#bob floyd tgm

[seeyalaterinnovator]

A few Bob Floyd thoughts for your enjoyment

Bob is an early riser, always has been, but then he went into the military and he was up like clock work at the same time every morning. That doesn't mean that he doesn't love lazy weekend morning spent in bed with you though.

He'd wake up first, spending a little time reading a book because he didn't want to wake you up so early. He was content just to be next to you for the time being. You deserved to sleep in after a long week, and who was he to deny you that. His favorite part of the morning is when he would sneak out of bed as carefully as possible. If you were snuggled up against him, he would carefully guide the hand that was resting on his chest gently back down to the sheets so as not to disturb you. Usually your face would contort, even in your sleep, at the loss of contact. It would be enough to give him pause, but ultimately he knew you would want your morning coffee/tea and he knew just how to make it. He was careful, precise even, in his measurements. Bob knew just how you liked it. Once it was ready, he would march his way back up the stairs and into your shared bedroom. Setting the cup down, he would lean down and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his hand firmly planted on the mattress beside your head. "Time to wake up, honey." he'd whisper.

UGH soft mornings with bob :(

[dckweed]

THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND ➺ bob floyd

summary: In which bob floyd gets himself into a bit of a pickle and calls on his hot, recently single neighbor to help him out, the situation is mutually beneficial..in more ways than one.

warnings: fake dating, violence, domestic violence mentioned, nicknames, slowburn, eventual smut.

this is an x reader fic where reader is referred to as sunshine or sunny as a nickname, also i know the moodboard is a lil wonky no one say anything im gonna fix it! i made it on my phone half asleep lmao.

part one: here

PART TWO - THE FAKE INSTAGRAM

After the whole fiasco of snorting water out of your nose and scaring the poor man half to death, Bob insists on taking you to the quaint coffee shop on the corner of the street you guys lived on, just a few steps away from the front doors of the apartment building. Reluctantly, you agree, curious to know more about the predicament your neighbor had gotten himself into. He lets you have a few minutes to throw a cropped zip up hoodie over yourself, and a baseball cap to help shade the still slightly visible bruise on your face before you meet him in the hallway. He had clipped Cosie to her leash and the excited little furball was yipping excitedly when you stepped out of your home, closing the door behind you. 

“Hi Cosie baby!” You say excitedly, your voice sweeter than honey as you crouched down to her level to excitedly scratch her behind the ears like she loved. “You being a good girl for your dad?” You ask teasingly, you knew she could never be bad, and Bob practically treated her like a princess anyway. 

“Always is..” Bob says, his accent drawling out a few of the syllables in a way that you just loved to hear. God, you thought to yourself, this man could record an audio book and have everyone swooning.  “You ready?” 

You smile, straightening up. “Yeah, lets go..” 

He was truly a gentleman you noted, he held the door to the apartment building, and the coffee shop for you as if it was second nature, only humming in response to your simple thank you, and when he pulled the chair out for you at the small table on their outdoor patio, you hoped that he didn’t notice the blush on your neck and face. Were you really so used to guys that were such brutes that you got flustered by basic acts of kindness? He hadn’t argued with you too much on paying for your own drink, letting you do it after a small squabble..or maybe you really didn’t give him a choice..you had already payed with your phone while you were arguing before he had even gotten his wallet out of his back pocket. 

“So,” You say as he sits across from you, looping Cosie’s leash to the more shaded side of the table. “Can you elaborate on the whole girlfriend thing for me?” Now it was him who was turning red. 

He fidgets awkwardly with his hot, black coffee for a moment, those eyebrows knit tightly together again. He clears his throat before he speaks. “I kind of..already told all of my friends that we’re dating.” He says, you lean back in the chair, your head tilted slightly towards the sun as you listen to him. You enjoyed the warmth on your face.“I..i don’t know what came over me..we were all drinking, and they said something about dating it somehow turned to me..and i just..i’m so tired of Hangman and his fucking manwhore whorier than thou attitude and always teasing me for not going on dates all  the time..” 

“So you told them you were dating someone?” You ask, seeing where the story was going. You could tell that the story alone was irritating him by the was his hand clenched around his coffee cup and the tightness around his mouth, the tick in his jaw. You wondered how long he had been putting up with this ‘Hangman’ guy. 

Bob nods. “And then they asked her name, and at the time the only thing i could come up with quickly enough to not seem suspicious was Sunny..so..” You laugh a little bit, this man was adorable, and obviously gentle even though he was clearly upset by what he was talking about. You liked that about him, you decided. 

How could you not help him? And really, what could it hurt? “How long would you need me to be your girlfriend for?” You ask, bringing the straw of your iced latte to your lips, moaning softly as the heavy caramel flavor hit your tongue. You could drink it forever. You see his body sag a little at your words, a little more relaxed. 

“Just long enough to make it believable.” He states, eyeing you from across the table. Cosie’s cold nose pokes your leg and you happily reach down and scratch her head, giving the little baby all the attention she wanted. “A couple of nights out with my friends, obviously, and im sure Nat will want to hang out with you one on one..” He says, actually thinking of the scenarios that would most likely take place. “A couple of official work events, probably, I would say, a few months..” 

You turn your attention back to him, lips pursed. A few months? That would land you around the beginning of the year..through Christmas..you had agreed to go home for the holiday’s this year. You arched a brow as you thought. It would look good if you brought a man home to your family, especially a man like Bob, they would swoon all over him..you wouldn’t have to spend the whole week hearing your grandmother tell you that you should be married already, or have a family like your brother and sister.. “Okay, i’ll help you out, but only if the fake boyfriend thing can be used in my favor too..” You say. He nods immediately. “So..rules?” 

The two of you talk for a couple of hours at the coffee shop, the little table filled with the occasional laughter as you talked about rules of the arrangement, and what would need to be done. Later on you found yourself on one side of your couch, Bob on the other as the two of you tried to work out a schedule. 

“Can you meet with me and the crew at our usual bar tomorrow night?” He asks, looking up from his phone at you. Natasha and Jake were blowing up the group chat about meeting you and it was slowly driving him insane. He had about forty text messages from this morning until right that moment. 

You shake your head. :”I have work tomorrow night, but i’m off Monday.” You say, looking up from your own phone. You had been texting your sister about your plans for the Holidays. “My sister wants to know where you’re from, and what you do and i dont think she’ll take ‘navy dude’ as an answer” Bob looks at you, slightly offended. 

“Navy dude?” He asks, setting his phone down for just a moment. “Sunny, i’m not just a ‘navy dude’, i’m a weapons system officer. I control the weapons and radar in multi million dollar government aircraft.” He looked completely offended by your terminology and you struggled to hold in a giggle at the way he was explaining his official job title to you. “..and I’m from Montana.” 

“That explains the accent.” You say, texting your sister back.

Bob scoffs. “Accent?” He’d never been told he had an accent before. “Where are you from? This is basic stuff we should probably know about each other if we want people to believe this, you know?” You hummed in response, he was definitely right. “Also, Phoenix wants to know what your instagram is..” 

“Well, that depends on how much you want your friends to know about me.” You say, setting your phone down to look at him. He looks up at you, eyebrows furrowed again. You have the sudden urge to reach across the damn couch and smooth the area with your thumb, but you resist. “Don’t look at me like that, you know what i mean. Are they the judgemental type?” He opens his mouth, as if to protest and say no, but then closes it and gives a slight nod. “Okay, so fake insta it is.” 

It was a good thing you already had a fake instagram account for your grandmother and other family members because it made it a hell of alot easier for you. “A fake instagram? Won’t they think something is weird if it doesn’t have any pictures of us together on it?” He asks, not fully sure of your plan. You roll your eyes and maneuver yourself so you’re laying in Bob’s lap, looking directly up at him. 

His entire body goes stiff and you can’t tell if its from surprise or from being uncomfortable with your proximity, but you don’t move and after a few moments his thigh muscles untense. He smells good, you realize as you breathe in slightly. “My fake account isn’t exactly fake, okay?” You say, opening the instagram app on your phone and switching it to your second profile. “It’s just not the one I use mainly that i post on for my friends or well, if you were actually my boyfriend, you, to see..” 

“Then what is the point of it?” He asks looking down at you, his accent flowing smoothly through you. His voice was a little quieter now that you were so close to him, and in all honesty you didn’t mind it one bit. 

You chuckle, giving him your phone so he can scroll through it. “I normally use it for my grandma and other family members, so they won’t have a damn heart attack..they already don’t like my line of work, there’s no need to go killing them with some pictures.” Bob hums in response, scrolling through a few of the posts. “It’s the extremely tame version of my main account.”

His phone pings again and he grunts, rolling his eyes. Before he can even try to hand you your own back, you grab his off the arm of the couch above you and thank god that it was already unlocked. You gasp at the text. “Hangman wants proof that im a real girl and not just a figment of your imagination.” You say, an idea coming to mind. You roll off of his lap and quickly stand, pulling him by the forearm to his feet as he makes a disgruntled noise. 

You lead him down the small hallway, past your bedroom and into your bathroom (which was thankfully not its usual disastrous mess of makeup and lingerie scattered everywhere). “Okay, stand there..” You grab him by the biceps, shocked at how solid they are because he honestly didn’t seem to be overly buff to you, and position him exactly where you want him. 

“Sunny, what’re we doin’?” He sighs, letting you move him around every which way. He had to admit, he liked the way you grabbed his arms, the way you squeezed at his biceps. He tried not to let his mind linger too much on it though, tried not to notice the way that your fingertips left a trail of goosebumps in their wake every time they lingered anywhere on his bare skin. 

“Taking pictures, duh.” You say as if it should have been obvious. You turn around, satisfied with his position, and face the mirror yourself, positioning his arm around your shoulders and over your chest as you press back against his surprisingly solid body. You weren’t exactly a short person by any means, but there was definitely a noticeable height difference between you and him. Your head just barely cleared his shoulders, his chin able to rest perfectly onto of your head. It made for a cute photo, you thought and you pretended not to notice the goofy smirk on his face as you captured the photo as stealthily as you could, leaning back into his chest as his chin rested on top of your head, his arm over your chest and your hand wrapped around his forearm as you took the picture, acutely aware of his hand just over the waistband of your lululemon pants. 

You hum, thinking about what other positions would be cute enough to send to his friends and post to your fake insta account, you wanted to hard launch him to your family too if you were hard launching to his friends. You turn the camera of his phone front facing, and set it up to take rapid photos on a timer before you abruptly turn around and jump up, locking your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. 

“Smile at me.” You say, as your hand snakes up into his hair. You didn’t really have to though because he was already smiling at you in surprise as you leaned your forehead against his. “I didn’t think you’d be able to hold me.” You giggle suddenly, and the sound makes his smile grow wider as he adjusts his hands so they’re fulling on your ass, supporting you as he drops his head to your shoulder. 

The whole ordeal of the photo session takes about fifteen minutes or so, and when you’re finished you lead him back out into the living room. “Sorry to jump on you like that, but i had to catch you off guard, i wanted it to look believable.” You say, sitting back down on the couch. He only hums in response, taking a spot next to you as he watches you pick through your favorite photos in his camera roll to text to yourself. 

“You’re awfully good at that,” He ques, watching you edit some of the photos you had sent to your own phone, before you compose an instagram post of the best ones. “I always just take them and post them, i never thought that filters really mattered..” 

You chuckle at the man, shaking your head. “What’s your instagram, bobby?” You ask, using your nickname for him as you type out a caption for the post. 

“Oh, uh,” a slight blush heats up his neck and face and he clears his throat before responding. “It’s @thewizzo ..natasha actually came up with the handle.” You type it into your caption, eyebrows furrowed. You’re about to ask him what the hell a wizzo is when he answers it for you. “It’s uh, well, sometimes its a nickname, or another acronym for WSO..” 

“Oh, snazzy..” You say showing him the post. It was a series of four photos and a small, but cute caption.

“Is it Bobby approved?” You ask. He gives you an affirmative nod and you hit the post button, knowing it would only be a matter of minutes before your sister and brother blow up your phone. “Okay, well, here’s to our fake relationship!” You say, attaching the photo of Bob holding you with his hands on your ass to a text with your instagram handle and sending it to his friends group chat. 

The phone pings before you’ve even handed it back to him. 

Hangman: holy fuck she’s real.  Phee: shut up you moron, im following her rn!!  Rooster: …wait i thought i was imagining this conversation last night Payback: oh, shit..way to go Bob!!

taglist!

@mamachasesmayhem @hangmandruigandmav @shotgunhallelujah @shiara04 @3tabbiesandalab @tgmreader @flrboyd @goosterroose @mrspedropascal5683 @sugajar

@dory-98 @justherebecausesafarisucks

[cowboybeepboop]

Sweetness

"I care about you, more than I probably should."

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd

Genre: Smut

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: You finally find out the real reason behind Bob’s protective side. 

a/n: I saw Thunderbolts* yesterday, and I’m craving more of Lewis Pullman 😛😩

This team gets on your nerves, whether it’s Hangman’s cocky asshole attitude or Roosters constant issues with Mav. Somehow you’re always getting in the middle of something and you’re tired of these damn pushups. 

Bob is your weapons systems officer. He’s sweet and nothing but kind when it comes to you. It’s frustrating, though, because you know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but you don’t need him to stick up for you. 

It feels like he pities you, he challenges hangman when he says asshole things, he defends your choices when Mav questions you. He just doesn’t understand that you can speak for yourself. 

These dog-fights with Maverick have almost been the death of you. Maybe you’re an overachiever, but you’ve never needed to keep redoing and redoing exercises. It’s never been an issue for you to work in a team, but Hangman refuses to. 

“Fuck!” you slam your hand against the dash of the plane, tears building in your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you sigh away the anger, letting your head fall back against the seat. Bob tenses in the seat behind you as you land the plane. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” his voice rings out, bringing you back into reality. 

“Yep. Let’s just get this over with.” Your tone is more firm than usual, irritation filling your veins as you exit the vehicle. 

Hangman begins spewing his usual bullshit, cockiness radiating off him even though you just lost. Bob argues with Hangman in the background as you ignore them, getting ready to get those damn pushups out of the way.

The only thing you need right now is an ice-cold shower and whiskey on the rocks. You’re pulling your uniform off your shoulders while walking toward the bar, Bob is hot on your heels, along with Rooster and FanBoy. 

“How’s it goin’?” Bradley wraps an arm around your shoulder, the familiarity of his touch doing little to ease your annoyance. You shift out of his embrace, not wanting to talk to anyone. 

Bob and Rooster make eye contact, shrugging as they notice your strange mood. “You got this one, Bob?” he nods in response, following after you once again. 

“Y/N?” he settles down next to you at the bar, shifting his weight as you stare down at the counter. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” You ignore him, taking down your drink in one gulp. 

“I’m alright, Bob, just.. Annoyed.” you sigh, glancing at him slightly. He nods in response, fingers fumbling with his beer bottle. 

“Did-” he begins before you cut him off.

“We were so close, Bob!” your tone is laced with irritation, “We almost got him and then you got, distracted.” You roll your eyes, sliding the glass to the side. 

“I know.. I know and I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that, you shouldn’t have needed to do all those pushups because of my-” you glare at him, everything he does just annoys you, he’s so nice even when you don’t deserve it. 

“Why do you take the blame for every little thing?” Maybe it’s the alcohol, but you’re hot, irritated, and red hot. “Leave it alone, Bob.” You storm out, admittedly a little childish, but you need the fresh air. 

Sitting down on the porch, you breathe in the scent of sea water, the wood creaks under a pair of boots next to you. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to do anything to frustrate you.” his tone is the same soft and gentle one per usual. “If I can do anything, say anything, get you anything, please just let me know. I wanna help, we’re a pair, Y/N,” he says, settling down next to you cautiously. 

“Bob, you’re annoying me.” You groan, hating the butterflies in your stomach, and his heart drops as he straightens up. Your words sting him a little more than intended, and you see it in his demeanor. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that..” you trail off chewing on your lip while watching him fumble with his hands.” I didn’t mean to, you dont deserve that, it’s just frustrating to have you constantly siding with me, being so nice, and sticking up for me.” you groan.

“I know you mean well, but I can fight my own battles Bob.” you sigh, shifting uncomfortably as you look him over. 

Bob looks down at his hands, the sound of his fingers cracking fills the air as he processes your words. He hates your irritation being directed at him, but he knows you’re right. He’s been a little overprotective lately, and you’re feeling chafed by his kindness. It’s not what he wanted.

“It’s just…” Bob pauses, his mind struggling to find the right words. “It’s not about thinking you can’t fight your own battles. I mean, I know you can.” Bob leans back, resting his head against a pole.

“I know we’re a team, but we haven’t worked together like this before, not on a mission this important.” you sigh, resting your face in your hands. "I just wish you wouldn't make me look so weak in front of everyone, just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I need pity, Bob." You shut your eyes, taking steadying breaths.

Bob's eyes widen slightly, finally being able to grasp what is going on. He's been treating you like you're fragile, and you're getting fed up. It hits him like a truck, and the guilt instantly seeps into his bones.

"I know... I know, you're strong," he says, the shame evident in his voice. "I don't think you're weak, and I *don't* pity you." Bob's fingers twist together, frustration with himself bubbling up within him.

Bob rubs his face, he’s always had a crush on you, ever since he laid eyes on you. For Bob, you’re not just a talented pilot and a teammate, you’re smart, strong-willed, independent, and absolutely gorgeous.

His protective nature stems from the fact that he cares about you, a little more than he should. He’s scared of losing you, of getting you hurt, and it shows in his overprotectiveness and constant apologizing.

“I’m sorry, Bob, I shouldn’t have held this against you. Hangman is the one who left us to fend for our own. It’s not your fault.” You lean closer to him, brushing your shoulder against his. 

Bob's shoulders tense up for a moment, caught off guard by your sudden apology. Your touch, even as simple as your shoulder against his, has his heart beating faster. He relaxes a little, feeling relieved that you're not as irritated with him anymore.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice soft as he relaxes his tense shoulders, he takes a deep breath. "But I still want to apologize for being so overprotective."

“I guess I just don’t understand why you’re so protective when it comes to *me*,” you scan his face, eyes wandering his features. “I know we’re friends outside of work, but.. I just don’t get it.”

Bob's heart leaps into his throat, his mind racing with nerves. This is the moment, the one he’s been scared of for the past few months. He’s always liked you, but he’s kept it to himself because of his shy nature, and he was afraid of ruining your friendship.

He takes a shaky breath, his fingers trembling as he fidgets with them."I…uhh"  Bob struggles to find the right words, the truth on the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah?" you question, scooting closer to him, basking in the gentle heat of his body.

Bob's heart pounds in his chest, his cheeks heating up from your close proximity. He can smell your perfume, and the closeness makes his knees weak.

"I… I care about you a lot," he manages, his voice shaky, eyes refusing to meet yours. Bob's hands twitch with the nervous energy that courses through him, his fingers clenching into fists and unclenching rhythmically.

"A lot?" Your cheeks turn a slight pink. "In what way, Bob?" 

Bob's words get stuck in his throat, his breath hitches as he looks up at you, your eyes burning into his soul. He swallows hard, unable to hold your gaze, but at the same time craving it. 

"In every way imaginable," he breathes out, his heart pounding against his ribcage, "I care about you, more than I probably should." This is it, all or nothing, he can't back out now.

You take in a shaky breath, eyes focusing on everything but him as his words echo in your mind.

Bob watches your face, his heart in his throat as he waits for your response. The silence between you both is loud, making him almost sick to his stomach as he waits for your reaction. He’s so desperate to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, but your expression is unreadable.

"Please say something," he mutters softly, his hand twitching to reach out and touch you, but his fear stops him.

You clear your throat, standing up and stretching, and your heart is racing in your chest. Being with Bob, it's what you want, but what if it changes things or makes both of you unable to go on the mission? Your mind is reeling, and you begin to pace. 

Bob follows your movements with his gaze, your nervous behavior making his heart ache. He knows he messed up, he should have kept his stupid feelings to himself. Now he's just made everything awkward.

With you moving around so much, unable to sit still, he stands up as well, worry etched across his face. "Y/N, I'm sorry, I didn't-" his voice is trembling as he tries to apologize, but you simply start pacing.

You shake your head, "You don't need to apologize, Bob." Turning back to him, you take a few steps until you're right in front of him again. 

Bob stands still, his heart practically beating out of his chest, as you walk closer to him. Your proximity takes his breath away, and he can’t tear his eyes off your face. All he can focus on is your every move, the way your lips are slightly parted, and how your cheeks are tinged pink.

He has to fight the urge to pull you into his arms and hold you close, but the nervousness in his veins keeps him rooted to the spot. "Y/N..” he breathes out, his voice low and unsteady.

"Bob," you whisper, "Please.." Your words, your simple plea, are all it takes for Bob to snap. His brain short-circuits as every thought about consequences and missions leaves his mind, replaced with one sole desire. *You.*

In the blink of an eye, his hands find your waist, and in another, he's pulling you flush against him. His lips crash into yours with a desperate need, as every pent-up feeling, every piece of suppressed desire is unleashed.

Your hands reach up to his face, gripping his face as you pull him closer, desperate for more. 

Bob is completely lost in the moment, his hands exploring your waist, your back, your face, trying to touch every inch of you. Your touch ignites something within him, and his kiss deepens as he presses his body against yours.

He pushes you backward until your back hits a wall, his hands gripping your hips as he cages you against the surface, his kiss still feverish, hungry, desperate.

You pull away reluctantly, gasping in a few breaths before speaking. "Bob, we need to go.. I *need* you," you whisper, kissing his face and neck. Bob lets out a soft groan at your words, the feeling of your kisses sending tremors through him, the need in your voice making his knees weak. 

"Go... where?" he breathes out, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you closer, afraid that if he lets go of you, you'll disappear. He wants you badly, the mission forgotten in a haze of desire.

"I have a place," you practically moan, enjoying the desperation in his touch. All coherent thoughts leave Bob's mind as your moan is like music to his ears. He practically whimpers against your touch, the need for you nearly overwhelming.

"Lead the way," he mutters, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your neck before reluctantly releasing his grip. Even though he's letting go of you, his hand takes yours, unwilling to lose physical contact.

With your hand in his, Bob follows you to the secluded spot you've chosen, his heart racing in anticipation. The gentle squeeze of your hand reassures him that this is what you want, too. Once you're both inside, the door clicks shut, and the tension in the room thickens. 

You turn to face him, the hunger in your eyes matching his own. His hands trace the curve of your waist, pulling you closer as your mouths find each other again in a passionate kiss that leaves you both breathless. 

With no more words needed, you both stumble over to the bed, the need for each other overwhelming. Bob gently lays you down, his eyes never leaving yours as he starts to unbutton your shirt. His touch is reverent, his every move filled with a passion that has been building for so long. 

You help him, pulling his shirt off over his head, feeling the warmth of his bare skin against yours. As the fabric of your clothes falls away, Bob’s eyes roam over your bare skin, tracing every curve and dip with a hunger that’s been building. 

His hands rough yet gentle, his kisses leaving a trail of fire down your neck as he unclasps your bra. The coolness of the air meets your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine. He worships your body, his hands exploring every inch with a passion that leaves you trembling with anticipation. 

The feel of his bare chest against yours is electric, his skin smooth and warm as he kisses his way down to your stomach. You gasp as his fingers find their way under the band of your pants, unbuttoning them with trembling hands. The touch of his skin against yours sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making you arch into his touch. 

His eyes meet yours, questioning, and when you nod, he pulls your pants down, exposing you to his hungry gaze. His eyes widen with awe, his breath hitching as he takes in the sight of you, fully exposed and desiring him. 

His thumb brushes against your inner thigh, sending a rush of heat to your core, making you whimper. His touch is soft yet demanding as he explores you, his eyes never leaving yours, drinking in every reaction you give him. 

You're both lost in the moment, the only sound in the room being the ragged breaths and soft moans that escape your lips. Bob leans in, his mouth replacing his fingers, and your world explodes into a symphony of pleasure. 

His name becomes a chant on your lips as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, your legs wrapping around his head as you pull him deeper into your warmth. The intensity of the moment reaches its peak as Bob's tongue meets your center, his strokes firm and precise. 

You moan deeply, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the pleasure builds. He's relentless, his every move calculated to push you closer to the edge. His hands are everywhere, caressing your breasts, teasing your nipples until they're peaked and sensitive. 

The sound of your breathy pleas and the wetness of your desire driving him wild. He can't get enough of you, can't get close enough. You're soaking wet for him, and the scent of your arousal fills the air, making him crave you even more. His mouth is a masterpiece of pleasure, teasing and sucking, swirling and flicking, until you're panting his name and your body is tightening around his tongue. 

You're close, so close, and just when you think you can't handle it anymore, he slides a finger inside you, the pressure inside you building until it snaps. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, making your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. 

You scream out his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath.

Bob pulls away, his face flushed and his eyes dark with lust, as he watches the aftershocks of your climax ripple through your body. He quickly removes his pants, his cock standing at full attention. The sight of him sends a fresh wave of heat through you, making you ache for him. 

He positions himself over you, and with one swift thrust, he's inside, filling you completely. Your legs wrap around him as he begins to move, his hips pumping in a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. 

The feeling is indescribable, a mix of pleasure and pain, of need and satisfaction, as he stretches and fills you over and over again. Your eyes lock onto his, and it's as if you're seeing him for the first time, really seeing the depth of his feelings for you, the desire and love that he's been hiding.

The friction is perfect, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body with every movement. You rock your hips up to meet his, desperate to get even closer. His hands are everywhere, holding you down, caressing you, making sure you feel every inch of him. 

Your bodies move in a dance that's been choreographed by months of tension and unspoken desires. Each stroke is a promise, each touch a declaration of his feelings.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another deep kiss, your tongues tangling as your bodies move together in perfect sync. The sound of your skin slapping against his fills the room, mixing with the desperate moans and gasps that escape both of your mouths. Bob's pace quickens, driven by the passion that fuels him, and you can feel him getting closer to his release.

You're so lost in the sensation that you don't even notice when the second orgasm starts to build, creeping up on you like a thief in the night. It takes you by surprise, stealing your breath away as it crashes over you, making your body tighten around him. Bob groans into your mouth, his release following closely behind, his cock pulsing inside you as he fills you with his warmth.

You collapse onto the bed, your bodies still entwined, hearts racing, and skin slick with sweat. The room is silent except for the sound of your panting breaths, both of you trying to come down from the high of finally giving in to the passion that's been burning between you. The weight of his body on top of yours is comforting, grounding, as you bask in the afterglow of your shared ecstasy.

Bob pulls out gently, collapsing beside you, and you roll over to face him, your eyes searching his for any signs of regret. But all you see is love and satisfaction, mirroring your own emotions. You reach out, brushing the hair out of his eyes, and he smiles at you, the tension of the day forgotten as you both drift into a contented silence, the kind that comes from knowing you've found something real in a world full of danger and uncertainty.

Bob's mind is spinning as he shifts to lie there next to you, completely stunned by the intensity of what just happened. His fingers gently trace patterns on your skin, a soft smile playing on his lips as he takes in the blissful expression on your face. Every nerve ending in his body is buzzing, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through him.

"That was..." he finally manages to breathe out, his voice thick with emotion, "That was amazing." Bob's heart still races, his head reeling from the intensity of the connection between you both.

You nod breathlessly, resting your face on his chest, cuddling close against him.

[bloatedandalone04]

Rich in Life

Summary: Bob is known to be the shy, quiet and kinder one of out the whole dagger squad, and he didn’t mind the ‘soft’ reputation one bit, because he knew the real him. The version of himself that came out whenever he got his wife alone, which, luckily for him, was every single night.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: smut, fluff, dirty talk, unprotected sex, swearing, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, hair pulling, fingering, all that good stuff, i had writer’s block and for some reason the only person i could write about was bob, so...enjoy.

It was Saturday night, and instead of being at home by himself like he had grown used to, Bob was out at The Hard Deck, perched on a stool with a Ginger Ale in his hand as he watched Phoenix kick Hangman’s ass at pool. 

It was entertaining, to say the least, because Jake was usually so stuck up and cocky about everything and anything, it was nice to watch his fellow aviator effortlessly beat him at something. 

The bar was lively as usual, but Bob didn’t mind it. He had ditched his usual khakis for a white tee and jeans, his casual clothing choice outside of his work uniforms. 

As he listened to the comical bickering, he looked over at the bar and watched as you talked with Penny, a kind smile on your lips as you gave her your full attention. God, you were so sweet and so sexy, Bob was still in a little disbelief that he is the one who gets to take you home after this. 

He adjusted his glasses and looked over at Jake, who was smirking at him, and Bob just shook his head. He’d grown accustomed to the teasing remarks and looks from his co-workers about how hot his wife is. He knew you were fucking gorgeous, he’s married to you. 

“I still don’t know how you landed her, Bob,” he said as he bent down to line up his shot again. “She’s a fucking stunner. Total smokeshow. I don’t know what she sees in you. No offense.”

Bob just shook his head again as Bradley reached over and smacked the blond on his shoulder while Nat glared at him from across the table. He didn’t care to say anything back as he turned his head and saw you begin to make your way through the crowded space, your drink held up a bit as you carefully maneuvered between bodies. 

Your pretty engagement ring and wedding band reflected off the lights as you settled beside him once again and leaned up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. He was still a little taller than you, even from his place on the stool, but it also made him the perfect height for you to snuggle against him. “Sorry I took so long. Penny is so sweet, I just had to stay and talk with her for a bit,” you murmured, a gorgeous smile on your lips as you sipped on your red drink. “But I’m back now.”

Bob smiled back at you as one of his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer. “It’s okay. Penny is great, I don’t blame you for wanting to hang with her instead of us guys and Nat,” he said, knowing Phoenix was far too focused on drilling into Jake to hear his words. “You know, you look stunning tonight.”

You really did. Your pretty blue and pink sundress looked gorgeous on you, and it was one of Bob’s favorite things you owned. Of course you knew that, though. 

A blush coated your face as you nuzzled your head against his shoulder, hiding as if you were embarrassed by his words. “Are you trying to ensure you get lucky tonight when we get home? Or are you just being your natural sweet self?” you teased, nudging his side with your elbow. “I can never tell with you, baby.”

Bob grinned, his hand tightening its protective hold on your hip. “Can you blame me? You’re the most gorgeous girl in the room,” he said back, knowing just how lucky he was to have you by his side, and he loved the flirty banter that always happened between you and him every time you went out together. “I just want to make sure you’re having a good time, baby.”

You leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’m having a great time,” you said, winking up at him as you moved closer to his side and sipped your drink some more. “But I kinda can’t wait to get back home with my hot husband.” you added, shrugging casually as you slipped your left hand into the back pocket of his jeans and gave him a teasing squeeze. 

His breath hitched slightly and he held back a low groan as he leaned into your touch by pure instinct. “Is that so?” he hummed, trying to keep his cool in front of his friends. He was known as the sweet, shy and quiet guy at work and in public, but with you, he was as dirty as it got. 

But that side of him was just for you. 

Bob lifted his hand and cradled your jaw between his fingers as he looked you in the eyes. “I think we can arrange that, sweet girl,” he said, his tone promising as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips

You moaned softly against his lips, because you were shameless as much as you are sweet, and that’s one of the things Bob loves about you. “Bob,” you whispered against his lips as your fingers teased the collar of his shirt. “Take me home. Please?” 

Bob stood up and set his forgotten drink aside before he wrapped his arm around your waist and guided you towards the door. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said quietly as he led you out towards his truck, where he kissed you a few more times before getting in the driver’s seat. 

As soon as he was behind the wheel, he reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers as he drove. Once he parked the truck in the driveway, Bob was pushing open his door before rounding the front of the truck to open yours. He gathered you into his arms as he walked with you towards the front door, his lips peppering kisses along your neck. 

When he got you up to your shared room, Bob laid you down on the bed, his gaze heated as he looked at you. His hands were already tugging at your dress as he kissed you deeply, tasting the fruity drink you’d had at the bar on your tongue. 

He pulled away and pressed a few kisses to your shoulder blade before he looked at you with nothing but adoration and desire in his eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, cradling your face in his hands as if you were the most fragile, most stunning thing he’d ever seen. “I need to taste you.”

You moaned at his words, your eyes unguarded and trusting as you writhed under him. You reached down and pulled off your dress, tossing it aside to find later, which left you in just your panties since you skipped a bra tonight. 

Bob’s hands gripped your knees and spread your thighs, his eyes darkening as he looked at the lace clinging to your heat. You were so hot, he was having a hard time taking his eyes off your gorgeous body, but your soft laugh had his gaze meeting yours. “Taste me,” you encouraged as he pulled off his shirt and kicked off his jeans.

Your words definitely had an impact on Bob as he leaned down and nuzzled his face against you, inhaling your all too familiar scent. He was rather slow as he hooked his fingers into the waistline of your panties and tugged them down your legs, showing him the pretty view of your glistening folds. He leaned in and licked a stripe up your slit before flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue, and Bob moaned at your taste, so addictive and sweet and all for him. 

He worshipped you with increasing fervor, switching between gentle licks and hard sucks that had you bucking against his face and sliding your hand into his hair. “Mm, I love tasting you,” he murmured, one of his hands sliding up your stomach to palm your breast as his thumb teased your nipple.

Your head fell back on the pillow as you writhed on the bed, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Bob…fuck, baby,” you gasped, arching your back as he devoured you like a man starved. 

Bob groaned, feeling his cock twitch in his boxers as his tongue explored your most private part. His other hand gripped your hip, keeping you pinned to the bed as he feasted on your sweet taste. 

His hand left your chest and slid down your torso, and he slipped two long fingers inside you, your arousal and his saliva giving him easy entrance. You were so wet for him and warm and tight, Bob had no control over the way his hips bucked against the mattress. You were so hot. 

“Come on, baby,” he mumbled against your pussy, his lips brushing against your clit. “Let go for me, I got you.”

When he curled his fingers and sucked harder on your puffy clit, you came for him with a soft cry, your eyes squeezing shut as your back arched. Bob licked and lapped at your folds greedily until you had quieted down and fell back on the bed, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. He crawled up your body, slowly pulling his fingers out of you as he did so, and he licked them clean before kissing you deeply.

Then he pushed his boxers down and slid inside you. “God, baby,” he groaned against your mouth as he began to slowly roll his hips against yours. You were so tight, Bob had to hold himself back from fucking into you like he wanted to. “You feel so good, taking me so well.”

He broke the kiss and trailed his lips along your jaw, his nose nuzzling against your cheek as he picked up the speed a bit, making your mouth part as soft moans left your throat. “Fuck,” you gasped, your back arching as his cock immediately filled you. You were still sensitive since he’d just made you cum a mere five seconds ago, but you didn’t mind it at all. Your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, your body shaking a bit as you tipped your head back on the pillow. “Bob…oh, my fucking God.” 

Bob lifted his head and kissed you again, his tongue brushing against yours and muffling your whimpers. “I love feeling you wrapped around me. So tight and warm,” he rasped, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as his hips snapped a bit harder against yours. “So sexy, baby.” 

He reached down in between your bodies, his fingers instantly finding your throbbing clit, and he teased the bundle of nerves as he increased the pace even more until you were shaking once again. 

“Gonna make you cum again, sweet girl,” he promised, his voice low and husky. “Right here on my cock. Just for me.”

In public, Bob was a softie (for the most part), but when he was with you, he had no filter, and the filthiest things freely left his mouth. He knew it drove you wild, the switch up that only happened with you, and he knew how much dirty talk turns you on. 

You were shuddering from the sensitivity, your eyes rolling back a bit as you moaned louder. “Just for you,” you echoed, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist as your hands slid into his hair and made it a mess. “Just yours.” 

Bob moaned, peppering kisses along your shoulders as he reached down to grip your knee with his free hand, and he lifted it slightly to change the angle. “Just mine,” he agreed against your skin, his body heating up as a light layer of sweat formed on his forehead. When you clenched around him, he let out a strangled sound as he fucked you into the bed. “That’s it, baby, squeeze me.”

Your moans and whines were growing louder and louder, and your fingers were beginning to pull at his hair. “Bob,” you whimpered, guiding his lips back to yours in a messy kiss. 

Your hips were bucking against his as his fingers continued to rub fast circles onto your clit, and he knew you were close when he felt you tighten around him once again. “Come on, sweet girl,” he murmured, his body pressed right up against yours as he rocked his hips into yours. “Cum for me again.”

Your body tensed up in his arms as you broke the kiss and tipped your head back, a long, loud cry leaving your lips as you came around him, enveloping him in a warm wave as you shuddered uncontrollably. 

“Fuck yes,” Bob groaned, his hips stuttering as you clung onto him. A few seconds later, he was there too, and he was filling you up entirely as you whimpered and trembled under him. 

He gave a few more slow thrusts before he pulled out of you, and he watched as his glistening cock slid free from your warm body, and a bead of cum dripped from you. You were so beautiful, he’d never get tired of watching you come undone for him. 

Bob leaned down and pressed a softer kiss to your lips, and when he pulled away, his mouth was turned upwards in a lazy grin. “I love you,”

You hummed, draping your arms around his shoulders as you finally settled under him. “I love you too,” you said back, keeping your legs wrapped around him as you kissed him again in a post-sex make out session. “Stay like this, right here. Don’t get up yet.”

“Okay,” he whispered, holding you tightly in his arms as he gently eased his body down on top of yours, covering you like a shield. “We’ll stay like this for as long as you want to.”

You nodded slowly, a soft smile on your lips as you smoothed out his messy hair and adjusted his glasses. Then you were leaning in and kissing him again, and you continued to for a long time after that.

[mang0d0ll]

Bob's Lonely Hearts Club

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: bob's all alone on valentines day. but not for much longer.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ includes: fluff, fem main character, negative self-talk, morale boosting, fem mc becomes bobs hype man, implied sex, mentions of alcohol and drinking, bob gets kinda tipsy, hangman is kind of a douchebag but whats new

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ a/n: this is my first full fic on tumblr!! YYYAAAAAYYYY im so excited that its here! this idea has been collecting dust in my brain and my notes app literally since tgm came out in 2022, but im just so proud of myself for actually writing this and putting it out in the world. enjoy <333333

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED OR FED INTO AI

Bob wouldn't really classify himself as a loner.

Sure he was quiet, preferring to take a back seat to the rambunctious chatter and lighthearted bickering the rest of his teammates were always up to, but they always included him in the conversation. Hangman particularly enjoyed ribbing him with jokes about his mouse-like demeanour, until Bob would throw some smack talk of his own, making the group erupt with laughter.

But tonight was different. It was Valentine's, and Bob was - by all accounts - a loner.

There were other patrons scattered across the Hard Deck, but nowhere near the regular amount on a typical Friday night.

He hadn't even realised the romantic holiday was coming up. It wasn't until a week prior when Fanboy hollered that he'd scored a date with someone he'd been chatting up on Bumble; his booming voice causing Bob’s pool cue to completely miss the ball.

From then on, it was all he heard from the Daggers. Payback had a dinner planned with his long-term partner, Rooster was going out with a woman he'd been casually seeing, and Coyote nonchalantly declared that he'd have no problem heading into town and picking up a cute chick on the day itself.

Hangman had let it slip that he and Phoenix were going to a drive-in cinema together, but any cheeky remarks from the rest of the team were left unsaid at the heat of Phoenix’s glare.

So there Bob was, sitting at the bar on Valentine's, nursing a drink and musing over everything he could've been doing instead. With the complexities and demands of his job, he'd rarely given much thought to his romantic life. Boy, was he regretting it.

His eyes bore into the random sports match playing on the bar’s TV, his brain only registering the vibrant colours and fast-paced movements.

"Hey, Bob."

A melodious voice broke him out of his daze. Behind the counter stood everyone's favourite, sweet-as-sugar Hard Deck employee. She gave him a small smile as she wiped down glasses and put them aside.

"Fancy seeing you here tonight. Thought you'd have somewhere more important to be."

His head tilted, like a curious puppy, making her giggle.

"Y'know, cause it's Valentine's?"

"Right!" Bob exclaimed. "Yeah, no, no plans. I don't have anywhere else to be, so..." His voice trailed off as her warm smile struck his soul. With sweaty palms, he raised his glass and took a swig of his drink.

"That's a surprise," she said.

"It is?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "I thought you'd have a cute date or something."

Bob's eyes widened and he quickly choked out a laugh, "Me? Oh, no, no I'm flattered but I'm not..." A wave of nausea rushed through his body - the words sticking to his throat. "I'm not really the ask-out-women type," he said as he stared into his glass. "Never been good at it."

And maybe it was the alcohol making him feel all fuzzy. Maybe it was the bar's dim lighting setting the mood. Or maybe it was the feeling of being almost alone with the attention of the stunning bartender-slash-waitress he maybe, sort of, definitely, had a crush on.

Something in the situation just made him feel... different. Trusting. Honest.

"I'm not confident like the rest of them," he confessed. "Hangman, Rooster, Coyote, they see someone they like and have no problem approaching them. Even if they didn't, there are plenty of people who come up and offer their numbers all the time. But I can't do that. Can't bring myself to talk to anybody like that. I'm not suave or charming like they are. Not cool or confident. I don't stand out in a crowd or attract any eyes from across the room. I'm just the guy in the background no one gives two cents about. Boring ol' Bob."

A silence hung between them, the static sports commentator voice floating through the air.

A tsunami of emotions whirled through him. On one hand, a weight had been lifted off him- a cathartic thrum in his chest at finally voicing the thoughts that'd tormented him for years. On the other hand, the admission of his feelings only made them more real and ever apparent to him. A dark cloud over his head, doomed to follow him.

"Excuse me?" she spat.

His head snapped up to find her eyes ablaze.

"Do you really think that?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish but no words came out. Thankfully for him, she didn't give him time to reply.

"Bob, you’re an amazing person. You're kind, and sweet, and thoughtful. You're always there for others, helping them even when they don’t ask for it. You carry your friends out when they're too drunk to walk. You listen to them rant about their work and lives. And when you're here during closing you insist on helping us clean up; stacking the chairs and storing crates in the back. You’re this guardian angel looking out for everyone around you.

So what if you're not like Rooster or Hangman? Why would you wanna be anyone else anyways? You're an amazing person all on your own and you show it everyday."

Bob felt an overwhelming heat engulf his body. It was as though he'd stood at the entrance of an active volcano for a decade.

“You really think that?” he squeaked out.

“Yes! And if girls don't see that then screw them. Anyone with a functioning brain cell would be lucky to go out with you.”

Bob smiled shyly, "Well, I'm flattered-"

"I mean, you're literally a dream!" She continued, hands frantically wiping glasses and setting them down with a low thud. "Not only are you kindhearted but you're a dream to look at. It's honestly criminal how fit you are with your glasses making you look so cute, and kissable, and..."

Her voice trailed off as their eyes locked and she registered Bob's tomato-red face. Bob's heart pounded in his ears.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Bob wouldn't really classify himself as brave.

Sure he'd had a rare, unexpected surge of bravery when he joined the military - shocking everyone that knew him - but everything that came after was simply part of the job. Each day of suffering through grueling training to become a WSO had nothing to do with his bravery, but rather his tenacity and determination to show everyone what he could accomplish. What he was made of.

Buf in this moment, a rare moment in his life, Bob chose to be brave.

"What time do you get off from work?" he asked.

"Soon. In about an hour."

"And... do you have any plans after?"

"I was just gonna go home," she blushed, a smile painting across her face. "But you're most welcome to come with me."

"So Bob, how was your Valentine's?"

The Dagger Squad's chatter quieted down at Hangman's sudden question. The sounds of the Hard Deck filling the silence between them.

"It was good," Bob replied, leaning against a pillar and doing his best to act casual.

"Really? Get up to anything fun?"

"Stop it," Phoenix chided.

"What? I'm just asking," Hangman laughed, gliding about the pool table and lining up his shot as if he wasn't interrogating his teammate. "Wanna know if Baby-on-Board spent the night alone like I said he would."

The crack of his cue against the ball came as a comical sound effect to the shock everyone was smacked in the face with. Phoenix shook her head in disbelief and mouthed a 'sorry' to her WSO, which he waved off with an understanding smile.

"Well Hangman, since you're so desperate to know, I came here on Valentine's. And while I did start out alone, I ended up going home with someone."

Everyone's heads whipped towards him.

"No shit. Seriously?" Hangman chuckled. "Who is she? Who had the honour of being our Bobby's companion. Is she even real?"

It was at this time that she walked over to them, empty tray in hand. The woman who'd occupied Bob's head 24/7 ever since the night they shared together a week prior. The woman he'd confided in and poured his heart out to. The woman who held him and kissed his doubts away all night long. Her lips soft against his smooth skin, the heat of her body melded against his.

She moved with grace as she motioned for the team's empty glasses and bottles, everyone giving her polite smiles as she passed. Bob allowed his eyes to trail after her before turning his attention back to Hangman.

"I can assure you she is very real. She's an amazing woman, full of kindness and love. Adorable to boot. Honestly, I'm over the freaking moon that she even wants my company."

Their eyes met as she got closer to Bob, still pretending to be completely unaffected by the conversation at hand. Picking up the last empty bottle, she began to walk pass Bob to get back to the kitchen.

"And I'm most definitely taking her home with me tonight," Bob declared. Just as she passed, Bob raised his hand and let it fall with a swift smack! to her behind.

Jumping back in shock with a loud yelp, she turned to Bob, ready to tell him off, only to be met with his cheeky smirk and smitten eyes.

She huffed and glared at him, though there was no real heat behind her eyes. "We're leaving as soon as my shift is over."

"Yes ma'am," Bob smiled.

She scurried away as she failed to suppress the smile growing on her face.

He stared at her retreating figure unashamedly as the rest of the Daggers began whooping and hollering.

"Dude! No way!"

"How'd you pull her? What did you say?"

"My man! Knew you had that dog in ya!"

Their words fell on Bob's deaf ears, his head preoccupied with counting down to when he could finally leave with the woman of his dreams.

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Could’ve Had Anyone 

famous!actress!reader x bob floyd

The San Diego sun had the audacity to shine even brighter when she stepped out of the black SUV.

It wasn’t just that she was famous.

She was her.

The most photographed, most admired, most untouchably glamorous woman in the world. The kind of woman whose name alone could crash a website. Whose face hung in art museums and teenage boys’ lockers alike. She didn’t just walk onto the Top Gun tarmac—she graced it.

Sleek sunglasses. Designer boots. Wind-swept hair. A presence that made grown men stand straighter and forget their own names.

“Holy shit,” Hangman breathed. “It’s really her.”

“No kidding,” Rooster muttered. “Try not to pass out.”

“She’s even prettier in person,” Phoenix said, and she meant it.

And yet, when she reached Admiral Simpson, her smile was warm. Her handshake was polite, eyes steady, voice kind. She thanked everyone for the tour. She complimented the weather, said the jets looked incredible, asked real questions about the training program. For someone worth billions, she was shockingly… normal. Nice, even.

She took pictures with everyone—every pilot, every crew member, every starstruck staffer on the runway. She laughed with Fanboy. Complimented Halo’s braids. Teased Payback about trying to sneak in two photos.

And then she paused.

Eyes scanning the group again, like she was looking for someone.

Then, pointing just past the main huddle, she smiled.

“Who’s that cutie patootie over there?”

Every head turned.

Bob, who had been standing half-behind a jet wing, blinked in confusion.

“Me?” he squeaked, touching his chest like she couldn’t possibly mean him.

She nodded and beamed at him. “Mmhmm! Hi!”

She walked over like she had all the time in the world—no rush, no pressure—and when she stopped in front of him, she took off her sunglasses and stuck out her hand.

“Hi,” she said, sweet and sunny. “My name’s Y/N L/N. It’s so, so nice to meet you.”

Bob’s mouth opened and closed a few times.

“I—I’m Bob. Lieutenant Robert Floyd. It’s—um—it’s nice to meet you too, ma’am—I mean—not ma’am, I just—”

She laughed softly and shook his hand. “Bob. I love that. You’re adorable.”

He looked like his entire brain just shut off.

“I’ve been meeting so many people,” she said, still holding his gaze. “Would you mind taking a photo with me?”

His eyes went wide. “With—me?”

She leaned in slightly, teasing. “Well, you are the cutie patootie, aren’t you?”

Phoenix absolutely lost it behind him.

“Y-Yes,” Bob said quickly. “I mean, sure! Of course! Yes.”

She handed her phone off to someone nearby and stepped beside him, slipping her arm through his like they’d done this a hundred times. “Ready?”

Bob didn’t know how to be ready for any of this. But the camera flashed, and she smiled up at him again.

“Thank you,” she said softly, like he’d just made her whole day. “You were the highlight of my visit.”

And just like that, she let go, gave him one last smile, and turned to walk back toward the group.

Bob stood frozen in place, flushed from his neck to his ears, still holding his helmet like it might float away.

Hangman clapped him on the back. “The Y/N L/N just called you a cutie patootie and took a solo picture with you. You better laminate that memory, Floyd.”

“I think I blacked out,” Bob muttered.

Phoenix leaned in, grinning. “If you don’t ask her out the next time she visits, I will.”

Rooster snorted. “Like hell you will. I’m still recovering.”

Bob adjusted his glasses with trembling fingers. “Is this real life?”

Fanboy pulled out his phone. “Buddy, the whole thing’s on video. You’re gonna be a meme by tonight.”

———

“America’s Sweetheart & Her Navy Sweetheart”

“Are we sure you want this one?”

Delaney—assistant, social media manager, therapist in crisis—tilted her head at the phone screen.

The photo was perfect.

Y/N looked radiant, obviously. But it was the guy beside her—tall, glasses slightly crooked, blushing like a Victorian debutante—that made the shot so unexpectedly adorable.

The world had seen her with presidents. With Oscar winners. With the Met Gala’s best-dressed. But no one had ever seen her like this.

Smiling softly. Relaxed. Standing next to someone who clearly had no idea how famous she was—or didn’t care.

“He’s so cute,” Y/N murmured, sipping from her iced coffee, sunglasses perched atop her head. She was scrolling through the pictures again like she hadn’t already hearted every single one.

Delaney stared. “You really want to post it?”

“I really do,” Y/N said, brightening.

“Caption?”

Y/N grinned.

Delaney’s eyes narrowed. “You already thought of one, didn’t you?”

Y/N said nothing. Just passed her a post-it.

Delaney read it once. Blinked. Then grinned like a devil.

⸻

@yourusername

📍Top Gun Naval Program

✨found my wingman✨

📸: @delaneydoesit

⸻

It took six minutes for the photo to hit one million likes. Ten minutes before #cutiepatootie trended on Twitter. By lunch, “Bob from the Navy” had a dedicated fan account and trending TikTok audio.

Y/N pretended not to notice.

She was lounging in her dressing room, reading scripts, but her phone buzzed every few seconds with a new mention. Every gossip site was foaming at the mouth. Paparazzi were now camped outside the base—looking for him.

“America’s Sweetheart Gets Starry-Eyed Over Navy Boy.”

“Who is Bob from Top Gun??”

“She Can Have Anyone—and She Picked This Guy?!”

Delaney popped back in with a smoothie and the numbers. “We’ve got 47 million views across platforms and about sixteen thousand girls crying over Bob’s blush.”

Y/N looked pleased. “Good for them.”

“You planning on going back there?”

She didn’t answer right away.

But then, with a coy smile and a glance toward the corner of the room—where Bob’s photo now lived quietly on her vanity—she said:

“I might have left something behind.”

————

Bob didn’t even make it through the hangar doors before he got tackled by a wave of phones.

“BOB. BRO. BOB. YOU’RE FAMOUS.”

“Have you seen Twitter?! You’re a meme now!”

Phoenix shoved a phone into his face. On the screen was a screengrab of the photo—the photo—captioned in Comic Sans:

“me when my celebrity crush notices me and I forget how to speak English 😍”

Bob blinked. “Is that… me?”

“You’re on TMZ,” Rooster called from across the room. “Twice.”

Hangman was grinning like the cat that ate the golden retriever. “My guy. You broke the internet. You broke it.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Bob muttered, cheeks already burning. “She just asked for a photo—”

“SHE POSTED IT,” Fanboy yelled, pointing at the giant screen someone had wheeled in. “With the caption ‘found my wingman,’ Bob! Her wingman!”

Payback looked personally offended. “I’ve been trying to go viral for years. This man just blushed and now he’s the Navy’s newest sex symbol.”

Bob pinched the bridge of his nose. “I—I’m not—”

“Shh,” Phoenix said, holding up her hand dramatically. “Wingman of the Year is speaking.”

“Guys—”

“No, seriously,” Rooster said, laughing, “what does it feel like to be America’s Boyfriend?”

“I’m gonna throw up,” Bob said earnestly.

Just then, Cyclone’s voice boomed from the hallway.

“Lieutenant Floyd.”

Everyone froze.

Bob straightened like he was about to be court-martialed.

“Yes, sir?”

Cyclone appeared, holding up a tablet with the photo in question still open on screen. “Would you care to explain why the Department of Defense is getting press requests for your dating history?”

Bob blinked. “I… I wouldn’t?”

Cyclone sighed, muttered something about “celebrities and chaos,” and walked off. But not before he added, “Tell her thanks for the recruiting spike.”

Everyone erupted again.

“She made you the poster boy for patriotism!” Fanboy whooped. “They’re calling you ‘Top Gun’s golden retriever boyfriend’ on TikTok!”

Bob buried his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”

Phoenix patted his back. “It’s a fairytale, sweetie. And she picked you.”

Bob peeked through his fingers. “Do you think… she was serious? About me being the highlight of her visit?”

Hangman, for once, didn’t joke.

“She could’ve taken a picture with anyone,” he said, voice unusually soft. “And she chose you. That means something.”

Bob blinked.

Then his phone buzzed. Again.

And when he looked down, his heart stopped.

A DM. From her.

Y/N L/N:

Hey, cutie patootie. Any chance I can come back for that second photo? 😉

Bob let out a noise that could only be described as a strangled squeak.

“Everything okay?” Phoenix asked.

He looked up. “She wants to come back.”

And just like that—chaos erupted again.

————

Bob had checked his reflection eight times before she arrived.

Phoenix had to physically take his glasses off his face to clean them herself. “Bob,” she said, “you’re fogging these up with your panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” he said, panicking.

“You’re wearing cologne.”

“It’s just—I thought I’d try something new.”

Rooster smirked. “It’s giving: ‘I’m calm, cool, and collected while my celebrity crush returns to base to maybe fall in love with me.’”

Hangman leaned against the lockers. “It’s giving: ‘he practiced what he’d say in the mirror all morning and he’s gonna forget every word the second she smiles.’”

“Thanks, guys,” Bob muttered, already red.

Then the hangar doors opened.

And she stepped through.

Y/N L/N. The Y/N L/N. Actress. Icon. Billionaire. Dressed casually like the cameras weren’t following her every move online. But what hit Bob the hardest wasn’t the press or the way the whole hangar paused just to look at her—it was the way she beelined straight for him.

Like she was looking for him.

“There you are,” she said with a grin. “Hi, Bob.”

The way she said his name—sweet and familiar, like she’d been thinking about it—nearly sent him to the floor.

“Hi,” he croaked.

She smiled brighter. “I wasn’t sure if I’d get to see you today, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I—I work here.”

Y/N giggled, and Bob blinked like a deer in headlights.

“You’re so cute,” she whispered, like it wasn’t going to set off every alarm in his brain.

Phoenix watched it unfold with her arms crossed and a smug grin. “We’ve been saying.”

“Oh!” Y/N turned to the others. “You’re his squad, right? You all were so sweet last time.”

Rooster elbowed Bob. “We’ve got a good one here.”

“He’s our best guy,” Fanboy added. “Smartest in the air. Saved my ass twice.”

“Three times,” Payback corrected.

Hangman chimed in, half-teasing: “Don’t let the glasses fool you—guy’s got a heart of gold and he’s low-key the funniest one here.”

Bob, mortified, ducked his head. “They’re exaggerating.”

But Y/N wasn’t listening to them anymore. Her eyes were already locked back on Bob.

“You’re kind of a hero,” she said with a soft little shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal—but it was.

“I—I wouldn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to,” she smiled. “They already did.”

Then she caught sight of a jet behind him and gasped. “Is that yours?”

Her hand reached out instinctively—like she forgot about the cameras, the audience, all of it—and wrapped gently around his arm.

“Oh my God, is that the one you flew in? That’s so cool—can I see inside?”

Bob might’ve blacked out for a second.

“You wanna see my jet?” he said, dumbly.

“I mean, yeah,” she beamed. “I came back to visit you—and, okay, maybe the plane too.”

She was still holding his arm.

“Tell me everything,” she said, leaning in. “Like—what you do in there, how it works. Please. I’m so curious.”

Phoenix whispered, “Breathe, Bob.”

Rooster added, “This is the best day of my life.”

Bob swallowed hard. “I—I sit in the back. I’m the weapons systems officer. I help the pilot navigate, track targets, communicate with command. I—uh—I read a lot of maps.”

Y/N looked at him like he’d just recited Shakespeare.

“I love smart guys,” she said softly. “You’re just full of surprises, huh?”

Then she grinned. “Show me how it all works?”

Bob blinked. “I—y-yeah. Yeah, I can show you.”

And the second he helped her climb up the ladder into his jet, the rest of the squad turned around like we are NOT watching this man fall in love from five feet away.

She actually climbed in.

Like, willingly. With a bright-eyed smile and a soft little “Oop!” as Bob offered her a hand and helped her settle into his seat—his seat, the one no one but him ever sat in—and now she was swiveling her head around like this was the most exciting thing in the entire world.

“Oh my God,” Y/N whispered, running her fingers over the side console, wide-eyed and glowing. “This is insane. I don’t even know what I’m looking at but I love it.”

Bob climbed in behind her, carefully easing into the front seat. His hands shook a little as he adjusted the straps of his harness—not because he was nervous, but because she was in his jet. Y/N L/N was literally sitting in the space he spent most of his life in, looking like she belonged there, like she might never want to leave.

“You sit back here?” she asked, pointing to the panel of screens and buttons in front of her.

“Yeah,” Bob said. “I—I manage all the tech. Radar, targeting systems, communication. Kind of like the guy behind the guy.”

She looked up, clearly impressed. “That sounds like a lot.”

“It is,” he admitted. “But I like it. It’s… it feels like where I’m supposed to be.”

Y/N smiled, this kind of soft, private smile—like she liked that answer way more than he meant her to. “That’s really cool.”

She looked at the helmet tucked beside his seat. Gently, she reached for it. “Can I…?”

“Oh! Um—yeah, of course,” Bob said quickly. “It might be a little big—”

He didn’t even finish the sentence before she was pulling it over her head with both hands and giggling as it sank just a little too far down her face.

“How do I look?”

Bob’s voice died in his throat.

“Perfect,” he said quietly.

Y/N pushed the visor up and blinked at him, and Bob almost forgot how to breathe again.

“I don’t get it,” she said after a beat, setting the helmet in her lap. “How are you not married? Or dating someone? Or at the very least, mobbed every time you walk outside?”

Bob flushed so hard he felt it in his scalp. “I—I don’t think people really notice me.”

“I notice you,” she said plainly, like it was a fact. “You’re thoughtful. Sweet. You have kind eyes. And you saved your friend’s life. You don’t think people notice, but I think you just don’t realize how worth noticing you are.”

Bob blinked. Stared. Tried not to pass out.

She smiled. “You’re blushing.”

“I—I’m always blushing,” he said faintly.

Y/N reached out, brushing her fingers gently against the sleeve of his flight suit. “I like it.”

And then—God—she just… rested her hand there. Like it was natural. Like it belonged. Like she wasn’t the most famous woman on Earth holding onto a guy who’d spent his whole life learning how to stay small.

Bob didn’t say anything.

He couldn’t.

Because her thumb was gently brushing across the patch on his arm.

And she was looking at him—really looking. Like he was someone she’d been waiting to find.

“Is it okay,” she asked gently, “if I take a picture in here?”

Bob blinked, startled. “Of course—I mean, yeah. Yeah, that’s totally fine.”

Y/N gave him a grateful smile and pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. “I won’t post anything classified. Promise.”

He laughed under his breath. “You’re probably more careful than half the people who actually work here.”

She leaned back against the seat and angled the camera just right, catching her reflection in the canopy glass with all the panels glowing softly around her. A quick click. Then another. She turned slightly toward him.

“Do you mind getting one with me?”

Bob froze.

“In here, I mean,” she added quickly. “We don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable—”

“No!” he said a little too fast. “I mean—no, I don’t mind. Not at all.”

Y/N smiled like he just handed her the moon. “Okay, come here.”

He leaned back slightly, trying to get into the frame behind her without knocking anything important. The proximity alone nearly did him in—her shoulder brushing his chest, her phone held high between them, her perfume subtly filling the small space of the cockpit.

She angled the phone, checked the lighting, then whispered, “Smile.”

He did.

God help him, he did.

Click.

She glanced down at the picture and beamed. “This one’s my favorite.”

Bob didn’t even ask to see it. Just knowing he was her favorite anythingmade his head spin.

The rest of the visit flew by in a haze. She climbed down from the jet with his help—thanked him again, touched his arm again, asked the others about the air show schedule, then got whisked away to meet with the base commander for a quick tour. She hugged Phoenix on her way out. Promised she’d be back soon.

But just before she disappeared around the corner, she glanced back at Bob—gave him a little wave. Just for him.

And smiled.

Bob stood there long after she was gone, helmet still tucked under his arm, lips parted like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

Phoenix came to stand beside him, arms crossed.

“Hey, loverboy,” she said. “You might wanna check your phone.”

He blinked down, startled—and saw that he already had seven missed messages. Three missed calls. Two voicemails.

Because Y/N’s assistant had posted.

⸻

📸 @delaneydoesit

✈️💋 “backseat beauty and the brains that fly it”

#TopGun #YNLN #BobNation #betterthanmaverick #callmeMrsFloyd

The post featured three pictures:

1. Y/N alone in the cockpit, head tilted playfully, sunglasses on, the helmet in her lap.

2. A shot of her and Bob together in the plane, his glasses slightly crooked, both of them smiling like they’d won the lottery.

3. A blurry candid of him helping her down from the ladder, one hand holding hers, the other steady at her waist.

The comments were already blowing up:

@selenagomez: oh she’s in love.

@pilotwivesunite: WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE WENT BACK FOR HIM

@aviationfan69: bob is all of us. we are bob. bob is america.

@ynlnupdates: can confirm she did say “he’s the cutest” out loud in front of everyone

@roosterdaddy: as a pilot and a man, I salute you, Bob.

⸻

Bob didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even look up from the screen.

Phoenix patted his back, amused. “You’re a national treasure now, baby. You better start practicing your red carpet smile.”

He was already blushing.

And somewhere across the base, Y/N was laughing as her assistant read the comments out loud, heart full, cheeks warm, and only one name echoing in her head:

Bob.

———

The hangar was quiet. Late afternoon light spilled through the high windows, casting golden stripes across the floor. Most of the squad had cleared out, letting the adrenaline of the day wear off in the locker rooms or the parking lot.

But Bob was still here. Still trying to breathe normally.

Because she was still here too.

Y/N lingered by the nose of the plane, running her fingers along the cool metal with a curious little smile, her assistant off somewhere taking calls. Her hair was up now, sunglasses on her head, and she looked impossibly cool even while doing absolutely nothing.

Bob didn’t realize he was staring until she turned.

And walked straight up to him.

“Hey,” she said softly, smiling like they were old friends. “I was hoping I’d catch you before I left.”

He blinked, managing a nod. “Y-Yeah. Still here.”

She tilted her head. “I was wondering if… it would be okay if I got your number?”

Bob stared.

Not because he didn’t hear her—but because every nerve in his body just lit up.

“My number?” he repeated, voice slightly cracked.

She nodded with a soft laugh. “You don’t have to say yes. I just— I’d like to talk again. If that’s okay.”

“Y-Yeah,” he said quickly, fumbling for his phone. “I mean—yes. Please. Of course.”

She handed him hers without hesitation.

He typed it in carefully, checking it twice. Then handed it back.

Y/N looked at the screen. “Bob Floyd,” she read aloud, smiling softly. “I’ll text you.”

He tried not to look as stunned as he felt. “Okay.”

She lingered for half a beat longer, then gave him the gentlest touch on the arm.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything today.”

And just like that—she was gone.

⸻

Two weeks passed.

No text.

No call.

No new post with his name anywhere.

At first, Bob kept checking. A dozen times a day. Every buzz in his pocket made his chest jump. But as days turned to a week—and then another—he stopped.

He just… stopped hoping.

She’s a billionaire, he reminded himself. She travels constantly. She probably forgot. Or changed her mind. Or—

Or it was just a sweet moment to her. Not… not something real.

He never said anything out loud. Just kept his head down, flew his drills, smiled politely when Hangman joked about his “Hollywood girlfriend.”

But inside?

He felt like he’d dreamed the whole thing up.

⸻

Until one night.

Bob was lying on his couch, glasses slipping down his nose, a rerun humming softly on the TV, when his phone lit up.

Unknown Number:

Hi Bob. It’s Y/N. I’m so, so sorry it took me this long to text you. Please don’t think I forgot. I’ve been to five countries in two weeks—Australia, Japan, Glasgow, New York, and now finally San Diego again.

I’ve been thinking about you this whole time.

Can I take you to dinner?

He read it twice.

Three times.

Then let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

His fingers hovered above the screen.

Then, finally—

Bob:

You had me worried.

A minute passed.

Then:

Y/N:

I know. I’m sorry.

Let me make it up to you?

And just like that…

Hope came roaring back.

———

Bob had never gotten dressed so slowly and so nervously in his life.

He changed shirts three times.

Debated cologne.

Put on a jacket, took it off. Put it on again.

He even cleaned his glasses twice, just in case. Because Y/N L/N—the most famous woman on the planet—texted him and said, Can I take you to dinner? Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It wasn’t.

And it definitely wasn’t normal when she sent the location with a simple:

“Come hungry :)”

When he pulled up, Bob did a double take.

It was Joe’s Diner. A little 24-hour joint he knew well. Kind of rundown, all-day breakfast, the kind of place you could get pancakes and a cheeseburger at the same time. Local favorite.

But tonight?

The neon sign was glowing—and every booth was empty.

Except one.

Right in the corner.

With her.

She was already seated, sipping a milkshake with a red-and-white straw, grinning when she saw him through the glass.

Bob walked in slowly, trying not to trip over his own feet. “Hey…”

“Hi!” she said brightly, standing to greet him. She looked insane. Like she just stepped off a magazine cover—jeans, heels, a tight black top and diamonds like they were casual. Hair loose. Smile soft.

And still—somehow—completely down to earth.

“I hope this isn’t too much,” she said, biting her lip. “I tried to pick somewhere low-key. But when I got here it was packed and I got nervous and I kind of… rented the whole place out.”

“You what?”

She cringed playfully. “It was just a little panic move. I didn’t want people filming or asking for pictures while we were catching up, and I—I tipped!” she added quickly. “A lot! And I gave everyone working tonight $500 each. Just as a thank-you for letting me be a drama queen.”

Bob blinked.

“You rented out a diner… to get pancakes with me?”

She smiled. “Yeah. I missed you.”

He swallowed. “That’s… really nice.”

“You’re really nice.”

She sat back down, gesturing for him to slide in across from her. “I hope you like breakfast for dinner.”

“I do,” he said as he sat, heart pounding in his ears.

“Good,” she grinned. “I already ordered. I got waffles, pancakes, eggs, bacon, hashbrowns… and a milkshake.”

He blinked. “All that for you?”

“No,” she laughed, nudging his foot under the table. “For us.”

⸻

The food came fast—heaping plates of breakfast heaven—and Bob couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to her. Like nothing had changed. Like the weeks apart hadn’t happened. Like he wasn’t sitting across from the most beautiful, famous woman in the world while she poured syrup like a child and kicked her heel against his under the table.

She asked about his flights. His callsign. His favorite movie. If he liked dogs or cats. If he’d ever been to France.

And when he turned the questions on her, she answered just as openly.

Her eyes sparkled when she laughed. And Bob couldn’t stop smiling. Not once.

By the time they were finishing their second milkshake—sharing it this time—Bob didn’t want the night to end.

Neither did she.

Outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet—except for the low murmur of four very serious-looking bodyguards stationed at every possible entrance and exit.

They stood at full attention, one by the curb, two by the diner’s double doors, and one tailing discreetly behind as she walked with Bob to his car.

Bob had never felt so… important. Or awkward. Mostly awkward.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying not to look like he was floating on air.

“I had a really, really great time tonight,” she said softly, slowing her steps as they reached his car.

Bob nodded quickly. “Me too. I… yeah. It was amazing. The waffles, and the shake, and you—uh, not that you’re—no, I mean—you’re amazing, I just meant the diner—the night was amazing, with you, and—”

Y/N giggled, cutting off his ramble with a gentle touch to his forearm. “Bob,” she said, and he shut up immediately. “Can I…?”

Before he could ask what she meant, she leaned up and pressed the softest kiss to his cheek.

Bob went rigid.

She pulled back just a few inches and blinked at him, shy for the first time tonight. “Was that okay?” she asked, suddenly unsure. “I—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. That might’ve been—”

“That was more than fine,” Bob blurted out.

Her smile bloomed slow and warm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She paused. Tilted her head.

“…What if I actually kissed you?”

Bob blinked. Then swallowed. “Like… kiss kissed?”

She nodded.

“Oh my God please.”

She laughed—full and sweet—and before he could process it, she leaned in again, this time meeting his lips with hers.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t too much. It was… perfect. A little hesitant at first, then deeper when Bob finally remembered how to move. His hands hovered at her waist, not quite touching, until she pulled him just a little closer by the lapel of his jacket.

One of the bodyguards cleared his throat.

They pulled back, breathless.

She looked up at him through her lashes, smile dizzy and sure. “Now that’smore than fine.”

Bob was red. Like full-blown scarlet. But he was smiling, too.

“Should I… text you again?” she asked.

Bob nodded quickly. “Please.”

“I’ll try not to wait another two weeks.”

“I’ll survive,” he promised, and meant it a little too much.

She kissed him once more on the cheek for good measure before her security detail politely reminded her it was time to go.

But Bob stood by his car, lips tingling, heart thrumming, eyes locked on her retreating figure like he’d just watched a miracle walk into the night.

Because maybe he had.

———

Bob walked into the hangar the next morning like he’d just discovered heaven. Or touched it. Or made out with it behind a classic 1950s diner while four bodyguards pretended not to look.

He had that kind of dazed, floaty, not quite all the way here look about him. Hair tousled. Coffee half-sipped. Smiling to himself like an idiot.

And the squad? Oh, they noticed.

Phoenix clocked it the second he walked in. “No. No way.”

Payback leaned over. “Bro. What is that face?”

Bob blinked, snapped halfway back to earth. “What? What face?”

“You’re grinning,” Fanboy said, pointing. “You never grin. You… barely smile. You smirk at best.”

Rooster walked by with a protein bar and raised a brow. “Did you get laid?”

“Bradley!” Phoenix hissed.

Bob choked on air. “No! I—God, no! I mean—not no, I just—wow, what?!”

Phoenix crossed her arms and smirked. “Okay, so not laid. But something happened.”

Bob’s ears were already going pink. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, it’s a huge deal,” Payback grinned. “You haven’t even taken your backpack off. You’ve just been standing there smiling at the floor like a golden retriever in love.”

Fanboy leaned in. “Tell us.”

Bob hesitated. Bit the inside of his cheek. Then—

“She kissed me.”

“OH—”

It was like a bomb went off.

“NO. NO WAY.” Rooster shouted.

Phoenix straight-up slapped his arm. “You’re lying!”

Bob held up his hands. “Swear to God. At the diner.”

“She kissed you?” Payback repeated.

Bob’s smile got a little dreamy again. “Yeah.”

Fanboy let out a slow whistle. “On the cheek or…?”

Bob didn’t answer.

“Oh my god,” Phoenix whispered. “You got kissed kissed.”

He nodded.

“You got kissed,” Rooster said, pointing dramatically. “You got full-on superstar, movie-premiere, Hollywood-kiss kissed.”

Phoenix looked ready to explode. “Okay, so when’s the wedding?”

Fanboy gasped. “Did she post again?!”

Everyone immediately whipped their phones out, and sure enough—

@ynln

📍San Diego

🎬 had to see my pilot again before flying out to shoot the next movie 🤭💋

[photo of her in the cockpit next to Bob, hand on his shoulder, both of them beaming — and Bob? Blushing like hell]

And then the caption below the pic:

@ynln:

also, someone tell lieutenant floyd that i’m gonna marry him if he keeps being this cute

Rooster screamed. Phoenix looked like she was going to pass out. Fanboy started pacing in a circle with his hands on his head. Even Payback was speechless.

Bob stood there, stunned silent, staring at the screen.

Phoenix grabbed his arm. “She posted that? About you?!”

Bob nodded faintly, barely breathing.

Fanboy turned to him, deadly serious. “Do you know what this means?”

Bob blinked. “That… she likes me?”

“That you’re America’s Boyfriend now,” Fanboy said. “And also maybe her future husband.”

Payback grinned. “How’s it feel to be the luckiest man alive?”

Bob, still dazed, just whispered: “Unreal.”

———

Bob was pretty sure he was dreaming when the email showed up in his inbox.

Subject: 🎬 You’re Cordially Invited

From: Y/N’s personal assistant

Ms. Y/N L/N formally invites Lieutenant Robert Floyd and members of the Top Gun program to attend the official U.S. premiere of her upcoming film “Starlight Syndrome” in Los Angeles, California. Transportation will be arranged. Tuxedos required. Press will be present. Photos encouraged. Please RSVP within 48 hours.

Phoenix screamed when she found out. Literally screamed. Rooster nearly choked on his gum. Hangman tried to act unfazed, but even he ended up checking the mirror twice after hearing what the dress code was.

But Bob?

Bob just stared at the invite like it was written in gold. Like it might disappear if he blinked.

It had been two weeks since their diner night. Two weeks of silence. Two weeks of maybe she forgot or maybe it didn’t mean as much to her. He’d told himself not to get his hopes up. He tried not to check his phone. Tried not to look at the diner pic she left in his messages. Tried not to imagine her red carpet photos with someone else.

And then—this.

“You okay, Bob?” Fanboy asked, glancing at him.

Bob looked up slowly, blinking back into reality. “…She remembered.”

⸻

Cut to:

Red Carpet Night

She’s in some GOWN that looks like it cost six months of rent. Diamond earrings. Hair curled like old Hollywood. Makeup perfect, but not tooperfect—still the soft-eyed, sweet-talking girl who once whispered, “sorry, was that fine?” before kissing him behind a diner.

Bob steps out of the black SUV in a fitted tuxedo he nearly passed out putting on. Everyone looks great, but the second the press cameras see him—

“Lieutenant Floyd!”

“Bob Floyd, over here!”

“Are you the pilot she mentioned in her caption last week?!”

“Are you dating Y/N?!”

Bob freezes. Phoenix leans in. “Don’t lock up, just smile and wave like a politician.”

And then—she’s there.

Coming down the carpet in heels that cost more than his car, glowing,smiling, her eyes scanning through the crowd until they land right on him.

She walks right up to him and grins. “Hey, Lieutenant Floyd.”

Bob clears his throat. “Hey, Ms. L/N.”

She laughs softly, slipping her arm through his like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “So glad you made it.”

“You invited me,” he says dumbly.

“And you came,” she says, then pauses. “Sorry I didn’t text sooner. Press tour had me all over the globe. again. I didn’t forget you. Not for a second.”

Bob blinks. “You didn’t?”

She leans in, brushing her lips against his cheek again, soft and familiar. “Of course not. I’ve been thinking about you the whole time.”

And the flashbulbs? They explode.

——

As soon as she spots the squad getting out of the black SUV, she beams.Instantly waves them over, not caring that half of Hollywood is watching.

“There they are!” she says to the press with a laugh, her earrings glittering as she turns. “These are my guys!”

She doesn’t wait for them to approach—she walks toward them in her heels like she’s floating. Her team freaks out behind her. “Wait, Y/N! Stay in your mark!”

But she just waves them off. She’s on a mission.

“Rooster, Fanboy, Phoenix, Coyote, Payback, Hangman…” she’s pointing at each of them, remembering all their names. “Come take pictures with me—please. I need at least a hundred.”

They’re all caught off guard, not used to being the ones asked for photos, but they rush in, adjusting ties, smoothing hair, suddenly aware this moment will be everywhere.

They take group shots, laughing, hyping each other up. She makes them laugh for the wide angles, does one where they’re all pointing at the camera like a boy band. And then:

“Okay. Solo shots. Come on.”

She poses with each one—smiling with Phoenix, pulling Hangman into a fake headlock, matching sunglasses with Rooster—but when it’s Bob’s turn?

She turns fully toward him, voice dropping just slightly. “Hi again.”

He’s already red. “Hi.”

She wraps her arms around him, warm and confident. “This okay?”

He nods quickly. “Y-Yeah.”

“Good,” she whispers, and leans her head on his shoulder for the photo.

The cameras go insane.

Click. Flash. She’s giggling in another. Click. Flash. She’s turned toward him, both hands holding his now. Click. Flash. One more, and she hugs him again, resting her cheek briefly against his chest.

“You’re gonna break the internet,” Phoenix mutters behind them.

Bob’s eyes are wide. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Hangman says, actually impressed. “You look like the lead in a romance movie.”

⸻

And when the photos hit Instagram that night?

Her official account posts a carousel.

📸🎞️ Premiere night magic

🎬: #StarlightSyndrome

💫: Thank you to the real-life heroes who showed up tonight—your support means the world to me.

(Also yes, Bob gives the best hugs.)

swipe ➡️

First photo: her and the whole squad, all grinning.

Second: her arm-in-arm with Bob, her cheek against his shoulder.

Third: them mid-laugh, eyes only on each other.

Fourth: just Bob, caught off guard in a tux, smiling small but real.

———

The venue is glowing—low golden lights, deep velvet couches, a live band in the corner playing sultry jazz that occasionally slides into pop covers. The crowd is dressed to the nines, champagne everywhere. But she’s not interested in Hollywood small talk. Not tonight.

Because when she walks in and sees them—the squad huddled around a table near the back, already laughing with drinks in hand—her smile lights up the whole room.

“There’s my table,” she says to her assistant, ignoring every producer who tries to pull her away. “Don’t let anyone drag me off. I’m going there.”

And she does.

She walks right over, hugs Phoenix from behind, taps Rooster’s glass with her own. Bob stands when she gets there—of course he does—and she gives him a grin before leaning in and kissing his cheek.

“Hi, Bob.”

He’s already red. “Hi. You—you look stunning.”

“So do you.” She sits right next to him. Doesn’t even hesitate.

⸻

She makes the rounds from there—laughing with Coyote over bad pick-up lines, cheers-ing Payback when he dares her to take a shot. She dances with everybody.

At one point, she pulls Fanboy into a spin. At another, she drags Phoenix out for a full choreographed moment when the band switches to Beyoncé. She even twirls Rooster like he’s the belle of the ball and he goes with it.

“Where’d you learn to dance like this?” Hangman asks.

“On set. You think I’m gonna waste those choreography lessons?” she quips, grabbing his hand and flipping it to lead him into a swing move before pointing dramatically to Bob.

“Okay—my turn. Come on, Bob.”

He freezes. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

“I—uh, I don’t really dance—”

“Lucky for you, I do,” she teases, grabbing his hand. “Let me lead?”

He can’t say no. So he lets her pull him in. It’s awkward at first—Bob trying not to step on her toes, her laughing gently when he almost trips—but she never lets go.

“You’re doing great.”

“You’re lying,” he mutters.

She laughs and leans closer, her forehead brushing his. “I don’t lie to you.”

���

Eventually they all collapse back at the table, flushed from dancing, laughing too loud, sipping drinks with messy garnishes and half-melted ice.

She looks around at all of them—grinning, bickering, teasing each other—and then looks at Bob beside her.

“This is my favorite table in the room.”

His chest tightens a little. “Yeah?”

She nods, resting her head briefly on his shoulder. “And you’re my favorite part of it.”

He doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure he could, not with his throat tightening and his heart thudding like that. But he doesn’t need to.

Because she’s still holding his hand under the table.

———

The after party was in full swing—music pulsing, people dancing, drinks flowing—but Bob had somehow ended up on the balcony. He wasn’t avoiding anyone. He just… needed air. Or maybe he needed to think. About the night. About her.

And speak of the devil—there she was.

She stepped out, her gown glimmering under the soft patio lights, her heels clicking gently on the tiles. She was holding two champagne flutes and passed one to him like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“You disappeared,” she said, smiling like she already knew where he’d gone.

Bob cleared his throat. “Just wanted some quiet.”

“Good. I needed a break too.” She leaned on the railing beside him, shoulder just brushing his. “This was nice. All of this.”

He smiled. “It really was.”

Then she turned slightly toward him, something playful in her voice.

“Do you think your friends like me?”

Bob blinked. “Like you? Are you kidding? They’re obsessed with you.”

She laughed, tipping her head back slightly. “What about you?”

And that was when it happened.

He looked right at her, soft-eyed, serious as ever, and—

“I was obsessed before I even met you.”

There was a beat of silence. A pause. Then his entire face turned red.

“Wait—I didn’t mean— I mean, I did, but not like—I just meant—”

She was smiling, watching him unravel, clearly trying not to laugh.

“I mean, I’ve always admired you. A lot. Not just how you look—God, not just that—I mean you’re obviously—you know—but you’re really… you’re so kind. And smart. And I just—okay. Yeah. I’m gonna stop talking now.”

She took a small step closer.

“Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you said it.”

He blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I’ve been obsessed with you since you stuttered out your name that first day.”

And then she clinked her glass gently against his.

“To quiet balconies and flustered pilots.”

Bob leaned against the balcony railing of her rented house in San Diego, one hand wrapped around a sweating glass of water, the other loosely tucked into his pocket. She stood beside him, the hem of her dress fluttering in the warm breeze, her elbow barely brushing his. They’d been talking about nothing and everything for the past hour. He had never felt more at ease.

Then his phone buzzed in his back pocket.

He glanced at the screen. Mom.

“Give me one sec,” he murmured, stepping away a little, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hey, Mom—”

Her eyes were on him immediately. She didn’t even try to hide it. She could see the way his body stiffened before she could hear anything, see the way his free hand shot to his mouth, pressing against it hard like he could physically hold the sound inside.

His knees nearly buckled. He leaned hard against the balcony wall, his face dropping out of sight.

“Bob?” she asked softly, already moving.

He didn’t answer. The phone slipped from his hand and hit the wood with a dull thud.

She was there instantly, no hesitation, both hands coming to his shoulders. “Bob—hey. Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart, look at me.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “What happened?”

He turned to her, eyes already glassy, and in a choked whisper, he finally got it out.

“It’s my grandpa.”

A beat.

“He’s gone.”

The silence that followed was still—but not empty. She pulled him into her arms without a second thought, his face buried into the curve of her neck as his shoulders began to shake. Not a full sob at first—just breathless, body-wracking grief that broke through the careful calm he always carried.

“I’m here,” she whispered, over and over, her hands running up and down his back, her heart splintering for him. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. Shhh… I’m not leaving. I’ve got you.”

Minutes passed like that. She didn’t rush him. Didn’t speak unless he needed it. Just held him, solid and unwavering, while the sky dimmed behind them.

When his breathing finally slowed, he still hadn’t let go. His cheek was pressed against her shoulder, and his voice was barely audible.

“C-Can you come with me?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Of course I will,” she said, tightening her arms around him. “Just tell me when we’re leaving.”

⸻

The next morning, her team was already mobilized before sunrise.

Flights were canceled. Meetings postponed. Her stylist sent condolences. Her assistant was on the phone coordinating with security.

They boarded her private jet just after noon—Bob sitting quietly by the window, hands clasped in his lap, while she curled into the seat next to him, fingers laced gently through his.

The six security guards kept a respectful distance. No press knew what was going on. She made sure of it.

The funeral was quiet and heartbreaking. Bob’s family welcomed her immediately, touched by her presence and her grace. She stayed two full weeks—meeting cousins, helping his mom with errands, holding his hand through every difficult moment. She was dressed simply, spoke softly, and never once made it about her.

She was just his—the girl who didn’t blink when he fell apart, who flew across the country to sit beside him at the hardest table he’d ever faced.

And every night, when the house fell quiet, she sat next to him on the porch swing with two mugs of tea. She never said too much.

Just enough.

———

It was late. Almost midnight. The crickets had taken over the soundtrack of the sleepy Texas town, and the porch swing creaked every so often with the rhythm of the night.

Bob had gone inside to help his mom with something in the kitchen, leaving her sitting alone with a cup of tea she’d made herself at this point. Familiar now. Natural.

The screen door opened behind her, and she turned to see a woman—older, warm-eyed, and sharp in that matriarchal way. Bob’s Aunt Carol.

“Mind if I sit?” she asked.

“Please,” Y/N said instantly, scooting to make room. “Of course.”

Carol sat down with a sigh, her hands folded over her lap. She looked at the actress—the actress—the same one Bob had had posters of on his bedroom wall since he was sixteen—and gave her a long, thoughtful once-over.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said gently.

Y/N smiled, not offended in the slightest. “I get that a lot.”

Carol nodded, still watching her. “You’re sweet. Not just in a polite kind of way. I can tell. You see people. You saw him.”

She swallowed, caught off guard. “I… I hope so.”

“He’s always been our quiet one,” Carol continued, glancing toward the house. “Shy. Gentle. Loves deeper than he lets on. Lost his dad young. Took it hard. Carried more than he ever should’ve.”

Y/N blinked back sudden emotion, nodding slowly.

“You holding him like that?” Carol said softly. “Out there when that call came? I saw it. I know what that meant.”

Y/N pressed her lips together, heart tight in her chest.

Carol leaned in slightly. “So I just have one question for you.”

“Okay,” Y/N said, barely above a whisper.

“Are you gonna break my nephew’s heart?”

The question didn’t sting. It settled heavy. Honest.

Y/N looked her dead in the eyes, shoulders square, voice unwavering. “No, ma’am. I’d rather someone break mine first.”

Carol sat back, studying her for one long moment.

Then she smiled. “Good. Then you’re welcome here. Anytime.”

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

From inside, Bob’s laugh echoed faintly through the walls. She turned toward the sound, like gravity had shifted just slightly in his direction.

Carol watched her for another beat and said, “You love him already, don’t you?”

She didn’t deny it.

Didn’t even look away.

“…Yeah,” Y/N murmured, lips curling just barely. “I think I do.”

———

The house had quieted, humming low with the sounds of settling: dishwasher running, floorboards groaning under the weight of memories. The kind of silence that only came after a long day filled with too many emotions.

Bob stopped just outside the guest room, like he always did. He never let her walk alone, not even down the hall in his childhood home.

She turned and faced him at the door, her hand still on the knob. Her expression was unreadable—soft, but serious.

“Can you come in for a second?” she asked.

His heart stuttered.

He hesitated for half a breath too long.

“…Yeah. Sure.”

He stepped inside, standing awkwardly near the dresser while she sat on the edge of the bed. She motioned for him to sit next to her, and when he did, the mattress dipped with the weight of what he thought was coming.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, trying to keep it neutral, but his voice betrayed him.

She folded her hands in her lap, took a breath. “There’s something I need to say. And I’m a little nervous, so please don’t interrupt, okay?”

Bob nodded immediately. Scared stiff.

She met his eyes. Really met them.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she started. “I didn’t expect to come to a Navy base and meet someone like you. And I definitely didn’t expect that you’d be the one person I couldn’t get out of my head.”

His brows furrowed slightly, unsure. Guarded.

She went on.

“And when I asked for your number, I meant to text you the next day. But things snowballed. Press junkets, red-eyes, interviews… I didn’t even have time to breathe. And I thought about you every single day.”

Bob’s throat moved with a quiet swallow.

She scooted a little closer on the bed, her knee brushing his. “I know this isn’t normal. None of this is. I have six bodyguards and a schedule that’s insane, and you fly jets for a living and barely look at your phone.”

That made him smile, just a little.

“But I want to try,” she said. “I want you. I don’t care about the noise or the press or how different our lives look on paper. I care about the way you treat me. The way you look at me like I’m just a person. The way you make me feel safe without trying.”

He was frozen. Wide-eyed. She reached for his hand, gently easing it into hers.

“I don’t know how this will work,” she said, voice softer now. “But if you want to try, too… I’m in. No matter what.”

Bob blinked fast, then looked down at their joined hands like he couldn’t quite believe they were real. “I thought… I thought you were about to say this wasn’t gonna work,” he admitted.

She smiled. “I kind of figured you’d panic.”

“I was preparing myself for the worst,” he laughed nervously. “Like full breakup speech.”

She shook her head and leaned in, pressing her forehead gently to his. “No breakup. Just… beginning.”

He pulled back slightly so he could look at her, really look. And then, voice barely a whisper:

“I’ve wanted this since the moment you called me a cutie patootie in front of everyone.”

She laughed, breathless. “So… you’re in?”

Bob nodded, cheeks flushed, heart racing.

“I’m in,” he said. “Completely.”

[lieutenantfloyd]

Do you know the trend where if you have a significant other in the military you say they can’t come into your house but amendment 2 or 3 which say “ no quartering of soldiers without consent”

That with cyclone or Bob

All Shook Up - Bob x Reader

Word Count: 1.0k

Summary: After seeing a trend where military spouses tell their loved ones they aren't allowed inside under the 3rd Amendment, you decide to play a prank on your sweet, returning husband Bob—that is until you get the words out, and he reacts in the only way Bob knows how.

Warnings: fluff, domesticity, husband! Bob, very mild accidental hurt/comfort.

Authors Note: This idea is so funny to me! I'm already working on Beau's version, and I'll definitely be posting that soon.

Read on AO3

The sun had just begun setting when you put your plan into motion. Grinning to yourself as you set dinner to cook in the oven, you check out the kitchen window for any sign of Bob's car. Your husband had been away on a training exercise all week and had just called you thirty minutes ago stating he was close to home.

Minutes later as you spare the driveway another glance, you see Bob climb out of his car, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. You couldn't mask your almost childish excitement as you left the kitchen and trod over to the door. Even after the years you'd been together you never got over just how handsome he was. But today you had other things in mind.

You hear the soft thud of his boots on the porch followed by the jingle of his keys before the door opens.

"Honey I'm home," Bob calls out just as you appear.

His brow furrows when you don't answer, instead just standing and watching him without an ounce of your expected warmth.

"Honey?" He tries again, "Is everything all right?"

You let another long second pass, his brows furrowing, before you answer.

"Oh, yeah," you say casually, "you just can't stay here."

Bob's eyes instantly widen behind his glasses. His gentle gaze fills with a look that is somewhere between confusion and heartbreak.

"I..What?" He questions.

You clear your throat, initial plan shattering but doing your best to follow through with your prank in light of his expression, knowing it'll be easier to explain in the end when you're both—hopefully—laughing. 

"It is my right as an American citizen to exercise whatever rights I have the liberty of holding—including the third amendment of the United States Constitution, no quartering of soldiers and related military personnel without consent," You say, still standing in the entryway opposite Bob and the half open door.

Bob blinks, expression leaning more towards the confused end of things. For a second it looks like he's about to say something, only to remain silent. He glances at his hand still holding the doorknob, then over his shoulder outside before slowly—slowly—backing out and closing the door all without a word.

You let the silence hang for a second before you yourself grow confused. You had expected him to laugh or maybe fight back, or...really anything except actually leave . Yet as you're left standing there, your first instinct is to chase after him.

Crossing the distance and pulling the door open, you see him about to get back in his car.

"Bob!" you call out, earning a hurtfully hopeful glance back over his shoulder from the man, "I'm just messing with you!" you continue.

Bob's gaze drops and a brief flash of regret goes through you. He looks genuinely bewildered, as if he's going back through and cataloging months and years' worth of interactions to figure out where all this was coming from.

With a sigh you close the door behind you and step off the porch, padding softly down the steps until you're close enough to wrap your arm around the waist of your hopelessly sweet husband.

"I promise, It's just a prank, Bob," you reassure his worrying mind, "I thought it'd be funny, not that you'd just…”

You trail off, gesturing vaguely at everything as a brief flash of knowing crosses his eyes.

"Oh," he says after a long pause, brows still furrowed but tone far less tense, "I was so confused."

He returns your embrace, setting his bag on the ground and slinging an arm gently around you.

"I thought maybe something happened I didn't know about."

You can’t help but let out a soft laugh as you look up at him.

"You thought I'd kick you out over something you didn't even know?” You ask incredulously.

"Maybe If I forgot an anniversary or didn't text you goodnight–" He stammers, raising his free hand to rub the back of his neck, "I don't know what you think is worthy of invoking the constitution over, but it felt serious."

By now a soft blush has risen onto his cheeks and you can't help but place a kiss there, his flushed skin warmed under your gentle touch.

"You are too sweet for your own good, honey," you muse with a laugh, "You thought this was it? Really?"

"Well, I...It sounded serious!" He defends again with a bashful smile.

You can't help but laugh again, looking up at him in near warm-hearted wonder.

"You're always welcome to quarter here, or anywhere else I stay, for that matter."

Bob lets out a breath of relief, whatever tension was still held in his body leaving as your words provide the last bit of reassurance he needs.

"I...really didn't want to sleep in the car.”

You pat his back with a laugh and guide him up the steps and back inside before closing the door behind you both.

"Welcome home honey," you try again, a hint of joking still in your tone, "A place you'll always have a bed."

"Good to know," he chuckles softly, "Please, don't scare me like that again."

"I promise," You smile, pulling him in for a proper kiss this time, "I'll make it up to you."

"Yes please," he sighs, only to be distracted by the smell of roasting chicken coming from the kitchen.

"You...made dinner?" He asks gently, always so surprised by the little things even when they're a part of your daily routine.

"Of course I did. Can't have you going hungry, now, can we?"

Bob blinks then nods faintly in agreement.

"Good, go get changed while I finish up down here."

At that Bob practically melts in your arms like he does every time he comes home, never more relaxed than he is in your presence—even if it's your attempt at a prank that shakes him up to begin with.

Taglist: @rosiahills22 @marchingicenotes7 @bayisdying @princessofglitterland @callsignaries @blue-aconite @oliviah-25 @luckyladycreator2 @shakira-sasha @eliseline @xoxabs88xox @lisedanie @alexxavicry @madamemelancholysstuff @dozcan123 @withakindheartx @teti-menchon0604 @sass-masterkittenmama @kmc1989

[mxrcusflint]

daggers (this is how the movie went, right?)

[spidey-webz]

it’s him i fear

[callsign-swan]

18+

Bob floyd eats pussy btw

Now I know this topic has been covered time and time again, but I need the world to know he eats pussy.

Folding you in half, a mix of spit and other fluids covering his face type of eating pussy. In fact, there's nothing Bob loves more.

He could have you on your knees, his hand rest on your hand as you sucked him off, took your time with him. But no. He wanted to be on HIS knees, eating your pussy until you quite literally can't take it anymore.

Because finishing once with his mouth on you isn't enough. He needs more. Needs to feel your thighs squeezing his head so tight it blocks out your moans. Needs you to push his head away after a round of "'ts too much" and "you can do it, swee'heart"

Bob fully believes he belongs on his knees, between your legs, holding your thighs apart. Your hands gripping his hair but not able to pull him off until he's finished with you. Until you're ruined by nothing but his mouth.

It isn't foreplay to him, it's the whole damn act. (Sex act, idk why I need to clarify).

Bob has your body mapped out, sure. But the maze of your pussy (HIS pussy) might as well be tattooed behind his eyelids. His knows ever move to get you quivering, to get you tugging on his hair.

And the first time he made you squirt with his mouth alone? The praises are constant. Like, he doesn't know how to stop telling you how good you were.

After cleaning you up, getting you dressed in some comfortable pyjamas and a snack (as well as a big ol glass of water), Bob holds you close. Doesn't matter if you squirt or not, he's proud of you every time

[jayjay-thejet-plane]

Day 1 of topguntober, “napping together” :P (hangster ft. bobnix roadtrip)

Sketch/wip below!

[kcsplace]

top gun silliness

[eclairemaire]

Meeting the Missus pt. 2

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Wife! Reader

Category: Fluff

Summary: The Team finds out Bob is married and wants to meet the missus.

Warnings: Slight allusions to mature content(nothing explicit ever stated though), Reader is described very similarly to Rhea Ripley, Reader and Bob are very much in love, No mention of Y/N used, Southern Reader (she's like all southern ladies sweet like iced tea, but can knock you on your ass if she has too), Express mentions of reader and Bob's Child, Lemme know if I missed any.

Word Count: 1.9K

Notes: This is the second part of 'Meeting the Missus'. I highly recommend reading the first part before reading this. Please enjoy!!! And I will continue to update as I'm able.

After the first meet-up with the dagger squad at the Hard Deck, it became almost routine that every other week or so, you would meet up with them for an evening at the bar. Bob wasn’t all that surprised that the team liked you so much; what wasn’t there to like? All that southern charm wrapped up in a woman who had all the means to be anything but. The team had pestered him so much about what you even did all the time and why they only got to see you every other week, but working from home and being a full-time parent had taken up most of your time.

“So Bobby, when are we going to get to meet this kid of yours that you keep hidden all the time?” Hangman asked as the squad made its way to the locker rooms from the hangar.

“Probably soon,” Bob said, wiping sweat from his brow. ”The missus is planning to have a cookout soon, and I get the feeling that all of you will get invited, seeing as neither of us has family here in San Diego.” 

“Oh? An invitation to your home and free food.” Rooster sighed, “Man, are you sure that’s a good idea? We might never leave.”

Putting his helmet on the bench and starting to remove his flight suit, Bob sighed as well, “I don’t have a choice in the matter. She tells me what she plans, and I do what I can.” He shivers at the reminder of what happened when he didn’t do something you asked of him when you were pregnant; he’ll forever be haunted by the memory.

“I can’t tell if that’s because you love her so much or if you’re scared of your wife?” Fanboy says as he starts putting on his civvies.

“Can’t you tell it’s both?” Coyote states as he shoves something into his locker, “That woman is capable of folding any of us like lawn chairs if she wanted to.”

Bob looked at the rest of them with a look that said, ‘I’m not answering that question.’ Grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, and shoving the truck keys into his front pocket starts to leave.

“I’ll see y’all tomorrow, and let you know when the cookout is,” he waved a hand over his shoulder and exited the locker room.

Pulling into the driveway, Bob sees the lights off in the house and hears music and laughter coming from the backyard. Unlocking the front door and putting his bag on the bench in the entryway, he’s greeted by one of the dogs. 

“Hey Nuggs,” he says quietly, squatting down to give the dog some pets. “I’m home!” He yells as he stands up and starts moving toward the back door.

“DADDY!” Little feet can be heard running toward him as the back door opens. Seeing his kiddo coming at him full speed, Bob braces himself for the incoming tornado that is his daughter. Picking her up and spinning her around, he smiles as he sees you approaching after shutting the back door. “Hi, Bug.” He tells Riley as he places her on his hip, turning to you, kissing you on your cheek. “My love.”

“Ewww..” Riley says, starting to squirm in his arms. “Daddy you’re gonna give Mama cooties.” He turns to her and starts peppering her face with kisses, and giggles erupt from Riley as soon as his attention his on her, making her squirm even more.

“Cooties? Mama can’t get cooties from me she’s got super powers” he giggles at her squeals, as you watch with a fond smile as you lean against the wall with your arms folded over your chest showing off the muscles that reside there. Riley turns to look at you from her dad's arms and smiles.

“Yeah, Mama’s got super strength and super love!” She exclaims, eyes bright with admiration for her mama. Bob sets Riley down with a warm smile.

“Bug, why don’t you go wash up before we eat dinner?” you ask her before she scampers off down the hall and up the stairs to get ready for dinner. Leaning off the wall and stepping into Bob’s bubble, you smile as you string your arms around his neck as his arms snake around your waist, hands resting on your lower back.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” It’s a quiet exchange before he leans down to kiss you on your lips, it’s soft, full of love, and longing after a long day apart. Pressing his forehead to yours, he asks, “How are you?”

“Good, it’s been a productive day, Riley had a good nap, and I got plenty of work done and dinner made on time with no major disasters. The only thing missing was my wonderful husband.” You say pecking his lips. “How was yours?”

“The usual, drills, reports, pushups. Told the squad about the cookout,” he said, noticing the furrowing of your brow, “Didn’t give them a date but a forewarning that it’d be happening at some point in the future.”

“Oh, ok, good, guess I’ll move up the date then.” You said, stepping back and turning toward your office through a pair of French doors down the hall, Bob follows silently. Going up to the big calendar on the wall, looking over the dates and what has good availability, for all the prep needed for what you were planning.

“It doesn’t have to be soon,” he says, observing you as you head toward your desktop to check your work calendar. 

“No, no, it’s all good. My current project should be done by next Wednesday at the latest. That’ll give me all of Thursday and Friday for prep and Saturday morning for last-minute arrangements if necessary.” Stepping away from your computer and heading to the exit of your office, you motion for him to scoot out of the way so you could close the office doors. Just as you head for the kitchen, you hear a thump from upstairs and then the sound of muffled cries from what could only be your daughter. Sharing a brief look at each other, you both rush up the steps to see Riley in the hall with what appears to be carpet burn forming on her forehead as she looks up at both of you with tears in her eyes. Her lip wobbles for half a second before she wails at the top of her lungs.

“Ma-Mama,” She sobbed as she reached out for you. Bending down and picking her up swiftly, she tucks her head under your chin and wraps her arms around your neck, as Bob starts to head to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom.

“Meet you in the kitchen,” you say as you turn down the stairs and go to the kitchen. Setting Riley on the island countertop, you grab a wash cloth and wet it with cool water to dab against her forehead. “What happened, Bug?” You ask, your tone soft. Bob is next to you, first aid kit set open on the counter, grabbing Neosporin and several band-aids for her to choose from.

“I tripped an-an-and fell on’ta floor,” she said, hiccups coming in strong as she tried to calm down. Bob had started to rub circles on her back as her hiccups continued and her tears started to slow. Wiping her tear tracks with the wash cloth and stepping away so Bob could apply Neosporin to her forehead.

“Oh, Bug,” Bob said as he finished applying the cream and wiped his fingers clean with the damp wash cloth. “How would you like to pick out a band-aid, then eat dinner and watch a movie after with me and your mama, does that sound good?” he asked, holding out the band-aids for her to choose from. She nodded her head as she reached for an orange one with dinosaurs on it, her eyes glossy as she looked up at both of you.

“Ok,” you say as you take the band-aid to put it on her forehead. Afterward, Bob picks her up and takes her to the dinner table, and you get everyone a bowl of food, and you all eat as soft conversation flows.

After all the dishes are put in the dishwasher, you all pile on the couch, Riley in between you and Bob, as the opening scenes for ‘Quest for Camelot’ play on the screen. By the end of the movie, Riley is having a hard time keeping her eyes open. Bob picks her up as you both go upstairs to tuck her into bed. Placing a kiss on both of her cheeks, you say, “Good night, Riley, I love you.” She snuggles up to her stuffed animal as Bob does the same.

“Night, muma, da’dy… love you,” She mumbles as she squishes into her blankets. You and Bob slowly back out of the room and close the door. Heading into y’all’s bedroom just down the hall.

Once inside, Bob shuts the door behind you, grabs your hand, and heads to sit at the end of the bed. Sitting down, he pulls you in between his legs, his arms wrapping around you, holding you there, and rests his head against your chest. Carding your fingers through his hair as you sway lightly. You both stay that way for a few minutes, just basking in each other's presence. You move to sit next to him on the bed, facing each other, you take off his glasses and set them aside. You lean your forehead against his and look into his eyes, they were a magnificent blue, as though they held all of the oceans within them, deep and filled with love. Tilting in to kiss him, deliberate, sensual, filled with all the love you carried for him, he returned the kiss with fervor, one hand on the side of your face, the other holding your hip as you leaned into him. Letting out a hum as you release him from the kiss.

Looking at his still closed eyes, “I’m going to wash up.” It was hushed, barely spoken above a whisper, moving to head towards the ensuite in an unhurried manner, he held onto your hand until you were out of reach. “You can always join me,” it was said in an unserious tone as you entered the bathroom. Bob just groaned from his spot on the bed.

The following morning, Bob woke up enveloped in your arms as your head rested on his shoulder. He was surrounded by your smell and your heat. Placing a kiss on your forehead, he started to unravel himself from you. As soon as he started to move, you started mumbling in your sleep, small, incoherent thoughts.

“Mhmm, ugh, sweetheart, is it time for you to go already?” You mumble as you try to pull him back into the bed. It was a good thing you didn’t have a good hold on him anymore ‘cause that would’ve been a losing battle for him.

“Yes, my love,” he leaned down to place a kiss on your head, before he started to get ready to head to base. Getting dressed in his khakis and heading downstairs, grabbing an apple and a protein bar to eat on the way to base, he started to dig through the fridge for some leftovers from dinner the night before to take as his lunch. Before leaving for the day, he went upstairs to hug and kiss you goodbye before going to Riley’s room to do the same and wish her a good day.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

[callmebyyourcallsign]

Touch and Go

Pairing: Lt. Robert “Bob” Floyd x Pilot!Reader

Tags: Slow burn, mutual pining, emotional repression, soft yearning

Setting: Post–Top Gun: Maverick, new elite flight program

Summary: You're a rising star pilot hand-picked for an advanced tactical training assignment. Bob Floyd, calm, brilliant, and frustratingly unreadable, is your WSO. You trust him in the air more than anyone. On the ground, though, your hands brush a little too often. Your silences last a little too long. And Bob? He's already gone, in the quiet, devastating way he always does. Love is mutual, but unspoken. After all, you’re both professionals… right?

Word Count: 4,983

Bob Floyd has always been good at silence.

Not the awkward kind, he hates that, actually, but the kind that sits warm in your chest, wraps around your ribs like a seatbelt. The kind that lives in cockpits and libraries and back porches after midnight. The kind that feels like knowing.

That’s the kind you bring with you.

You talk a lot less than people expect from a pilot with your record. But when you do, it’s always something that sticks. A sharp little joke. A perfectly timed one-liner. Sometimes, if he's lucky, one of those honey-dripping nicknames you toss at him when the others aren't around. Flyboy, mostly. Soft and smug, like you know exactly what it does to him.

Bob pretends he doesn’t.

He's good at that too.

The first time you flew together, you turned around in your seat, grinned through your visor, and said,

“Don’t let me crash and die, Floyd.”
He’d blinked, heart skipping a full beat.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Now it’s been months.

You know the rhythms of each other’s breath in-flight. You finish his checklists before he finishes speaking. You know when he tenses by the way his boot shifts under the floor panel, and he knows when you're fighting Gs by the subtle dip in your voice, still strong, still cocky, but just soft enough to make his heart ache.

And still. Neither of you has said it.

Neither of you has said anything.

This morning, on the tarmac, the sky’s the color of the Pacific, soft gray-blue, streaked with sunlight, like someone dragged their fingers through it. You walk toward the jet with your helmet under your arm and a lazy kind of swagger that drives him insane.

Bob is already waiting, running preflight. He hears your steps before he sees you.

“Morning, Flyboy.”

He turns, and God help him, you’re smiling. Not a big one, not like the ones you throw Rooster when you’re teasing, or the bright ones Phoenix gets when she’s kicking Hangman’s ass in a sim. No, this one’s just for him. Subtle. Real.

His hands pause on the panel.

“You’re late.”

You raise a brow. “You’re early.”

He shrugs, looks back down at the jet like it matters. “Wanted to make sure everything was perfect.”

Your voice dips, warm like whiskey. “You calling me high-maintenance, Floyd?”

He flushes. Stutters. “No—no, I—”

You laugh, soft and surprised, like you didn’t expect to get that out of him so easily. “Relax. I like it when you're nervous.”

He says nothing.

What could he say?

I think about you every night before I sleep? I replay every flight, every brush of your hand, like it’s scripture? I’ve been in love with you since day three?

So instead, he climbs into the jet and double-checks your oxygen levels.

In the air, you’re like poetry.

You take corners like you’re dancing. Pull into dives with the kind of grace he’s only ever seen in nature, like birds or storms or the ocean at dawn. Bob watches you from behind, one gloved hand hovering by the throttle, the other pressing the radio.

“Looking good, Spook,” he murmurs.

You smile without turning. “Aww, Flyboy. That almost sounded like flirting.”

He swears he hears Hangman laugh over the channel.

Bob clears his throat and looks back at his screen. His heart is loud in his helmet.

After landing, when the others are walking ahead to the locker rooms, you fall into step beside him.

It’s quiet again. But that kind of quiet Bob loves.

“You did good today,” you say after a minute.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”
You bump your shoulder lightly into his. His stomach flips. He wonders if you can feel the way he leans into it just a little too long.
“You still nervous around me, Floyd?”

His voice is soft. “Always.”

You don’t respond, but your hand swings close to his, knuckles brushing. He doesn’t pull away.

Neither do you.

That night, Bob sits in his bunk with a journal he never shows anyone.

He writes down flight stats. Maneuvers. Fuel data. And then, in smaller handwriting, like he’s afraid the ink will betray him

She looked back at me before takeoff.
I think she always does.
I wish she’d stay.

Across the base, you lie still in the dark, listening to the faint hum of the A/C and the buzz of the vending machine down the hall.

Sleep doesn’t come easy tonight.

Not with the shape of his voice still tucked behind your ear, and the way he always leaves a little extra space on the ladder, like he’s waiting for you to catch up.

You close your eyes and see his hands. Careful, steady. Always holding something invisible.

You wonder what it would feel like if it were you.

-

The storm rolls in out of nowhere.

That coastal kind of wild, thick sky, wind like a punch, lightning cracking in silhouette. Half the squadron’s grounded before they even make it off the tarmac. And your jet’s tucked away in the hangar, warm and dry, but completely useless.

Bob pulls his helmet off with both hands, curls of damp blond hair sticking to his forehead.

“We’re not getting out of here for a while.”

You sigh, pulling off your gloves with your teeth. “Damn. And I was looking forward to fighting for my life at 30,000 feet.”

There’s a beat. Rain slams into the hangar roof like it’s got something to prove.

Outside, someone’s truck backfires. Probably Rooster’s. Hangman’s already making jokes. Phoenix is haggling over vending machine snacks.

You sit on a crate, tugging your flight suit down to your waist, tank top sticking to your skin.

Bob looks like he’s trying very hard not to look at you.

“You cold?” you ask, half-sincere, half-testing.

He shakes his head. “No. I’m good.”

You smile, barely. "You always say that."

There’s only one truck back to base tonight. Everyone else finds a ride, Hangman with Coyote, Phoenix and Rooster squished into Payback’s ridiculous little Subaru.

You and Bob?

You get stuck behind.

It’s quiet now.

Stormy dusk bleeding into navy blue, rain still hammering the roof in a steady rhythm. Bob’s sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor, flipping through the manual like he doesn’t have it memorized. You’re pacing. Slowly. Like something inside you’s moving too fast.

“You hungry?” he asks, not looking up.

You pause. “Not really.”

“Me neither.”
He hesitates. “But I brought one of those granola bars you like.”

You blink. “The cherry almond kind?”

He nods without meeting your eyes. Holds it out like an offering.

You take it.

You sit beside him, knees not quite touching.

Twenty minutes pass like a sigh.

Bob reads. You pick at the wrapper. He clears his throat.

“You ever think about what it’d be like... to not do this?”

You glance over. “Fly?”

“Yeah. The Navy. The pressure. All of it.”

You tilt your head back against the crate behind you. “Sometimes. Usually when we’re pulling 7 Gs and I think I’m gonna puke.”

He huffs a laugh. “Same.”
Then, quieter: “But then I think about days like today.”

You turn to look at him. “Rainy and grounded?”

“No.”
He finally meets your eyes. “Flying with you.”

Your chest goes still. Like the storm stopped inside you, just for a second.

You want to say something, anything, but the words get caught somewhere in your throat.

So you offer the granola bar back to him instead.

He breaks off a piece. Your fingers brush. He flinches, like the contact startled him.

You pretend you didn’t notice. Even though it’s all you can notice.

Later, the lights flicker.

You both look up.

“Power must’ve gone out,” you say, unnecessarily.

Bob nods. “Shouldn’t be long.”

You shift closer to him instinctively. Just a little. Just enough to count.

It’s quiet. Not tense, just full.

Full of things you haven’t said. Of all the times his hand hovered near your back when you climbed the ladder. All the glances across the ready room. All the almosts.

He speaks first.

“You ever think maybe—”
He cuts off. “Never mind.”

You nudge him with your knee. “Maybe what?”

Bob shakes his head. “It’s dumb.”

“Bob.”

He closes the manual. Sets it aside like it’s too heavy now.

“Maybe it’s not just flying I don’t want to lose.”

You look at him.

Really look.

The hangar light flickers again. Thunder cracks like a warning.

You say, so quietly it barely counts:

“Me too.”

And that’s it. No kiss. No confession. Just two people sitting on a hangar floor, sharing a granola bar, rain tapping the roof like Morse code.

But it feels like something.

It feels like a shift.

A holding pattern, sure, but maybe next time, you’ll land.

-

You wake up stiff, aching, and warm.

Bob’s jacket is around your shoulders, too big, sleeves bunched up to your wrists, the collar soft with wear. It smells like jet fuel and cedar soap and the weird, sweet nothingness that is him.

At some point last night, you must’ve drifted off on the hangar floor. He did too, slouched against the wall, one leg stretched long, the other bent, chin tucked to his chest.

The storm is gone.

The world is pale and quiet in the way it only gets just before sunrise. The kind of light that makes everything look like it’s waiting for something.

You don’t move.

You just sit there, wrapped in Bob’s hoodie, listening to the hum of the fluorescent lights and the distant squawk of gulls outside.

Eventually, Bob stirs. His eyes blink open, slow and owlish. He stretches, winces, notices you watching him.

“Morning,” he says, voice low and gravel-soft.

“Hey,” you whisper back.

He looks down at the jacket around your shoulders, then back up, slightly pink.

“Sorry. You were shivering.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s… Thanks.”

There’s a pause.

And then you say, gently:

“You always take care of me.”

Bob’s mouth opens like he’s going to deflect, say something dumb or self-deprecating, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just nods.

“You take care of me too.”

It’s quiet after that.

The kind of quiet that says everything’s shifted, but no one wants to startle it.

The truck finally arrives mid-morning. Phoenix hops out of the passenger seat and gives you a look like you good? You give her a look like later. Bob loads the gear like it’s muscle memory, avoiding your gaze but staying close.

When he helps you into the truck bed, his hand lingers at your back.

You think about that all the way back to base.

You don’t see him the rest of the day.

You both get assigned separate pre-flights, different trainers. You wonder if he’s avoiding you or just busy. You wonder why that stings.

Later, you find his jacket still folded on your bunk. He must’ve dropped it off during your briefing.

On top of it, a granola bar. Cherry almond.

Folded underneath, a note. Scrawled in Bob’s neat, awkward handwriting.

Thought you might be cold again.

I’ll be in the sim room tonight. Just in case.

You read it three times.

You don’t go.

Not because you don’t want to.

But because your heart is thudding too loud in your chest and you’re afraid if you see him, really see him, you’ll say something stupid.

Like don’t leave again.
Like stay the night.
Like I think I want you to kiss me.

Instead, you write back.

See you tomorrow.
Save me a seat.

You leave it tucked inside the pocket of his flight suit.

Bob finds it the next morning, just before warm-up.

He reads it, folds it up, presses it into the inside cover of his journal.

Then he smiles, just a little. Just enough to count.

-

The sim room smells like coffee and jet oil and a hint of someone’s off-brand cologne. You’re early. So is Bob.

He’s standing at the control panel, fiddling with his headset, glasses pushed up into his curls. The simulator’s screens are still dark. Outside, the sky’s starting to smudge purple.

“Hey,” he says when he hears you.

“Hey,” you say, voice lighter than you feel.

You take the copilot’s seat beside him. Close, like always. Closer, maybe.

Bob’s legs are longer than yours. One of them brushes yours under the desk. Neither of you moves.

The sim loads.

You start the mission. Standard approach, familiar territory. You and Bob in sync, calling coordinates, updating status, ticking boxes. It’s smooth. Too smooth.

And then, turbulence.

Not real, but simulated. Unexpected.

Your console flickers. You lurch slightly forward.

“Whoa—”

His hand flies out and catches you.

Fingers splay over your ribcage.

Just for a second.

Just long enough.

You freeze.

Bob does too.

His hand stays there, warm through your flight suit, palm over your side like a tether. You turn your head. His eyes are wide behind his glasses, breath caught.

“Sorry,” he says, barely a whisper.

You shake your head, equally quiet. “It’s okay.”

But he doesn’t let go. Not yet.

There’s something unsaid sitting heavy in the space between your mouths. Not even a breath away.

And then.

“Pilot One, altitude dropping—”

The console voice crackles, breaking the spell.

Bob pulls back like he’s been burned. His hand drops to his lap. He stares forward, ears red, jaw clenched.

“You good?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Fine,” he mutters.

But he’s not. You can see it. Feel it.

Neither are you.

You finish the sim. Land the jet clean. Call the end of the exercise with the same forced calm you use when your hands won’t stop shaking.

He logs the results. You shut down the system. Neither of you speak.

You walk out together, side by side, the hallway lit with that same bluish hum. When you reach the locker room doors, you hesitate.

“Bob,” you say.

He stops.

Turns.

Eyes soft. Scared. Hopeful. Tired.

You don’t say what you want to.

You don’t say you can touch me again.
You don’t say I wanted you to keep holding on.
You don’t say I think about you all the time.

You just say

“Thanks. For catching me.”

He nods, slow.

“Anytime.”

You part ways. Locker rooms. Showers. Briefings. Dinner.

But when you’re lying in your bunk later that night, wrapped up in the same silence you’ve carried all day, you touch your side where he held you.

Like maybe the shape of his hand is still there.

Like maybe it always has been.

-

It’s weird, not flying with Bob.

Not wrong, exactly. You’re a professional. He’s still on base, still training, still just a few hangars away. But it feels like the air shifts without him in the backseat, like the jet flies fine but not quite right. Like muscle memory tripping over a heartbeat.

The switch wasn’t personal. Scheduling conflict, maybe. A re-routed assignment. You didn’t ask. He didn’t explain. All you know is when you checked the flight log that morning, someone else’s name was listed as your WSO.

And his name was missing.

Your new WSO is capable. Sharp. Quick on comms. He does everything right.

But he doesn’t know how you like your patterns called out. Doesn’t echo your thoughts mid-maneuver like Bob does. Doesn’t glance up at you through the canopy after a perfect landing like he’s proud of you in secret.

You miss that.

You miss him.

Bob’s been quieter, too. Around the locker room. The mess. Even in briefings. He’s not avoiding you, exactly, but he’s not seeking you out either. The silence between you has stretched, uncertain and loaded. Like you’re both waiting for the other to say something first.

And neither of you does.

You catch a glimpse of him two days later on the tarmac, post-run. He’s halfway through a bottle of water, sleeves rolled up, curls damp with sweat. There’s a red mark on his jaw, helmet, maybe, and his eyes are on the horizon like he’s somewhere else entirely.

You open your mouth.

You almost call out.

But then your new WSO claps you on the back, says something loud and dumb, and Bob flinches like the sound hit a bruise. He walks away before you can stop him.

That night, you find yourself in the hangar.

It’s mostly empty, just a few shadows and the hum of after-hours maintenance. One of the jets, the one you flew today, is parked under a dim light.

You rest your hand on its nose cone and stare at the stars through the open bay.

“Miss me already?” a voice says behind you.

Your heart lurches.

You turn.

Bob’s standing there, hands in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable.

You try to joke. “You wish.”

He half-smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

That quiet hits you hard.

You swallow. “Why’d they pull you from the rotation?”

He shrugs. “Said they needed me to run backup sims. Training the newer guys.”

You nod. “Makes sense.”

Neither of you says what you’re thinking.

Makes sense. But it sucked.
Makes sense. But I wanted to look over my shoulder and see you.
Makes sense. But nothing else felt right.

You sit on the edge of the wing. He stands next to you.

The hangar is all hush and echoes.

Then he says it, softly

“I don’t like not flying with you.”

It’s not dramatic. Not even particularly romantic. But it hits you harder than anything has in days.

You nod, slowly.

“Me neither.”

There’s a long pause. Then

“I’m sorry,” Bob says.

You look up. “For what?”

“For leaving you in the air without me.”

Something cracks open in your chest.

“I don’t feel steady without you,” you whisper.

His breath catches.

Then, gently, he leans his arm against yours. Barely a touch. But it’s enough.

“I’ll be back in your backseat soon,” he says, voice low and certain.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You close your eyes.

And for the first time in days, you feel your heart start to level out again.

-

The base wakes before dawn, but you’re already tangled in thought, and maybe a little frustration.

Bob didn’t show up to breakfast.

No text, no word. Just silence that hums louder than the engines on the flight line.

You sip cold coffee, eyes on the muted chatter of the mess hall, but all you can hear is the thrum of your own heartbeat, tight, impatient, restless.

He’s been distant since the hangar night, like there’s a wall he’s building brick by brick, and every time you try to reach him, the mortar’s fresh and unyielding.

Later, you’re suiting up for another sim run. Your new WSO is ready, calm, competent , but he isn’t Bob.

You glance over at the empty seat beside you, where the cockpit light never flickers without him.

You fight down the ache curling in your chest, because this mission is important. Because professionalism means showing up even when your heart is jamming on stall warning.

You taxi down the runway, engines roaring to life, but it’s the silence in your headset that’s deafening.

Mid-flight, something goes wrong in the sim, a sudden mechanical failure on the enemy’s side. Your fingers tighten on the stick, muscles tense, and instinct takes over.

“Bandit at your six!” you bark into the comm.

“Copy that,” comes a voice you don’t recognize. It lacks the familiar edge you crave.

You’re scrambling, trying to shake the imaginary tail, but inside you’re scrambling for Bob, his voice, his steady calm, his fierce presence.

A bead of sweat runs down your temple. You miss him.

Hours later, back on the ground, you find him in the briefing room, eyes dark and jaw tight.

He’s barely spoken all day, swallowed behind a mask of professionalism.

You clear your throat.

“Hey,” you say softly. “We need to talk.”

He looks up, startled, like you broke some unspoken truce.

“What about?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “This… us. The distance. The silence.”

Bob’s gaze flickers, like a storm barely contained.

“It’s not that simple,” he mutters.

You cross the room and stand in front of him, heart on your sleeve, voice shaking but determined.

“It is that simple. We don’t have to pretend it’s not.”

He looks at you, eyes searching, and for the first time in days, you see the truth shining beneath the surface:

He wants this too. But fear is tying his hands.

The air between you thickens, heavy with everything unsaid.

You reach out, brushing your fingers against his.

He doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he sighs, low and rough.

“Why is it so damn hard?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.

You smile, bittersweet.

“Because it’s worth it.”

And just like that, the dogfight shifts from the skies to your hearts, a battle for courage, for honesty, for the quiet, messy beauty of letting someone in.

-

The squadron’s quiet buzz hums through the ready room, but all you feel is the weight of the moment pressing against your ribs.

Bob sits beside you, closer than before, but the space between you still tastes like a question unanswered.

You both know that whatever was there last night, no, whatever’s been there for months is waiting to be named. Waiting to take shape beyond stolen glances and tentative touches.

You glance at him. His jaw clenched, eyes locked on the briefing screen, but you see it, the hesitation. The part of him that’s still afraid to cross the line.

You clear your throat.

“Hey,” you say softly, voice barely above the hum of the room.

He turns, eyes meeting yours, surprised but steady.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you say. “The almost, the maybe, the silence.”

Bob exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath for too long.

“I know,” he admits. “But it’s not easy.”

You nod, heart pounding.

“Nothing worth it ever is.”

The briefing ends, and you walk side by side to the hangar, the sun filtering through the windows casting long shadows that seem to reach for you both.

Your fingers brush, light, accidental, but this time neither pulls away.

“Why did you stop coming around?” you ask quietly.

Bob’s eyes flicker, vulnerability softening his usual edge.

“I was scared,” he confesses. “Scared of what this could mean. Scared of what I might lose.”

You stop walking, turning to face him fully.

“You won’t lose me.”

His gaze drops to your hands entwined, then back to your face.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he says. “Not with you.”

You smile, something gentle and fierce blooming in your chest.

“Then let’s stop pretending. Let’s take the risk.”

That night, the base hums a quieter tune.

You find yourselves on the roof, under a sky strewn with stars, vast and endless, like the possibility before you.

Bob reaches for your hand, fingers trembling slightly, and you squeeze back, steady and sure.

You don’t need words.

The silence between you says everything

This is the beginning.

You lean in slowly, breath mingling, hearts racing, and for the first time, the line you’ve both been afraid to cross becomes the bridge you’re ready to walk.

-

The morning light seeps softly through the blinds, painting the room in muted gold. You wake before Bob, your fingers still laced with his, the warmth lingering like a secret promise.

His breathing is slow, steady, a rhythm that somehow feels like home.

You watch his face, the way his brow smooths, how his lashes flutter, delicate and vulnerable. It’s a side of him few get to see, and it makes your heart swell with something deeper than you expected.

When Bob stirs, his eyes open to meet yours, wide and raw and honest.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice husky with sleep and something more.

“Morning,” you reply, voice barely a whisper, afraid to shatter the fragile bubble you both inhabit.

There’s a long pause, the kind of silence that isn’t empty but full of everything you don’t say yet.

Bob’s hand tightens around yours, thumb brushing your knuckles like a question.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits, eyes searching yours for forgiveness or understanding.

“You don’t have to be,” you say. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

He smiles then, slow and shy, like he’s afraid to believe it’s real. And maybe it isn’t perfect, maybe it’s messy and uncertain, but it’s yours.

Later, the base feels different.

Every glance between you carries a new weight, every touch lingers longer.

You walk down the hallways with a secret shared just between the two of you, like you’re part of something no one else understands.

During briefings, you catch Bob’s eye and see the spark that’s always been there, only now, it’s not just longing; it’s something steadier, more fierce.

After drills, when the adrenaline fades and the world quiets, you find your way to each other again.

One afternoon, you’re sitting on the wing of the jet, the sky a brilliant blue canvas.

Bob sits beside you, helmet set aside, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“Ever wonder what it’d be like,” he says softly, “if we didn’t have to keep it all so guarded?”

You turn to him, heart quickening.

“I do,” you confess. “More than anything.”

He laughs quietly, a sound full of warmth and relief.

“Me too.”

For a moment, the world shrinks down to just the two of you, breath mingling, laughter light and free.

And then, almost without thinking, Bob’s hand finds yours again, fingers weaving together like they belong.

That night, in the quiet dark of the bunk, you lie awake, the afterglow of the day wrapping around you.

It’s not fireworks or grand declarations, just a steady, simmering warmth, the kind that roots deep and promises more.

You don’t need to say the words aloud.

You already know.

-

The day starts normal, but the air feels heavier, thick with the kind of silence that’s waiting to snap.

You and Bob are prepping for a joint training mission, the kind that demands every ounce of trust and synchronicity you’ve been building. But underneath the routine checklists and briefings, something feels off.

Maybe it’s the way Bob’s eyes flicker away when you glance at him. Or how his jaw tightens just a little too much when the instructor calls out formations.

You want to reach for him, steady him like he’s steadying you. But there’s that wall again, the one you thought you’d chipped away with every quiet moment.

The mission begins with familiar drills, engines roaring to life, the world narrowing to speed and precision.

You’re locked in your cockpit, the steady hum of the jet syncing with the pounding in your chest.

Bob’s voice comes through the comms, clear, but clipped.

“Ready when you are.”

You respond, heart thudding.

The sky blurs around you, adrenaline sharp and bright. You move together, two halves of the same pulse, perfect in motion.

But when you land, the air is still thick with unspoken words.

Later, in the dim glow of the briefing room, you catch Bob alone, staring at a map like it holds the answers.

“I messed up,” he says without looking up.

You step closer. “What happened?”

He swallows, voice tight. “I lost focus during the run. Missed a call. Could’ve put us both at risk.”

You shake your head. “We all mess up.”

“But this—this felt different,” he admits. “Like I’m carrying more than just the mission.”

Your heart clenches. “Bob…”

He finally looks at you, eyes raw and vulnerable. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of losing you. Of not being enough. Of what this means—us.”

You reach out, fingers brushing his cheek.

“You’re enough,” you whisper. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like it’s a lifeline.

That night, the tension hasn’t lifted, but something’s shifted.

You find yourselves sitting side by side, neither speaking, just sharing space.

Bob’s hand finds yours again, tentative but desperate.

And in that quiet grasp, all the fear and hope and longing swirl together.

It’s messy.

It’s real.

It’s yours.

-

The base is quiet in the early hours, a fragile calm that feels almost sacred.

You’re leaning against your jet, the dawn light soft against the glass. Bob slides in beside you, the world outside still waking, but beside him, time slows.

His eyes catch yours, no words needed. The space between you is charged, filled with every unsaid confession and yearning.

“Talk to me,” you finally whisper, voice trembling just a little.

Bob’s gaze drops, then lifts again, steady, sure.

“I’ve been scared,” he admits. “Scared of losing control. Scared of what this means. But mostly... scared of losing you.”

Your heart twists, but you reach for him, fingers threading through his.

“You’re not losing me,” you say softly. “We’re in this together.”

He smiles, small, genuine, and it breaks through every wall he’s built.

The jet rocks gently as he moves closer, breath mingling with yours.

“I want you,” he breathes, voice low and raw. “Not just when the world falls apart, but when it’s quiet. When it’s real.”

You lean in, the distance dissolving, lips brushing in a hesitant, trembling kiss that blooms into something fierce and tender.

In that kiss is everything, the fear, the hope, the long nights and silent battles.

When you finally pull apart, the world feels different.

Brighter.

Clearer.

You rest your forehead against his, breath mingling, heart pounding the same rhythm.

“We don’t have to have it all figured out,” you say.

Bob nods. “No. Just... this.”

Outside, the sky is vast and endless, a promise of more flights, more moments, more love.

And inside this small cockpit, you both know you’ve finally found your safe place.

Ao3

[marvelwitchergilmore]

For Certain

Summary: Robert 'Bob' Floyd x fe!Reader -> You're in a secret relationship with a long-time friend and Naval Aviator Bob.

Disclaimer: secret relationship, reader briefly mentioned to not have been treated well in past relationships, fluffy moments, friends to lovers, Phoenix beating Hangman at Pool. So much of Lewis Pullman has been on my feed lately, I wanted to write something for Bob. Not Proof Read.

“Hey, Phoenix. Where’s your wingman? Thought he’d be here to help with moral support, at least,” Hangman called from the otherside of the pool table. 

So far, she was out twenty bucks, but Hangman was getting way too confident for her liking. 

She had him right where she wanted him. Within fifteen minutes she’d have her money back and then some. 

Phoenix nodded in the direction of the bar. “Take a look for yourself.”

Whilst Hangman was distracted, she lined up her next shot. Jake just stood, dumbfounded. 

Tilting his head as he leaned on his pool cue, he hummed. “Seems our little introvert has game after all.”

Across the Hard Deck, Bob was sitting talking to you. 

His stool turned into yours, your legs practically interlocking, you laughed once again as Bob told you another story of his day at work. Meanwhile, across the bar, Phoenix took her shot and Hangman’s attention was back on the table. 

How the fuck was he losing? He was just winning. 

“Do you think they’ve figured it out yet?”

Bob looked to his team for a moment before turning his attention back onto you. “Nope. Well, other than ‘Tasha. Do you want them to know?”

You smiled and looked back at Bob. “Not yet,” you reached for his hand, finding it instantly in yours. “I like having our little bubble.”

Bob smiled and leaned in a little closer. “I really wish I could kiss you right now.”

You looked around the bar and the gods shone on you both because a large group of tourists passed the other end of the bar. “Quickly.”

With his hand in your hair, you smiled into his kiss. He’d kissed you like what felt like a million times before, and yet somehow each kiss he gave you felt like the first. 

Bob wasn’t your first secret relationship, but he was the first to constantly make you feel loved. He knew how you’d been treated in high school; romanced in seclusion but ignored in public. He never wanted that for you. But it was your choice to keep your relationship a secret from his team. 

Most of them were like his family, but you’d met the most important to him. 

Phoenix. 

Pulling away, you felt Bob’s hand on your thigh under the bar top. And the way he looked at you…it made you want to melt. 

And go back in time and reassure your younger self that you had the right idea about dating your best friend. Even if your younger self wouldn’t believe you. 

Robert had been in your life for as long as you could remember. He was the son of your mothers closest friend, though you didn’t see him very much considering they lived so far away. Mostly it was at family gatherings and special occasions. 

But six months ago when you arrived in San Diego to interview for a new position in your line of work, your mom texted you and let you know Bob was in the area. So, if you needed a tour guide or a familiar face…he was one to consider. 

It hadn’t been until you’d walked into the Hard Deck by accident that same night that you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“Y/n?”

A smile broke out on your face, “Bob?”

“Hey,” he smiled before hugging you. 

You’d been away from home for so long, and so adamant that you didn’t need someone with you, that it took a hug from Bob to realise you were grateful to see him. You didn’t feel awkward like you had done when your mom told you Bob was in the area, too. You didn’t feel nervous about seeing him or talking with him, or sitting at the bar for the rest of the night with him, reminiscing on old times. 

And, when travelling back home together for Christmas – your mother and his deciding it was a sign to spend Christmas together – that you started to develop a deep friendship with Bob. The kind that, that day after Christmas, you realised was more than just a friendship thing. 

You’d walked down the glossy wooden stairs on Boxing Day morning expecting to be the only one awake. But you weren’t. Just as you were thanking the Gods for underfloor heating, you stalled in your tracks. In the living room, Bob was picking up different pieces of wrapping paper and paper cups, shoving it all into a rubbish bag. 

The entire house was silent. And there was just something about his profile as you looked at him; tired but rested eyes, gentle hands and a slightly settled bed head. Something clicked. 

You liked Robert. 

You had feelings for your friend. 

However, you had been swiftly knocked out of your trance when you felt something skirt across your calf only to realise it was one end of your dressing robe’s belt. 

Bob had spotted you just a little before you let out a quiet squeal as you felt the fabric ghost across your leg. And he smiled at you with the kind of smile that sent a thousand butterflies of feelings and anxiety through you. 

“Morning.”

Crap. He has a morning voice.

You had to grip onto the entrance frame to steady yourself. Get a grip, woman!

Thankfully, you were able to compose yourself before you walked inside and towards the kitchen. “What are you doing awake so early?”

“Habit,” he answered. 

“Coffee?”

“Love some,” he carried the trash bag outside letting in a gust of cold air.

Once the door was closed again, despite the cold, you wished it was open again. You might have felt less consumed by him, despite the fact he was at least ten feet from you as he walked back towards the living room to grab the second bag. 

It took two more weeks, but out of sheer need and composed frustration, Bob had asked you a question. 

You were both back in San Diego by the first week of the new year.

You’d agreed to meet him at his home since he wanted to make dinner for you. But it was as the clock was approaching midnight and neither of you were making a move to leave the porch swing bench from under the blankets, he asked you if he could do something he wished he’d done on New Years. 

He kissed you. 

There was no going back after that. And you didn’t want to. 

And neither did he. 

Six months later, that comforting bliss was still intertwined between both of you. 

“I better go. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow,” you eventually told him. 

He nodded. “Want me to walk you home?”

You smiled but shook your head. “No, you should stay here.”

“I doubt they’d miss me.”

You tried to hide your smile, which only made Bob smile more. 

“It’s okay. I drove here, anyway. And besides, I think Hangman might need some moral support. Phoenix had been kicking his ass for the last forty minutes.”

Bob rolled his eyes but he agreed anyway. “I’m still Team Phoenix.”

You smiled. “So am I.”

“Let me walk you to your car, at least?”

You nodded. 

Bob called Penny’s name, leaving a few bills on the bar to cover your tab before you could pull out your card. Meanwhile, you laid your bag over your shoulder and Bob followed you out of the door, one of his hands loose in yours whilst his other traced up and down over the curve of your hip. 

Once he’d opened up your driver's door, you made quick work of pulling him close to you by his collar before kissing him properly. 

For a moment, he lost his balance as he leaned into you and you smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Once he managed to finally find his words, Bob nodded. “Always.”

You smiled, kissing him once more. “Good.”

But he stole a few more kisses before letting you go, waving you off as you pulled out of the parking lot. 

God, he was so in love with you.

He was gonna marry you one day. He knew that for certain. 

[itsonlystatic]

Thank you guys so much for the amount of love my new posts are getting! Not crying, I swear.

Here is the short awaited individual pictures of our aviators helmets! Ignore the minor flaws, because they exist. Hope you enjoy!!

Might be making more TGM art soon, who knows?👀

(these are now stickers, available Now!!)