#mob boss Bob Floyd

[shinycupcakebaker]

Today, while at work, I had an idea for a new fic… it’s a ‘bad’ idea, but a good idea. It’s a bad idea cuz I have no idea how to write it. A good idea b/c hot damn

Okay, my idea is mob boss Bob (I ‘blame’ @sailor-aviator lol I didn’t know I needed a mob au in my life right now). I’m sure this had been done somewhere but it just struck me that Bob would be a perfect mob boss. He’s quiet, calm and collected. He has intense blue eyes that could make panties drop lol.

I can picture him, sitting in a leather armchair, in his hand a tumbler with 2 fingers of whiskey. His jaw set as he pulls in a deep breath thru his nose, staring you down. His blue eyes seemed to bore into your soul as a shiver ran down your spine. You knew why you were there. You had single handedly taken down one of his best men. Jake had gotten a little too handsy for your liking, so with a simple move, you had nearly broken his arm.

Crap, I really need to write this. Just not sure how to bring in the other daggers lol

HELP

[attapullman]

The dots are connecting!! Ahhhhh!!!

(kingpin!Morgan and I are honestly too alike "tell me about your little crush on the new accountant" is me. Give up the deets, Bobby Boy!)

kingpin ⦾ fifteen

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x ofc!emery young  word count: 2774 warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], old friends, suspicions, bob jerks off…again

summary: in which bob has some suspicions of his own

fourteen | kingpin | sixteen

Bob watched the two old friends cautiously. It wasn’t until Emery confirmed that Decker was some guy who went to the diner where her mom worked under the name Dion that pieces started to click for him. 

“So Decker was a guy you both knew as Dion?” Coyote asked for clarification. 

Emery nodded while Mickey said, “yeah. He was a regular at Flo’s.”

“Did your mom seem like she knew him outside of him being a customer?” Halo asked. 

“I don’t know, I was nine,” Emery replied. “Look, can we talk about this more tomorrow? My sister is already suspicious from Monday night and I don’t want to lie to her more than I have to.”

“Yeah–,” Bob started to agree, but Mickey cut him off. 

“You have a sister?” He looked shocked. 

Bob couldn’t blame him. From what he knew, they’d lost contact after Emery moved away and Mickey’s family moved to the city. They’d been young, too young to have any means to keep in touch without the adults in their lives’ help. With Emery in foster care, it was hard to be sure that Mickey’s family would know where she’d end up. 

Emery placed her glass on the edge of Bob’s desk and handed him his phone back. “Is it alright if I work from home tomorrow? It’s been a hell of a week and I need some time to process everything.” 

She didn’t acknowledge Mickey’s question. like she couldn’t bring herself to entertain the small talk. 

“Yeah, of course,” Bob agreed. He’d rather have her on board than not at all, and if time was what she needed, he could give that to her. “Let me know if you need anything.”

She didn’t say anything as she left, likely to gather what she’d need to work at home tomorrow, and Mickey pinned Bob down with his gaze. 

“Coyote, would you mind escorting Halo out?” Bob asked. They took their cue, making sure the office door was shut behind them. He stared back at Mickey, relaxing in his chair as he sipped his whiskey. 

“You told me that you would keep her out of this,” Mickey spat. “You told me that if I stopped investigating your family and the death of Emery’s mom that she would be left alone. And now she’s up to her elbows in your shit.”

He remembered that day clearly. He remembered the deal he struck with the cop standing before him. 

Mickey had been a new officer sticking his nose into business he shouldn’t have been. Coyote had alerted Bob that someone was digging into the murder at Flo’s diner. Bob had ears inside a few of the local police departments and figured out who the cop was pretty quickly. 

Bob still saw Mickey as a scared kid who was just trying to find answers. He was still trying to protect Emery all these years later. He understood it. She had a naïve innocence about her that he also wanted to protect. 

“I know what I said,” Bob replied with a sigh. “I know she wasn’t meant to be a part of this, but she is. The more we find out about Decker, the more involved she is. It seems like she’s been part of this a lot longer than either of us thought, Mickey. I need you to tell me everything you remember about Dion.”

Mickey ran his hands over his face. “He never spoke to us first, always waited for us to greet him before he’d start a conversation. Didn’t seem weird or anything, and Betty was friendly with him.”

Bob nodded, absorbing his words as thoughts of his own swirled around in his head. He didn’t want to ask Mickey anything too personal, but he was curious. He needed to know if there was any chance, no matter how slim. 

“I’m going to ask you something that can never get back to Emery, okay?”

“Won’t be too hard considering she doesn’t want to talk to me at the moment,” Mickey replied bitterly. 

Bob pushed on. “Is there any part of you that believes he could’ve been Emery’s father?”

Mickey stared at him incredulously but he stayed quiet. Bob watched him start to pace. It was like he could see the gears turning in the younger man’s head. 

“If the account Decker was funneling money into was for Betty Young, then it’s not improbable, right?” Mickey asked. “Why else would he do that? Is there anyone else in Decker’s life with the initials FBY?”

“Okay, I need you to take two steps backwards and stop spiralling, alright?” Bob ran a hand through his hair. “I just asked the question but without any proof, there’s no reason to jump to any conclusions. No one can know what I suspect, Mickey.”

“I know, I know,” he assured Bob. “But if you’re right though...who’s to say that Decker won’t come back for her if she is his kid?” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Bob had a lot on his mind. He needed to give Emery some time to deal with everything in her own way, but he had a lot of questions to ask her. He needed to know everything she remembered about Dion, everything she knew about her mother. If she still had any of her mom’s things. 

He knew Coyote could dig up a lot more if he needed it, but he felt compelled to give her a chance to come clean. She might not see it as hiding information, but whatever she knew, no matter how insignificant, could potentially make the rest of the puzzle click into place. 

Morgan knew he was miles away when he sat down in his regular booth at Feathers and dismissed one of the dancers. She was a regular of his, and he knew that brushing her off would cause his sister to pry. There was a reason Morgan wasn’t involved in the meetings, and he’d have to lay everything out to her to make sense of it all. Even just saying it aloud helped him think better, but she also had an outside perspective. Fresh eyes, if you will. 

“You’re frowning,” she observed. “What’s on your mind?”

“Richard held a meeting today,” Bob replied, blowing out a breath. “He slipped up and called Emery by her mom’s name.”

“Richard knew her mom?”

Bob nodded, loosening his tie. “She worked at Flo’s when we still had the diner. Never called her Betty, though, always Betsy. Emery called him condescending and disgusting; couldn’t help herself, I guess. Even with my warnings.” He reached for his glass and threw back the whiskey, swallowing thickly before meeting his sister’s eyes. “What?”

“Is that why Emery doesn’t like talking about her mom?”

“Fucked if I know,” he said, blowing out breath. “Maybe it’s part of it? It’s like she doesn’t want to remember what happened, so that’s why she refuses to talk about it. But we might’ve discovered something that means I need her to talk.”

“What something?”

“The account that Decker’s been sending himself money to? Yeah, we think it has something to do with Emery’s mom.”

“Emery’s mom? Betty? For Betty Young?” Morgan asked in a hushed whisper. Bob nodded. “Do you think Emery’s lying to you?”

“Not intentionally,” he confessed. “I think she’s blocked out most of her childhood because of what happened to her mom, which is understandable.” Morgan nodded at his words. “If she does know something that could be useful to us, though...I’d hate to think of what Richard would make me do to her. I need her to talk and she won’t.”

“You need to get her drunk,” Morgan replied. “Do you remember the first time I met her? She was all rigid, but she drank on Monday night. Not a lot, but enough to chew you out.” Bob smiled at the memory. “You like that she’s not afraid of you.”

Bob scoffed dismissively. “Don’t start, Mo.”

Morgan smirked back at him, watching him fidget in his seat. “Look, it’s been a long week for her. Maybe if I suggest a night out, she might let loose a little. Be more receptive to talking.”

“Morgan, the whole point of our meeting today was that Decker is working with Sergei Popov and they want Richard dead,” Bob replied lowly. “I’m not endorsing a night out at the moment.”

“What about some drinks at Dice on Friday night? Invite Emery and her sister. Coyote can be there too.”

Bob shook his head firmly. “I’m not going to put her sister at risk when she has no idea what kind of shit we’re into, okay?” He told her. 

“Girls’ night, then?” Morgan continued. “I’ll invite Emery and her sister out. Drinks, dancing, guys. See what I can get out of her.”

“Mo, there’s a curfew in place. No one goes out alone, especially not a Floyd.”

“You’re here alone,” she pointed out. 

“Coyote’s in the security office, and I’m here with you,” he replied.

Morgan sighed. “It’s that serious?” Bob nodded grimly. “Then why don’t we all go out on Friday night, then? Or make it seem like it’s a girls’ night, but Omaha and Harvard bump into us. I know them, Emery doesn’t.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

“Then put your big boy pants on and wine and dine her. I don’t know what to tell you, Bob. You need answers, and she needs her inhibitions loosened to open up.”

Bob rubbed a hand over his face. “Fine, invite them out. I’ll figure out who’s going to watch you, but you don’t touch Feathers or Dice with a ten foot pole,” he told her. “Natasha doesn’t know anything about us, according to Emery, and we’re going to keep it that way. Show her that we trust her as much as she trusts us.”

Morgan nodded in agreement. “Perfect! Now, tell me about your little crush on the new accountant.”

Bob dropped his head onto the table and groaned. When he straightened back up, Morgan was grinning mischievously. “I thought I said don’t start?”

“So you don’t deny the crush?”

“Of course I don’t deny it,” he replied curtly. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Bob was at Fitch’s early the next morning. Coyote had wanted to join him, but he’d declined. He’d stayed at Feathers with Morgan to make sure she got home safely, and Bob needed him rested and alert. 

Payback had been at the meeting. He nodded at Bob as he approached the bag he’d been practising with, and Bob paused to have a drink of water. 

“Coyote’s signed her up for some more intensive hand to hand combat drills,” Payback said in lieu of a greeting. Bob appreciated that small talk was pointless when there were bigger things to worry about. 

“That’s good,” Bob replied, trying to catch his breath. “Is she due in this morning?”

“Yeah, shortly. That was...quite a revelation she dropped last night,” he stated.

Bob chuckled humourlessly. “Yeah, don’t I know it. How’s her sister fitting in?”

Payback nodded at the shift in conversation. “Nat’s good. Got a few more women coming in for a boot camp she’s started and teaches a beginner self-defense class. Business as usual, really.”

Bob’s mind was elsewhere, and Payback took it as a sign to let him finish his workout in peace. When there were things to tell, he’d know. Until then, he’d keep his head down and focus on work, and keep Nat as in the dark as he could. 

Bob was grateful for the silence once again. He put his gloves back on and squared up with the bag, throwing a different sequence of hits. Part of him wanted to be done with his session before Emery arrived, but the other part wanted to see her. Talk to her and see how she slept. If he could be friendly with her, maybe she’d feel more obliged to share information about her past. Maybe there wouldn’t be a need for Morgan to intervene. 

There were too many moving parts. Too many variables. 

His next punch landed hard against the bag, causing it to swing and the chain holding it to rattle. 

“What did that poor bag ever do to you?”

Bob cracked a grin at Emery’s words, steadying the bag before he turned to face her. She looked amused. 

“Hey,” he greeted, shaking his head slightly at his own incompetence. “Didn’t know you’d be here this early.” Lie. 

Emery shrugged. “Yesterday was...a lot. You tried to prepare me, but I don’t think either of us anticipated how confronting it would be. I’m sorry if I fucked things up.”

“But you’re not sorry you said those things?”

He studied her as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She looked poised, yet uncomfortable. Like apologising wasn’t what she’d planned on doing, but at least she looked like she meant it. 

“I do understand that there’s a lot I need to learn, and you tried to warn me to shut up. Both before the meeting and during...” she trailed off, tugging her ear anxiously. “No, I’m not sorry I said those things.”

Bob nodded in understanding. There were times he wished he had the nerve to speak up for himself like Emery had, but he had seen his father kill. He knew what he was capable of, and he had no doubt that Richard would kill his successor if he felt threatened. 

“I have a lot more questions, Emery,” he told her. “Uncomfortable ones. I know you’ve been overloaded with them already and that you need time to process, but we don’t have that luxury right now.”

Emery swallowed as she held his gaze. “I know. You and Coyote can come over around ten. I’ll try to be receptive.”

Bob gave her a soft smile, feeling like he was slowly getting somewhere. “Thank you. Oh, and by the way, Morgan wants to do some kind of girls’ night. If you’re interested, that is?”

“Isn’t that kind of...counterproductive right now? With everything going on?” She asked. 

“Yeah, I said the same thing, but she waved me off. She said to invite Natasha, too.”

“I assume Morgan’s under the same curfew as we all are, so who’s going to be watching us?”

Bob smiled slightly, grateful she was picking things up. “She suggested people you don’t know. People who’ll hang back and keep an eye on things from a distance, so Natasha doesn’t think anything of it.”

“I’ll think about it. I’m not much of a partier,” she said noncommittally. “I’ll see you later. Payback’s waiting for me.”

Bob watched her leave. The slight way of her hips caused his breath to catch. He’d never get over that perfect ass and the way her shorts clung to her. He willed himself to look away, but when his gaze wandered up her body, he caught her staring back at him over her shoulder. 

Busted. 

She smirked, having caught him, and he flushed something fierce as he tried to turn his attention back to the punching bag. He couldn’t help himself as he glanced back over at her, her eyes shining as they locked with his while she nodded at whatever Payback was saying. 

When she licked her lips, Bob thought he was going to combust. Head spinning as he tore his eyes away and removed his gloves, snatching his things and marching off to the changing rooms for a cold shower. He was nowhere near done with his workout, but if he let his thoughts deviate a second longer, he’d be pitching a painfully obvious tent in the middle of the gym. He’d already been caught staring. He didn’t need to be caught half mast surrounded by his insubordinates, especially not since one of them was the person of his desires. 

Emery.

He locked the door to the shower stall and turned the water on, making quick work of undressing. He fisted his cock before he stepped under the stream of water, trying to ease some of his discomfort. Biting his lip to stop the groan of pleasure that threatened to tear from his throat. The water aided his movements, his hand stroking his slick, hard cock with expert precision. Teasing his tip then working down to the base and squeezing. His breath stuttered as he rolled forward, legs spreading a little further. Hips matching his strokes as he reached his crescendo and spilled all over the tiled wall. Milking every drop of cum from his shaft with a satisfied smirk. 

Fuck, he was in trouble if he couldn’t keep himself together around her.

author's note: remember to follow my other blog @bobgasm-library and turn on blog notifications so you don't miss an update!

[bobfloydsbabe]

illicit affairs | bob floyd x oc | mob boss au

SUMMARY: Robert Floyd runs one of San Diego's most notorious crime syndicates, but his new secretary, Abby Lennox, may just be his downfall.

WARNINGS: mob boss au, bob being horny on main, possessiveness (if you squint). strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: ~0.6k

A/N: I haven't been able to get Mob Boss Bob out of my head all day, so here we are with an introduction, a moodboard, and a small blurb. This AU will not be a full-length fic, but a collection of drabbles and blurbs. Don't hesitate to send me questions or headcanons!

MBB MASTERLIST

EDIT: Join the taglist (google form–no personal info required)

“Sir?”

He looks up and finds his secretary standing in the doorway to his office with a tablet in her hands.

“Come in,” he says, waving her inside with one hand while closing the lid of his laptop on the other. “Close the door, please.”

He’s asked none of his past secretaries to close the door before, and Jake’s warning him about getting close rings in his ears yet again. He’d dismissed him then, but as Bob’s eyes rake across Abby’s body while she closes the door and walks to his desk, he’s starting to think he should heed Jake’s warning.

“What can I do for you?”

Her brows draw together before she seems to catch herself and places her expression back in neutral. The corner of his mouth twitches as she sits in one of the black leather chairs on her side of the desk.

“Mitchell called and asked for a meeting. I tried to set one up with Trace, but he refused. He wants to meet with you personally.”

Bob leans back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. “He does, does he?”

Abby nods. “Yes, sir.”

Bob adjusts in his seat, trying to ignore what Abby calling him sir does to him. His trousers feel tight as he meets her dark and intense eyes across the desk.

“Did he tell you what we would discuss at this meeting?”

Abby looks down at her tablet for a second before returning her eyes to him. “No, sir,” she tells him. “How would you like me to proceed?”

Bob weighs the possibilities in his mind. Mitchell is impulsive on the best of days. Reckless on the worst. Bob had been searching for a way out of his dealings with the much older man since he came into his position, and whatever Mitchell had gotten himself into now was surely the excuse he needed.

He leans forward again, resting his forearms on the large oak desk. “Set it up for this afternoon,” he says. “Call Trace and let her know to meet me there.”

“I’ll get right on it,” she says and stands, wobbling slightly. Bob shoots out of his seat, reaching across the desk for her arm to steady her. The feeling of her soft skin under his calloused palm sends a shiver down his spine.

He pulls back and watches Abby walk back to the door. As her hand lands on the knob, Bob opens his mouth before his head can catch up to what he’s saying.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

Bob watches as she squares her shoulders and turns back around slowly. There’s a dark hair stuck in her lip gloss that he can’t take his eyes off.

“Sitting on my couch with wine and takeout, probably.”

Bob walks around his desk, stopping right in front of Abby. He towers over her, and from this angle he can see just a hint of cleavage. “I’d like you to go to the fundraiser with me.”

He meant to go alone, but the idea of mingling with senators and other state officials on his own makes him want to scream.

“You do?”

She’s looking anywhere but at him when he raises a hand, places it on her cheek, and lets his thumb drag the hair away from her mouth. “I do,” he says and leans in closer.

Abby’s breath audibly hitches when his lips brush against her ear. “Wear blue,” he whispers, “so they all know you’re with me.”

Likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are golden

[sarahsmi13s]

Theme Tag Game!

I was tagged by my fellow angst queen @desert-fern ! Please go read the first chapter of her fic A Gun Amongst Daggers bc not only does it have a badass title, it’s a badass story.

I’ll do this for my Mob Boss! Bob Floyd x Detective! Reader WIP

Here are the rules:

Make a new post Bold the themes that appear in your WIP Italicize the themes that are loosely covered Tag People!

_____________________________

addiction | beauty | betrayal | change vs. tradition | chaos vs. order | circle of life | coming of age | communication | convention vs. rebellion | corruption | courage | crime and law | dangers of ignorance | darkness and light | death | desire to escape | dreams | displacement | empowerment | facing darkness | facing reality | faith vs. doubt | fall from grace | fame and fortune | (found) family | fate | fear | fear of failure | free will | friendship | fulfilment | good vs. bad | government | greed | guilt and forgiveness | hard work | heroism | hierarchy | honesty | hope | identity crisis | immortality | independence | individual vs. society | inner vs. outer strength | innocence | injustice | isolation | knowledge vs. ignorance | life | loneliness | lost love | love | man vs. nature | manipulation | materialism | motherhood | nature | nature vs. nurture | oppression | optimism | peer pressure | poverty | power | power of words | prejudice | pride | progress | quest | racism | rebirth | relationships | religion | responsibility | revenge | sacrifice | secrets | self-awareness | self-preservation | self-reliance | sexuality | social class structure | survival | technology | temptation and destruction | time | totalitarianism | weakness | vanity | war | wealth | wisdom of experience | youth

_____________________________

no pressure tags: @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @callsign-viper @lovinglyeternal and anyone else that wants to join!

[laracrofted]

down comes the night

synopsis: on a cold midnight in the dead of winter, gotham city's district attorney is murdered.

pairing: batman!bob floyd x fem!reader (lucky)

warnings: 18+ minors and ageless accounts dni, character death (obviously), mentions of death and mob violence, language (wc: 1K)

note: while i'm not planning to write a full series for batman bob – more like connected one shots and blurbs, because i can only focus on one series – i knew i absolutely had to write this scene, which has been in my head all week.

Tears are frozen in your lashes.

You saw him on Saturday. He was alive on Saturday. You saw him.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, mussed your hair like an annoying older brother and smacked a drunken and damp kiss on your cheek. He was alive.

"Did you hear me?" Bradley asks you – no, Commissioner Bradshaw asks you. His coat hangs around your shoulders, overly large on your frame, smelling like leather and coffee and cigar smoke. He doesn't smoke, or maybe Bradley just doesn't smoke around you.

He has always been so delicate around you. You still remember when another officer in the Major Crimes Division made some crass comment in front of you, and Bradley barked out a harsh, "Watch your mouth. You're in the presence of a lady," and silenced the room.

Or at least, until Jake smirked and not even bothering to look up from his paperwork, drawled, "Oh really? Where? I don't see any ladies around here. I only see Lucky."

You shot him a withering look, and Jake grinned, green eyes glittering in the dim yellow light of the office.

Bradley says your name again, breaking you from the warmth of the memory, plunging you back into the cold of the night, like a frozen surface of a lake, cracking under your weight.

You're so cold. Swallowing is almost painful.

You look at him, cheeks cold, eyes dim and lifeless. "How?"

A croak, barely audible, but Bradley pales. He opens his mouth, but Bradley's voice isn't the one that answers your question.

"A single shot to the back of the head."

His voice is low and hoarse and if the circumstances were different, kind of attractive. He sounds like cigar smoke and aged whiskey, deep and solid.

You've only seen him a few times.

You'd come looking for Jake up here once and found him up here – up here with him. He spotted you before Jake did and sidled back into the shadows, ready to disappear, and Jake looked over his shoulder.

"That's just Lucky. She's good," Jake reassured him. He beckoned you forward with a waved palm. You quietly handed him a styrofoam cup of coffee and watched the shadows. He watched you back, silent and watchful.

You've never heard his voice before.

Under different circumstances.

You don't have the luxury of different circumstances. You only have these.

"Execution style?"

He says nothing, which might as well be a confirmation.

"A mob hit?"

You can only see the bottom half of his face in his mask. His mouth looks vaguely impressed, pitched to the side.

You recall, "He slipped a USB into my clutch on Saturday. He must've done it when I wasn't paying attention or something."

You remember Jake's arm around your shoulders, his lips warm on your cheek, on your hairline.

"He left me a video. He said..."

Trust Bradshaw and Batman. No one else. Everyone else is on a payroll, kid. You suck in a breath and do your best not to cry again. Moisture stings your eyes. Damn.

"He knew, didn't he? He was making plans. He must've known."

You know what Jake would say now.

Everyone wants to kill a District Attorney in Gotham, Lucky. We might as well make, 'Mob bosses want me dead,' the new re-election slogan.

You can almost hear his voice, can almost see his grin.

Bradley nods. "Someone always wants to kill a good D.A., but yeah, Jake knew. He always knew."

You scoff.

Of course, Jake knew.

Jake knew and didn't run. Didn't enter protective custody. Didn't do anything but show up in the court room and smile in the faces of the men who wanted him dead. Damn him and his reckless righteousness. Damn him.

"Hey, Lucky..." Bradley looks sideways into the shadows. "You should probably call in sick for the rest of the week." You look at him sharply, and Bradley holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "You could be in danger. These are dangerous people. We don't know who exactly Jake pissed off."

You could almost laugh. Who didn't Jake piss off?

"He'd want you to be safe, is all," Bradley finishes, stuffing his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. Moonlight glints off of the silver badge at his hip.

You look at him dully. "Jake didn't run. Why should I?"

"And now Jake's dead," Bradley says softly.

And now Jake is dead.

He won't ruffle your hair or grab you coffee in the mornings. He's dead. He's dead.

You abruptly shake your head, almost robotically. Cross your arms.

"I'm an Assistant District Attorney. I can help."

"No," Bradley responds immediately. "For all we know, someone in the DA's office is crooked. You start poking around all of the sudden and..."

He doesn't need to finish that sentence. You could end up like Jake.

You bite down on your lip and cast your gaze into the shadows. "You. What'd Jake say I'd do?"

Batman looks at you, serious and searching, for a long moment, which feels even longer under his gaze. "You'd help. He said, if something were to happen to him, you'd help."

You hold his gaze. "Then I'll help."

And out of the corner of your eye, Bradley sighs.

Bradley leaves before you. He gets a call and heads downstairs – but not before offering to have one of his men drive you home whenever you're ready, which makes you smile weakly.

You expect him to leave soon after. You're surprised when Batman lingers.

You ignore him, mostly, watching the glittering snow dance and glimmer and fall in the wind, pinpricks of reflected light in the darkness, almost like stars.

"He..."

And Batman hesitates.

And damn, isn't that something? Isn't it something to see a masked vigilante – a feared predator, a scourge of the underworld – measure his words?

"He was... a good man. He was my friend. I'm sorry."

You stare. You don't blink. You barely even breathe.

"Thank you."

He dips his chin in a nod – his strong chin – and in the edges of the brightness pouring from the spotlight on the roof of the GCPD building – which bears his symbol, a sign of hope and fear, depending on who bears witness – you swear you catch a glimpse of blue in his eyes.

Before you can look closer, can step closer, Batman is gone, melting into the shadows again, disappearing into the dark and bleak night in a rush of wind.

Standing here alone – without him – feels even colder somehow.

note: will i wish i'd edited this in the morning? probably. do i care right now? not at all. also, down comes the night is now the official name for this universe, which i love, but of course, batman bob is always acceptable 😌

summoning a few friends who might be interested: @sometimesanalice @roosterbruiser @callsignspark @rhettabbotts @yanna-banana @ryebecca @withahappyrefrain

[topguncortez]

Bad Medicine | Prologue | A TopGun AU

Masterlist | Next Part pairing: Jake Seresin x OC!Reader (last name is Santiago) synopsis: A wealthy Italian mobster sets up his daughter to marry the head of one of the last remaining mafias in California. The union was supposed to create and heal the damage between two families, but all it does is cause more harm than good. WARNINGS: drugs, guns, stripping, violence, abuse, fighting, prostitution, blood, alcohol usage, mentions of sexual assault, torture, death, cops, stalking.

On the outside, the city of San Diego looked like any other big city. Lots of skyscrapers, bumper to bumper traffic, tourists and visitors walking around everywhere. But it’s what lies underneath all of that. The monsters that lurked in the dark, the demons that hid in the shadows, the creatures that go bump in the night. 

No, these monsters aren’t the fictional ones you read about in books and see on tv. These monsters are real people. They are what people call, MOBSTERS 

Some people believed that the whole mafia, gangs and mobsters died back in the 1940s, but the truth was, those monsters just went into hiding. Everything is run by the mob. The girls on the corner, the guns the cops used, the drugs in the prisons, the boxing matches on pay-per-view, sometimes, even the clothes on your back.

Most of the famous mobs had died out when Al Capone finally bit it, so did the crash of the New York Five. But between the mobsters tearing each other apart, between the shadows, two other families were building up their ranks. 

The shift between the downfall of the Luciano family and the rise of the Seresins was easy. Nobody ever pointed a finger at a German man selling ammo at the local sporting store. Seresin didn’t sound like “Mangano” or “Gagliano” or “Bonanno”. Patrick Seresin was a smart man, and decided to move the vast mafia playground to a quieter city that would draw less heat. The bright lights and big city of the west called to Patrick, so he started the slow movement towards Hollywood. But Patrick was smart, and knew that Hollywood was too much of a target. So he settled for a small (at the time) town of San Diego, California. 

The Seresins were one to be feared. Their mafia bloodline was passed down from generation to generation. The current leader was a beautiful man with gorgeous green eyes and blonde hair. You didn’t dare mess with him unless you wanted to be the next one sitting on the pew in the chamber. But the leader of the Seresin Mafia didn’t act alone, no, he had three of his closest friends, those who were basically brothers, working with him. 

Bob Floyd, the brains behind the operation, was smart, his brain like a human computer. He was able to infiltrate government sanctions with ease. You didn’t know you were hacked until it was too late and your porn search history was blasted all over your workplace. Bob had ghosts, things that haunted him when he closed his eyes at night. He was too smart, too gentle for his own good, which caused his heart to break and his mind to be scarred. 

Bradley Bradshaw, aka Rooster, was the muscle, and Bob’s best friend. He was slender and tall, with beautiful curly hair. He was a dark, gentle soul, who hid in the shadows. He was like a snake, letting you get close until he struck, quick and quiet. His closet was full of skeletons he was yet to bury. Bob was one of the only people in the family to know about the horrible things Rooster had done. Wherever you saw Bob, you saw Rooster, and vice versa.

Natasha Trace, aka Phoenix, stood out against the group because she was the only woman, and sat at the right hand of the leader of the Seresin mafia. She was beautiful, her eyes captivating. She was everything that a mob boss's wife was supposed to be. She supported everything that her fiance did. She knew the ins and outs of the job, almost a little too well. But no one suspected her, and no one would have if it wasn’t for her falling in love with the wrong man. It was like star crossed lovers, except one survived and the other one didn’t. 

And last but not least, their fearless leader, Jacob. The man dripped confidence and power. He could have women pulling their panties aside with just a simple look. Even though Jake had older sisters, it just made sense that Jake was the family leader. His father George, didn’t think his daughters had what it took to be a cold blooded killer like Jake. George said it took a “special kind of demon” to kill those he loved. Jake was a cocky fucker, having a painting of him in a blood red suit hanging over his desk like he was the real fucking Don Vito Corleone.

Although the Seresins seemed to be very successful on camera, it was behind that the problems lied. They were starting to struggle financially due to a crackdown of gun and drug sales from the ATF. The clubs and casinos had become one of their main sources of income, which upset George Seresin. He wanted to carry out his father’s plan of having a mafia member in the boardroom, not scourging around and feeding the junkies at their feet. So George came up with a plan to help the family. One that required the assistance of a notorious Italian mobster, Rafael Santiago.

Rafael never wanted a daughter, and it was clear to anyone who saw it. He had three boys who were perfect to take over the family business when it was time. But Y/N Santiago was a hidden gem. She was smart, drabbled in the art of torture, and dressed to impress. Rafael had a plan for her the second the doctor said it was a girl. Her life had already been decided on and she didn’t even know it. Her mother, the woman who was also a business player, knew of her daughter's fate. Marie Santiago had been the same way, being betrothed to a man she never would’ve married if it wasn’t for the family business she had learned to love. 

When Y/N was old enough to move away from her family, she did just that. She moved to New York, and found herself a job at a local club. Rafael didn’t approve of her job, he didn’t think his daughter should be dancing on a pole for men, but it kept her away from the family. While working at the club, Y/N had met whom she thought was the love of her life, a young man by the name of Francisco Solano. 

But unlike the fairy tales and the stories, this relationship turned dark and bloody, and ended up with a battered and tortured Y/N on his father’s front door. Rafael could see the end of his legacy crashing down, and knew what he had to do to help his legacy succeed and grow. Even if that meant setting up his only daughter for marriage to a man he hardly trusted. 

CHARACTER MOODBOARDS:

taglist: @cherrycola27 @seresinsbabe @violyn20 @materialgirl01 @bradleybeachbabe @a-reader-and-a-writer @endofdays56 @lt-spork @topnerd03 @3in1shampooconditionerbodywash @bioodforbiood @topguncultleader @ma-fraise @abaker74 @double-j @cm27078 @thedroneranger @khaylin27 @mak-32 @unhinged-btch @wittywhispers @theliterarybeldam @bloosomjoon @chxcxlate-cxxkies @luckyladycreator2 @wellshit6 @harper1666 @phoenix1388

to be tagged, you must fill out the TAGLIST FORM

I can only tag the first FIFTY PEOPLE that sign up. if you are not added it's because the taglist is full, it won't let me tag you, or you are an ageless/blank blog.

[attapullman]

@bobgasm

Steph's Masterlist

Where unhinged and creative meet, there's Steph waving with a shit-eating grin. Steph knows where the balance of tender and wild is, with stories that will have you soft-hearted clashing with plots that have you on the edge of your seat. The characters have me invested, and their memes have me literally choking on laughter.

TOP RECS:

good 4 u (bob floyd x reader)

kingpin (mob boss!bob floyd)

Masterlist Monday is a collection of masterlists curated by attapullman, each week highlighting a different author and their works. Posts are denoted by #attapullman masterlist monday

[writercole]

WIP Ask Game

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Thanks for the tag @hederasgarden - I will absolutely NOT be tagging as many people as I have wips because, well, you'll see:

Scott PWP #1

Scott PWP #2

Scott Untitled

Storm Warning -- Tyler Owens

Hades!Jake

Veterinarian!Bob

Biker!Boxer!Bob

Biker!Rider!Rhett

Toxic - Charles LeClerc & Carlos Sainz

Must Be Funny - CEO Charles

Just Say Yes - CEO Dean Winchester

All Our Own

Old Money - Carlos Sainz

Boss 22 - Jenson Button

Fernando Alonso PWP #1

Fernando Alonso PWP #2

Silver Springs - OCs

Batter Up - TGM Pilots (multiple stories)

The Replacement Bride

Mob!Javy Machado

Mob!Bob Floyd

On Second Thought Part 3 - Jake Seresin

You'll Be In My Heart - Jake Seresin

Secret Marriage - Charles LeClerc

Sgt Stud #1 - Logan Sargeant

Sgt Stud #2

Unattainable - Jax Teller

Brother's Best Friend - Charles LeClerc

Clara & Tim

Law School - Matt Murdock

Cowboy babysitter

Pretty Woman AU - Bob Floyd

Pretty Woman AU - Dean Winchester

Brat Tamer Rhett

Reading Smut Rhett

Hey Lover - Jake Seresin

Wedding Date - Ryan (Yellowstone)

Historical Ranch Hand - Sierra Six

TGM/Outer Range crossover

Wait in the truck - (Yellowstone)

Wolverine PWP

Beau Simpson fluff

Anyone and everyone who wants to play is tagged bcause...phew. But those who I know are interested inmy list:

@a-reader-and-a-writer @wildbornsiren @ryebecca @deans-spinster-witch @flamencodiva @reels-and-wheels

[withahappyrefrain]

Fake fic title:

angel in the dark

This sounds like a mob!AU

Specifically, you've been married off to a mob boss and he's a piece of shit. The only saving grace is your husband's top bodyguard, Bob Floyd. He's the only one who can make you smile, who can make you feel somewhat at ease.

But displaying any affection would be his death sentence. You know this, but how much longer can you go on pretending it's not his arms you crave?

[wherekatewritesthings]

*thinking about a Bob Floyd mob boss AU*

my brain: he wouldn't be a mobster...

... he'd be a Bobster

🤦🏻‍♀️😆😅

[olivyh]

TWST FAMILY HCS PT2) Savanaclaw and Octavinelle

Feel free to tack on your own Hc’s too!!! I love reading what other people think and how their view of the characters and of Twisted Wonderland in general change from person to person!!!

Savanaclaw:

Leona:

-Farena: We already know Leona describes his brother as being carefree and relaxed, but deep under that I think he’s a deeply intelligent man (how can you run a kingdom and be stupid?). He tries his best to make time in his schedule for his wife and child, and even try to get bonding tike with his younger brother (which never works out well). He tries to teach Cheka as much as he can, often giving him little life lessons while they play games. He’s a very kind and straightforward man, often being blunt when he doesn’t mean to. He stands a little taller than Leona, with Orange hair similar to Chekas. He keeps his hair tied out of his face as much as he can.

-Sister-in-law Kingscholar: A strong and confident woman, not afraid to speak her mind when she wants to. She’s blunt and she’d let you know about it. She’s also very kind in her own way, often dragging Leona off and trying to have serious talks with him, which he appreciates but doesn’t show. She adores Cheka and often spoils him without meaning to, and will spoil Leona too (but indirectly in a way similar to Ace’s father’s). Also very intelligent and good at reading people. I think she stands a little shorter than Leona, but she holds herself higher, and he slouches, so it looks as if they’re the same height. She has long yellow hair (again, similar to the ends of Cheka’s) that she often ties back as well.

-Cheka: We already know him, so heres a few Hcs!: He sometimes asks his mother to do his hair the same way as Leona’s, and tries to do everything like him (such as standing like him, trying to deepen his voice to sound like him, throwing sand at various objects in the castle yelling “King’s Roar!!”)

Ruggie:

-Grandma Bucchi: As he said himself, a stern and prideful woman. I think she’d be on the stricter side, having to teach Ruggie how to survive rather than him having to face those hard truths alone. She likely stands a lot shorter, likely 5’0 (sorry to anyone whos that height), than most other beastwomen. She’s a lot physically stronger than she looks, often still trying to pick Ruggie up at his age. She tries to spoil him when she can, trying to make him relax after working and taking over the household chores (which he declines, still cleaning up when she’s not looking- which earns him a smack to the head with a broom). She’s also a prankster, quietly jumping out from corners and scaring Ruggie or one of the other children. I think she feels a lot of regret over seeing Ruggie grow up so fast in the environment that he had, but she’s the proudest grandma ever. Whenever he sends pictures back she boasts to everyone at home (“See that! That’s my grandson’s school! See that there! He plays magift and is one of the best on the team! Look there! He’s got those nice ceremony robes!”), and even boasts about him with what little baby pictures they have (“See him walking at such a young age? Isn’t he so strong?”) Will never stop talking about her grandson, ever.

-Neighborhood kids: I think they’re like little siblings to Ruggie, so I’m adding them. They try to tale over what Ruggie did when he was at home, helping people fix up their houses or entertaining the baby hyenas when their mothers have other things to do. They also leave gifts to Ruggie when he comes back, between little dolls they made, bracelets they thought he’d like, charms, or pretty rocks and leaves. He keeps all of the gifts, no matter how small.

-His mom (bc the poor woman deserves a spot)(Poor meaning unfortunate)(The more i think abt it, both. It means both. Bad time?): I think she looked a lot like him, but with brighter blue eyes than his. She was definitely a prankster at heart, leaving clever traps behind for any poor soul to get stuck in. She was a very hardworker much like her son, taking on any task she could find to help out her mother. I think she’d try to leave as much behind for Ruggie as she could, which would include little notes and scribbles about how she was feeling throughout her pregnancy and how excited she was for him. Ruggie also kept all of those safe and sound, in a small box he keeps in the corner of his room.

(Can you guess who my fav chara is?)

Jack:

-Grandma & Grandpa Howl: A very loving couple, who always make time out of their schedule for their grandchildren, whether it be for school events, emergencies, or if any one of them want to come by and talk. They met when Grandpa Howl got lost and wandered by Grandma Howl’s family’s cabin (which happens to be the one they, and the rest of the family, still live in to this day) and he spent the night. I think they fell in love at first sight :’)

-Mama Howl: A very soft and loving beastwoman who is willing to sacrifice anything for her children. She is often strict, and sometimes a chatterbox, but she always reminds her children to stay safe and that she loves them. She always pats their head or cheek when she walks by, even if she has to reach a little to plant a kiss on Jack’s forehead. I think her hair would be a little darker grey, and she’d definitely be a little more muscular and taller, reaching six ft one when standing straight up. She’d have the same yellow eyes as Jack, and her hair would be cropped shorter due to her still moving around a lot.

-Papa Howl: Very similar to Jack personality and appearance wise. He stands an inch or two shorter than Jack, but is still very muscular due to working around the house and in the woods (chopping wood for the campfire, dragging around tools, carrying three wolf pups at a time in his younger days (only one now wants to be carried, which hurts the poor man’s heart a bit)

-Baby brother Howl: Huffy and a little moody, but a hard worker even if he complains while doing it most of the time. That’s often with his parents, but when he does something with Jack he doesn’t complain a bit. He’s very attached to his older brother, looking up to him for his strength and strong morals. He often compares him to superheroes and star athletes in his mind, but sometimes it slips out, resulting in one very embarrassed wolf boy and another very flattered wolf boy, ignore their wagging tails, it means nothing. I think he stands pretty tall for a preteen, around 5’7-5’8 and growing taller by the day. Same hair and eye color as Jack. Acts like he doesn’t like to play games with his younger sister but will never turn down a game of tag.

-Baby sister Howl: An absolute sweetheart. She just wants the best for her family and will do whatever she can to make what they want happen. Jack is hungry? Good thing she made her special dessert (it’s a poptart with whipped cream messily piled on top with sprinkles and literal sugar cubed wedged in it, but don’t tell her you don’t like it, please she’d actually bawl). Her other older brother is tired? She can get him extra blankets! Mama needs help cleaning? She can mop (she really just throws water on the floor and praises herself for a job well done). Papa need to cut wood? She can- no, she can’t. Please don’t give her an axe. She’ll cheer him from the sidelines with a song she made up just for him instead! She has their mother’s grey hair and father’s dark brown eyes, and loves to do her hair like the princesses she sees on Tv! (Yes, Jack will wear a too-small dress and Tiara if his sister wants to play princess. No, he will not let anyone take pictures.)

Octavinelle:

Tweels:

-Mama Leech: At first glance, a very kind woman with soft eyes. Willing to open her arms to anyone who might need help. Then, a terrifying grin similar to Floyd’s as that poor unfortunate soul realizes the trap they’d been thrown in. She’s very kind and patient towards both her boys and husband, as well as their friends (even of she is on guard near their friends, throwing a few hollow threats to see if it’d scare them away)(She doesn’t like to share her babies). She dotes on the tweels as much as possible, indulging im whatever curiosity they may have. Floyd wants to know what going through riptide is like? They leave tomorrow to find one. Jade wants to know more about life on land? She’ll find as many books as possible and ask (threaten) people for their land belongings. She knows when too far is too far though, and is very skilled at reeling the boys back in if they get to that point. Will always call them her little guppies, no matter how big they get. I think she’d have a teal bob on top, with the underside of her hair being black (which makes her hair look color changing when she swims). Im her human form shes only a few inches shorter than her boys, ranging around the same as Jack’s mother.

-Papa Leech: The definition of old Hollywood New York mob boss. Strict and blunt about his interests and problems, and not afraid to cause any problems if provoked. When the tweels were younger and they’d wrestle and bite at him, he’d throw them off him easily, telling them they need to work to beat him, even if he was impressed by their teamwork at first. Will die to protect his family, and was likely put in that position many times in the past due to his uh… business. He values his wife and children more than anything, and has done everything in his power in the past to protect them from harm. When they went to NRC at first, he felt defeated and almost wanted to beg them to stay safe with him (not that his pride would allow it).(Both the tweels can see through his facade easily)

Azul:

-Grandma ‘grotto: A very stern and prim octomermaid. What she says goes in the Ashengrotto house, and she often catches herself making unnecessary comments. She does apologize. Also a very loving grandmother towards Azul, often babying him whenever possible (doing the classic “you’re not eating enough here take some more” grandma move)(She will smooch his face whenever possible when there are no business clients nearby). Tries to boost his confidence since she knew about what was happening to him (Chances are she went through the same thing- being an octomer as well) and dod her best to protect him and make him happy. She taught him how to write with his tentacles and encouraged him to do his best in everything he does.

-Mama ‘grotto: Another businesslady in the front absolute softie in the back situation. Adores her son and is incredibly proud of how far he’s come.I think she looks identical to Azul, but more heavyset and, of course, female. She coddled Azul as much as possible, which worked out well with baby Azul’s clingy nature. She had no shame in walking around with the little guy stuck to her (unless he smacked a tentacle to her face when she was working on her restaurant), and made sure everyone knew what a good boy he was. She would show pictures to everyone (similar to Ruggie’s grandma), but respects his wishes in wanting to hide pictures of his past. She still shows anyone who asks pictures of him at NRC (compliments to the twins, who send her updates when her son is busy), and will tell everyone how smart he is and how much he’s grown.

-Step-Papa grotto: A very professional man in every aspect of his life, which stretches to his relationship with his stepson. When he learns about the contracts and Azuls UM, he’s over the moon with how happy he is. He swam around with a little more pep than usual, flicking his tail and flaring out his fins the more and more Azul told him. He helps him reword and format his contracts to his advantage, and is always willing to talk with him about Mostro Lounge or (on rare occasion) some memories before Step papa Ashengrotto met Mama Ashengrotto (which always make him happy that Azul trusts him enough). I think he’d be a pretty generic looking Mer, with an average looking tail and such

[bobfloydsbabe]

illicit affairs | bob floyd x oc | mob boss au

patch it up good

SUMMARY: After a deal goes sideways, Abby cleans Bob's bloody knuckles.

WARNINGS: mob boss au, cleaning wounds (not graphic), bob being horny on main, soft mob boss bob. strictly 18+/minors dni.

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

MBB MASTERLIST

JOIN THE TAGLIST (form–no personal info required)

SPECIAL THANKS: To @lovinglyeternal for sending this thot, which served as the inspiration for this drabble. To @joaquinwhorres, @wkndwlff, @sylviebell who all love MBB almost as much as I do.

A/N: I blacked out and wrote this in one sitting, then editing it took forever, and now it's way past my bedtime. So, enjoy this drabble, which is most likely crap.

“Sir?”

The sound of her smooth voice makes him turn around. She’s a vision. Poised, sophisticated, sexy. A deep frown decorates her face, and Bob wants nothing more than to smooth it out with his thumb.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

It’s well past midnight and everyone in the building, save for him, has gone home to start their weekend. That includes Abby, yet she stands in the doorway to his office looking concerned.

She takes a few steps forward, her black heels clicking on the floor as she does. His eyes drop down, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to ground himself and keep visions of her in all kinds of compromising positions at bay.

“I wanted to finish up some paperwork,” she tells him. 

She takes another step forward, but Bob holds up a hand to keep her back. He doesn’t want her to see him like this. Exhausted and bruised, a little ashamed that he had to resort to violence to solve a simple issue.

Her eyes zero in on his raised hand before gliding down to his other that rests on the desk he’s half-sitting, half-leaning on.

“You’re hurt.”

He shakes his head, willing her concern to go away. “It’s nothing,” he insists.

Abby doesn’t say a word as she turns around and leaves his office, making him breathe a sigh of relief. He’s not sure why, but he wants to keep her away from his world as best as he can. He wants her to stay innocent and hopeful, untouched by the dangers of his life.

He wants that almost as much as he wants her.

He stands, walking to the small table next to the couch where he keeps his liquor. Pouring himself a glass of bourbon, he relishes in the burning feeling of alcohol in his throat. It’s a welcome sensation.

The sound of heels clacking on wooden floors draws his attention back up, and Abby walks into his office with a small red and white box in her hands.

“I thought I told you to g–”

“Sit down,” she interrupts. His hand freezes mid-air, and he tilts his head to the side with narrowed eyes. It’s a command given in the last tone he expected her to take with him.

He places the half empty glass of bourbon on the side table and walks back to the desk where he perches on the edge. 

Abby walks up to him, placing the box that he now recognizes as a first aid kit on the desk next to him. He spreads his legs further, allowing her to stand between them.

She unwraps an antiseptic wipe and puts her hand out for him to place his own into. He hesitates, knows he’s playing a dangerous game by letting her see him like this. Abby, however, grows impatient and all but yanks his hand towards her.

When the wipe touches the open cuts on his knuckles, he can’t help the hiss that escapes his throat. He’s been here a thousand times before, but it still surprises him how much the alcohol stings.

He peers down at Abby, who’s concentrating on gently wiping at the wounds. Her dark lashes fall like blankets against her rounded cheeks, and a stray hair has untucked itself from her ponytail. 

He watches her examine his hand before she places it back down on his thigh. She discards the wipe in the nearby trashcan and reaches for another.

She unwraps and takes his other hand in hers. “What happened?” She asks and meets his gaze for the first time since she got to work putting him back together.

He stays quiet, figures it’s for the best. He doesn’t want her to see him as someone who chooses a fight because not doing so is one reason he’s so good at what he does. He can keep his emotions in check. Usually.

She huffs out a small laugh. “Fine, don’t tell me,” she relents. “But don’t expect me to clean you up next time.”

A grin spreads across his face of its own volition. “Think there’ll be a next time?”

Her hands still in his, and when she looks up at him, it’s not the timid woman he’s grown used to. Her eyes are hard and unamused.

Her attention goes back to his knuckles, where she does a final few swipes across the angry skin. “There,” she says, and let’s go of his hand.

She discards the second wipe in the trash and moves to step back, but Bob reaches out for her. He touches her hip lightly, not wanting to startle her.

She looks down at where his hand rests on her hip, only to look back up at his face with a bewildered expression.

She doesn’t flinch, though, and lets herself come to him when he pulls at her hip. She fits between his legs perfectly and the scent of her perfume makes his head spin.

He’s never been as affected by someone as he is by Abby. She’s intoxicating.

Her breath hitches when his other hand travels up the curves of her body, landing on her jaw, so his fingertips touch the nape of her neck.

She holds his gaze, intense fire burning in those dark eyes. Her cheeks flush and turn warm under his palm, and he knows he has this effect on her. He wonders if she knows what she’s doing to him.

Tension hangs in the air, thick and palpable, when Bob leans down and places his mouth over Abby’s. She goes completely still for a moment, but then, right as he goes to pull away, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, she gasps against his lips and kisses him back.

He uses the hand on her hip to pull her closer, pressing harder against her mouth, letting his tongue run along the seam of her lips. She opens up without hesitation, and Bob groans into her mouth when her hand comes up and tugs on his hair.

It’s hungry and messy, the sounds of moans and shaking pen cups filling the quiet office. Bob wraps his arms around her waist, spinning them around so she’s the one on his desk.

He presses himself flush against her, not bothered to hide the bulge in his pants. She gasps again when he slots a leg between hers and it brushes against her clothed core. He wants nothing more than to keep drawing that sound out of her, to make her a whimpering mess under him.

One of his hands travels down to her leg and he hikes it up over his hip, but it’s the wrong thing to do. She pushes him off her, and Bob stumbles back slightly. Her hand raises up and covers her mouth, shock filling her eyes.

Bob steps back further to give her space and watches as her fingers tremble against her mouth. Something inside him breaks at the sight.

He opens his mouth to apologize. For craving her so much that he could no longer control himself. To beg forgiveness, but Abby beats him to it.

“I should go,” she mutters, standing up and straightening out her dress. 

He nods as she gathers up the first aid kit, and as she passes him on her way towards the door, he lightly grabs her elbow.

She stops, eyes darting down to his hand before returning to his face.

“I overstepped,” he says. “I’m so–”

The apology dies in his throat as Abby’s lips connect with his once again in a kiss that makes his head flood with desire and confusion.

She pulls away. “Goodnight, sir,” she says and walks out of his office, leaving Bob to his thoughts and a semi he’ll have to take care of himself.

It’s not until the sound of heels clacking on the floor fades that he snaps out of his stupor. He chuckles to himself, walking back to his long-forgotten glass of bourbon and downs the rest of its contents in one go.

likes are nice, but comments and reblogs are motivating

TAGLIST: @lovinglyeternal, @yanna-banana, @canarysposts, @bradshawsbitch, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @sylviebell, @wkndwlff, @theunmeltables-blog, @rooster-84, @roosters-girl, @bradshawsbaby, @cdauni, @withahappyrefrain, @onethirstyunicorn, @apparently-sunshine, @some-lovely-day, @linkpk88, @thedroneranger, @cherrycola27, @lunamooncole, @purplevortexx, @hangmandruigandmav, @lorilane33, @olivia21blunt, @ravenhood2792, @desert-fern, @wittywhispers, @hisredheadedgoddess28, @mikpieboo, @petersunderoos96, @soulmates8

[himbowelsh]

BoB guys and what they listen while driving and how their car space looks like?

Richard Winters: He’s got a very neat car – he keeps all his manuals in the glove compartment, plus a very old bottle of water, a towel, and a small first aid kit. He likes the inside of his car to seem responsible, because his driving is… not always great. He listens to a lot of oldies, a lot of Elvis, and is always up for some slow rock.

Lewis Nixon: His car has that “new car smell”, partly because he drives a fancy sportscar, and partly because he has a scent that he sprays around the car called “new car smell”. Definitely the guy who keeps his car in pristine condition, while actually driving very little (he’s a master at bumming rides off his friends). There’s not much clutter around his car. While driving, he’ll either listen to classical music or, for some weird reason, Zumba music. Will shamelessly bop at all the red lights.

Carwood Lipton: Responsible driver with the responsible car. He’s got nutrition bars and a well-stocked first aid kit in his glove compartment, and a spare tire and toolbox in the bck. Keeps his car nice and neat. He likes listening to slow rock and the occasional early-2000s jam. (Not saying he has any Natasha Bedingfield CDs, but if he hears her on the radio, he will not turn her off.) Uses air fresheners, so his car always smells like cherries.

Ron Speirs: His car is neat as a pin – like, almost rental-car neat. He has a car like a mob boss, okay? There are next to no personal items there (except coffee, he always has coffee in the cup holder). The only decoration is a Smokey Pine air freshener hanging from the mirror. He keeps a switchblade in his glove compartment. Just DO NOT go into his trunk, because that’s where he keeps everything else. Clean as his car might be, Speirs is basically a packrat, and he keeps all of his stuff in the back. There are black duffel bags just full of stuff he’s picked up. He doesn’t play music in the car – he tends to keep it deal silent. If he plays anything, it’s whatever’s on the radio. (Picture a stone-faced Speirs driving down the road while Taylor Swift plays in the background.)

Harry Welsh: Has a shamrock dashboard ornament AND bumper sticker. He’s very proud of it. His car is ancient, small, and messy. He has pretty much no idea what’s in the trunk of his car, because it hasn’t opened in years – for all he knows, he could have a hidden fortune back there. Will belt out the most played songs of the day, but has albums of 80s pop hits that he loves listening to.

Eugene Roe: His car always smells like vanilla. There’s no reason that it should, and he has no vanilla in his car, but it just smells that way. He keeps his car neat, not a lot of clutter, though he’s got a toolbox in the trunk that’s always rattling around, and his backseat is loaded with textbooks. He likes playing chill music in his car – Coldplay is really good, but he’s not above putting on some Enya (and enjoying his passengers’ whining.)

Babe Heffron: Literal mess. There are (mostly) empty pizza boxes in the backseat of his car, empty soda cans, old socks, library books three months overdue (that aren’t even his), and old cassette tapes that haven’t been used in a decade. He loves listening to really energetic music, a lot of the latest hits, anything with energy.

Bill Guarnere: His car is so clean that it’s almost frightening. He doesn’t let anyone mess up his car. His car is his baby, and he treats it as well as he treats himself. He keeps that thing spick and span – he’s got a well-organized book of CDs in the glove compartment, only allows one drink in his cup holder (and god help you if you spill), and is ready to have a stroke if he ever sees someone eating inside. Birds who poop on his car are his sworn enemy. He’ll only listen to specific music while driving – he likes heavy metal that gets his blood thumping, but if he’s alone he’ll also put on the occasional pop jam on the radio.

Joe Toye: His car isn’t messy at all, and it’s actually pretty roomy! The seats are soft, and he keeps them clean. There are a few coffee stains, because Joe has a problem, and the trunk of his car is crammed with gym bags, gym equipment, sports equipment, golf clubs (he’s never golfed in his life but they seem useful to have), whatever he’s got. 

George Luz: Non-ironically has a hula girl on the dash of his car. He LOVES dashboard decorations, okay? His car is cluttered with so many of them that people actually worry is he can see. (He loves bumper stickers too!) He tries to keep his car clean, but it’s mostly messy – he’ll still yell at anybody who he spots messing it up even more. He plays a lot of pop music, a lot of dance music, and will belt out his songs loud and proud.

Joseph Liebgott: No one messes up his car. He will literally throw them out WHILE the car is moving. Lieb has a lot of Car Rules, but his favorite is: driver picks the music. His second favorite rule is that no one’s allowed to drive his car but him, so he always has jurisdiction over the music. A lot of rap, a lot of rock, music that puts him in the Driving Zone. He’s got a cute Superman figurine on his dash, and he loves it.

David Webster: Lol, does he even have a car??? He’s pretty cluttered – he’s got old books, socks, manuscript pages, pens and pencils galore. Pretty much whatever’s around. Can’t stand eating in his car, so if he sees crumbs he’ll scream. He’s the sort of guy who likes driving without music, but if he has to listen to anything it’ll be some indie CD he keeps in his car. 

Don Malarkey: Driving with him seems like a good idea until you actually do it. His car looks nice on the outside, but on the inside it’s a mess. He has stuff crammed in the back to the point where it’s almost impossible to sit there. He’s got half-eaten chip bags, laundry he never bothered to take in, old recycling… it also smells kind of weird in there. No one wants to ride in Don’s car, but his seats are really soft, so he’s perfectly comfortable there. He listens to old 70s/80s era rock, stuff he can sing along to.

Skip Muck: Always has snacks in his car. Always. He’s got a half-empty pack of Skittles in the cup holder, there’s a bag of chips in the glove compartment, there’s a pack of soda under the backseat. (He also has the habit of snacking while driving, which the Very Safe Driver in him feels guilty about.) Other than that, his car isn’t neat, but it’s not filthy. It smells very pleasant, a lot like Skip himself. An enthusiastic fan of goofy bumper stickers. He’s got a large collection of CDs, because he’s a music geek, but he’ll just as happily listen to whatever latest hits are on the radio.

Alex Penkala: He’s the only one allowed to trash his car. If anyone else leaves junk lying around, he’ll stash it in the trunk and pretend he has no idea what happened to it. Serves them right. He does leave empty fast food containers and water bottles lying around, but no one else is allowed to. Car always smells like mint. He loves playing punk rock while he’s driving.

Donald Hoobler: Loves dashboard decorations. He has a cute Mickey Mouse bobblehead that he loves, and they don’t distract him from driving at all. And yes, he will play Disney soundtracks in the car, and sing along. Shame? He has none. Nothing thrills him more than when his passenger is willing to duet with him. Hoob doesn’t keep his car super neat – actually it’s kind of a mess, and his backseat is too cluttered to put anyone back there. Still, it’s not filthy.

Chuck Grant: Very nice, shiny car. He acts like it’s no big deal, but is quietly proud of it. He keeps it neat by intimidating his irresponsible friends. When someone owes him, he’ll probably make them clean his car. He’s got a personalized keychain hanging on his mirror (since it doesn’t fit his actual keys) engraved with his initials, 

Floyd Talbert: The party car. He loves listening to any music, but the hits on the radio tend to appeal to him while driving. He’ll belt out any song he knows, and sort of bop along to it while cruising down the road. He keeps his car pretty clean. He’s got a gym bag in the back filled with extra clothes and sneakers, a few library books on the seat he keeps meaning to return, and he keeps a few extra water bottles in his trunk “just in case”. Likes to have a lot of room in his car.

Bull Randleman: Has a truck, and just try telling me he doesn’t. He’s his friends go-to guy any time they need help moving something. His car is old and well-loved. He keeps the interior neat enough, and it proud of his leather seats. The back of the truck is all banged up from the many things (and people) it’s carried. He loves a good country tune, but will non-ironically jam out to Shakira and J-Lo.

Johnny Martin: Also has a truck, but very few people ever call him for help, because he’ll bitch to high heaven. It’s easier to haul your own stuff around than to call Johnny. His truck is five times the size of him, and he drives it with pride. The interior is kind of a mess, but he keeps the exterior very clean. He either listens to old classics like The Four Seasons or hardcore rap music while driving.

[opedguy]

Biden Exploits Race Riots for Votes

LOS ANGELES (OnlineColumnist.com), June 2, 2020.--Speaking for the first time in the Reception Room in Philadelphia’s City Hall, 77-year-old former Vice President and Democrat presumptive nominee Joe Biden slammed 73-year-old President Donald Trump for addressing the nation yesterday from the Oval Office. President Trump said there can be no tolerance in the U.S. for the looting and lawlessness that’s caused widespread property damage in many U.S. cities, including Philadelphia.  “It’s a wake up call for our nation.  For all of us,” Biden said, forgetting what happened to his boss, 58-year-old former President Barack Obama, when a slew of racially-charged murders by white cops prompted rioting in American cities.  Now that the shoe’s on the other foot, Biden plays cynical politics slamming Trump.  Biden blasted Trump for ordering the D.C. police and National Guard to restore order to the nation’s capital.  How about that?

            When Biden talks of a “wake up call,” what was happening when 17-year-old Trayvon Martin was killed by a white vigilante Feb. 26, 2012 or, two years later, when  44-year-old Eric Garner was choked to death by the New York City cop July 14, 2014. Biden said nothing about a “wake-up call” back then, when people took to the streets to protests police brutality. But now that it’s an election year, Biden has nothing but contempt for a tragic event in Minneapolis where a racist cop choked 46-year-old George Floyd to death May 25.  Instead of making sweeping generalizations about law enforcement or a so-called “wake up call,” Biden should be calming down rioters and looters operating outside the U.S. Constitution.  Biden was irked by Trump going to the historic St. John’s Episcopal Church across from the White House to honor it after torched by an angry mob.

            Biden knows that Washington has been subject to looting, arson and anarchy, not peaceful demonstrations permitted under the First Amendment.  D.C. police and the National Guard wouldn’t be deployed if peaceful protesters made their case on civil rights and police brutality.  “The president held up the bible at St. John’s Church yesterday.  I just wish he’d opened it once in a while instead of raising it,” Biden quipped.  If he opened it, he might have learned something,” showing that Biden’s has no shortage of sarcasm over a very serious problem facing the country.  No orderly or sane society can tolerate anarchy or lawlessness for any cause, no matter how noble.  Civil rights activists know that Minneapolis cop Derek Chauvin lost his job, was arrested May 28 and charged with third-degree murder. Chauvin will likely spend the rest of his life behind bars.

            When you ask what the crowd wants, they have no answers other than venting collective rage at white society.  Black Entertainment founder Bob Johnson offered a solution to the widespread looting and violence: Reparations. Johnson proposed at $15 trillion in reparations to African Americans to cover the period from day the Constitution was signed Sept. 17, 1787.  So, Johnson suggests that if African Americans don’t collect $15 trillion in reparations, the rioting will continue.  Johnson and other pro-reparation blacks are deadly serious about their demand for reparations.  Biden doesn’t take the situation seriously, knowing that the U.S. government isn’t in a place for pay off the African American community if they promise not to riot.  Trump “turned this country into a battlefield riven by old resentments and fresh fears . . .” Biden said, forgetting what happened on his watch.

            When Trump spoke to the nation last night, he said the nation grieved Floyd’s death but wouldn’t tolerate looting, arson and anarchy. It’s easy for Biden to take shots at Trump, it’s an election year.  But everyone knows there’s no quick fix for the plight of African Americans in the United States.  Reparations are exactly the wrong answer, when the government already spends billions on welfare, food stamps and Medicaid, health care for the poor. Whatever happened in Minneapolis does not reflect the vast majority of the nation’s law enforcement community. Whatever the U.S. history with police brutality, police departments around the country are more diversified in terms of racial and ethnic minorities than ever before.  Saying there’s “systemic racism” in national law enforcement or the county at large is outrageous.  Barack Obama would never have been president if the country suffered from “systemic racism.”

             Politicizing the Coronavirus AKA SARS CoV-2 or Covid-19 crisis and now race riots around the country, Biden took every opportunity to smack Trump around.  “I promise you this—I won’t traffic in fear and division.  I won’t fan the flames of hate.  I’ll seek to heal the racial wounds that have long plagued our country, not use them for political gain . . I’ll take responsibility, no blame others,” Biden, forgetting again, that he and Obama had plenty of racial problems when in office. If Joe’s not using Covid-19 and race riots for “political gain,” than who is?  Joe was so successful dealing with race with Obama, he watched five Dallas police officers ambushed July 7, 2016 by a black extremist because he and Obama had so much empathy for police brutality.  Biden showed he has no qualms exploiting the nation’s misery for his own political gain, something he hopes wins him votes.

About the Author

John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news. He’s editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.

[bobfloydsbabe]

illicit affairs | bob floyd x oc | mob boss au

gift of intimacy

SUMMARY: Abby shows up at work to a beautifully wrapped gift waiting on her desk, and there's no doubt who gave it to her.

WARNINGS: mob boss au, bob being horny on main, allusions to smut (if you squint), possessiveness (if you squint). strictly 18+/minors dni.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

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SPECIAL THANKS: To @withahappyrefrain for inspiring me to write this blurb by sending this thot my way. I couldn't stop thinking about it, so here we are. Thank you!

A/N: I had a happy crying meltdown on Friday going through all your comments, reblogs, and asks. Thank you for your love and enthusiasm for this AU, and please feel free to send questions, thots, and musings about Mob Boss Bobby. I love talking to you!

Abby sucks in a deep breath, feeling her lungs expand in her chest, and blows the air back out through her nose.

She’s dreaded this moment since she left his penthouse on Friday night–satisfied but terrified that she’d let herself go so far with him. 

She’d wanted to, though. She had begged him not to stop, and he hadn’t. 

She takes the last few steps down the corridor and pushes the door to her office open. The door to his office is open and as she passes on the way to her desk, he lifts his hand in greeting.

Abby’s phone almost slips from her hand when she stops in front of her desk.

On it, where her keyboard usually sits, is a big white box with a black ribbon double wrapped around it. Her brows draw together as she puts her phone and purse down near the edge of the desk and examines the box. It’s practically weightless and there’s nothing on the outside to tell her what could be inside.

She watches the ribbon unravel around the box when she pulls it, and lifts the lid slowly, finding creamy white tissue paper inside, but there’s no note. No hint to who could have bought this for her, but she can venture a guess.

The man who sits just a few paces away in his own office, doing who knows what on his laptop. She knows he can see her if he sits at just the right angle, and something tells her he’s found it.

With unsteady hands, Abby reaches for the tissue paper and opens it up. A small gasp leaves her lips at the beauty staring back at her, and she feels heat rush to her cheeks.

Her eyes dart around the room, checking for cameras she already knows aren’t there. She looks to the open door of her boss’ office. There’s no doubt in her mind that he’s the one behind this, the one who must have carefully picked out the steel blue lingerie sitting inside the box.

Returning her gaze to the box, her hands tremble as she runs her fingers across the delicate fabric. Mesh embroidered with velvet lilies in a shade that’s as close to his color as he could probably find. It’s a gift.

Fire courses through her veins at the implication.

She belongs to him now.

“Do you like it?”

Her head whips up and finds Bob leaning against the doorframe of his office.

“I…”

Whatever she wanted to say dies in her throat. 

“If you don’t, I can exchange it for something more suited to your taste.”

He pushes off the doorframe and is standing behind her in just three long strides. His hands land on her hips, the heat of them burning her skin through the black trousers.

“Sir, I can’t accept this.”

She expects his hands to still, expects him to retreat and admonish her for refusing such a beautiful and undoubtedly expensive gift, but he doesn’t. His hands hold on tighter to her hips as his lips find the exposed skin of her neck.

“Do you even know what it does to me when you call me that?” He purrs against her ear, making the small hairs at the back of her neck stand up. “What you do to me?”

She has to stifle a moan at the feeling of his soft lips pressing kisses right below her ear where her pulse races. His large hands move from her hips to her stomach, pressing her back against him. She feels his desire for her, setting her insides alight.

A moan passes from her lips. He’s everywhere, all over her, and her mind is hazy with the feeling of him touching her, kissing her, breathing her in.

There’s a voice inside her head screaming that this is wrong. That she’s getting into bed with the enemy, but a deep groan from Bob when she lifts an arm and grabs his hair, drowns it out. Makes it seem like it wasn’t even there to begin with. 

“You didn’t tell me if you like it or not,” he whispers, teeth nipping softly at the spot where her shoulder meets her neck.

“It’s stunning,” she says. “How did you know my size?”

Abby lets out a small yelp when he spins her around, bringing her face to face with his dark lust-blown eyes, traces of the crystal blue she’s so familiar with nowhere to be found.

His hands trail up to her face where his thumbs brush against her cheeks. “I’ve been thinking about you all weekend,” he says, voice low and husky. “Since you left my bed, my apartment.”

His thumb moves down to her mouth, and he drags the digit along her bottom lip. “My sheets smell like you.”

He leans down and kisses her lips. It’s soft, mouths moving in easy unison. A gentle dance.

He goes to pull away, but Abby wraps her arms around his neck and drags him closer, licking into his mouth. He takes a few steps until her ass meets the edge of her desk and the pen cup rattles at the force of it.

His lips leave hers, dragging down the column of her throat, leaving wet kisses in their wake.

“I know your size,” he groans as he reaches the top of her breasts. “Because no one can forget a body like yours.”

His fingers undo the top button of her shirt, revealing more of her breasts, and he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh.

Abby’s head swims with desire, her eyes closed shut to focus on the feeling of him. Her entire body is burning with need, and if someone couldn’t walk past the office and see inside, she would have let him continue his exploration of her skin.

“Sir,” she pants, heaving for breath. She pulls his hair to get him away from her chest, even though it’s the last thing she wants. Her body is screaming at him to keep going.

“Sorry,” he mutters, just as breathless as she is. “Couldn’t help myself.”

Her heart pounds as she reaches for his tie to straighten it out. “It’s okay,” she tells him and means it.

She turns back around to her desk. The box with the lingerie still sits open, and she reaches out for it, running her fingertips over the fabric again.

“It may be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned.”

“It would look even better on my floor after I take it off you,” he says against her earlobe, before pulling back and walking back to his office, closing the door behind him.

She pulls the chair away from the desk, sinking into the dark leather seat. Unresolved tension hangs in the air and her body feels electric.

She knows she’s in trouble. She came here with a job to do, but getting involved with the boss of a rival organization was definitely not in the job description.

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TAGLIST: @lovingrobertfloyd, @yanna-banana, @canarysposts, @bradshawsbitch, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @sylviebell, @wkndwlff, @theunmeltables-blog, @rooster-84, @roosters-girl, @bradshawsbaby, @cdauni, @withahappyrefrain, @onethirstyunicorn, @apparently-sunshine, @some-lovely-day, @linkpk88, @joaquinwhorres

[bobfloydsbabe]

illicit affairs | bob floyd x oc | mob boss au

walk the line

SUMMARY: After staying late at the office, Bob insists on walking Abby to her car.

WARNINGS: mob boss au, sexual tension, sexual thoughts. strictly 18+/minors dni.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

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SPECIAL THANKS: Thanks to @joaquinwhorres for the prompt, and for the endless support and encouragement for MBB and my other writing. I adore you. Thank you to @wkndwlff and @sylviebell for listening to me rant about this for hours on end.

A/N: This was supposed to just be a quick and easy 500 word drabble. That obviously didn't happen. Enjoy!

Bob leans back in his chair and rubs his palms against his eyes, trying to make them hurt less from staring at his laptop all night.

The Bates family has been creating problems for him for weeks. They’ve somehow blocked every permit he’s been trying to get with the city so he can finally start construction on the Belmont Street project.

Letting his hands fall away, he opens his eyes and notices the light at Abby’s desk is on.

With a furrowed brow, he pushes himself up and walks across the expanse of his office until he’s standing in the doorway.

Abby’s sitting at her desk, typing away on her keyboard, doing who knows what. He checks his watch and sees that it’s far past midnight.

“I thought you’d gone home hours ago,” he says, letting his arm fall back at his side.

She startles, making the whole table shake and her hand flies to her chest where her heartbeat is likely running wild.

“You scared me,” she tells him after collecting herself enough to look at him.

“Sorry. I thought you’d gone home,” he repeats.

She shakes her head, making a stray dark hair fall from her ponytail and rest against her cheek. “Unless you dismiss me, I don’t leave until you do, sir.”

Even after being here all day, she still looks as flawless as she did when she walked through the door that morning.

He thinks back to last week inside her apartment after the fundraiser when he’d nearly given into temptation. She’d looked perfect then, too. Cheeks flushed from the alcohol and dancing with him. Only him.

He thinks of the aide who’d dared to lay hands on his girl in full view of all the guests. Bob had only applied enough force to the kid’s hand that it would hurt for a while. Certainly not enough to break it. Abby was none the wiser, but he’d seen the kid with an ice pack on his fingers later on.

“Well, I’m heading home for the night,” he begins, looking back at Abby, who’s watching him. “So should you. I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

Bob goes back to his office to close up for the day and grab his suit jacket off the back of his chair. When he returns, Abby’s slipping a coat over her shoulders.

“Ready?”

She faces him with a bright smile. “Yes,” she says, and leans forward, clicking off the lamp on her desk. “All set.” She rounds the desk and heads for the elevator down the hall.

On the surface it looks like a normal corporate office with a receptionist, open floor plan with conference rooms closed off by large glass panels, a kitchenette with the essentials like a microwave and a fancy espresso machine Javy insisted they get even though he only comes by the office once a week.

Bob smiles to himself, trailing behind Abby, whose ponytail swings like a pendulum against her back, and he can’t help that his eyes wander down to her hips. Those heels drive him wild and they make her ass look fantastic.

He’s walking a fine line, and he knows it.

The elevator doors slide open right as he catches up to Abby, who moves remarkably fast in heels that high and thin.

“You coming?”

He meets her eyes, realizing he’s stopped outside the elevator. He shakes his head and joins Abby inside.

As the doors close, every one of Bob’s senses become engulfed by Abby. He feels the heat radiate off her on his skin, can practically taste the mint of her lip gloss on his tongue, hears her steady breath, and watches the rise and fall of her chest in the corner of his eye.

What gets him is the scent of her. It’s different. Darker, muskier. Sexier. Rose and a hint of vanilla, but still her.

“New perfume?” He asks, turning to face her. In the harsh overhead lighting of the elevator, he can see her cheeks warm up, and he fights the way his hand twitches, desperate to reach out and touch her skin.

He knows it’s velvety soft.

“Yeah,” she admits, not meeting his eyes. “It was time for a change.”

A hum is his only reply, making her finally meet his gaze. She looks like she wants to say more, divulge a secret she’s not supposed to, and he longs to pry it from her pretty mouth.

He takes a small step forward, testing the water to see how she reacts. She doesn’t flinch, but her eyes flicker down to the floor for a second before coming back to his.

Her cheeks burn hotter than before when she asks. “Do you like it?”

Leaning down, his lips graze her exposed neck when he inhales the scent of her. Her breath hitches, body shuddering at the touch.

He cranes his neck upward and finds Abby’s eyes trained on him, darker than usual.

Maintaining eye contact, he presses his lips to the skin of her neck. “I do,” he says and straightens his back.

Abby’s jaw is slack, and her eyes follow him as he takes another step closer. Their breathing fills the small space, but all Bob sees and feels is her.

The woman who has haunted his dreams since the moment she first stepped into his office.

His fingers twitch again, but right as he’s about to reach for her, the elevator stops moving and the doors whoosh open.

Abby jumps away from him as if burned by an invisible flame.

“Ladies first,” he says, gesturing to the open doors.

She smiles politely, wrapping her thin coat tightly around her body, and folds her arms across her torso to keep it in place. She offers him a nod as she passes and mumbles a quiet thank you.

Bob follows her out, cursing whatever powers are against him for putting Abby in his path. He’s holding onto professionalism by a thread that’s rapidly unraveling.

He’d regret it if he could, but the magnetic pull Abby has on him is something he can’t describe. There’s an inevitability in his attraction to her.

The sound of her heels echoes through the concrete parking garage. He’s watching her ponytail swing against her shoulder blades, follows it with his eyes, trying his best not to let them travel down to the swell of her ass. Again.

He realizes a beat too late that he hasn’t actually walked her to her car as much as he’s followed behind her. Now they’re at her car, a sensible black Range Rover in pristine condition, and she rifling through her purse for the keys.

He stands behind her left shoulder, catching another whiff of her intoxicating perfume. “Need help?”

“No, I got it,” she declares, proudly pulling the key out of her purse. Her smile is contagious enough that Bob feels the corners of his mouth turn upward.

She unlocks the door with a click and steps forward, but Bob reaches around her, grasping the handle before she can.

He steps forward, forcing Abby to turn around so her back is against the side of her car, facing him. Her breathing is shallow, uneven, and her eyes flitter around before landing on him.

“Sir?”

He hums as the hand that was on the door slides up behind her until his palm finds the back of her head. 

“What are you doing?” She asks, voice breathless and trembling. Anticipation hangs in the air between them, and the chilly night air does nothing to ease the tension.

A soft breeze carries her scent to his nostrils as he grasps the tie that holds her dark hair in place and pulls it. As it comes loose, Abby’s hair falls in a cascade down her back.

Her gaze holds his now, transfixed. “Why did you do that?”

Bob tosses the hair tie to the side. He slides his fingertips up her arms, reaching behind her and gently bringing her hair over her shoulders so it falls around her face instead, framing those round cheeks.

“Because I like it down,” he tells her, voice so quiet he can barely hear it himself. Abby’s chest rises and falls, and he feels it against his chest. The sensation makes his cock stir, heat spreading in his abdomen.

He sees a silent war in her eyes, and whatever she’s fighting against wins as she places a hand on his chest. She grasps his tie, but doesn’t pull at it, just holds it in her hand.

They don’t say a word. Just look at each other, daring the other to make the first move, to change whatever’s going on between them.

Bob knows what he wants. Her. He wants to kiss her neck, leave marks there and claim her as his. He wants to run his tongue along her folds as she moans and begs for him to keep going. He wants to plant himself deep inside her, make her chant his name, paint her insides with his cum, and watch her struggle to speak afterward.

The allure of having her is almost enough to make him cross that line he’s long hesitated to approach. His desire for Abby makes him vulnerable, and that’s what eventually makes him step away from her in that dimly lit parking garage.

Her hand falls from his chest. He holds the door open for her, but she remains in front of him on the ground. She draws her brows together, creating a cute indent between them, which he aches to smooth out.

“Goodnight, sir,” she finally says, hoisting herself into the driver’s seat.

He offers her a tight-lipped smile. “Goodnight, Abigail.” He closes the door and takes another step back, breathing a sigh of relief as tension leaves his body. 

The engine comes to life, and Abby offers him a small wave as she pulls out of her parking space. He doesn’t return it, but finds himself alone in the garage with the ghost of Abby’s hand still on his chest.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials his driver.

likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are motivating

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