, desperate rhythm that makes your knees tremble. One hand drags up your side, fingertips blazing a slow path over your ribs before curling over the swell of your breast.
He palms it—rough, reverent—thumb circling your nipple, making your back arch and pulling a gasp from your throat that turns into a whimper.
“I love you,” he growls, voice low and wrecked, like the words are being dragged out of him. “So fucking much.”
Your chest clenches, aching with it, echoing the coil twisting tighter and tighter low in your belly.
“I love you,” you breathe, broken and shaky.
He groans deep in his chest and starts moving faster, hips snapping into yours with relentless force. Each thrust drags a ragged moan from your lips, each one pulling you closer to the edge. The air is thick with sweat and sex and everything you’ve both kept buried for years.
His glasses slip lower down his nose, his hair damp with sweat, his face flushed and wild—completely wrecked. He looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real. Like he’s never going to let you go.
You tilt your head back and moan—loud, shameless—the sound echoing through the bathroom with the obscene slap of skin on skin. Then your eyes lock again, and it’s too much—too hot, too filthy, too intimate. You're cock-drunk and completely gone for him, mouth parted, breath hitching as you fall apart in real time.
He crashes his mouth to yours again, slower now—deeper—like he wants to kiss you into the fucking walls. One hand still works your breast, kneading, tugging, pinching, while the other dips low, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, messy circles that have you shuddering.
“Fuck,” you gasp, choking on the word. “Bob—I’m gonna—”
His thrusts grow harder, deeper, rougher—like he’s pounding the words into you, like he wants you to feel them everywhere. You’re soaked and stretched and it’s so good you almost sob.
The noises are filthy—wet and desperate, breathless moans and frantic grunts—and neither of you care. Not here. Not now. Not when this is everything you’ve both been craving for years.
“Oh God,” he groans, breath hot against your throat. “You feel so fucking good. You’re gonna ruin me.”
You’re both panting, chasing the edge, clinging to each other like you’ll fall apart without it. He pulls back just enough to see your face, and that look—wrecked, awe-struck, completely fucking gone—undoes you.
Your orgasm hits like a wave crashing through your spine, your vision going white, your legs locking around him as your whole body shakes.
Bob’s right behind you—one, two more thrusts—and then he’s groaning low, spilling inside you as he buries his face in your neck, thrusting through it, riding the high with you. You're both shaking, bodies slick, hearts pounding, still grinding, still desperate, still needing to be closer.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. You just breathe—ragged, uneven, hot against each other’s skin.
His arms are locked around you, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go. You’re wrapped around him just as tight, hands curled into the back of his shirt, legs still trembling around his waist. The air is thick with sweat and heat and the fading pulse of music beyond the walls.
He lifts his head just enough to press his forehead to yours, his glasses askew, his cheeks flushed. You brush damp hair from his face and lean in to kiss him—slow this time, warm and open and sweet. He kisses you back like it’s all he’s ever known.
“I love you,” you whisper again, holding him like you mean it. Because you do. God, you do.
He presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw. Slower now. Softer. Like he’s memorising you.
Eventually, you both start to move—reluctantly, lazily—helping each other straighten up, clean up. His hands are gentle as he eases your dress back down over your hips, as he finds your bra and helps you put it back on. You button his shirt for him, laughing quietly at the wrinkled fabric and the way his belt is still half-undone.
It’s domestic. Intimate. Something about it makes your chest ache.
You smooth your palms over his chest. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. And even though you’re dressed again, neither of you can stop touching—little brushes, lingering hands, kisses that start slow and deepen fast.
You’re trying to leave when his back hits the bathroom door with a soft thud, and you lean into him, mouth pressed to his. It’s messy again—smiling, hungry, all teeth and tongue and breathless sounds you wouldn’t dare make for anyone else.
He laughs into your mouth. “If we don’t leave now,” he murmurs, “we’re never leaving.”
You kiss the corner of his smile. “Fine by me.”
But then—he stills. Just slightly. And he looks at you like he’s falling all over again.
His chest rises against yours, breathless still, and then—
“Marry me,” he says. Low. Unfiltered. Like he couldn’t hold it in if he tried.
Your heart stumbles. Your breath catches.
You pull back just far enough to look at him—really look at him. He doesn’t look nervous this time. Just… open. Sure. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to ask.
“Bob…”
“I’m serious,” he says, cupping your jaw. “Marry me.”
You blink, the world slowly tilting off-axis.
“I want you—no, fuck that,” he leans closer, voice rough with feeling, “I need you. Forever. And if we can’t have forever, then just give me this lifetime. I want to marry you. I want everyone to know that you’re mine, and I’m yours.”
He’s so honest, so sure, that for a second you forget how to breathe. You’ve never felt this much love in your life. You didn’t even know this much love existed. And the craziest part is... it doesn’t even feel that crazy. You’ve known Bob for so long that the only missing piece of the puzzle was this. Now you’re whole. You’re perfect—together. It's always been Bob, and it always will be.
So what’s the point in waiting? What’s the point in dragging it out? You already know him. You need him. You… want to marry him too.
You step in closer, holding his face between your hands. “I am yours, Bob Floyd. In this lifetime and every lifetime.”
He swallows, hard. “Is—is that—?”
“That’s a yes,” you say, grinning, before pushing up onto your toes and crashing your mouth against his.
He kisses you back with wild, joyful fervour, his arms locking around your waist as he lifts you clean off the ground, making you yelp into his mouth. If this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up. Not ever. Because in this moment, you have everything—everything—you’ve ever wanted. Everything you’ll ever need.
When he finally sets you down, you pull back just enough to catch your breath—both of you panting, grinning like idiots, completely wrecked and radiant.
“Can’t believe you just proposed to me in a club bathroom,” you say, smirking.
Bob rolls his eyes, bashful smile tugging at his lips. “Can’t believe you just said yes.”
You’re just about to kiss him again when—
Bang, bang, bang.
“Bob!” Jake’s voice cuts through the door. “Lucky! Are you two in there?”
Bob freezes. His smile drops. His cheeks flush a deep, immediate red. “Oh no.”
“We heard… noises,” Javy adds, barely holding back a laugh. “Are you okay?”
Your eyes go wide, mortified and gleeful all at once, your hand already moving to the lock.
“What are you doing?” Bob hisses, catching your wrist.
You glance at him, lips twitching. “What are we supposed to do? Live in here now?”
“Yes?” he says, eyes wide. “Or wait at least twenty more minutes?”
You snort, then gently pry his hand from yours and lace your fingers through his. “Relax, Bob,” you murmur. “At least now they’ll know what a woman sounds like when she’s getting properly fucked.”
Bob makes a strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a gasp, his face flushing bright crimson. And with that, you unlock the door and swing it open to reveal the entire squad loitering just outside, trying very badly to look casual and not like they’ve been eavesdropping at all.
Bradley whistles low, laughter threading through it. Phoenix raises a single eyebrow. Javy coughs awkwardly into his hand. Mickey and Reuben just stare, jaws practically on the floor.
Bob inches behind you, as if hiding could protect him from the coming torrent of teasing.
You just smile sweetly and squeeze his fingers. “Hey, pervs. Get a good show?”
Jake chuckles. “Only caught the second act, unfortunately. But damn, Bobby, didn’t know you had it in you to make a woman moan like that.”
Bob closes his eyes, breathing deep as his free hand squeezes your waist.
“What was all that murmuring before you opened the door?” Javy asks, brow furrowed. “We couldn’t make it out.”
You lift a brow. “Oh, you didn’t have a cup pressed to the door?”
Mickey chuckles sheepishly, holding up an empty glass.
“God,” you gasp, laughing softly. “Do any of you know the meaning of boundaries?”
“Lucky, you just fucked Floyd in a club bathroom,” Reuben says, smirking. “And you’re going to lecture us about boundaries?”
Your cheeks flush, heart pounding hard against your throat. “Actually, I just got engaged to Floyd in a club bathroom. And it was very romantic. Including the sex. So, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to go home and let this man properly ruin me until I can’t remember how to fly a goddamn jet.”
You hear Bob choke behind you—on nothing but air—and you don’t even have to look to know his whole face is flaming red.
But it works. The squad goes quiet, all of them staring—wide-eyed, slack-jawed, somewhere between stunned and delighted.
You give them one last cheeky grin before pulling Bob away.
“But it’s my birthday!” Jake calls after you, smirk audible in his voice. “I was supposed to get fucked in the bathroom!”
Summay: Bob wakes up from a wet dream with one goal in mind. You. As soon as you're back from your workout.
CW: 18+ MDNI! Smut!! Un-protected P in V (make good choices), post-workout sex, oral (fem recieving), fingering, multiple orgasms, spanking, pussy spanking (I don't know how we got there), dirty talk, slight dom/sub dynamics, use of good girl/boy, over-stimulation, tears (good ones), body worship?. Aftercare, fluff towards the end. Can be interpreted as Reader having slight body image issues (calls herself gross after the workout multiple times).
Author's note: Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between, please fasten your seatbelt and put your tray tables into their upright positions as we begin our descent into Smut City. Thank you for flying Air Unhinged. That's it. That's all I've got to say. I'll go sit in a corner now. (Can be read as a part of the Little Peanut Universe or as a stand-alone.)
Word count: 5493
Saturday morning greeted you with sunlight streaming in throughout the peek in the bedroom curtains. The sound of birds chirping floated through the cracked window. Warmth caressed your face from the beams floating through the window. Your fiancé snored softly beside you, his breath fanning over your neck, his body pressed against you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His strong form molded against you like he was made for it, all hard muscles and soft skin, warm and comforting like always.
Carefully, as to not disturb him, you reached for your phone. 9:32 am. Usually, Bob would already be up by now, dressed in his running gear, preparing a pre-work out smoothie for the two of you. But he had had an exhausting week on base, running complicated drills that kept him at work until late in the evening, sometimes not coming home until after midnight.
You turned carefully to get a better look at him. He looked so peaceful. Light brown hair tousled from sleep, long lashes fanning his cheeks, lips parted ever so slightly, lips puffy. He really enjoyed the Saturday morning runs when he had days off, so did you. It was a nice routine you had found together ever since college, keeping academic stress and later work stress at bay. It was also a nice compliment when you didn’t always make it to the gym during the week.
But he looked so at peace now, and you remembered how tired he was coming home last night, dozing on the couch as you made dinner. Sure, you could wait for him to wake up before heading out, but you also knew yourself. If it didn’t happen now, you’d be caught up in everything else that needed to be done today, like the giant pile of laundry in the bathroom, and all the wedding invitations that needed to be placed into envelopes and addressed.
Carefully, you pressed a soft kiss to Bob’s temple before extracting yourself from his arms and sneaking out of bed. He gave a small grunt of disapproval in his sleep and shifted slightly, but didn’t wake up. Instead, he buried himself deeper into the pillow and let out a tired snore.
You gave a small smile at the sight before padding towards the dresser. Your favorite green work out set sat readily at the top of your other workout and lounge wear. Also grabbing a pair of underwear and socks, you snuck into the bathroom to change.
Not wanting to wake your fiancé, you forewent the smoothie for a protein bar. You didn’t like running on an empty stomach as it made you queasy, but something large and heavy had the same effect. After finishing the small snack, you fished out your headphones from between the couch cushions, laced up your shoes and stepped out into the fragrant morning breeze.
XXX
Your entire body arched as he thrusted into you, pressing closer to him, hands clawing at his shoulder blades. Your drenched pussy squeezed his cock like a vice, dripping with desire, choking him. So warm, so wet, enveloping him in a way that only you could.
“Oh god” you moaned into his ear, voice vibrating in a way that sent goosebumps erupting down his neck.
“Y/N” he panted, pleasure washing over him, coiling low in his belly, cock pulsating inside you. He was so close, his body shaking with the effort to not blow his load too soon. He needed to feel you come first, needed to feel your pussy squeeze around him, gushing wetness, drowning him.
“Bobby!” Your voice floated into the air like a prayer, increasing his pleasure ten-fold. His hips stuttered when you moaned into his ear. He could feel the tension knot at the base of his spine, his body seizing up as he–
The first thing Bob noticed when he woke was the lack of warmth next to him. Sure, the bedroom was warm from the morning sun, but you weren’t there. Your telltale warmth, the dip in the mattress next to him, your scent that usually surrounded him when he woke up, nothing. The second thing he noticed was how hard his dick was. Thick, heavy and pulsating with need. Pre-cum had leaked in his sleep, now warm and sticky in his briefs. The covers were wrapped around his body, scratching against his bare chest.
Bob slowly reached around your side of the bed as the dream came back to him. The way you had shifted against him, the way you had scratched your way down his back, moaned his name in his ear, so eager for more of him. A groan left him as he rubbed a hand over his face. The need grew hotter in his lower belly.
He had lost count of the number of sex dreams he’d had of you over the years, especially back in college when you didn’t get as much time together. It always left him aching with desire, wanting nothing more than to drag you straight to the bedroom.
“Honey?” he called out, voice still rough with sleep. “You home?”
No answer. He reached around blindly for his phone to check the time. Wow… Almost 10:30. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in that late. The nature of his job meant his body clock was naturally wired to wake up early, even on his days off. But his week on base had been absolutely grueling. Long hours both on the ground and in the air, high-stakes, energy-draining drills, leaving him bone-tired, barely making it to bed last night.
There was no sound of you puttering around in the kitchen, no sound of the shower running. Something told him you had left on your morning run without him. And even though he loved the routine you had built together, he couldn’t even fault you for leaving without him. He felt properly rested, and that in itself was worth it. Maybe he could go on his own later.
If he even made it out of bed. Because right now, the thought of staying in bed all day, breathing in the scent from your pillow, and later you, sounded really tempting. He turned over, now half of his stomach. The pillow on your side of the bed was cool to the touch, slightly malformed from where you had rested your head on it.
Pulling it close, he inhaled deeply into the fabric. Your sweet, heady scent surrounded him, invading his senses. He groaned into the pillow, shifting his hips towards the mattress. Images from the dream flashed through his mind again and his dick twitched in his briefs. A teasing pleasure shot up his spine, the sensation causing him to grind down again.
Bob imagined you under him, back arching, nipples pressing against his torso, pussy warm and dripping around his cock. Then he imagined himself between your legs, tasting the arousal dripping from your core. Your legs around his head, tightening, locking him into place. He could practically feel his own tongue pressing against your clit as you ground your pussy against him.
Another low moan left him, muffled by your pillow. He wanted to keep grinding into the mattress, biting into your pillow, chasing the pleasure that had haunted him since deep in his sleep. But he wouldn’t. He’d be a good boy for you. He’d wait.
Letting out one final, exasperated groan, he turned on his back again, letting the crook of his arm rest over his eyes. His cock twitched again, straining against the fabric.
He had just decided on a cold shower when he heard the front door unlock. The soft sound of your footsteps echoed throughout the small apartment. Finally… You were home!
Bob slowly rose from the bed, muscles straining, back cracking as he stretched. His body felt both heavy and light at the same time, if that was even a thing. Part heavy with a good night’s sleep, part light with the excitement pulling him towards you like a magnet.
You were sitting on the bench in the entryway, unlacing your shoes. “Hey” you said, smiling, still a bit breathless as you looked up at him.
Your skin was all flushed, shining with a layer of sweat. You were wearing that green work out set he loved so much. The tight pants that hugged every curve, making your ass and thighs look incredible. Then there was the matching sports bra that always meant he had to look the other way when you were running together, lest he be running with a painful hard-on.
“Hey, darlin’” Bob murmured, feeling his dick grow heavier at the sight of you. “Good run?”
You winked up at him, peeling off your shoe with your toe. “Yeah, it was good. Missed you, though. Though I thought it would be better to let you lie. You looked exhausted.”
He chuckled, running a hand through the messy mop on top of his head. “Thank you for that” he said sincerely. “I think I needed it after this week.”
You gave him that understanding look he always associated with his work for some reason and rose to your feet. Cupping his cheek, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. Your lips were just a little chapped from the run, and he could taste the salt. Sighing, he pulled you in closer, hand on your hip. His lips slanted against yours, and the warmth of your skin bled into his, just a tiny bit sticky.
God, you looked so gorgeous, and you smelled like the perfect mix of you, just pure you. Flowery remains of yesterday’s perfume, musk from the run, and that natural scent that was just you, the one that always filled his senses when his face was pressed between your tits. It was fucking glorious.
He almost whined when you pulled back, giving him one final peck. “I’m gonna go and shower” you said, pulling back. “I’m all gross.”
Bob couldn’t help staring at your ass as you walked past, trailing after like a puppy. The way those pants clung to you, Jesus Christ! All he wanted was to devour you, bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you senseless.
When the two of you first met, he’d been an eager but extremely careful person in the bedroom. Not much experience, but always wanting to make you feel good. Together, you’d carefully explored each other’s appetite over the years. He still considered himself quite traditional, if you could call it that. Vanilla, you always joked. But there were times when he wanted so much more, when he wanted things that’d make him blush later.
You stopped in front of the bathroom mirror, leaning a hip against the vanity as you began pulling bobby pins from the messy bun on top of your head. A single bead of sweat slowly made its way from your clavicle down your torso before disappearing between your tits that were pressed together so deliciously by the sports bra.
Bob swallowed thickly, throat dry, watching you casually get ready for the shower like he wasn’t slowly dying inside. His heart pounded behind his rib cage, pumping more adrenaline into his system, fueling his horniness. The slope of your back shone in the bathroom light and he longed to trace his tongue along it, to taste the salt on your skin, feeling your muscles work under him.
“What are you staring at?” you smirked, looking back at him through the mirror. The bun was now half-loose, gracing the nape of your neck.
“You” Bob deadpanned. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “You look gorgeous.” He didn’t miss the way your eyes snagged on the way his biceps bulged, or the way they trailed down his body, stopping at the obvious bulge in his briefs.
Heat flashed through your eyes before you snorted. “I’m all sweaty and disgusting.”
But Bob just lazily pushed off the doorframe and sauntered over, stopping behind you. The heat from your body mingled with his. He could feel the goosebumps breaking out all over your arms as he ran his hands up and down your skin. Your lips parted in a gasp as he leaned in to kiss a delicate line of kisses down the slope of your neck, lips travelling up the side of your neck now. He stopped to pay extra attention to the soft skin where he could feel your pulse jumping in your throat.
A faint moan escaped you, fingers grasping the edges of the vanity for purchase. Bob groaned into your neck when you instinctively pushed your ass back into him, molding against his straining cock.
His hands found your sports bra, fingers toying with the material covering your breasts. He could feel your nipples under his palms as he massaged them, already hardening under the stretchy material. It made his cock twitch, pushing against you, a wave of pleasure coursing through him. His fingers travelled lower to circle the peaks over the sports bra, causing you to grind back again.
“Fuck you feel so good against me” Bob muttered, nipping at your shoulder. “Grinding back like the needy girl you are.”
“Bobby” you gasped, craning your neck to give him more access.
The sound of his name slipping from your lips made something come undone inside him. He grasped the fabric of the sports bra and yanked it up. Your arms followed immediately, rising to help him pull it over your head. He tossed the material to the side, stopping for a second to take you in.
Your breasts hung flushed and heavy, nipples hard. The pads of his fingers traced the indents and lines in your skin from the bra like an artwork, following along your back, around your ribcage and up and around your breasts. Every trace of his fingers was punctuated by the rapid rise and fall of your chest.
“Look at you” Bob whispered, glancing up at your reflection. Your cheeks were tinted pink, lips puffy and open, eyes blown wide. “So beautiful.”
He took your nipples, rolling the peaks between his fingers. You moaned in response, body arching, thighs clenching together. Bob licked a stripe up your neck, tasting the warm, salty skin. He’d read years ago that having sex after a workout was supposed to be more…intense. All that blood flowing, endorphins already high. He’d bet you’d taste fucking amazing, too. Musky, sweet, and just pure you. He was dying to test that theory for you.
“Wanna get in the shower together?” you asked breathlessly, leaning back to rest the back of your head on his shoulder, hand coming up to tangle in the tresses of his hair.
Bob shook his head, pressing another kiss to your pulse point, loving the way it jumped under his lips. “Not yet” he muttered. “I wanna taste you first.”
He could feel you stiffen slightly and glanced up at your reflection in the mirror. “Are you sure?” you asked. “I probably smell.”
“I’m so fucking sure” Bob assured you, tilting your head back to press his lips to yours, soft and loving. “There’s nothing I want more.”
And with that, he stepped back, hooked his fingers into your skin-tight pants, yanked them down along with your underwear and sunk to his knees behind you.
Fuck…
The sight of you was unreal. Folds swollen and glistening, already soaked for him. Your legs trembled as he gently but firmly pushed them apart. Bob heard your breath hitch as he gently stroked his hand up the back of your thigh and ass cheek. His own mouth watered at the sight of your wet pussy.
“Bend over, baby” he whispered.
You shuffled backwards slightly, bringing your heat even closer to him, your breath labored, skin flushed as you rested your forearms on the marble vanity.
Bob sat there on his knees, completely mesmerized as his hands grasped your ass cheeks, spreading you wide for him. A low groan escaped him at the sight. He could feel his glasses fogging up, dangerously close to sliding down the tip of his nose. The knot of pleasure grew harder and larger in his lower belly, begging him to do something. Anything.
Absentmindedly, he let his thumb glide along the edge of you, feeling the wetness coat his digit, relishing in the way it made your hips stutter backwards.
“Bobby” you warned, voice clipped and on edge.
He chuckled lowly. “Okay, okay, baby.” He couldn’t help it, he loved riling you up too much.
His glasses were off and placed on the vanity a second later. Then he leaned in and unceremoniously licked a line along your core, tongue flattened against you.
Fuck, he was right! It was incredible. The smell, the taste, everything was heightened. You let out a long moan, body jerking as you leaned against the vanity.
“Sensitive?” Bob teased, smirking against your wetness.
“Shut up” you countered, but your voice was breathy, and there was no real bite to it.
His dick pulsated in his boxers again, bordering on painful now, straining like a wild animal longing to break free. He licked over and over again, spreading you open, fingers pressing indents into your ass.
Every stroke of his tongue coaxed more beautiful sounds from you, echoing around the tiles like symphony. He craned his neck to gain better access to your clit, tongue circling and teasing the swollen nub. It was harder from this angle, but the way you trembled made it worth it.
It was heaven, you were heaven.
“God, you taste good” he moaned into you, feeling the way it sent vibrations through you.
But you just snorted again, shaking your head slightly. “I probably taste disgusting right now.”
Abruptly, Bob pulled away as irritation flared in him. How could you not see that he would always want you no matter how sweaty or fresh off a workout you were? It was natural! He didn’t expect you to smell like sunshine and rainbows, or a flowery meadow or whatever crap social media made women believe these days. That wasn’t natural. He loved your taste, especially like this.
“Call yourself disgusting one more time, and I’ll spank you.”
Your breath hitched and you craned your neck to look back at him. Your eyes were blown wide at the suggestion, curious heat mingling with surprise. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious” Bob nodded solemnly. His hand rubbed a few circles over your ass, mostly to prove a point.
He knew he’d never brought it up before, and that he was the one who seemed hesitant when you did a few months back. But maybe he just needed to be in the right mood? Or be irritated enough with you.
You were quiet for a few moments before a devilish grin spread across your face. “So…” you started, eyes teasing. “Are you going to make me say it again?”
Whack!
His hand had come down harshly over your butt cheek, barely giving you time to finish the sentence. Your body had jerked forward, lips parting in a loud gasp. You threw your head back at the impact.
Pleasure Bob hadn’t expected flooded through him at the sight of the redness blooming across your skin at he soothed the area with his palm.
His other hand reached for your pussy, two fingers gently circling your entrance before pushing inside.
“Oh God!” you moaned, pussy sucking his fingers in, soaking them, holding them in as you clenched.
“Does that feel good?” Bob asked, his voice breathless with satisfaction as he watched his fingers disappear in and out of you.
“So good” you breathed in response.
His hand came down on your ass again in a hard smack, and you moaned loudly. He could feel your pussy squeeze around his fingers with every whack. Curling his fingers, he found that special spot inside you. Your entire body convulsed as he rubbed your G-spot, thighs clenching, closing in on his hand.
“Keep your legs open” Bob commanded, voice rough. “I want to try something. Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
“Okay” you whispered, nodding in understanding. “I will.” Slowly, your legs opened shakily. Your arms found further purchase on the vanity.
Bob pulled his fingers out of you with reverence, relishing in the way your walls fluttered around him. He leaned in to press a kiss to the red splotches blooming over your butt.
His fingers rubbed circles over your clit for a moment before –
Whack! Again.
But this time, his fingers, soaked in your slick, had hit right on your clit with a wet, satisfying smack. A loud gasp let you as your body keened towards him, a tremble shooting through you.
“Fuck!” you swore, the sound echoing. “Fuck that’s good!”
“Yeah?” Bob’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Think you can take it again?”
“Mhm” you whimpered.
He smacked your clit again, and you convulsed. Your forehead leaned on the cool marble, breathing harshly as he spread you wider, loving how red and swollen you had become. You were close, he could tell.
Another smack. Harder this time.
Your orgasm ripped through you before you could stop it. Bob’s fingers were there, guiding you through it as you convulsed and screamed above him. Your quick breaths painted the mirror in fog, spreading over the surface like an incoming storm. But Bob didn’t even let you come down properly before he was on you again.
His fingers found your clit, rubbing fast circles over the sensitive nub. “You’re so sexy” he cooed. “So good for me.”
All you could respond with a low moan as your hips jerked in uneven movements, as if you wanted to get closer and further away at the same time. Bob leaned in, licking circles around your entrance before pushing his tongue inside.
The taste of you overwhelmed him, taking over his senses completely. He groaned into you, sending vibrations through your core and buried himself deeper, pushing his tongue in and out as deeply as he could. His fingers kept up their ministrations as he tongue-fucked you. Your moans quickly grew louder again as he kept going, his other hand running up and down your hot, trembling skin. Bob was pretty sure the only thing keeping you upright was the vanity, and that gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.
“Bob” you mewled, knuckles white from gripping the edges of the marble. “Baby, it’s too much!”
But Bob just groaned, reveling in your over-stimulation. “You can take it” he muttered, voice slightly muffled against your soaked flesh. “I know you can. You’re doing so good! I know you can give me one more.”
He pushed his tongue back inside you, fucking you like a man possessed, like someone starved. He knew he could die just like this, with your taste on his tongue, so close to blowing his load in his pants like a teenager. Your pussy started to contract around him, and Bob knew just how close you were again. He kept his rhythm on your clit, angling his tongue further towards your G-spot.
A hoarse scream ripped through you as you soaked his tongue, mouth and chin, slick spreading everywhere as you came. Bob lapped at you like he was dying of thirst, which he sort of was. A thirst for you, for your pleasure. He could feel you contract around him, body convulsing as the aftershocks ripped through you.
Finally, he slowly leaned back to observe his masterwork. Fresh sweat had pooled over your back, your entire body had taken a beautiful red tint, your lips were swollen from where you had bitten down on them, small indents visible.
Slowly, he rose to his feet again, hands on your hips for support. His knees protested after having been on the floor for so long, but he ignored the ache.
“Look at you” Bob cooed, bending over you to press a line of kisses down your shoulder. “You’re doing so well for me. Such a good girl.”
You mumbled something in response, too tired to make up a coherent sentence. But Bob just smiled and gently grabbed you by the shoulders to hoist you up and into his arms. The sight of you in the mirror was unreal. Face flushed, pupils so large he weren’t sure where they ended and your irises began, body trembling as you leaned into him for support, your arms tiredly resting crossed over his. Your face burrowed into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He loved how possessive that made him feel.
His dick pulsed against you where it rested on your ass. Without even thinking much of it, his hips ground forward slowly.
God, the pressure was amazing! Finally, some relief. A loud moan escaped him, his head dropping forward to rest his forehead on your shoulder. The only barrier between you now was the thin material of his briefs, sticky and wet with pre-cum. Pleasure shocked his entire system as he kept dry humping you.
“Get in the shower with me” you whispered, your hips pushing back to meet his thrusts.
A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine, knotting at the base. “Yeah?” he whispered back, voice husky. “Think you can take more?” His tone was gentle, but he wouldn’t deny that he fucking ached to push his cock inside you, feeling the slippery mess you made. He probably wouldn’t last more than a minute or two, but it would be enough.
You giggled quietly. “If you hold me up.”
“Oh, I’ll hold you up, darlin’.”
He stepped back to shove the briefs down his legs, kicking them off to the side before kneeling to help you take the workout pants and underwear off properly. His cock bobbed happily as he moved, painfully heavy now that it was free of its constraints. The head was covered in pre-cum, leaking embarrassingly by now. But in this moment, he couldn’t care less.
The room was filled with a rhythmic smatter when the shower head was turned on. Bob set it to that scalding temperature he knew you liked before turning back to you. He stretched his hands out, and you took them, letting him lead you under the spray.
You sighed contentedly when the water hit your head and shoulders. Steam soon started to billow around you as Bob settled you against him, letting your arms drape around his shoulders, bodies pressed together. He leaned his forehead against yours for a moment, relishing in the intimacy of having you so close. Your breasts pressed against his chest, your nipples digging in like two sharp diamonds. His dick twitched against your stomach, practically making his head spin with anticipation.
“You ready?” Bob whispered. His breath mingled with yours in a delicious fog.
You nodded and he gave you a quick peck on the lips before grasping the backs of your thighs and hauled you up into his arms like you weighed nothing. Your arms instinctively wrapped tighter around his shoulders for purchase and a thrill of anticipation shot up Bob’s spine.
Bracing you against the tiles, he used one hand to line himself up and finally pushed himself inside you.
A long groan echoed across the bathroom, mingled with your whimper. It felt like releasing years of tension, like coming home, like reaching heaven. Your warm, wet walls squeezed him like a vice, practically choking his cock. Fuck, if he didn’t hold back with all his might, he might just come inside you right now.
Bob could see a small crease form between your brows, your eyes closed as you leaned your head against the tiled wall.
“You okay, darlin’?” he asked, gently kissing the crease.
That coaxed a small smile from you as you sighed. “Yeah” you whispered. “Just over-stimulated. Give me a second.”
“As long as you need.” Though he wasn’t completely sure he could hold that promise. Not without spilling at least.
He pressed a line of kisses down your neck, hands digging into your thighs to steady himself, trying to ignore every instinct inside him that screamed for him to move. He wouldn’t. Not until you wanted him to.
After a minute or two, he could feel your hips shift, searching for friction. His eyebrows rose in question and you nodded, eyes full of love and wanting. With one final kiss, he pulled back until he nearly slipped out, before thrusting back in.
The moan that left you nearly did him in. Your walls clenched around him with every thrust, your hips doing their best to meet him. Your face was all scrunched up, part concentration, part overwhelming pleasure. Your bottom lip was snagged between your teeth, and all he wanted was to pull that bottom lip into his own mouth and nibble on it in that way he knew you loved.
“You feel so good, darlin’” Bob panted, eyes locked on you like missing even a single second of your pleasure would kill him. “So tight around me, taking me so well.”
You responded with a moan. Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving streaks that stung under the hot spray of water as you clawed at him. He’d probably catch hell for that in the locker room by Monday, but right now he couldn’t care less. All that existed was you.
He angled his hips to reach your G-spot better. The sound of wet skin against skin filled the room, mixing with the patter of water and sounds of pleasure. He knew he hit the perfect angle when you let out a yelp and your entire body convulsed, like it had earlier when you were bent over the vanity.
“Think you got one more in you, baby?” Bob asked, voice strained with the effort to hold it together for you.
“Yes!” you gasped, pushing yourself even closer to him. “Just keep doing that! Feels so good!”
He could feel his body seizing up at your words. “God, when you say things like that” he panted. “I won’t last, darlin.”
You reached between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. Your hips bucked as you rubbed in fast circles. Bob watched, completely transfixed as the overwhelming pleasure inside him built. Fresh sweat mixed with the water dripping down your body, eyes shut tight.
“Keep touching yourself” he encouraged, his hands trembling on your thighs, hips stuttering to meet yours. “That’s it, baby! Make yourself come on my cock.”
“Bobby” you moaned, voice barely there. “I’m gonna-”
“Look at me” Bob instructed, feeling your walls starting to contract around him in that rhythmic way. “I need to see you.”
Your eyes flew open as you came, body shaking, lips parted and even more chapped from biting on them, tears beading at the corners of your eyes. Bob thrusted once, twice before his own orgasm overtook him, hips jerking as he pressed as close to you as humanly possible. His cum painted your insides in warm, thick ropes. It was overwhelming. Everything inside him caught fire as you rode out the aftershocks together.
You stayed like that for a while, just catching your breaths, enjoying the closeness. Eventually, he pulled out, his dick sticky and slick with the both of you. You hissed loudly when he did, and Bob murmured an apology, kissing your temple.
“Wow…” you breathed, giggling. “That was intense.”
“Yeah” Bob agreed, carefully setting you down on your feet. You wobbled slightly and he steadied you with a hand on your shoulder. “A good intense, though right?”
You nodded instantly. “Definitely! I should go on morning runs alone more often.”
Bob chuckled sheepily. “I’m sorry. You looked so sexy in that running gear I love. I mean you always look sexy, but you know what I mean. And I read this internet theory that sex is supposedly more intense after a workout. When I saw you I just couldn’t wait to test that theory.”
“Well, lieutenant, I think its safe to say you proved that theory right.”
He could feel his stomach swoop at the use of his titles. He really loved when you used them in this context, and you knew it. “Careful with calling me that, darlin’. Or I’ll have to get you ready for a round two.”
“Oh no” you laughed and pushed gently at his chest. “I am completely sexed out for now.”
“Alright” he laughed, leaning in to kiss you sweetly. “How about I help you wash off instead? Then make us something to eat? We have all those wedding invitations to send out. And our cake tasting later this afternoon.”
He loved the way your face lit up when he spoke about the wedding. He loved talking about the wedding. He couldn’t wait to spend forever with you.
“Sounds like a plan” you smiled, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you.”
ex!steve driving you home after a party ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
ex!steve is my favourite I love the angst steve being so dramatic and heartbroken (need him)
requests are OPEN!
this party had been spoken of for weeks now, whispers being passed around school, alerting everyone of the rockin' party this weekend at carol's. you had no intention of going, you couldn't much stand carol or her boyfriend tommy, only ever putting up with him through your now ex, steve, who you also didn't want to see.
but after the incessant pleading from your robin and nancy that "you won't even notice he's there", "he probably won't even stay long", you gave in.
and here you were, the contents of your closet on your bedroom floor as you found an outfit.
steve lied to robin, saying his parents were home this weekend and had family dinner plans. but how could he explain to robin that he was still recuperating from your tortuous break up. that this was his first experience of real love, the type that you don't realise until it's over. the type that had his heart still contorting even after eight months. so a stupid party wasn't going to fix anything, but maybe laying in bed and turning the volume dial on his turntable to the maximum would help.
"end of story, robin. not going." steve huffed, parting from his friend group when school was out for the day.
sharing a friend group with an ex was an unpleasant situation, knowing robin, nancy and jonathan had heard your cries and comforted you, and he had to pretend like he wouldn't lose a limb to know what they know. what if you were okay? able to get out of bed with a smile on your face, and exist without that boulder sat in your stomach.
steve had grown up avoidant of emotion, maybe that's why he was approaching a year of being single, and still totally wrecked by you.
listening to Foreigner's 'I Want To Know What Love Is' as he laid with his arm under his head, his mind wandered to the party. to thinking if you were even there. were you enjoying yourself? were you giggling into your cup as some douchebag sings some lyrics into your ear? if you still partied how you both used to, you'd spend your night in the first room you find. the thought made him nauseous.
steve couldn't be more wrong. you dressed up, showing face for your incredibly bubbly friends who thought this would be good for you. within minutes, you were handed a cup and pushed into the living room, where everyone stood dancing. you never much enjoyed parties, even when you were with steve, you'd chug a few confidence drinks and find an empty room for the night to get busy.
"he's totally checking you out!" nancy exclaimed, pointing at two guys at the stairwell, one glancing at you every few seconds as he spoke to the other.
you shook your head at nancy, turning away from the two guys and heading to top up your drink. a stubborn nancy on your tail. you ignored her attempts at playing matchmaker, often returning to empty whatever bottles were scattered on the countertops.
even robin tried, faking you into dancing with her before spinning you round to face a group of willing guys.
you sat, defeatedly, on the front porch, the faint sound of music thumping from inside. you hadn't realised just the volume of alcohol you'd gone through until the cool night air hit you. the world was spinning, despite steadying yourself on the pillar beside you. you were totally drunk.
"hey." you heard from behind you, but you kept your eyes closed in fear of throwing up. "who're you talking to?"
"nobody. myself?" you sighed. "i am very drunk."
nancy giggled, sitting beside you with her head on your shoulder. "robin and I have given up."
"nooooo use in trying, nance." you declared. "they're all tools."
"just want you to be happy, i do see your longing looks when robin talks about steve or whenever jonathan is sweet on me." nancy confided, linking your hands together. "although robin took some convincing, she's very much still obsessed with you and steve."
"don't worry about me," you scrunched your brows together with a loose smile on your face, "i'm happy."
you repeated yourself, only quieter, which nancy still noticed. "i'm happy."
the quiet saturday night cooled your skin down, your jacket draped over your legs as you remained on the porch. despite knowingly reaching your limit, you continued sipping on the contents of your cup.
nancy had left you to find robin, promising to return shortly. the mix or alcohol and solitude had opened your brain to steve, he was something your mind constantly tried to think about. before sleeping, around school, in the shower, watching romance movies. everything you'd done with him, your brain would forcibly flash a memory and have you reeling over it for the duration of the day.
in your emotional, vulnerable, drunken mess, you'd stumbled to find carol's landline. you would always remember those seven numbers of his. your mom would roll her eyes at you stood in one spot for a few hours, babbling away at steve on the other end. that phone didn't get much use from you now, except to answer robin's constant dialling.
steve swore he could hear a phone in the background of his sappy love songs. making no effort to find out, he let it ring and continued his dramatics of fuelling the deep angst he was feeling. but that damned phone wouldn't stop. nobody needed him, so who could be calling on a saturday night? as the song faded, the phone grew louder, tormenting his already faulty mood.
muttering a string of curse words, he grabbed the phone with full force and slapped it to his ear. the line was silent for a moment, making him wonder if he was a prank call victim of someone's slumber party.
"asshole, what is he even doing on a saturday night?" he heard you mumbling on the other end, and some shuffling, undoubtedly you hanging the phone back onto the wall.
"wait!" he called out. "what's going on?"
"steve?" you questioned, both hands on the phone as you cradled it to your ear.
steve's heart picked up in pace, for a number of reasons. you hadn't called him since you broke up, so either you were in some sort of trouble, or you decided tonight would be the perfect time to undo any measly progress he'd made of moving on.
"are you okay?" he asked, leaning over the landline as if it would make your voice any clearer. he couldn't deny the sound of your voice had bandaged his bleeding heart.
"hang on, I can't hear you." you slurred, pulling the phone cord tighter as you shut yourself in the pantry.
"are you okay?" he repeated.
you had your hand shoved into an open box of crackers, taking small bites with your eyes closed. "why does everyone keep asking me that? I'm good, I'm happy."
steve was silent.
"are you still there?" you inquired.
"yeah, I'm still here." steve conceded, feeling like a fool for thinking you were calling of sober mind.
"i'm so drunk right now. nance won't stop playing cupid," you sighed, resting the back of your skull against the door of the pantry.
"cupid?" he quizzed.
"yeah, she points to every guy who looks my way like I should slide right in." you grumbled. "like jared, remember that asshole that tripped dustin up and broke his school project?"
"i remember." steve answered. "why are you calling?"
you weren't sure yourself, calling steve was natural to you. even after all this time with no interaction. he felt like your childhood home, you'd moved out but you'd fit right back in if you went inside.
"i can't do another moment with nance and jonathan, i don't want to third wheel in their backseat." you faltered, tears clouding your vision at the situation you were in.
"you want me to come get you?" he offered, eyes darting around his foyer for his jacket.
"yes please. i'm so sorry." you cried, sliding down the door with the phone line taut through the door.
"don't apologise, sweetheart. i'll be right there." his mind got the better of him when talking to you, calling you everything but your name, new ways for only his voice to call for you. names only belonging to him, a newfound way to keep you exclusively his.
the drive to carol's wasn't long, the music completely shut off as the only cassettes he owned, you'd chosen for him. who was he kidding? every song he owned was your doing. any song with beautiful lyrics, they were all yours.
this was testament to how not over you he was. it didn't matter what happened between you both, how you felt about him, he'd do anything for you. including drive to a party he didn't want to go to, and pick you up.
he found you sat on the porch, box of crackers in your lap with your half-lidded gaze on your shoes. engine still running, he neared you in a concerned manor, crouching to your height to alert you.
"hey, I'm here." he cooed, hands on your knees. "you okay?"
you looked up at him, and you broke down. having actively avoided his presence to make moving on easier, you had no idea how he was doing. only hearing excerpts through robin.
you wondered if he bounced back like he did with every other girl. but he hadn't. you shared the same tired eyes, sullen behaviour, still stuck where you were eight months ago, breaking up in his car on a particularly devastating weekend.
"steve?!" your duo of friends had emerged from the house, exchanging looks between him and each other. how you were cradled in his arms, sobbing, and he sat with his arms tangled around you.
nancy dragged her awkward counterpart back inside, pulling an awkward face at you both.
"hey." he spoke softly, bringing your face out of the curve of his neck. his hands found your cheeks to steady you. "want me to take you home?"
you nodded into his hands as he wiped your tears from your cheeks, no doubt ruining the makeup you'd worked on before you left your house.
sitting in the car was more awkward than either of you had anticipated, the alcohol being no help in cutting the tension.
steve looked over at you every so often, to check you hadn't started to cry again. but his mind was swarmed with conflicting emotions.
"my parents are going to kill me." you whispered, head against the window with your eyes closed.
"why?"
"i told them i was staying at robin's tonight." you confessed.
"so they won't be expecting you home." steve pinched the bridge of his nose as he sat at a red light.
the roads were empty, for a saturday night. when the light had turned green, he U-turned the opposite way, turning your stomach over itself.
"where are we going?" you croaked.
"my house." he answered softly.
having successfully gotten you from his car to his living room, even if that meant carrying you bridal style, hitting your feet on the door frame on the way in. you were situated on the couch, steve giving you a lasting look with his hands stuck to his hips.
"i'll be back," he whispered against your hair, planting a kiss so minimal you weren't aware of it, "just wait here."
he returned moments later, a shirt of his in hand, watching you struggle to take your shoes off. you were hunched over, shoving your fingers into the bow you'd made earlier, looking for a moment to break the tension of the knot.
steve couldn't watch you struggle any longer, lowering to one knee and grabbing your ankle. he'd removed your shoes, grabbing hold of your hand and pulling you up. big mistake, the feeling of your hand in his only made this pit he was in deeper.
"use my bathroom and change." he dictated, firming his voice to shroud the sound of his heartbreak. you did as ordered, steve watching you disappear into his room as he followed slowly behind. he planned on giving you his room, even if it would kill him the next night with your scent surrounding him.
he leant against his desk, wiping a hand over his features to mask his frustration. it felt unjust to be mad at you, but he was. why did you have this effect on him? why is it that he just can't kick this heartbreak? why did you have to call him tonight?
you appeared from his bathroom, nothing but his shirt wrapped around your skin. you couldn't exactly wear a denim mini skirt to bed, so his shirt would have to do.
steve fought against his nature to look at you, ultimately losing when you stood a few steps away from him.
he craned his head back with a deep sigh, you could've sworn you heard a small whine. his hands covered his face for just a moment, returning to his side.
"steve, are you okay?" you mumbled, stepping towards him.
he looked down at you, shaking his head. "not exactly."
you put a hand on his arm, unaware you were damning him to an eternity of this. yearning for you, in this space between love and loss.
he grabbed your face again, fingers a mess between your strands of hair. "why do you do this to me?"
your eyebrows scrunched, a look of total fervour between you both. "do what?"
"make getting over you feel like herding cats." he sighed. "i don't want to, but i can't feel like this anymore."
"steve," you whispered, for only him to hear, but your mind fell short. you had nothing to say. you rested your forehead against his, your eyes closed to level yourself, but steve instinctively grabbed your waist.
"you don't need to say anything," he replied back, "just tell me there's nothing here anymore. so i can finally try moving on."
it would be a falsity, to pretend steve didn't haunt your mind most hours of the day. you'd been so wrapped up internally that pushing him away felt the right thing to do. but you'd been eating your words ever since.
"i can't." you confessed. "i can't give that to you."
your tears had returned, for they had been frequent visitors, accompanying your misery. it was all you could do.
"i did love you," he admitted, having the unbridled confidence to look at you, "i haven't stopped, i couldn't."
you leaned upwards to kiss him, a mix of messy feelings and terrible liquor controlling you like a puppet on a string.
steve melted into you, he prayed he hadn't fallen asleep to one of his records and his mind was conjuring up whatever he'd been thinking about.
"stay in here tonight, please." you insisted, taking hold of his hands. he looked at you like a lost dog, like a believer would a God.
"i'm not going anywhere." he confirmed, pulling you over to his bed and making you comfortable amongst his sheets.
he watched you shuffle against his pillows, as he sat on the bedside. it was a sight he thought he'd see in the back of his mind forever.
"i forgot how comfortable this bed is." you mused, already half asleep. he brushed his thumb against the apple of your cheek as you'd settled.
"i love you." you sighed.
steve tuned back into the situation around him, losing himself for a moment in you. a smile threatened his face, so he quickly pursed his lips to not appear too excited. to a drunken, fast asleep you.
he couldn't wait till robin heard about this.
Content: You‘re trying to study for an upcoming exam, but steve has other things in mind.
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Warnings: bit of smut (making out, etc.)
Words: 1520
———
You were currently seated at your desk, studying for an upcoming math exam. It was in two days already and you were pretty stressed, cause you didn’t understand anything AT ALL. Your math teacher was absolutely horrible at explaining and you‘ve despised the subject ever since you went to high school, so that didn’t help much either. It was currently 5:30 PM, you‘ve been studying for already 2 hours and it felt like you didn‘t get any further at understanding. You were frustrated as hell.
One other problem was Steve. You loved Steve a lot, you really did. But when it came to you wanting to study, he just couldn‘t leave you alone. And to be honest, you sometimes could get a bit pissed at him. And he knew that. It‘s just that he never studied a lot, so while you did he was super bored. He just loved you very much and wanted to spend time together. Cuddling and kissing and being near you…. but instead, your mind was occupied with equations and variables.
“Baby, can you just come here alreadyyy“, he whined. He was laying on your bed, doing nothing expect for fidgeting around with your plushies. “Steveee, I have to study you know that!“, you exclaimed from your the seating of your desk, without turning around to look at him. You were trying to focus, but that was hard when your boyfriend was constantly whining around.
“No you don’t. You’ve been studying for so long now. Come onnn, you also need to take a break sometime.” He said in a hopeful tone.
“You already know that that ‘break’ will turn into not doing anything at all anymore and I really need to study. I don’t understand shit.” You responded, eyes still locked onto that one equation you couldn’t seem to solve.
“Please. Just a few minutes?”, he pouted trying to convince you. You let out a loud sigh. I mean he was right, you should get on a short break soon otherwise your brain will explode, but you just couldn’t let go of that stupid equation. “Ugh, okay fine. Just give me 5 more minutes.”
And so, you went on trying to finish your studies. Those 5 minutes had passed already, but you were too focused to realise. You finally got the hang of it and you were in a work flow, shutting off everything around you. Steve had luckily been quiet some time, busying himself with whatever. That was until now.
While you were working on the next task, you felt his warm hands wrapping around your body from behind. “The 5 minutes are over sweetheart.“ he whispered in your ear. Warm breath caressing against your cheek, making goosebumps spread all over your body.
“Mhmm“, you only answered, mind too focused on your studies to respond properly. “Come on nowww“, he complained lowly, starting to softly kiss down your neck. You loved the feeling, but you just couldn’t give in yet. “Wait. Just a few more minutes.“, you told him.
He let out a long and heavy sigh. “Sit on my lap at least please?“, he asked you. “Okay, hold o-“, before you could even finish your sentence he had already picked you up from your seat, too impatient to wait for you to stand up.
You got startled from his sudden movement, his strong arms wrapping even tighter around you to hold you up and moved to sit down on your now empty spot and set you down on his lap. “But promise me you won‘t study for long anymore. Those stupid books get more attention from you than your own boyfriend!“, he exclaimed like a child. You just softly laughed and told him “Fine. I‘ll just finish up these last few tasks and then I‘m done.“
He put his head on your shoulder watching what you were doing. His warm hands were under your (his) shirt and lighly stroking your soft skin. Meanwhile, you were just comfortably sitting on his lap and he would give you a few soft and loving kisses on your shoulder and neck here and there, as you continued to write everything down on paper.
After about 20 minutes you were on your last task, finishing up one more equation, when the moment Steve had waited for finally came. After such a long study session, you were eventually done.
“I finished my work, baby“, you told him softly, putting your books and all your notes away to the other side of the desk.
“Finallyyy! Thought it was never going to end.“, he exclaimed, throwing his head back for a moment to show how thankful he was that he could finally get your attention now. You chuckled and turn around in his lap, now straddling his lap so you could finally take a proper look at him.
His eyes, now filled with joy, locked with yours and he wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you tightly against his body. Your hands found its way to the back of his neck, playing with the slightly longer strands of his thick brown hair.
“Now I finally get to see your pretty face again. Felt like an eternity.“, he softly spoke to you. The heat of his body warming up your own, making you feel more relaxed after your intense studies.
“Missed me that much, huh?“, you said in a teasing tone, letting your face get closer to his. Feeling eachothers hot breaths and loud heartbeats, build up the tension between the two of you. „Mhm“, he only responded with, eyes still not moving away from your face. You were both lost in eachothers presence, ignoring everything around you.
That‘s when the gap between you to finally closed, feeling his warm and tender lips on yours. His hands found its way to your waist and slowly moved down to your hips, gripping them lightly. Your hands continued lightly tugging at the strands of his hair, as he started pulling you even closer against his body. Both your chests touching eachother, while you went on with your wet and sloppy kisses. His lips pressing hard against your own as if he hadn‘t kissed you in years, making your breathing speed up.
He started to stand up on his feet, his arms and hand finding their way to the back of your thighs, picking you up. With your mouths not moving an inch away from eachother and your arms wrapped around his neck, he started walking over to your bed. He layed you down on the soft matress and started hovering over you, his weight and warmth of his body radiating against yours.
You guys continued kissing eachother, when started moving his tongue against yours, turning your kiss into a sloppy mess. The world around you being completely ignored, only focusing on one another. His hands touching the side of your face and behind your ears and you pulling him closer to yourself, arms still wrapped tighly around his shoulders. His weight was pressing against your warm body, flushing yours and his face and making the atmosphere around you hot. He moved from your mouth slowly to the side of your right cheek, leaving tender and humid kisses from your saliva the both of you just swapped. His plump lips went lower to your jaw, giving you light pecks here and there. He moved down lower to your neck, sucking and kissing at it which made your stomach erupt in butterflies. You let out a soft hum at the feeling of his very light stubble and slightly wet lips tracing over your skin. He continued kissing your neck a little longer, probably leaving a few hickeys behind that you later had to cover up, but you didn’t care about that at the moment. All you cared about was wanting this to go on forever.He slowly moved back to your mouth, lightly moaning against your lips, as you continued making out. That was until ….
“Y/N! Dinner’s ready!”, your mom exclaimed.
You sighed at that, trying to pull away from Steve’s lips. But he wasn’t moving away from you. “Steve, we have to go downstairs.”, you tried to tell him between the kisses. “Mhm”, he said while still kissing you. You pulled away this time, lightly pushing at his chest so he got the message. He was still hovering over you, looking at you with his now pink full lips and rosy cheeks, matching yours.
“Let’s go downstairs, baby”, you told him with a soft tone. “Alrighty”, he said after giving you one last peck on the mouth before pulling you off the bed with him. When you already stood on the ground again, he still sat at the edge of your mattress and gave you a light pat on the back of your thigh. “We’re going to continue this later, just so you know.” You looked down at him with a grin on your face, hands still playing with his hair as he looked up to you with his big brown eyes and full lashes. “Sounds good.”, you responded with.
“Okay now let’s eat. I’m starving!” He exclaimed, making you chuckle softly. He grabbed your hand pulling you out your room and down the stairs, to finally have dinner with your family.
———
a/n: sorry, this took a little longer than expected, but i hope you still enjoyed!
I’ve gathered some of my favorite Rodrick Heffley stories. Please read the warnings for each fanfic carefully, and if any of them move you, don’t forget to support the author by leaving a comment or sharing their work. ♡
Legend ✎ᝰ: A – angst | F – fluff/romance | S – smut I ~S – implied smut
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ɢɪʀʟ — ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ 𝟦 ᴜ I @lalalychee-x I A
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ʀᴏᴅʀɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ I @cyberskulzzz I F + ~S
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ʙᴏʏ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴅᴏᴏʀ I @dark-vader28 I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ ʀᴏᴅʀɪᴄᴋ I @snowluvvie I ~S + S
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰᴄᴇᴍʙᴇʀ I @vxlelove I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ — ʀᴏᴅʀɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇꜰꜰʟᴇʏ I @nylaboon I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ʜɪꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ (ʀᴇᴀʟ)ɢɪɢ!~♪ I @rodrickglazer I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ “ɪ ♡ ʙᴀᴅ ʙᴏʏꜱ” I @fear-is-truth I~S
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ɪᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟꜱ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ I @lustagel I F + S + ~S
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ʟᴏꜱᴇʀ ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ! I @fear-is-truth I F + S
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ʟᴏꜱᴇʀ! ʀᴏᴅʀɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇꜰꜰʟᴇʏ I @lustagel I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴀɴ I @rosalie444 I ~S
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ɴᴇᴡ ɢɪʀʟ I @dark-vader28 I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴘɪᴄ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ I @snowluvvie I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ʀᴏᴅʀɪᴄᴋ ʙꜰ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ I @taycherouzz I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ʀᴏᴅʀɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇꜰꜰʟᴇʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ I @fragoleeknoww I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ʀᴏᴅʀɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇꜰꜰʟᴇʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ [𝟤] I @fragoleeknoww I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ʀᴏᴅʀɪᴄᴋ ᴡʜᴏ ɪꜱ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ʟᴏꜱᴇʀ I @lustagel I ~S
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ʀᴏᴅʀɪᴄᴋ'ꜱ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ […] I @lustagel I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꜱᴛʀᴀᴡʙᴇʀʀʏ ꜱʜᴏʀᴛᴄᴀᴋᴇ I @snowluvvie I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ᴛᴇᴇɴᴀɢᴇ ᴅɪʀᴛʙᴀɢ I @bunnyfacedbaby I F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ɢᴏᴇꜱ I @liquideyes I A + F
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ […] I @rodrickglazer I F + S
masterlist: One Hell of a Summer! Rodrick Heffley x F!Reader
Summary: Rodrick thinks Greg's going crazy when he told him that Rowley's older sister was hotter than Heather, I mean, that's just ridiculous! Rowley's sister? Hotter than THE Heather Hills? Nahhh that can't be true...right?
With summer vacation coming up, Rodrick's annual plan of sleeping all day and watching TV all summer might just change this year.
Tags n Warnings: Rowley's older sister! Reader, Angst, Fluff n all that but !!NO SMUT!! only suggestive scenes, curse words, scenes based on dog days movie, Reader has navel piercing and vertical labret, Mcbling! Reader , time period of their summer vaca is from early june 2012 - early september 2012
pt. 1
pt. 2
pt. 3
pt. 4
pt. 5
pt. 6 out soon!
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Content: You and Rodrick are at a parking lot in his van and start making out
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Words: 1.2k
Warnings: kinda smutty ;)
———
It was around 11pm on a breezy summer night when you and Rodrick decided to go out for a ride in his van and grab some snacks from the local store nearby his house. The two of you were just chilling in his room watching a lame movie when you both got bored and hungry, so you came up with the idea to get something to eat.
Mr. and Mrs. Heffley were still in the living room watching some romance movie which Mrs. Heffley so adored, but they barely noticed the both of you walking out the front door headed to Rodricks van. Not that they would mind that much either. Ever since you became Rodricks girlfriend you guys went out late at night quite often, so they got pretty much used to that.
Now, you were sitting sideways in the passenger seat wearing just your pyjamas and eating up the last of your fries. Your legs lay on top of rodricks lap while he slurps his blueberry slushie. Outside the car it was slightly windy and drizzling rain, though the temperature was still very nice and refreshing after such a long, warm summer day. The dimly lit parking lot was almost empty, except for like three other cars which were parked a little further away, giving you and Rodrick your own space without getting disturbed. A deftones song was lowly playing in the background, while the both of you savoured the snacks you so craved.
“Ugh, i needed that. That was deliciousss.“ You said finishing up your fries and taking a sip of your own cherry flavored slurpee.
“For real. I‘ve been dying for this again. I adore my moms cooking but I was in need of that burger.“ Rodrick responded in his typical tone with a low chuckle.
His one hand grabbed ahold of your thigh, caressing small circles over your clothed skin with his thumb. Meanwhile his other hand held his cold slushie which he was now slurping his last sip from. He set the empty cup down in the vans‘ cup holder between the two of you and leaned back n his seat. It was quiet for a moment, the only sound coming from you slurping your slurpee. He turned around to look at you and tried grabbing it out of your, now, cold hands. You backed away from him, not allowing him to get your slurpee.
“Please.“ He said. Hands on your thighs and leaned forward to be closer to you.
“Mm-mm“ You denied, with a slight grin on your face.
It‘s not like you didn‘t want to give him a taste of your slurpee but whenever you gave him something of your drink, he would drink EVERYTHING up really quick just to mess with you. So you‘ve learned that you won‘t be doing that again.
You were almost done drinking it when Rodrick abruptly snatched the frozen slushie from your grip. He was messing with you like always.
“Rodrick!”, you said while chuckling at his childish behavior. You were now sitting up straight, taking your legs off his lap. “Give it back.”
He just stared back at you with a teasing look in his eyes, drinking your slurpee. You tried grabbing it from his hands by leaning forward towards his seated posture, which made him lean back further. And of course he drank up the last bit of it.
“You’re an ass”, you told him with slightly narrowed eyes and a grin on your face. No matter how annoying he could be sometimes, you still loved how cute he always was whenever he was messing with you. Then you got up out of your seat and moved over to him to straddle his lap.
“I like this position. Should tease you more often”, he said lowly with a grin on his face. He stared into your eyes, hands brushing up and down your thighs and eventually gripping your hips.
“Oh really?”, you answered teasingly. Your bodies were pressed against eachother due to the lack of space between you and the steering wheel. His face was close to yours and you felt his warm breath brushing your face. His warm hands found its way to the sides of your face, holding gently onto your jaw and brushing your cheek with his thumb.
That’s when the gap between the two of you closed and your warm lips touched. It was gentle but very passionate and loving, making butterflies erupt in your stomach and warming up your entire body. Your hands found its way to the back of his head and gripped onto his dark brown hair, while his arms wrapped around your waist trying to pull you as close as possible. One of his hands moved back towards the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your soft hair. The kiss was slow at first but turned into something more lustfull really quick.
He lowly groaned against your mouth at the feeling of you pulling his hair and being this close to you. You felt his tongue slip into your mouth, making the kiss more intense and heated. Your arms were wrapped around his slim but still strong shoulders, causing the two of you to be chest-to-chest. You could feel his steady heartbeat, while the kiss turned into a sloppy and cherry-flavoured wet mess. In the background played the low music and the windows were starting to fog up, due to your heated bodies heating up the air inside the van. The makeout was hot and full of lust and passion, which made it very enjoyable and wanting it to never stop.
So that both of you could catch your breath, Rodrick moved his head towards your jaw, kissing it soflty with his warm and plump lips. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, lightly pulling at it to make your head fall back, giving him more space to kiss down your neck. You enjoyed the feeling of his warm breath fanning down your chest and his sloppy kisses, as your back got pressed against the steering wheel.
But as nice as the moment might‘ve felt, you realized it was probably getting pretty late and you should start heading back home. You didn’t want Rodricks parents to worry where you guys were at for so long. You didn‘t want to leave yet, DEFINETILY not, but you also wanted to be respectful towards his parents. Besides, you could always just continue what you were doing in Rodricks room.
“Rodrick“, you spoke softly, still getting distracted by the touch of his lips and hands.
He didn‘t stop at first. He just responded with an “Hm?“, continuing to kiss and suck softly at your neck.
“Baby“, You said, grabbing the sides of his face with both your hands to make him look back up at you.“We should head back“.
His cheeks slightly flushed and his lips plump and pink. He looked at you trough half-lidded brown eyes and his dark hair was all messy from you grabbing and pulling at it. He looked so unbelievably adorable.
“Ugh, no“, he just responded with, letting his head fall back into the crook of your neck.
“We‘ll continue at home“, you spoke in almost a whisper. You pulled his face back to yours to give him a few slow and soft kisses on his lips. „“Okay?“
“Mm, okay“, he said giving you a few more last kisses, before you got up out of his lap and climbed back into your own seat. When you fastened your seatbelt, Rodrick started the car, put his hand back on your thigh and drove the two of you back home, where this heated makeout would definetily be resumed.
Content: You and Rodrick are at a parking lot in his van and start making out
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Words: 1.2k
Warnings: slight smut
———
It was around 11pm on a breezy summer night when you and Rodrick decided to go out for a ride in his van and grab some snacks from the 7-Eleven store nearby his house. The two of you were just chilling in his room watching a lame movie when you both got bored and hungry, so you came up with the idea to get something to eat.
Mr. and Mrs. Heffley were still in the living room watching some romance movie which Mrs. Heffley so adored, but they barely noticed the both of you walking out the front door headed to Rodricks van. Not that they would mind that much either. Ever since you became Rodricks girlfriend you guys went out late at night quite often, so they got pretty much used to that.
Now, you were sitting sideways in the passenger seat wearing just your pyjamas and eating up the last of your fries. Your legs lay on top of rodricks lap while he slurps his blueberry slushie. Outside the car it was slightly windy and drizzling rain, though the temperature was still very nice and refreshing after such a long, warm summer day. The dimly lit parking lot was almost empty, except for like three other cars which were parked a little further away, giving you and Rodrick your own space without getting disturbed. A deftones song was lowly playing in the background, while the both of you savoured the snacks you so craved.
“Ugh, i needed that. That was deliciousss.“ You said finishing up your fries and taking a sip of your own cherry flavored slurpee.
“For real. I‘ve been dying for this again. I adore my moms cooking but I was in need of that burger.“ Rodrick responded in his typical tone with a low chuckle.
His one hand grabbed ahold of your thigh, caressing small circles over your clothed skin with his thumb. Meanwhile his other hand held his cold slushie which he was now slurping his last sip from. He set the empty cup down in the vans‘ cup holder between the two of you and leaned back n his seat. It was quiet for a moment, the only sound coming from you slurping your slurpee. He turned around to look at you and tried grabbing it out of your, now, cold hands. You backed away from him, not allowing him to get your slurpee.
“Please.“ He said. Hands on your thighs and leaned forward to be closer to you.
“Mm-mm“ You denied, with a slight grin on your face.
It‘s not like you didn‘t want to give him a taste of your slurpee but whenever you gave him something of your drink, he would drink EVERYTHING up really quick just to mess with you. So you‘ve learned that you won‘t be doing that again.
You were almost done drinking it when Rodrick abruptly snatched the frozen slushie from your grip. He was messing with you like always.
“Rodrick!”, you said while chuckling at his childish behavior. You were now sitting up straight, taking your legs off his lap. “Give it back.”
He just stared back at you with a teasing look in his eyes, drinking your slurpee. You tried grabbing it from his hands by leaning forward towards his seated posture, which made him lean back further. And of course he drank up the last bit of it.
“You’re an ass”, you told him with slightly narrowed eyes and a grin on your face. No matter how annoying he could be sometimes, you still loved how cute he always was whenever he was messing with you. Then you got up out of your seat and moved over to him to straddle his lap.
“I like this position. Should tease you more often”, he said lowly with a grin on his face. He stared into your eyes, hands brushing up and down your thighs and eventually gripping your hips.
“Oh really?”, you answered teasingly. Your bodies were pressed against eachother due to the lack of space between you and the steering wheel. His face was close to yours and you felt his warm breath brushing your face. His warm hands found its way to the sides of your face, holding gently onto your jaw and brushing your cheek with his thumb.
That’s when the gap between the two of you closed and your warm lips touched. It was gentle but very passionate and loving, making butterflies erupt in your stomach and warming up your entire body. Your hands found its way to the back of his head and gripped onto his dark brown hair, while his arms wrapped around your waist trying to pull you as close as possible. One of his hands moved back towards the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your soft hair. The kiss was slow at first but turned into something more lustfull really quick.
He lowly groaned against your mouth at the feeling of you pulling his hair and being this close to you. You felt his tongue slip into your mouth, making the kiss more intense and heated. Your arms were wrapped around his slim but still strong shoulders, causing the two of you to be chest-to-chest. You could feel his steady heartbeat, while the kiss turned into a sloppy and cherry-flavoured wet mess. In the background played the low music and the windows were starting to fog up, due to your warm bodies heating up the air inside the van. The makeout was hot and full of lust and passion, which made it very enjoyable and wanting it to never stop.
So that both of you could catch your breath, Rodrick moved his head towards your jaw, kissing it softly with his warm and plump lips. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, lightly pulling at it to make your head fall back, giving him more space to kiss down your neck. You enjoyed the feeling of his warm breath fanning down your chest and his sloppy kisses, as your back got pressed against the steering wheel.
But as nice as the moment might‘ve felt, you realized it was probably getting pretty late and you should start heading back home. You didn’t want Rodricks parents to worry where you guys were at for so long. You didn‘t want to leave yet, DEFINITELY not, but you also wanted to be respectful towards his parents. Besides, you could always just continue what you were doing in Rodricks room.
“Rodrick“, you spoke softly, still getting distracted by the touch of his lips and hands.
He didn‘t stop at first. He just responded with an “Hm?“, continuing to kiss and suck softly at your neck.
“Baby“, You said, grabbing the sides of his face with both your hands to make him look back up at you.“We should head back“.
His cheeks slightly flushed and his lips plump and pink. He looked at you trough half-lidded brown eyes and his dark hair was all messy from you grabbing and pulling at it. He looked so unbelievably adorable.
“Ugh, no“, he just responded with, letting his head fall back into the crook of your neck.
“We‘ll continue at home“, you spoke in almost a whisper. You pulled his face back to yours to give him a few slow and soft kisses on his lips. “Okay?“
“Mhm“, he said giving you a few more last kisses, before you got up out of his lap and climbed back into your own seat. When you fastened your seatbelt, Rodrick started the car, put his hand back on your thigh and drove the two of you back home, where this heated makeout would definitely be resumed.
