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lewmagoo · 2 years ago

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of admirals and paperweights | bob floyd

description: in which an admiral and a commander participate in a secret rendezvous

warnings: 18+ only, semi public sex, rank kink, corruption kink, sir kink, mild consensual non-consent (these idiots can't stay in character long enough), p in v sex, squirting, multiple orgasms, choking, degradation, oral (f receiving), one paperweight casualty, mentions of pregnancy and bodily changes related to it

character(s): admiral bob floyd x f! wife reader

notes: the wonderful mental image of bob licking his hand after wiping your cum off his mouth is brought to you by @milesmillergf

Your hands were trembling.

It had been a long day of teaching, and you wanted nothing more than to go home and slip into a hot bath to relieve your tense muscles. However, you had been called for a meeting with Admiral Floyd.

He wanted to see you, immediately, and you knew better than to disobey such an order. However, that didn’t mean you couldn’t make him wait a bit. You stood outside the door of his office, steeling yourself, breathing in deeply.

You weren’t entirely sure what he wanted to see you for. Surely you weren’t in trouble for anything. You hadn’t done anything wrong, to your knowledge. In fact, you’d done damn well at your job lately. Your pilots were excelling at their training and showing great promise. There was only one other reason you could think of, one reason you knew for certain. And it sent a shiver down your spine.

So you reached forward, knocking twice on the door before you slipped inside, pushing the door shut behind you. Your heart rattled wildly against your chest as your eyes fell upon the man who sat behind a large, oak desk. You stepped forward and stood at attention before him.

“At ease, Commander,” he spoke.

You fell into a relaxed position, though you kept your eyes upon him. He rose from his seat, circling the desk and leaning back against it. “I couldn’t help but notice what an excellent job you’re doing with your pilots,” he mused with a smile.

You tried to ignore how handsome he looked. The office of admiral suited him well. In fact, it fit him like a glove. You had seen him mature over the years, losing that soft babyface he’d once sported. He was sharper angles now. Laugh lines framed those large, blue eyes. Silvery gray lined his temples. But he still had those boyish features that made him appear slightly younger than he was.

“Thank you, Sir,” you replied.

He cleared his throat, pushing away from the desk as he strolled beyond you, toward the door. You kept your gaze forward, but you knew he was locking the door. It sent a shudder through you that he didn’t miss.

“No need to be nervous,” he assured you. Suddenly, his voice, as smooth as velvet, was right near your ear. It stole the breath from your lungs.

“I’m not,” you replied.

“Then why are your shoulders tense?” A large, warm hand came up to slide between your shoulder blades, and you gasped.

But just as soon as it was there, it was gone. He was stepping over to his desk again, where he folded his arms over his chest and stared at you. “The reason I called you here was to discuss what a fantastic job you’re doing, in teaching and up in the sky. Not only have you caught my attention, but you’ve also caught the attention of the higher-ups, too. You're one smooth operator, Commander.”

You held his gaze. “Is that really why you brought me here, Sir?”

His mouth curled into a smirk. “Why do you think I brought you here?” There was a playful glint in his eyes.

“I don’t know if I want to answer that.”

Slowly, he rose to his full height, coming to stand within mere inches of you. You could feel the heat of his body from where he stood. “Tell me. Or do I need to order you to?”

You let out an unsteady breath, your heart skipping a beat within your chest. Your mouth had gone dry. “I…” You began, but you couldn’t form the words. He had your head spinning.

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re going shy on me now, dolly.” His hand came up to toy with the pins on your uniform, just over your breast. “Tell your admiral why he brought you here.”

You knew perfectly well why he had summoned you. The knowledge of such a thing sent a familiar ache burning between your thighs. An ache that only he could quell. And it was all so thrilling, really. You’d never done this before, not in a setting like this, where you could potentially get caught.

But would anyone dare say anything against Admiral Floyd if they walked into his office to find him balls deep inside his wife? You highly doubted it.

Bob had been the one to propose this. A scenario in which you pretended you were nothing more than his subordinate and he was your commanding officer. As if you didn’t wear a necklace beneath your uniform with your wedding ring on it. Or, as if you hadn’t given him three children over the last ten years.

None of that existed here, within the walls of his office. Not while you were portraying these characters. You, an unassuming commander looking to do anything to gain the approval of your superiors, and he, a corrupt admiral, willing to exploit that desire of yours.

You were always looking for ways to keep the other on their toes. Even after fifteen years together, you kept things interesting and liked to spice up your sexual escapades from time to time. Marriage and children had not put a damper on such things. In fact, it had only made you even crazier for one another, and you couldn’t get enough.

Bob’s ability to pull rank was just another one of those things that drove you wild. Though he was quiet, and generally liked to stay out of the spotlight, he did have a commanding presence when he needed to.

Like now, for instance. He was standing before you expectantly, a brow raised behind his glasses, staring you down. Challenging you. Defy me, see what happens.

“You brought me here because you want to fuck me, Sir.” That like almost had you breaking character, because it felt ridiculous on your tongue. But Bob’s reaction shut you up immediately.

He smiled widely. “There it is!” He clapped his hands together, causing you to jump. “I knew you were a smart girl!”

Then he stepped back, leaning against his desk again. He motioned with one hand. “Go on. Strip.”

Oh, he wasn’t wasting any time. And, really, you didn’t have much to waste. Even so, you kept up the facade of the slightly innocent subordinate. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea…” you said, shifting from foot to foot.

Bob pushed forward, leaning into your space again. “Why? No one’s going to catch us. And even if they do, they won’t say anything. They’d be too afraid of losing their job. You’ve got nothing to worry about, doll baby. Now do as I say and strip. That’s an order.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, and with trembling hands, you began to unbutton your top. But you were doing it much too slowly for his taste, and before long, his large hands yanked yours away, and he began to roughly undo your shirt himself.

He pulled it out of its tuck in your slacks, but still took the care to gently drape it over the nearest chair so it wouldn’t wrinkle. Then, he grabbed your belt and brought you toward him, holding eye contact with you as he unbuckled it.

You watched as he knelt to tug your slacks all the way down your legs, leaving you in your undergarments. Again, your pants were placed neatly over a chair. He was considerate enough to make sure you wouldn’t leave base looking like a hot mess that day.

There you stood, in your underwear and undershirt. Bob left that up to you to remove, staring at you intensely as you quickly slipped out of your panties, shirt, and finally, bra. That left you standing entirely naked in the middle of his office, all while he remained fully clothed.

It held a strong sense of eroticism, but you also felt a bit overwhelmed. His gaze was so severe, and you nearly buckled beneath it, suddenly feeling quite ridiculous for even suggesting this role-play. However, your ever-attentive husband saw your hesitance, and he didn’t miss the way your arm came up to cross over your chest, hiding yourself from him.

Bob softened, offering you a reassuring smile. “If you’re not feeling it, we don’t have to keep going,” he said.

But you shook your head. “No, I-I want to keep going. It’s just…I feel so naked.” Which seemed like an obvious thing to say, but he knew what you meant. You felt exposed.

He nodded once. “It’s just you and me, little love. You’re safe.” His hand came up to cup your cheek. “What do you say if you want to stop?”

“Starboard,” you answered confidently.

“And you don’t need to use the word yet, do you?”

“No, Sir.”

“Okay.” And that was that.

You watched in amazement as he shifted back into the hardened character he was playing. He squared his shoulders and stood to his full height, and you swore the blue of his eyes darkened several shades.

“Now, what I want you to do is kneel.”

The command with which he said it sent you to your knees immediately, and you dropped so fast that you winced when you hit the ground. Bob couldn’t hide his smirk at your overeagerness.

“So you can follow orders. Impressive.” He took one, two, three steps toward you, stopping right in front of you. Your face was level with his crotch. You could already see the outline of his hardening cock within the confines of his slacks. It made your mouth water.

He lifted his hand, his thumb pressing against your lips, which you parted, allowing him to place the digit against your tongue. “Suck.”

You obeyed. Languidly, you swirled your tongue around his thumb, suckling with eagerness. Bob bit his lip as he watched you, holding back a moan. Then, he praised you. “That's it, dolly. Being such a good girl for your admiral. So obedient, too. I bet you'd do anything I asked, wouldn't you? Anything at all.”

“Yes, Sir,” you said, but it was muffled by his thumb, and when you parted your mouth to speak, drool ran down around your chin.

Some of it even dripped down between your breasts. Bob glanced down, and suddenly, he was yanking you to your feet. To your surprise, he tilted your head back and then ducked forward to lick that line of drool from your skin.

It made you gasp, and you couldn’t help the whimper that escaped you. Fuck, was he sexy. But you didn’t have time to dwell on it because suddenly, one large hand was wrapped around your throat, and you gasped as he used his strength to pull you forth, guiding you toward his desk.

In a moment of gentleness, he brought his free hand to brace your back, so you would not land hard against the wood. Your fall was eased by that hand, and you let him arrange you however he pleased.

He shoved your legs apart, exposing you to the air, and to his fiery gaze. That blue burned darker still, and you felt as if you might burst into flames beneath him.

“I bet you’re already wet,” he mused, tone dripping with disdain, reaching down between your legs.

For a moment, you nearly forgot what you were supposed to be doing. So you quickly caught his arm, looking up at him with the most demure, concerned gaze you could muster. “Wait. Admiral, I don’t…this isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this. I could lose my job.”

He looked at you, and he scoffed. “That’s not my problem now, is it?” He snapped. He yanked his arm out of your grasp. “Now how about you lay there and take what I give you?”

That shut you up right away.

Sure enough, when two deft fingers swiped through your center, they came back glistening. “You are wet. What a dirty little girl. What was it that made you wet, hm?”

You whimpered pathetically, nodding your head. But he didn’t like that, and he grabbed your cheeks roughly. “Speak.”

“You, Sir,” you managed.

“That’s more like it.” Those fingers that were exploring you were soon slotted inside you, crooking upwards and locating that one specific spot instantly. It had you jolting against the desk, letting out a yelp at the feeling. The squelch of your wetness was obscene, and you might’ve been slightly embarrassed about it if it wasn’t for Bob.

The man had seen you at your absolute worst, wailing and moaning your way through labor with each of your children. He’d also seen, up close and personal, what happened in the aftermath of said labor. Nothing phased him anymore.

But any unsexy thoughts such as those were quashed when his lips found their way to yours again. His fingers were so deep inside you that it had your toes curling and your eyes rolling back already. He knew your body that well.

You let your eyes drift shut as you focused on the feeling of those digits inside you. His thumb came up to rub at your clit, and that, along with the rhythm he already had going within you, caused you to drip around him, leaking onto the surface of his desk.

“What a drippy little whore,” he cooed, and you let out the most pitiful squeak, eyes opening wide. He rarely used such degrading names, but you were eating it right up. “Made such a mess on my desk already and I haven’t even made you come yet.”

“Can’t help it,” you whined.

“I thought you didn’t want it? And now you’re drenching me. Seems to me that someone is lying to themselves.” He leaned in close, nose just brushing against yours, as he slowly and deliberately fucked his fingers into you. “Your mouth might be telling me no but this pussy is saying yes by the way she’s sucking my fingers in. Doesn’t wanna let go.”

Then he leaned back again, and without warning, he began to roughly and swiftly move his fingers inside you, to the point where it jarred your whole being. You couldn’t help it, you let out a loud, uncontrolled howl, throwing your head back as he ruined you.

Swiftly, he placed his free hand over your mouth. “Hush! You want everyone on base to come running?”

You moaned against his palm, eyes wide. While in theory, the thought was hot, actually having someone try to intervene and see what was going on was less than desirable. The only problem was, Bob was simply too good at what he was doing, and you weren’t sure if you could keep quiet.

“I’ll take my hand off your mouth if you can promise me you’ll be a good little girl and stay quiet.”

“Okay,” you spoke, though it was muffled by his hand.

Slowly, he lifted that hand, making sure you weren’t going to let out a scream. He mentally clocked where your panties had fallen, so he’d be able to grab them and shove them into your mouth should you grow too loud again.

Until then, he continued where he left off. The fingers inside you picked up their pace again, fucking you harder, faster, deeper. He leaned in close to you, pressing his forehead against yours as you stared up at him, mouth agape, eyes locked with his own.

That same hand that had been clamped over your mouth now moved to your throat. Those elegant fingers of his wrapped around your neck, pressing into the sides and effectively cutting off your blood flow. Within seconds, you were growing dizzy, and it felt as if you had come out of your own body, floating over both of you as you took in the sight of him ruining you.

He was speaking to you, filth escaping his mouth, but you couldn’t hear it. The rush of blood in your ears deafened you, and you lost yourself for a moment before you suddenly became hyper-aware of his every movement, every word, every breath.

“Yeah, there you go. Take it, doll baby. Makin’ such a mess of yourself. By the time I’m finished with you, you won’t be able to say a single coherent word.” He wasn’t exaggerating, either. He could turn you into a speechless mess very easily.

In fact, you were making a mess right then and there. Without warning, it hit you, and you jerked against him, clenching your jaw as it slammed into you in a violent wave. “Fuck! Bobby!” You yelped, unable to control yourself. You could feel it, your release spurting from you, soaking his hand, his wrist, and the desk beneath you.

He kept curling those fingers into you through it, prolonging the intensity. There was so much of it that soon, it had begun to drip down the side of the desk. “Holy fuck! Holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck,” you chanted, head snapping down to take in the sight. You swore you’d never come so much in your life.

Above you, Bob was laughing in disbelief, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “Geez, baby. You’re just squirting all over the place, aren’t ya?”

You lifted your eyes to his own just as his hand slowed between your thighs. Without a moment of hesitation, you grabbed his collar, yanking him to you and kissing him roughly. The force of which knocked his glasses askew, but neither of you cared.

You broke apart to catch your breath. “I can’t believe all that came out of me,” you breathlessly remarked, your roleplay forgotten momentarily to bask in your astonishment.

“I can’t either. Goodness gracious, what’d you do, drink a gallon of water or somethin’? Even when I really get you going you don’t come this much.”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. Maybe I just really get off on having an admiral push me around and take what he wants,” you replied with the raise of a brow.

“Okay, okay,” he said, trying to hide his smile. “Back to business. But we sure do have a big mess to clean up later.”

“Shh,” you said before you pulled him in for another kiss.

When you parted, it was like a switch was flipped, and there he was again, the commanding admiral who was about to have his way with you. “I told ya you wanted it,” he said.

Then he moved, quick as lightning, to shrug out of his own uniform. You watched him, still draped across his desk, your legs parted wide, exposing your swollen, glistening cunt as you watched him undress.

You let your eyes travel low as he stepped out of his underwear, and you mewled pathetically at the sight of his cock, heavy and hard, blushed and rosy at the tip. God, you’d never tire of the sight, no matter how many times that cock had been in or on you.

Robert Floyd was not an overly prideful man. But he most certainly took pride in what he carried between his legs, simply because of how fucking dumb it made you. You’d do anything to have it in your mouth or stuffed inside your pussy.

“What?” He cooed as he approached you.

“S’big,” you whimpered.

“Oh, honey. Are you afraid it won’t fit?” He asked, tone patronizing.

You nodded, looking up at him with your best doe eyes. “Please, Sir. I don’t think I can take it.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

Fucking hell. He was going to be the death of you. But before you could linger on his words, he was kissing you again, stealing the breath from your lungs. All the while, he brought a hand up to your chest, grabbing a fistful of your breast before he tugged at each nipple, trailing the edge of his blunt nails over them and sending sparks of delicious pleasure through you.

His lips parted from yours only to travel down your jaw, hot and open-mouthed, nipping at your sensitive flesh. You watched through hooded eyes as he stopped at your chest, wrapping those pink lips around a sensitive little bud.

You sighed softly, body arching into him, nerves still on fire from the high you'd experienced moments ago. All the while, you could feel his cock, resting hard against your inner thigh. You wanted it inside you so badly.

You reached for it, wrapping your hand around the shaft, humming at the feel of the velvety skin beneath your palm. Bob leaned back, eyeing you.

“Now you’re eager for it?”

“Can’t help it. Wan’ you inside me,” you murmured.

A playful twinkle glimmered in his eye. “What happened to pretending you didn’t want it?”

“Fuck it, you’re driving me crazy, alright? I don’t even care anymore. Just need you to fuck me.”

Bob had the audacity to laugh at you. “See! I told you that you would be the one to break first!” But then, as quickly as that mirth had warmed his face, his expression shifted, and he grabbed your jaw. “But I’m not done playing. So be a good girl and take what your admiral gives you.”

Your eyes widened, and you found yourself at a loss for words, unable to utter anything but a stupid whimper.

He stepped back, shoving your thighs apart again so you were fully open to him. His gaze landed on your cunt, and then he ducked forward, pursing his lips and spitting right against those delicate folds. Then, he gripped his cock, pressing the blunt head against the slick there.

He pressed it against your aching clit, starting slow at first, but soon quickening his pace. You gasped at the feeling, glancing down to watch as he fucked your pussy lips.

You felt like you were burning, heat washing over you from your head to your toes. Your breathing quickened. Your head began to spin. He kept the stimulation quick, so much so that you were certain you might come again.

Then he switched gears and dragged the plushness of his cock down to your entrance, where he only pressed partially into you before moving away to slide through your wetness.

He did this a few times until you were whining needily. But he wasn’t going to give it to you that easily. “Beg for it, dolly.”

“No,” you weakly protested, offering one last half-assed attempt at staying in character.

He grabbed your face roughly. “I said, beg for it.”

“Please, Admiral Floyd. Please fuck me, I need it so bad. Need you inside me. ‘M so wet for you. Oh, God, please!” You were quite literally on the verge of tears. You hadn’t realized just how badly you wanted it until now.

Bob softened, lifting his free hand to slip his thumb into your mouth, soothing you. “I’ll give ya what you want,” he assured you. Then his mouth was on yours, all while he swiped his fingers through your slick. He used it as lubricant to stroke his cock before he lined himself up with you again.

He eased inside you, stretching you slowly, and he soothed your wail of pleasure with his tongue slipping into your mouth.

It didn’t matter how many times he fucked you. You never tired of that initial stroke of him entering you. He was so deliciously big. On the longer side, with a curved tip that hit your spongy walls just right. He was the only man who’d ever been able to get you to squirt on his cock. Maybe that had been a deciding factor in why you’d married him. Or, at least, that was what he always teased you about, claiming you married him for what was between his legs.

But right now, all you could think about was how fucking good it felt, and how you’d been waiting for this moment all day. Ever since you’d planned this little rendezvous, you’d had a little difficulty focusing at work. You’d been aching with anticipation all day, knowing you’d close out your work day with your husband buried inside you.

Your charade was forgotten at that very moment. As soon as you felt his balls press against your ass when he bottomed out, you were gone. How could you pretend you didn’t want it when it was all you’d ever wanted?

“F-fuck!” You cried when he broke your kiss.

He was just as affected as you. He let out a breathless whine, eyes fluttering shut behind his glasses. “How do you do that?” He gasped.

“Do what?” You were barely present enough to ask the question.

“Squeeze me so tight? I swear it’s like it’s your mission to make me come as soon as I get inside you.”

You managed a grin. “And yet, you still have more stamina than I do.”

It was true. Bob had excellent control, and he could hold off his orgasm until he’d wrung several out of you. Sometimes, however, you pulled out all the stops, determined to make him come. Today, you didn’t have a lot of time to draw it out.

So, you pulled him in for a kiss and knocked your heel against the plush of his ass. “Hurry up and fuck me, Sir,” you teased.

He let out a sound deep in his throat, and then he gripped your hips roughly, arranging you as he liked. Slowly, he rolled his hips into you, and those first few thrusts had you whining pathetically.

As he built a rhythm, you let your head loll back, biting your lip as you relished in the push and pull. Suddenly his mouth was at your breasts again, biting and suckling. He’d always been fixated on them. In fact, you created a bit of a monster after your first child was born, because Bob was rather obsessed with the fact that your tits were swollen with milk. You hadn’t been able to keep him off you. Not that you’d been complaining.

Now, he was still all over them. Mouthing at your nipples. Hands groping at the soft flesh. He growled and moaned into them, and you whined, bringing your hands up to grip his neatly styled hair. You knew it was inevitable that he’d whip a comb out of his desk and comb it back into place after you were finished. Meticulous, he was.

“Feel so good, baby,” he gasped around a nipple. “So wet, too. Can feel you dripping down my shaft.”

It was true, of course. Your arousal was dripping down past his balls, adding to the mess upon his desk. But did you care? Absolutely not. Neither did he. The messier, the better, even if it was going to be a pain to clean up.

Cleanup was the farthest thing from your mind, however, because suddenly, Bob switched up his pace, and hit that spot inside you. It pulled an involuntary shriek from you, and his hand was soon clamped over your mouth.

He got close to your face, eyes intense. You couldn’t look away from his gaze. With each snap of his hips into you, you whimpered against his palm. His mouth curled into a bit of a snarl.

“Take it quietly, like a good girl, or I’ll shove your panties in your mouth.”

“Yes, Sir,” you murmured against his hand.

But how on earth could you stay quiet when he was fucking you like that? Hitting it so good you were already seeing stars behind your eyes.

Right there. Yes, yes, yes. Don’t fucking stop.

“There you go. That’s it,” he praised. He gazed down at the place where your bodies met, mesmerized by the way your cunt stretched to accept him. Suddenly, a piteous look crossed his face. “Oh, your poor little clit must be feeling so neglected. I’m sorry, baby. Let me fix that.”

Then his hand was pressed against you, fingers expertly working that little nub. He matched each swirl of his fingers with the thrust of his hips. All the while, he lowered the hand over your mouth to your throat.

Again, he pressed his fingers against the sides of your neck. You sucked in a shark breath and locked eyes with him, mouth falling open. He fucked into you even harder, and it caused your eyes to roll back in your head.

“I’ve already got you goin’ stupid for me, huh?” He teased.

“Y-yeah,” you peeped, though finding the words on your tongue proved difficult.

He let out a little mirthful laugh and then shattered your mind with a gentle slap to your sensitive clit. You jolted against him, and you would’ve let out a cry if his fingers weren’t cutting off your blood circulation.

There was that wonderfully dizzy feeling again, soon replaced by fiery, all-encompassing pleasure. The feeling was indescribable. You felt like a firework sparkling in the sky, snapping and popping in a beautiful array of colors. He was the flame that lit your fuse, sending you bursting in the air.

Harder and faster and deeper he went, jarring your entire body against the desk. In fact, he was going so hard that the legs of the furniture you were placed atop scraped against the floor. All you could do was lay there and take it, weakly grasping at his toned shoulders for purchase, nails leaving pink crescents in his ever-sensitive skin.

“Squeezing me so tight, dolly. Y’ gonna come for me already?” He teased.

Were you? With the way your body felt like a live wire, you were sure you might. So you dumbly nodded, staring up at him with wide, watery eyes. “So good,” you squeaked, “so good, so good, so good. Fuck! You feel so good!”

“Yeah?” He leaned in close, releasing your throat to place his hand against the back of your head, effectively holding you in place. “You’re a pathetic little thing, you know that? All it takes is my cock inside you to turn you dumb. It’s just too easy.”

He kept taunting you, and your head was swimming, swirling, spinning. Was he going even faster? How the fuck was that possible? All you knew was that he kept brushing against that spot inside you and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you fell apart around him.

He fucked you so intensely that the items atop his desk were beginning to rattle. Neither of you noticed, however, that one specific item was teetering toward the edge. In time with your own body, which was almost there, almost there, almost there…

Then, suddenly, a loud smash sliced through the intense moment, and you both froze. Hesitantly, Bob leaned back, peering over the side of the desk. “Whoops…” he breathlessly remarked.

You followed his gaze, only to see the paperweight, or, what was left of it, that your son, Henry, had made in his junior pottery class. He had insisted that it was a gnome, but frankly, it looked like a terrifying, unintelligible creature. Neither of you would ever tell him, but it was the ugliest piece of decor you’d ever seen. Bob had of course been ecstatic when he gave it to him, and he’d put it on his desk when he got to work the next day.

Bob was very particular about what he put in his space. He was neat and minimalistic. That monstrosity of a paperweight didn’t go with any of his decor, but he’d placed it there for the sake of his son. Now it lay in pieces on the floor.

He lifted his eyes from the mess, and the two of you shared a look before you both burst into laughter, giggling at the absurdity of it all. “Well, there goes your favorite paperweight,” you teased, once you’d settled down.

Your husband shook his head with a knowing smile. “I love that kid, but that was an atrocious lump of clay,” he mused good-humoredly. “Hope he never asks me about it, because then I’ll have to make up some creative story about what happened to it.”

“Yeah, because I doubt saying ‘I broke it while fucking your mother’s brains out’ will go over well.”

Bob raised a brow. “You’ve got a nasty mouth, mama.”

You shrugged. “One of us has to keep things interesting.”

He simply shook his head and leaned in to kiss you. As he pulled away, he nipped at your bottom lip. “Anyway, back to business.”

Two large hands held fast to your hips as he began to move again, not bothering with a slow build this time. The pace was just as brutal as before, and you gasped loudly, clutching at him, arching into him, trembling and moaning and keening.

Again, his fingers were back against your cunt, rubbing harsh circles on your swollen clit. Heat, like molten lava, began to spread through you, originating in your center and branching outward, warming your extremities. Your chest began to heave, your eyes began to cross, and your thighs began to tremble around him.

It was as if you were losing control of your own body, unable to stop the sharp convulsions as you jerked against him, so fucking close to your release that you could hardly stand it. Bob knew it, too. He crowded your space yet again, and you looked into his face. If you weren’t so overwhelmed you might’ve marveled at how beautiful he looked. Curl of hair falling against his forehead, cheeks flushed, lips pink and kiss-bitten.

But you were not able to take in the sight because you couldn’t focus on anything other than the white-hot pleasure coursing, surging, crashing through you. “Yes, yes, yes!” You chanted. “Oh! Right fucking there! Don’t stop, Bobby, don’t stop!” You cried.

He was too far gone to consider clamping his hand over your mouth. Instead, he growled at you. “Yeah, that’s it. Go on, come for me, dolly. Squirt all over my cock.”

Squealing unintelligibly, you gripped his shoulders tightly, catapulting into his ams. “Ohhh! C-coming!” And you were. He could feel it in the way you tightened and pulsed around him.

Within seconds of announcing it, you fell apart. It surged through you in waves, warm and comforting, but at the same time, it felt like electricity sparking through your system. Your husband held you in his arms as you fell apart, and he watched, enraptured at the sight of you losing yourself.

The evidence of your orgasm soaked him, spurting against the base of his dick and dripping down further still. He could not tear his eyes away, especially when he pulled back to watch your cunt pulse around him.

As you came down, you fell limply against the desk, chest heaving, lungs on fire, head still spinning. “Holy shit,” you cursed, breathlessly. “God, that was so good. How are you that good?” You probably asked that every time, because he was simply that good.

Bob, however, was in no shape to utter a coherent response. He was losing himself, and when you looked up at him, you could tell. So you spurred him on, scratching your nails down his back.

He let out an audible whimper at the feeling. But he didn’t have time to relish in it, because you yanked him closer and whispered in his ear, “come for me, Admiral.”

“Ahh!” He hissed, keening high in his throat. He sped his hips up, thrusts short and fast, until finally, he whimpered out your name, burying his face against your shoulder as he came undone.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and relished in the feeling of his seed coating your still-spasming cunt, filling you to the brim.

Slowly, he came back to himself, still breathless and trembling from the aftershocks. You let him stay like that, cock softening inside you as you soothed him with your fingers through those honeyed, silver locks.

Finally, he leaned back to look at you. His face was still flushed, and he had a dopey grin on his face. “Pleasure doing business with ya, Commander.”

You giggled as he kissed your cheek. “Likewise, Sir,” came your lighthearted response.

His lips captured yours again before he pulled back to let out a sigh and finally ease out of you. You whined at the feeling of emptiness. But then, your eyes widened when he realized he wasn’t finished with you.

“Oh God,” you gasped as he knelt down between your parted legs.

He grinned widely, cheeks still cherry red. “You know I always have to clean up after myself,” he mused. Then his deft fingers made their way through your dripping center again, smearing the mix of sticky cum and your own arousal all over those swollen lips.

You whined lowly as he leaned in and proceeded to trail his tongue over you. With two fingers he pushed the evidence of his release back inside you, all while swirling his tongue around your clit.

He kept going, the intensity building. You were so oversensitive that it didn’t take long to push you over the edge again. Bob greedily lapped up all you had to give as you came against his tongue.

Then, he came back up for air, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Not willing to waste any of it, he proceeded to lick the wetness from his hand.

“There. Now I’m finished.”

All you could do was yank him up for a deep, salacious kiss. “You are so goddamn sexy, it’s unreal,” you gasped against his mouth.

He had the nerve to blush.

“You’re a fine one to talk, Mrs. Floyd,” he said.

You hummed and spent a few more moments kissing languidly before you finally broke away to face reality. And oh, what a mess you’d made. When Bob stepped back, his eyes widened. The paperweight lay in shambles near one side of the desk. At the other, remnants of your wet release still dripped along the wood, and down to the floor. Not to mention what had pooled atop the desk.

“Uh…guess we’ve got some work to do,” Bob spoke, rubbing the back of his neck.

“C’mon, let’s get it cleaned up before the poor janitor comes in and gets scarred for life.”

Together, you scrambled to clean up. After you’d dressed and righted your appearance, you set about sweeping up the remnants of the paperweight, while Bob cleaned up your other mess. Finally, everything was set right, and you looked at each other, both breathless.

Again, you melted into a fit of laughter, and your husband tugged you close to his side. “You’re so naughty,” he teased you, kissing your temple.

“Don’t act like you aren’t just as bad,” you shot back. However, you turned your head and kissed him on the mouth.

“Guess we should head out and relieve poor Annabelle of our children,” Bob murmured, referring to his youngest sister, who’d been babysitting the kids that day at her place.

“Guess so,” you responded with a sigh.

Reluctantly, you turned to head out of his office. As you went, he playfully swatted your ass. You smirked and waited until he was in front of you before you backhanded his ass right back, with much more force, drawing a surprised yelp out of him.

“You little…!” He exclaimed.

But you were already rushing ahead of him, laughing in delight. His secretary, who was just packing up for the day, smiled at the sight of you teasing one another as you hurried by.

“You two are so cute!” She called after you.

That only made you and Bob laugh harder. If only she knew the salacious acts you’d just committed moments prior.

“Hear that, Commander?” Bob spoke up as he caught up with you, mischief in his eyes. “She thinks we’re cute.”

You turned to face him, walking backward as you went. “Yeah. We’re cute alright. Wonder if she’d say the same if she knew you were just balls de–”

You never got to finish your sentence, because he shoved his hand against your mouth. “Let’s not scar her for life, yeah?” But he was clearly holding back a laugh.

“Aye aye, Sir,” you responded with a smile.

“Brat,” he playfully chided. “Now let’s get you home so I can show you some proper aftercare before we have to wrangle the rugrats.”

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

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rhettabbotts · 2 years ago

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Let's spread some positivity around our fandom. Tag your favourite tumblr users! 💕

ahhhh this is so sweet!!! i have so many people i love on here and i’m sorry if i forget anyone 🥺🤍

@bobfloyds @sebsxphia @ryebecca @lewmagoo @bradshawsbitch @up-thereinthesky @cruelmissdior @peachystenbrough @mxgyver @laracrofted @bradshawsbaby @wkndwlff @yanna-banana @roosterbruiser @sugarcoated-lame @a-reader-and-a-writer @topguncortez @sunlightmurdock @fairyheart @mothdruid @withahappyrefrain @bobfloydsbabe @beachbabey @delopsia @theharddeck @whisperofsong @damrlova @milesmillergf @sunblchdfly @ohtobeleah @callsign-magnolia

and so so many more!!!! i love each and everyone of you who interact and talk to me and show me constant love and support on my creations. you all make me feel so loved and welcomed and i cant thank y’all enough🥹💓

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attapullman · 5 months ago

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It's so hard not to be entrance by stats!Bob. He's so adorable!

Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head.

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action.

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?"

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester.

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed.

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg.

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse.

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily.

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester.

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!”

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch.

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house.

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare?

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face.

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats.

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest.

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe.

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?”

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them.

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself.

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher.

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder.

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.”

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you.

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent.

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good.

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind.

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right.

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands.

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses.

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out.

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light.

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

Like this? Reblogs and comments make more of this happen!

taglist: @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @rhettsluvr @roosterforme @seitmai @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

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#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd au #thanks for reading!#milesmillergf 🪩

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hangmanapologist · 2 years ago

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Let's spread some positivity around our fandom. Tag your favourite tumblr users! 💕

This is very sweet and I will not be able to remember everyone but if you’ve ever interacted with me ily 🥺

@rhettabbotts @lewmagoo @sebsxphia @bradshawsbitch @bradshawsweetheart @damrlova @blitchen @peachystenbrough @bobfloydsbabe @milesmillergf @withahappyrefrain @rassvetsky @mothdruid @crownofdecit @callsignmayhem @callsignspark @roosterbruiser @honeymurdock @sunlightmurdock @sunblchdfly @lilgreyarea @dissonannce @buckys-estrella @nobody7102 @sushiwriterhere @ryebecca 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

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delopsia · 5 months ago

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strawberry delly (get it) 🍓🫙 not to be inspired by your current storm situation—between the tornado warning and your hand, i hope you’re okay—but what about the hawthorn trio being stuck in wabang due to a big storm rolling through? 👀💕

they all knew it was coming; had almost canceled on cecilia because of it, but then felt bad because they’d just canceled on her easter invitation a few months earlier—and then rhett’s mother’s day present got lost in the mail because trying to send large packages through to wabang, wyoming was an absolute lost cause…

she was thrilled to see you all, promising that you’d be long gone before the sky could open, but nature had other plans.

the treacherous wind and rain left amy at a happily stranded at a friend’s house, perry out who knows where, and the hawthorn trio in the perfect conditions to give their beloved cowboy a sleepover experience he never knew he’d missed out on—and one he’d never forget!

telling scary stories, a movie marathon, sneaking downstairs for snacks, staying up late—how do you think the night went?

💐

strawberry delly 😭🍓 I've got a funny-looking scar from the spider bite, but I'm okay 💐 That storm didn't even do anything scary in the end; the wind just howled the whole time and displaced our decorative pillow 😒

The way that there are three of them, but not one person thinks to check Wabang's weather forecast beforehand. Between the chaos of hunting down an identical gift, arranging their plans, and the general mayhem that comes with traveling, it just entirely slips their mind.

Bob thinks he's being funny when he jokes that a storm is going to strand them in Wabang and then flounders when Rhett later says that one is coming 😭 He's convinced that it's just Rhett joking, but Rhett just shrugs and says that his knee is hurting, and that only happens when a big storm is coming.

Cecelia's so enthused with her new dinnerware sets (whaddaya know, the mailman delivered the missing box an hour after everyone arrived 🙄) that she hardly pays much attention to the oncoming clouds. Perry is so unbothered that he's off to spend the weekend with a few buddies from college.

Royal and Rhett? They know exactly what's coming. Wabang's already infamous for its weird weather. Violent, unexpected thunderstorms, random snow in July, a hailstorm without a single cloud in the sky, just to name a few.

But that doesn't stop them from heading out onto the porch with Bobby in tow, sitting in the rocking chairs and watching the storm roll in. At first, you'd thought they left to go to the store without telling you, but then Cecelia chimed that, "Those damn men are on the porch again."

Some things are both hereditary and contagious. Watching dangerous weather roll in is apparently one of those things. You didn't think it was going to be all that much, but at some point, the rain is coming down so quickly that you can't see the barn anymore. And it just. Doesn't. Stop.

You can't even find the car in the driveway, nevermind navigate the rapidly flooding roads without winding up in a ditch. Nobody needs to ask what you three are going to do. Mother Nature already decided. You're spending the night.

The fun doesn't start until the clock rolls over to nine-thirty. Royal and Cecelia have a sleeping schedule, and they do not deviate from it.

The moment their bedroom door shuts, the air in the living room changes. Maybe that's because it's the first time you've been left alone since you arrived, or maybe...maybe it's because Rhett's eyes are sparkling like that of a kid in a candy store.

"Y'know what this feels like?" Speaking through that dumb grin that's sprawling across his face.

Bob hums. "What?"

"Sleepover."

Cecelia's new couch is just big enough for you three to squeeze into; the internet in Wabang is so bad that things like Netflix aren't an option, but Perry has a concerning collection of horror DVDs that suffice. Bobby thinks he's not going to be bothered by it, but he's fighting you for space on Rhett's chest before the first movie is even over.

The only reason Rhett's not bugged is because Perry used to try to scare him with these movies when he was little. He's practically immune to the genre. And maybe some of the scenes would at least spook him if he weren't more focused on you and Bobby using this as an opportunity to snuggle him.

Rhett thinks he's hilarious when he blames an obscure noise on "one of those house ghosts." Now, Bob is hesitant to head into the dimly lit bathroom by himself.

Cecelia thinks she's even funnier when she walks up behind the couch and scares the hell out of all three of you, laughs so hard that she nearly drops her glass of water.

Rhett loses his shirt when he heads out to the car to get the snacks out of the backseat, winds up so focused on his white cheddar popcorn that he fails to notice you and Bobby staring at the water running down his big chest. Even when you grab him by the hand and haul him up to his bedroom, he's clueless. He doesn't figure it out until Bob grabs a greedy handful of his chest. Then, it clicks.

You guys wind up having to stay another day because not one of you gets a bit of sleep before the sun rises. But that just means you get to have one more night in Wabang 👀🌧

#delgato's asks #rhett abbott #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott #milesmillergf

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mothdruid · 2 years ago

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you didn’t think professor floyd could get more attractive than when you showed up for your late-scheduled class early october to see him in a vintage flannel button down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. but the inconsistent spring weather proved that untrue when he donned another vintage flannel in a pretty blue and white buffalo check that he needed to ditch halfway thru your lecture because the temperature skyrocketed from 40F to 85F by the afternoon. he (needlessly) apologized to you all before unbuttoning the fabric and tossing it onto his desk to continue teaching comfortably in a soft-looking plain white t-shirt that rolled a little while hugging his biceps…

you had always figured that he was probably fit, but seeing his biceps short circuits your brain. all you can focus on is his arms through out the entire lesson. watching them flex as he adjusts his glasses or flips the pages of the text book.

and don't even get me started on when he catches you eyeing him up

send professor thots

#moth talk #abby answers #milesmillergf #professor bob floyd #professor floyd #bob floyd

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withahappyrefrain · 2 years ago

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I want to shout out @bratshaws for their absolutely incredible writing!! They have a fic “Goodness Gracious” that is over 100 chapters and a sequel “Through the Hourglass” that is currently going for even more chapters and let me tell you.. The writing- beautiful exquisite. The CONTINUITY of their stories and the sheer amount of DETAIL and inclusivity in their fics chapter after chapter is mind blowing. Those fics have made me laugh, cry, and everything in between. Every time I see that they’ve updated a smile breaks out on my face and I read it as quickly as I can with absolutely zero distractions. They are so kind as a creator and put so much effort into a story that they truly enjoy and I am so happy I found them all those months ago with the amount of happiness and admiration I have had for and because of them and their work and their kindness as a person and as a creator. Thank you truly if you see this @bratshaws !!! because your works have been some of the best fics I have ever read of any fandom I've been a part of.!

Along with @sebsxphia @lewmagoo (whose name is adorable by the way) @rhettabbotts @delopsia

@up-thereinthesky @hangmanapologist @thesluttyarchivist @milesmillergf and of course you!!

obviously others but this is so long already

Thank you for bringing positivity! All of you! You make so many people so happy- more than you’ll ever know. They love is ALWAYS there! seen, read, heard or not.

YESSS!!!! I love the love that is being spread!!!!!

#top gun positivity night

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lewmagoo · 10 months ago

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six summers | bob floyd

breaking news!

summary: it’s been six years since that horrific night. the night your own foolish actions led to the disappearance of sixteen-year-old melissa seresin. you’ve spent these last few years living with crippling guilt, trying to make sense of it all. after everything that happened, the last thing you are expecting is an invite to return to the camp and assume your role as counselor again. but here you are, staring in disbelief at a letter asking you to do just that. providing you with the opportunity to make things right. will you be able to come to terms with the past and allow yourself to accept that second chance? or will you ultimately let your guilt consume you? (coming soon)

*this story is inspired by @ryebecca ; find her camp counselor bob moodboard here!

tagging mutuals: @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @theharddeck @up-thereinthesky @oldfangirl30 @peachystenbrough @attapullman @sebsxphia @delopsia @damrlova @floydsmuse @hangmanapologist @lovinglyeternal @laracrofted @callsignspark @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @nobody7102 @milesmillergf

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfiction

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attapullman · 5 months ago

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We love a pink-cheeked Bob Floyd!

The Perfect Pink | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: While bartending for Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine's Party, you encounter a pink-cheeked man and his cherry-loving cousins.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: all fluff with alcohol mentions

A Note From Mo: Here is my Pink Lady fic for @thedroneranger's Pick Your Poison event to go with this gorg moodboard! As a part-time mixologist and full-time Bob Floyd lover, this was such a fun concept to play around with and has inspired me to come up with more pink drinks. I've never been a Valentine's girly, but I fully believe this pink-cheeked WSO could convince me otherwise. To everyone who reads this, I love you bunches and bunches, all 365 days in the year!

It’s so pink. Horrendously. Abysmally. Pepto-bismally. PINK.

When you agreed to tend the bar in a pinch, a few bundles of carnations and candy pink paper hearts were your guess for the evening’s decorations. But when you showed up to Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine’s Party holding a crate of soda water and a handful of shakers, your senses flatlined with the amount of pink covering every surface.

Petal pink tablecloths straightened over round tables; a small bouquet of magenta carnations attached to each folding chair and incensing the recreation hall of the retirement home. Heart-covered paper plates and folded napkins set up at each place setting, glittering confetti sprinkled around the tableware. The ceiling isn’t even a reprieve, a rainbow of fuchsia and rose and flamingo and blush balloons filling up every available inch of space.

Suzette on the front desk had complimented your dusky pink sweater - an appropriate choice for the holiday - but set against this backdrop you feel like another decoration. An oversized bauble that also makes cocktails and pours cheap wine.

And now, standing behind this makeshift card-table-turned-bar covered in bubblegum crepe paper, your brain might explode in a cloud of hot pink smoke. Counting out pours and trying not to slice yourself making garnishes is a struggle keeping up with all these orders. While the average age of the party goer may be eighty, they drink more than the 21st birthday bash you bartended last weekend. You’ve been here all of an hour and Mrs. Moscovitz has already downed three fuschia cosmopolitans.

While disappointed you don’t have more romantic Valentine’s Day plans - though, when have you ever had a date on this too pink day? - it’s fun to see who’s turned up to celebrate. White-haired couples are swaying on the makeshift dance floor, every shade of pink and red in their attire. Bridge groups and knitting circles are excitedly chatting at their respective tables, gossiping over who is in attendance and with whom. Even the staff have wide grins splitting their faces, enjoying the festivities that break up the bleak winter. It’s the least you can do to spend the holiday providing beverages for this crowd.

The best part is the families. While romantic love is thick in the air, so is platonic love. Family members of all ages have come out to spend the holiday with the residents. Mr. Gordon’s daughter and her family have driven hours to catch up over pot roast and sparkling cider while his grandson plays trucks over a pile of chocolates he snuck from Suzette.

Orders have slowed down and your eyes keep glancing over to Ms. Floyd’s table. The entire clan has showed up for dinner, dancing, and to take home a batch of her homemade snickerdoodles. Multiple relatives are taking up two entire heart-sprinkled tables. Your focus is mainly on the second table for too far from you, where the grandkids have been relegated to play cards and swap candy hearts to pass the time.

“Why don’t you go ask the pink lady for more cherries.” God, he’s cute. The only guy in this place near your age and his attention is stolen by a pair of toddler girls obsessed with the cherries in their Shirley temples.

You divert your eyes quickly when you realize he’s talking about you and your pink sweater. The girls giggle shyly, the high pitched squeals of glee as they convince him to go up instead. Fiddling with shakers, wiping down the counter, you try to stay busy as you physically feel him approach the converted bar and your trembling hands.

“Hi!” His smile is thin and nervous and his cheeks are pink, blushing from his little cousins and their antics. Also because you’re much prettier up close and he’s wearing a shirt he’d never normally be caught in if his grandma hadn’t picked it out.

He’s much cuter at this distance as well. Sandy hair combed neatly, one small strand slipping out behind his ear. Friendly cerulean eyes framed by golden wire spectacles, similar to the ones several of the ex-military men at Rolling Acres are sporting. His thin lips falter slightly as he takes in how well the pink of your sweater compliments your skin. God, he wishes he wasn’t wearing this shirt.

You spring into service mode and grab a fresh cocktail shaker. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m technically up here for some cherries.” You dutifully nod, hoping to hide the fact you’ve been watching him converse with the toddler girls in their matching baby pink dresses most of the night. You make a small dish of cherries up and push it toward him, shaking your head when he attempts to pay. “The thirty-eight cents of cherries is a small expense for a night those two will talk about for weeks. They’re on the house.”

He grabs the dish with a smile, but realizes he now has no excuse to stay by the bar. And while he loves his cousins, he’s on leave for a few more weeks and you’re really pretty. A few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. He extends his hand with a timid smile. “I’m Bob.”

You reach out and shake his hand back as you introduce yourself, hoping the condensation coating your fingers isn’t too noticeable. He immediately commits your name to memory, happy to replace “The Pink Lady” with a name as fitting to you as yours.

He moves out of the way as a woman in a magenta scarf orders a round for her bingo group. Bob watches as you whir into action, pouring liquors and counting off ounces. The delicate way you garnish each drink so the owner feels special. Your gracious smile when a tip is stuffed into the heart-shaped velvet box provided to you for tips.

When the line at the bar dies down, he sidles back up to your makeshift station. Bob notices the way you eye the decorations warily, still adjusting to the deafening pink of it all. He drums lightly on the blushing pink tablecloth, catching your wide-eyed attention. “Everything all right?”

“Uh, this place is too…pink?” you laugh, gesturing to the overabundance of rosy hues surrounding you. For possibly the first time all night, Bob realizes that while you were the only pink thing that had his attention, it is suffocating in the recreation hall.

“Yes, yes it is,” he chuckles right back, eyes soaking in the offending decorations. There’s a comfortable air between the two of you, and he decides to push his luck for more time with The Pink Lady.

Bob clears his throat, pulse thrumming through his body. Tonight is his one and only chance to land a date with the pretty bartender.

“So, to go with the theme, what is the pinkest drink you can make me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his best attempt at flirting. A hint of a giggle escapes as you purse your lips, contemplating his challenge.

“I can make you a pink lady.”

He narrows his eyes. “Is that a real drink, or have you named it after yourself?”

“It’s real, I promise.” You’re all smiles at his attention as you combine the gin, applejack, and grenadine with a splash of lemon juice. He really could watch you work for hours.

As you reach for the last ingredient, his eyes bug out. “Is that an egg?” He’s a Navy man, his normal bar only has cocktails with two ingredients. Since when did eggs go in cocktails?

“When you dry shake an egg white it creates this nice foam, adds to the drink.” While he wants to come across as open-minded and cultured, he’s hesitant. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.”

He’s bewitched as you pour the perfectly pink drink into a plastic coup, the creamy white foam rising to top it off. A cherry balances the rim, one that won’t be stolen by his mischievous cousins. As he looks between the freshly poured drink and you, he swears your cheeks are the same happy pink.

You push the drink toward him, excited to share something new with a customer. Always a gamble as a bartender, but worth it when you expand someone’s palate. He gives you a tentative smile, unsure if he’s going to like it, but he really wants to impress you. In return, you give him an encouraging nod, completely unsure of how this will go. He takes a sip, the frothy mixture coating his tongue.

As far as he’s concerned, the drink is named after you. Not too sweet, not too tart, a divinely balanced combination of flavors in a perfect pink concoction. Bob is convinced you would taste just as good, especially with a cherry. The thought makes his brain blank.

“Do you like it?” Your hopeful eyes are endearing. He wants to brush the strand of hair from your cheek and assure you that he likes it, that he’d like anything you made him because you made it. But you’re practically strangers so he stumbles over his words as he promises it’s delicious.

The bowl of cherries for his cousins still in his hand, Bob stands to the side of the bar and sips his tartly sweet drink, casually keeping up conversation with you as you serve other patrons. You’re glad for the company, enjoying the way he asks about your technique and mutters out the few things he knows about wine from conversations with his aunt. Despite the fact you’re working, it’s the best Valentine’s Day you’ve had in years with this bespectacled man watching you tend bar.

He’s just so cute, blushing his own special pink hue when your eyes connect while you shake up a few martinis.

“Uncle Bob!” There is no mistaking who is calling him over. Two identical heads pouting as they motion him over. His time with you is up. He gives you a sweet smile, trying to memorize every inch of your face, before motioning his hand filled with cherries in their direction. You bittersweetly grin right back, smile lingering as you start on Mr. Nickerson’s two merlots as you watch his broad shoulders walk away.

Oh, how you wish he would come back.

Because it’s a retirement home and not a frat house, by ten the party is wrapping up. You’ve exchanged shy glances with Bob a handful of times, but his family has taken up most of his attention with Navy questions and inquiring when he’s going to visit next. He barely registers the event is over before he’s rummaging through his mom’s handbag with his last attempt at salvaging the night.

You’re cleaning up your supplies when the Floyd clan walks past, all waving good night to you and the staff, thanking you all for a great Valentine’s night. The girls thank you for their cherries, a stem hanging from one’s lip.

Staggering at the end of the crowd is Bob, his cheeks flushed and palms tingling. He stands in front of your table, rocking on his heels, working up his courage. You give him a warm smile, thanking him for his company, and he completely melts. As he holds up his occupied hand, he hopes this works.

“Forgot to slip this in earlier.” His smile is tense as he jams a few dollars through the absurdly small hole in your improvised tip box. You thank him before both blurting out awkward goodbyes. As he catches up with his family, a pang rings through your chest. Disappointed he’s gone, never to be seen again.

Bob Floyd, a Valentine’s mirage you will remember fondly.

Once all your things are packed, you square things up with Suzette with your pay for the event and a promise to stop by to visit the residents later in the month. You schlep everything to the car, a mixture of emotions painting your face in the rearview mirror as you make your way back home. The weight of defeat keeping you from bringing anything inside except for that damn tip box you’re hoping will cover groceries for the week.

You pry open the velvet lid and are met with the best surprise.

There, at the bottom of your substitute tip jar, underneath all the singles the elderly stiffed you with, was a scrap of cheap rosy pink napkin. You unfurl it to see neat chicken scratch handwriting, the pen poking through the fabric in spots as he worked to write out his message with a phone number beneath.

I’m here until the 27th. Drinks on me? - Bob

Now that you think about it, maybe you do like pink.

taglist: @berryvanille @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @rhettsluvr @roosterforme @seitmai @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

join the taglist

#thanks for reading!#milesmillergf 🪩#bob floyd x reader

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