you're sat on jack's kitchen counter, swinging your legs, complaining about how incompetent men can be while your dutiful older bf washes the dishes.
it's when you get to the "men used to go to war and die there" part of your rant that you remember that he literally did go to war, and that might've gone a little too far...
the corner of jack's mouth twitches, because he sees your eyes widen and your breath catch, and he knows he's got you.
his chest rumbles, a warm sound, and he pinches your hip with his wet, soapy fingers. "you're my little sexist, princess," he murmurs as he shakes his head, moving to stand between your legs. "i'm just gonna have to correct your bad little biases."
"oh, yeah?" you tease, leaning forward to place a kiss on his lips. "and how are you gonna do that?" he kisses you back, his hands sliding up your shirt to pull you against him.
"hmm," he replies, tone contemplative as he traps you between him and the cupboards. "i think my little feminist is gonna need a lesson in the power of a strong, masculine male."
"ew," you laugh, your arms circling his neck. "are you gonna de-woke me?"
he snorts, shaking his head as he nips lightly at your bottom lip. "de-woke? jesus, baby, you've been reading too much twitter." his fingers trail down your spine. "i'm just saying, some things are meant to be primal. natural. like a man taking care of his woman."
"besides," he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough with something dark, "you donât really want equality right now⌠do you? you want me to hold you down. tell you what to do."
you grin, your eyes bright with amusement as you pull back. you know he doesn't really believe what he's saying, and that makes it hotter. "natural? please. maybe back in the dark ages, when you were my age..."
he laughs softly, his body pressed tightly against you as his fingers slip lower, groping the warm skin of your thighs. "babygirl," he mutters, amusement lacing through his tone, "you know what i'd have done to you in the dark ages?"
"what?" you breathe. then his mouth is at your neck again, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses along your throat as he speaks, his voice a gravelly whisper.
"i would've taken you as my wife." another kiss, followed by a hot, possessive bite against your skin. "and i would've put a baby in you, so i could watch that stomach swell with my kid."
"oh, fuck," you moan, arching against him at the idea. he just laughs again, warm against your skin as he moves down to your collarbone.
"my little feminist, getting hot over the thought of getting knocked up. you know you'll let me, babygirl. you know you'll be a good girl and let daddy put a baby in you."
his hands slide up your sides beneath your shirt before one cups firmly over your lower stomach. "you're gonna be such a good mom," he murmurs into your ear, voice thick with teasing certainty.
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psstâŚâŚpriest!pope cody x reader, the yearning, the forbidden feelingsâŚ..
This is undoubtedly the worst thing you've ever done.
A guaranteed, one-way ticket to hell.
But you can't find it in you to care. Breathless, you allow Andrew to trail kisses along your jaw, skirt bunched up at your waist. "W-We can't do this," You mumble, but there's no heat behind it, and you make zero attempt to push him off.
"I know," is his only reply.
He doesn't stop either.
You're not in the church. You figure that must win you some brownie points somewhere. You're not quite that blasphemous. Instead, you're at Andrew's house on a Saturday morning, when you told your father you were going to bible study.
"My beautiful girl," He murmurs, as you're braced across his lap. "An angel sent from heaven."
Ironic, given your current predicament.
He always stops before it turns to penetration. He'll kiss you silly, sometimes eat you out on the hardwood floor, but never full sex.
LEWIS PULLMAN as Robert Reynolds/Robert âBobâ Floyd
THUNDERBOLTS* (2025) â dir. Jake Schreier
TOP GUN: MAVERICK (2022) â dir. Joseph Kosinski
men who after a long and exhausting day the only wish they have is being buried between your thighs.
footsteps heavy, almost crawling pathetically to the bed where you lay waiting, shoulders slowly loosing tension as he press the mattress beneath him, the soft laundry scent of the blankets mixed with your own blur his senses
men who eat you for their own pleasure, tongue deep in your core, moving relentlessly with excitement, with no intentions of slowing down or stopping, strong big hands keeping your legs spread for him. your moans and sighs combined with the slurping sounds made such a nasty and addictive melody, something he could never get tired of
it becomes inevitable at some point, his hips move back and forward against the bed at the same rhythm his mouth moves around your clit, eyebrows frown at the delicious but insufficient friction, you squirm and feel the orgasm approaching you like a warm and strong wave, the only thing you can do is grip his hair in your hands and arch your back
your breathless whispers of his name drives him to the edge, he receives your orgasm with a smirk that quickly fades as he unexpectedly reaches his own orgasm with a broken and loud moan, his underwear feels so sticky and wet, both of you out of breath and tired, but his hands never leave your thighs and his eyes slowly meet yours with a mischievous glow
âone more time, please?â it didn't actually sound like a question, but it wasn't either a warning, he placed a trail of kisses across your inner thigh, his shaky breath against your sensitive clit was making your heart race again, âmy love?â
you nodded in response, and after that the night only got longer.
characters â nanami kento, ser duncan âthe tallâ, adrian chase, clark kent, simon âghostâ riley, erwin smith, james âbuckyâ barnes + your favs ! đ Â × ËłÂ
when langdonâs going through his divorce, he misses intimacy. sometimes when itâs just him in his lonely apartment, he gets his hand on his cock and he thinks about sex with a faceless woman. not even just his own pleasure; itâs the thought of getting her off that makes him groan into the quietness of his apartment as he comes on his own stomach.
with time, that face turns into yours. he thinks about you more often than not, and when itâs just him and his hand he pictures how you would sound as he makes you come on his tongue. would you whine, gasp, or cry out his name? would your thighs tighten around his head even though youâre begging him to stop, because itâs just too much?
langdon thinks about what position you would prefer. are you a missionary girl, or do you like to take the reins and bounce yourself on his dick like itâs what you were born to do? or maybe youâre into doggy, and you like a bit of roughness which urges you to beg him to make your ass red as you throw it back on him.
on the nights heâs especially lonely, he thinks about filling your warm, wet hole with his seed. he thinks about you growing round with his child, how pretty you would look with your swollen tits spilling out of your sundress. he thinks about bending you over the kitchen counter on a sunday morning, skirts lifted to your chest as he makes you cry on his cock.
frank feels like a pervert when he goes into work and you smile that pretty smile at him from your spot at the nursesâ station. youâre the face of innocence â how are you supposed to know he had his hand gripped around his dick this morning thinking about you begging him for his load?
when dana assigns you as the nurse on his case, unknowing about his little infatuation with you, his dick grows in his scrubs as he watches you at work.
âdo you need anything else, dr. langdon?â your voice interrupts his crude thoughts sweetly, and his eyes zero in on your cherry gloss coated lips.
what would they look like stretched around his cock?
âno, thatâs everything. thanks, (y/n).â
langdon practically sprints to the toilet, and all it takes is four tugs of his dick to have him coming into his hand like a schoolboy.
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SYNOPSIS: asking bob to make a mess of himself on your face while you wear his glasses? absolutely.
WORD COUNT: 1.8k
WARNINGS: ahem, SMUT, established relationship, profanity, oral (m!receiving), deepthroating, facial, handjob, cum eating, dirty talk, begging, slightly sub!reader, praise, aftercare and such sweet affection from bobby, not proofread and mdni!!, reader is a minx, brief mention of term âslutâ, size kink, awkward sweetheart w a big dick!bob,
A/N: this is the most filthiest shit Iâve ever written and if you like this ur crazy⌠*reblogs, comments and likes the post*
âWhat are you up to?â he drawls, watching carefully as you crawl over his naked midriff and through the sea of bedsheets. Post-sex endorphins were through the roof right now for Bob, a wave of happy tiredness sweeping over the pilot.
You huff, hand outstretched as you reach for Bob's glasses perched on the bedside table.
âI wanna try these onâ you say to him, balancing yourself as you try to grab the frames. Bob chuckles, a hand coming to rub your ass lovingly.
You bit your lip to fight the feeling of a grin spreading on your face, the feeling of Bob's soft hands tickling you as you playfully pushed him away, all the while he simply beams at you.
The hand supporting yourself on his hard chest slips, causing you to collapse on top of your boyfriend, your naked breasts brushing over his cock and sending a shiver down his spine.
A firm hand comes to still yourself. âCarefulâ he says softly, hands warm.
Bob looks over, grabbing the glasses just as you were about to pick them up, and holding them out of your reach. You protest, trying to get ahold of the frames you loved so much. Bob puts them on, allowing himself to properly see his girl.
âYou donât wanna wear these, they donât look good on anyone. Including me.â he mumbles, adjusting you on top of him.
But you're quick to swipe them off his face, ignoring Bob's laughs when you put the glasses on yourself and straddle his hips. âI like them, theyâre cute,â you tell him.
âWell what dâya know?â Bob utters softly to himself when he sees you, gazing up at his girl wearing the steel rimmed aviators and looking absolutely breathtaking.
âHi there, four eyesâ he chuckles, finding it odd saying a phrase heâs been nicknamed all his childhood. Hell, even Seresin has no problem calling him that to this day.
Bob smiles, strong but soft hands coming to rest on your hips as you sat dangerously close to where his happy trail leads to. Your brows furrowed as you viewed the world through his lenses.
âJesus, Bob, you really are blind!â You uttered, looking down at the blurry man seated against the bedpost.
Bobâs become busy at the moment, pressing pecks to your hardended nipples. He simply nods, pretending heâs listening.
âYou should go to the eye doctor, honeyâ
Bob peaks through, giving you a look. âThatâs where I got themâ
âHm.â
The room is silent, a soft glow of the afternoon sunlight peeking through the white shutters. You feel the corners of Bobâs lips curling into a smile against your skin, a silent worship to your body.
âYouâre so soft.â he murmurs.
âHoney,â you call to your boyfriend.
âHm?â Bob replies absentmindedly, still brushing his face along your chest, hugging you closer.
You tug on his brown locks, pulling his head from your body and looking down at him.
âI wanna try something.â you grinned, a mischievous glint in your eyes mixed with a bottle of excitement. You quickly press a kiss to his lips.
Bob watches as you pull from his grasp, lips forming a small frown from the loss of contact as you shuffled down the bed so you were now kneeling on the floor by the edge.
Bob looks over at you quizzically, wondering what you were up to before you beckon towards him, ushering him to sit at the edge of the bed.
âCome sit, Robertâ you directed, calling him by his birth name to get his attention.
His soft cock limps near his thighs as he adjusts himself, sitting before you in all his naked glory, hair tousled by your hands and a pink blush ghosting his cheeks. His hand comes up to play with your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. You look up in seriousness and confess.
âI want you to cum on these glassesâ
Bob stops all motion, hand still tucked behind your ear. The room falls silent.
âWhat?â
You ignore the bafflement of your crimson cheeked boyfriend, bending down to lick a long stripe up his veiny shaft. A loud moan and harsh tug against your scalp brings you to take him further, almost triggering your gag reflexes. It all happens so fast. Bob mutters incoherently from the sudden gesture, both of you going slightly insane when your nose presses against his pubic bone as tears form near your eyes.
âBaby, hold on a moment, Jesus fuck!â
Youâre worried youâre going to make a mess on the floor from the way your slick almost drips from your pussy.
Youâve been thinking of this fantasy for a while if you were to be honest. Bob pulls you back, gasping for air as a proud feeling settles in your chest. Itâs not everyday you hear Bob cuss like that.
Heâs panting hard, watching as a bit of saliva is smeared on your lips, eyes glossy. Bob sighs in exasperation as you decide to stroke his cock with your hands.
âYou gotta let me speak-â
âPlease, Bobbyâ you beg, pressing kisses to the pink tip and relishing in the way you feel him harden in your hand. A loud groan escapes Bob's throat, feeling sensitive despite having had sex the whole afternoon with you.
âI want you to cum while I have your glasses onâ you told him, kitten licks getting the best of your boyfriend. âLike in those pornosâ you mumble softly, your shy giggles driving Bob insane.
âNobody says pornos anymoreâ he mumbles telling you, swallowing hard when you tug on his cock tighter for not responding.
Bob clears his throat. âYou, um, want me to give you a facial?â He asks softly, holding onto your hand that's stroking his cock.
You nod eagerly.
âA-Are you sure?â He says, worried that taking him like this is gonna wear you out. In all honesty, the boy canât help but grow hard at the thought of cumming all over your innocent face, big eyes covered by his glasses milked by his seed.
You nod, excitement and horniness flowing through your body.
âPlease, honey, I want you to see me paintedâ you sighed, thumb brushing over the thick tip, smearing precum over the slit.
Bob thinks heâs gonna cum just from this angle, but he needs you so badly he tries to regain composure. He bends down to kiss you, tasting himself on your lips and letting your face be held in his soft touch. âLet me know if it's too much babyâ he addresses in concern, the tears on your cheeks worrying him.
You sniffle, nodding your head to assure him. âWant you so bad, Bobby, let me suck youâ
Your last few words are incoherent from the way you let Bobâs big cock stuff your throat, making you gag but desperately hold on. Bob lets go, both hands coming to balance himself on the edge, one gripping the bed sheets.
The sensation is fucking marvellous. You feel so full, loving the way the stretch of your mouth and untouched ache of your pussy turn you cockdrunk on Bob Floydâs dick.
You look up, desperate to see how he's taking you, wanting to see the expression of him getting the daylights sucked out of him.
Lieutenant Bob ruts his hips pathetically, trying so hard not to make a mess of your mouth and hurt you. His head is pulled back, groans falling from his soft lips as he praises you so good.
âThatâs it baby, doing so well for meâ he sighs, now two large hands coming to push you a little further, a groan falling from his lips as you take him fully now.
âGod, I love you!â he cries out loud, an instinctive response coming from your boyfriend as he caresses your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. You smile, aviator lenses reflecting the light as your lips are wrapped securely around his dick.
âSo pretty, such a pretty girlâ he says under his breath, admiring the way your tits bounce along with every stroke on his cock. You gasp, pulling away as you let your fist do the rest.
âI love you too, Bobbyâ you gasped, looking up to find Bob staring at you intensely, with such a fierce gaze of love, sensuality, and pure awe.
âH-How,â he begins, starting to feel a familiar feeling settle inside him. âHow did I get so lucky with you?â He admits, wanting nothing more but to see his cum painting his glasses youâre wearing. He thinks he might just let you have them. Being able to see is overrated anyways.
âI think Iâm gonna cum, babyâ he lets out, watching as your eyes get eager, adjusting your sore knees so you can get the perfect angle.
âPlease baby, give it to meâ you begged, pussy so sensitive you have to make sure you hold yourself up enough so the cold wooden floors donât brush against your folds.
Watching you rub his dick like that, mouth open and face ready is an image Bob will have ingrained in his mind forever, a hot spurt of milky liquid shooting onto your lips as Bob finally gives you what you wanted.
Incoherent mumbles fill the sweaty bedroom, letting one hand cup his balls as the other makes sure to smear the warm fluid all over your lips, glasses starting to get foggy.
âFucking hellâ Bob cries out, spilling your name from his lips like a sacred mantra.
You hum, a wave of both happiness and satisfaction washing over you as you sit in front of Bobâs glory.
You let the man come down from his high, tasting salt and your boyfriend in your mouth. Before you can even clean yourself up, Bob is ripping off the dirtied glasses framing your face, and grabbing you towards him for a passionate kiss. The action makes you dizzy, your red, sore knees almost buckling under.
Itâs only a while after when he pulls away, grabbing for a box of tissues near the nightstand and pressing a kiss to your cheek. âIâm sorry for the messâ he replies shyly, the image of this tall, naked, handsome, and yet totally awkward giant taking care of you making it all worthwhile.
âItâs okayâ you reply, voice hoarse. You couldnât help but feel happy, even if you didnât cum (Bob would see to it later of course).
You feel him use the tissues to wipe your chin, face, and tits, or really, what was leftover after you sucked it all up like a slut.
âYouâre crazy sometimes, you know that?â Bob mumbles, shaking his head as he smiles at you, his soft touch so rewarding.
You laugh, latching your arms around his neck and letting him hoist you up so easily. His semi-hard cock limps against your stomach, both of you standing up and lips pressing together in another soft kiss.
âThank you for the most mind blowing head of my life.â He jokes.
âThanks for the facialâ you gleam, sucking your fingers with a pop that makes Bob weak, falling back down on the mattress and taking you with him so youâre straddling him again.
Bob reaches for the glasses, getting a tissue so he could wipe them before an idea pops in your head and you stop him.
dedicated to: @bodhiscurls because i love her to bits and sheâs the best writing buddy and chaotic little cheerleader i could ever ask forâĄ
word count: 15,777 words
pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader
synopsis: you were just trying to blow off steam at the hard deck, maybe flirt your way out of a dry spell, but then quiet, polite bob floyd snapped, cornered you in the bathroom, and showed you exactly what eight months of pent-up want really looked like.
content warnings: smut, mdni, blowjob in a bar bathroom, desperate tension, grinding, throatfucking, glasses staying on, possessive!bob (which is ooc, i'm sorry!), overstimulation, mutual begging, heavy petting, light choking, swearing, and two idiots who havenât even fucked yet but are already acting like itâs the end of the world. also my first time writing smut ever so please bear with me!!
author's note: you guys might want to know that i physically cannot write anything without overthinking every line which is probably why this turned into a whole spiral instead of something normal, like i swear i sat down with one idea and now iâm here wondering what just happened, so yeah, thank you for reading and letting me be feral in peace!
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âChug! Chug! Chug!â
The whole Hard Deck roared as you tipped your head back, beer sloshing down your throat with not a single pause, not even a flinch. You didnât even blink. You were standing on top of the bench now, one foot on the table and the other on Fanboyâs thigh for balance because you had somehow convinced him to sit still long enough for you to climb up like a drunken goat.Â
The squad was losing their minds. Rooster was banging his fist on the table like he was summoning a demon, Phoenix had her phone out recording everything, and someone, probably Hangman, let out the loudest âWOOOOO!â known to mankind the second you slammed the empty glass down on the counter.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning like an absolute menace, your shirt slightly damp from the splashback, your hair a little messy, but your energy completely unbothered. You were glowing with the kind of chaotic pride only achievable through beer, adrenaline, and the undeniable high of being the most unhinged person in the room.
âAnother!â you shouted, already reaching for someone elseâs untouched pint.
The second your empty glass hit the wood, the whole place erupted. Cheering, whistles, someone slapped the bell behind the bar like it was a damn boxing match. Even Penny raised her eyebrows from across the counter, clearly impressed but already calculating how much trouble you'd cause in the next ten minutes.
You threw your arms up like you'd just won a championship, yelling out something unintelligible that made Fanboy yell back, âSHEâS UNSTOPPABLE!â and honestly, yeah. You kind of were.
âThat was the hottest thing Iâve seen all week,â Jake said with a grin that could probably fry an egg on the nearest surface.
You turned, your head a little fuzzy, your lips still wet, and you locked eyes with him in that way the way that made people nervous, the way that made grown men second-guess all their choices. Jake was leaning back in his seat like he owned the damn place, legs spread, that lazy smirk tugging at his mouth, eyes doing things that should honestly be illegal.
You stepped down from the bench with the casual grace of someone who had no business still being upright, walked right up to him like you were in a slow-motion movie, and dropped your hands onto the back of his chair as you leaned in close. Close enough that your noses nearly brushed, your mouth just inches from his, and your breath tasted like beer and adrenaline and every terrible idea you had ever had.
Jake's lips parted, barely, like he was ready to close that gap, eyes flicking down to your mouth with all the grace of a man losing a game he thought he was winning.
And then, you laughed. You pulled back, slapped his cheek with exactly the kind of affection that made him blink in surprise, and said, âNice try, Seresin,â before grabbing Phoenixâs drink and strutting away like you hadn't just short-circuited half the bar.
You didnât look back, but you could feel the heat of Jakeâs stunned stare drilling into the back of your head, and honestly? You were living for it.
âââââââ
Not far from the noise and half the squadâs terrible chanting, Bob sat quietly at a small round table near the corner, shoulders a little hunched and nursing a cold glass of cola he hadnât taken more than three sips from in the last hour.Â
The condensation had pooled under it, forming a perfect little ring, and he was absently tracing it with the tip of his finger, eyes flicking occasionally toward the bar but never staying there long enough to get caught staring.
Rooster slid into the seat beside him with a lopsided grin and two drinks in hand; one for himself, one that he placed in front of Bob with a hopeful raise of his brow.
âNo, thank you,â Bob said instantly, as politely as ever, the corners of his mouth twitching up into the softest smile as he pushed the offered glass back with a gentle nudge. âStill got mine.â
Rooster chuckled and leaned his elbows onto the table, swirling his whiskey around as he gave Bob a pointed look. âYou know, for someone who gets stared at like that every time she looks your way, you sure are committed to keeping your head down.â
Bobâs ears turned pink instantly. âShe doesnâtââ he started, then stopped, then cleared his throat. âSheâs just⌠being friendly.â
âOh yeah,â Rooster said with a nod, full of playful sarcasm, âdefinitely the kind of friendly where she nearly kissed Hangman just now and then left him looking like a kicked puppy.â
Bob blinked, a little stunned, then took a very careful sip of his cola, mostly to buy time and to hide how fast his brain had started spinning.
Right on cue, Jake dropped himself into the third chair with a dramatic groan, throwing his head back like heâd been emotionally wounded by a Shakespearean tragedy. He reached across the table without even looking and grabbed Bobâs drink, taking a long sip before Bob could stop him.
âHeyââ Bob started, eyes wide, brows lifted in that quiet little protest that was never loud enough to actually work.
âShe almost kissed me,â Jake said, voice filled with betrayal and beer. âShe looked at me with those eyes, leaned in like she was gonna do it, and then she laughed. Laughed! Like Iâm some kind of a joke. Iâve been emotionally dismantled, man. Iâm not okay!â
Rooster snorted and tried to cover it with his glass, but Bob still heard it. He looked between the two of them, visibly confused and mildly horrified, and said softly, âYou drank my colaâŚâ
Jake waved a hand dismissively, still mid-rant. âIâve been blue balled, Floyd. Absolutely slaughtered! Torn apart by her tease tactics. Do you know how many women have actually turned me down before the kiss? None. Zero. Zilch. This is uncharted territory. This is the end of an era. My era!â
Bob just stared at him, mouth parted, eyes wide, shoulders hunched like he wasnât sure if he was allowed to laugh or if this was somehow a moment that needed real sympathy.
Rooster let out a loud, careless laugh, the kind that made people at nearby tables glance over with raised eyebrows, and Jake immediately turned to him with a glare, sharp and squinting, like he couldnât believe he was being laughed at during what was clearly a moment of personal crisis.
âWhat,â Jake snapped, dragging the word out like it was a threat, one hand flung toward Rooster in exasperation.
Rooster just leaned back into his chair like he had all the time in the world, nursing his drink with that usual smirk that made it impossible to tell if he was joking or being entirely serious. âYou and Raven?â he said, voice casual, like he was just stating facts. âYou two are too much alike. Thatâs your whole problem, dude.â
Jake furrowed his brows like heâd just been hit with a dictionary. âWhat the hell does that mean?â
âI mean youâre the same,â Rooster replied, gesturing lazily between him and the air, âlike, exactly the same. You both walk into every room like itâs yours, you both flirt with anyone who gives you half a look, you both get bored unless somethingâs on fire, and honestly, you both kind of love causing chaos. Youâre her with a bad haircut.â
Jake reeled like heâd been slapped with that one. âI am nothing like her,â he argued, his voice climbing a little, âsheâs unpredictable, sheâs loud, she does that thing where she flirts just to get people all hot and bothered and then walks away laughing like she didnât just emotionally destroy someoneââ
âYeah,â Rooster said, looking directly at him now, âand who else does that, huh?â
Jake pointed at himself. âNot me.â
Rooster gave him a long, slow stare, clearly not convinced. âI know her type.â
Jake blinked and leaned forward now, like he was trying to get ahead of the thought before it landed. âI am her type.â
Rooster grinned. âWrong, I know her type.â
Jake looked at him like he was waiting for the punchline, like maybe Rooster would laugh and say it was a joke, but he didnât so Jake tilted his chin up, already defensive. âWho?â
Rooster didnât say anything. He just turned his head slightly, just enough to glance past Jakeâs shoulder.
And there, quietly wedged between them, like he had been the entire time, was Bob.
Still sitting perfectly still in his seat, both elbows on the table, his hands loosely holding the empty peanut box he had been reading for the past five minutes like it was the most riveting thing heâd ever seen.Â
His shoulders were drawn in just a little, his posture tight like he was trying not to take up space, and his lips were parted slightly like he was in the middle of mouthing a word printed on the back of the box.
The faintest blush still coloured his cheeks, and his glasses had slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose, but he hadnât noticed or maybe just hadnât bothered to fix them.
Jake followed Roosterâs gaze slowly, frowning, and when he finally landed on Bob, his eyes narrowed.
Rooster didnât look away. He just kept his eyes on Bob and took a slow sip of his drink.
Jake turned to him again. âNo.â
Rooster just raised a brow.
Jake turned back to Bob.
Bob, who now seemed to feel the weight of two stares drilling into him from both sides, slowly lifted his head, blinking like he had been deep underwater and was just coming up for air.Â
His eyes flicked to Rooster, then to Jake, then back to Rooster, then down at the peanut box like maybe it had answers, then back up again, and he looked completely overwhelmed.
â...Did I do something?â he asked softly, eyes wide, voice low and uncertain, like he was genuinely worried heâd somehow gotten himself involved in a conversation he hadnât signed up for.
Jake blinked once, then sat up straighter like someone had just accused him of something criminal. âHell no,â he said, scoffing, shaking his head so hard his hair bounced. âCome on, me I understand, but him?!â
Bob turned his head slowly, eyes still wide, clearly trying to keep up. âWhatâs going on?â he asked carefully, voice small, fingers curling tighter around the now slightly crumpled peanut box in his hands.
Rooster took a long, lazy sip from his drink, not looking at either of them, then shrugged like this whole thing wasnât about to spiral into some kind of war. âIâm just saying,â he muttered, setting the glass back down, âevery time Ravenâs around, I catch her eye-fucking Bob like itâs her job.â
Bob choked instantly, eyes going comically wide as he nearly dropped the box and knocked his knee against the table. âWhat?â he said, voice cracking, the blush on his cheeks blooming into full-on panic as he looked between them. âIâI donât thinkâI meanâI have no idea what youâre talking aboutââ
âShe what?â Jake exploded, half standing, eyes wild as he stared at Bob like Bob had betrayed him without even knowing it. âThere is no way. Youâre messing with me. She flirts with me, man. Iâm her type. Thisâthis makes no sense.â
Rooster shrugged again, leaning his chin into his hand like this was all incredibly boring to him. âNah. She flirts with you because she knows it gets a rise. Itâs fun. Youâre easy.â
Jake made a noise like he was being physically attacked. âEasy?!â
Rooster just kept going like he hadnât said anything remotely controversial. âBut every time Bob walks into a room, she looks at him like heâs a snack. And not like a chips-and-salsa kind of snack, but like a full-course, ruin-my-life, let-me-be-a-problem kind of snack.â
Bob made another squeaky little sound in his throat and turned fully toward the table, clutching the peanut box like it was a holy text, his ears now red, his voice barely above a whisper. âIâI think youâre mistaken,â he stammered, looking anywhere but at either of them, âI really donât think sheâI meanâsheâs just friendly, Iâm sure itâs notââ
âOh come on!â Jake shouted, flinging his hands in the air like he couldnât believe this was happening, like he had stepped into an alternate timeline where nothing made sense anymore. âThis is actually insane. I flirt with her all the time, I wear nice cologne, I do the smirk thing, I lean against walls. What does he do? Sit there? Blink politely?! And thatâs what gets her attention?!â
Bob looked absolutely horrified. He sat frozen for a moment, blinking rapidly, still clutching the peanut box like it was the last solid thing in his universe, and then, very quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the music and laughter around them, he snapped.
âWhat are you guys even talking about?â he asked, voice sharper than usual, not mean, just overwhelmed, confused, a little cracked at the edges like heâd been cornered in the middle of a game he didnât know he was playing.
Jake pointed a dramatic finger at him, looking genuinely betrayed. âYou stole my wife!â
Bob reeled back. âWhat?! No! IâI didnâtâwhat are you even saying?! I havenât done anything! I havenât said anything! She doesnât evenâshe hasnâtâthis is ridiculous, Iâm not evenâlook, Iâm just sitting here!â
His voice broke halfway through, hands flailing a little in panic, glasses slipping further down his nose, and Rooster actually had to lean forward and grab one of Bobâs wrists before he knocked over someoneâs drink. Bob looked utterly flustered, already blushing so badly he could probably cook an egg on his cheeks, chest rising and falling like heâd just run laps.
Jake and Rooster exchanged a look. Then, they both moved at once.
Jake grabbed Bob by the shoulders and turned him gently but firmly in his chair, while Rooster reached over and tilted Bobâs chin toward the centre of the room, both of them crowding in on either side like conspirators in some ridiculous, unspoken plan.
âLook at her,â Rooster said quietly, leaning in, voice low in Bobâs ear.
âReally look,â Jake added, his tone weirdly soft, like all the loud theatrics had suddenly drained from him.
Bob frowned, still confused, still flushed, but he blinked once and followed their direction, slowly turning his head, eyes scanning the bar, until they landed on you.
You, who were still standing by the jukebox surrounded by the others, all of them laughing at something you had just shouted across the room, your head thrown back with your hands up like you were telling a story, your cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the crowd, your grin completely unbothered, unstoppable, radiant.
Bobâs breath caught a little.
You hadnât even noticed him staring, you werenât even facing him directly, but he was looking now, really looking, like the shape of you had just rearranged something in him. The way your eyes danced when you laughed, the way your hands moved when you talked, the way you carried yourself like the entire bar existed just for your amusement, like you belonged everywhere all at once.
Bob couldnât look away now. He took you in like heâd been starving for weeks and didnât know it until now, like someone had hit the lights and the music all at once and all he could see was you.
And then, maybe because the universe had a sense of humour, or maybe because you could feel eyes on you even from across a crowded bar, you turned.
Your gaze swept lazily over the room, still laughing at whatever Fanboy was saying, still cradling someoneâs beer in your hand like it was your own, but then your eyes landed on him.
You felt as though someone was staring at you, and you wanted to see who dared to look at him. You turned your head slightly, and your eyes met his, sharp and clear like a spotlight piercing through the background.
You remained silent. You didn't turn your head away. Bob felt his breath catch in his chest so painfully because you did nothing but look, really look, as if he were something worth examining, something you had already decided to destroy.
There was something in your eyes that knocked the thoughts clean out of his head. Not soft, not friendly, not even teasing. It was intense, it was focused, it was heat without warning, and Bob swore his heart skipped at least three beats and maybe restarted in a completely new rhythm.
His brain was trying to do something, maybe form a sentence, maybe just function, but everything short-circuited at once and all he could do was sit there and take it, jaw slack, eyes wide, face on fire.
Because you were looking at him. Like that. And he was pretty sure that if that stare lasted one more second, he was going to do something stupid and permanent.
He was going toâ
âOh come on!â Jake groaned, loud and long and absolutely miserable as he threw his whole body back into his chair like the world had personally wronged him. âDid you see that?! That wasâthat was straight-up eye-fucking, man, with capital letters and a neon sign!â
Rooster took a sip from his drink and leaned back, his voice calm and unbothered as he said, âTold you, man,â like he hadnât just watched Jakeâs pride collapse in real time.
But Bob didnât move.
He didnât say anything, didnât blink, didnât breathe properly, just sat there completely stunned, eyes still locked in your direction even though youâd already turned away again, already laughing at something Phoenix and Fanboy had said, already pulling someone into a side hug like you hadnât just dismantled him from across the bar.
He was still sitting there, still staring at the spot where you had been, still dazed out of his mind, hands resting in his lap like heâd forgotten he had fingers, and somewhere down by his chair, the crushed peanut box had fallen and landed sideways on the floor without him noticing.
âBro,â Rooster said suddenly, leaning in and snapping his fingers right in front of Bobâs face, âhey, Earth to Floyd, are youâwait, are you getting hard right now?â
Bob physically jerked like someone had slapped him, eyes wide as he whipped his head toward Rooster, mouth opening and closing without anything actually coming out for a full two seconds.
âIâIâm notâwhat?! No! Iâm notâI wouldnâtâI didnât evenââ Bob stammered, his voice climbing an octave with every syllable, hands coming up like he could defend himself from the sheer accusation of it. His ears had gone so red they practically glowed under the bar lights, and he looked horrified in the most painfully sincere way.
âI canât believe this,â Jake groaned beside him, slumping into the table like he was being punished by the universe itself, face pressed to the wood like he couldnât physically carry the weight of his own disappointment anymore. âI flirted for months, I put in effort, I smiled with my eyes, and all it takes is one soft-spoken stare from a guy who reads peanut boxes like poetry and sheâs ready to pounce?!â
Bob let out the most distressed sound anyone had ever heard from him, something between a gasp and a whimper, and looked like he was seriously debating crawling under the table and just staying there forever.
âI was notâI didnâtâRooster!â he half-yelled, voice cracking again, both hands running through his hair now like he was seconds away from full shutdown, âYou canât just ask someone that! Thatâsâthatâs not evenâhow would you even know?!â
Rooster shrugged, cool as ever. âI mean, you kinda spaced out for a full minute and then started breathing like someone pressed the turbo button.â
Jake let out another wounded groan, dragging his forehead across the table like he was physically trying to melt into it. âThis is my villain origin story,â he mumbled, âthis is how I go rogue.â
âââââââ
You had really only meant to sneak a glance.
Just something quick, nothing serious, just a casual little look to see if he was still being flustered and adorable or if Jake had calmed down even a little or if Bradley was still wearing that smug older-brother-who-knows-something-you-donât expression.Â
But the moment your eyes landed on Bob, blushing like mad, eyes wide, hands frozen mid-air like he was trying to figure out where they were supposed to go, and his shirt all slightly wrinkled from the way he had been messing with it nervously, your entire body tensed.
And the groan that left you wasnât soft.
It was long and low and full of frustration, the kind that came from months of silently suffering in your own personal hell, and it slipped out before you could stop it.
Phoenix tilted her head, brows already raised. âYou alright or are you gonna combust in public?â
Halo followed the direction of your stare, barely hiding her smirk. âI swear, if this is still about Lieutenant Eye Contact over thereââ
You groaned again, dragging your hands down your face like maybe, just maybe, if you covered your eyes, your feelings would evaporate. âI swear on my last brain cell, Iâm gonna lose it. Iâm gonna actually lose it and scream. Heâs sitting there looking like he just learned what sex is and itâs my fault somehow.â
Halo leaned closer, her drink balanced casually in her hand, voice low and amused. âAre we talking about the man youâve been eye-fucking since last Christmas?â
âThatâs the one,â Phoenix said under her breath, tapping the edge of her glass against the bar like she was keeping score.
âI have tried,â you hissed, slumping sideways against the jukebox, âI have flirted, I have smiled, I have worn outfits that would put a saint in a chokehold, I almost kissed Hangman for the sole purpose of emotional terrorism and heâ â you pointed in Bobâs direction like it hurt â âhe still thinks Iâm being friendly.â
Phoenix blinked slowly. âYouâre telling me that look you just gave him wasnât a threat and a promise all in one?â
âI want to bite him,â you snapped. âAnd not in a weird way. I mean in a feral, I-donât-care-if-this-is-socially-acceptable kind of way. I want to pin him to the wall and say oops.â
Halo just nodded solemnly. âRespect.â
âHeâs so soft,â you went on, practically vibrating now, âlike actually soft, not just emotionally soft but like if I kissed his neck heâd probably short-circuit and make a noise I wouldnât recover from, and youâre all acting like Iâm the crazy oneââ
âYou are the crazy one,â Phoenix interrupted calmly, âbut itâs fine, you wear it well.â
âI need to get laid,â you groaned, dragging the words out like they hurt, your head dropping back against the jukebox again with a dull thud that none of them even reacted to anymore. âLike seriously laid. Like knock-me-out-and-reset-my-central-nervous-system kind of laid. My fucking vibrator at home is this close to giving up on me, I swear I can hear it sigh when I pick it up.â
Halo snorted, sipping her drink without breaking eye contact. âOkay, but Seresinâs right there. You could literally just make eye contact and heâd throw himself at you like a cartoon character.â
You scrunched your nose so fast it looked like a reflex. âDonât be disgusting.â
Phoenix let out a snort of laughter that turned into a cough, nearly spilling her drink. âDid you just gag at the thought of Jake Seresin?â
âIâm sorry,â you said, holding up a hand, âI respect him as a fellow menace but if I ever have to look at his smug face while heâs naked I think I might actually start crying. Iâd rather stay abstinent.â
âOkay, but seriously,â Halo leaned in, squinting like she was studying you, âwhen was the last time you got laid?â
You stared at her.
She blinked.
Phoenix leaned forward.
You blinked.
â...Nine months ago?â you said finally, very slowly, like you were doing the math in real time and were also a little offended by the number.
There was a pause. A full-body, what-the-fuck-did-you-just-say pause.
Halo looked personally attacked. âHow are you alive?!â
You just shrugged, taking a long sip of your drink like this was normal, like you werenât actively dying inside. âI think itâs Bob. Like heâs been reversing the effects of my last hook-up through sheer wholesomeness or something. Like every time he looks at me and blushes I forget what sex even is. I think Iâve been... un-fucked. Spiritually.â
Phoenix covered her mouth with her hand, wheezing. âYouâve gone insane.â
âI know,â you said again, voice muffled through your fingers, âand Iâm not even sorry. Itâs his fault. He says please and thank you and I want to ruin him.â
Halo nodded slowly, like it all made sense now. âYouâve got it bad.â
âDo I?â you snapped. âBecause Iâve spent the last eight months wanting to throw that man against a wall and every time I try to flirt with him, he tells me to have a nice day.â
Phoenix was already laughing, her head tilted back, one hand pressed to her chest like she couldnât believe the words coming out of your mouth. âHave a nice day,â she repeated, practically wheezing, âgirl, heâs killing you.â
âHeâs polite,â Halo added, eyes wide, voice dramatic like she was recounting a murder, âhe calls people maâam, he waits in lines, he probably says sorry when he bumps into furnitureââ
âHe does,â you cut in, voice sharp, pointing at her like that was the worst part. âHe does say sorry when he runs into chairs. Iâve seen it. He bumped his knee on a coffee table in the rec room and he whispered sorry like it had feelings. It did something to me. I donât want to be normal anymore.â
Halo covered her mouth and squeaked. âThatâs adorable.â
âItâs lethal,â you said, arms crossed, foot tapping furiously against the floor. âIâm losing my mind. Iâm walking around like Iâm fine but inside itâs just Bob Bob Bob Bob Bob and then sometimes Bob in a towel because I saw that one time and itâs never left me.â
Phoenix spit her drink.
Halo grabbed your arm. âYou saw Bob in a towel and youâve been sitting on that information this whole time?!â
âIt was months ago,â you hissed, glancing around like you were revealing top secret government intel, âI walked past the locker room and he had just come out of the showers and he had his little glasses on and a towel wrapped around his waist and wet hair and I genuinely almost fainted. Like black spots in my vision, I had to sit down.â
Phoenix looked devastated. âYou sat on that. You kept that to yourself.â
âI tried to forget,â you said, pressing a hand to your chest like it still haunted you. âBut it plays in my brain like a damn music video.â
Halo let out a long, low whistle. âYouâve got it so bad. You need to do something. Youâre gonna combust.â
âLike what?â you asked, flailing your hands, fully spiralling now. âHe probably thinks Iâm just being nice! I wore a crop top last week and dropped my pen on purpose and bent over to pick it up and he said, âThat's a safety hazard, maâam.ââ
Phoenix wheezed again. âThat man has no idea.â
âThat man,â you said, staring at your drink like it had wronged you, âis my Roman Empire.â
Phoenix gave you a look. The kind that said she was about five seconds away from grabbing your shoulders and shaking the desperation out of you. âOkay then, if Bobâs gonna keep playing the oblivious virgin card, maybe itâs time to get some actual dick and stop hallucinating every time he says thank you.â
You opened your mouth to protest but she cut you off.
âNo, donât even argue,â she said, waving her drink around like a wand, âweâre surrounded by military-grade testosterone, someone in here has to be emotionally unavailable and hot enough to distract you for at least one night.â
Halo hummed and leaned forward, scanning the crowd like a hawk. âAlright then, letâs find her a rebound,â she said like it was a mission, eyes sharp, smile deadly.
You were about to tell them to chill, that you didnât need a full-blown one-night-stand intervention, but then Halo suddenly pointed with her drink, her voice dropping into something lower, smugger.
âOkay, but like that guy,â she said, tilting her head slightly.
You followed her gaze, and your stomach flipped.
Across the room, leaning casually against the bar, was a man who honestly looked like he had walked straight out of a fantasy novel. Tall, dressed in a dark button-up with sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms, long fingers wrapped around a whiskey glass, head tilted slightly like he was thinking about something poetic. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, soft curls pushed back, and the kind of slow, easy smirk that said he had ruined people before and never lost sleep over it.
And his eyes? Locked directly on you.
You blinked.
He raised his glass.
You blinked again.
âWhy does he look like he writes sad poems for a living?â you whispered.
Halo grinned. âHeâs been staring at you for the last ten minutes. And not like a guy who wants to talk, but like a guy who already has your Spotify password memorised.â
Phoenix sipped her drink. âHe looks like if British regret was a person. That man reads Virginia Woolf in bed and then ruins lives with his hands.â
You gawked. âI mean heâs hot but what if heâs a serial killer?â
âI mean,â Halo said, eyes twinkling, âworth the risk, no?â
You groaned, slumping forward like this whole night was being personally orchestrated by the universe to destroy you. âI canât. What if I sleep with him and then Bob finds out and I have to live with the shame of being dickmatized by a man who looks like he cries during jazz?â
Phoenix raised a brow. âOr... you could just march across the bar, grab Bob by the collar, and solve your little nine-month crisis tonight.â
You stared down into your drink like it was going to give you a divine answer, swirled the liquid slowly, lips pressed together, heartbeat a little too fast and brain way too loud.
Because on one hand, no. You werenât about to throw yourself at some British man with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and a possible emotional support book of poetry in his back pocket.Â
You didnât even know his name. What if he turned out to be weird? What if he asked you to call him âmy museâ mid-way through? What if he wore socks during sex?
But alsoâŚ
It had been nine months.
Nine. Whole. Fucking (not literally). Months.
You hadn't even realised how long it had been until you said it out loud earlier, and now the number was sitting in your chest like a dead weight, echoing louder than the music, making your brain short-circuit with every shift of Bob's glasses and every accidental flex of his forearms and every goddamn âmaâamâ that slipped out of his mouth like he wasnât slowly ruining your life with the power of respectful vocabulary.
You shifted on your feet and tried to act normal, but you were practically vibrating.
Am I really about to fold?Â
Am I that down bad?Â
Would having sex with a random man just to quiet the Bob voices in my head be considered spiritual cheating?
Is it even cheating if Bob has no idea Iâve mentally married him three times already?
You sighed. âI donât know,â you muttered, finally answering your friends, still not looking up. âThe idea of having sex with a stranger just makes me tired. Like emotionally, physically, mentally tired. The prep, the fake laughing, the pretending to be surprised when they say something dumb, the awkward moment when they ask if I came and I have to lieââ
Halo was already laughing. âOkay, thatâs fair.â
Phoenix leaned in, smirking. âBut...?â
You groaned and let your head fall forward until it bumped the jukebox again. âBut I also feel like if I donât get railed soon Iâm gonna start seeing God in traffic lights.â
Halo choked on her drink. âSweetheart, you are in hell.â
âI know,â you whined, âand heâs over there drinking soda like a virgin prince who doesnât know he could absolutely destroy me with one firm sentence.â
âHelloâŚâ
âââââââ
Bobâs soul just fucking left his body the moment he saw that guy, tall and sharp and walking like he owned the place, like he belonged in the frame with you, like he was about to say something smooth and actually pull it off, and Bob didnât even notice how Jake had started rambling again about something gross, probably his top three sex positions or some shit about eye contact and rhythm and Bradley, for some reason, was agreeing with him, even adding details, even leaning forward like this was an actual conversation people were meant to hear.Â
But none of it mattered because Bob wasnât listening, couldnât listen, not when he was too busy watching that guy talk to you, like really talk to you, not just throw lines but say something that actually made you laugh, something that made you shift a little and glance down like you were trying not to smile too much, and Bob just sat there, eyes locked and hands clenched and head starting to ring, because since when did you smile like that for anyone else?
Since when did you get flustered?!
Because he had watched you flirt with people for months, had seen you blow kisses at Hangman just to mess with him, had heard you call a superior officer âhandsomeâ with a wink and not even blink after it, had seen you push Coyoteâs buttons and knock back tequila and laugh like nothing could get to you.
But now, now you were playing with your drink, looking down at your shoes, tucking your hair behind your ear like you didnât even realise you were doing it, and Bob was going to explode, he was going to lose it completely, and Phoenix wasnât helping, she was right there giving you the most encouraging look heâd ever seen, and Halo was leaning in like she was ready to start chanting âtake him homeâ in your ear, and Bobâ
Bob was fucking stuck. Just stuck there in the middle of whatever hell this was, feeling his heart crawl up his throat as he watched the guy lean in closer to you, and you didnât even pull away.
Bob kept watching though, he couldnât not watch, and he couldnât even pretend to glance away or look casual or participate in whatever the hell Jake was saying now about how shower sex was overrated if the water pressure sucked, because all he could do was stare across the room like heâd just been hit with something heavy, because you were still talking to that guy, nodding along and laughing at whatever he was saying.Â
And Bob could tell it was smooth, could tell the guy knew what he was doing, the way he was leaning with just enough space to be respectful but still make it feel like it meant something, the way his hand casually brushed the bar top right next to yours, like it was nothing, like he hadnât been staring at you all night like you were the goddamn sun.
And you were eating it up.
You were laughing, you were twirling your straw around your glass, you were shifting one foot like you were nervous or shy or maybe just excited, and Bobâs heart was climbing, actually climbing, like physically trying to escape through his throat and he didnât know what to do with his hands anymore, didnât know where to look or how to sit or how to breathe, because you tilted your head and leaned in closer and the guy said something that made you smile so wide Bob felt it in his chest.
He didnât even know the guy, had no clue if he was Navy or civilian or just some random who strolled into the Hard Deck like it was fate, but he hated him already, hated the way he looked at you like he deserved your attention, hated the way you gave it to him, hated that you werenât looking back at Bob like you usually did, hated that you werenât tossing him a glance just to see if he was paying attention, hated that this time, maybe you didnât care if he was.
And maybe heâd imagined it all
Maybe all those looks across the bar and all the half-smiles and lingering hands on his shoulder or his wrist or the way you called him sweetheart when you thought no one was listening, maybe it was just how you were, maybe you were like this with everyone, maybe he was stupid to think it ever meant anything more than your usual mess of charm and games and heat, because now, now you were leaning against the bar and actually blushing at something some stranger said, and Bobâs lungs felt too small for his chest.
And Bradley nudged him, said something about looking like heâd seen a ghost, and Bob tried to answer but it came out wrong, because what was he supposed to say, hey man I think Iâm watching my entire life spiral out of my control because the girl Iâve been lowkey in love with for the last ten months might be about to give her number to a guy who looks like he journals with a quill pen and kisses with poetry, because even thinking that made Bobâs stomach flip.
And he was still staring, still holding on to the fading hope that maybe youâd look at him, even for just a second, like maybe youâd catch his eye and do that thing where you smirk like you know youâve got him wrapped around your finger, but you werenât looking, you were still talking, and Bob could feel something in him starting to spiral.
And he wasnât sure how much more of this he could take.
âDude.â
Bob blinked once, just once, because he was still looking at you, still watching how your fingers curled around your glass and how your mouth moved when you laughed, and maybe he imagined it, maybe it wasnât real, but he couldâve sworn your eyes flicked up like you were about to glance around the room, and he waited, he actually held his breath like a loser waiting for you to look his way, but it never happened.
And then came Bradley, because of course it was Bradley, leaning in close like he was about to deliver classified information, his voice low, his brows up, his tone doing that annoying thing where it sounded casual but also absolutely meant business, and Bob didnât even look at him properly because Jake, Jake was suddenly there too, on the other side, like theyâd planned this, like theyâd coordinated their chaos just to crowd him, shoulder to shoulder, pressure from both sides like they were about to shake sense into him.
âAre you seriously just gonna sit here?â Bradley muttered, and it was that tone, the really? tone, the are-you-fucking-kidding-me tone, and Bob wanted to argue, really he did, except Jake spoke at the same time.
âSheâs right there, man,â Jake hissed like they were in the middle of some covert operation, âand youâre just... sitting? What, you think sheâs gonna walk over here and propose to you?â
Bob blinked again.
âSheâs laughing,â Bradley said, like Bob couldnât see it himself, like Bob hadnât been watching it happen in real time, like he didnât know every shift of your weight and every twitch of your smile and every little habit you had when someone managed to genuinely get your attention, âand sheâs smiling at him like heâs charming and she doesnât usually do that, man, you know that, you know that.â
And Bob tried, he really did, he opened his mouth to explain that he was frozen, that he wasnât physically capable of standing up right now, that his hands were literally sweating and his legs felt like twigs and his brain was caught somewhere between heartbreak and cardiac arrest, but Jake cut him off again, too loud for his own good, because he was Hangman and subtlety was a concept he never quite absorbed.
âEven Iâm rooting for you now, Baby on board,â he said, like this was some kind of painful underdog movie, âyouâre the quiet guy, the respectful guy, the one with the slow stare and the soft little voice that probably ruins people behind closed doorsââ
Bob choked.
ââdonât act like you donât know it either,â Jake pushed on, like Bob hadnât already been living in denial for the past year, âyouâve got that whole Clark Kent thing going on and sheâs been eye-fucking you since Christmas, and now youâre just gonna let her walk off with the guy who probably starts sentences with âActually, in the original Frenchââ?â
And Bradley was nodding along like this was completely reasonable.
Bob made a noise, something halfway between a breath and a crisis, and tried to look anywhere but at you, but that made it worse, because when he looked at the bar again, you were still there, still smiling, still twirling your straw and tilting your head and doing that thing where your knee bounced slightly when you were into a conversation, and Bob could see Phoenix give you this look, this wide-eyed, giddy, you got this, babe look, and Halo practically beaming beside her like she was your personal hype squad, and suddenly it felt like the floor was shifting, like the air in the bar got too thin.
And then Bradley leaned in even closer, close enough that Bob actually flinched, and his voice dropped so low it was almost unfair.
âShe likes you,â he said simply, not a tease, not a push, just a fact laid flat between them like Bob hadnât already known it, like he hadnât been clinging to the maybe of it for months, âyou just never do anything about it, man, and sheâs not gonna wait forever.â
Bob opened his mouth again, completely panicked, completely lost.
Jake smacked his shoulder hard enough to jolt him and muttered, âDo something, Floyd, for fuckâs sake, before she gives Tall British Tragedy her number and breaks your entire bloodline.â
And Bob, poor, frozen, flustered, too-in-love-to-function Bob, just stared back at you like this was all some kind of test he wasnât ready for, like maybe heâd already failed and this was the part where he had to find out what it felt like to lose something that was never his.
Bobâs eyes twitched behind his glasses, just a little at first, like his body was trying to warn him before his brain caught up, but then it happened again, sharper this time, more obvious, and he knew it wasnât just a tick, it was rage or panic or maybe both, bubbling in his skin as he watched Phoenix and Halo walk away from you with the smuggest looks on their faces, winking like traitors, like they hadnât just abandoned you with a man who looked like he belonged in a goddamn fragrance ad.
And you, of course you, tried to shoot them a glare, really tried, but it was weak and late and you didnât even commit to it, because the second the guy opened his mouth again, you were distracted all over again, smiling, laughing softly, turning back toward him like heâd said something worth hearing, and that was when Bob realised he was going to snap.
He didnât know how much time passed after that, couldnât remember how many seconds or minutes had bled into one another while he sat there, too stiff and too warm and way too close to spiralling, because you were clearly flirting now, not just smiling and nodding politely, not just entertaining the guy because you were too nice to walk away, but genuinely engaged, leaning in ever so slightly, talking low, brushing your fingers along the bar while he mirrored the motion on his side, and it didnât matter that he wasnât actually touching you, because it was close enough, because the tension was there and the space was shrinking and Bob could see it, could see both of you slowly undressing each other with your eyes like this was the beginning of something that wasnât supposed to happen in front of him.
And then you stood up. You stood up, and he did too.
He didnât even realise it, didnât plan it, just suddenly found himself walking, legs moving without consent, heart in his throat, and then his voice followed, shaky but determined, louder than it should have been as he crossed the room with his chest tight and his jaw clenched and his hands curled too tightly at his sides.
âRaven.â
You turned immediately, eyes catching his, and you tilted your head the second you recognised him, something surprised and amused settling over your expression like you hadnât expected him to be standing there looking like he was two seconds away from short-circuiting.
âYes, Bob?â you asked, calm and curious, lips parted just enough to make his brain freeze for a second longer than it shouldâve.
He opened his mouth, words half-formed in the back of his throat, but the man beside you was already turning toward him, already offering his hand like he was made of pure class and silk, smiling like this wasnât the most stressful moment of Bobâs entire year.
âTom,â he said, accent undeniably British, voice smooth and kind, too kind, like this was all incredibly polite and not at all threatening, like he wasnât on the verge of taking you home, like he wasnât already halfway through winning you over.
And you, oblivious or maybe just cruel, smiled and gestured between them both like this was all normal.
âBob, this is Tom. Tom, Bob. Heâs my teammate.â
And Bob just stood there, face warm, hands awkward at his sides, heart screaming, because he hadnât even gotten to say what he came here to say, because now he was meeting the man who might walk out the door with you tonight, the man who was taller and prettier and had an accent, and Bob had no idea how to compete with that.
Bobâs hand was clammy. He felt it the moment Tomâs fingers wrapped around his, calm and confident, like heâd never known a hint of nervousness in his entire life, and Bob knew his own grip was off, too strong at first then awkwardly loose, and when he said hi, it came out quiet and weird and he immediately followed it up with a second âhelloâ like that would make it better, and then he cleared his throat like that would help too, like somehow he could reset this entire moment and start over as someone cooler.
He let go too fast. And then he turned to you.
âCould weââ he started, voice unsure again, too high, too soft, and he cleared his throat again because fuck, âcould we talk for a second?â
And your face, God, your face looked like you genuinely werenât expecting that at all, because your brows furrowed and your lips parted like you were trying to remember if youâd forgotten something important, and then you glanced at Tom, probably just instinct, probably just checking if this was weird, if you needed to be worried, but Tom didnât even flinch.
He was just standing there beside you, all tall and calm and British and perfect, looking at you like he was listening but not interfering, like he didnât mind being interrupted, like he was curious, and it made Bobâs skin itch.
âTalk?â you asked, slower this time, confused and cautious. âAbout what?â
Bob could feel his heart thumping in his throat again, loud and uneven, and Tom didnât say a word, just kept watching you like none of this was strange, and Bob hated it, hated the way Tom was so composed and kind and patient, hated the way he kept looking at you like you were something soft.
âAbout work,â Bob said, way too fast, voice firmer than before but still not convincing enough, and you gave him a look, the kind that made it obvious you were two seconds away from making up some excuse and walking back into whatever moment Bob had just interrupted.
You let out a sigh. A big one. The kind that came from your chest.
And you gave him this soft, apologetic smile, like you were about to let him down easy, like you werenât mad at all but you definitely didnât want to follow him away from the very charming, very hot man currently standing by your side with that soft-eyed patience that was making Bob feel violently unwell.
But before you could say anything, before that smile could fully settle into its place, Bob leaned in just the tiniest bit and dropped his voice. âItâs serious,â he said, and it was gentler now, like all that panic and fire had drained into something quieter, something realer.
And your eyes flicked up to meet his, like you could feel it, like maybe you finally understood that this wasnât about work at all. âPlease?â
âââââââ
Was he really doing this right now?
Like seriously, was Bob Floyd, sweet, gentle, painfully shy Bob who couldnât even hold your gaze for longer than five seconds without looking like heâd combust, really asking to talk about work, right now, when you were finally, finally about to break your absolutely pathetic nine-month streak of not getting laid, which was, letâs be honest here, kind of his fault in the first place, because if he hadnât been looking at you all the time like you hung stars and also like he was absolutely terrified of you, then maybe, maybe, you wouldnât have been stuck in this strange limbo of flirting and tension and frustration and sleeping beside a vibrator that honestly deserved retirement benefits at this point.
So yeah. You blinked. You tried not to groan. You tried to remember your manners.
But then Tom, ever the gentleman, ever the calmly spoken and irritatingly attractive British man who looked like he recited poetry and smelled like wealth, had the audacity to offer with a polite smile, âWhy donât you two talk about it while Iâm here?â
And he didnât even get to finish.
Because Bob, Bob who had just a second ago looked like he was about to melt into the floor, suddenly snapped his attention toward Tom with this polite but firm tone and went, âIâd prefer it was private.â
And then, it happened. A goddamn pissing contest is what happened.
âOh come on,â Tom said lightly, clearly amused and clearly not realising that he was about ten seconds from being tackled by a man who probably hadnât said the word âfuckâ out loud in years. âItâs a bar, mate. Not a debriefing room.â
âI still think itâd be better if we stepped away,â Bob answered, still nice, still polite, still impossibly soft-spoken, but you could hear it now, the sharpness beneath it, the quiet frustration, the fact that heâd finally reached a limit and was now, apparently, taking a stand right here next to the jukebox.
And you just stood there, caught in the middle of it, not even sure what the hell was happening anymore, because you were supposed to be the chaotic one, you were supposed to be the one who caused scenes, but now you were watching Bob bicker with a English man like the slowest, politest trainwreck of your life, and the worst part, the most disarming part, was that your eyes had drifted, totally without permission, back to Bob.
Because he looked serious. Serious and flushed and focused and every bit like someone who had made a decision and was finally following through with it, and god, that look, that look alone mightâve short-circuited whatever parts of your brain were still functioning.
So ,you did what any emotionally unstable, horny, overthinking, severely overstimulated woman would do.
You stepped in the middle.
Literally.
You put yourself between them, palms raised, body angled to stop them from leaning in any further, because this was ridiculous, this was too much, this was like stepping into a fanfiction you forgot you were starring in.
And then, Tom took your right hand, and Bob took your left.
At the same fucking time.
And for a moment, you genuinely forgot how to speak, because the both of them were still holding your hands like it meant something, still glaring at each other over your shoulders like you were a trophy and they were fighting to the death, and you just stood there, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, absolutely certain that you were being pranked by the universe, because what in the Wattpad hell was going on.
And then Tom tugged your hand.
It wasnât hard, it wasnât aggressive, just a gentle kind of pull like he was trying to guide you back to his side or maybe get your attention again, but your wrist twisted just a little weird and the second the pressure hit your thumb the wrong way, you let out a soft, annoyed, âOuchââ
And that was it.Â
Bob stepped forward. Not with words, not with a warning, not with anything but a shift, a movement, a quiet decision to put himself right in front of you like some kind of flesh-and-bone wall, and suddenly you were looking at the back of his jacket and the slope of his neck and the way his shoulders looked too tense to be real, and then he was leaning in, just a few inches, just enough that the space between him and Tom felt like it was about to catch fire.
And Tom was taller, yeah, by maybe an inch or two, and he was still calm, still composed, still fucking unbearable with how gentle his expression was, but Bob didnât even flinch, didnât look away, didnât hesitate, just stared up at him with that quiet fury that only existed in people who usually kept everything buried.
âI think you should back off,â Bob said, soft and polite but absolutely not playing anymore, and you could hear the shift in his voice, could feel the ripple in the air around him like a fuse had just been lit under the surface.
Tom blinked, eyebrows raised, still not moving, still not letting go of your hand. âLook, I think youâve misunderstoodââ
But Bob cut in, not loud, not rude, just firm. âIâm going to say this nicely, because Iâm still trying to be respectful,â he said, and you watched the way his jaw clenched as he exhaled through his nose, watched the way his voice stayed perfectly measured like heâd rehearsed it in his head a hundred times.
âBut this is a bar full of Navy officers,â Bob continued, tilting his chin just slightly, like he was reminding Tom of exactly where the hell he was standing, âand I promise you, it wonât end well for you if you give anyone a reason to think youâre not welcome here.â
Bob gave a smile. It wasnât sweet, and it wasnât fake either, it was the kind of smile that made you blink and stop breathing for a second, the kind that made your stomach flip because it wasnât Bobâs usual shy little corner-of-the-mouth smile, it was firm and controlled and slightly dangerous, and it made your pulse trip over itself.
Because holy shit, Bob Floyd was not playing.
And for a second, you genuinely thought you misheard him, like maybe you imagined it, maybe Bob didnât just say what he very clearly said, but then you blinked and he was still looking at Tom like that, like that calm quiet stare could say everything he wasnât shouting, and you actually felt your lungs stutter because what the fuck just happened, what do you even do when Bob Floyd says something like that so casually, like itâs already true, like he didnât just light a match and throw it directly at your sex drive.
Tom didnât say anything at first, just narrowed his eyes slightly, just shifted his jaw like he was still trying to decide whether this was a joke or a misunderstanding or something he could smooth over with enough English charm, and then he turned to you again, slower this time, voice measured and almost stiff like he was trying to keep it light, like he didnât just get completely shut down in one sentence, and he goes, âI hope I get to see you againââ
But Bob spoke right over him.
Not loud, not mean, not rude, just... final.
âNo, you wonât,â he said, and it didnât even sound like a threat, it sounded like a certainty, like he knew for a fact that this night was going to end one way and one way only and it wasnât going to involve Tom and his polite accent and his goddamn cheekbones.
And then, because apparently you hadnât suffered enough, because apparently Bob wanted to absolutely end your life in the middle of the Hard Deck with a sentence, he added, âSheâll be with me.â
And your brain just stopped. Like fully, completely shut off.
You stared at him because you didnât know what else to do, because your mouth had gone dry and your stomach had flipped and your knees genuinely, actually wobbled a little and you were so glad you were standing still because you were dangerously close to collapsing from sheer what the fuck was that.
Because Bob Floyd had never said anything like that to you before.
Because Bob Floyd was shy and sweet and respectful and he never looked at you too long unless he thought you werenât paying attention, and now he was standing in front of you like heâd just decided this was done, that the tension between you wasnât going to stretch out a day longer, that you were his, and that was it.
And the worst part, or maybe the best part, or maybe just the most terrifying part, was that you wanted it.
You wanted it so bad you couldnât breathe.
Because it wasnât even what he said, it was how he said it, that quiet steel in his voice, the soft but unshakable way he stood between you and Tom, the way he didnât even look back at the guy anymore because he knew you were watching him, and god, god, you couldnât stop watching him, you couldnât look away, you couldnât think of a single word to say because every part of you had short-circuited.
And yeah.
You were speechless.
And you were horny.
So catastrophically, unreasonably horny you nearly whimpered, because Bob Floyd just claimed you in the most Bob Floyd way possible and you might never recover from this moment.
You didnât say another word. You just grabbed his hand, tight and determined and maybe even shaking a little because your brain had finally caught up to the rest of you and decided, yes, this was happening, this was actually happening, and Bob, and Bob didnât even resist, just blinked in stunned silence as you pulled him along like some kind of feral force of nature whoâd decided that tonight was it, tonight was the end of the waiting game, tonight was the fucking finale.
You didnât check who was watching, didnât glance at Jake or Bradley or even the girls because the second you looked back you might lose your nerve, might forget how to walk straight, might start overthinking everything and accidentally ruin it, so instead you just walked, fast and angry and certain, dragging Bob through the Hard Deck like a woman possessed, like your heartbeat was louder than the music, like your hands were about to start shaking from how badly you needed to feel something more than just the heat under your skin.
And the second you reached the bathroom that was blessedly empty, clean, the faint scent of lemony disinfectant still lingering from the cleaner whoâd left maybe five minutes ago, and you yanked open the door, shoved him in with you, and locked it behind you without even giving him time to speak.
You were panting. You were flushed. You were a goddamn storm system ready to tear through everything in your path.
And Bob? Bob looked like he had no idea what just happened.
He was still trying to catch up, still standing there like he couldnât decide if he should apologise or fall to his knees, and you didnât say anything either, didnât ask him if this was okay, didnât ask if he wanted it, because you didnât have to; his eyes already told you everything, wide and glassy and hungry, his chest rising fast beneath that stupid flight tee he still hadnât taken off, his hands curled at his sides like he didnât know where to put them, like if he touched you now he might lose it completely.
And maybe that was what you wanted.
Maybe that was why your breath hitched and your knees almost buckled, because he was just standing there, looking at you like he couldnât believe you were real, like he didnât know where to look first, like he didnât know how to start, and it was killing you, it was absolutely killing you, the tension thick enough to choke on and your skin already buzzing, already hot, already wet, fuck, you were wet, and you could feel it now, every step youâd taken to get here, every heartbeat pounding between your legs like a countdown, like a warning, like something was about to break.
You could feel your panties clinging uncomfortably to your skin and it didnât even embarrass you, it didnât make you hesitate, because the only thing you could think about was how badly you needed him to touch you, how much it was already driving you insane that he wasnât, how completely fucking unhinged it made you that Bob, sweet, soft, shy Bob, was the reason your thighs were clenching and your fingers were twitching and your back was already pressing to the cold tile wall just to keep yourself steady.
And he still hadnât moved.
He was breathing like you were taking all the air in the room with you, like he didnât know what the hell heâd just gotten himself into, and you could feel it now, the way your body was starting to shake with it, with all of it, the heat and the tension and the months of wanting, and the fact that you were both locked in a bathroom with less than three feet between you and only one possible outcome leftâ
And your voice broke out before you could stop it. âDo you know what you do to me?â
And you said it like a confession, like a sin, like something cracked open in the middle of your chest and bled out into the air between you, and your voice was hoarse and shallow and dazed and your back stayed right against the door because you werenât sure your knees could handle even a step forward, werenât sure if your legs would even work anymore because you were barely breathing and your palms were sweating and you were dizzy, not drunk dizzy, not flustered dizzy, just desperate, just overwhelmed, just fucking done with pretending you didnât feel everything at once when it came to him, and when you finally looked up, when you really looked at Bobâ
He wasnât nervous.
He wasnât stammering.
He wasnât doing that soft little head tilt he always did when he was confused or shy or trying to figure out what the hell was going on in front of him, because this wasnât confusion anymore, this wasnât hesitation, this was heat, this was hunger, this was something unspoken and dangerous and so sharp it made your whole body lock up, because Bob Floyd was looking at you like he had been holding back for too long and maybe tonight he wasnât going to anymore.
And then he stepped forward.
And your breath caught so hard it felt like something slammed into your lungs, and you didnât mean to but you took a half-step back, only your back was already against the door, so it just made you straighten a little, made you tilt your chin up as his body closed in on yours, not touching yet, not even brushing, just crowding, just pressuring, just standing there like he could trap you with nothing more than proximity and silence and the way his eyes burned right through your fucking skin.
âDo you know what you do to me?â
He said it like it hurt, said it like a warning, like something heâd been trying so hard not to say and then failed, and the sound of it sent a whole-body shiver down your spine because it didnât sound like Bob anymore, it didnât sound like the shy, quiet, soft-spoken man youâd been lowkey in love with since forever, it sounded like something deeper, something hungrier, something wrecked and tired of waiting, and you felt your mouth go dry.
âYou think I donât notice,â he murmured, closer now, voice almost too calm, too quiet, like he was afraid if he let it rise at all heâd lose control of it, âbut you look at me like you want me to lose it.â
And your stomach dropped.
Your legs shook.
Your hands itched to grab something, anything, because he wasnât done, because he wasnât backing away, because Bob was still coming closer even though there was nowhere else for you to go, and he tilted his head and let his eyes flick down to your mouth and then back up, and that was when you knew, that was when you really knew, because there was no coming back from this now.
âYou donât even realise,â he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear him over the blood rushing in your ears, âwhat itâs like watching you walk around like that, talking to everyone, laughing like that, wearing that dress like you didnât know Iâd be losing my mind the second I saw you tonight.â
Your chest was rising way too fast.
You couldnât stop staring at him.
You could feel the heat building and building and your breath was shallow and uneven and your thighs were pressed together and you could swear you felt your own heartbeat between your legs, because Bob Floyd, Bob fucking Floyd, had you caged in with nothing but words and distance and tension and suddenly you werenât even sure who was in control anymore.
You didnât move, couldnât move, couldnât do anything except stare at him because holy shit, holy actual fucking shit, you werenât sure your body was yours anymore, werenât sure your legs were holding you up or if it was just the door doing all the work, because Bob was still right in front of you, still not touching, still looking at you like he had months of frustration burning under his skin and he didnât know where to put it anymore, and his voice, fuck, his voice was still low and tight and wrecked, and when he spoke again, it hit you straight in the spine.
âIâve thought about what youâd look like,â he said, slowly, like every word was being dragged straight from his gut, âall fucked out and panting, still begging for more, still trying to say my name.â
Your breath caught so hard it hurt.
âIâve thought about how wet youâd be,â he kept going, and your whole chest fluttered violently at that, âhow youâd sound if I put my mouth on you, how long youâd last before you started begging me to let you come.â
And holy fucking hell, your knees buckled again, this time fully, but his hand shot out and caught your waist before you could even fall, and that was the first time he touched you, that was the first skin-on-skin contact youâd had all night and it was barely anything, just his fingers at your waist holding you steady, but your body reacted like heâd fucking thrown you onto the counter and split you open, because your lungs stuttered and your thighs squeezed tighter and your head was spinning and his hand just stayed there, firm and steady and grounding you like he knew he had to or else you were going to collapse completely.
âAnd Iâve touched myself to it,â he added, voice softer now but somehow more intense, like it was turning into something vulnerable, something real, âmore times than I can count, but itâs never enough, itâs never enough, because itâs not you, and I canât get you out of my head, and I swear to God, if you donât kiss me soon Iâm going to lose my fucking mind.â
But he didnât move. He stayed still, staring at you, breathing like he was barely holding himself together, waiting for you to close the distance, for you to make the first move, and your body was burning so hot it hurt, and the silence between you was so loud you thought it might break something in your chest, because holy fuck, this was happening, this was really happening, and all heâd done was speak.
âBob,â you whispered, and your voice cracked a little, not from nerves, not from doubt, but from the sheer weight of how badly you needed him, how much it burned, how deep it sat in your chest, months and months of restraint clawing their way out of your throat in just one word, and you werenât even sure if you could keep going but you had to, you had to, because if you didnât say this now you were going to fucking explode. âJust kiss me, please.â
You barely had time to process the way your back hit the door, hard enough to make it rattle, before he was on you, really on you, his mouth hot and desperate and possessive against yours like he was trying to breathe you in and ruin you at the same time, like this had been killing him and he wasnât going to wait another second, not even a heartbeat, and you kissed him back just as hard, your hands sliding into his hair, gripping like you needed to keep yourself grounded, like if you let go you might actually fall apart.
And Bob was groaning into your mouth now, low and helpless, the kind of sound that came straight from his chest and vibrated through yours, and it did something to you, something visceral, something that made your knees shake and your brain short-circuit and your fingers curl tighter in his hair just to feel him, just to know this was real, and he pressed his body closer, no hesitation, no question, just heat, just solid, overwhelming heat against every inch of you and you were melting into it, melting into him, gripping the back of his neck like it was the only thing keeping you upright.
And then he pulled back just barely, just far enough to breathe, just far enough for his eyes to crash into yours again, and his forehead dropped against yours and his hand was still on your jaw and the other still on your hip and his chest was heaving like heâd just run ten miles and he still wasnât touching you enough, not even close.
âIâve imagined this,â he whispered, voice all breath and wreckage, his lips brushing against yours even as he spoke, âIâve imagined what youâd look like, pressed up against me, gasping, shaking, begging.â
You whimpered, actually whimpered, because you could feel your thighs pressing together now like they were trying to solve the problem on their own, and your head was swimming with it, dizzy and hot and aching, and Bob leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours, his hand sliding up your side until it was resting right beneath your ribs, holding you like you were breakable but his.
âDo you even know what you do to me?â he asked, and his voice was rougher now, low and shaken and dangerous, and it made your whole body clench, made your breath stutter out again as you stared up at him, completely gone.
You nodded, but it didnât even matter, because he wasnât done.
âHow many times Iâve thought about this,â he said, and then he tilted his head, just slightly, just enough that his mouth brushed your jaw now instead of your lips, his breath hot against your skin, âhow many times Iâve made myself come to the thought of you moaning my name, screaming for me, looking at me like youâre looking at me right now.â
You gasped, actually gasped, because you were looking at him like that, you were giving him every single unfiltered thought and ache and need in your body and he was eating it up like heâd been starving for it, like this was the only thing heâd ever wanted.
âYou donât even know what youâve done to me,â he whispered, mouth still dragging along your jaw, and your fingers were digging into his shoulders now, your whole body trembling, your thighs pressed together and your hips tilted forward like your body was already moving without permission, like it was chasing the friction, and Bob didnât stop, didnât even pause, because he was too far gone now, his voice going darker and hungrier with every word.
âMonths,â he breathed, âIâve been dying for this for months, watching you flirt with every guy whoâs not me, watching you laugh and tease and act like you didnât know exactly what you were doing, and I still couldnât stop thinking about how youâd sound, how youâd taste, how youâd fall apart under me.â
You almost cried. You almost cried right then and there because it was too much, it was everything, and you hadnât even touched skin yet, hadnât even unzipped anything, and your whole body was already humming with it, already aching, already so wet it hurt.
And then his hand slid from your waist to your thigh, slowly, like he was making sure you felt every inch, and his forehead still pressed against yours as his other hand slid into your hair, and you didnât even realise you were holding your breath until he spoke again.
âTell me,â he whispered, âtell me you want this.â
You let out a sound, not even a word, not even close, it was more like a broken moan caught halfway in your throat and your knees nearly gave out when his hand slid up and wrapped around the base of your neck, not squeezing, not choking, just holding, just owning, just enough pressure to ground you exactly where he wanted you, and you were already gasping before he even moved, already falling apart just from the weight of his palm and the way his thumb brushed your pulse, slow and knowing and devastating.
And then he rolled his hips, grounded into you, slow and deliberate and hard, and you swore the air was sucked out of the room because you could feel it, could feel the size of him through his jeans, thick and aching and right there, pressing up against where you needed him most and your whole body buckled forward into him like you couldnât take it anymore, like it had already been too long and too much and too everything.
âUse your words, sweetheart,â he said, voice low and wrecked and almost gentle except it wasnât, not really, because it was also dark and edged and dripping with heat, âI wanna hear you say it.â
And you could barely breathe now, could barely think, you could just feel, could feel the press of his thigh between yours and the way your hips had started moving without permission, grinding forward, chasing friction, chasing him, and your hands were on his chest and then his shoulders and then his neck and you were nodding and gasping and then finally it tumbled out, barely coherent.
âYes,â you said, voice shaking and high and real, âYes, yes, yes, I want this, I want you, I want you so bad, pleaseââ
That was all it took.
He kissed you again like he was trying to consume you, like he was starved and you were the only thing in the world that could feed him, and this time it wasnât slow, it wasnât sweet, it was needy, it was all tongue and teeth and desperation, it was months of pent-up want coming out like a storm and you met him right there, kissed him back just as hard, grabbed the front of his shirt like you were about to tear it open just to get to more, because it wasnât enough, you needed more.
And he was grinding into you again, harder now, rougher, like he couldnât stop himself, like your body was pulling it out of him without even trying, and you could feel him now, full and heavy and aching through the denim, and you swore you were going to come from that alone, from the way his hips kept moving and the way your body kept chasing and the way you could already feel your panties sticking to you like second skin.
âFuck,â he groaned into your mouth, voice barely there, all breath and grit and broken control, âYou feel that? Thatâs what you do to me, thatâs what months of you teasing me gets you.â
You whined against his lips and his hand was still on your throat and his thigh was still between yours and your hips were still rocking and you could feel him getting harder, could feel your own arousal making a mess of your underwear and he still hadnât even touched you properly yet.
âYou gonna let me ruin you in here, sweetheart?â he whispered, hot and heavy and almost sweet if it werenât for the way his voice dropped on that last word, the way it felt more like a promise than a question, âRight here, against this fucking door?â
âYes,â you breathed, and you didnât even hesitate, not for a second, because it was already too much, you were already too far gone, âYes, Bob, please, yes.â
And your hands moved before your brain could even keep up, fingers fumbling at his belt like youâd lose your mind if you didnât get it open, like something in you would actually break if you didnât get to feel him, right now, right here, against this fucking door like he promised, because your entire body was on fire and your panties were sticking to you and your head was spinning and the only thing anchoring you to this goddamn planet was him, was Bob, and the way he was looking at you like heâd been starving for months and only just now got his first real meal.
But then he stopped you.
His hand closed over yours, warm and firm and gentle and Bob, and it wasnât rejection, not really, it was something else entirely, something that made your breath catch and your heart twist, because he looked at you like he meant it, like he meant you, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard.
âAre you sure?â he asked, voice softer now, steadier, more grounded but still thick with that wrecked edge, still hungry, still barely hanging on, âI mean it, are you⌠are you okay? Youâre not drunk orââ
You groaned, actually groaned, head hitting the bathroom door with a soft thud because this was just so Bob, of course he was going to make sure you werenât tipsy even though you were stone-cold sober and vibrating out of your skin, of course he was going to check in with you first, even though you were seconds away from clawing his shirt off.
âBob,â you said, and it came out more like a plea than a protest, your chest rising, your hands curling against his shoulders now instead of his belt, âI swear to God, I need you to ruin me.â
And you didnât even mean to sound so desperate but thatâs just what it was, thatâs just what he did to you, thatâs just where you were now, with him staring at you like he couldnât believe you were real, like he wanted to wrap his hands around every part of you and keep it.
âIâve gone nine months without getting laid,â you whispered, panting now, voice cracking like you were halfway to tears from the sheer intensity of it, âNine months, Bob, and itâs literally your fault because no oneâs ever been you and I didnât even realise it until I couldnât stop thinking about you, and now youâve got me pinned against a fucking door and Iâm shaking and I canât feel my knees and if you donât fuck me right now I swear Iâllââ
He kissed you again before you could finish.
His fingers slipped lower and you gasped, not even because he was touching you but because how he was touching you, slow and almost tender at first, just enough to make you shake with it, just enough to make you whine into his mouth like you were begging for more even though you hadnât said a word yet, and that mustâve done something to him because suddenly he was groaning, deep in his throat, low and wrecked like he couldnât help it, and his hips pressed against yours like instinct.
And thatâs when you felt it the thick, hard press of him through his jeans, flush against your thigh, and holy shit, he was huge, bigger than you expected, and you let out a strangled breath that mightâve been a whimper if he hadnât kissed it right out of you.
His fingers slid between your folds like heâd done it a hundred times, like he knew exactly where to find you, and when he brushed over your clit, soft but deliberate, your whole body arched, legs trembling, and he smiled, smiled, like he was proud of himself, like heâd just confirmed something he already suspected.
âFuck,â he breathed, voice hoarse now, darker, hungrier, âYouâre soaking for me, baby.â
You nodded, desperate, mouth open like you couldnât catch your breath, and when he circled your clit again, firmer this time, more focused, you let out a moan that echoed off the walls and made him growl, actually growl, his glasses fogging worse now, his other hand gripping your hip tight enough to leave marks.
âTell me,â he whispered, right against your ear, lips brushing your skin, fingers still working you slow and lazy like he had all the time in the world, like he wasnât one second away from snapping, âTell me who did this to you?â
âYouââ you choked out, barely able to speak through the heat curling up your spine, âYou, Bob, fuckââ
âThatâs damn right,â he muttered, dragging his fingers lower again, pressing two of them into you with a smooth, practiced motion that had you screaming, forehead against his shoulder, hands clawing at his shirt, âOnly me.â
You were gripping his arms now, shaking, gasping, hips grinding down like you needed more, needed all of him, and he gave it to you, curling his fingers just right, just deep enough to make your legs shake, just rough enough to remind you that shy little Bob Floyd was gone, that this man touching you now had teeth and hunger and absolutely no patience left.
âBeen thinking about this for months,â he said, voice low and filthy and way too fucking controlled for someone knuckle-deep in your pussy, âThinking about getting you just like this, begging for me, dripping all over my hand.â
âBobââ you gasped, eyes rolling back when he started moving faster, harder, hitting that spot so perfectly it almost hurt, and he groaned again, this deep, desperate sound that made your walls clench around his fingers, and he felt it.
âOh, you like that?â he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, jaw tight with restraint, âYou like when I fuck you with my fingers, sweetheart? You gonna cum for me like this?â
You didnât even answer, couldnât, because your brain had already stopped functioning and your legs were shaking so bad you could barely keep yourself upright, and thank God for the door behind you because without it you wouldâve collapsed, folded right there under the weight of his fingers, under the sound of his voice, under the fact that Bob Floyd was saying things to you that should be illegal with the way they made your stomach twist and your pussy clench and your whole body feel like it was about to fall apart.
âFuck, look at you,â he murmured, low and thick and reverent, like he was watching something sacred happen right there in his hand, like you were something heâd worshipped from afar for too long and now he finally got to touch it, ruin it, claim it, âSo wet for me, youâre fucking dripping, sweetheart, I can feel you, shit, youâre gonna cum just from my fingers, arenât you?â
You nodded so fast your head spun, chest heaving, your back arching off the door as he started pumping into you faster, rougher, more focused now, and every curl of his fingers hit that spot so perfectly your thighs kept twitching, your mouth falling open in shock every time he found it again and again and again like he wanted to watch you unravel, like he wanted to see how much you could take before you broke completely.
And then he leaned in close, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath on your neck, his glasses barely hanging on at this point, his body fully pressed to yours now, hard cock grinding up against your hip like he needed the friction, like it hurt not to be inside you, and when he whispered in your ear again, you almost sobbed.
âI touch myself to the thought of you,â he said, quietly, honestly, like he was confessing it right to your soul, âI fucking jerk off to the way you laugh, the way you walk around in those tight little shorts like you donât even know what youâre doing to me.â
You moaned, no, cried something high and shameless, and your hand shot out, grabbing at his belt again because you needed him, needed him, because no one had ever made you feel like this, and you didnât care how messy it was or where you were or how fucking loud you were getting, because he was still fucking you with his fingers like it was all he ever wanted to do.
âEvery night,â he breathed, nipping your jaw, âEvery fucking night Iâd get off thinking about how youâd sound falling apart for me, how tight youâd be, how wet youâd be, how desperateâfuckâhow desperate youâd get just to have me inside you.â
You were gone, completely gone, head thrown back, hands gripping his biceps like youâd die without something to hold on to, and your legs were trembling now, your orgasm building so fast it was almost overwhelming, and he felt it, he knew, because his voice dropped again, soft and serious this time, his hand curling under your chin to tilt your face to his.
âCum for me, baby,â he said, breathless, commanding, devastating, âCum on my fingers, let me feel you.â
And you did.
You didnât even wait for him to catch his breath, didnât even let him steady himself after making you fall apart on his fingers like youâd been doing it together for years, like he knew your body better than you did, because you were already reaching for his belt again, fumbling, feverish, undoing the buckle like your hands had a mind of their own, and he was just watching you now, chest rising and falling like heâd run a goddamn marathon, lips parted, face flushed and stunned and still so fucking wrecked from watching you cum for him, and the second you pushed him back and made him sit on the edge of that sink, he let out a breath like his soul just left his body.
You dropped to your knees without even thinking about it, hands already yanking his jeans down past his hips, underwear too, and Bob let out the loudest fucking groan the moment his cock sprang free, flushed and hard and thick and twitching, and it was almost too much, almost stupid how pretty he looked like this, glasses slightly fogged, hands gripping the edges of the sink, head tilted back like he couldnât believe this was happening, like he wasnât sure if he was about to wake up.
âFuck,â you breathed, voice gone already, mouth hanging open because you were soaked again just from the sight of him, because of course Bob Floyd had a cock that matched the rest of him, long and heavy and so fucking hard it actually made your mouth water, and you looked up at him once, eyes wide, dazed, overwhelmed, and you swear his face almost broke.
âYou donât have toââ he choked out, voice strained, already unraveling even though you hadnât touched him yet, but you just looked up at him with this fucking look, like are you seriously trying to stop me right now, and then you licked your lips, slow and deliberate, and wrapped one hand around the base of his cock.
His entire body shuddered.
âOh my God,â he breathed, jaw clenched, eyes squeezing shut, one of his hands flying up to your hair like he was trying to anchor himself to the moment, trying not to lose his shit too fast, but then your mouth was on him wet and warm and so eager, lips stretching, tongue swirling, and Bob let out a broken sound that made your thighs clench all over again.
âJesusâfuck, sweetheartâshit, thatâsââ he gritted out, hands twitching like he wanted to grab your head, wanted to fuck your throat, but he wouldnât, he couldnât, because even now he was still trying to hold back, still trying to be gentle, and it was killing him, you could feel it, you could see it all over his face, the way he was fighting not to lose control when he was so close.
You moaned around him, just to fuck with him, just to feel the way his hips jerked and how his fingers tangled tighter in your hair, and when you took him deeper, relaxed your throat and let him slide all the way in until your nose brushed his pelvis and your eyes were starting to water from it, that was when he snapped.
âHoly fuck, baby, youâre gonna make me cum, shit, fuck, you feel so good, you feel so fucking good,â he groaned, low and desperate, hips twitching, his other hand slamming against the wall like he needed something to break, and when you pulled back just enough to suck harder, bobbing your head, hand still working the base, mouth slick and messy and full of him, he looked down at you.
And the look on his face, flushed and sweating and wide-eyed and completely fucked-out it almost made you cum again.
âLook at you,â he muttered, voice wrecked now, barely holding it together, âOn your knees for me, so fucking perfect, so fucking filthy, youâre gonna make me cum down your throat, sweetheart, you want that?â
He then came with a sound youâd never forget, raw and strained and so fucking desperate, fingers tangled in your hair like heâd completely lost track of the world, like all that mattered now was the way your mouth was wrapped around him, the way you swallowed every last drop like youâd been starving for it, like this was something you needed, like it was just for you.
And when you finally pulled off him, lips swollen and jaw aching and spit clinging to your chin, you were both gasping for air, your knees burning from the floor and your body shaking from everything, from the rush and the power and the absolute chaos of what the two of you had just done.
But before you could speak, before you could even get your breath back properly, Bob reached down and pulled you up, hands firm but shaking a little, and he kissed you like he meant to never stop, like he wanted to taste himself on your tongue, like he couldnât believe youâd just done that, and God, the way he kissed you, all heat and teeth and soft little sounds at the back of his throat, it knocked the air right back out of you.
You whimpered into it, weak and overwhelmed and still so fucking turned on you could barely stand straight, and he kissed you again, slower this time, his palm cupping the side of your face like you were something fragile now, like he didnât want to let go.
And when he finally pulled back, when he finally let you breathe again, he was still flushed and ruined-looking, but his voice was steady, low, thick, serious in a way that made your stomach drop.
âIâm not done with you,â he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip, and you swore your knees buckled, âNot here. Not in a bar bathroom. Iâm gonna ruin you,â he said again, gentler now, firmer somehow, âBut itâs gonna be in my bed.â
Then he kissed you again just once, slow and dizzying and so fucking full of promise and you knew, oh you fucking knew, you werenât leaving his sheets in one piece.
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no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor, to the toilet seat, from the dining room table, to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink, to the shower, from the front porch, to the balcony, vertically horizontally, quadratic, exponent, algorithmetic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, forward, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in a car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back aching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw-dropping, hair pulling teeth jitterbug, mind boggling, soul snatching, over stimulating, vile, sloppy, moan-inducing, heart-wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, blackhole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark-worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcanic erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, hip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail snatching, spectacular, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, malforming, heavenly, devil's tango. please.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming