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baezen · 1 year ago

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much awaited ellie transcript of chapter 4:

ellie: i have a bad feeling about scout taking benjamin’s files into town

steph: *sips drink*

ellie: bitch give me SOMETHING to work with here

steph: *hits vape*

ellie: *dies*

also ellie: shut up i’m reading

ellie: ooh bob’s a good wingman rn trying to butter up hangman in front of scout

steph: right? he’s a good boy ol’ bobby

ellie: *side eye*

ellie: isaac can fuck right off right now

ellie: *on the edge of her seat*

steph: *waiting for her to fall off with what comes next*

ellie: no. please tell me he doesn’t. i need to know she’s okay or i can’t continue

steph: she’s okay. she’s a fighter

ellie: okay shut up now

ellie: oh fuck c’MON SCOUT KICK HIS ASS. OH SHE–OH NO PLEASE WHAT THE FUCK NO

steph:

ellie: JAKE. MOTHERFUCKING. SERESIN. MY HERO

ellie: i really fucking hate benjamin now too. i need to call lew and get his opinion

*calls lewis and fills him in on what’s happened*

lew: uh so i let’s gonna sound like i’m in the bathroom because i am but i’m at fucking work and i needed a quiet place to talk

ellie: you can pee if you need to i don’t care. i just need your thoughts on this

lew: well *pissing* i’m mad as fuck at benjamin but i also get it. he’s worried about scout. it’s a scary situation to be in so even if she can handle herself like she says, fear is paralysing. right steph?

steph: leave me out of this

lew: they agree. anyway, i need to wash my hands. i’ll call you later

*hangs up*

ellie: i see lew’s side but i wish i didn’t

steph: same.

ellie: okay. so. i like that jake saved the day but i wish scout had killed the man herself. i think it would’ve been super badass to happen so early on, especially if jake and benjamin saw it happen. like would they be proud? would they be horrified? would jake be horny? y’know?

steph:

ellie: let’s read chapter 5 now. tell liz i love her

Don’t Hang’em Til Noon: Chapter Four

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger posse of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Swearing, Sexual Assault, Fighting, Violence (against women and others), Jake Seresin, Firearms, Blood. I think that’s it?

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: I hope you guys appreciate me neglecting my job to write this lol I’m kidding, we were so slow, I would have been bored to tears otherwise. Just giving you guys a heads up now that I’m going to try and pre-write as much as I can over the course of the next couple of days in preparation for next week when I’ll be attending my best friends’ wedding. As always, reboots, comments and likes are greatly appreciated!! 18+ ONLY!! Find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator!

Series Masterlist

“I swear, that man would lose his head if it weren’t attached to his shoulders,” you grumbled to yourself, as you made for the front door of your home. You had just finished cleaning up the mess from preparing breakfast when Benjamin had come running down the stairs in a frenzy.

“Benji, come eat,” you had said, gesturing to the table that was already set. He had shaken his head, turning in circles as he searched for his dress coat.

“I can’t, Scout. I’m running late for a meeting with a client,” he had said breathlessly. You rolled your eyes, plucking his coat off the back of the chair he had set it on the night before when he had gotten home. You held it out for him, and he shot you a grateful smile as he shrugged it on.

“At least grab an apple on your way out,” you had argued. He plucked a granny smith from the bowl you had set out on the table, gesturing at you with it before making a beeline for the door.

“I don’t know what time I’ll be home tonight,” he called over his shoulder before the door closed with a thud behind him.

Now, here you were hours later with his case files clutched in your hands and scowl plastered across your face. You slipped past the door, and making sure it was secured behind you, you made your way into Maverick.

It was nearing the end of summer, and a surprising chill was beginning to creep its way into the air. You made your way quickly to Benjamin’s law firm, giving polite smiles to those you passed.

You stepped into the firm with the files tucked tightly in your arms. Natasha came strolling out from the back with a polite smile that turned genuine at the sight of you.

“Good afternoon, Scout!” She grinned, gesturing for you to join her in the seating area. You did so, taking a seat on a leather armchair as she sat in the matching one opposite you. “What brings you by today?”

“Benji forgot some of his files,” you sighed, showing her the file. Natasha chuckled with a roll of her eyes. If anyone understood how exasperating your brother could be, it would be her.

“He was up late working again, wasn’t he?” She asked. You shit her a knowing look before the two of you burst into a fit of giggles. “That man will blow away with the wind, I swear. How he manages to keep this place in order is beyond me.”

“He may be a tad bit scatterbrained, but he takes his job very seriously,” you smiled. You were surprised he hadn’t come out to see what the commotion was about yet. “Is he around?”

“No,” she grimaced. “His client insisted on meeting at the saloon.”

“I see,” you said, standing up. Natasha followed suit, reaching her arm out to you.

“I can take the files and give them to him when he gets back?” She offered.

“That’s alright,” you declined. “I could use the exercise. You said he was at the saloon?”

“I did,” Natasha confirmed hesitantly. “But Penny isn’t there today.”

You stared at her. “And?”

“It's just that,” she started nervously. “The patrons can get pretty handsy when Penny isn’t there. Not that I don’t think you can hold your own, but I don't want to see anything happen to you should they get any ideas.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, Nat,” you smiled. “I’ll just be in and out. I don’t plan on staying for long. I still have things I need to do back at the house after all.”

Natasha chewed on her bottom li, seeming to contemplate her best course of action. Finally, she sighed. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” you stated firmly, already moving towards the door. “I won’t take up any more of your time. I’m sure you’re busy with other things.”

“Spending time with you is never a bother, Scout,” she grinned. “Stay safe, and give your brother hell for me when you see him!”

You offered her a final wave before stepping back out onto the street. You turned right onto the street, setting your sights on the saloon.

The atmosphere differed from your first time inside the large building. Instead of Penny standing behind the bar with her usual easy going smile, a tall man with glasses stood and waved a greeting at you.

“Welcome in, miss!” He smiled. You recognized him from the other day.

“I know you,” you said carefully, slowly making your way up to the bar as you studied him curiously. “You’re a member of the Dagger Posse, correct?”

His smile turned sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes’m. My name is Bob, and you’re Scout right?”

You hummed in affirmation. “And Penny trusts you to run her business?”

He laughed at that, almost catching you by surprise. “I get why you find that hard to believe. If I was in your shoes, I’d think that Penny had lost her mind or something.

You chuckled at that. “I suppose it says something about your character that Penny trusts you enough to leave the saloon in your hands.”

“She does,” he nodded. “I don’t take people’s trust for granted.”

“That’s good to know, Bob.”

He smiled at you and then moved like he was going to say something, but he seemed to think better of it. You arched an eyebrow at him as he shifted on his feet, a blush crawling up his face. “What is it?” You asked.

“Penny doesn’t trust just anyone, ya know?”

“I know that,” you nodded. “What of it?”

“The reason Penny trusts me is because I keep the others out of trouble.”

You laughed at that, and he frowned. “I’m sorry, Bob. I don’t mean to offend. It’s just that, well, if they’re out robbing banks and breaking laws left and right, I’d hate to think about what they’d be doing without you.”

“It’s not like that,” Bob sighed. “They aren’t as bad as you may think, Scout. I know Hangman can be…a lot, sometimes. But, everything they do is out of survival.”

“Right,” you scoffed, causing the frown on Bob’s face to deepen.

“I’m serious, Scout,” he continued. “Penny mentioned that you came from Baltimore. I don’t know much about how things are done over there, but I know enough to know how different things are there compared to here. Work isn’t as steady out here as it is back East. Good men do bad things in order to keep their families safe and fed.”

“What’s your point, Bob?” You asked with a heavy sigh. He offered you a kind smile.

“Try not to be so hard on him? I know you’re used to things being a certain way, but believe it or not, he is trying.”

You didn’t have to ask who he was referring to. You mulled over his words carefully before nodding slowly.

“Alright, Bob,” you smiled finally. “I’ll keep that in mind.” His own grew, and he knocked on the wooden top of the bar as he leaned back.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now what brings you by here today?”

Before you could answer, Bob suddenly straightened up to his full height, a cool look on his face as he looked past you. Your brows furrowed in confusion before you felt a warm body push up against you. You whipped around to find a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair leering down at you. The cold, empty look in his black eyes was warmed over by a look of unbridled lust. He gave you a once over, eyes pausing along the curves of your breasts and hips.

“Howdy, darlin’,” he drawled, making the hair on your arms stand up.

“Can I help you?” You asked him coldly. You saw Bob shift in your peripheral as a couple of more men crowded you on the opposite side. The man let out a low whistle.

“Why so cold, honey? I jus’ came over here to introduce myself. Name’s Isaac.”

“Charmed,” you bit out, glare intensifying as he leaned in closer.

“Y’ain’t gonna gimme yours?” He laughed.

“I don’t see why you would need it,” you state simply, clutching the folder in your hand tightly. You cast a glance over to Bob who was eyeing the group of men wearily.

Isaac smiled, the gesture hollow. He reached up and tapped your cheek lightly, and you balked at the gesture. “Eyes over here, honey.”

“I’m going to ask you once to please stop calling me that,” you bit out between clenched teeth.

“Or what?” He grins.

“Or you won’t like what happens.”

Isaac let out a booming laugh, his companions letting out chuckles of their own. You saw movement in the corner of your eye. You once again chanced a look over and saw two of the men had crossed over to the other side of the bar. The two men had Bob caged in between them, and his eyes darted rapidly back and forth between the two of them. Isaac grabbed your chin tightly in his large hand, forcing your head back to look at him. “What did I just say about those eyes?”

“Let go of me,” you hissed, earning another chorus of laughter from the group of men.

“A feisty little thing you are,” Isaac chuckled, leaning so that his breath fanned over you. It reeked of cheap liquor and stale tobacco. “I see why Hangman has his eye on you.”

“What?” You asked, brow furrowing at his comment.

“Just so you know,” he grinned, “you have him to thank for this.”

Before you could question him further, he grabbed you by your hips and slammed you up against the bar. You felt the air leave your lungs and a flash of pain shoot up your spine. You saw Bob struggling against the two men beside him as they pinned him back. His eyes blazed and nostrils flared as he tried with all his might to break free of their hold. Your brief moment of confusion allowed Isaac to push his way in between your thighs. You felt the hot length of him press against you, and you started to struggle, clawing at his arms. Tiny ribbons of blood began to flow down his arms as he bared his teeth down at you in a crazed grin.

“That's alright, Kitten,” he laughed. “I like a bit of pain with my pleasure.”

He leaned down, slanting his lips on top of yours, and you felt the hot sting of tears behind your eyes. He thrusted up into you, causing you to gasp and cry out. He took the opportunity to force his tongue into your open mouth, and you almost vomited at the action. Without thinking, you bit down on the offending protrusion, the taste of blood filling your mouth. Isaac lurched back with a yelp, grabbing at his mouth. He glared down at you.

“Bitch!” He spat, backhanding you. Your face flew to the side, a flash of white hot pain radiates from your cheek where one of his rings had made contact, cutting you in the process. You felt blood begin to trickle down your cheek, and your tears threatened to spill over. Isaac gripped your hair roughly, slamming you back down onto the counter.

“You’re going to regret that,” he hissed at you as you fought against the dizziness that threatened to consume you from the force of his actions. Your tears began to flow freely down your cheeks as the larger man grabbed at your shirts and skirts, ripping them in a bid to get them off of you.

“No!” You screamed, renewing your efforts. Isaac ignored you as he licked up the column of your throat. Your sobs racked your body violently, legs kicking at him as he moved to undo his belt buckle. You closed your eyes in an attempt to shield yourself from what was about to happen.

Just when you thought all hope was lost, a resounding click sounded in the room. Isaac stilled against you, and you cracked your eyes open to see the barrel of a pistol pressed to his temple. Turning, you saw Jake on the other end of the weapon.

His green eyes were filled with the intention of murder as his lips curled in a sneer of pure wrath. His body was drawn tight, deathly still as he waited for Isaac to make his move. He looked every bit of what you imagined an avenging angel would look.

“Let. Her. Go,” he ground out. Isaac spared a glance at you, and the gun pressed harder into the side of his head. Slowly, the older man pulled away from you, and you scrambled to sit up on the bar. You now saw the rest of the Daggers standing behind him with their hands on their own pistols. The two men behind the bar had let go of Bob who was now moving to your side. You heard footsteps begin to descend the stairs, and you looked to see Maverick, Benjamin, and an unfamiliar older man stop as they took in the scene before them.

“Scout?” Benjamin said, eyes widening in shock. You let out a shaky breath, turning back to watch Jake who had yet to take his eyes off of Isaac. The two stared each other down.

“Hangman,” Isaac finally sniffed in way of greeting.

“What are you doing here?” Jake snapped. Isaac rolled his shoulders back casually as if there wasn’t still a gun aimed at his face.

“Well,” he drawled, “I came to collect what you took from me, but then I saw you with this pretty, little thing the other day, and I figured this would make for a good trade.”

Jake’s nostrils flared, a dangerous glint in his eyes as Isaac spoke. “I didn’t take anything that you couldn’t replace.”

“I disagree,” the other man hummed, picking a piece of lint off his shirt. “You wounded my pride, Hangman. And what better retribution than taking your woman?”

Jake’s jaw clenched, and you saw Maverick move out of the corner of your eye.

“Jake,” the older man said gently. Jake spared him a glance before focusing back on Isaac. Maverick continued, “Not here, son.”

Jake looked at him, and when Maverick gave a pointed glance at where you sat, frozen, he turned his attention to you. You must have looked a sight because Jake’s jaw clenched again. You could feel the tears still streaming down your face and mixing with the blood that still dripped down your cheek.

“Jake?” You called to him softly, uncertainly. He took several deep breaths.

“The only reason you’re leaving here alive,” he rumbled, nodding his head over at you, “is because she’s here.”

Isaac watched him for a moment, the two of them not breaking eye contact. Isaac huffed out a light chuckle before turning towards the door. He gave you one last glance before smirking, gesturing for his men to follow.

“You best keep an eye on her, Hangman,” he called over his shoulder. “Would be a right shame if something were to happen to her while you weren’t lookin’.”

Jake said nothing as they filed out. One man stopped beside Bradley, casting him a sideways glance. “Rooster.”

“Jeb,” Bradley replied coldly. The two shared an unspoken conversation before the man followed the rest out the door. As soon as they were gone, Benjamin rushed to your side.

“Scout, what happened?” he cried, checking you over. You looked down at yourself, noting how the collar of your white, cotton shirt hung by mere threads off your shoulder. You frowned at the tiny drops of blood that had fallen onto the ruined fabric.

“I,” you swallowed thickly, “I was coming to give you the casework you forgot at home this morning. I thought it might be important, so…”

You trailed off, your eyes taking in the multiple tears of your skirt, a new wave of tears pouring from your eyes. You jumped when Jake appeared in front of you. His eyes were still blazing, but you saw worry mixed in with the rest of the emotions still swirling within the different shades of green.

“What the hell were you thinking,” he seethed.

“What?” You blinked. He took your shoulders in his hands, surprisingly gentle for how angry he seemed.

“How many times do I gotta tell you that you need someone with you? Especially in here?” he growled.

“I didn’t think-”

“You’re right,” he snapped, his grip slightly harder as his frustration with you grew. “You didn’t think, and you almost got hurt because of it.”

You felt your own temper start to build as you stared up at him.

“Stop treating me like I’m some helpless child,” you snapped at him. Jake barked out a humorless laugh.

“You’re not a child, Scout,” he flung back at you. “And, that’s why it’s so damn frustrating when you do stupid shit like this.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly you can’t,” he seethed. Your jaw clenched, and you practically threw yourself onto the ground. You pushed past him with a glare and started for the door.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, already moving to follow you. You whirled back around, stopping him in his tracks with a finger to his chest.

“I’m not going to sit here and let you insult me,” you spat at him. He grabbed your hand, and pulled you in to him.

“Have you learned nothing from what just happened?” he glared down at you. “If we hadn’t already been on our way in to see Mav, well shit, Scout. Isaac would have had you every which way and then passed you around to his crew. Don’t you understand that?”

“Let go of me,” you ground out, trying and failing to pull your arm free of his grip.

“No,” he stated firmly, eyes set in a determined bid to win this argument. You gave another tug, but his grip didn’t falter.

“You don’t seem to get it, darlin’,” he sneered. “This ain’t Baltimore. People don’t hide their ugly nature behind polite smiles and fancy clothes. People here take, and they sure as shit don’t care who sees them do it."

He took a deep breath to try and calm himself. "Tell me you understand.”

You nodded, still glaring furiously up at him. He shook his head with a wry smile. “Uh uh, sugar. Need to hear you say it.”

“I understand,” you snapped. He finally let you go, and you wrenched your hand back. The two of you stared a beat longer before you heard Benjamin clear his throat.

“I’ll take you home, Scout.”

“No,” you said automatically. “You’re busy. I can see myself home.”

“Not happening,” Jake said. “I’ll walk you home.”

You went to say something, but he fixed a hard stare at you, cutting you off. “Don’t even try to argue with me right now, Scout. I’m taking you home, and that’s final.”

You huffed, turning on your heels and stormed out of the saloon, Jake hot on your tail. The two of you walked in silence, townsfolk casting you wide-eyed looks as you passed. When you reached your front door, you whirled around to face him.

“I’m home,” you spat. “Safe and sound. Are you happy now?”

Jake stared at you, his lips set in a hard line.

“The boys and I were plannin’ on leavin’ for an excursion tomorrow,” he said, “but I think I’ll stick around.”

You scoffed. “If you’re worried about what Isaac said, don’t be. It’s you who should be worried, actually.”

“Oh?” Jake chuckled. “And why is that?”

“I’m only telling you this as a way of thanking you for your help in the barn the other day,” you began, Jake arching an eyebrow at you. “But there’s a U.S. marshal after you and the other Daggers.”

Jake barked out a laugh, and you stared at him in confusion. Jake looked at you with a wide grin. “I ain’t worried about a U.S. marshal, pretty girl.”

“How are you being so cavalier about this?” you snapped, placing your hands on your hips.

“Because they’re always after us,” he shrugged. “Besides, I can take care of myself. You on the other hand-”

“I can take care of myself just as well as you can,” you huffed. All humor dropped from Jake’s face as he gave you a look that said he clearly didn’t believe you. You scowled at him, stalking into the house. He followed you as you marched into the kitchen. You grabbed the rifle that Benjamin insisted you keep by the back door “just in case,” and walked out the back door. Jake kept following, and you stopped just outside on the porch.

“Do you even know how to use that thing?” He chuckled. Wordlessly, you scanned the yard, finding a forgotten bucket sitting on the fencepost about fifty yards away that you must have left out that morning. You raised the rifle to your shoulder, took aim, and-

BANG.

The bucket went flying in the air, a hole where you had hit it dead center. You let the rifle drop from your shoulder as you held it by your side. Turning, you caught the look of shock and intrigue that graced his face.

“He caught me off guard today,” you said. Jake looked at you, wonder shining in his eyes. “He won’t do it again.”

Jake studied you for another moment before nodding his head slowly.

“Alright, Scout,” he relented. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

#jake hangman seresin x reader #ellie transcript

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sometimesanalice · 10 months ago

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Steph! I’m so thrilled you liked this! I wanted to do right by all the Bob Babes/Lew Crew friends! 🤍

Make Me Your Masterpiece

Summary: Bob credits you for helping him to find his new hobby. And when he asks if he can you paint you, you find you quite like the idea of being his muse.

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female Reader

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: fluff, smut, and basically an ode to Lewis Pullman’s hands (mdni)

(Author’s Note: smutty fics are the new friendship bracelet, spread the word! Happy Birthday, Ames! 🎉 @laracrofted)

You’ve always had a thing for Bob’s hands.

They were one of the first things you noticed about him that day at the coffee shop almost a year ago now.

You’d been reaching for your iced vanilla cinnamon latte when a big hand had wrapped around it just a half of a second before you could grab it. Which you wouldn’t have minded admiring them for a moment under any other circumstances, but after an endless string of meetings you’d been in a dire need of a caffeine fix- and not the weak stuff that people brewed in your office’s communal coffee pot.

“I think that’s-” you’d started.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” the coffee thief backpedaled.

The next thing you knew you were looking into the prettiest pair of ocean blue eyes.

The two of you were startled out of the moment when the barista called out the next order as they’d set it on the counter.

By some kismet or fate, they had been a matching set. But instead of embroidered towels, it was his and hers coffee cups with your names written on them in a hasty scrawl.

Realization dawned over his features as he gave you a sheepish smile, “Think this one might belong to you, Miss.” He spun the coffee until he found the spot with your name. That little smile becoming a full grin as he’d said it aloud before passing the cup to you.

The hands had been good, the eyes had been great, but Bob’s smile directed at you had left you weak in the knees.

You’d been a goner right then and there.

And while you’d ended up almost ten minutes late to your next meeting, you’d also gone back to the office with his phone number written on a cardboard coffee sleeve that was tucked away safely in your purse and a date lined up later that week.

As it turned out fate had a name and it was Robert Floyd.

Barely twenty minutes into your first official date with Bob, his ears had turned a delightful shade of pink as his anxious fingers straightened the silverware on the white linen tablecloth of the Italian spot he’d taken you to. He’d fessed up and apologized as he came clean, telling you that he’d purposefully ordered the same coffee as you in hopes of getting to start up a conversation with the pretty girl who’d been standing in front of him in line.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, since you looked busy. But I didn’t want to miss my chance,” he’d confessed over candlelight.

He’d told you how he’d only been at the coffee shop because he’d recently returned from a deployment and was fighting the jetlag that came with adjusting to being back on Pacific Standard Time, and that he normally preferred tea but he needed something with a bit more to it to get him through the day.

Instead of getting up and taking the bottle of wine to-go as a consolation prize, like you would have if it had been anyone else, his genuine earnestness had charmed you instantly. And you’d settled on having a second date with him before the first one had even really started.

You only let him sweat it for about thirty seconds before you took pity on him. With a light fingertip, you traced along one of the veins on the back of his hand and simply asked, “So other than being a meet cute mastermind, what is it that you do for a living, Bob?”

It was the best first date you’d ever had.

For your second date with him, you’d bought tickets to a ‘Paint and Sip’ event at a buzzy new bistro in town your friend had told you about.

You weren’t an artist by any means, but during that dinner date his antsy fingers and expressive hands had clued you into how nervous he’d been. You’d found your eyes drifting to them on more than one occasion. Partly because they were so enticingly disproportionate to the rest of him, but also because you couldn’t look him directly in the eye for too long without feeling your face heating up.

You thought it would be a good way for the both of you to work past the getting-to-know-you jitters, something that would keep your hands and eyes occupied enough to relax a bit more and have fun together.

Although instead of the seascape class you’d thought you’d signed up for, you’d willingly paid $86+ tax to watch Bob’s lithe, long fingers delicately grip a paintbrush in a way you thought was going to make you lose your mind.

You’d spent the whole first hour trying and failing to mix the perfect shade of blue before giving up when you’d realized that the man next to you, in addition to having really great hands, was also very good at painting.

Bob had seemed surprised by that too because he’d kept flushing that wonderful shade of pink that had quickly become your new favorite color every time you complimented his piece.

He had steady, capable hands. But you were quickly learning that everything about Bob Floyd seemed that way. There was a quiet confidence about him. He didn’t shy away from the way he’d openly observed you, like you were a riddle he was enjoying learning to decode.

You’d never known a man to be so attentive until him.

Bob’s tongue was peeking out as he’d worked on adding some wispy clouds to the top of his piece. You weren’t even sure what step you’d technically stopped at before you’d given up to watch the visual feast of him painting instead. Only halfheartedly adding random bits to your canvas along the way to make sure it wasn’t totally blank by the end of the session.

You’d been so zoned out watching him create that it was like a slow-motion sequence in a horror movie. You’d reached out for your wine glass, lifting it to your lips to take a sip, it had only taken you a split second to realize it wasn’t the full-bodied red you’d ordered that was coating your tongue, but the murky, gritty paint water instead.

Mortified, you’d looked over just in time to see Bob’s empathetic wince. You’d been hoping to fly under the radar, but it had turned out that you’d had more than one set of eyes on you.

“And we officially have our first casualty of the evening, folks,” the instructor cheerily announced to the group, “The rest of you can breathe easy now!”

You wanted to be able to laugh at your own expense, but you’d groaned as you buried your face in your hands.

It was not the way you saw the night going. You wanted to be dazzling, you wanted that pivotal third date with him. But now you were the girl who drank paint water whose canvas looked like it had all the same efforts as an enthusiastic fourth grader.

Bob’s hands had gently wrapped around your wrists before he’d pulled them from your face. And then he’d leaned in close, taking your chin in his hand and kissed you squarely on the lips, his tongue dipping in and sliding against yours to taste the acrylic pigment from your surprised mouth.

“Huh,” he’d said, contemplatively. He’d pulled away only far enough to look into your eyes and give you a soft smile. “Celadon blue doesn’t taste like a Cabernet, go figure.”

He brushed a light kiss against your cheek as he’d passed you your wine glass so that you could rinse the paint water taste out of your mouth.

You couldn’t help but to still be a little embarrassed, but then you’d caught the way he’d shoot an unimpressed look at the instructor every time they passed by for the rest of the evening. You didn’t need a knight in shining armor when you had a Bob Floyd with a paintbrush and a cutting side eye.

You took him home with you that night and learned for yourself just how capable those hands of his were.

It was only later that you realized the exact shade of blue that you’d been trying so hard to capture earlier that night was the same color as the eyes that gazed down at you as Bob fucked you for the very first time.

There was no way you could have known that the ‘Paint and Sip’ date would have inspired him to pick up painting as a hobby.

First, he’d started taking classes at the Rec Center. His once a week classes later turned into him checking out books from the library. And then he’d turned his spare bedroom into a studio, as it has the best afternoon light in the Spanish style house he rents near the Naval base. He’d even bought a comfy chair for you to curl up in as he painted, a little nook of your own in his favorite space in his home. And steadily, the walls of both your apartment and his place fill up with all of his creations.

You’d even had your favorite one professionally framed. The pretty landscape done in shades of soft greens that he gave to you for your birthday hangs in a place of honor above your bed. You like having that piece of Bob as one of the last things you see before you fall asleep and one of the first things you see in the morning on the rare occasion the two of you aren’t sharing a bed. You liked to imagine the hours he spent on it with the sunlight streaming through the open window as he lovingly and painstakingly created something just for you with his own two hands.

Although you did have to beg him to sign it for you. He claimed that since he does it for fun that there’s really no reason too, but you were adamant about it and he’d eventually caved and scrawled his name in the lower right-hand corner.

Now it’s become your personal mission to ensure that every Bob Floyd original has his signature on it when he gives his paintings out as gifts.

Everyone assumes that his art would be all straight lines and precise angles, but it’s your favorite moment when people get to see his abstract landscapes. He’d told you he spends so much time in the sky that he likes to paint what’s on the ground, the things he doesn’t get to see when he’s 50,000 feet in the air.

You could tell Bob was a little nervous when he first asked to paint you.

After almost a year with him, you’d think he’d know by now that you’d do anything for him. Not to mention, you were more than a little in love with the idea of being his muse.

“Are you saying you want to paint me like one of your French girls?” you’d teased with a grin, unable to resist the opportunity. You always did have a thing for men with perfectly floppy hair.

He’d tipped your chin up so that you were looking into his blue eyes- a color you were positive couldn’t be replicated- and stated, “No, I want to paint you like my girl.”

Which is how you’ve ended up naked on the floor of his living room.

You’d been surprised when you came downstairs to see that the furniture had all been pushed to the side to make space for the king-sized top sheet he’d laid out on the floor. You figured it must have been from some mismatched set he had stashed in his linen closet because you’d never seen it before and you spent more than enough time in his bed getting familiar with his sheets.

Bob was shirtless and wearing only a pair of loose-fitting and paint stained jeans that were hanging low on his hips as he worked on getting all of his brushes and paints set up.

You were pretty sure that Michelangelo himself wouldn’t be able to do proper justice to Bob’s body. He wasn’t as built as some of his friends on the Dagger Squad were, but there was an undeniable sturdy steadfastness to him. Those defined shoulders and arms often were the stars of your afternoon daydreams, since you got to admire his handsome face anytime your phone lit up.

He came and met you at the bottom of the stairs, giving you a low whistle, “Well, aren’t you as pretty as a picture in my shirt.”

“Oh,” you’d said, feigning surprise and toying with the hem, “So it is.” And then you’d slowly lifted it up and off of you, revealing more of your body to his artist’s eye.

You never felt as good about yourself as you did when you were naked in front of Bob. The color of his morning skies eyes would always darken to a deep shade of Prussian blue as he took in the curves of you. With him you always felt appreciated, wanted, desired.

His greedy hands came to grip your hips pulling you to him until you were pressed against him.

“Is this how you wanted me?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.

Bob slipped his hand behind your neck and tugged you in for a heated kiss. “I always want you.”

You never knew true distraction until you’d felt Bob’s lips against yours all those months ago. You’d happily lose minutes, hours, days to them. The thing about Bob is that he never does anything halfway. If he’s kissing you, he’s doing it thoroughly until you’re out of breath.

The sound of the air conditioner kicking on and the light draft that it coasted over you reminded you that there were other plans on the agenda. And that the sooner he starts, then the sooner he finishes, and the sooner you can feel his lips on other parts of you.

“Where do you want me?”

“In my bed,” he murmured against your lips.

His name started as a laugh but turned into a sigh as he dropped a line of kisses down your neck, “I meant, like on the couch or on one of the chairs from the kitchen.”

Bob pulled away and peered deep into your eyes, “Darlin’, I wanted to paint you.” He trailed a teasing finger down your soft stomach. “If that’s alright with you.”

You thought you were just going to be his subject, but as it turns out he wanted you to be his canvas too.

You’re trying not to shiver as he meticulously coats your overheated skin with cool paint. Goosebumps follow in the wake of every delicate stroke he makes along your body.

His hair was curled over his forehead in a way that had your fingers aching to touch him. There was a slight furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrated on the deliberate lines and curves he painted on you. The paint smudge on his cheek only made him all the more attractive to you.

Bob had tucked a pillow beneath your head before he’d started, a gesture that you appreciated now because time had lost all meaning to you. You had no idea how long you’ve been lying there. You were pretty sure every inch of you had to be covered by now.

He’d started along the plane of your stomach and steadily worked his way out from there. Up your arms. Along your clavicle. Over your breasts and tops of your thighs. You didn’t miss the way he’d smirked when you arched into that soft to the touch paintbrush as it glided over your peaked nipple. Or the way he’d hummed pleased when you’d try to subtly rub your thighs together to relieve the need that had been building as you laid there.

Bob loves taking his time with you. In bed, he loved teasing you until you had tears in your eyes and were begging for his cock. And it became clear very quickly that this would be no different.

There was an electric thrum that was pulsing through your body with every dip and swirl and brushstroke. The muscles of your stomach jump involuntarily as the fine hairs of his paintbrush drift over your hypersensitive skin making you whimper.

He tsks, “Gotta stay still for me, pretty girl. I’m almost done, promise.”

You release a shaky sigh and nod, not trusting your voice to betray just how needy you were for him. Although the self-satisfied smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

You try to control your breathing as he works on finishing, but your shallow breaths sounded loud in his living room. You love getting to watch him work normally, but the intense way he is looking at you- his eyes your favorite shade of Prussian blue now- is too much for your hummingbird heart.

Just as your skin was collecting layers of paint from his brush, the space between your thighs was steadily collecting your wetness. You were so desperate for him to touch you, the need made you want to crawl out of your skin.

You hear the sound of a watery swish and the clink of a brush against glass and your breath catches in your throat in anticipation.

“God, look at you,” Bob breathes, reverently, “You’re so beautiful. This might be my best work ever.”

Instead of the paintbrush, you can feel the path of his flame blue gaze traveling over you as he takes in the art he’s made out of you.

You open your heavy eyes and see Bob wiping off his hands with a frayed towel.

“There she is,” he says, giving you a smile that makes your toes curl. You didn’t notice it sitting there with all his paints until he was reaching for it, his dad’s old film camera. He holds it loosely in front of him like a question, “Can I take a few just for me?”

The answer is easy, “Yes.”

You trusted Bob more than any other man you’d ever been with. He’s never once given you reason to doubt his words because his actions always spoke for themselves.

The guys you’d been with before had been boys, Bob Floyd was a man.

The tension between the two of you is thicker than the acrylic he’d been using earlier as he snaps photo after photo. You admire the way his muscles shift as he bends and angles himself to get the perfect images.

He stands over you, the lens pointed down at you, “Look at me.”

You can barely breathe. You feel yourself getting even wetter at the thought of seeing yourself through his eyes. No one has ever made you feel the way he does.

“Bob”, you whine.

The camera clicks.

“I know,” he hums, “You’ve been so good for me.” He sinks to his knees between your legs and hooks a hand behind your knee, pulling it up so it’s propped on the floor. And then he does the other so that you’re sprawled open for him, just the way he likes you to be, “Just one more, darlin’.”

The heat in his eyes has dried up all the words in your mouth.

He trails a finger down the soft skin of your inner thigh and you gasp.

The sound of his camera reverberates in your head.

“You’ve made such a pretty mess,” he drawls, as he gently sets the camera on the floor next to you. “It’s a good thing I put something down. You’re damn near dripping.”

“Bob, please.” You arch towards him like a flower in the sun.

He settles between your thighs and pushes them apart further so that his broad shoulders fit between them. The paint is still drying on your skin, but neither one of you cares about that now.

“You were so perfect for me. I appreciate you staying so still.” He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t worry, I know just how to thank you.”

Your body jolts at the first touch of his tongue on your clit. You can feel his smile against you, he knows exactly what he does to you.

Bob has always eaten you out like it’s what he was put on this earth to do.

Normally, he’s teasing you with gentle licks and tracing nonsensical shapes on your clit with his tongue until you’re a squirming mess for him. He knows your body so well, always building you up to the point where you’re breaths away from tipping over the edge and then pulls himself back before building you right back up again.

But tonight, there’s nothing playful about the way his mouth is working against you. His hot mouth is sealed to your clit. Bob hums in satisfaction with every keen and whine that he pulls out of you. He laves at you until you’re writhing underneath him, your thighs already shaking.

“Wanna paint you just like this,” he murmurs, sucking at the spot where your leg and hip meet. “But I don’t think you’d stay still long enough for me to finish.”

Bob dips down and gives you another long broad stroke of his tongue. He pulls back only long enough to spit on your cunt before diving right back in, chasing after his own taste on you.

Your hands are in his hair. Clutching at his shoulders. It’s taken him no time at all getting you to the point where you’re trembling and taut.

All the air leaves your lungs when he buries two large fingers into you. Your hips cant into his mouth on their own and he moans. Bob wraps an arm around your hips and presses down on your lower stomach to hold you in place.

You feel the pain smear beneath his warm palm. You were dying to see it. You hoped there was a handprint- his handprint- that disrupted all the lines and swirls of color that he’d decorated you with. Something that was distinctly him.

You were wearing his art and now you’re wearing him. The evidence of this moment in time on your skin.

His fingers and tongue weren’t enough.

You needed more.

“You cock, Bob, I need your cock,” you pant, tugging at his hair.

He meanly sucks your clit into his mouth in a way that has you crying out and jerking against him. You love it, you love him.

“God, I love it when you beg for me,” he licks into you again, “Sweetest sound in the world.”

Bob drops a sweet kiss on your clit, it’s a stark difference to the filthy way he’d been using his mouth on you. He rises to sit back on his knees between your parted legs.

He looks so good kneeling above you the way that he is. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. That knot behind your bellybutton twists tighter because you did that to him.

He unzips his jeans and tugs them down low enough to pull his hard cock out.

It’s pretty enough to be featured in a gallery, you think to yourself, even in your desperate haze. It’s long, thick, perfect and yours.

Bob smirks when he notices you admiring him, pumping himself slowly a few times for your viewing pleasure.

The only time Bob Floyd was ever a show-off was when he was in bed.

He grabs your thighs and pulls them over top of his own, so that yours are draped over his obscenely, and then he thrusts easily into you.

You gasp at the sensation of being so full of him. It always takes you a minute to adjust to his cock, no matter how many times you’ve taken it now. His thumbs make little circles along your hipbones as your body relents and yields to the size of him.

“There you go,” he says, rocking into you, working you open, “Just needed this cock, didn’t you?”

You whimper your agreement. Your hips tilt into the pressure like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Wanting to show him how much you can take. You know you’ll never get enough of him.

He fucks into you at a reckless and unrelenting pace. You’re high off the feeling of seeing Bob like this, that you’re the one who gets to see him unreserved and uninhibited. He has your hips gripped so tightly, keeping you closer than close. And when you clench around him, you’re treated to a wrecked groan.

Your skin prickles with desire and the feeling of paint drying on you. His cock is hitting just the right spot inside of you and you know you won’t be able to hold off for much longer, not with the way he’s grinding against your aching clit.

Bob’s eyes glued to the spot where you two come together. You’re on full display for him. He watches the way you stretch and spread around him with every deep thrust with the same appreciative gaze that he admires his favorite artists.

It’s under his river blue gaze that your orgasm swiftly sweeps you away. And with your back arching and thighs quaking around his, you give yourself up to the endless current of it.

You know he’s close when his hips start to stutter.

Bob pulls out of you and wraps his large hand around his slick-shined cock and works himself with rough, purposeful strokes.

This time he paints you with himself, his come covering your stomach.

The only sound in the room is the two of you breathing hard, trying to catch your breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Bob huffs, raggedly, taking in his handiwork, “You’re my masterpiece.”

You’re covered in paint and come, but you’ve never felt more beautiful than you do right now as he looks down at you in awe.

“Did you remember to sign your work this time?” you ask, out of breath but teasingly.

“I think I left my mark, darlin’,” he says, with well-earned smugness in his voice. You can’t help but giggle. He flops down next to you, throwing his arm over his eyes, “Goddamn.”

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to look at yourself.

“Baby, I think you gave Jackson Pollock a run for his money.” You grin widely when he lets out an amused snort. “Wait, where’s your camera?”

He passes it to you, the fondness in his eyes makes your chest feel warm. You scooch in close to him and hold it up above your heads, the camera flashes when you kiss his flushed cheek.

That picture is the first one that gets put up in the new house, the one the two of you chose together when he asked you to marry him six months later. Followed by the soft green landscape that now hangs above your shared bed.

It’s your favorite picture of the two of you, happy and in love. You can just see a hint of the cloud he’d painted on your shoulder.

That night Bob had decorated your body with the place he loved best.

He gave you the sky and he made you his world.

Happy birthday, Ames! Your gift will be mailed eventually, it really was a lesson in chemistry, lol! Enjoy a Bob fic just for you in the meantime!

A big, bigggg thank you to the Bob Babes/Lew Crew girlies! @callsignspark and @attapullman I appreciate you two so much for being such ultimate hypegirls! And thank you to @theharddeck, you helped me out of my writers block and I've been so excited to write this since we talked about it back in January!

You can read my other stories here!

taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#thank you for reading and reblogging #the babe with the paintbrush

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