#mob boss bob

[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

[thebekashow]

Sometimes when you are tired, you no longer can think thoughts no more

Void Bob is so derp hehe

[callsigndragon]

I’m so glad someone else saw the potential in Mob Boss Bob! It’s such a cool and unexpected AU for Bobby. You should check out the fics I have out for him!

Hey love!

The idea of Mob Boss Bob has always been in the back of my mind, but people always said that he wasn't the kind of guy who would get himself involved with the mafia... but i completely disagree hehehe

I should definitely check out your works when I have time! ❤️

[bobfloydsbabe]

NYN, BE SO FUCKING FOR REAL RIGHT NOW. I LOVE THIS. I'M OBSESSED WITH IT. YOU WELL AND TRULY NAILED THE VIBE OF ILLICIT AFFAIRS AND I CAN'T STOP STARING.

I know we had a rough start to our interactions, mostly due to my insecurities and creations I'm protective of, but I'm so glad we worked it out and have become friendly. Your support means the world to me. You taking the time to write detailed feedback and comments on my fics, and now creating this breathtaking moodboard for Mob Boss Bob is incredible. Thank you. I adore you.

in conclusion

happy tears, i promise

﹒📜﹒﹙ℱ𝚘𝚛 I've 𝒃𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝚊 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 too ℒ𝒐𝒏𝒈﹚﹒ ⊹﹒

𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑏𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑣 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠;; 𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 @bobfloydsbabe ♥︎ 𝒎𝒘𝒂𝒉!

divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more | text template by @ai-haibara | bow png by @luvpngs | lighter png by @saizun | lew gif by @bradshawsbitch

[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

[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!

[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

MBB MASTERLIST

JOIN THE TAGLIST (form–no personal info required)

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.

likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are golden

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]

the way i have only ever heard young god (and the og gjwhf) is so typical me, but you are so right about that song and that lyric in particular. i looked up the lyrics for the other songs, and damn, babydoll is literally perfect??? i'll be listening to all of them tomorrow!

If you’re still doing the playlists could I mayhaps request one for Mob Boss Bob aka the love of my life? He’s been on my mind a lot today 😵‍💫🥵

i can absolutely make one for mob boss bob because he’s also the love of my life 🫠

babydoll by ari abdul

young god by halsey (i don’t care if it’s 2014 core, and if you wanna go to heaven, you can fuck me tonight is mob boss bob)

unholy war by jacob banks

wait by nombe

girls just wanna have some by chromatics

send me a word or phrase and a character, i’ll make a mini playlist for you or your fic

[biteofcherry]

To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel​’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark!mafia Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you’re unexpectedly appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings: dark!Steve Rogers (really, he’s not a softie here, he dark); manipulation; blackmail; threats; power imbalance; specific warnings will be added for each chapter separately

warnings for this chapter: none

Be patient, please, this first part is only an introduction and setting the scene.

Chapter 1. Storm on the horizon

~ * ~

A stream of dark cars, which slowly pulled up to the curb, distorted the innocent image of pristine sidewalk with raised flower bed pots soaked in early summer sunlight, immediately drawing Felix’s attention from the plants he’s been watering in his office. 

The center had a large parking lot on the other side of the property, where clients could leave their cars without interrupting the usual street flow at the front side. No one ever pulled up to the very front; beside that one evening a few years ago when the official opening ceremony turned into a gala with VIPs coming in their fancy limousines. 

Felix narrowed his eyes, watching through the window as three big, black cars stopped right in front of the steps leading to the building. Expensive models. They looked reinforced, too, meaning they were probably more expensive than a line of limousines. 

Two men stepped out of the first car, both of them doing a subtle sweep around before approaching the middle car. They stood on both sides of the backdoor, watchful of anything changing in their surroundings. 

A man slipped out of the front passenger’s side - big and bulky, with dark hair pulled into a bun, and dark sunglasses covering his eyes. He was wearing all black, from the heavy military boots to leather jacket and leather gloves. 

He walked around the car to the backseat guarded by two other men and pulled the door open. 

When yet another man stepped out, slowly stretching to his full height, Felix’s heart dropped to his stomach. 

That man he recognized. 

That man should not be anywhere near here. 

The watering-can almost fell out of Felix’s hand, his fingers spasming in a tremble of panic. Water spilled on the windowsill as he dropped it down with a thud, before running out of his office. 

The center has been quiet for the past few days, only slowly getting back to life after its short period of mourning. At this early time of day there weren’t many people inside, most patients coming in a bit later. 

Felix rushed down the corridor, shaken with the unexpected arrival and not knowing how to proceed. 

He should be doing something, he thought. Warn the right people. Having things not go smoothly was a novelty with which he had trouble dealing, especially in those circumstances. 

Not so long ago he boasted about having things under control, gaining even more confidence when you turned out to be kind and inexperienced in the nuances of the city’s complex socio-political wires. He could work with you without a hitch, Felix convinced himself - and others - of that fact. 

Three black cars pulling up in the early morning hours wrecked that simple plan.

Almost at your door, Felix ran straight into Natalie, your assistant. She was smaller than him, a filigree silhouette with a sharp bob and a murderous look. With a calendar in one hand and a traveling mug with hot coffee in the other, Natalie glared at him.  

“Felix, what the hell?” It was too early in the morning, for her at least, to be dealing with any crap. 

“Rogers is here! S-Steve Rogers is here!” 

He was breathless, air in his lungs burning not from the pace with which he ran, but the fear of that man about to enter the place.

Natalie frowned, looking above Felix’s shoulder at the still quiet and empty hall. Rogers’ name was recognized by many people in the city, even the lucky ones who had absolutely no connection to the dark tentacles of his criminal empire. 

Though, some whispers suggested that somehow everyone was tied to him. Some people just didn’t know it, living in sweet oblivion. 

“Well, then,” she took a sip of her coffee, “shouldn’t you be greeting him at the door and asking what exactly is he here for?”

“He’s not here for me, you know that.” Felix nearly shrunk in on himself, scared of the prospect of facing Rogers. 

He definitely didn’t want to be on his radar, even as someone simply pointing directions. They said Rogers never forgot a face. Oh no, it was better to be completely out of sight. Hide in a closet and wait for the storm to pass. 

“Of course.” Natalie rolled her eyes. “It’s obvious he’s here for the new boss.”

That moment the door to your office opened and you stepped out, almost bumping into Natalie - your newly acquired, or inherited, assistant. 

“I was actually about to go look for you.” You smiled at her.

Natalie, though she could be sour like a lemon, provided you a sense of security in the wicked waters you were treading through as of a few days. 

“I went through the outlines for the group classes last night.” You informed her.

 “I’d like to schedule a meeting with the therapists and construction manager. It would be better if they explained to him which changes in the project they need to be done.”

“I’ll arrange it.” She nodded, balancing the mug in the crook of her elbow and flipping the calendar open. 

You’ve met some well organized people in your life, but Natalie was like the highest functioning computer in a tiny human flesh. She included everything in the schedules she made, with traffic jam and bathroom breaks. 

Why she kept a paper calendar as well as a digital one in her phone, you had no idea. As long as it worked for her, and she worked for you, you weren’t going to judge her methods.

“I’ll reschedule today’s meeting with the lawyers, too.” Natalie added casually.

“Isn’t that in-” you checked your watch- “half an hour? Why do we need to reschedule?”

“Another meeting came up.” Natalie answered with a shrug, her gaze flicking to the end of the corridor from where heavy footsteps of someone approaching were gaining in volume. “A rather important one.”

“With whom?” You frowned. 

Beside the lawyers, or your grandmother, there wasn’t anyone you expected to be calling you on a whim demanding immediate attention. No one that you were aware of, at least. 

“Steve Rogers.” Felix squeaked.

“Who is that?” Your frown remained, only deepened. 

You didn’t recognize that name from any legal papers in which you were swarmed for the past couple of days. 

Felix’s eyes grew big, even Natalie seemed surprised that you didn’t immediately react at the sound of his name. 

Working at the center since its beginnings, they were probably used to all the people from elites and various organizations with whom Howard Stark used to work while running this place. 

You were barely familiar with some of the institutions. You knew you had to broaden your knowledge now, but it couldn’t be done in a week. You doubted it could be done in a year.

You were simply a neuropsychologist who spent two days every week for the past year helping Howard Stark after his stroke. A pawn on the full board of other specialists, who all tended to Howard. 

And yet, it was you with whom he grew a certain bond, maybe fondness, that led you to the overbearing mess of a situation. 

When Howard passed a few weeks ago, your mourning over a friendly patient was disrupted by an unexpected summoning. To the will reading. 

Among all of his wealth and companies, which were all inherited by his son Tony and his family (the sweetest woman you ever met, Pepper, and their daughter), the little chunk - a drop in the ocean really - was signed over to you.

The health and therapy center which Howard founded after his first stroke. Back then he bounced back to health quickly, but his road to recovery taught him how little help there is for people with neurological damages and impairments of any kind. 

It was a very narrow field. Getting appointments with specialists was hard, and mostly not covered by the insurance companies.

So Howard founded this center - in a huge building that once upon a time was a palace, then a private school, then a library before that one got a new, modern building in the heart of the city. 

You visited the place with him a few times, using very well equipped rooms and strolling through the vast inner garden. During one of your visits, you briefly mentioned how the place could also open for kids and teens after appropriate adjustments. 

Was it then that Howard decided to leave the center to you after his death? 

Was a single sentence enough to make such a drastic change in his will?

Then again, Howard was eccentric. Tony was too, from what you learned. He also wasn’t at all annoyed that his father included you in his will. 

Since the will reading, your life flipped upside down. You had no idea how to run a place like that, there was so much to learn. But it also was like a spark of courage to reach for dreams you never hoped to achieve. With the right people at your side, you could maintain the place and even expand it in the right direction.

For now, however, you were a green little sprout in a huge field of unknown. And the name Steve Rogers rang no bells.

“He’s-” Natalie paused, searching for the right word- “influential.”

He was more. 

He had power and control. 

Not only over the city’s streets, which he was ready to drown in blood if needed. Over hundreds of rats running in the wheel of the underworld’s crime machine, as well over people in pristine places and on high stools in the capitol. 

And he conquered it in brutal ways; paved his road with bodies and fear.

It was safe to assume that if someone had any influence - be it political, or in the media - Rogers had that person on a string. No, not a string, a heavy chain with immediate suffering at the end if they stepped out of line.

One could assume Stark knew Rogers in some capacity, though the man not once stepped anywhere near the center. Whether he had Howard in his pocket, or if they had a different relation, they were never seen together here. 

“I’ve been meeting influential people for the past week.” You scoffed. “Each of them had a scheduled meeting. Mr Rogers can schedule one too.” 

You wanted to maintain a good relationship with donors and patrons, but you weren’t going to bend your back for any of them. People needed to learn boundaries. Rich people especially. 

“It would be better-” Natalie began.

A male voice, deep and cool as a mountain brook, interrupted her:

“I do have a scheduled meeting.”

His voice carried over through the corridor easily, without him having to shout. In a few, long strides he was standing right behind Felix. Another man kept a step behind him. 

He walked with the prowess of someone who owned the place (and anyone in it). For a split of a second you felt like taking a step back and bowing your head. Then you remembered that he did not, in fact, own the place. 

Nor did he own you.

Rogers was tall, Felix’s head barely reaching above his shoulder. With golden blond hair, shorter at the sides and slightly longer strands coiffed back. You saw a glimpse of your own stunned reflection in his dark aviators before he took them off, revealing stunningly blue eyes. 

Broad shoulders seemed to stretch the black leather of his jacket and when he put his hands on his hips his frame appeared to double in size. 

His gaze briefly slid from you to Natalie, who was now taut like a string, quickly returning to you with a mocking glimmer in his eyes.

“Don’t I, Miss Stendhal?” He addressed Natalie. Somehow, it sounded as if he knew her, and it wasn’t a good thing at all.  

“Yes.” She replied immediately, astonishingly calm and stoic. “Mr Rogers had scheduled this meeting a week ago, but I made a mistake writing it in the calendar. It’s my fault there was a mishap. I’m sorry.” 

You turned to stare at her, disbelieving every single word. 

You may have known her for less than two weeks, but you already learned she makes no mistakes of that kind. Her organization skills were better than the army’s. 

Natalie’s face betrayed nothing. She was as poised as every day, admitting to the supposed mistake with cool professionalism. 

“That’s okay. I’m sure you corrected the issue.” Rogers smiled. 

It was charming at first glance. Reminded you of a chivalrous sweetheart from the romances you occasionally liked to read. But there was an edge to it, like a shark’s grin a second before making you his dinner. 

“Of course.” Natalie tilted her chin, as if offended that someone dared to doubt her efficiency. “Like I said, I’ve rescheduled the lawyers to clear this hour for you, Mr Rogers.”

Then she took two graceful steps to the side, clearing the entrance to your office. She sent a glare Felix’s way - who was nearly shaking like a leaf having Rogers at his back. He shuffled quickly to her side, not once glancing at Rogers or his bodyguard. 

Natalie gave him her coffee mug, so he could focus his trembling hands on something. His thoughts scattering, Felix mindlessly lifted the mug to his lips and took a nervous sip. Natalie would undoubtedly tear his head off for it in different circumstances. 

The moment his path was clear, Rogers took a single step forward. It was enough to find himself toe to toe with you. 

A waft of spicy, woody scent of his cologne swirled around you; a teasing tendril as much part of him with its dangerous allure. He towered over you and the expanse of his chest seemed to cut off your vision of anything else around. 

The fact you had to crane your neck to look up at him seemed to amuse him. Or please him. 

Perhaps both.

Whatever kind of benefactor he was, you suspected you wouldn't like him a single bit. There were no idle threats made, not even any pompous comments a spoiled prick with money could make. 

Yet he made the hair on your nape stand, your pulse quickening as adrenaline poured into your system at the instinct’s suggestion that this was a dangerous predator. 

You weren’t sure if you’d fight or flight, though usually you chose the former. 

Unknown to you yet, he wouldn’t allow you either.

[cafejulii]

Kurapika being deemed by the hxh fandom as one of, if not the most, aesthetically pleasing character in all of hxh is ironically hilarious to me.

While I agree with this sentiment to an extent, as someone who is very keen to elements that make up an inherent sense of asethetic, canonically speaking; it should be expected that Kurapika has almost everything that would go against having a cohesive one. If anything, I am in firm belief that the main reason why he holds such a title is due to the manga covers along with the elegantly crafted filler added in hxh 1999 in which depicts the suffering intertwined with the discovery of his nen ability in such an artistic manner, which then created the baseline aesthetic for the lovely artists of this fandom to further expand upon.

But outside of this? Even so, many hxh fans still agree that he holds a sense of aestheticism to him. It truly does not matter that his color palette is all over the place, or that he would absolutely not care for style, and that, when not his cultural attire or a suit; he dresses as though he had walked into each of his friends closet's, picked out one item from each one, and wore them all together and called it fashion. (They absolutely do not match at all and Killua would absolutely have a stroke at the sheer sight of such grievous combinations).

Specifically talking about these 2011 official arts in which he is one step away from becoming Armin Artlert. (Even complete with the seagull)

Either that, or he dresses like a recently divorced wine mom. Or a butch lesbian. Not to feminize him in any way of course. It’s just the observed truth. It’s just the, pure, unavoidable reality when you dress in those particular color combinations, wear flannel or an oversized sweater, and have that oh so particular “fuck ass bob.”

Specifically talking about these 1999 official arts. A friend of mine had pointed out to me that the one on the right reminded them of Major Hughes’s wife from FMA and I couldn’t stop laughing. Poor 1999 official art Kurapika they did him so wrong.

Though there also many instances in the 1999 official arts in which he does a complete 180, and dresses as though he were the most insufferable character in a shitty 90’s mafia movie. While yes, in the manga, he is technically a mob boss as of now, I genuinely could not fathom watching the absolute mess of succession war unfold with a straight face if he dressed like this.

Yet even still, we have a multitude of artists making the most breathtaking artworks that depict him in agony while holding the eyes of his people almost as if he were some sort of sacrilegious patron, a lot of which are usually inspired Catholic/ Orthodox paintings. (I love these types of arts so much)

Now thinking about it, I suppose, maybe he is so aesthetically appealing because he is an androgynous presenting man with heavy backstory that has many symbolic ties to Christianity as he is representative of Lucifer in juxtaposition to Chrollo who is seen as this twisted version of Jesus Christ. And as we know, it was Lucifer who was considered to be the most “ beautiful of all the angels.”

But anyway, I digress. Bro is just ethereal. Congratulations togashi for creating a character so intentionally-unintentionally aesthetic.

(also this is very much a shitpost please I beg don’t take this seriously at all)

[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

[demonic-charcuterie]

Mob boss reader: *on their way home to Ozzie and Fizz when they get a call* What the fuck do you want Bob yeah I'm not busy...

3-4 minutes later

Mob boss reader: What the fuck do you mean Asmodeus is asking for me!? Tell him I'm be there soon...

(This probably happened after Fizz got kidnapped also I would like to be no

- the one anon who requested Halloween fluff or just 🍙 anon up to you

Y/n was walking home to her two boyfriends when she got her call. She glared at the name before swiping and accepting the call. “What is it Bob? Nah I’m not busy…” She tapped her foot in mild annoyance as she listened. Then she heard something that raised concerns. “What do you mean Ozzi- uh I mean Asmodeus is asking for me!?…Tell him I’ll be there soon.”

Normally she’d tell the front desk that you’re visiting Ozz for some business related thing but today she just burst through the door and rapidly pressed the button on the elevator. “Ms. L/n! Ozzie doesn’t have any meeting booked?!” Called out the receptionist.

Y/n burst through the office doors. “BABY?! Is something wrongggg….is that Prince Stolas?” Y/n asked dumbfound as you stared at the demon prince who stared back.

“Hello.” Stolas said while giving a shy wave. She waved back slowly

Ozzie coughed and her attention snapped back to him. “It’s Fizzarolli…” he whispered before projecting a video from his phone. As the video played her tail began to sway low to the ground sinisterly and a growl rolled through her. “What. The. FUCK!? Christ on a fucking stick Ozzie why would you let him go to greed alone?! You told me he’d be taking an escort!” She hollered.

“I know! He said he’d be low key!”

“LOWKEY!?! HAVE YOU MET FIZZ!? HE DOESN’T EVEN NOW WHAT LOWKEY IS!” Y/n yelled her hands qlenching into fits. “Mami…come here baby girl.” Ozzie said and she stumbled over to him with tears and her eyes. “H-he has our baby…” she whispered with her face buried into Ozzie’s large chest.

Stolas gulped and looked away as Ozzie began stare into y/n eyes and slipped his tongue into her mouth to comfort her.

“Hm hm…are you to done?” Asked the greed demon tapping the stack of papers on the table. Y/n growled and grabbed the poker next to the lit fireplace. “Oh why you- I outta!” She began but stopped when Ozzie laid his hand on her shoulder.

Sometime later

It had been hours and Ozzie and Stolas had many times stopped y/n from running off to whoop Crimson’s ass and save Fizzy. She was sitting tapping her finger on the table as Stolas read. Everyone jumped up when the doors burst open and Fizzy limped through. “FIZZY!?” You and Ozzie squealed like school girls. You grabbed him by the waist and run him around and Ozzie took him from your hands. “Darling!? We were so worried.”

Fizzy smiled in a sad almost guilty way. “Hey guys!…I learned I hate going outside…”

“I’ll make sure it never happens again! Crimson will regret this.” Y/n said as she began typing away on her phone. They all turned their heads as they saw the greed demon stuffing papers in a suitcase. “No just where do you think you’re going?” She asked cracking her knuckles.

(Hey anon sorry this took so long)

[sashaisready]

Chapter Nine - Follow Me

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again.

Warnings: Mention of vomiting, alcohol use

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Chapter 10

Series Masterlist

Your stomach flips as you see him, every feeling you have for him suddenly back in full force as you’re painfully aware of how heavy your heart feels in your chest.

He’s dressed in all black – an immaculately tailored black suit, black shirt, black tie and his trademark black gloves. He looks perfect, as always.

A pretty brunette in a teeny skirt hovers by his side, looking like a glamorous extra in a music video. You barely have a moment to mask your disappointment when you see her.

“I’m sorry Mr. Barnes, I-” John babbles as he looks at Bucky. “I didn’t know it was you, I-”

“Get the fuck out of my club” Bucky hisses.

He grabs a fistful of John’s shirt and tosses him towards a watchful Thor who takes over - forcefully manhandling him and dragging him to the exit as John’s babbled apologies fall on deaf ears.

Bucky’s ocean blue eyes follow the route of John’s removal before he fixes them back on you again.

The brunette at his side closes the gap between the two of them, clinging possessively to his arm as she looks on at the scene in front of her. You feel a wave of sadness radiate through you.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice is monotonous but his eyes are slightly narrowed with concern as he studies you.

You nod frantically. “Yes…er…yes. Sorry. This is your club? I didn’t know…”

He nods his head, gesturing to the VIP area. His face is as stoic as it always was.

“Yep. One of the businesses I own. The boys and I come down every once in a while to unwind, let off steam”.

You nod again, feeling like a bird the way you keep bobbing your head at him. Of course he owns this place. You knew he owned nightclubs. You should’ve put two and two together. Fuck, what if he thinks you’ve come to see him? How desperate would that look?

“Banner was helping out behind the bar tonight, he told me he saw you here but I didn’t believe him…didn’t think it was really your scene”.

He smirks subtly, looking you up and down.

Banner. The bartender. You suddenly place his face – he was in the car with Sam the night you caught them outside your apartment. Of course.

Shit – this place is crawling with Bucky’s men and you had no idea…

“Uh well…not really. I’m here with Wanda. We just wanted a bit of a girl’s night. Bit of bonding, you know?” you smile weakly.

“I feel you, girl!” giggles the brunette, squeezing Bucky’s arm and leaning further into him.

He glances sideways at her briefly and then back to you.

You smile back at her. Suddenly it’s all too much…how drunk you feel, the horrible business with John, seeing Bucky again. You’re on his turf now, not in the safe familiarity of the bakery. You hate that he just saw you vulnerable and had to step in with John…and the beautiful girl on his arm. You know it’s none of your business and you turned him down, but it still makes you jealous. It suddenly feels stifling in the club, your head is swimming and you feel nausea brewing in your stomach.

Why is it suddenly so hot in here? You need to get out. 

Now.

“I’m sorry…sorry…I have to go” you say breathily, smiling at them both before making a beeline for the exit.

You rush out of there as fast as you can, flying past the bouncers and out into the chill of the night. You sigh with relief as you inhale the outside air. You turn down into an alleyway next to the club, just taking a moment to lean against the wall and breathe. You can hear the heavy pounding of the music through the walls of the building and the hub of excited chatter from the line out front.

You fire off a text to Wanda saying you’ve had a bit too much to drink. John was a bust, you feel unwell and have gone home, you’re fine though and she shouldn’t worry – her and Vis should stay and enjoy themselves.

You pull up your Uber app as a fresh wave of nausea hits and suddenly you’re bent double over the dumpster, vomiting up your cocktails.

What a waste of money.

At least it was someone else’s. This feels like a fitting end to how you spent some of your mob money, karma for getting hammered on dirty cash.

You groan, this feels like the low point of the evening and there were already a few to choose from. You sink to the ground and rest on your heels, just taking a moment to compose yourself before you order your cab. The silver lining is you feel a little better, and your mind much clearer – most of the alcohol has probably left your body now. You dig around in your purse and mercifully find a mint, chewing it eagerly to erase the foul taste from your mouth.

You close your eyes for a second to settle down, but rip them open when you hear heavy footsteps coming down the alley in your direction. You stand up straight on high alert, not really wanting to end this evening by being murdered and tossed onto the remains of your cocktails.

So you’re more than surprised when it’s Bucky who emerges, looking at you with concern. He’s holding something in his pocket. You stare back at him, confused. You’re also mortified that he’s seeing you like this. You’re no longer the fun, confident girl flirting with him in the bakery – you’re the subdued drunk vomiting in an alley.

“You okay?” he asks apprehensively.

You nod, suddenly struggling to look at him.

“Here – this will help with the taste” he moves his hand from his pocket and passes you a bottle of water.

You take it from him cautiously. “Help with what taste?” you ask innocently, wondering how he could’ve seen you.

“I know you just threw up in that dumpster” he chides.

You shake your head indignantly. “No I didn-”

“Sam saw you on the security monitor – that’s how I knew you were here”. He motions to a camera above you.

You scowl. “I really can’t get any fucking privacy with you guys”.

Bucky sniggers.

You begin to chug the water, not realising how thirsty you are until it hits your tongue.

“Easy now. That dumpster can only take so much” he laughs.

You titter half-heartedly, shame burning your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed” you say quietly.

“Don’t be. Everyone pukes” he replies matter-of-factly. “And our cocktails will knock your socks off”.

“Not that. Well…partly that. But the whole thing with the guy in there…you seeing it. And I haven’t seen you since…well, you know”.

Bucky grunts, the toe of his well shined shoe kicking aimlessly at the ground.

“Well that guy was an asshole, I would’ve done the same no matter who he was talking to. You have nothing to be sorry for, he crossed a line. We won’t be letting him back in here. He’s free to try if he wants his face rearranged, though”.

You stare down at your feet, suddenly feeling on the brink of tears.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you practically whisper.

He pauses to consider your question.

“I don’t know, actually. I can be a jerk if you want”.

You smirk at him, stifling a laugh.

“I mean it. I can call you names…Insult you…whatever you like” he grins.

You laugh sincerely at that, grateful to him for not being awkward with you.

You look back down at the Uber app. There are no available cabs in the area. Ugh. Your head is spinning slightly and the music feels like it’s piercing your skull. You just want to be away from this alley, away from the noise, somewhere peaceful where you can wait for a car to become available.

Bucky’s eyes jump to your phone, recognising the screen you have open.

“You need a ride? I already know your address, after all”. He winks.

You scoff with annoyance. “Wow, okay. You went there”.

“I did”.

“Home is all the way across town. I don’t want to be in a car right now. I just really need to be somewhere quiet for a moment. Where I can hear myself think” you admit, the loud echo of the music inside pounding into your brain.

Bucky thinks for a second. “Quiet huh? Alright. Follow me”.

[itssteffnow]

Mob boss Kylo Ren and his loyal attack dog Hux ⛓️

There was this amazing bob boss!Kylo Ren and his top hitman!Hux prompt over on twitter and of course I had to run with it 😌

[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

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.

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