#fluffy bob floyd

[missmarveledsblog]

Sir? ( Pete Mitchell x Reader )

summary : he never thought he would be in this situation but why did it surprise him he was pete maverick mitchell after all the impossible was always possible in his life ... only this time he didn't think he would fall for one of the dagger squad member sister .

warnings: age gap ( mid to late thirties for reader although i know the fic request said older sister i decided to make her jake twin sister ) , goofy , fluffy fun, traumatising hangman , mention and alludes to smut 18+ , not proofread i got the request and honestly had to it asap 🫡🤣

to the person that requested this thank you for the request and hope you liked it❤

This  cat and mouse cause was something he thought he was done with , he found he was too old , that somehow it was he was left to the pasture . then he met her  while grabbing a part for his motorcycle while she was grabbing a part for her car . he stood in awe at the beauty of the woman just metres away not realising he was staring for so long til she looked up and that smile that took his breath away ( see what i did there … ok back to the story )  . she was younger than him that much was obvious sigh for him to walk away and scold himself but yet it seemed his body had it’s mind of it own and his mouth was the same idea . 

“ hey sorry but i had to introduce myself … pete mitchell “ he held his hand out . 

“ y/n  nice to meet ya pete mitchell “ she giggled shaking his hand and bright smile on her face . 

He was surprised more at himself when he asked if she wanted to go for coffee sometime  even more surprised when she said yes and game him  her number  and told him to call her before walking out the store leaving him with a victorious grin and high five from the guy behind the counter.   Now he didn’t think he would actually do it but then he thought  of the what if’s and what he had to lose in the whole thing. Yes she was younger  , wasn’t like she was in her twenties , ok so she was thirty eight but still they were both adults . when they did have that coffee date well he was transfixed with the woman   how she was funny, beautiful and smart as hell  he knew  was a goner and by end of it they went back to his and well he knew he couldn’t stop now even if he wanted to pete mitchell found himself addicted in all things that where y/n . 

They were sure he was a clone person or whatever fanboy told them  because pete mitchell was showing up to work with pep in his step and smiling all the time .  a new lease on life as the man was flying with a new vigour even letting the push ups slide every now and again .it wasn’t like he was a cold bastard before but shit he was more and more cheery after the weekends , the dagger squad didn’t know whether to be happy , scared or happy for the captain . they all stood at the door looking in at the man smiling  brighter than the sun while talking to someone on the phone  the unmistakable  “ i miss you too” and “ i’ll see you later kay “ . 

“ you think the old man’s finally getting some “ jake asked . 

“ ew don’t say it like that , he’s practically my dad” rooster grimaced . 

“ hey its good to know the old man got it in him” the texan smirked patting rooster back as he walked into the hanger just as Maverick hung up .  “ so when we gonna meet her ?” jake asked shit eating grin on his face. 

“ your not hangman” pete chuckled shaking his head . 

“ so there is a her ?” rooster ran into the room . 

“ aw bradshaw getting a new mom “ jake snorted  only to earn a glare shot his way . 

“ why can’t we meet her … shit she not like a twenty year old or something ?” rooster grimaced . 

“ no  she not a twenty year old and your not meeting her because we’re still .. navigating things “ pete nodded . 

“ so she your age ?”. 

“ jesus leave the man alone  and enough with the interrogation bradshaw “ phoenix rolled her eyes although she couldn’t lie she was also just as curious .

“ she’s 38 ok  and thats all your getting “ pete shoot his head . 

“ she younger than me “ bradley gasped. 

“ same age as me … is she hot ?” hangman smirked clearly loving the situation seeing as it was getting a new found respect for his superior and riling rooster up in one glorious moment. 

“Ok enough about my personal life lets get up in the air ok “ pete called hoping it would be the end of the question but it was only the start. 

A couple of month before he found himself  wanting to spend every second with y/n  and with her brother staying with his friend  , he was sitting  there watching her move around the kitchen making them both dinner everything in it all felt so domestic it went from a hook up to something more something that neither of them talked about but yet  on the same page .  something he  took to this point of his life to want , the she was the man reason he wanted it . she even brought up casually of meeting her brother at some time so they didn’t have to wait for the man to stay out so they could hangout in her place. Another situation he never thought he would find himself in especially at his age and yet he couldn’t help but agree to it .  everything about this felt right  even after dinner when the two sat on the sofa watching a movie enjoying the company of the other , he definitely like when  she got that look in her eye  or the subtle movement or how each kiss started to linger and heat up . wasn’t long before the two were heated kissing before he brought ignoring the picture on his way up  or the one he knocked over when the two made it to her room .  the way he had her crying you his name as he devoured her hole or the way he made her cry out his name in pleasure.  The way she had him body and soul as their bodies intertwined between the sheets .  he didn’t want this with anyone else y/n had him and he for once didn’t want to let go .  the three little word on the tip of his tongue and yet thats where they stay for now at least he wanted to do it right . 

The sun was peaking into the room  , eyes blurring and focusing to the moring light stretching out to feel  her on his chest . eye lashes fanning her cheeks and pillow plump like honestly like an angel sleeping away bed head and all. It was almost a crime to wake her up as he began to get up  his plan failed as she began to stir . a tired smile on her lips as she looked up at the man eyes filled with adoration and something else  something to  the effect his own were giving her. 

“ morning beautiful “ he smiled leaning down to kiss her head. 

“ morning handsome “ she giggled nuzzling into his chest. “ you hungry ?” she asked sweetly making him melt completely.

“ i’ll make it you sleep more” he kissed her head before tilting her face up to kiss her lips . 

“ how about you make coffee while i go to the bathroom and i’ll make us breakfast” she countered. 

“Ok deal go i’ll have a cup ready for you “ he chuckled as she got up only for a groaned to fall from his lips at her naked form . 

“ well i’d get going then maybe we can come back up here after the fueling up” she winked as he threw his head back letting out a laugh .

Throwing on his  sweatpants on  he headed down the stair stilling when he heard movement  a slight panic when he realised her brother must of came back early ready to turn back but thought suck it up he was gonna meet the guy some way and it would be awkward either way so least rip the bandaid off as he didn’t plan on going anytime.  Confident as he walked in the kitchen but as soon as the confidence had come, it went just as quick as he felt the color drain from his face staring at the familiar back of a person he knew all too well . 

“ hey want some cerea…. Sir? “  the voice dropping as jake Seresin was looking at the topless captain standing in his sister's kitchen . 

“ hey handsome where’s my … jake what are you doing home so early “ her smile dropped quicker. 

“ please don’t say shes the …. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST MY SISTER MAV” jake yelled as she wince hiding behind the man giving she wasn’t wearing many clothes bar a tshirt and panties.  “ he’s old as hell and my boss what the hell y/n “ he groaned. 

“ hey he not that old plus i’m older than you “ she shot back weakly . 

“ by ten minutes … how long has … What are your intentions with my sister… can you please go put on some pants please “ the blonde whined . 

“ i honestly thought you knew “ she said softly looking between the both . 

“ how ? you said the guys name was peter “ jake scoffed.  

“ i said his name was pete dipshit “ she shot back . 

The two sat quietly neither speaking a word  , the silence was deafening although he knew her surname and the accent such of tipped him off but maybe it was his way of the whole  ‘love is blind’ sort of thing or so he told himself as hangman was currently staring daggers at him .

“This is so fucked” jake finally said breaking the silence. 

“ didn’t seem like it in the hanger” pete muttered . 

“ that cause  i didn’t think you were screwing my sister” . 

“ i’m not screwing your sister .. it’s not like that i care for her more than you think ok i know  it’s not ideal and she’s younger than me or the fact she could do hell of alot better but i love her “ pete spoke up not realising what he just said til the words slipped out of his mouth . 

“ you love her?”  jakes eyes almost softened a little bit . 

“ you love me?” her voice made him fresh before turning to see her standing with a smile on her face and yet he couldn’t in that moment care . 

“ very much so” Mav nodded noting her slowly making her way over. 

“ i love you very much so too “ she smirked peck his lips . 

“ oh shit my sister is Bradshaw's new mom “ Jake groaned as Mav laughed and her head tilted in confusion .

[callsign-joyride]

Hi!! I was wondering if I could request #8. Breaking down mid-hug because they just needed this so much with Bob for your Fluffy Fall Fantasy. Cuz, well, I could really use a really awesome hug b/c things have been shit lately. Thank you so much! ❤️

Head Over Heels | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: Bob has to work late, leaving you at home alone with your three kids for the first time.

Content warnings: None

Prompt: 8. Breaking down mid-hug because they just needed this so much

This was written for my Fluffy Fall Fantasy event. Feel free to send in requests!

You knew that Bob would be staying late at work. It was something that he frequently had to do because of all of the paperwork that needed to be filed after a flight or a lesson, but it was hard to get used to, especially after you had your third baby. When he ranked up to Lieutenant Commander, he was granted longer paternity leave, and he didn’t need to stay late as often. The baby was six months old, and the other two kids were six and four. It was the first time that he needed to stay late since the baby had been born, and you were on the verge of a breakdown.

When Bob had to be deployed, you didn’t really tell the kids. Deployments were always called “work trips” around them. So, you didn’t explicitly tell them that Bob was staying at work late, but they had somehow figured it out by dinner time. You got the older kids to eat leftover spaghetti with the promise of a piece of candy for dessert. By the time they had finished eating, you had almost entirely forgotten about the candy as you looked at your food-covered children.

“Everyone needs a bath,” you said as you started to clear the table.

“What about our candy?”

“You can have it after you take a bath.”

“But you promised!”

“Yeah, mommy! You promised!” You sighed. The kids were right, but you were just exhausted. Other parents weren’t lying when they said that it “takes a village”. The only thing was that you didn’t really have a village. Your parents and in-laws lived in a different state, and all of your neighbors were a bunch of twenty-year-olds who you didn’t want to bother. The kids were occupied with pieces of chocolate while you took the youngest out of his high chair.

“I want both of you to be ready for a bath when you’re done with your candy,” you said as you went upstairs. The kids were good listeners, you gave them that. As soon as you were done bathing the littlest, your four-year-old walked in with his pajamas. All of the kids were bathed and ready for bed by some miracle, and you put the baby to bed first. 

The garage opening woke the baby up, and you were watching TV in the bedroom that you and Bob shared. It had been a few hours since you put the baby to sleep, so you got your time to relax, but you had never been more excited to hear a garage door open. You could hear Bob putting his things away in the laundry room while you rocked the baby back to sleep, and you smiled and waved as he walked by the room.

“What’s going on in here?” He whispered.

“This little guy woke up when you opened the garage. I think the other two are still asleep, though.”

You looked down and realized that your son was sound asleep on your chest. You slowly maneuvered him to the crib before leaving the room and closing the door. Bob was starting to get ready for bed when you made it back to the bedroom, and you turned off Gossip Girl before joining him in the bathroom. As soon as he wrapped his arms around your waist, you started to cry.

“Hey, is everything okay?” He asked as he wiped your tears with his thumbs. You sniffled and nodded your head.

“Yeah, today was just really hard. I love you and I love the kids but it was so stressful not having you here. I didn’t even get a chance to clean off the table!” You exclaimed. Bob chuckled and pulled you in for a tight hug.

“You’re an amazing mom. I know it’s not easy being away from our families but we’ve made it work. But this was your first time being alone with all three kids for a while, so I can see why you’re stressed. What do you want to do if I have to stay late for work again?”

You took a moment to think before pulling away from the hug and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Do you think you could see if Penny or Amelia could come by and help out? At least until the kids are a bit older.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Amelia would love that. Do you want me to clean off the table for you after my shower?”

“It can wait until the morning. I’m dying to get back in bed.”

“And I’m dying to get in bed with you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you said after you lightly smacked his chest and chuckled.

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07 @bradshawseresinbabe @atarmychick007 @3sriracha @genius2050 @halstead-severide-fan @withakindheartx @Lolliepops2501 @avengersfan25

Taglist form (Google form, email is not asked)

[crownofdecitreadingrespectfully]

^how you must have felt after finishing this fic because you ATE DOWN BABY

picture you ; robert 'bob' floyd

fandom: top gun

pairing: bob x reader

summary: you met bob back at the academy and fell for him fast—but you never dared risk the friendship... now you're both stationed at north island and for once the timing might be right, until you overhear him say some things that cut deep and make you question everything you thought you knew

notes: okay i'm a little nervous about this one, like i hope it's good??? i hope you like it! the start is a little slow, i struggled there, but it picks up! i promise! again, i had no self-control with the word count, and as always, please let me know what you think!!!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, bit of angst, miscommunication (kinda), italics, bob makes a joke about a stutter, some cheesy moments, reader wears a skimpy dress (but detail is vague and there is no detail about body-type), angry bob, dancing with a guy that isn't bob, very horny, a bit of boob commentary, and SMUT (male masturbation, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, and a lil titty worship bob floyd) 18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

word count: 21530

your callsign is lucky

You’ve known Bob Floyd since your second day at the academy. 

You were running late to a classroom session on naval aviation history when you ran into him—tall, sweet, with dark blue eyes and the prettiest smile you’d ever seen. As it turned out, you were both late for the same class, and got chewed out in front of twenty or so of your brand-new flight school classmates. At the time, it was mortifying, but now it’s one of your favourite stories—because that was the moment that bonded you for life. 

You’ve been in love with Bob Floyd ever since he drunkenly told you at flight school graduation—the boy’s a serious lightweight—that you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. 

Well, okay. Maybe you were already halfway there, but that was the moment that really sealed the deal. He was so flushed and pretty, stumbling over his words, looking at you like you were the sole reason for his existence on planet Earth. How could you not fall in love with that? 

But he was really drunk, and he didn’t remember a thing the next morning. So you decided not to bring it up. After all, you would soon be deployed to opposite sides of the world. It never would’ve worked. 

Still, over the years and across continents, you managed to stay close. Through separate assignments, long stretches of radio silence, and deployments that kept you off-grid, you never lost touch. You saw each other when you could—once or twice a year, if you were lucky—and every time, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

You tried dating—at least as much as anyone in the Navy can—but no one ever stuck. Not the way Bob Floyd did. 

Then, as fate would have it, Bob got tapped for a special detachment on North Island—your base. And suddenly, years of loving him from afar turned into months of loving him from a now suffocatingly close distance. Because after that detachment, Bob’s new squad—the Dagger Squad—was commissioned as a full-time elite unit under Maverick’s command. 

So here he is, on North Island. And here you are too. Practically living in each other’s pockets, even if you’re not flying on the same team. So what could possibly be stopping you from telling him how you feel? 

Oh, right. Just the tiny, humiliating fact that you’re still way too chickenshit to risk the friendship for something more. 

“Lieutenant,” Maverick says, stepping up beside you and catching you off guard. 

You blink, dragging your eyes away from the squad—his squad—training just outside the hangar up ahead. 

“Captain,” you reply, nodding. 

He smirks. “Thinking of trading in those shiny fifth-gens for something with a little more grit? Or are you just here to watch Hondo torture my pilots?” 

You huff a laugh, adjusting the helmet tucked under your arm. “The Super Hornet’s got plenty of grit, but let’s be honest—she’s no Lightning.” 

Maverick chuckles, nodding slowly. 

“Actually, I was looking for you,” you say. “Cyclone wants me to offer a brief training program on the F-35’s latest software package—maybe even get your team some sim time.” 

His eyebrows lift. “A training program from the Navy’s golden test pilot? Let me guess—does Simpson know how chummy you are with my squad, or was this more of a personal initiative?” 

“It might be a little personal,” you say with s sheepish grin. “But I’ve seen the way you look at my jet. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t kill for a flight.” 

“A joyride?” he asks. “I thought you said simulator time.” 

“For them, yeah.” You nod toward the squad. “But if a decorated captain, such as yourself, wanted to take her for a spin... well, who am I to stand in the way?” 

He laughs again, looking past you at the aircraft you’d just landed. 

“She quick?” he asks. 

“Today? About six hundred knots. But that was a low-level test profile.” You pause, eyes glinting. “Push her right, she’ll break Mach 1 easy. Mach 2 if you’re feeling brave. And willing to eat the paperwork.” 

“Tempting,” he says with a sigh. “But I think I’ve racked up enough disciplinary notes for one career.” 

You smile. “Then fly her like a gentleman.” 

Maverick’s gaze flicks back to the squad as Hondo shouts for twenty more burpees. Then he narrows his eyes at you. “Who put you up to this?” 

You blink. “Sorry?” 

“Phoenix asked me just last week if they’d ever fly anything other than Hornets. Yesterday, Hangman starts asking about Lockheed sim protocols. And now you show up, conveniently volunteering?” 

You press your lips together, wondering how long you might be able to stall—but really, what’s the point? It’s Maverick. He’ll figure it out sooner or later. 

“Okay, fine,” you admit. “They’ve been on my ass about it for weeks. I knew I could get Cyclone on board—and yeah, they said the only way you’d bite was if I offered you stick time.” You smile, just a little. “But to be fair, the F-35’s part of the Navy inventory now. Could be relevant training. And... I wouldn’t mind a few weeks of hanging out with my friends at work. Or their legendary captain, for that matter.” 

Maverick exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It’s like raising teenagers.” 

“So,” you say, lifting a brow, “that’s a yes?” 

He rolls his eyes, but there’s still a playful spark behind them. “Yeah, fine.” 

You grin. “Excellent. We’ll start Monday. Can’t wait to teach alongside you, Captain.” 

“Don’t make me regret this,” he mutters. 

“Oh, please,” you say. “I know you’re at least a little excited about flying my jet.” 

His gaze flicks back to the F-35 on the flight line, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I better go break the news to the squad.” 

You laugh. “Good luck with that. Fanboy said he’d kiss you if you said yes.” 

Maverick pauses, grimacing. “Fantastic.” 

Then he flashes you that signature smirk, gives a quick nod, and walks off across the tarmac. You watch for a few minutes as he approaches his squad, stepping up beside Hondo first and—quietly—telling the CWO what he just agreed to. Hondo nods before calling the squad in with a bark, and you stay put, watching with amusement as Maverick delivers the news. 

The reaction is immediate—grins, high-fives, celebratory shouting. You see Natasha step forward to ask a question, and when Maverick gestures in your direction, Mickey turns and yells, “I fucking love you, Lucky!” 

You laugh softly, giving them a lazy salute before turning toward your own building. You’re looking forward to it too—not just the flying, or the teaching, or the excuse to hang out with your friends. But the chance to spend a few weeks working a little closer to Bob. 

And maybe—just maybe—you can figure out what the hell you’re going to do about him. 

- 

“I still can’t believe you got Cyclone and Mav to sign off on the training,” Reuben says, shaking his head despite the smile tugging at his lips. 

You lift your beer, shrugging as you sip. “They don’t call me Lucky for nothing.” 

Mickey squints, tilting his head. “Wait, do you have a history of charming your superiors?” 

Natasha snorts into her drink. “No. That’s not how she got her callsign.” 

Your eyes snap to her, brows raised. “Wait—Bob told you?” 

She presses her lips together, rocking her head side to side. “Not exactly. I saw your contact name in his phone and kind of... figured it out.” 

Your cheeks flush instantly. “Oh my God.” 

“Hold on,” Reuben says, leaning forward. “Bob gave you your callsign?” 

You nod. “Yeah. And I gave him his.” 

That’s all it takes for the three of them to dissolve into laughter. 

“Oh, so you’re the creative genius behind Bob,” Mickey teases, leaning back. “Do tell. How long did that brainstorming session take?” 

You roll your eyes and jab an elbow into his ribs. “You’re such an ass.” 

“No, but seriously,” Reuben says, still grinning. “Why is it just... Bob?” 

You shrug, rolling your beer bottle between your palms. “Because he didn’t like any of the others. There were a bunch of nicknames being thrown around—some dumb, some mean. He told me one day he wished people would just call him Bob. So I made sure they did.” 

“Oh,” Mickey mutters. “That’s kind of boring.” 

Natasha shoots him a look across the table. “I think it’s sweet.” 

Reuben gestures toward you. “Okay, fine. Then how’d he come up with Lucky?” 

You hesitate, trying not to squirm under the weight of their attention. “Because I’m his lucky charm.” 

Reuben blinks. “Seriously? It’s that personal?” 

You nod. “Yeah. Back at the FRS, every time we were paired up—sims, training hops, even written exams—he’d ace it. Said he never did that well without me.” You shrug a little, smiling. “Eventually he started joking that I was his lucky charm. Then it got shortened to Lucky, and everyone assumed it was about good fortune or gambling or whatever. But it was always just… him.” 

Natasha huffs a quiet laugh. “That’s fucking adorable.” 

Mickey leans forward, brows drawing together. “Wait… have you guys ever—” 

“Evening, misfits,” Jake drawls, cutting in with impeccable timing. “Lucky, did I hear you landed yourself a job bossing us around?” 

Bradley, Javy, and Bob fall in behind him, all wearing the same mildly pained expression—no doubt from enduring a ten-minute car ride with Weekend Jake. That’s what the squad have started—affectionately—calling him when he’s at his worst, all smug smiles, cocky one-liners, and shameless flirting. Which, of course, tends to happen every weekend. 

“Just part-time,” you say, matching his smirk. “Try to contain your excitement.” 

Jake’s gaze drops, then climbs back up—slow and deliberate. “Oh, I’m containin’ a lot right now. But you in a flight suit, telling me what to do? That might push me over the edge.” 

Mickey and Reuben chuckle while Natasha groans. 

“I need a drink,” Bradley mutters, turning toward the bar. 

You shake your head, trying not to laugh. “Keep talking, Seresin, and I’ll have you running laps around the tarmac.” 

Jake slides into the booth across from you, still grinning. “And I bet you’d love the view.” 

You roll your eyes and glance at Bob, still standing beside Javy. His eyes are locked on Jake—not quite angry, but definitely not amused. 

“Hey, Floyd,” you say, “wanna sit?” 

Bob’s lips twitch as he slides into the booth beside you, dark blue eyes catching yours. “Think you’re ready to be an instructor?” 

“Oh yeah,” you say, ignoring the flutter in your chest as his thigh brushes yours. “I was born for this.” 

He chuckles under his breath. “Born bossy, maybe.” 

“Hey,” you say, bumping your shoulder against his. “Don't be rude.” 

He turns to face you—really looking at you—and for a moment, the noise of the bar fades just a little. 

“You already telling me what to do?” he asks, voice low, playful. 

You narrow your eyes. “What if I am, Lieutenant? You going to listen?” 

Something flickers at the corner of his mouth—teasing, but quiet. “If I don’t?” 

“Jesus Christ, you two,” Jake cuts in, loud and obnoxious. “Save it for the bedroom.” 

Bob startles slightly, the colour in his cheeks deepening as he tears his eyes away from yours. 

“Fuck off, Seresin,” you mutter, shooting him a glare. “You’re just jealous.” 

Jake leans back, smug. “Jealous of what, sweetheart?” 

“That I don’t flirt with you the way I flirt with—” You stop short, the rest of the sentence stuck in your throat, but it doesn’t matter—the implication is obvious enough. 

Jake’s eyes sparkle like he’s just won the goddamn lottery, and everyone else around the table fights to contain their laughter. 

“Go on,” Jake says, far too pleased with himself. “What were you saying?” 

You shoot him a deadly look. “Fuck you is what I was saying.” 

He tips his head back and chuckles, hand over his chest, and that’s all it takes for the rest of the squad to join in. All but Bob, who’s now focused on picking at the corner of a cardboard coaster, cheeks pink and lips curved into the softest smile. 

It isn’t long before Bradley returns with two beers in one hand and a beer and a coke in the other. He sets the drinks down—coke for Bob—and nods at you to scoot over. You shuffle further into the booth, closer to Mickey, and Bob does the same—closer to you. His arm slides closer, brushing yours, and his knee presses deliberately into your leg, inch by inch stealing your space. The scent of him—sharp, familiar, intoxicating—floods your senses, and your pulse spikes before you can stop it. 

God. You think you’d be used to it after all these years. 

“So,” Bradley says, leaning forward, oblivious to the earlier conversation, “we start Monday?” 

You nod. “Yep. Think you’ll be able to handle a big boy jet?” 

Bradley scoffs. “Please. I’m one of the best pilots in the world.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“God, I can’t wait,” Mickey says from your other side. 

“Why are you excited?” Natasha asks, brow furrowed. “There’s no backseat in the F-35, and you’re definitely not flying it.” 

“Well, not the actual jet, but I still get sim time,” Mickey says, turning his big brown eyes on you. “Right?” 

You shrug. “That’s up to Mav.” 

He groans, dropping his head on the table with a thunk. “Being a WSO sucks.” 

“Your career choice, dude,” Reuben chuckles. 

You spend the next hour or so talking about work—because it’s hard not to when you all work together—but eventually Javy wanders off to chat with a woman who hit on him at the bar, and Natasha challenges Bradley to pool. Jake jumps up too, announcing that he’ll play the winner, leaving you and Bob behind with Mickey and Reuben, who are deep in an argument about whose turn it was to unload the dishwasher this morning. 

You turn to Bob, brows raised. “Think I’m going to need another drink.” 

He nods, laughing softly as he slides out of the booth. You follow and start heading toward the bar, glancing over your shoulder only when he mumbles something about going to the bathroom. You just nod, then turn back and step up to the bar, flashing Penny a wide grin. 

“The usual?” she asks. 

You nod. “I’ll get a round for the whole squad.” 

She nods once and moves to grab the drinks while you fish in your back pocket for the cash you shoved there before leaving your apartment. You’re just about to drop it on the bar when someone slides up beside you and slaps down a credit card instead. 

“It’s on me,” the man says, his smile too confident to be genuine, “if you’ll tell me your name.” 

You blink, brow furrowing as you wonder where the hell men like this get their audacity. 

“And if I don’t?” you ask, sliding his card back toward him. “You still covering eight drinks?” 

His eyes widen just slightly, his fingers hovering over the card. “Eight? Damn. You must be thirsty.” 

You think about saying something snarky, or telling him simply to piss off—but you don’t. You bite your tongue, turning back to Penny with a quiet thanks as she sets the drinks on a tray and you hand her the cash. 

“You Navy?” the guy asks, undeterred. 

“Does it matter?” 

He shrugs. “Just lets me know what I’m in for.” 

You take a deep breath, choosing not to respond as you reach for the tray of drinks. 

“I got it,” Bob says, appearing beside you, his hands brushing yours as he takes the tray from the bar. 

You turn to him with a cheesy grin—not hard to fake when you’re looking at someone like Bob. “Thanks, babe.” 

He pauses, eyes flicking between you and the stranger. 

“I was starting to worry,” you say, sliding an arm around his waist. “You were gone so long.” 

Thankfully, Bob’s not an idiot—and this isn’t your first time pulling this move. 

“Sorry,” he says, falling into it with ease. “There was a line.” He glances at the guy. “Hey, I’m—uh—her boyfriend. Bob.” His cheeks flush lightly. “And you are?” 

The guy hesitates, his eyes darting between the two of you. Then he steps back. “Got it. No worries. Have a good night.” 

As soon as he’s gone, you drop your arm and step away, breath catching—not from the strange guy, but from the heat still lingering between you and Bob. The weight of his body beside yours. The feel of your fingers pressed into his waist. The clean scent of him, warm skin and sharp cologne. It’s dizzying. And familiar. And still somehow too much. 

“Thanks,” you murmur as you fall into step beside him, following him toward the others crowded around the pool table. 

“No worries,” he mutters, eyes focused on the drinks. 

Once you reach the group, everyone takes their drinks and gets back to their conversations—which mostly consists of trash-talking between Bradley and Jake. You and Bob find two stools nearby to occupy while watching the game play out. 

“Why do you do that?” he asks suddenly, turning to you with a slight frown. 

You glance at him. “Do what?” 

“Shut guys down all the time,” he says. “Tell them I’m your boyfriend.” 

“Oh.” You lean back a little, trying—and failing—to read his expression. “I guess I’m just not interested. And it’s easier to say I’ve got a boyfriend than deal with rejecting them outright. Safer, too. You never know what someone might say or do if they feel slighted. Especially after a few drinks. So... I use you. Does it bother you?” 

He shakes his head. “No. Just curious.” 

You nod, then glance back toward the pool table. “Okay.” 

There’s a short pause before he adds, “But why don’t you give any of them a shot?” 

You frown. “What, like... why don’t I date?” 

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I know you’ve dated before, but I don’t think I’ve seen you go on a single date since I got to North Island.” 

Wow. Shocking insight. Maybe he’s not as observant as you thought. 

You snort softly. “Are you saying I should date more?” 

“I don’t see why not,” he says, eyes dropping to the floor. “You get hit on all the time.” 

You roll your eyes. “I do not get hit on all the—” 

“Yes,” he cuts in, meeting your gaze again. “You do. All the time. You should hear what half these idiots say about you when you’re not around.” 

A smirk tugs at your lips. “All flattering, I hope?” 

He groans and rubs the bridge of his nose, right where his glasses sit. “You really don’t want to know.” 

You laugh into your drink, taking a long swig before glancing over at him. “Alright, Floyd. Since you’re so concerned—who should I date, then?” 

You know he won’t say it. But you want him to. You want him to say me. Right here in the middle of The Hard Deck, with Natasha eavesdropping and Mickey still ranting about how his flight suit is too tight around the biceps. It wouldn’t be romantic, or particularly special—but you don’t care. You’ve waited long enough. You just want to hear him say he’s tired of guys hitting on you. Tired of Jake’s locker room bullshit. That he wants you to date him. That he wants you. 

“I don’t know,” he mutters, cheeks flushing as he looks back toward the pool table. “Rooster, maybe. He seems like your type.” 

Your heart drops, frustration crawling up under your skin. “My type?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Tall, pretty, a little cocky.” 

You narrow your eyes, watching the side of his face. “You think I go for cocky?” 

He doesn’t answer—just shrugs, eyes locked on the game. 

“You’ve known me this long, and that’s what you think?” 

He cuts you a sidelong glance, brows raised just slightly. “You dated a bunch of assholes at the FRS.” 

You stare at him. “A bunch? What, like... two?” 

He shrugs, eyes flicking to yours. “Maybe it just felt like more. Every second day someone was asking me for your number.” 

You scoff. “Yeah, right.” 

“No, really,” he says, deadpan. “It was ridiculous.” 

You narrow your eyes, fighting a smile. “I don’t believe you, but whatever.” 

Your gaze drifts back to the pool game, watching as Jake leans in for a shot, easily sinking two balls and earning a hard eye-roll from Bradley. 

“Anyway,” you say, glancing back at Bob. “I haven’t exactly seen you dating since you got here.” 

Not that you really want to see him dating. Not unless it’s you. 

He shrugs again. “Wasn’t talking about me. Was talking about you.” 

You roll your eyes. “Okay, fine. You want me to date? I’ll find someone to date.” 

Then you tip back your beer, draining the rest of it in two burning gulps. Bob blinks, the colour in his cheeks deepening as you smack the empty bottle down on a nearby table. You give him a tight smile before turning toward the pool table, stepping up beside Jake and curling your hand around his bicep. 

“Mind if I play next?” 

Jake’s green eyes sparkle as he looks down at you, his gaze devouring every inch of your face now so close to his. 

“Keep touchin’ me like that, darlin’, and I’ll say yes to anything.” 

The rest of the weekend passes in typical fashion. You spend half of it cleaning your apartment and stocking up on groceries for the week, and the other half watching movies with Bob and Natasha. 

Bob doesn’t bring up the whole dating thing again—you’re starting to think he never wanted to bring it up in the first place—and he definitely doesn’t mention how you flirted with Jake for most of Friday night. He does, however, roll his eyes when you laugh at something dumb Jake sends to the group chat. 

By Monday morning, you’re more than ready—and honestly, kind of excited—to start training the squad on F-35s. You even get up extra early, take a little more time with your hair, and spritz on a few extra sprays of perfume. Not for anyone in particular. Definitely not for Bob. 

You’re the first to arrive in the briefing room—of course you are, you’re nearly an hour early—so you start setting up, keeping your hands busy in an attempt to burn off nervous energy. 

Eventually, Maverick and Hondo stroll in, both looking smug with obnoxiously oversized travel mugs full of coffee. 

“Mornin’, Lucky,” Hondo says, dropping into a seat in the front row. 

“Hondo,” you say with a smile. “Mav.” 

“Ready to wrangle a room full of overconfident aviators?” Maverick asks, settling into the chair beside him. 

You take a deep breath and face the room, hands on your hips. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Got any tips?” 

He grins. “Try not to sweat—they can smell fear. Don’t be afraid to pull rank, either. You are technically their superior—Lieutenant Commander.” He pauses, waiting for your reluctant nod, because you do tend to forget that you outrank them. “And don’t look Floyd in the eye, or you’ll get flustered.” 

Your mouth drops open. 

Hondo chuckles. “And that’s not a general rule. That one’s just for you.” 

Your eyes flick to him, heat creeping into your cheeks. 

Maverick laughs. “Uh oh. Maybe we shouldn’t have flustered her right before the children arrive.” 

“Who are you calling children?” Bradley asks, stepping through the doorway with a suspicious frown. 

Maverick and Hondo giggle like schoolkids, clearly thrilled to spend the next few weeks not running the show. 

“Why’s Lucky all red?” Mickey asks, trailing in behind Bradley. 

Reuben’s next, followed by Javy and Jake a few seconds later. 

You shake your head and clear your throat, pretending to shuffle through papers like it’ll somehow erase the mortification of Captain Pete fucking Mitchell knowing about your very inconvenient crush on one of his lieutenants. 

It isn’t long before Natasha and Bob walk through the door, sliding into two front-row seats and making your heartrate ratchet up. But it’s fine. It’s cool. You can easily look past the front row. Just focus on Jake’s stupidly smug face in the second. 

“Alright,” you say as the digital display flickers to life, revealing a clean model of the F-35. “Welcome to your crash course in fifth-gens.” 

Mickey whoops quietly while the others grin and settle in with wide, eager eyes. 

“The F-35s are in the Navy’s rotation now,” you say, gesturing to the display. “And as an elite unit, you never know when you’ll be called to fly one.” You tap your tablet, watching the display zoom into a detailed cockpit layout. “One seat, all teeth, glass cockpit, full stealth. No one’s holding your hand up here—not even your WSO.” 

“Good,” Reuben grins. “Mine’s bossy.” 

Mickey gasps, spinning toward him in mock betrayal. 

“Yours is unemployed,” you reply, laughing under your breath. “These are single-seat jets.” 

Mickey rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, pouting like a three-year-old who just got told no. 

Your eyes flick instinctively to Bob—to the other WSO in the room who might have cause to be annoyed—but he’s not. He looks... entranced. Calm and focused. Brows pinched slightly, lips parted, eyes locked. Like he’s hanging on your every word. 

You clear your throat and turn back to the screen. “You already know how to fly. I’m just here to make sure you don’t fly this like you fly your Rhinos. The rules are different. The feel is different. And the margin for error is a hell of a lot thinner.” 

You swipe on your tablet and the diagram shifts to a wireframe helmet interface. 

“Helmet display system, full 360º situational awareness. You don’t need to flip switches anymore—you think, and it’s there. Feels like a video game... until it doesn’t. You screw up in here, and the jet doesn’t just let you know—it makes sure you remember.” 

You glance up—and have to fight the smile rising at how focused they all are. Every one of them watching you like you’re briefing them for an op. 

“We’ll run through some ground school and system orientation,” you say, “then you’ll hit the sim. I’ll be in the control room, and Mav will be breathing down my neck.” 

Maverick chuckles. “Only if you mess up.” 

“So I’ll be fine,” you reply smoothly, not even sparing him a glance. 

Laughter bubbles from the squad—oohs and chuckles layered over each other. But it’s Bob’s expression that makes your breath hitch. Wide-eyed. Pink-cheeked. Watching you like he’s trying to commit every second—every last detail—to memory. 

You blink, heat flaring in your neck, and glance toward the back of the room. “Questions? Comments? Unsolicited opinions?” 

“Yeah,” Jake pipes up. “You free after this?” 

Hondo snorts. “Sure. Right after she drops her standards by about ten thousand feet.” 

The room breaks into laughter as Jake rolls his eyes and flips Hondo the bird, sinking back in his seat. 

“Alright,” you say, laughter still lacing your voice as you reset the display. “Let’s start with a systems brief.” 

The squad moves in a slow wave, rising from their seats and shoulder-bumping their way to the tablets at the front of the room. But Bob hesitates, his gaze lingering on you a beat too long—warm, steady, and unblinking. It settles on your skin like a gentle pressure, like a whispered touch. You feel your cheeks flush and the hairs on the back of your neck rise. 

All from a look. 

God. Maybe you should listen to Maverick’s advice a little better. 

By the end of the day, your voice is hoarse and your cheeks are aching from smiling so hard. You shouldn’t be surprised, but they were easier to teach than you expected. Of course they were—they’re not idiots. They’re highly trained, elite naval aviators. And just because they’re your friends doesn’t mean they’d dare give you a hard time. At least, not in front of their CO. 

After Maverick asks a few questions—mostly about your training plan—he claps you on the back and dismisses the room. The squad filters out, calling their thanks as they go and muttering to each other about everything you just showed them. 

Bob stays behind, still planted in his seat, brows furrowed as he scrolls through something on his phone. It’s not unusual—he used to wait for you after class almost every day at the academy and during the FRS—but still, your heart kicks up just a little. 

“How’d I do?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder as you collect your papers. 

He looks up, a soft smile on his lips. “Amazing, actually.” 

You turn toward him, tilting your head. “You sound surprised.” 

“I am,” he admits. “You made all that tech-speak sound so... easy. No one would ever guess you used to stutter on t’s and p’s giving presentations back at the academy.” 

Your cheeks flush, eyes going wide as you let out a soft gasp—half scandalised, half amused. “Robert Floyd. How dare you bring that up.” 

He chuckles quietly, ducking his head. “Sorry. It was too easy.” Then he glances up again, dark blue eyes wide and sincere. “But really, you did great. I’m really p-p-proud of you.” 

“Dude!” you exclaim, staring at him in disbelief as he laughs a little harder. 

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face—especially not with the way Bob is laughing, shoulders curled, cheeks pink, and his smile lighting up his whole face with something stupidly charming. 

“I can’t believe you,” you say, hugging your notebook to your chest. “You’re going to blow my cover as a super cool, incredibly sexy fighter pilot.” 

He shrugs. “You can still be super cool and incredibly sexy with a stutter.” 

Your cheeks burn even hotter, and you quickly turn back to the desk looking for an excuse not to look at him—picking up a pen you’re pretty sure isn't yours. 

“Want to grab dinner?” he asks. 

When you turn back around, he’s standing—tall and adorable in the most infuriatingly delicious way. The kind of way that shouldn’t make your chest ache and your thighs clench... and yet, here you are. 

“Sounds good,” you say, trying to keep your voice light. “What’re you thinking?” 

“Pizza?” 

You nod and move toward the door, stepping into the corridor ahead of him and starting down the hall. A brief stretch of quiet follows, broken only by the soft clunk of your boots against the vinyl floor—not awkward, just a little... tense. Or maybe that’s just you. Because for some reason, Bob smells especially good today. He looks especially good too—hair slightly tousled, cheeks pink, and brows drawn as he clearly gets caught up in whatever’s on his mind. 

Then he glances at you. “The other night—Friday night—at the bar...” 

You raise an eyebrow. “What about it?” 

“Did—” He pauses, breath hitching as he looks away. “Did you go home with him?” 

You stop walking. “With who?” 

He hesitates, stopping one step ahead before turning back to face you. “Hangman.” 

Your eyes go wide. “What the fuck? No.” 

“Oh,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “It’s just... Phoenix said—” 

“Phoenix is messing with you,” you cut in, brow furrowed. “Why the hell would I go home with Hangman?” 

He shrugs. “You two looked pretty friendly. I thought maybe—” 

“Okay, give me some credit,” you say flatly. “I do still value my dignity. And for the record—cocky isn’t really my type.” 

He glances at you, eyes curious beneath a gentle frown. “Then... what is your type?” 

You open your mouth, but hesitate. You know what you want to say—that it’s him. It’s always been him. But you can’t. Because you’re too damn chickenshit, even after all these years. Even with him looking at you like that.  

“I—I don’t know,” you mutter, starting to walk again. “But whatever it is, it isn’t Hangman.” 

There’s a short pause—only brief—before he mumbles, “Okay... good.” 

Good? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? 

The word bounces around in your head all evening. When you’re not talking to Bob about pizza toppings, tomorrow’s lesson plan, or whatever bizarre National Geographic doc he’s just watched, you’re thinking about that damn word. 

Good. 

It’s so maddeningly vague it practically echoes off your apartment walls the second you slam the door shut behind you. 

Good? 

Who does he think he is, trying to validate your taste in men? You don’t need his opinion. You don’t need his approval. You don’t need Bob Floyd acting like he gets a say in who you do or don’t go home with. 

Good. 

Seriously? The fucking audacity. Every time you think maybe—just maybe—Bob isn’t like other men, he says something infuriating like that. 

“Ugh,” you groan, throwing yourself face-first onto your bed. “Fucking good.” 

A minute later, your phone pings. You grope blindly across the duvet until your fingers close around it, then roll your head to the side, squinting at two notifications from Bob. 

BOB FLOYD 

📎 [Image attachment] 

‘Look what I found at the bottom of my drawer… those ridiculous Canada moose boxers.’ 

And there he fucking is. 

Standing in front of his bedroom mirror. Shirtless. Hair still damp from the shower. Wearing nothing but a sweet smile and those goddamn novelty boxers you bought him as a joke two Christmases ago—bright red, with tiny maple leaves and cartoon moose that say eh? across the waistband. 

Holy fuck. 

Your mouth goes dry. Your brain short-circuits. You can’t do anything but stare. Not even breathe. 

His body is glorious—which is something you’ve known, but never been intimate with. And holy shit, if you’re not about to get intimate with this fucking photo. 

He looks like some Greek god carved from alabaster. All smooth muscle and obvious strength, like he moonlights as a Michelangelo sculpture. 

It’s obscene. This photo is ridiculous. He has to know what he’s doing. Surely he’s not that naïve. 

And what the fuck are you supposed to reply with? 

You scramble upright, breathing hard, holding your phone so close to your face the screen fogs up and— 

Oh my God. You’ve got your fucking read receipts on. 

You need to do something. Say something—anything—before he realises what a complete creep you’re being just sitting here, staring at this photo. 

With trembling hands, you type the first thing that comes to mind: ‘Aw! Cute!’ 

“…Cute?” you repeat out loud, staring at your phone. 

A little notification pops up beneath your message. 

Read. Immediately. 

“Cute?!” you say again, more outraged now. “What’s fucking cute about that, you idiot?” 

You scroll up and tap the photo again—the one that is anything but cute. 

Your face is burning. Your brain is mush. You need help. Professional help. 

But first… 

You need an hour alone with your vibrator, eyes squeezed shut, and that image burned into the backs of your eyelids. 

- 

Bob doesn’t send you another photo of his moose boxers. 

The next morning, he just texts to ask if you want him to pick you up a coffee on his way into work—and you say yes. You don’t talk about the photo. Or the boxers. At all. 

But you can’t stop thinking about it. 

You can’t even look at him without picturing those ridiculous boxers and that even more ridiculous bulge—which only gets more obvious the more times you go back to check the photo. You’re honestly thinking about just saving it to your camera roll. Because what if you accidentally double-tap and react to it? You should’ve just done that at the start—but no. No, you said ‘Aw! Cute!’ like some proud mother seeing her son in his soccer jersey for the first time. 

And of course, you and Bob talk every day, so the thread just keeps moving on—but you’re not. You have to scroll all the way back up every time. Then he sends something else and it jumps to the bottom, which means you have to start all over again. 

Honestly, it’s getting a bit ridiculous. You were staring at it the other day in the middle of the goddamn mess hall, like some depraved freak. 

Or maybe you’re just deprived. Maybe you just need to get laid so you can stop ogling your best friend like he’s the finest cut of perfectly cooked steak and you haven’t eaten in a week. 

“Lucky?” Hondo says, interrupting your spiralling thoughts with a quirked brow. “You good?” 

You shake your head, blinking until the data feeds in front of you snap back into focus. 

“Shit, sorry,” you mutter, clearing your throat. 

You hit a few buttons and flip the comms switch. 

“Rooster,” you say, eyes on the external visuals of Bradley’s current sim mission. “Radar contacts at three and seven o’clock. Engage with BVR missiles on my mark. Weapons hot?” 

“Weapons hot, Lucky,” he responds. “AIM-120 locked on three o’clock target.” 

Your gaze flicks to the instrument panel and HUD feed—seeing what he’s seeing. 

“And try not to light up the whole sky this time,” Mav cuts in dryly—his professionalism fading as the day drags on. “Last sim, you nearly cooked Hondo’s coffee with that missile launch.” 

Hondo chuckles. “That was a precision strike. Coffee was inferior.” 

“Copy that, Mav,” Rooster replies, grin audible. “Engaging now. Fox-three.” 

Your eyes bounce between the radar, sensor data, and pilot input feedback, tracking his procedure. Then the simulated missile launch sound fills your headset. 

“Target’s going down,” you say. “Good shot, Rooster. Keep it tight—bandits are manoeuvring fast. Radar lock at five o’clock. High-G turn recommended.” 

“Got it. Pulling seven Gs. Lining up for a guns pass.” 

“Hope you’re smoother than your last attempt,” Mav says. “Remember, trigger discipline.” 

Bradley chuckles. “Roger that. I’m a professional… mostly.” 

Maverick laughs too, lounging back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying not being the one in charge. You roll your eyes and refocus on the data feeds, watching as Bradley successfully finishes the sim. 

“All targets neutralised. Nice run, Rooster.” 

“What was my time?” he asks eagerly. 

“You’ll find out in Monday’s debrief,” you reply. 

“Did I beat Hangman?” 

You roll your eyes. “Sim complete. Control out.” 

You cut the comms and turn to Maverick. “Want to call it a day?” 

He sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It is Friday. We could give them a choice.” 

You arch a brow, silently asking him to elaborate. 

“Go home or let the back-seaters have a go in the hot seat.” 

Your lips curl into a smirk. “Oh, I think I know what the answer is going to be.” 

Ten minutes later, after Hondo retrieves the rest of the squad from the debrief room, Mickey is seated in the pilot’s seat and the others are crammed into the control booth behind you. The excitement is palpable—everyone watching the data feeds with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. 

“Alright, Fanboy,” you say through the control mic, flipping a few switches on your console. “You’re up.” 

“What’s the scenario?” he asks, adjusting the straps like they might protect him from what’s coming. 

“Nothing fancy,” you reply. “Just a soft sim. Basic intercept, two bogeys, no weapons fire. You’re just flying the pattern.” 

“So… a baby sim?” 

“Basically. You’ll be fine.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“Which one is go?” he asks, pointing vaguely at the throttle quadrant. 

You slap your forehead. “You’re joking, right?” 

“I’m not a pilot,” he says, almost offended. “My job is to press the red button and whisper sweet nothings to the radar.” 

“That explains so much,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “It’s the throttle. Left side. The big one.” 

“Oh. Sure. Of course. Totally knew that.” 

He moves it gingerly, like it might explode—and the sim lurches forward, making him let out a sound that’s way too close to a yelp. 

From behind you, Reuben cackles. “Dude’s gonna crash before he clears the runway.” 

“Shut up!” Fanboy shouts from inside the cockpit. “I am a majestic flying machine.” 

You snort. “You are a danger to national security.” 

“Luckyyy,” he whines, tipping his head back against the seat. “Help me. I’m in a metal coffin and I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

You sigh—loudly—and get up, grabbing your headset as you move out of the control booth. 

“I’m coming in,” you mutter. 

You swing the cockpit open and climb inside like you’ve done a thousand times before, stepping up beside him. 

“Okay,” you say, leaning forward. “Feet off the pedals. Hands off everything. Just look at what I’m doing.” 

“Yes, sir,” he says with a little salute. “Watching and learning.” 

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. “You’re lucky I like you.” 

“I know,” he says, grinning now. 

You flip the right switches, get him levelled, and the sim steadies out. 

He exhales. “Okay. Okay. I’m flying. Right?” 

“You’re flying,” you say. “Barely. But still.” 

He glances up at you. “Am I your worst student ever?” 

“Top three,” you say sweetly. “But I have faith. Now throttle up. We’ve got some baby bogeys to chase.” 

Mickey grips the controls for dear life, knuckles turning white. The sim jerks forward awkwardly as he pushes the throttle, and you can practically hear the panic rising in his voice. “Uh… okay. I think I’m moving? Maybe?” 

You step closer, trying not to crack a smile. “Just keep it steady. You’re flying a jet, not trying to take off in a rocket.” 

He leans forward, squinting at the instruments. “Which one’s the afterburner? The big red button?” 

“Don’t touch the big red button,” you snap, slapping his hand away. “Just keep the nose up. Remember your basic turns—left, right, not a nosedive.” 

The sim bucks suddenly. 

“Oh no! No, no, no!” he exclaims, eyes wide and face pale. 

You bite back a grin, keeping your voice steady. “Relax. You’re doing fine. Just… don’t crash.” 

But it’s too late. 

The simulated alarms start blaring and the screen flashes red: Warning! Critical altitude! 

“Fuck! Uh, do I pull up? Or…” 

“You eject,” you say dryly. 

“Eject?!” Mickey’s voice cracks as he looks frantically across the controls. “How do I do that?” 

You point at the eject handle. “That thing right there. Pull it now before you break the simulator.” 

With a loud mechanical whoosh, the sim jolts violently as Mickey’s ‘ejection’ sequence initiates. 

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Well, that was impressive. The quickest crash I’ve ever seen. But hey—points for dramatic exit.” 

Mickey groans, covering his face with his hands. “Can we try again? But with less dying?” 

You pat his shoulder. “Maybe next week. I think you need a little more ground school.” 

He sighs and stands up, hanging his head as he exits the cockpit. You can only imagine the scene waiting for him in the control booth, a small part of you actually feeling a little sorry for him. Because if these pilots are anything, it’s cocky—and the last thing they need is someone, especially a squadmate, proving that what they do is kind of legendary. 

“Alright, Floyd,” you say into your headset, feeling heat curl behind your ribs. “You’re up.” 

A few minutes later, Bob climbs into the cockpit, adjusting his headset as he awkwardly manoeuvres into the pilot’s seat.  

“Do you want me in or out?” you ask, trying not to sound like you want to stay in the cramped space with him. 

His eyes are wide as they scan the control panel. “Uh, in. Please. If that’s okay.” 

You nod, biting your bottom lip to hide a stupid grin. “Of course.” 

He settles in, straps up, and lets his hands hover hesitantly over the controls. 

“Mav,” you say, “is the sim reset?” 

“Confirming sim reset. You’re good to go,” he replies. 

“Okay, Bobby.” You lean in beside him, ignoring how his warmth wraps around you—his scent filling your nose and making your head spin. “You ready?” 

He nods, jaw tight, eyes locked on the instruments in front of him. 

“Alright, relax. You’ve got this,” you mutter, shifting just a little bit closer. “Feet on the pedals. Throttle up slowly.” 

He moves cautiously, brows drawn, and the sim lurches forward—but not violently—before steadying under his grip. 

“See,” you say with a soft smile. “Already doing better than Fanboy.” 

He chuckles quietly, almost breathless. 

“Now keep her steady.” 

“Trying,” he mutters, eyes flicking between the HUD and display screens like he’s done this a hundred times—except for the white-knuckled grip giving him away. “This is a lot harder in practice.” 

You laugh softly. “This is the fun part.” 

He exhales hard through his nose, adjusting his grip. “Are they supposed to be this sensitive?” 

“They’re not sensitive. You’re just heavy-handed,” you say, nudging his wrist lightly. “Small movements. Gentle.” 

He hums like he’s not sure he believes you, but follows the instruction anyway. 

You lean a little closer, pointing to a flashing radar contact. “You’ve got one on your left—easy turn, then line up a missile lock.” 

Bob squints at the data, then at you. “Define easy.” 

“You know, not what Fanboy did.” 

He huffs another quiet laugh, fingers moving more confidently now as he banks slightly left and steadies his line. 

“There we go,” you say. “See? Not so bad.” 

His eyes flick toward you, only for a second. “Only ‘cause you’re here.” 

You glance at him—but his focus is already back on the screens, tongue caught between his lips in concentration. Your heart thuds a little harder, breath catching as the cockpit suddenly feels a whole lot smaller. 

You’re crouched beside him—arm pressed against his, knee nudging his thigh—and all you can think about is that goddamn image of him in those stupid little boxers and everything it did to your insides. 

If it weren’t for the cameras, live feeds, and multi-million-dollar equipment in here, you might be seriously considering jumping his bones right now. 

“Uh, Lucky,” Bob says, clearing his throat. “Noise.” 

You shake your head, refocusing. “Alright, you’ve got tone. Fire.” 

“Fox three,” he says, flicking the switch—and the target explodes a beat later. 

You grin. “Nice shot.” 

He looks over at you again, eyes wide and shining, cheeks pink, and chest rising a little too quickly. “What’s next?” 

“Bring her around. Evasive manoeuvre. You’ve got a bogey on your six.” 

He shifts quickly, throttle pulling back. 

“Flaps down. Come into a right bank,” you instruct, watching him move a little smoother this time. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says under his breath, completely focused. 

It shouldn’t make your pulse spike. Or have you shifting your weight, pressing your thighs together, suddenly too aware of your own skin. It shouldn’t mean a damn thing. 

Yet those few words, coming out of his mouth, tighten that knot behind your hipbones until it aches. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter. 

“What?” he snaps, panic lacing his tone. 

“No—Nothing. Just pull up five degrees, you’re drifting.” 

He does so without hesitation. 

Your eyes flick across the data feeds, checking everything like it’s second nature—because for you, it is. It’s as easy as breathing. 

“I’m impressed, Floyd,” you say, offering a small smile. “With a little more practice, you could probably swap seats with Phoenix.” 

Natasha’s voice crackles in your headset a second later: “No way he’d be flying this well without his lucky charm. So unless you’re planning to ride on his lap, I think I’ll stay on the stick.” 

Bob’s eyes go wide, and the sim shudders as he struggles to maintain control. An alarm blares, but you’re already moving, one hand wrapping around his to keep the sim steady—and avoid another Mickey-style disaster. 

“You told them?” he asks, not angry—just flustered. 

You glance sideways at him, still holding steady, a sheepish smile pulling at your lips. “Phoenix saw my name in your phone. She guessed.” 

He shuts his eyes with a sigh, cheeks flushing. 

“Hey!” you nudge him with your knee. “Pilots don’t get to fly with their eyes closed. Focus.” 

He huffs a breath, straightening in his seat, brow furrowed again. “Right. Sorry. I got it.” 

“You sure?” 

He nods, firm, and you slowly let go, easing back into position beside him. 

The sim levels out, alarms silenced, radar clear—and Bob exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole time. 

“Okay,” you say. “Let’s bring her in. Easy descent. Keep your nose up just a touch—perfect. Throttle back.” 

He moves with steady hands now, more confident than when he started, guiding the simulated jet toward the landing zone with practiced care. The wheels touch down on virtual tarmac, and the whole simulator gives a soft jolt before going still. 

The screen flashes: MISSION COMPLETE. 

You blink, a little stunned. “Holy shit.” 

Bob whips off the headset, hair mussed, cheeks flushed. “Did I actually—?” 

“That was amazing,” you say, grinning at him. “You nailed that.” 

He scrambles out of the seat, turning toward you, half-tripping over a strap—and— 

He falls forward. 

You try to dodge, but it’s no use. He crashes down on top of you, sending you flat onto your back on the simulator floor, your head knocking against something on the way down. 

“I—sorry—oh, God—” he stammers, eyes wide. 

He braces a hand on either side of your head, face hovering just inches above yours. 

“Are you okay? Your head—” 

Your giggles cut him off, laughter spilling out as you lay beneath him, one hand rubbing your head and the other caught somewhere on his waist. 

“I—I’m okay,” you manage, breathless and blushing, if slightly concussed. “Guess I’m a good luck charm and a crash mat.” 

He lets out a quiet, unsteady laugh, chest pressed flush to yours, breath ghosting over your cheek. 

“Phoenix is right, you know?” he says, voice soft. “I couldn’t have done it without you here.” 

Your laughter fades, breath catching. 

There’s a beat—just one long, tight heartbeat where he leans in, eyes darting between yours and your lips like he might actually do it. Like he’s about to close that distance. 

And then— 

The sim door yanks open with a loud clang. 

“BOBBY!” Mickey exclaims, his grin upside down from where you’re lying. “Oh, shit, are you two making out?” 

Bob scrambles to his feet, very awkwardly given the severe lack of space. “No! I wasn’t—I didn’t—” 

“Technically, he tackled me,” you say, sitting up and holding out a hand for Bob to help you. 

Once you’re both upright, you climb out of the sim and into the chaos of the squad, all cheering and clapping like he just landed an actual carrier op. 

“Hell yeah, Floyd!” Javy says, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. 

Reuben chuckles. “I thought you were gonna puke, but that was clean as hell!” 

Natasha smirks, arms folded as she steps up. “Guess that lucky charm really works.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool—but your skin is still humming, your heart still racing. And Bob? 

Bob won’t stop glancing your way. Because the mission might be over, but whatever just happened between you two is still very much mid-flight. 

After everything calms down, Maverick congratulates Bob on not crashing—giving Mickey a very pointed look—and dismisses the squad. They gather their things from the briefing room and file out slowly, leaving you to finish filing the post-sim report. 

“We’ll meet you outside?” Natasha asks, hesitating at the door. 

You nod. “Yep. Won’t be long.” 

“Good. We’re going to the bar to celebrate Bob’s success and Mickey’s disaster.” 

You snort softly, eyes dropping back to the tablet in your hand. “Sounds good.” 

Her footsteps fade down the hall, and you type through the report with quick, practiced fingers. 

Your heart still feels like it’s in your throat, beating too fast and too hard. Your cheeks are hot, your lungs are tight, and you swear you can still feel every inch of where Bob’s body had been pressed against yours. And God—it was a lot. 

If you’re honest, you don’t really want to go to the bar. Not just because you’re there too often already—but because you’d rather go home and get off to that stupid picture of Bob in his moose boxers while thinking about his body on top of yours. 

You shake your head, exhale hard, and tap ‘submit’ on the report. Then you tuck the tablet into your bag, throw it over your shoulder, and flick the lights off on your way out. 

The corridor is dim, lit only by the glow of late-evening sun spilling through the high windows, washing the vinyl floor in hazy orange. You can hear chatter up ahead—probably the squad, waiting—and you pick up your pace. 

But then you hear your name. Not your callsign—your name. 

“As in Lucky?” a voice says, incredulous. “She flies F-35s now?” 

“Yeah,” Bob replies, his voice unmistakable. “She’s really good. A great teacher, too. She—” 

“She’s fucking hot,” the other guy interrupts. 

You frown, slowing your steps as you edge closer to the wall. The voice is familiar—but you just can’t place it. 

“I was always jealous of you, man,” the guy says. “Back in flight school you and her were close. And at the FRS. Don’t tell me nothing ever happened.” 

“No,” Bob says quickly. “We’re just friends.” 

“Shame. Still hot though, right?” 

“Um... I guess.” Bob’s voice tightens—strained and uncomfortable. 

“C’mon, man, relax. She’s a smoke show.” 

There’s a brief pause. Then Bob clears his throat. 

“I don’t really like talking about people that way. Especially not her.” 

“What, you’re not into her?” 

“She’s my friend,” Bob says, like that answers everything. 

“Not what I asked,” the guy chuckles. “You into her or not? Because I’m not stepping on your toes, but if she’s fair game—” 

Your heart thuds, heavy and fast, caught high in your throat. 

“No,” Bob says. “I’m not into her. She’s a friend. I wouldn’t go there.” 

That stings—but what comes next carves the breath right out of your lungs. 

“She’s too intense,” he says, a sharp edge to his voice. “She’s reckless, and she can be selfish. She—She's not worth the trouble. There’s too much baggage.” 

Your stomach drops. Hard. 

Each word hits you square in the chest, knocking you breathless. Your head swims. Your vision blurs—not just from tears, but from that unmoored, disoriented rush that hits when the floor drops out from under you. 

“Who cares about baggage?” the guy asks with a low laugh. “As long as she’s not selfish in bed—” 

You turn fast, bracing a hand against the wall to steady yourself. You can’t listen anymore. 

Tears fall freely now, and you don’t even care. You walk—back the other way, toward the far door, away from the voices. Away from him. You’ll take the long way around base if you have to. It doesn’t matter. You just need to get home. 

Your ears ring. Your skin prickles. The sting in your eyes sharpens into something meaner, hotter—like your tears are trying to scald their way out. 

His voice replays in your head, cold and clinical, like you’re a job hazard or some inconvenient mess he has to manage. Not worth the trouble? Too intense? Baggage? 

Fuck. That. 

Your hands are fists before you even realise it, nails biting your palms, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. He doesn’t get to talk about you like that. Not after everything. Not like you’re just some reckless, selfish… thing. 

Not when he knows you. Not when he was just hovering over you, whispering soft words, looking at you like maybe you meant something. 

The heat builds behind your ribs, under your skin, in the back of your throat. You want to yell. To throw something. To go back and make him say it to your face. But you don’t. 

You wipe your cheeks with the heel of your hand, set your shoulders, and walk faster—like you’re chasing down a storm, or maybe just trying to outrun it. 

- 

That night, your phone doesn’t stop. Messages pour in from the squad—asking where you are, if you’re okay, when you’re coming to the bar. Bob even calls. Four times. But you don’t answer. Instead, you send a single text to the group chat saying you felt sick and had to go home. Technically, not a lie. 

You barely sleep. You toss and turn for hours, drafting messages you’ll never send and crying into your pillow until you’re too exhausted to cry anymore. By four a.m., you give up. You pull on your gym clothes, lace up your sneakers, and run to the beach like you’re trying to outrun years of friendship. 

You spend the whole weekend in self-imposed exile, licking your wounds like a cornered animal. No music. No TV. No calls. You just want to sit in it—the heartbreak, the fury, the raw, awful ache of it all—because for once, you don’t want to get over it. 

Because it was Bob. 

Bob Floyd, who’s been sweet and steady and quietly wonderful since the day you first met him—always looking at you like you’re the only thing that really matters. He knows you, sometimes even better than you know yourself. 

Or at least, you thought he did. And maybe that’s what hurts the most. 

Because you’ve loved him, in one way or another, for a long time. And now he’s the one who broke your heart. 

Sweet, considerate, doe-eyed Bob Floyd. 

Fuck that guy. 

By Monday morning, you’re feeling a lot less dramatic and a lot more focused on work. You just want to get this little program done, get the squad up to date with fifth-gens, and then you can go about avoiding Bob Floyd until one of you inevitably gets restationed. But until then, you have to at least be civil. You don’t have a choice. 

The squad is already half-settled when you walk into the briefing room, just a couple of minutes late—intentionally. If you arrived any earlier, someone might’ve tried to talk to you. Joke around. Ask where you’ve been. And you’re not really in the mood for chit-chat. 

So you walk in with a neutral expression, eyes trained forward, coffee in one hand and tablet in the other. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see Bob sitting in his usual spot at the front, hands folded tight in his lap. He glances up the second the door opens—and breathes. It’s so visible it’s almost a shudder, like he’s been holding it in all weekend. 

“Oh, she’s alive,” Jake says, elbowing Javy beside him. 

You don’t answer. You just keep walking until you reach the desk, setting your coffee down before turning to face the room. 

“Let’s talk about Friday,” you say, tapping your tablet to wake it up. “Three out of five of you got tagged within the first five minutes of simulated contact. That’s a problem.” 

There’s a long beat of silence. A few glances are exchanged, but no one calls attention to the fact that you’re clearly skipping over the usual ‘good morning’ or any of the soft lead-ins you normally give. No one dares. 

Bob’s eyes stay locked on you, his brow drawn in quiet worry. He doesn’t look away all morning. Not once. 

And you don’t look at him at all. 

After going through BVR refresh and radar discipline, you give Maverick a nod and he calls lunch. You keep your head down, eyes on your tablet, fussing with it as the soft shuffle of feet out the door fills the room. 

Maverick walks up to you, says something about a meeting he’s being forced to attend this afternoon, and you give him a nod. Then he walks out and the room goes quiet. Until— 

“Hey,” Bob mutters, still sitting in his seat. 

You turn your back on him, placing your tablet on the desk and picking up your phone. “Hi.” 

“That thing work?” he asks. 

“What thing?” 

“Your phone.” 

“Oh,” you say flatly. “Funny.” 

Silence stretches between you—thick and heavy—full of words left unsaid, and a few that never should’ve been heard. 

“So,” he finally says, pushing to stand, “you feeling okay?” 

“Yeah,” you mutter, opening your email like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “Just an upset stomach. I’m fine now.” 

“Really?” he presses, stepping closer. 

You sigh heavily and look up—not at him, just at the back of the room. “Really, Bob. I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t answer your calls, I felt like shit. Just wanted to sleep and watch movies.” 

“What’d you watch?” 

“Back to the Future,” you say—too quickly, without thinking. 

And shit. Why would you admit to spending the whole weekend watching one of his favourite movies? 

“Without me?” he asks, full of mock-offense. 

Your lips twitch, and you hate that they do. So you take a deep, steadying breath and turn to face him—eyes locking with his, your expression dangerously neutral. 

“Do you need something?” 

He frowns. “What do you—” 

“Like do you have a question about what we just debriefed or...?” 

“Oh.” He blinks. “Um, no.” 

You nod. “Okay, good. Then you should go to lunch.” 

He stares at you for a moment, eyes darting across your face, trying to decode what you’re very carefully hiding. But he can’t, because you’ve been perfecting this cool, practiced nonchalance for the past forty-eight hours and you know you have it down pat. 

“Okay,” he mutters. “Lunch. Are—Are you coming too?” 

You shake your head and turn back to the desk. “No, sorry. I’m going to be selfish and spend my break reviewing the sim footage I didn’t get to over the weekend.” 

“That’s not—” he hesitates, clearly confused. “That’s not selfish.” 

You whip back around, brows raised. “Isn’t it?” 

There’s another beat—just a brief pause where he looks at you like you’re suddenly some complete stranger. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, voice soft. 

You nod once. “Yep.” 

Then you turn around, step behind the desk, and drop into the chair, opening your tablet. He stands there for a moment longer, watching you with a furrowed brow, eyes narrowed. But you don’t look at him. You just start pulling up the footage and flipping open your notebook. 

Eventually, he leaves, but not without casting one last glance over his shoulder—looking like a damn kicked puppy. 

You sit in the briefing room trying to focus on sim footage until ten minutes before the end of lunch. Then you sigh, stretch out your limbs, and start packing up your things for the afternoon’s training. You’re halfway to the sim building when your phone buzzes with a text from Maverick: 

‘Hondo got pulled into this meeting. Use the WSOs in the booth.’ 

Great. More time with Bob. And this time, the room’s even smaller. 

With another heavy sigh, you continue making your way toward the building—dragging your feet through hallways and up the stairs until you reach the tech staff for the usual system readiness checks. Once everything’s good to go, you sign on as controller and head into the prep room where the squad is waiting. 

“No time to waste,” you say, skipping any kind of greeting. “Hangman, you’re up first. Bob, Fanboy—you’re in the booth with me. Let’s move. 

Then you turn and walk out, the only sign they’re following you the quiet shuffle of boots behind you. 

You get Jake set up in the sim, then slip into the control booth, taking the farthest seat and pulling your headset on without a word. Mickey settles hesitantly beside you, and Bob takes the last seat—now one person too far away to read whatever expression is on your face. 

“I’ll handle comms,” you say without looking up. “Monitor the readouts, call out any anomalies. Stay focused, watch what I do, and you can run one of the later sessions.” 

“Copy,” Mickey replies. 

“Copy,” Bob mutters. 

You can feel his eyes on you, boring into the side of your face. He’s leaning forward—very unsubtly—watching you with a creased brow as Mickey pretends not to notice the suffocating tension in the booth. 

“Hangman, you ready?” 

“When you are, boss.” 

You tap the screen, starting the sequence. “Simulation beginning. Weapons hot in thirty seconds.” 

Your eyes stay locked on the data feeds, one hand adjusting the sim’s tracking overlay, the other scribbling notes into your tablet. Everything is running clean—Jake’s flying sharp, you’re locked in, and for a moment, it almost feels easy. Peaceful. 

But still, you feel Bob’s gaze. Heavy. Relentless. You don’t look at him, but you know he’s watching—trying to read between your words, between your silences, between the way you didn’t so much as glance in his direction when you walked in. 

“Hangman, confirm radar lock,” you say, fingers flying over the controls with practiced ease. 

“Confirmed. Two-band lock at forty-five miles. Tracking steady.” 

“Maintain altitude for another thirty seconds, then begin a slow descent to angels eighteen. Push to intercept on bandit two.” 

“Copy that. Repositioning.” 

A beat later, Mickey pipes up, “Hey, I’m seeing a drift on the right bank—check pitch trim, two percent off.” 

“Good catch,” you say, glancing at the readout to confirm. “Hangman, adjust pitch trim two percent to port. You’re drifting wide.” 

“On it. Thanks, Fanboy.” 

You glance over at Mickey, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Nice eyes.” 

He throws you a cheeky wink before turning back to the screen. You try not to look at Bob—but you can’t help it. His cheeks are redder now, his eyes wider, and he looks… indignant. 

After Jake, Javy jumps in the sim, then Bradley, then Reuben—and for him, you have Mickey run the comms. They work well together, and you only have to jump in once or twice to adjust an instruction. 

Then finally, it’s Natasha’s turn. 

“Bob, comms are yours,” you say. “Mickey, stay on readouts.” 

Bob hesitates just a fraction too long before replying, “Copy.” 

Once Natasha is strapped in and the system’s reloaded, you settle back in your chair beside Mickey. Bob shifts awkwardly two seats down, headset on, posture a little too tight to be comfortable. 

“Pilot ready?” you ask. 

He glances at his monitor. “Ready.” 

You nod. “Run it.” 

The sim lights up again, and Natasha’s voice crackles through the speakers—calm and clipped as she begins her sequence. 

You fold your arms across your chest, eyes on the screen—eyes on Bob. He’s steady at first, brow furrowed in concentration, tongue caught between his lips as he tries to remember the training. But you can feel it—the edge in him. Every call he makes lands a half-second late. Every glance your way lingers too long. 

He’s nervous. And you almost feel bad. Almost. 

But then those words ring through your head—and if he’s going to call you intense like it’s a bad thing, then fine. You’ll stare at him—intensely—until he either screws up or helps Natasha fly this sim clean. 

Your gaze flicks to a warning light, brow furrowing as you sit up straighter. 

“She’s pulling too hard,” Bob says. “She should dump speed before—” 

“That’s not going to cut it in the F-35,” you cut in. “You’ve got to lead the roll differently. Weight’s distributed rearward—she floats differently.” Then you glance at him, eyes narrowed. “You know… all that baggage.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Bob shifts. His eyes flick between you and the screen, nerves creeping higher. 

“We’ll adjust the parameters,” you say, turning back to the screen. 

Your hands move across the controls as you focus on Natasha, reassuring her that she’s flying fine. Bob tries to refocus too—to keep his eyes on the feed and talk her through the next manoeuvre. 

But he can’t. His gaze keeps drifting—toward you, confusion drawn tight across his brow. 

You can see the frustration rising. He doesn’t get it. 

But he knows something’s wrong. 

- Bob - 

After Natasha’s successful sim, you give the squad a quick debrief before mumbling something about catching Maverick before he heads home. Bob wants to stop you—to say something, anything, just to get you to talk to him—but you don’t give him the chance. You slip out while he’s stuck in conversation with Reuben and Mickey, too polite to cut them off. 

Eventually, everyone leaves the debrief room and starts walking across base—to their cars, the barracks, or in Javy’s case, the pharmacy, because he’s now convinced he got mono from the girl he hooked up with over the weekend. 

“Coyote, if you go to medical one more time this month, they’re going to assign you your own parking spot,” Natasha says, watching him split away from the group. 

“My lymph nodes are, like, throbbing, dude,” Javy replies. “It’s definitely mono.” 

Jake snorts. “Or maybe it’s rabies and you’re on the countdown clock. We’ve got—what—forty-eight hours till you start foaming at the mouth?” 

“My bet’s on mono,” Reuben says. “That girl was way too hot to have rabies.” 

“Exactly!” Javy calls, now walking backwards. “And I’m exhausted. It’s definitely mono.” 

“You’re always exhausted,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes. 

“That’s ‘cause his standards are low and his stamina’s even lower,” Natasha mutters with a smirk. 

“What was that, Phoenix?” Javy asks, already halfway down the path. 

“Nothing!” she calls back. “Good luck! Maybe you’ll finally get that cute receptionist’s number!” 

The group laughs, because everyone knows Javy has been trying—and failing—for months to get her number. 

“Doubt it,” Jake says, veering off toward the parking lot. “Dude’s got no game.” 

One by one, they all drop off—until it’s just Bob and Natasha. The two of them walk in silence for a few minutes. An easy, companionable kind of quiet while Bob loses himself in his own gnawing thoughts. 

“Okay,” Natasha says, stopping suddenly. “What’s wrong? You look like someone just cancelled Christmas.” 

Bob glances up. “Hm?” 

“Don’t hm me,” she says, propping a hand on her hip. “You’ve been weird all day. What’s going on?” 

“I don’t know, I just—” 

“Is this about Lucky?” 

His stomach drops, nausea creeping up his throat until he’s pretty sure he can taste what he ate for lunch. He hesitates, meeting Natasha’s stare—keen eyes narrowed, brows raised. She’s not letting up anytime soon, so he might as well spill. 

He sighs. “Yeah. Don’t you think she’s acting… off?” 

Nat shrugs. “Maybe. A little. But everyone’s allowed to have a bad day. What makes you think it’s personal?” 

“She ignored me all weekend, and she hasn’t smiled at me once today.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes. “So? She doesn’t owe you a smile every day, Floyd. And she said she was sick. Maybe something happened that you don’t know about.” 

“But she tells me everything,” he mutters. 

“Oh my God,” Natasha groans. “You sound so entitled right now. Just because you’ve been friends forever doesn’t mean she owes you constant access. If she’s having a hard time, maybe stop thinking about yourself and just give her some space.” 

Bob knows she’s right—at least partly. But he also knows you, and whatever this is, it isn’t just a bad day. 

“Fine,” he mumbles. “Space. Got it.” 

“Good.” She nods. “And then when things go back to normal, you two can go back to pretending you’re not stupidly in love with each other.” 

Bob’s breath hitches. His heart kicks in his chest, stuttering into an uneven rhythm as he looks at her, eyes wide. 

She meets his gaze, unflinching—smug and all too knowing. 

“Please,” she says with a laugh. “It’s so obvious. Don’t even try to deny it.” 

He doesn’t. He can’t. His thoughts are spiralling too fast to land anywhere solid. 

He’s not stupid—he knows he’s in love with you. But the idea of you being in love with him? That feels impossible. 

You’re so passionate, so driven—maybe a little intense, but that’s what makes people follow you. It’s why he trusts you with his life. And, sure, you’re reckless sometimes, but never thoughtless. You lead with your whole heart, and Bob wouldn’t be who he is today without you. 

He knows you—your stories, your scars. He’s kept your secrets, walked with you through fire. Everything you carry—all the history, the experience, the baggage—you’ve never carried it alone. 

He’s been carrying it too. Willingly. 

Because you’ve always been the brightest thing in his life. And that’s exactly why he can’t imagine a world where someone like you could ever love someone like him. 

“Have you stopped breathing?” Natasha asks, brows drawn. 

Bob clears his throat, blinking until his vision refocuses. “Yeah—um, no. I’m okay.” 

She narrows her eyes. “You sure? You look pale.” 

“I am pale,” he says dryly, eyes dropping to his boots. 

She snorts softly as they keep walking, heading in the general direction of the base’s front offices. 

“You coming this weekend?” she asks after a beat. 

Bob frowns. “Where?” 

“Hangman’s birthday.” 

Right. Jake’s birthday party. At a club. Not exactly Bob’s scene. 

“I don’t know, it—” 

“You can’t bail just because you hate clubbing,” she cuts in. “It’s not just another weekend—it’s his birthday. You don’t have to drink, just show up for a couple hours.” 

Bob sighs, still watching his boots move with each step. He knows he’s going. He hates it, but he’ll go. He’s too polite, too well-raised—and Jake is his friend. 

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I’ll come for a bit.” 

“Great,” Nat grins. “Then at least I’ll have you, if Lucky’s still in her mood.” She pauses, tipping her head thoughtfully. “That’s if she even comes.” 

After swinging by base office to pick up the squad mail—since Maverick was too busy today—Natasha drives Bob home. The car ride is quieter than usual, and Nat knows Bob is still trapped in his own head, but she doesn’t press. 

Once home, Bob goes through the usual motions. He strips off his uniform, showers, changes into sweats, and starts making himself dinner. The only step missing is the one where he usually gets off with your name on his lips. 

God, he knows it’s depraved, but he can’t help it. Especially now that you’re stationed on the same damn base. 

Well, except today. Today he can help it, because the guilt weighs heavier than usual. He knows something’s wrong—and he has a sinking feeling it’s something he did. He just can’t figure out what. 

His first thought was that stupid photo he sent—the one with him in moose boxers. He wishes he could say he had no clue what he was thinking, but God, he did. He was thinking that maybe you wouldn’t realise he was sending a damn thirst trap if it carried some other meaning. Some nostalgic, almost innocent meaning. Maybe you’d see it as a joke but still catch the way he was tensing—so fucking hard—in the mirror. Maybe there’d be a moment where he wasn’t just your best friend, but someone you could want for something more. 

“Fuck,” Bob mutters, pressing his forehead against the cold fridge door. “What is wrong with me?” 

Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to cover it. That photo was a lapse in judgment—a desperate Hangman move to get you to look at him differently. And God, did it backfire. 

Cute? You called him cute. 

He shakes his head. Sure, the boxers weren’t exactly sexy, but cute?! 

He wishes he could rewind and stop himself before he became that much of an idiot. But that’s just what you do to him. You make him stupid. That’s been the story since the day he first met you. 

Back at the academy, he was smitten—instantly, though shy at first, a little guarded. Until you wore him down. It didn’t take long before he was snorting at your stupid jokes, grinning like an idiot every time you caught his eye, and spending countless nights in the study hall with you and your secret snacks, sharing headphones. 

Then came flight school. Different tracks—him training as an NFO, you training to be a pilot—meant less time together. But still, you stayed close. You found ways to sneak off, to steal moments, naïvely planning futures that felt just within reach. 

Almost everyone assumed you were a thing, but whenever Bob corrected them, it turned into a whole different game. 

He got so sick of being asked for your number that he started making up ridiculous excuses. 

‘Sorry, she doesn’t have a phone.’ 

‘I would, but it’s encrypted.’ 

‘She only uses Morse code.’ 

‘Do you have any carrier pigeons?’ 

When you both deployed after the FRS, he felt almost relieved. Almost. Until he realised that with him halfway across the world, there was nothing but the relentless demands of military life standing between you and finding a boyfriend—or worse, a husband. 

But as fate would have it—or perhaps dumb luck—you both ended up stationed on North Island together. Single. Very single, as you’d told Jake before shutting him down completely. 

And God, Bob wants nothing more than to make you very un-single, very fucking attached to him. But he just can’t find the guts to do it—not when it might blow up in his face and ruin years of friendship, a bond so precious he’d do anything to protect it. 

If there’s even a bond left to protect. Because right now, Bob Floyd is pretty damn sure you hate him. For something he can’t even remember doing. 

The chime of the oven timer startles him out of his thoughts. He spins around, turns off the heat, grabs a dish towel, and carefully pulls the tray of lasagna out. He lets it cool while cueing up the next Nat Geo doc he’s been wanting to watch, making a little nest of pillows on the couch before settling in with the lasagna in his lap. 

He eats quickly, eyes flicking between the screen, his dinner, and his phone buzzing incessantly on the coffee table. He can tell it’s the group chat, but the messages are popping up too fast to follow. From what he can gather, you’re all talking about Jake’s birthday party. 

When he’s finished eating, he takes his plate to the kitchen, rinses it half-heartedly, and returns to the lounge. He grabs his phone off the table and flops forward onto the cushions, sprawled across the couch, propped up on his elbows as he scrolls through the chat. 

It’s mostly Jake and Javy arguing about their big birthday plans, broken up by Mickey and Reuben’s commentary, Natasha’s sharp little quips, and Bradley just reacting to every second message like he’s not even reading. 

And then... there’s you. 

It started when Nat made some snarky remark about Jake wearing a sparkly suit so no one forgets it’s his birthday. You replied with an innocent comment about not knowing what to wear, and Natasha—naturally—told you to send options. 

So you did. 

The first photo is a mirror selfie in a deep red satin slip dress that barely hits mid-thigh. The fabric clings to your hips and gapes at the chest—like it was designed to slip off a shoulder. One hand holds your phone, the other casually throwing up a peace sign, as if you’re not standing there wrapped in something that could pass for a napkin. 

Bob’s mouth goes dry. His eyes go wide. And he stares for just a little too long. 

The second photo isn’t a selfie—it’s been taken by someone else. Probably on the night you last wore the glittery silver dress. The flash is on and the image is a little blurry, catching you from behind, turning with a smile thrown over your shoulder. There’s a glimpse of thigh, the bare slope of your back, and a glint in your eye that knocks the air out of him. 

He exhales so hard it turns into a groan. With a slight wince, he shifts and adjusts his sweatpants, already regretting every choice that’s led him to this moment. 

The next one is back in the mirror. You’re leaning against your dresser—just out of frame, but Bob knows exactly what your room looks like. The dress is little, black, and absolutely criminal. It fits like sin and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. 

If Bob were standing, he’d need to sit down. But he’s already on the couch, lying down with his now painfully hard dick pressed into the cushions. How the hell do you do this to him with just a few photos? 

The last one is a close-up selfie in your bathroom mirror. The flash is on and you’re standing close, angling the camera low to catch the way the fabric dips between your breasts and hugs your waist like a secret. There’s hardly any of your face in frame—just the hint of a smirk. 

“God,” Bob growls, dropping his head—and his phone—as his hips begin to grind into the cushions. 

This is insane. You are dangerous. Surely you know what you’re doing. You can’t be that naïve. 

He almost hates that the whole squad is watching too—seeing you like this, picturing you in the ways Bob has been picturing you for years. 

With another low groan, he shifts onto his back and stares at the ceiling. After a moment, he shuts his eyes—and instead of pushing them away, he lets every perverted thought he’s ever had of you wash over him. 

Your body draped in that silky red dress. Your lips curled into that sinful little smirk. Your legs, on full display in those ridiculously short skirts. 

He pictures you as he slips his hand beneath his sweats, fingers wrapping around his painfully hard, leaking length—stroking once, then twice. His breath stutters. His free hand grips the cushion beside him, trying to ground himself as his hips lift ever so slightly, chasing more friction. 

He imagines you climbing into his lap, all warm skin and wicked intent, whispering some teasing little comment that sends blood rushing so hard through his body he thinks he might actually lose it. 

His cheeks burn and his heart races, desire and need building in his chest until it’s almost too hard to breathe. 

His breath catches when he pictures you arching into him—skin slick with sweat, hands tangled in his hair, whispering his name like a prayer. 

He ruts up into his hand again, faster this time, lips parted and eyes still shut tight. 

His movements grow faster. Rougher. Desperate. 

God, he knows he shouldn’t—he knows even now—but he can’t stop. 

He pictures your body beneath his—soft gasps filling the air, lips parted, eyes fluttering closed. His hands on your tits, your hips, your ass—anywhere he can reach. Everywhere. Branding you like you’re his to keep. And— 

His body seizes, muscles going tight as pleasure crashes over him in hot, dizzying waves. He spills into his sweats, hips still moving, rutting up and down, chasing the fading heat until all that’s left is a breathless ache. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, collapsing onto the cushions, skin flushed, heart hammering. 

He lies there for a few minutes—sticky and spent—as guilt creeps in... but so does a sharp, undeniable hunger for more. 

Eventually, the insistent buzzing of his phone cuts through the post-orgasm haze, and he reaches for it with his free hand, grabbing it from where it fell beside him on the couch. 

The group chat is still alive with a flood of inappropriate comments and ridiculous emojis from Mickey—all thanks to your photos. Everyone’s got an opinion on which dress you should wear, most leaning toward the last one with the low neckline. 

Then, at the bottom of the thread, Natasha’s name pops up again: ‘Bob, your opinion?’ 

Bob huffs a small, humourless laugh. 

Yeah. His opinion is painted on the inside of his fucking sweatpants. 

- You - 

You only agreed to go to Jake’s birthday because you were pretty sure Bob wouldn’t. 

Okay, that’s not the only reason—Jake’s your friend, and you’re not about to bail on his birthday just because you’re emotionally fragile. But knowing Bob probably wouldn’t show? Yeah, that made it a lot easier to say yes. 

Bob’s never enjoyed clubbing—not that you can blame him—but on top of that, it’s been a weird week. You’ve softened a little, but not much. You stopped shooting him scathing looks or cutting him off mid-sentence, but you’ve still been avoiding him 

You remembered how to laugh with the others—how to joke around—because the squad didn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t deserve to suffer just because Bob said the wrong thing and you’re too hurt to deal with it. 

But Bob? You refuse to be left alone with him. You don’t speak to him unless you absolutely have to. You don’t ask him questions. You don’t meet his gaze—no matter how many times he tries to catch yours. 

Not that he’s trying all that hard anymore. If anything, he seems… quiet. Sad. Distant in a way that twists something sharp in your chest. Like he’s pulling back. Giving you space. Like he’s trying not to upset you. 

And maybe that should make you feel better. Or worse. You’re not sure. 

Either way, you know it’s childish. The guilt’s been gnawing at you all week. But every time you start to feel too bad, you remember what he said. How he really sees you. The way he talked about you like you were a problem. Like you were too much. And then the guilt dies out. 

Because why should you feel bad when he’s the one who decided you were too intense? Too reckless? Just… baggage? 

He doesn’t care about you—not the way you care about him. He doesn’t even like you. Not really. 

You’re not even sure why he’s sulking so much. If he never really liked you, why does it matter? 

“Holy shit, Lucky,” Jake drawls the second you step out of the cab. “All this for me?” 

The dress you settled on isn’t tight, but it moves like liquid when you walk—clinging here, skimming there, draping in all the right places. It’s black, sleek, and cut low at the front, dipping between your breasts just enough to make anyone looking forget what they were saying. 

The fabric is soft and slinky, catching the light in subtle waves as it shifts around your body. The hem flirts with the tops of your thighs—high enough to turn heads, low enough to play innocent if you really wanted to. There’s a slit up one side, just enough to show off a teasing flash of leg when you walk—or more, if you’re not careful. Paired with your favourite boots and a gold choker around your neck, the whole look whispers danger and dares someone to ask what you’re doing later. 

“Not just for you, Seresin,” you smirk. “But since it’s your birthday, I’ll let you look all you want.” 

You step up and give him a hug, mumbling ‘Happy Birthday’ against his chest as his hand drops just a little lower than it should. 

“You look fucking hot,” Nat says when you turn to her. 

“All for you, baby.” 

She grins. “I knew you’d be mine tonight. Wanna get out of here?” 

“Show me the way.” 

You both start giggling, linking hands as you make your way down the little footpath toward the club’s front entrance. 

“Wait, nobody move,” Mickey calls from behind. “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.” 

There’s a soft thump, followed by a little whine—probably Reuben or Bradley smacking him over the head. 

“We couldn’t all fit in the cab,” Nat says. “So Bob’s picking up Coyote. Might be a little late, though.” 

Your heart stutters. “Bob—Bob’s coming?” 

She nods, brow furrowing. “Of course. It’s Hangman's birthday.” 

“Oh.” You swallow hard, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of skin—which is a lot—on display. “Cool. Cool. That’s cool.” 

“Is it?” she asks, laughter creeping into her voice. 

You give her a tight smile and nod a little too quickly—not at all panicked. 

“Oh, boy,” she sighs, slowing to a stop in front of the club doors. “This is going to be a fun night.” 

The club is busy, but not overcrowded. There are two bars and two dancefloors, one on either side of an open-roof courtyard scattered with tall bar tables and several large booths along the back wall. Out here, the music isn’t too loud—which must be the point. 

Javy has managed to reserve one of the booths for the squad, while the rest of Jake’s friends—who make up most of the bar crowd—hover around the high tables, some already drifting onto the dancefloors. It’s not early, but it’s not quite late either. The DJs—one for each floor—haven’t started dropping bangers yet, but from the vibe so far, it’s clear this place gets wild. 

“My first birthday request,” Jake says as you all settle into the booth, “is a round of shots. No pussies.” 

There’s a round of laughter, a groan from Natasha, and a cheer from Mickey. You, meanwhile, are more than happy to get some liquid courage into your system as soon as possible. Ideally, you’ll be halfway to shit-faced by the time Bob shows up—just enough to shut your goddamn nerves up. 

A few minutes later, Jake returns with a tray of tiny glasses, each filled with that golden liquid you know is going to burn. Jake Seresin and his fucking Fireball. 

“To Bagman,” Natasha says, raising her shot. 

Everyone follows. “To Bagman!” 

You wince as the cinnamon heat scorches down your throat, hitting your empty stomach like a lick of flame. Jake slams his glass down with a grin, Mickey gags, Reuben grimaces, and Bradley and Natasha sink their liquor with concerningly straight faces. 

Bradley disappears then to get the first round of proper drinks while Jake launches into a story about his wild thirtieth—offering more detail than anyone asked for, and definitely more than anyone needed. 

You laugh along with the others, chiming in here and there, but your eyes keep drifting to the door. Every time it swings open, your heart gives a stupid little jolt—only to sink again when it’s not him. 

You try not to let it show. Try stay present, sipping your drink and throwing in the occasional sarcastic comment, but your thoughts keep circling. 

Is he still coming? Did he change his mind because of you? What’s he going to think of this ridiculous little dress? 

You shake off the spiralling questions, turning your attention back to the table just as Mickey launches into a story about his own latest birthday—which involved more tequila, less pants, and at least one stolen golf cart. 

After finishing your first drink, you excuse yourself to the bathroom—partly because you sculled a litre of water before coming, and partly because you want to check yourself before Bob arrives. It’s dumb, but you don’t care. You might be mad at him, but you still want to make his jaw drop. 

And if this dress does anything right, it’s making jaws hit the floor. 

You walk down the short hall, passing one of the dancefloors. There are two large doors marked as accessible toilets, then the men’s, and finally the women’s. You slip inside, duck into a stall, pee quickly, and wash your hands. 

The mirrors in the women’s room, though, are annoyingly small and set far too high. You can barely see below your collarbones—even when you jump, which is definitely not recommended in this dress. With a frustrated huff, you step back out and slip into one of the accessible toilets—surely that’ll have a mirror a little lower? 

The accessible bathroom is spacious and way nicer than the regular stalls. There’s a black marble vanity bathed in soft, glowing light, plenty of grab rails lining the walls, and—best of all—a full-length mirror stretching from floor to ceiling, perfect for a proper once-over. 

You check your dress, adjusting how it sits on your shoulders and hips, then give a little twirl. You push your boobs up just a touch, swipe beneath your eye for any smudged mascara, and slip back out into the club. 

You weave your way through the crowd, the bass humming beneath your feet. There are more people now—hovering near the bars, drifting between dancefloors. You try to ignore the looks you’re getting, but a little shiver still rattles down your spine. You feel seen. Too seen. 

Maybe this dress wasn’t the best idea. 

You step into the courtyard and glance up, spotting the booth where your friends are and— 

Bob. 

He’s standing just in front of it, half-turned away, arms folded as he talks to someone inside the booth. And thank God for the distraction, because holy shit—you can’t stop staring. 

He looks... different. You’ve seen him in civilian clothes plenty of times before, but tonight? Tonight, those dark blue jeans cling just right to his long legs and criminally good ass. And that black long-sleeve button-up—jet black, just like your dress—looks like it’s seconds from bursting at the seams across his shoulders and arms. It’s sharp, clean, and a devastating contrast to the flight suit you’re so used to seeing him in. 

And then there are those dorky cowboy boots. Always the boots. Somehow they just make it worse. Make him more him. And that makes your thighs clench. 

Then, slowly, he turns. It’s casual at first… until he sees you. 

His jaw drops. Literally. His eyes go wide. 

He looks like a deer in headlights. No—worse. He looks like someone just hit him in the chest with a defibrillator. You’re not even sure he’s breathing. 

It takes everything in you to keep your pace steady, your expression neutral—to walk across the courtyard like your knees aren’t about to give out. 

Not that he’s looking at your face. Not until you’re standing right in front of him. 

“Bob,” you say, voice tight, before turning sharply toward Javy. “Coyote!” 

Javy’s eyes go wide as he takes you in—then flick toward poor, frozen, shell-shocked Bob—before his mouth splits into a hesitant grin. 

“Lucky,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “You look—I mean, that dress—” 

“Save it, big fella,” you laugh. “I’m sure Hangman will make up for it with a dozen inappropriate comments once he’s had a few more drinks.” 

Javy chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m sure he will.” 

You slip into the booth and settle beside Natasha, taking a sip from the straw of the drink she slides your way. 

Bob is still standing there. He hasn’t said a word. You’re still not sure he’s breathing. He’s just staring—eyes wide, dark, and so full of something you can practically feel them dragging over your skin. 

Okay—maybe this dress was a good idea. 

After another round of drinks—and another of shots—everyone’s feeling a lot looser. Except Bob. 

He’s nursing his coke with a tight jaw, his eyes flicking between you and whoever’s currently taking their turn staring at your boobs. It’s usually Jake. 

And as much as you’d love to enjoy making him suffer, you’re not entirely sure what’s going on with him. You can’t tell if he’s pissed that you’ve been cold all week or feeling—undeservingly—protective because you’re wearing more birthday suit than dress. Either way, the way he’s looking at you is… unnerving. Almost feral. 

His attention makes your skin prickle, your pulse jump. Because behind his eyes is something dark. Something dangerous. Something you’re not used to seeing in Bob. 

So, like any emotionally well-adjusted person, you do the obvious thing and suggest another round of shots. 

You’ve just swallowed your third nip of Fireball when you hear a frighteningly familiar voice rise over the thrum of music. 

“Hangman!” he exclaims. “Happy birthday, bro!” 

Your stomach drops. It’s him. The guy Bob was talking to that night. 

Your eyes snap up, wide, landing on a familiar face you’ve known since flight school. 

Bob’s eyes are wide too—but not with surprise. No, his are flat, dark, brimming with something else entirely. Something heavy. Tense. Possessive. 

Something that doesn’t look like Bob at all. 

“Harvard!” Jake grins, standing and leaning across the table to shake the guy’s hand. 

They greet each other with loud enthusiasm before Brigham turns to the rest of the group—saying hello, smiling, working his way around. 

He saves you for last. And you’re not nearly naïve enough to pretend you don’t know why. 

“Lucky,” he says, drawing out the last syllable as his gaze drops straight to your chest. “Lookin’ good, darlin’.” 

“Thanks,” you reply, plastering on your sweetest smile. “Wanna sit?” 

Brigham has the choice of sitting beside either you or Bob, and with the way Bob’s trying to telepathically murder him—and the way your tits are sitting—it’s no surprise he chooses you. 

“You know,” he says as he settles in, “I was just talking to Bobby about you the other day.” 

Your heart lurches, but you keep your expression steady. 

“Really?” you ask, voice thick with faux shock. “Bobby didn’t tell me that.” 

Brigham chuckles. “Yeah, I bet. I think Bob’s been tryin’ to keep you all to himself.” 

Bob’s scowl falters, a flicker of something—maybe worry—flashing across his face. Your heart stutters again. But then those words echo in your head, and with a sly smile, you shift a little closer to Brigham. 

Okay, sure, you’re not attracted to the man—like, at all. In fact, you’re not attracted to anyone whose name doesn’t start with Robert, end in Floyd, and come with a pair of wide, dark blue eyes in the middle. But if it’s going to get under Bob’s skin? A little flirting can’t hurt. 

After all, he’s the one who called you reckless. 

“Well, Harvard,” you say, leaning in. “Fortunately for you, I don’t belong to anyone. And if you’re feelin’ lucky… maybe later I’ll let you feel real lucky.” 

Javy, sitting across from you, chokes on his drink—coughing and spluttering into his hand as everyone turns toward him with confused eyes. 

Except Bob. Bob’s stare doesn’t move from where your hand rests on Brigham’s arm. 

You spend the next hour pressed against Brigham, nodding along as he talks about his latest deployment. Apparently, he’s just returned to North Island. After the special detachment—the one with the Dagger Squad—he was sent back to his original squadron, then reassigned here and there before finally landing back in San Diego. 

You couldn’t repeat a single detail if your life depended on it. Because all you’ve been able to focus on is Bob. 

The way he keeps glancing over, the way his posture shifts every time Brigham leans closer, the sharp tick in his jaw. His knuckles are white around a lukewarm bottle of coke, and he hasn’t said more than a few words since Brigham sat down. 

The more you drink, the bolder you feel. You start meeting Bob’s gaze when you catch it—at least, when it’s not locked on Brigham—and every time you do, your pulse jumps. And with each slow, alcohol-fuelled beat, the urge to confront him grows. To finally ask what the hell he meant that night. To find out if your friendship actually means anything to him—if it ever meant anything at all. 

But just as you part your lips to speak, Jake jumps up and declares it’s time to hit the dancefloor. 

You cling to that interruption like a lifeline. 

Because as you slide out of the booth and watch Bob disappear into the crowd—heading toward the bathrooms, not the dancefloor—you realise confronting him now, like this, is only going to end badly. 

The music shifts as you step onto the dancefloor—heavier bass, deeper tempo, something slow enough to roll your hips to and fast enough to forget why you’re here. Lights flicker overhead, casting streaks of colour as you melt into the crowd. Brigham finds you in the haze, hands landing low on your hips like it’s second nature, and you don’t bother correcting him. Even if it feels… wrong. 

You sway with the rhythm, arms draped loosely around his shoulders, fingertips grazing the hair at his nape. You laugh at something he says—not that you heard it—but the sound slips easily enough from your lips. 

For a moment, it’s easy to pretend—until you see him. 

Bob. 

He’s leaning against the far wall just beyond the edge of the dancefloor, half-turned toward Bradley like he’s part of the conversation—but he’s not. His posture’s easy, arms folded, one boot crossed over the other. But even from across the room, he doesn’t quite fit. 

Sweet, awkward Bob. All long limbs and stormy eyes in a neon-drenched club that makes no sense around him. His body’s turned toward his friend, but his eyes? 

They’re on you. Locked. Unmoving. 

There’s something electric in his stare. Not soft, not sweet—hungry. It holds you there, stills your breath, makes the air around you feel thicker. He’s not blinking. He’s not smiling. He’s just watching, like you’re the only thing in the room. 

And you feel it. 

The heat rising up your neck. The low, tight pull in your belly. That wild, reckless urge that’s been coiled in your chest since he walked in. 

So you play it up. You let your head tip back, let your body roll with the bass, just a little slower, a little deeper. You lean closer to Brigham, letting your fingers trail down the front of his chest like you’re having fun—like you’re not thinking about Bob at all. 

But you can still feel that stare. Like it’s touching you. Burning through you. 

When your eyes find his again, he still hasn’t moved. 

The beat throbs under your heels. Brigham’s hands stay loose on your hips. The lights flash, the alcohol hums in your blood—but none of it matters. One song blends into the next. Bob never looks away. 

You try not to keep looking. But you do. Because the longer you stay on that dancefloor with a man you don’t care about, the longer Bob stares. 

Still against the wall. Still pretending to talk. Still watching you. 

So—after three boring songs—you smile, tilt your head, and let your hand trail down Brigham’s chest again, moving slower, closer. 

You catch a flicker of movement in your periphery. And when you glance over again, Bob is gone. Your heart skips, but before you can even fully turn, fingers wrap around your wrist—warm, firm, unrelenting. 

Then he’s there. Beside you. 

He moves quickly, taking you with him as he strides across the dancefloor with dark eyes and a clenched jaw, weaving through the crowd like it isn’t there. He looks out of place—so out of place—but he doesn’t care. Not now. Not with purpose in every step and his hand on you like he’s never letting go. 

He doesn’t say a word. Just pulls. 

Past dancing strangers, through the heavy heat of the club, and into the dim hallway outside the bathrooms—where the music dulls just enough, the air shifts, and suddenly there’s only the two of you. 

He lets go of your wrist like it burns him. “What the hell are you doing?” 

You blink. “Excuse me?” 

Bob’s chest rises and falls, his eyes wild. “What—What are you doing?” 

“What’s your problem?” you bite back. 

“My—? My problem?!” His voice pitches up as he drags a hand through his hair. He laughs once—dry and disbelieving. “I—I don’t know. I wish I knew. But you’ve iced me out all week, and now you’re doing this?” 

“Doing what?” you demand. 

“This! This isn’t you! This is—it’s—I don’t know, it’s—” 

“Reckless?” you cut in. “Intense? Oh—sorry. Is my baggage showing?” 

He flinches. You see it—clear as day. Like the words punched him in the gut. 

You’ve never seen Bob like this—so worked up, so flustered, like he’s been holding something back for too long and it’s finally starting to slip. His jaw is tight, his cheeks are flushed, and there’s a fire in his eyes that doesn’t quite fit the Bob you know. 

He looks tense. Frustrated. On edge. Not at all like someone who doesn’t care. 

And that’s the most confusing part.  

“Why would you say that?” he asks, voice dropping, shoulders sagging. 

“I didn’t,” you reply. “You did. Last week.” 

He takes a deep breath and tips his head back, realisation settling heavy and hard. “God. Lucky,” he sighs. “I didn’t—” 

“Save it, Floyd,” you cut in, voice rising over the music. “I don’t want excuses. Or lies. If that’s how you really felt about me, you should have just said so. I wouldn’t have burdened you with my friendship all these years.” 

He shakes his head. “No. That’s not how I really feel. I—I didn’t mean those things, I just—” 

“Then why would you say it?” 

He hesitates, brow furrowing. “Why didn’t you tell me you overheard?” 

You huff, disbelieving, throwing your hands up. “Seriously? What would you have done if you heard me talking shit about you?” 

“I—” His breath catches, his eyes dropping to your chest, just for a second, before snapping back to your face. “I don’t know. But you should have said something. God. Lucky, you don’t understand.” 

You fold your arms—very aware of what that does to your breasts. “Understand what?” 

“That I’m in love with you,” he blurts out, each word sharp and undeniable. “I’ve been in love with you for years. Since the first day I met you. And I said those things because—because that’s what I do. I keep you to myself. I tell guys you don’t have a phone. Or that you’re gay. Or—or that you only communicate with fucking carrier pigeons.” 

Your breath catches sharp in your throat. Emotion rises in your chest, wild and fierce. The world feels unsteady, like you’re caught in a dream—sounds blur, lights twist and shimmer at the edges of your vision—and Bob fucking Floyd just told you he loves you.  

“I’m sorry I said those things,” he says, stepping forward, voice lower now. “But I’m also sorry I’ve lied to you for years. Because I love you more than you know. And—and I’ve cockblocked you more times than you know too.” 

His lips twitch into a nervous, watery smile—half proud, half terrified. His eyes are still wide, still a little dark, but now so full of hesitation it makes your heart ache. 

He’s never told you because he doesn’t think you love him back. Even now, he’s bracing for the blow. Waiting for the laugh, or the ‘let’s just be friends’ speech. 

God. He looks so sweet. So nervous. So heartbreakingly Bob Floyd—even in the middle of this stupid club with its stupid lights and its stupid music. 

Without a word, you grab his wrist and shove open the door to one of the accessible bathrooms. You step inside, drag him in after you, and let the door fall shut—sliding the lock into place with a sharp click that echoes like a gunshot. 

“What are you doing?” Bob asks, voice low, unsteady. 

He’s backed up near the vanity, caught in the soft overhead light. It sharpens the lines of his jaw, glints off his glasses, and makes his eyes look lighter—more exposed. He looks completely out of place here. Nervous. Overwhelmed. Already unravelling. 

“Making sure you can hear me,” you say, your voice softer now as you take a slow step forward. 

The room doesn’t feel nearly as spacious as it did earlier. The air is thick—charged and humming with everything unspoken, everything the two of you have been holding in. 

Bob nods. Barely. His hands twitch at his sides, his eyes glued to the floor—like he’s bracing for impact, waiting for the moment you let him down gently, tell him he’s just your friend and nothing more. 

You close the distance, lift a hand to his jaw, and tilt his face up—until he has no choice but to look at you. 

“I want you to hear me when I tell you that I’m in love with you too, Bob Floyd.” 

His eyes go wide. A breath escapes him in a soft, stunned gasp, his cheeks flushing even deeper. “You what?” 

“I love you,” you say, steadier now, lips curving into a soft, slow smile. “I always have. I don’t know how we both got so stupid, but God… I was wrecked when I heard you say those things. I love you so much I was ready to ask for reassignment just to get away. I love you so much I haven’t even thought about loving anyone else since the day I met you.” 

He blinks hard. His chest rises and falls like he’s forgotten how to breathe. 

“You love me?” 

“Yes, you idiot,” you say, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt. “Now fucking kiss me.” 

You pull him down—and he doesn’t hesitate. 

One hand grabs your waist, the other tangles in your hair as he crashes into you, mouth on yours like he’s been holding back for years. It’s not gentle. Not careful. It’s messy and breathless and full of all the things he never said. His lips are hot, desperate, a little clumsy at first—but God, he learns fast. 

You gasp against him, and he takes it like a reward, deepening the kiss as he walks you backward until your tailbone bumps the edge of the vanity. Then he’s lifting you—strong hands beneath your thighs, gripping like he’s afraid you’ll vanish—until you’re perched on the counter, legs parting to pull him in. 

The marble is cold beneath your bare skin, but his body is warm between your thighs. 

He kisses like he means it. Like he’s starved. Like he’s been on fire from the moment he saw you in that dress and now he’s finally letting himself burn. His hands are everywhere—your hips, your waist, your jaw. His mouth barely leaves yours, just enough to breathe before he’s right there again, hungrier this time. 

You twist your fingers in his hair and pull, and he groans—deep and low, like the sound was dragged straight from his chest. His glasses slip crookedly down his nose, but he doesn’t bother fixing them. You catch the way his eyes darken even further behind the askew lenses, wild and hungry. 

“This stupid dress,” he breathes against your lips, voice thick with want. 

His hands roam possessively beneath the fabric, fingers digging into your waist as he grinds his cock against you with a needy roll of his hips. You feel the thick, hard press of him right where you need it, and the heat between you sharpens—filthy, hungry, and impossible to ignore. 

“God, Lucky...” he rasps, voice rough as gravel, lips nipping at your neck. 

Your fingers find the collar of his shirt, fumbling with the buttons as his wet mouth trails along your collarbone. When he finally looks up, his glasses catch the light—glinting at a wild, crooked angle. 

“You look ridiculous,” you tease with a smirk. 

He flushes, just the slightest hint of insecurity flickering through his fierce gaze. 

“Ridiculously fucking sexy,” you whisper, leaning in, lips brushing his jaw. 

His hands explore with increasing urgency, and you arch into him, breathless and burning. 

“Lucky...” he growls, voice low and ragged. “I need you.” 

You pull him closer, heart pounding. “Then take me.” 

That’s all it takes. His hands are moving instantly, pushing your dress down over your shoulders in one fluid motion. Your bra follows—tugged down and discarded with zero ceremony—because he’s not wasting a second. 

Then he’s on you. Everywhere. 

His mouth is hot and open against your skin, dragging across your chest in feverish, reverent kisses. He palms your breasts like he’s dreamt about this—like he’s memorised them in his sleep—and he’s not shy about it either. His thumbs roll over your nipples, teasing until they’re tight and aching, and when you gasp, he hums like he’s pleased with himself. 

He nips your collarbone, teeth just shy of cruel, then licks away the sting as he trails lower—lips, tongue, breath—until he closes his mouth over your left nipple. 

Your hips jerk. You don’t mean to, but you can’t help it. Desperation coils hot and deep in your core, tightening with every flick of his tongue. 

His hand finds your other breast again, rougher now, pinching lightly at your nipple as he sucks, and you can feel his smirk even as his mouth stays latched to your skin 

“Bob—fuck,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. “Your mouth—” 

He pulls back just enough to blow cool air over your wet nipple, and your back arches, involuntary, like he’s got a string tied to your spine. 

“What was that?” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “You wanna fuck my mouth?” 

You groan again—louder, needier—as he shifts to your right breast and sucks hard, deep, slow, like he’s trying to ruin you one perfect kiss at a time. Your thighs clamp tight around his hips, grounding yourself against the pressure of his body, the friction of his jeans against your bare legs, the delicious hardness pressing between them. 

He moans into your skin, and the sound vibrates straight through you. 

“Bob—” you gasp, voice thin, shaky. “N-Need you. Now.” 

He finishes with a soft bite to your nipple that makes you jolt, then drags his mouth back up to yours—kissing you hard, deep, claiming. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, rougher than you mean to. He groans again, like he likes the sting. 

Then he grinds against you. 

His hips roll forward, dragging the full, thick length of him right against your soaked core, and you gasp into his mouth. There’s too much friction, too much heat, not nearly enough relief. Your thighs twitch around him, clenching on instinct. 

“Bob,” you say again—this time low, warning, wrecked. 

“‘S okay,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “I got you.” 

His hands slide down your body, slow and possessive, until they find your hips. He squeezes, hard—fingers digging in like he’s trying to anchor himself—and then pushes your dress up, bunching the soft fabric around your waist. And now there’s almost nothing between you. 

His breath catches. He pulls back just enough to look—and groans, deep and guttural. 

“You’re perfect,” he says, reverent and hungry all at once. Then his mouth is back on yours, more desperate this time, like he’s seconds from losing control. 

Your hands fumble at his shirt, yanking buttons through holes until you reach his belt. Your fingers work quickly, sliding the leather free, popping the button, lowering the zip. His hips buck forward when your hand brushes against him, thick and hot beneath his boxers. 

“Are you sure?” he rasps, voice barely holding together. 

You nod, breathless. “I’m sure.” 

His lips crash back to yours, and then his hands leave you for just a second—long enough to shove his jeans and briefs down past his hips—before they’re back, gripping your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the vanity. 

His thumbs dig into your skin, like he needs to feel you everywhere. And God, the bruises are going to kill you tomorrow—but you want every single one. 

You reach between your bodies, sliding your hand into the space between his low-slung jeans and your bare thighs. He jerks at the first touch—his breath catching, hips stuttering forward. 

“Fuck,” he chokes, voice ragged. His forehead drops to yours, like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. 

You wrap your fingers around him—hard, hot, thick—and stroke once, slow and firm. 

He groans, deep and broken. “Jesus, Lucky—don’t… don’t tease.” 

You bite back a grin, stroking again just to feel him twitch in your hand. “Then hurry up and fuck me.” 

That shatters whatever was left of his restraint. His hand finds the thin scrap of fabric between your legs and pushes it aside, fingers grazing through the wetness there. His breath hitches again. 

“You’re already—” He swallows hard. “God, you’re so wet.” 

He grips your hip, braces his other hand behind you on the counter, and meets your eyes—searching, asking—before he thrusts forward. 

Slow at first. Deliberate. Like he wants to feel every second of you stretching around him. 

You gasp, spine arching, mouth falling open. He’s thick, the stretch almost too much, but your body gives way like it’s been waiting for this. For him. 

“Holy shit,” he groans, jaw slack as he sinks into you. “You feel—fuck. So good. So good.” 

You clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in, and he starts to move—deep, rolling thrusts that drag moans from your throat before you can stop them. His glasses are still askew, fogging with heat, and you’re obsessed with how he looks like this—wrecked, gorgeous, utterly undone. 

His hands find your waist again, yanking you flush as he grinds into you with a frantic, desperate rhythm that makes your knees tremble. One hand drags up your side, fingertips blazing a slow path over your ribs before curling over the swell of your breast. 

He palms it—rough, reverent—thumb circling your nipple, making your back arch and pulling a gasp from your throat that turns into a whimper. 

“I love you,” he growls, voice low and wrecked, like the words are being dragged out of him. “So fucking much.” 

Your chest clenches, aching with it, echoing the coil twisting tighter and tighter low in your belly. 

“I love you,” you breathe, broken and shaky. 

He groans deep in his chest and starts moving faster, hips snapping into yours with relentless force. Each thrust drags a ragged moan from your lips, each one pulling you closer to the edge. The air is thick with sweat and sex and everything you’ve both kept buried for years. 

His glasses slip lower down his nose, his hair damp with sweat, his face flushed and wild—completely wrecked. He looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real. Like he’s never going to let you go. 

You tilt your head back and moan—loud, shameless—the sound echoing through the bathroom with the obscene slap of skin on skin. Then your eyes lock again, and it’s too much—too hot, too filthy, too intimate. You're cock-drunk and completely gone for him, mouth parted, breath hitching as you fall apart in real time. 

He crashes his mouth to yours again, slower now—deeper—like he wants to kiss you into the fucking walls. One hand still works your breast, kneading, tugging, pinching, while the other dips low, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, messy circles that have you shuddering. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, choking on the word. “Bob—I’m gonna—” 

“Yeah?” he pants, voice ragged. “You—you gonna cum? I’ve got you.” 

His thrusts grow harder, deeper, rougher—like he’s pounding the words into you, like he wants you to feel them everywhere. You’re soaked and stretched and it’s so good you almost sob. 

The noises are filthy—wet and desperate, breathless moans and frantic grunts—and neither of you care. Not here. Not now. Not when this is everything you’ve both been craving for years. 

“Oh God,” he groans, breath hot against your throat. “You feel so fucking good. You’re gonna ruin me.” 

You’re both panting, chasing the edge, clinging to each other like you’ll fall apart without it. He pulls back just enough to see your face, and that look—wrecked, awe-struck, completely fucking gone—undoes you. 

Your orgasm hits like a wave crashing through your spine, your vision going white, your legs locking around him as your whole body shakes. 

Bob’s right behind you—one, two more thrusts—and then he’s groaning low, spilling inside you as he buries his face in your neck, thrusting through it, riding the high with you. You're both shaking, bodies slick, hearts pounding, still grinding, still desperate, still needing to be closer. 

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You just breathe—ragged, uneven, hot against each other’s skin. 

His arms are locked around you, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go. You’re wrapped around him just as tight, hands curled into the back of his shirt, legs still trembling around his waist. The air is thick with sweat and heat and the fading pulse of music beyond the walls. 

He lifts his head just enough to press his forehead to yours, his glasses askew, his cheeks flushed. You brush damp hair from his face and lean in to kiss him—slow this time, warm and open and sweet. He kisses you back like it’s all he’s ever known. 

“I love you,” you whisper again, holding him like you mean it. Because you do. God, you do. 

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw. Slower now. Softer. Like he’s memorising you. 

Eventually, you both start to move—reluctantly, lazily—helping each other straighten up, clean up. His hands are gentle as he eases your dress back down over your hips, as he finds your bra and helps you put it back on. You button his shirt for him, laughing quietly at the wrinkled fabric and the way his belt is still half-undone. 

It’s domestic. Intimate. Something about it makes your chest ache. 

You smooth your palms over his chest. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. And even though you’re dressed again, neither of you can stop touching—little brushes, lingering hands, kisses that start slow and deepen fast. 

You’re trying to leave when his back hits the bathroom door with a soft thud, and you lean into him, mouth pressed to his. It’s messy again—smiling, hungry, all teeth and tongue and breathless sounds you wouldn’t dare make for anyone else. 

He laughs into your mouth. “If we don’t leave now,” he murmurs, “we’re never leaving.” 

You kiss the corner of his smile. “Fine by me.” 

But then—he stills. Just slightly. And he looks at you like he’s falling all over again. 

His chest rises against yours, breathless still, and then— 

“Marry me,” he says. Low. Unfiltered. Like he couldn’t hold it in if he tried. 

Your heart stumbles. Your breath catches. 

You pull back just far enough to look at him—really look at him. He doesn’t look nervous this time. Just… open. Sure. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to ask. 

“Bob…” 

“I’m serious,” he says, cupping your jaw. “Marry me.” 

You blink, the world slowly tilting off-axis. 

“I want you—no, fuck that,” he leans closer, voice rough with feeling, “I need you. Forever. And if we can’t have forever, then just give me this lifetime. I want to marry you. I want everyone to know that you’re mine, and I’m yours.” 

He’s so honest, so sure, that for a second you forget how to breathe. You’ve never felt this much love in your life. You didn’t even know this much love existed. And the craziest part is... it doesn’t even feel that crazy. You’ve known Bob for so long that the only missing piece of the puzzle was this. Now you’re whole. You’re perfect—together. It's always been Bob, and it always will be. 

So what’s the point in waiting? What’s the point in dragging it out? You already know him. You need him. You… want to marry him too. 

You step in closer, holding his face between your hands. “I am yours, Bob Floyd. In this lifetime and every lifetime.” 

He swallows, hard. “Is—is that—?” 

“That’s a yes,” you say, grinning, before pushing up onto your toes and crashing your mouth against his. 

He kisses you back with wild, joyful fervour, his arms locking around your waist as he lifts you clean off the ground, making you yelp into his mouth. If this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up. Not ever. Because in this moment, you have everything—everything—you’ve ever wanted. Everything you’ll ever need. 

When he finally sets you down, you pull back just enough to catch your breath—both of you panting, grinning like idiots, completely wrecked and radiant. 

“Can’t believe you just proposed to me in a club bathroom,” you say, smirking. 

Bob rolls his eyes, bashful smile tugging at his lips. “Can’t believe you just said yes.” 

You’re just about to kiss him again when— 

Bang, bang, bang. 

“Bob!” Jake’s voice cuts through the door. “Lucky! Are you two in there?” 

Bob freezes. His smile drops. His cheeks flush a deep, immediate red. “Oh no.” 

“We heard… noises,” Javy adds, barely holding back a laugh. “Are you okay?” 

Your eyes go wide, mortified and gleeful all at once, your hand already moving to the lock. 

“What are you doing?” Bob hisses, catching your wrist. 

You glance at him, lips twitching. “What are we supposed to do? Live in here now?” 

“Yes?” he says, eyes wide. “Or wait at least twenty more minutes?” 

You snort, then gently pry his hand from yours and lace your fingers through his. “Relax, Bob,” you murmur. “At least now they’ll know what a woman sounds like when she’s getting properly fucked.” 

Bob makes a strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a gasp, his face flushing bright crimson. And with that, you unlock the door and swing it open to reveal the entire squad loitering just outside, trying very badly to look casual and not like they’ve been eavesdropping at all. 

Jake’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes sparkling. “Well, damn. Guess that answers that.” 

Bradley whistles low, laughter threading through it. Phoenix raises a single eyebrow. Javy coughs awkwardly into his hand. Mickey and Reuben just stare, jaws practically on the floor. 

Bob inches behind you, as if hiding could protect him from the coming torrent of teasing. 

You just smile sweetly and squeeze his fingers. “Hey, pervs. Get a good show?” 

Jake chuckles. “Only caught the second act, unfortunately. But damn, Bobby, didn’t know you had it in you to make a woman moan like that.” 

Bob closes his eyes, breathing deep as his free hand squeezes your waist. 

“What was all that murmuring before you opened the door?” Javy asks, brow furrowed. “We couldn’t make it out.” 

You lift a brow. “Oh, you didn’t have a cup pressed to the door?” 

Mickey chuckles sheepishly, holding up an empty glass. 

“God,” you gasp, laughing softly. “Do any of you know the meaning of boundaries?” 

“Lucky, you just fucked Floyd in a club bathroom,” Reuben says, smirking. “And you’re going to lecture us about boundaries?” 

Your cheeks flush, heart pounding hard against your throat. “Actually, I just got engaged to Floyd in a club bathroom. And it was very romantic. Including the sex. So, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to go home and let this man properly ruin me until I can’t remember how to fly a goddamn jet.” 

You hear Bob choke behind you—on nothing but air—and you don’t even have to look to know his whole face is flaming red. 

But it works. The squad goes quiet, all of them staring—wide-eyed, slack-jawed, somewhere between stunned and delighted. 

You give them one last cheeky grin before pulling Bob away. 

“But it’s my birthday!” Jake calls after you, smirk audible in his voice. “I was supposed to get fucked in the bathroom!” 

[the-shedevil-writes]

A Night to Remember (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: When Phoenix sets Bob up on a blind date with one of her closest friends, he’s already nervous. So when he finds her to be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, he’s convinced he’s out of his league. But as the night unfolds, he starts to realize they may work together better than he ever expected. WORD COUNT: 3.7k WARNINGS: Super fluffy. First date/Blind date! Reader is a big nerd- D&D and comics. Nervous Bob. Kissing. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

Bob sat with his thigh anxiously bouncing in the booth at The Hard Deck. In a white polo tucked into a pair of black slacks, he held a small bouquet of daisies mixed with a few other light blue flowers. All at the advice of Phoenix, of course, who sat in front of him currently.

“You’re gonna be just fine.” She said, looking down at her phone to check. “I’m telling you, Bob. You’re gonna get along.”

When his pilot had come up to him, saying that she was setting him up, it was like she had experienced a stroke of genius and needed to experiment. She told him that she was setting him up with one of her close friends who had recently moved to San Diego. And that just made him all the more nervous. What if things didn’t work out, and now Phoenix felt awkward bringing her friend around? Or what if things didn’t work out, and now Phoenix felt weird around HIM? 

Bob didn’t exactly have the most experience with dating. He took a girl to prom once and went on a date or two after enlisting, but nothing ever came out of it. Next thing he knew, he was 30 and he felt like he was falling behind all his friends who were either getting married or had at the very least a boatload of experience. This blind date felt like walking into a minefield.

“Do I look alright?” He asked with wide eyes

“You look like your usual dorky self.”

Then her phone chimed, and Bob’s head whipped over to it. Phoenix looked and nodded. “She’s here. I’m gonna walk her in then… It’s all up to you, bud.” She tapped the table excitedly as she got up.

“Don’t say that.” Bob groaned, nervous out of his goddamn mind. 

As she left and walked out the front doors, he looked down at the flowers that he had gotten. According to Phoenix, she liked blues and pinks. But they didn’t have any pink flowers… He hoped they sufficed. He gently moved some of the flowers with bent stems and fixed the arrangement so nothing was falling out. 

After a moment, he looked back up and saw Phoenix open the door for someone. Her. His jaw dropped slightly, and he suddenly understood why Phoenix refused to show pictures. If he had seen pictures, he would’ve believed it was some kind of prank. She was gorgeous. She wore a simple, white dress with a square neckline that fit snugly on her figure. Her hair was down, and it gently blew in the beach breeze, then settled as she walked inside. His eyes traveled down her legs to see the little red heels she wore. 

Dear God, what was Phoenix thinking, setting her up with him? His entire face turned pink, and he had to force himself to manually breathe. He watched Phoenix point him out, and his date turned and smiled at him. Bob quickly scrambled to stand at her beautiful smile like he was called to attention. Should he walk to meet her? Should he wait by the table? 

But she was already walking towards him. 

“Bob?” Her sweet voice called out as she got close enough. 

He nodded nervously. “Hi.” His own voice sounded like sandpaper in his head.

She smiled again. “I’m Y/n. Phoenix’s friend.” She looked him up and down with a small smirk, and it made his heart pound in his chest. Was that a good look? Or a bad look? 

Bob put his hand out. His internal thoughts screamed at him that a handshake was entirely stupid, but she took it excitedly. Then he remembered what was in his other hand. 

“These are for you.” He said with his typical crooked smile, and he held out the flowers.

She gasped and her face lit up like a Christmas tree. He silently prayed a thank you to Phoenix. Taking the flowers in her hands, they complemented her perfectly. 

“Thank you so much. I’ve never gotten flowers on a first date. That’s so thoughtful.” She said

“Well, Phoenix helped me pick out which ones you might like.” He admitted. It felt like a dumb move to say that, but he kept to his guns. “Wanna- wanna sit down?”

She nodded and looked over at the booth before sitting down. Bob followed to sit across from her. Then he quickly realized-

“Wait! Uh- would you like a drink?” He asked 

“Oh. A water would be nice.” She smiled

“Got it.” He nodded before awkwardly scooching back out of the booth.

When he made it to the bar, he was practically hyperventilating. There sat Phoenix, who watched him with a smug smirk. Bob got the attention of Penny first. He didn’t wanna make it seem like an excuse to talk to Phoenix. Maybe he was overthinking all of this.

“Hi. Can I get a water and a Diet Coke? Actually, make that a water and two Diet Cokes. Please.” Bob said. He figured he might as well get her something just in case.

Phoenix’s laugh finally brought his attention to her. 

“You look like you’re gonna pass out, Floyd.” 

His eyes widened at her. “What were you thinking? My first date in years, and you set me up with a girl I have no chance with?” He asked quietly through gritted teeth.

She rolled her eyes. “Just. Talk to her. You’ll see.” 

Penny slid over the two Cokes and the water glass. He quickly scooped them up and walked back over to the table, looking back at Phoenix nervously.

Y/n looked up at him with eager eyes as he sat back down. 

“You like Diet Coke?” She teased him about having two.

He chuckled nervously and slid into the booth again. “I do, but the other one’s for you in case you wanted something other than water.”

She smiled. “Thank you. You’re sweet.”

The words were so simple, yet his face turned a bright shade of pink. 

She took a sip of her water, very obviously eyeing him up and down again with a small smile around her straw. After she swallowed, she started:

“So you’re Phoenix’s WSO?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I backseat for her. She’s great. Uh- she tells me that you’re her friend from school?”

“Mhm! We’ve been close friends since elementary school. All through high school, too. But then she enlisted, and I went to college. It’s been nice seeing her again.”

“What did you study?” He asked curiously. The small talk didn’t feel as painful as he had anticipated a blind date would be. She felt easy to talk to.

“Aeronautical Engineering.” She explained, “That’s why I moved here. Got a gig being a mechanic.”

Bob’s heart stopped slightly. She engineered planes- his first and greatest love. And that had to mean she was incredibly smart. Not that that surprised him. She held herself like she was.

“Wow. That’s- that’s awesome. We really owe you guys more appreciation. We get to fly cause you guys do all the math.” He said genuinely.

“I like you, Bob. You don’t gotta say all that.” She joked.

His face blushed harder, and his eyes widened. “No! No- I really mean it. It’s true. I couldn’t do what you do.”

She laughed at his nervousness and leaned forward to push his shoulder. “I’m just giving you a hard time.” She took another sip of her water and put her elbows on the table. “So, Bob, what do you like to do, other than boss Phoenix around?”

He looked down at his hands with a tight chuckle. He knew he should tell the truth. There would be no point in lying and acting like he was much cooler than he was. The conversation was going so well so far… but he felt like he could screw it up here. He didn’t hit the gym or go partying on the weekends. He spent most of his time alone.

“Well, uh- I come here every Friday with the squadron and that’s pretty fun.” He started to clarify that he wasn’t a complete loner, “I hike sometimes. But honestly, I play a lot of video games. Like… a lot of video games.” 

It didn’t feel like a special answer. He didn’t feel interesting in any sense of the word. But he watched as her eyes brightened.

“What games?” She jumped to ask.

“Oh uh-” He couldn’t help his stammering, “I collect a lot of retro stuff. Mostly games for the Atari. Pac-Man, Galaga, that sorta thing. But I also play the usual Call of Duty, Battlefield, Counter Strike…” He felt like he was talking too much. Well, it was more than what he’d usually say on a Friday night with the squadron, at least.

“Oh goodness, I’m so bad at FPSs.” She giggled, shaking her head, “But that’s so cool that you collect all that!” 

What. He swallowed and tilted his head, almost confused. She found that… cool? 

She continued. “There was one summer where I spent every weekend trying to get myself on the scoreboard of the Frogger machine at the movie theater. Phoenix wanted to kill me.” She chuckled.

“Did you?” 

“Third place. Still pisses me off that I couldn’t get higher.” She said lightheartedly.

“We’ll have to play it on mine sometime so you can beat my score.” The words had slipped out so easily. An implication that he wanted to see her again. He blinked, hoping it wasn’t too forward.

But instead of seeming weirded out, she nodded excitedly. “Yes! That’d be so fun.”

Bob smiled and let out a relieved sigh. This was going so much better than he assumed it would. By this point, he figured he’d screw it all up. He cleared his throat. 

“What do you like to do besides fixing planes?” 

She blushed and looked down at her drink. “It’s a bit embarrassing.” 

“I just told you I spent my weekends playing Pac-Man.” 

With a small laugh, she shrugged.

“Well, I’m a bit of a nerd. I collect comics and love superhero movies. I could talk your ear off about them. Also… god this is so dorky.” She started with a bashful smile, “I like playing D&D. So sometimes when there’s a campaign going on, I’ll spend my Saturday night doing that.” 

“Like dungeons and dragons?” Bob asked 

She nodded. “I know it’s totally nerdy, but it’s so much fun. Have you played?”

He blinked hard and shook his head with a smile. “No, but I’d like to.”

She just… completely and utterly out-nerded him. He looked over at Phoenix at the bar, who nodded at him like ‘I told you so’. This felt too perfect. Too good to be true. 

Forty-five minutes later, they were both laughing in the booth. Bob didn’t want to say that he was surprised by how funny she was. But he didn’t expect to be laughing so hard that he had tears in his eyes. She was just so unapologetically herself, and that came with witty phrasing and side jokes that punched hard. After their laughter subsided, he looked at her, and it just slipped out:

“Do you wanna go for a walk?”

He didn’t want the date to end with just some colas at Hard Deck. 

“I’d love to.” She smiled, “Haven’t gotten to see the beach much.” 

He nodded and stood up from the table. After he gestured for her to go first, she walked toward the door. They both noticed the raised brow and glare that Phoenix sent their way.

“We’re going for a walk!” Y/n waved excitedly at her.

Phoenix smiled at that, seeming relieved that she wasn’t going home with him. Bob would never. He knew that taking a girl home on the first date was pretty normal these days, and he didn’t judge anybody who did. But his mother raised him to never do that. She’d probably kill him if he ever did. Knowing her, he didn’t want to test that.

“Have fun. I’m heading home.” Phoenix said as she signed her bar tab. “I’m trusting her with you, Floyd. If you do anything stupid, remember who’s controlling the jet you’re in tomorrow.” 

Bob swallowed and nodded. He wouldn’t dare. But also the threat of Phoenix doing everything in her power to make him vomit in his lap was a genuine one.

“You got it.”

Then they walked out the door.

The night beach breeze hit, and her hair swayed softly. Lit by the warm lights pouring from inside the bar, she looked gorgeous in the night time. He wished that he could photograph her. The light hit her perfectly, and the shadows enhanced her features. His confidence felt strengthened from the success of the earlier conversation/

“You look really pretty tonight.” He choked out. “I-I should’ve said it earlier, but I was so nervous. Still so.”

She froze, looking up at him with an almost shocked expression.

“Thank you.” She said, and for the first time that night, she was the one blushing and not him. It felt good to make her suddenly shy. It reassured him that… maybe she could like him too.

Looking down at the ground, she suddenly reached out her hand. Bob looked at it and his head picked up with a small inhale. Quickly, he wiped his hands on his slacks, hoping they weren’t too sweaty. He walked forward and took her hand in his. His hand dwarfed hers just ever so slightly.

Fingers intertwined, they walked towards the beach. Suddenly, he was hyperaware of every function in his body. How sweaty his hands were. How his heart was thrumming in his chest. How his breath kept getting stuck in his lungs. And he was also very well aware of how her hand felt in his. There were small callouses that matched his- no doubt both from their lines of work.

When they reached the sand, he stepped forward in his dress shoes. But when Y/n stepped forward, her heels sank into the sand with a little ‘Oh!’ She wobbled unsteadily, and Bob quickly grabbed onto her waist to steady her. After she gained her balance again, she looked up at him. His arm was wrapped around her, and they both took in each other’s shocked faces. Until she started to laugh, and he joined softly with her.

“We can stick to the sidewalk.” He said, “I don’t wanna get your nice shoes all sandy.”

He gently moved them back to the sidewalk. She giggled and kicked her feet, letting sand pour out from her shoes.

“It’s a little too late for that.” 

His eyes widened, looking down at her red heels that were now covered in an opaque sheen of dust. “I’m sorry-”

“No, no! It wasn’t your fault.” She laughed, “Come on, I’ve barely seen the beach yet.”

The starry night sky blanketed them as they started walking again, hand in hand. He tried to look around and not stare holes into her, but he also wanted little glimpses of her every now and then. The soothing rush of the ocean waves nearby hushed over them. The night was peaceful as they were the only two people on the beach. It felt like they could be the only two people in the world.

“Some weekends, the squadron all comes here, and we’ll spend the whole day just playing football.” Bob said softly, “Phoenix is really good.”

“That sounds so fun.” She said, “There aren’t exactly beaches back in Alabama. So it’s strange to be so close. Like on the drive to work, the ocean is just there.”

“It’s nice. It’s really nice.” 

There was a gentle silence, and Bob wanted to keep talking, but then he couldn’t figure out how to continue the conversation. Luckily, the tension didn’t feel awkward. It just felt… different. 

They walked near one of the small cliffs, and she looked to him with a thrilling look in her eyes. “Wanna go up?” 

Bob nodded, “I think there are stairs. ” 

Making their way around the other side, sure enough, there were wooden stairs embedded into the side of the small mountain. She climbed up first, and Bob drifted his eyes away to make sure he wasn’t looking up her dress. 

Once they got to the top, the breeze was slightly stronger. And she turned back to face him as he made his way up, her hair blowing with a small smile. After a brief heart attack for Bob, she looked away and looked out to the ocean. 

“It’s so pretty.”

He nodded and joined her at her side. “You should see it in the day. Or even better, in a jet. It’s great. You can see the whole stretch of beach, and the ocean goes so far back. It’s insane.”

She smiled. “Is it fun? Being able to fly?”

“Wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t.” He answered with his hands in his back pockets, taking in the view. “Though there’s the downsides. Like possibly dying.”

“You better not.” She lightly threatened with a raised brow. “I’d like another date.”

Bob’s head whipped over to look at her. Sure, he had mentioned playing Frogger earlier, but now she was initiating the idea of another date. 

She giggled at his reaction and shook her head as she looked back out at the view.

“What? Are you surprised? Didn’t think this date was going badly… but if you think so-” She teased 

“NO!” He practically leaped forward to hold her hand again. “No.” 

She laughed and shoved his shoulder playfully again. “You’re cute.”

“I think this date is going great. Better than I thought. NOT THAT I THOUGHT IT WAS GONNA BE BAD JUST-” Bob stammered. 

Her little teases had him completely flustered and off his game. And with her looking at him expectantly with a raised brow, he couldn’t help the nervous laughter that escaped him. 

“I was scared that I was gonna mess everything up. If I’m not doing that right now.” He explained.

She took his hand and moved it to her waist, stepping closer. 

“You’re doing just fine.” She reassured, looking up at him and putting her arms on his shoulders. “You should know that…” She leaned into his ear, “I was nervous, too.”

“No way.” He scoffed, naturally wrapping his arms around her waist now.

She nodded. “Uh huh! Phoenix showed me your photo, and I thought you were so cute.”

He looked away, unbelieving. A perfect girl like her being nervous around… Bob Floyd? That felt simply impossible. But when he turned back to face her, she was looking up at him in a way that was almost… antsy. She took a deep breath, and her eyes had an anxious glint in them. 

Her hair blew in her face, but before she could fix it herself, Bob took his hand off her waist and gently brushed her hair behind her ear. Now he could properly see her pretty face, and he didn’t want to stop.

“Phoenix didn’t even show me a photo…” He admitted, “I think she thought that if I saw how… beautiful you are, I’d be too scared to do this.” 

“Still scared?” She asked, coming a little closer.

He chuckled breathlessly, “Terrified.”

They both laughed, and it just happened naturally. Their faces leaned in closer to each other. She moved one of her hands from his neck to cup his cheek and pressed her lips to his. He sighed, completely relieved. It felt like if he didn’t keep himself in check, his legs would give out. He deeply inhaled her vanilla perfume, and she tasted like the Coca-Cola from earlier. The kiss deepened, and he pulled her as close as he could without completely squeezing her. When he felt her nails travel up the back of his head, he was done for. 

She pulled back softly, and he looked down at her. 

“Jesus Christ-” He murmured breathlessly.

Now that made her laugh. She leaned in again, and right before his lips, she said 

“You’re telling me.”

They kissed again, and Bob wished he could do this forever. 

They stayed out much later than they should’ve. Just walking, looking at the beach, talking, and of course, kissing each other every chance they got. A little past midnight, Bob walked her to her car. A small white sedan that was still parked at The Hard Deck.

“You okay to drive? It’s late.” He offered, standing by her door.

She nodded. “I’ll be okay. I know you gotta get up soon.” 

There was a small silence, then she added.

“I’d love to do this again.” She said softly. A tilt of hope in her voice.

Bob smiled. “Me too… Phoenix gave me your number. We can schedule a day to play Frogger.” He had never found it so easy to talk to someone before.

“That’d be great. I’ll see you then.” She said.

He opened the driver's door for her, and that brought a smile to her face. She walked up to him and kissed his cheek before getting in.

Smack happy, he shut the door for her and waved her goodbye. As she drove off, he slowly trailed his way to his truck. He flipped the keys in his hand with a goofy smile on his face. It was like a high he’d never experienced before. The most beautiful, smart, and fun girl he’d ever met… wanted to do this again sometime. 

He couldn’t help but punch the air with a dorky ‘Yes!’ once her car disappeared. He quickly grabbed his phone from his pocket to see a notification from Phoenix.

PHOENIX: So how’d it go?

Unlocking his truck, he texted back.

BOB: Holy. Shit. I owe you for life.

PHOENIX: I told you, dumbass. 

Once he got in the truck and shut the door, he opened his phone again. He found the number that Phoenix had sent him earlier and sent a text.

BOB: This is Bob Floyd- Text me when you get home safe. Had a great time tonight.

He was practically vibrating in his seat as he turned his phone off and started to drive home. His thigh bounced in his seat again. But instead of anxiety, it was out of sheer adrenaline. 

His phone burned in his pocket. But he’d later see the message

Y/N: Home safe. Thanks for the best date I’ve ever been on.

And he’d be too wired to go to sleep. 

[fyrewalks]

a playful kiss to make the other stop rambling. // @a1truist

He bites at Jake's lower lip, laughing, before pulling away and stepping back from Jake's reach. Asshole, he thinks with none of the heat.

"I'll just be over here," he announces, sliding onto the couch, "thinking my thoughts. In my head. Since the history of star wars bores you so."

[withahappyrefrain]

If anyone is feeling up for one, send it my way!

✶ . ၄၃ . FLUFFY ROMCOM CLICHES

1 ⧽. getting caught in the rain together

2 ⧽. falling asleep in their shoulder, making them blush and watch the other lovingly

3 ⧽. there’s no more seats in the living room, so one of them has to sit in the lap of the other for movie night with friends

4 ⧽. kissing in the middle of an argument

5 ⧽. feeding the other soup when they get even just mildly sick

6 ⧽. it’s freezing cold and they can’t figure out how to turn on the heat; they’ll just have to share the bed to stay warm then

7 ⧽. needing to kiss the other when they share clothes for the first time

8 ⧽. giving them unabashed heart eyes when they do something cute and getting caught

9 ⧽. tripping, but being caught in the arms of the other

10 ⧽. getting them their favorite food or treat as reconciliation after accidentally hurting their feelings

11 ⧽. sharing a bed without cuddling, but not being able to actually fall asleep until they’re holding each other

12 ⧽. gently placing their jacket over the other’s shoulders when they get cold

13 ⧽. rescuing their crush/partner from unwanted advances

14 ⧽. secretly holding hands under the table for a moment, just because they can’t resist each other

15 ⧽. having nicknames/pet names for each other than no one else is allowed to use

16 ⧽. their crush/partner being the only one who can bring out their playful and sweet side

17 ⧽. carefully bandaging the other’s wounds, even if it’s just a tiny cut

18 ⧽. back hugs in the morning

19 ⧽. finding the other crying at the beach after searching for them for hours, cheering them up, then playing in the sand and shallow water

20 ⧽. finally confessing their love, only to realize the other has fallen asleep right next to them

[fandom-geek17]

Little Peanut

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Fem!Wife!Pregnant!Reader

Summary: You and Bob are finally ready to start a family. Basically just a smutty and fluffy look into the two of you as you approach parenthood.

CW: 18+ MDNI! Smut. Unprotected P in V (duh). Bob's breeding kink (because we all know he has one). Dirty talk. Pregnancy sex. Pregnancy symptoms, birthing scene. Tooth rotting Fluff. Like a lot of it (brush your teeth after this). Some angst. Lots of found family.

Author's note: I know I said I was going to write a part 2 of All the dreams of you, and I am, promise! It's on its way. But hey, this happened. Because I just know Bob would be the best dad! Please like, reblog and comment❤️

Word count: 8243

“Oh, god!” you moaned loudly, the sound mixing with pants, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the wet, squelching sounds of Bob pushing his cock in and out of you.

“Fuck, baby” Bob grunted against your skin, face buried in the crook of your neck. “You feel so good around me!”

His breath was warm against you as he rutted into you like it was the only answer, like your body was the path to salvation. A layer of sweat coated both of you as he covered your entire body with his, your stomach and face pressed against the mattress, a pillow propping up your pelvis. His dog tags hung from his neck, landing on your back. He had his fingers tangled with yours, pressing into the mattress whilst the other hand braced for support.

Your bodies rubbed against each other with almost no friction as sweat pooled at your lower back. It was the hottest day of July so far. Bob had seen you lounging on the deck in that red, stringy bikini he loved so much, and the rest was history. The air conditioning in the room did little to cool down the fiery inferno that was your passion. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

His cock hit that perfect spot inside you, making you throw your head back in ecstasy. Damp baby hairs clung to your forehead, hair messy from how many times he’d run his fingers through it.

“That feel good, honey?” he panted, body tensing with the effort of maintaining that exact angle for you.

“Mhm!” you whined breathlessly. That desperate, burning feeling coiled at you, spreading like wildfire. What was this building to? Your third orgasm? You’d practically lost count, too lost in the feeling of him taking you to literal heaven. “So good!”

Bob let go of you to properly brace himself above you, letting his hips snap into you even faster. Every drag of his cock against your slick walls drew you closer and closer to that precipice.

“Shit!” he cursed behind you, hips almost faltering for a second before he continued. “I love the way your ass jiggles in this position! So fucking- so fucking sexy!”

God, this was not a side of Bob Floyd seen often. And not by anyone but you. He was so far removed from the sweet, dorky aerospace engineering major you’d met back in college. The one that brought you flowers on your first date and stumbled over his words. This version of Bob was primal, feral even. It made your insides clench just thinking about it.

“You can’t do that” he warned ruffly.

“Can’t help it” you moaned. “I’m close again!”

He groaned into your ear. “Fuck, I want you to cum again! But I don’t think I’ll last if you do. You just feel to fucking good!”

That pulled your mind to a screeching halt.

You’d had a dentist appointment this morning that you woke up late for. You’d barely had time to brush your teeth before running through the door to your car. Then you spent all day at the office or at client meetings. You had just gotten home for the day when you’d changed into that bikini to catch the last bit of afternoon sun when Bob came home to and…

“Bob!” you called, voice immediately more urgent. “Bob, wait, stop!”

He pulled out of you not even a second later, already sitting up, leaning back on his feet. You turned around, still half lying down, to face him. His eyes shone with worry as he scanned your face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, hand stroking your leg in a soothing manner. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, of course not” you reassured him quickly, your hand covering his on your thigh. “It’s just… I forgot to take my pill this morning. I literally just realized.”

Bob’s eyebrows rose slightly as he processed this piece of information. “Oh…” he said slowly.

“Yeah” you cringed slightly, not knowing how to react either. “Oh…”

He looked lost in thought for a few seconds, staring at his glasses that were perched on your bedside table. “You want me to get a condom?”

You pulled your lip between your teeth, pondering his suggestion. Maybe that would be the safest course of action, or just stopping here and moving on to oral for the last part. But all the memories at the back of your mind kept pulling at you, of all the conversations you’d had over the past year since moving to San Diego after the Dagger Squad had formally been stationed here.

“No” you said slowly, looking up at his ocean blue eyes for support. “I don’t.”

His gaze met yours, hand squeezing your leg. There was something longing there, something hopeful, and it made your heart swell with the hope that maybe it was finally time. “You want me to pull out?” he asked, just for one final confirmation.

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “What if we just kept going?” you asked quietly.

Bob’s smile mirrored yours. There was that hint of the nervous young man you met over eight years ago. “What if we did?”

“I mean we talked a lot of finally starting a family when we bought this house. But then things were so busy and I didn’t want you to feel like I was pressuring you, so I didn’t bring it up again.”

Bob laughed, incredulous. He rubbed a hand over his face, that goofy smile growing stronger. “I’ve been wanting to bring it up, like everyday for six months. But then you were just getting settled into your new office and I didn’t want to add more to your plate before you were ready.”

The two of you just looked at each other before giggling like a pair of idiots. “I think I’m ready” you said when you finally calmed down. “If you are.”

“I am.”

Then, without warning, Bob flipped you over on your back, pulling your legs up to rest on his shoulders. Fuck, that navy strength never failed to make you horny. He pushed back inside you, both of you moaning at the feeling. God he was so big and warm still, and your pussy soaked him like there hadn’t been an interruption.

“You don’t want me on my stomach anymore?” you questioned teasingly.

“No” Bob grunted as he maneuvered the pillow so that it was now resting under your lower back. “I read that this position gives a higher likelihood of conception.”

Of course he did. “You know I’ve been on the pill for almost ten years, right babe?” you teased. “The odds aren’t that high of anything happening tonight.”

“Don’t care” he muttered. “Can’t take the risk.”

Holy shit he was sexy when he said things like that! Then he started to piston in and out of you again like a man possessed. That wildfire returned to engulf you in record time, making your entire body tremble.

Bob’s brows were furrowed in concentration, sweat dripping from his forehead from exertion, dog tags swinging wildly on his chest. He looked so strong and assured, like everything you ever wanted. The warmth in your belly swelled, your heart beating wildly in your chest, clit throbbing.

As if he was sensing it, Bob reached out to rub at the sensitive nub. Your entire body convulsed in response, electricity zapping through you. “That’s it!” Bob panted, increasing his pace even more. “You look so fucking good like this, so ready for my cum! You want it, baby?” You nodded helplessly, too lost in the pleasure to say anything. “You want me to fill you up? I’ll do it! I’ll do it again and again until you’re fucking leaking. Then I’ll push it back in and make you a fucking mama!”

That pulled a long moan from you, legs shaking as he kept rubbing at your clit. His words made you melt with everything from rambunctious horniness to unyielding devotion and love. “Yes!” you managed pathetically, hands grasping at the other pillows just to hold on to something.

“Yeah?” he asked cockily. “You want me to make you a mama?”

“Please!” you whined. “Do it! I want you to!”

“Then cum for me! I need to feel it!”

And you did. There was no stopping it even if you tried. The orgasm tore through you like lightning, electrifying every cell in your body as you convulsed, pussy clenching around his cock like a vice. A hoarse scream tore through your throat as Bob pushed into you one final time, staying as close as humanly possible as he emptied himself inside you. He cried out with his head thrown back, panting through his release.

After a while, he slowly pulled out, careful not to let anything leak. He landed on the bed next to you with a huff, pulling you into his arms. Soft kisses were planted on your temple, cheek and ear as he let his hand travel down to cup your pussy, making sure it all stayed inside.

You let yourself soak in the aftercare for a while before trying to sit up to go to the bathroom. But Bob pulled you back with a grunt of disapproval, burrowing into the crook of your neck to keep you still.

“I’m going to have to get up to pee soon” you giggled, indulging him by pressing a kiss to his head.

“I know, sweetheart, I know” he whined quietly. “Just let it be a little while longer, okay? Just a few minutes.”

“Okay” you conceded, smiling softly at him. “Just a few minutes…”

You both ended up falling asleep not even five minutes later.

XXX

Over the coming weeks, you lost count of the number of times you and Bob fucked without protection. Your birth control was a thing of the past, and Bob took every opportunity to put his dick inside you. Once, when you were absolutely spent from a grueling day of client meetings and bad office coffee, he offered to jerk off next to you and then push his cum inside as he fingered you. That one only made you laugh. You made a joke about stuffing a thanksgiving turkey and that seemed to knock him down a few pegs.

You knew he wanted to ask every day if you felt different, good or bad, but refrained for your sanity. That, you appreciated. Having a husband that was so eager to become a father was a blessing in so many ways. But having him constantly asking if you felt pregnant yet would create an air of pressure you didn’t want. After that first time, you’d agreed that you would stop taking your pills, and whatever happened, happened.

Almost two months passed without you feeling any different, and eventually you stopped seeing it as unprotected sex and baby-making, and just as you and your husband living life as normal. Bob would leave for Top Gun every day and you’d leave for the office. You went on morning runs together on the weekend, grocery shopped after work, watched movies cuddling on the couch. Life was just normal. The only difference was that you stopped drinking wine with dinner on weekends and took the folic acid supplements a pharmacist recommended when the two of you went to the drugstore for something completely unrelated, but Bob couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Then, what started as a stressful day where you blamed your workload for the upset stomach turned into an entire week of upset stomachs and barely tolerated meals. The tiredness and grumpiness had bled into you for a while, but again, work right?

When you came home that Friday, you were greeted with a smell that would usually cause you to run to the kitchen for a plate, but now only caused you to stop dead in your tracks in the hallway.

“Sweetie?” Bob called, appearing from the kitchen. “You’re home! Maverick let us go early for once, so I brought you your favorite Thai food.” He leaned in to give you a kiss, but stopped when he felt you stiffen. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” you gulped, feeling the nausea roll over you. You tried to force a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Actually, no. I need some air.” And you rushed back outside onto the driveway.

Your stomach rolled uncomfortably, and every step you took felt like it could be the final jostle before you emptied the meager contents of your stomach. Finally, you reached your car, leaning against it for support. The hot summer sun seared down on you, making everything so much worse.

Bob was at your side instantly, rubbing your back in soothing circles. You would not throw up on your beloved car, you just needed her for some assistance. He leaned in to kiss the back of your head. “What’s wrong, honey? You’re feeling sick?”

You nodded shortly. “There’s a plastic bag in the trunk. Please get it. Just in case.” The words came out short, clipped. But every uttered word came with a huge use of energy from your side, energy you’d rather use to not throw up on the car that was vaxed just last week.

He was back next to you with the bag when a chorus of barks and yipping filled the air. Of course she’d pick this time to show up, you thought irritably.

“Are you alright there, Mrs. Floyd?” your nosy neighbor asked as she wrangled her million tiny dogs. It wasn’t said in a genuinely caring tone. It spoke of curiosity and gossip, like she needed something new to tell all her girlfriends over tea.

“We’re fine, Mrs. Abner” Bob responded firmly, doing his best to shield you from her judging gaze. “Thank you for your concern.”

She shot the two of you a disbelieving look, but you didn’t see anything else since you turned away, not wanting to be the object of her snooping anymore. Finally, the sounds of her and her dogs disappeared down the street.

After a while, the nausea subsided to a point where it was at least bearable. Bob hadn’t said anything. He just stood there, bag ready in one hand and rubbing your back with the other. And you couldn’t love him more for it.

“Okay” you whispered quietly. “I think I’m okay for now…”

Bob nodded and started folding up the plastic bag. “Did you eat something bad at work?”

“I don’t think so” you frowned. “I’ve barely eaten lunch all week. My stomach’s been in a funk.”

Something flashed in his eyes for a second before it disappeared, being replaced with concern. “I’m sorry honey” he cooed, pulling you into a hug.

But as soon as you were pressed against his hard body, you hissed in pain. “Sorry” you mumbled. “My boobs have been really sore today.”

That thing flashed in Bob’s eyes again, an eager look erupting on his face. “Wait!” He gently maneuvered you in front of him, hands on your shoulders. “Think about it!” he urged. And it dawned on you, realization washing over you like a tidal wave of possibility.

“My boobs hurt” you said breathlessly, eyes wide.

“You’re nauseous” Bob continued, trying to remain calm, but clearly bubbling with excitement.

“I haven’t slept in two weeks…”

“You didn’t buy any tampons last month.” That was the last piece of the puzzle in your now eager mind. You hadn’t… You had been so used to not getting your period when on the pill that you didn’t give it a second thought. “Okay” Bob decided. “Wait here. I’m gonna put the food in the fridge and open a window. Then I’ll take you to bed for some rest.”

You waited in the driveway like he asked, thoughts full of happy possibilities and what ifs. Maybe it was bad to get this excited before anything was confirmed. But you couldn’t help it! If you were actually pregnant, that would mean you were one step closer to the family you had dreamed of with Bob since you met him at freshman orientation. A hand subconsciously stroked your lower belly as the possibilities swirled in your head.

Bob returned minutes later, gently guiding you back into the house, up the stairs to your bedroom. He helped you remove all the stiff office wear and tucked you into bed. “Hold on” he murmured and left the room, returning soon after with a bottle of water, a ginger ale and a packet of crackers you had no idea you even had at home. “Alright, here’s some stuff for you. I’m gonna run down to the pharmacy. You just rest.” You nodded and he smiled down at you, eyes shining bright. He pressed a smiling kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too” you smiled back.

As your husband was away, you slowly nibbled on some crackers and drank some of the ginger ale. It helped somewhat with the nausea, and you spent the time trying to calculate the timeline in your head. It had been…eight? No, nine weeks since that day. Give or take. Somewhere around there, you had missed a period without even realizing. And given how many times you’d had sex since then, you had no idea which time had been the time. If you were pregnant that is. Also given the fact that your cycle had probably been all over the place from the pills, you really couldn’t guess…

The exhaustion from the day slowly caught up with you as you waited for him. You were somewhere between awake and asleep when Bob came back, carrying a plastic bag filled to the brim.

“Hey, sweetie” you mumbled sleepily as he entered the bedroom.

“Hey” he answered. He clutched the plastic bag between his hands, body practically vibrating with nervous energy. “I couldn’t decide which brand to trust, so I got you one of each.” He gestured with the bag where the pregnancy tests rattled inside.

A small laugh escaped you, burrowing deeper into the blankets. “Thank you for getting them for me.” You yawned. “Is it okay if I use one tomorrow? I’m really tired, and I really want to sleep…” It was barely 7 pm, but whatever. The chance to finally get some shut-eye was too tempting.

Bob’s eyes softened. “Of course, honey.” He put the bag in the small ensuite and then came to sat on the edge of the bed next to you. “Go to sleep. We’ll work it out in the morning.” A warm hand came to rest on your shoulder as Bob leaned down to kiss your cheek. And you were out like a light.

XXX

“Bob, I can’t pee if you’re staring at me” you said with an exasperated smile. You were currently sitting on the toilet, only wearing one of your husband’s old navy t-shirts, pregnancy test in your hand jammed into place, waiting to be peed on.

“You’ve peed in front of me plenty of times” Bob countered, leaning against the doorframe. He was shirtless, only wearing a pair of sweatpants. His biceps bulged as he crossed his arms over his chest, and you had to force yourself not to be distracted.

You huffed a smile. “Yeah, but there’s pressure now.”

“You don’t want me to see the potential confirmation of our parenthood?” he teased, eyes glinting.

“Me peeing doesn’t confirm that. The test will.” You couldn’t help but giggle when you saw the hope in his eyes. “Tell you what, let me pee, and you can guard the test.”

“Deal” Bob smiled and left the bathroom.

As soon as you finished, Bob was back at your side, kissing every inch of your face and head he could reach before gently taking the test from your hand, holding it as if it was made of glass. He placed it on the counter as you washed your hands.

When you were done, he pulled you into him, your back to his chest. His arms wrapped around you as your head leaned back against his shoulder. You closed your eyes, breathing him in. The scent of him, clean and fresh, calmed the nerves inside you. You could feel your heartrate and breathing slowing down. Those three minutes passed slowly, Bob alternating between watching the test and murmuring sweet nothings into your ear.

His timer went off and you stiffened slightly. You so desperately wanted it to be positive, and the fear of disappointment clawed at you.

“Ready?” Bob whispered.

You nodded, even though that wasn’t 100% true. “Let’s have a look.”

With trembling hands, you slowly turned the test over.

There it was. Two small, blue dashes. Positive. Pregnant. A loud yelp escaped you as you dropped the test into the sink. Bob let out a loud hoot of excitement, hands pumping into the air. You turned to face him, the elation on his face mirroring yours.

You flung yourself into his arms, clinging to him with every ounce of your being. Tears of happiness formed in your eyes, threatening to spill over. Bob’s arms rubbed all over your back as he hugged you.

He pulled back to cup your face and leaned in to kiss you. It was eager, loving and excited all at once, glasses pressing between you. The tears were falling freely from his ocean eyes, and he laughed through them. “We’re going to have a baby!” he said, voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.

“Holy shit!” you cursed, laughing with him. “We are!”

XXX

You didn’t expect to snag a doctor’s appointment so soon the following Monday, but someone had cancelled at the last minute so here you were, bouncing with excitement with Bob by your side as you waited in the exam room. He had cited a medical emergency to be able to go with you. Technically, you weren’t sure he could do that, but you couldn’t care less. He was here, and that was all that mattered.

Bob held your hand as the doctor asked question after question, putting everything in your chart. They took your blood pressure, took a blood test, had you pee in a cup, performed a pelvic exam, and then it was finally time.

The ultrasound wand was cold as the midwife gently inserted it into you. Some friends had warned you how uncomfortable transvaginal ultrasounds were, and they weren’t lying.

“Are you alright, honey?” Bob asked, noting your frown.

You smiled at him and nodded. “Yeah, it’s just cold.”

“There” the midwife announced with a wide smile. “There’s your baby.”

A tiny dot appeared in the fuzzy image, fluttering in and out as the midwife moved the wand. Seeing the tiny life growing inside you so clearly brought fresh tears to your eyes. It was real, you were really going to be parents!

“Beautiful” Bob murmured, face mesmerized. “I’m so proud of you…”

The midwife watched your exchange with a small smile before continuing the scan. “It looks like you’re around nine weeks along. If you look here, you can see the head, and arms forming. Here’s the placenta, looking good and healthy.” She said it so matter of factly, but you were still wrapping your head around the fact that your baby has arms. “Now let’s see if we can hear the heart beating.”

She flipped a switch, and the characteristic sound of a fetal heart beating filled the room. You had heard it so many times in movies and on TV. Hearing it like this though? When it was your own baby? Completely different. The undoubtedly strong sign of life. It was glorious. Bob’s hand squeezed yours, kissing your temple.

“Baby’s heart rate is nice and strong around 160 beats per minute” the midwife confirmed. “Congratulations” she continued and pulled the wand out. “Your baby is the size of a peanut.”

“A peanut?” Bob questioned with wonder. “Our Little Peanut…”

XXX

Bob felt like he was walking on cloud nine. All day, every day. He was going to be a father! And you? You were going to be the best mother in the world. Little Peanut was so lucky to have you!

There was nothing he could do to contain his excitement. The living room now more resembled a library of baby books than a place people actually lived. He needed to buy an entirely new shelf just for all the books he’d accumulated.

During those first three weeks after the doctor’s appointment, the only people who knew were you, both sets of parents, your boss and Maverick. Maverick had been sworn to secrecy, Bob only felt he needed to know in case anything happened, and you needed him. His boss had smiled like a proud father when Bob told him, offering congratulations and promises to not tell anyone.

Interestingly, the entire neighborhood seemed to be under the impression that Y/N Floyd had caught food poisoning in her driveway and ended up puking all over it and her car. That hadn’t happened, obviously. Mrs. Abner had just run with the little information she had. But you had just laughed and said better people think that than the whole world knowing you were pregnant before you were ready.

As soon as those first twelve weeks were over and you felt safe telling people, Bob took one of the ultrasound pictures and taped it to the inside of his locker, right next to his favorite picture of the two of you. It had been taken on a hike, the two of you sitting on a rock at a look-out post. The two of you were in work-out clothes, smiling as the sun shone down. He loved it. You looked like sunshine personified. Of course, he loved all of the pictures of you, especially from your wedding. But there was just something special about this one.

“Uhm?” Hangman’s annoying voice tore Bob from his daydreaming. “What is this?” The blonde Texan was pointing to the ultrasound image, face glinting with…pride?

“What does it look like?” Bob asked neutrally.

The squad knew you, loved you even. But it had taken a while before anyone knew you existed. He had never hidden you away. The picture of you had always been in his locker, he always came to work wearing his wedding ring. He just took it off each morning to avoid losing it. He just didn’t talk about his private life to the extent the others did. Had they bothered to ask, he would have told them about you sooner.

They finally found out when Rooster offered to set him up with a friend of his and Bob had casually, albeit with a blush to his cheeks, explained that he was married, so Rooster’s services were unnecessary. The entire group had guffawed in disbelief, demanding to see picture after picture of you to make sure you were an actual real life person. Then you’d showed up on Visitation day and the rest was history.

“It looks like…” Hangman quieted for a moment before a sly grin spread across his face. Bob barely had time to worry about what was going to come out of his mouth next when… “Everyone!” Hangman yelled, grabbing the attention of the rest of the Dagger squad. “Baby on board is bringing a baby on board!” He looked so proud of his own word play, it was almost embarrassing.

The squad looked at each other in confusion for a few seconds before the realization sunk in. Then there was a ruckus of loud shouts, yells of congratulations and Bob being pulled into countless hugs. Pride beat in his chest as he accepted the well wishes from his team members. They were all family by now, yes even Bagman, and he just knew they’d make the best bunch of rowdy uncles and one aunt.

Phoenix pulled him into a long hug, squeezing him like an older sister would. “Congrats! So, I was right” she said triumphantly.

Bob guffawed. “You knew? How? We haven’t told anyone until now.”

Phoenix shrugged, but the pride at being right was still there. “You’ve been walking around like an excited puppy for weeks. And I noticed that Y/N wasn’t drinking the last time she was at the Hard Deck with us.”

“Holy shit, man!” Rooster exclaimed, pulling Bob into another side hug. “This is fantastic! How is Y/N doing?”

“She’s good” Bob answered with a dopey smile on his face. “I mean, the smell of my oatmeal makes her gag, and she always feels like a bloated corpse. Her words. But we’re so excited! She’s showing in fitted shirts now.” He added that last part, quietly, almost to himself.

The group exchanged a smirk before Fanboy opened his mouth. “You gotta bring her by! We have to celebrate! The legacy of the Dagger squad is continuing!”

XXX

The change in seasons also meant changes in your pregnancy. You were now twenty weeks along. Half way there. Christmas lights twinkled all over the city, the snow was still elusive, but excitement ran high. You were clearly showing by now, and Bob couldn’t keep his hands off you. He’d also been given the, in his mind, fantastic responsibility of rubbing cocoa butter all over your belly, boobs and thighs mornings and evenings to help with the stretch marks. He loved the ritual, because it more often than not led to some intense make out-sessions and if time permitted, love-making.

He also loved your stretch marks, no matter how much you complained about your body changing. They were a sign of your impending motherhood. And you had never looked more beautiful. Happiness radiated off you, even when your body ached, or when the nausea made its sporadic return, or when you couldn’t sleep due to the heartburn, or sat on the toilet for ages with constipation.

Bob did everything he could to help, did anything to alleviate some of your aches. He helped you in and out of cars, brought you your pre-natal vitamins and water in the morning, cooked for you, handled all the house chores, held your hair back when you puked, helped you shave when you couldn’t see over your belly anymore.

The first time the baby kicked was at the Hard Deck, because clearly, Little Peanut was going to be a social butterfly. You were sitting beside Bob on a stool, sipping a seltzer through a straw when it happened. There had been flutters before, like small bubbles, which the doctor had said was normal. But this was different. This was more distinct, like a movement.

“Oh” you said suddenly, hand coming to rest where the sensation had occurred. It didn’t hurt, nor was it uncomfortable. It was just…peculiar.

“What’s wrong?” Bob asked, hands coming to rest over yours. His eyes shone with worry and it made you melt a little. He’d done this often lately, freaking out over every little thing. He was so protective over you and the baby, already proving himself as a dad.

“I…” you tilted your head to the side, brows furrowing. “I think the baby kicked.”

“Really?” Bob turned his entire body to face yours. Eagerness and devotion shone in his eyes as he pressed his other hand to your belly. You exchanged an exhilarated smile before Bob leaned down to eye level with your belly. “Little Peanut?” he asked quietly. “Can you hear me? It’s your daddy. Mommy says you just kicked. Can you do it again? Please? Daddy really wants to feel it, too.”

Color flushed your cheeks, both with happiness and slight embarrassment. He often talked to your belly when it was just the two of you, but he’d never done it in public before. Yet, you played along. “Come on, Peanut” you coxed gently. “Kick for daddy.” You took his hand and placed it exactly where it had happened.

Nothing happened for a while, and you could tell Bob was just about to accept his fate when suddenly, that distinct jolt returned. Right at the same place. Bob’s face broke out in a huge smile, giddiness radiating off him. His hand flexed over the motion, taking in the sensation. “Oh my god” he breathed. “That was amazing!”

“What’s going on here?” Coyote questioned, smirking at the two of you.

Bob didn’t answer, he just kept stroking your belly. So, you piped up, giggling. “The baby just kicked.”

Fanboy craned his head so fast you were surprised he didn’t pull a muscle. “No way!” he shouted. “Let me feel!” He and Payback practically wrestled to be the first one to your side, pushing Bob aside to get to your stomach.

“Hey!” Bob protested, correcting the glasses that had gotten all crooked in the process.

“Out of the way, sperm donor!” Fanboy chided. “Let Uncle Mickey say hi!”

“I’m sorry, but Uncle Reuben clearly takes precedence. Move over, back-seater!”

“In your dreams, Payback!”

“Okay, guys!” Bob tried, clearly antsy over the amount of shenanigans going on in such close proximity to your belly. “Please be careful!”

You just laughed at their antics. Since you and Bob moved to San Diego, you’d moved so far away from your family back in Montana. It was nice to have a safety net of people who clearly cared so much for you, Bob and the baby. People you could call family here, as well.

“Woah!” Mickey exclaimed, when the baby kicked a third time, even stronger this time. “Baby Dagger is going to be a soccer player!”

That had been Fanboy’s idea. He had taken to calling your unborn child Baby Dagger, because you carried the next generation of the Dagger squad. Eventually, it just stuck and now everyone used it.

Trying to get a group of grown adults to take turns smushing their hands against your belly turned out to be surprisingly hard. But eventually, everyone got a feel. Rooster sulked that he didn’t even get to feel a kick, even though you assured him there’d be plenty of opportunities. Of course, Hangman bragged that he had felt the hardest kick, making Rooster’s sulking even worse.

He hadn’t felt the hardest one. That honor went to Nat, which she understood by the way you winced when it happened. But there seemed to be a silent agreement between the two of you to just let Hangman believe his own nonsense. Maybe you could use it against him later.

When you came home that night, you collapsed on the couch with a contented sigh. Bob leaned down to remove your shoes without you having to ask. Once they were off, he helped you maneuver into a lying down position, with him sitting on the other end of the couch with your feet in his lap. He reached out to squeeze that one pressure point that always bothered you and you moaned in relief. Your feet had been so swollen lately, making it uncomfortable to walk. Compression socks helped a bit, but you still felt bloated.

“Thank you, baby” you murmured contentedly.

“Of course” Bob smiled. “You’re carrying our Little Peanut. It’s my job to take care of you.” He paused for a moment to shift to the other foot. “Halfway there. You’re doing so well, my love. I’m so proud of you.” He smiled in that soft way, like he couldn’t believe you were his, that this life was his. “I know I say it all the time, but I am. You’re so strong, carrying this burden by yourself.”

His kind words caused tears to well in your eyes, the love simply overflowing. Sure, the tears were never far away these days, but these tears were special. They were love for everything you had been blessed with. “Thank you, Bobby… I love you so much.”

“I love you, and I love our baby. So much.”

Just then, your tuxedo cat Oreo jumped up on your knees, curled up and laid down, perfectly contorted around your belly, purring softly. “Hi, there, buddy” you cooed softly, scratching him behind the ear. He’d gotten this habit of guarding you since the beginning. He’d always been a cuddly cat, but now it was in a ‘I’m gonna lie here and refuse to move’ kind of way. Always curled around your stomach, sniffing it slowly, rubbing his face against it, staring at Bob like he’d done something wrong every time you were in discomfort. “Don’t worry, buddy” you whispered. “You’ll always be my first born.”

Bob’s hand ran up and down your shin. He couldn’t believe how beautiful you were. He knew it was a thing that pregnancy made people glow, but he didn’t really believe it until now. He loved all the changes in your body, even when you didn’t. They were evidence of your strength and amazing body’s capability.

Seeing your belly heavy with his baby did things to him. There were more times where he tucked a boner than when he didn’t these days. Even more so during your first trimester when you wanted absolutely nothing to do with his dick, understandably so. But he couldn’t help it. You were so beautiful and the thought of your baby growing inside you drove him insane.

“God, you’re beautiful” Bob murmured, hand travelling higher up your leg. There was a heaviness in his voice that you instantly picked up on.

You tilted your head to the side, lip snagging between your teeth. “Yeah?” There was that familiar glint in your eyes that told him you were already on the same wavelength. As your second trimester hit, your usual sex drive came back and then some. It was heaven.

“Mhm” he said, squeezing your thigh. He could already feel his dick stirring in his jeans.

Oreo, clearly sensing the change in atmosphere, jumped off your lap and scampered into the kitchen. Your eyes flicked down to his lap, and that was it. Bob sat up straighter, scooted over and pulled you into his lap as quickly as he could without making you uncomfortable. A whimper escaped you as you pressed down on the bulge in his pants. “Kiss me, Bobby” you whispered.

His lips were on you instantly. Hands came you rest on your hips, caressing you over the fabric of your dress. His lips slanted against yours, tongue caressing your lower lips, begging for entrance. Eagerly accepting, you wound your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. Tongues moved against each other, battling for dominance.

Bob’s hand travelled from your hip up to your breast, massaging the tender flesh before squeezing your nipple through the layer of fabric. His dick twitched in his pants at the moan you let out. Warmth spread in his body at the way you rutted against him. Blood rushed in his ears, glasses smushing up against his nose, fogging up.

“More” you begged. “Please, I need more.” You leaned in, yanking him closer by the collar of his shirt, planting open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat.

“What do you need, honey?” Bob asked hoarsely, pulling down the straps of your dress. “Tell me.”

“You” you panted, reaching to yank the top of your dress down. “I need you inside me, right you.” He helped you unbutton his jeans, yanking them down.

His cock sprang free, heavy and already dripping with pre-cum. You wrapped your hand around it, stroking slowly. Bob’s head fell back onto the couch as he groaned, the sensation overwhelming him.

“Touch me” you whispered desperately.

Immediately, Bob reached under your dress to pull your panties to the side. “Fuck, you’re so wet already” he breathed, letting his finger slip through your soaked folds. Reaching your clit, he rubbed in slow circles, loving the way your hand sped up around his cock as your moans grew louder.

He helped you raise up and position him at your entrance. Slowly, you sunk down on him, enveloping his cock in your tight heat. “Shit!” he cursed, pulling you even closer to him.

Your belly rubbed against his as you moved, your pussy squeezing him impossibly tight. You were so wet and warm, practically drowning him.

You fucked slowly, reverently, his fingers tirelessly working your clit until you unraveled on top of him, him following shortly after. When he helped you up the stairs afterwards, the baby kicked again, and Bob was the happiest man alive.

XXX

The weeks lengthened into months. You were in your third trimester now, and Bob was freaking out. Just a bit. Everything had gone so smoothly, in a way that almost made him anxious that the bad stuff was just looming in the distance. That something was just about to snap. All the books said that anxiety was normal for parents to be. That it was a natural reaction to all the changes in your lives. And he believed it.

The therapist on base had been a great help, helping him find tools to navigate this change so that it wouldn’t affect his work.

He had just finished a huge stack of paperwork and gotten to the changing room, his civilian clothes waiting for him in the locker room when you called.

“Hi, honey” Bob answered after having plopped a wireless headphone in his ear. “I’m just getting changed. I’ll be there in maybe thirty minutes to pick you up?”

“Sounds good” you answered. “I just got done with the last client meeting for the day. And I’m starving, can we get Thai on the way home?”

Bob chuckled. What had started as an enormous aversion to your favorite take away place had now turned back into an obsession, with gusto. All you wanted was Thai food. And the spicier the better. “Sure thing, sweetie.”

“Good” you huffed. He assumed from the breathlessness in your voice that you had just climbed the flight of stairs to your office. “And I mean it when I’m telling you I’m starving. Thirty minutes or I’m leaving without you!”

“Don’t you dare!” Bob warned, though there wasn’t any real anger in his voice. “You are not picking out the colors of Peanut’s room without me. I’ll be there soon! Love you!”

“Love you, too.”

“Peanut?” Rooster questioned behind Bob.

“Shit!” Bob cursed, turning around. He hadn’t even realized he wasn’t alone anymore.

Rooster’s smirk was gleeful, all delight. His hands were at his hips as he stared his friend with that look on his face. “Peanut?” he repeated. Before Bob could respond, Rooster turned around and ran out of the changing room, screaming at the high heavens. “Everyone! Hey! Everyone, listen up!” Members of the Daggers squad gathered around them, including Bob who followed him out. “It’s Peanut!” Rooster announced proudly. “Baby Dagger’s callsign is Peanut! And I was the first to know! That beats a hard kick, Bagman!”

Hangman made a ‘pfft’ sound but definitely looked jealous.

“Aww!” Natasha said with a smile. “That’s so cute!”

“You didn’t find out first, Brad” Bob corrected gently, though he was smiling. “You eavesdropped.”

“I still beat Jake!” Rooster defended himself. “And I didn’t eavesdrop! You were on the phone when I came in.”

“If you actively listened, that still counts” Coyote chimed in.

But Bob didn’t have time to listen to the argument anymore. He had a date at the hardware store.

In the end, you ended up picking an adorable pale yellow and green wallpaper as an accent wall. It had small teddy bears and white bunnies in the pattern. The other walls were to be painted a pale yellow, bordering on a creamy off white. All the furniture were a light wooden color. The entire Dagger squad made an appearance at your house, including Maverick and Penny, to help you set it up.

Maverick, Coyote and Natasha were on wall duty, covering the floor, window and moldings in plastic, painting and getting the wallpaper up. Jake and Rooster argued over the correct way to assemble the bookshelves and dresser. Bob, Payback and Fanboy assembled the crib and changing station. Bob didn’t dare let anyone do it without him. No way were they risking his baby’s safety by not following the instructions.

You had been relegated to easy, non-exerting tasks. Penny helped you organize clothes, books, stuffed animals, toys, blankets and beddings in different piles in the other room.

“How are you feeling?” Penny asked you gently as you folded a large pile on onesies.

“Great, besides the fact that it feels like there’s a watermelon strapped to my chest, I can’t breathe when I lie on my back and I pee when I sneeze” you chuckled, placing a pale blue onesie with clouds on it on top of the folded pile.

Penny laughed, a nostalgic smile on her face. “When I was pregnant with Amelia, I was scared shitless. There were so many things I didn’t know and was afraid to ask.” She reached over and gave your arm a squeeze. “I know you have your family and a whole support system. But if you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Thank you” you said gratefully. “We really appreciate that. We do have our families, but they still live back in Montana, so it’s not like we can call them in the middle of the night for emergencies. Any support system here is appreciated.”

“Well, I know Pete can’t wait to babysit” Penny laughed.

XXX

Another few weeks passed by. You were now at 38. The homestretch. And you were huge, could barely walk without assistance, always overheated, and usually grumpy. Bob had seen that thing on the internet where the partner stands behind and lifts the belly up. That had been a godsent. The relief it offered your tired back and shoulders was lifesaving.

It was mid-April by now. The spring sun, whilst comfortable for everyone else, turned your body into a furnace. You sat at the kitchen table, laptop open, yanking at the collar of your stretchy dress for some fanning. You’d be working from home these last weeks, which was also a lifesaver. You could pee as often as you needed, eat snacks perpetually, and nap after lunch.

“Honey?” Bob called as he entered the house that afternoon. “I’m home!” He found you there, sipping from your water bottle, fanning yourself as you read an email. “Hi, there” he greeted, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Hey” you greeted back. But then you stopped. “Come here” you instructed, yanking him back to you. There was a smell to him. A very distinctive one, one you’d never misplace. You sniffed at him like bloodhound. “Bob!” you said, aghast. “You didn’t!”

“What?” Bob questioned, stepping back. There was definitely a guilty tone to his voice. He avoided your accusing stare as you rose from your seat with much difficulty.

“Robert Floyd, tell me you did not eat sushi behind my back!”

A couple of days after you tested positive, Bob solemnly swore to not touch a plate of sushi until you could. After the realization hit you that sushi wasn’t recommended during pregnancy, you cried for half an hour. Blame the hormones. He’d promised to stay away from it too, out of solidarity. You had told him throughout your hiccups that he didn’t need to do that, but he had insisted. But now…?

“I’m sorry, baby” Bob tried, but you would have none of it.

“You promised you wouldn’t!” Tears of frustration welled in your eyes without you intending them too. There was no stopping them these days. The hormones flowed freely and clearly lived a life of their own.

“It was a team lunch! It was Mickey’s turn to choose, and I didn’t want to be the only one protesting.” He looked genuinely apologetic, rubbing the back of his neck, still not meeting your gaze completely.

Huffing out your frustration, you waddled out of the kitchen. Furiously, you wiped at the tears running down your cheeks. Deep down, you knew he’d done nothing wrong. Of course he could eat whatever he wanted. But it was hard to remember that through the hormone-induced rage.

Oreo meowed curiously as you entered the living room, head rising from where he had been napping on the couch. Immediately, he was up, jumping down to nestle against your legs.

“Honey?” Bob called as he followed you. “I’m sorry. Please?” Oreo turned his head and glared at your husband accusingly. “Oh, don’t you gang up on me, too!”

“It’s not fair!” you cried, crossing your arms over your now humungous tits. “I can’t eat sushi, I can’t drink wine, I can’t eat cheese. I’m huge, I feel like a beached whale. Everything hurts, I haven’t taken a shit in a week, I’m always grumpy. And I can’t even storm out on you because I move at the pace of a literal snail!”

Bob looked like he wanted to physically remove your pain and make it his own. “Sweatheart…” he whispered gently. He reached out for you, trying to place a soothing hand on your belly.

“No” you muttered, pulling back slightly. “No Peanut for you! We’re still mad.”

Bob couldn’t help but chuckle, just a bit. “I’m sorry. How about, after the baby is here, I’ll buy you a sushi boat at the hospital. And I won’t even sneak a piece.”

You pondered this for a few seconds, rage slowly ebbing away. “Fine…” He pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your temple. You sighed into the embrace, feeling his warm, strong body surround you. “Am I a bad person for wanting to be done with this?”

“Of course not!” Bob insisted instantly. “You’ve been so strong, carrying all of this on your own. You’ve grown an entire person. You are the strongest person I know, and it does not make you a bad person for being eager to have our child born into this world. Okay?”

“Okay…” you conceded, burrowing into his chest.

“Want me to do the belly lift?”

“Yes, please…”

XXX

The two of you went to bed that night like any other night. You had trouble falling asleep as usual, your back sore, your body feeling…heavy. You’d had Braxton hicks on and off the past few weeks. They sort of felt like this. So, you just assumed that was it.

Bob noticed, of course. He noticed everything about you. “Everything okay?” he whispered into the dark night.

“Yeah” you whispered back. “Just uncomfortable. Go back to sleep, sweetie. You have a flight test tomorrow.”

Eventually, he did fall back asleep.

When he woke up hours later, you were no longer in bed. He felt around on the cold mattress for your sleeping form before slowly opening his eyes. At first, he thought you were in the bathroom, but the lights were turned off.

“Honey?” he asked groggily.

“Yeah?” came your strained response.

Worry immediately seized him at your tone. He blindly reached over to turn on the bedside lamp. A warm glow illuminated the bedroom. When he finally got his glasses on, Bob could see you, bouncing on your beloved yoga ball in only his oversized shirt, eyes shut in concentration, exhaling slowly. Within record time, his heart raced like a Formula 1 driver.

Oh, God! Was this it? Was it finally happening?

He leapt out of bed, running to kneel by your side. “Honey? Are you alright? Are you having contractions?”

“Yeah, I think so” you panted, followed by a long groan. Up close, he could see the flush on your cheeks, and the baby hairs stuck to your forehead. This had clearly been going on for a while.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked, tone full of worry.

“You have a big day tomorrow. I didn’t want to disturb you unless I knew for sure. Grounding you also means grounding Phoenix. I didn’t want to do that to you two.” It all came out in one quick breath.

“Baby, you are the most important person in my life. And they’ll find a sub that can fly with Phoenix. You are my priority.”

Bob’s words helped you relax a little. “Okay” you whispered. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it” Bob kissed your forehead. “Tell me what you are feeling.”

Feeling the pain subside, you straightened up a little. “My stomach and back cramps up, and it radiates down my legs.” You rested your hands on your thighs for support. “Remember in birthing class when they said the baby drops lower and it can feel like walking with a ball between your legs?” Bob nodded, searching your face. “Yeah, it feels like that.”

“Okay” he nodded again, more decidedly this time. “Let me help you down, I’ll make you something to eat and then call the hospital.”

After getting himself in some sweats and a t-shirt, he helped you put on a pair of maternity shorts and guided you downstairs. With him by your side, you managed to time your contractions as he cooked.

“They’re not regular yet” you said, still bouncing on the ball Bob brought downstairs for you. The smell of food wafted from the plate and your stomach growled. “Thank god!” you exclaimed gratefully as you took the plate from his hands. Scrambled eggs, topped with chives and chili flakes. And a piece of sourdough toast with peanut butter. Just the way you liked it. “You’re the best!” You immediately started munching on the food.

Every time a contraction started, Bob made a note in your shared app and took the plate from you so you could ride it out. He placed the plate on the coffee table and reached over to apply counter pressure, the way the women in birthing class had showed him.

The pain seized your entire body, radiating in a way that felt inhumane. Letting out a long groan, you grasped at anything within reach for balance. A sheen of sweat covered your body, your hair falling loose from the bun you carelessly pulled it into.

“Remember to breathe” Bob reminded you gently, still massaging your back.

As the pain subsided again, you checked your phone to update the app. A small notification popped up. “I think it’s time to call” you said, voice slightly out of breath.

Time read 4:23 am when you were finally admitted to a room. Bob helped you pace back and forth, standing firmly as you leaned on him, screaming profanities into the air. He spoke to the nurses when you couldn’t, called your mother for you, refilled your plastic cup with ice chips, held the bowl when you threw up from the harshest contraction yet, didn’t say a word when your amniotic fluid splashed all over the floor when your water finally broke mid-contraction. You could see in his eyes that he was as nervous as you were, but when you cried that you were exhausted, that you didn’t know if you could do this, that you were so scared, he was the first to assure you, to kiss your forehead and tell you how strong you were.

This level of pain was something you had never experienced before. When you were finally fully dilated, Bob and the nurses helped you into the stirrups. Contraction after contraction, you pushed within an inch of your life to bring your baby into the world. Sweat poured down your body, pooling in every crevice imaginable. Bob held you close, dabbed your forehead with a wet cloth and fed you ice chips whenever you needed them.

Your heart beat harshly in your chest, working overtime to sustain your body. Exhaustion heavied you into the bed, but when the midwife announced that she could see the head, and Bob whispered in your ear that you could do this, you channeled what little strength you had left and pushed.

A shrill scream erupted in the room as your baby made its entrance into the world. Every imaginable emotion tore through you as tears of relief streamed down your cheeks. Your entire body shook as Bob both cried and laughed next to you.

“It’s a girl!” the midwife announced, toweling off the small bundle before placing her gently in your arms.

“Oh my god” Bob whispered, completely in awe. His cheeks were flushed, eyes red, and he was smiling like he had never seen anything more beautiful. “He have a daughter…” He leaned in to press a long kiss to your lips. “Well done, my love. I’m so proud of you.”

“Dad, would you like to do the honors?” he midwife asked. Bob cut the cord with the precision of someone who had waited his entire life to become a father.

XXX

Two days later, you entered the house, three people, for the first time. It was surreal, overwhelming, and so full of love.

You fed your daughter in the rocking chair placed by the window in the nursery, whilst Bob sat in the other, watching you, eyes brimming with love. The decision to put two rocking chairs in the nursery was definitely one of your favorites. There was nothing like the feeling of sitting there together, basking in the feeling of your new family. Sure, you were exhausted, and you wore a diaper matching the baby’s. But you wouldn’t change a thing.

Bob gently took her from your arms after she was finished. He paced back and forth slowly, coaxing a burp from the cooing little girl. You simply rocked in the chair, watching the scene with a tired smile.

After a while, your husband placed your daughter in the crib, kneeling beside it. “See this, Peanut?” he asked quietly, voice so soft and devoted. He pointed to the mobile gently spinning above the little girl. “That there is the sun, and there is a cloud, and a snowflake. That’s a rainbow.” You chuckled at the way your baby gurgled quietly in response. “Daddy bought this for you. You see, daddy has a job that requires him to sometimes be away for a while. But remember, I will always love you, and I will always be there for you. So, daddy bought this mobile so that when you’re falling asleep at night, you can see the same things he does when he’s flying with Auntie Nat.”

Oh god… There really was no one like him. And in this moment you knew, once and for all, that Madeline Floyd was going to grow up surrounded by so much love, with a family and friends that would do anything to provide her with security. And right now, life was absolutely perfect.

Author's note: Did I name the baby Madeline to give the Madeline of another universe the Lewis Pullman-character father she deserves? Maybe. I'm not crying, you're crying.

[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. 

[missmarveledsblog]

A woman worth fighting for ( Natasha Phoenix x Reader )

summary : jake decides to play match maker after a visit to the med bay on base only even he didn't think it would go this well

warning: mutual pining , idiots in love, creep at the bar , punches are thrown , homophobic slurs

There was one rule in the clinic , the same as fire department or any emergency  and medical field was the Q word. the utterance of that word and chaos would ensue . but it perfectly explained how the morning .  the medbay clinic on base wasn't

 never a busy one but today it was almost too  quiet . she  check the inventory three or four times to check supplies anything that would need. then she heard the moaning and groaning coming down the hall she felt bad for feeling excited for an  actual patient but shit she almost miss deployment .  walking in she could see the man holding on his stomach of the flight suits  two holding him up in similar ones  he was tall and blonde and well know it was jake seresin and at his side was bob  a sweet heart and natasha trace the woman that made her heart skip a beat. 

“whats wrong ?” she asked already pulling out his file checking over his history, making sure it was a common occurrence. 

“he almost passed out and been complaining about his abdomen  since ma’am” bob explained as she nodded seeing the blondes face turning green , the way his face was contorted one very familiar as she grab the  dish handing it straight over calling for her nurse . jake seresin blowing chunks as they all grimaced. 

“ better up then in , there we go melanie sweetie a glass of water and could you two wait outside the door” she smiled sweetly ignoring how her heart beat faster under the female aviators gaze. 

“ i must of died and gone heaven with an angel like you doc “ jake smiled weakly all in unison rolling there eyes . 

“ we'll  be outside bagman , behave  “ nastasha called one last look.  

“ ok let get and see whats going on “ she stood closer . 

luckily for jake he wasn't dying , seemed as he to have food poison which of course he was more dramatic listening to his constantly flirt , she gave him a bag of fluids  more flirting  after that which if she rolled her eyes any more they would roll out of her head. 

“ hangman sweetheart  i ain’t buying what your selling” having enough of it all only he didn’t really get what she meant. 

“ come on doc i ain’t a bad guy one chance please “ he winked . 

“ but you are a guy  which is the problem  honey “ she snorted letting the cog visible turn his face til his eyes widened  the realisation on his face was comical. 

“ that make so much sense “ he chuckled shaking his head . 

“ course it does “ she once more rolled her eyes .  

Nat couldn’t help it, it like everytime the doc passed by the glass window in the door  her eyes would follow the doc , of course she was stunning nat often did find herself staring at the hard deck or when she was walking around the base.   The bright smile , how she would treat everyone with such kindness and care and well being a complete smoke show was just the bow on top of it all . what suck was the usually out spoke female aviator suddenly found herself not being able to speak properly around the attractive doctor nothing more than a  “ hi “ or “ hello “ .  she felt her skin shudder and tingle when she was close and like her brain shut completely down … she was no better than the guys she knew it .  didn’t help that bob spotted the crush either since he kept asking her to ask the pretty doctor out  but to his credit he was just being a good friend as alway . 

“ come  on , she you need to ask her out “ he groaned once more catching the brunette eyes lingering. 

“ no we don’t even know if she into women and what if she not and then i make a complete fool of myself” nat huffed more annoyed at herself , she was never one to stand down from a challenge hell the uranium mission was testament to that and yet asking one woman out has her scared shitless . she wondered if she ever did and she miraculously got that yes what flowers she would get the pretty doctor or what would they do , would she kiss her on the first date or hold off til a hopeful next one. She was creating a situation so far from reality .  she felt a nudge knocking her back to real time seeing said pretty doctor standing talking to them both as nat was completely unaware . God she was beautiful and smart to  and  well capable of handling rowdy and stubborn people . 

The  staring didn’t go unnoticed as jake could spot the  way the two women were looking at each other even in his horrendous state.  A smirk on his lips and plan in mind before fixing himself up heading to the door carrying the spare barf bag just incase when he headed out the door. 

“ see you next friday at the hard deck  to repay you for the excellent care and to apologise oh and i ain’t taking no for an answer doctor sweets “ he winked as they head out  while she shook her head and laughed waving them all a goodbye heading back in slight missing her patient and his friends especially one . of course she had a crush on natasha trace , a  strong determined and skilled flyer . she admire her out spoken nature dealing in a male dominated area  meant sometimes the females were lost in the shadow but phoenix always made sure she was heard it was admirable , it didn’t help that she was beautiful  even in the head to toe khaki uniform . But once y/n got the pleasure of seeing her differently being invited to a gala held for the navy  , she honestly need to sit down when natasha walked in that olive tone floor length   dress that fit her like second skin , her hair down and loosely curls . the way her make up was soft and subtle barely there it took y/n’s breath away and made her weak in the knee’s .  she probably got more of a conversation that night than usual hi and hello it was “ you look great”  , “ so do you “ before both stolen away once more.  Shit anyone that got natasha trace’s heart would be a lucky son of a bitch that was for sure. 

Before she knew it the week ended and start and ended again as y/n completely forgot about jakes invitation til the man  himself and back to full health swung by the med bay to remind her and this time before she could answer melanie was there to tell him she’d be . So now here she stood looking in the mirror making sure her outfit was ok , her make up and hair wasn’t to much  or was it less  did she need to dress up more . 

“ c’mon get it together “ she sighed grabbing her back and heading out the door the uber waiting as she  text jake that she was on her way.  Hoping she would get chance to actually have a conversation with natasha more than hello’s  even getting to know possibility the hottest woman to ever exist  , one could dream right .  yet she still felt nervous , hoping her mouth would run it own course or embarrass herself  which usually was the most outcome to happen maybe she could turn back and come up with an excuse but then again she knew it would just be a couple of hours and she would just rip the band aid. 

Plus even if she didn’t get to chat to the literal woman of her dream it could still be a good night right? . walking in the door of the hard deck as she walked to the bar seeing Maverick talking away with the pretty bartender  before nodding her way sending him a little wave back .  hearing her name called turning and her breath catching in her throat at the sight of the woman may of had a dream or two or even ten standing with her friend not in head to toe khaki but a white dress with flowers all over it her hair down and  minimal make up something that wasn’t the usual attire but hey she wasn’t complaining however it was definitely gonna be hard to  keep her concentration . 

“ hey doc you made it “ jake smirked brightly  already eyeing nats reaction  . 

“ of course bagman constantly hearing about these pool skills well i  needed come and knock you down a peg” she winked heading over to the dagger squad all surprised to see her there . 

“ hey good to see you doc although i am a little heartbroken you came for jake “ rooster smirked hugging her in a greeting .  

“ hey less of the doc and call me y/n “ she chuckled . 

“ well y/n i’m starting to doubt your intelligence “ he chuckled . 

“ and why is that bradshaw ?” she quirked her brow.  “ hello also to rest of you “ she smiled eyes lingering more on one than the others . 

“ bagman really?” 

“  oh no not like that me and jake are just new friends is all “ she laughed just as nat headed off to the bar. 

She felt ridiculous , she decided to make herself look well nice and yet it seem as though hangman seem to of gotten the girl  because of course he did. She looked down at the stupid dress some found confidence gone when she was wondering if she could get the girl this time . she looked over to see  the two already at the pool table jake  talking so closely he was almost face to face with the woman .. the woman she wanted so bad it honestly started to hurt .

“ penny hit me with the hard stuff “ she sighed . 

“ whats going on ?” penny brows quirked almost surprised to see the frown on her face. 

“ it didn’t work “ she looked over at the table now seeing them laughing and joking although penny could see who she meant , and she definitely knew jake was definitely not  in with any shot. 

“ you know she isn’t into guys right?” penny finally said making nat head shoot up . 

“ wait what .. how do you know ?” 

“ because i know my patrons  well the regulars that for sure , she sits  the other side and well  started to notice her attention more on the ladies “ penny explained looking up and seeing the woman's eyes on nat before nodding to jake. “ she coming over “ she smirked. 

“ put this hot things drink on my tab” a man slurred. 

jake could help chuckle , he'd give it to her she was a good pool player maybe even on his own level but yet she was distracted , way too distracted she could of even beat him but this was never about pool it was time to change that , he knew it . nat showing up the outfit and way the two constantly stole glances when the other was running .

“ you should go talk to her” jake smirked. 

“  who ?” a fail to act nonchalant even though it not convincing either of them . 

“ yeah bull shit you can play pool but shit it’s so obvious “  that shit eating grin on his face. 

“ she like you too “ bob spoke up not meaning to eavesdrop but slightly glad he did . 

“ bullshit she doesn’t speak to me “ she rolled her eyes looking between the two men . 

“ because she likes you .. i’m her backseater and her best friend just tell her and you won’t be disappointed” bob grinned slightly glad he was hidden from nat view because she would definitely kill him . 

“ if both of you are wrong about this i will have you discharged  mysterious illness and such “ she gulped moving from the pool table getting a  thumbs up from rooster seemly all the dagger squad over heard the conversation knowing if the two were wrong maybe going awol or being transferred would be in her future.  She could feel her heart beating more and more each step she took  , pretty sure she was sweating in a place she didn’t know she could sweat from .  She was in a war torn countries trying to patch up horrific injuries and  this made that a walk in the park .  as she was approaching she could see a man  walking over . 

“ put this hot things drink on my tab “  that phrase made to subject a goddess like natasha phoenix trace to being  ‘ a hot thing’ . 

“ how about you have some respect your talking about a naval officer and lieutenant at that” y/n called. “ oh and if anyones paying for her drink it gonna be me , penny my dear if you would be so kind  “  she smiled taking the seat next to nat. 

“ hey i’m trying to talk to your friend here “ the man scoffed . 

“ doesn’t look like she talking to you buddy “ she shot back . “ i like the dress by the way “ she winked at nat . 

“ thanks you look good too “ she smiled smoothing out the dress. 

“ come on baby we  could have a lot of fun “ the man reached out only for y/n to grab his hand  stopping the action completely.

“ she ain’t interested shit for brains … plus i was thinking of asking if she wanted to go for dinner be shame to waste a pretty dress “ y/n looking at nat as she held the mans arm in place. 

“ fucking dykes , shit she ain’t even that good looking was just hoping to get my…” was all the man had gotten out of his mouth before he hit the ground with a thump .  “ fuck fags really in this bar” he groaned holding his nose . 

“  out of my bar and don’t come back “ penny called barely even phased . 

“ wouldn’t want to spend anymore money here in this hell hole , enjoy the way to hell dykes “ he groaned only for jake and bob to pull him up off the ground as the people of bar began chanting over board . 

“ sorry penny but when you got a lady here looking like this well .. ain't she worth fighting for “ y/n winced as the bartender gave a knowing smile and nervous and wondering where the hell the confidence was coming from  .  “ so dinner?” she turned to nat . 

“ on one condition” nat grinned. 

“ and what would that be ?” she asked . 

“ kiss me first” standing coming closer as her hand cupping y/n cheek never in a million thinking this would be happening or even the realm of possibilities and shit she wasn’t wasting a single second when she place her lips on y/n’s .   boy was it everything and more , making her dreams completely nothing in comparison . only pulling part from the cheers only to see the dagger squad clapping as they both flushed. 

“ see told you “ bob grinned at the both . 

“ yeah yeah no medical mishaps “ y/n shrugged . “ anyways raincheck on the hang out hang man i got a dinner to get to “ she winked intertwining her hand with phoenix as the two headed out. 

“ anyone take note?” rooster called. 

“ Yep” they all called in unison . 

[fixtionvixen]

It's so fucking sweet my teeth hurt!!!

Cobalt Eyes and Sweet Smiles

In which a certain shy, quiet WSO catches your attention one night.

When your pilot friend offered to bring you to the Hard Deck as a guest, you knew their intentions instantly. The other pilots would notice you, notice how you weren't one of them, and try hitting you up.

"Maybe you'll actually meet someone to take home," they said.

You rolled your eyes and went along with it, tired of hearing about how "we gotta find you someone."

It was nice, being offered one's spot at the pool table, being asked if you wanted to play darts or needed a drink. The pilots were quite nice to look at.

But one in particular stood out to you.

He had tucked himself away in the corner of the bar, his cobalt eyes able to observe the room without being noticed.

You noticed him right away. How he tried to weave his long, lean body through the crowd so he didn't bump into anyone. How instead of a beer, he was carrying water and a cup of peanuts. How despite that his shoulders were hunched in an effort to make himself smaller, his biceps strained against the khaki material of his uniform.

You recognized the pins that adorned his uniform. He was a Lieutenant, and a pretty decorated one at that. Clearly that hadn't given him an overblown ego, otherwise he would have spoken to you by now.

He was attractive and you could tell that he didn't realize it. You knew the glasses he wore had been given to him by the navy and were what they referred to as "birth control glasses". But the large wired frames added to his charm.

You couldn't help but stare at him. A smile broke out onto your face when he looked up from brushing the crumbs off his pants, those stunningly blue eyes locking with yours.

His thin lips parted and you could see the realization that you were staring at him in his eyes. You winked, hoping it would wash away any potential doubts he had.

A red flush rose from his neck to his cheeks as he looked away, focusing on the crumbs that were still on top of his pants.

It was adorable.

"Who's that?" You asked the too cocky for his own good pilot who had been trying to strike up a conversation with you since you walked in. Hangover? Hangnail?

"Oh, that's just Bob," he scoffed, "Or as I call him, Baby on Board."

The ice cold glare you gave him stopped his laughs, "He uh, he doesn't say much."

You didn't mind quiet. In fact, you tend to like the quiet ones more as you got older. Perhaps it was because they seemed to balance you out.

Perhaps it was because you learned that it was always the quiet ones who knew how to make you feel the best.

"Who's the girl?" You asked, motioning to the dark haired woman who had sat down next to him. You watched her jerk her head towards you, her eyes briefly making contact with yours. They looked like friends, but you wanted to make sure.

"Oh, that's Phoenix. He's her back seater. So, do you want to watch me play darts?"

"No," was all you said before walking over to Bob.

—--------------------

"Go talk to her," Phoenix whispered, "She's been staring at you all night."

"Probably thinks I'm some cool, elusive guy. Best to not break the illusion," Bob responded before taking a sip of his water.

Phoenix wasn't sure what was so 'elusive' about eating peanuts at a bar, but her friend needed a confidence boost, not a confidence downer.

"You're a catch, and she's interested. She couldn't take her eyes off of you while Rooster sang," She pointed out.

Bob just shrugged as he shook his head.

You were absolutely beautiful. You lit up a room with one smile. From the way the corners of your eyes crinkle to how your nose scrunches up, to the way your smile encapsulates your whole face. Your voice was sweet, loud but not shrill.

You were a dream. And dreams didn't tend to go for quiet wallflowers like him. He learned this years ago and had accepted it. It made him less likely to get his heart broken.

Though he still felt his heart twinge when Hangman came up to you. Bob didn't blame the man, he was just….jealous, as ridiculous as that sounded. Jealous that he couldn't just waltz up and start a conversation.

He had tried in the past and ended up embarrassing himself more than getting someone's number. It was easier to hang in the corner, even if it made his chances of finding someone lower. It was better than getting his hopes dashed.

Not that Bob enjoyed being alone. Honestly, he had hoped that by now, he would have settled down and startef a family. When asked what he wanted to be as a kid, his response was "a dad".

Life just hadn't worked out that way and it was best not to dwell on it. As much as he wished, life wasn't some romantic comedy where his future wife would just waltz into a room and a love song would play while he and her locked eyes for the first time.

Though 'Pretty Woman' was playing when you walked into the Hard Deck.

Phoenix's elbow jabbing his chest broke Bob out of his thoughts.

"Looks like I don't have to convince you to go talk to her," was all she said before getting up to walk away.

Bob was quite confused, until he looked directly ahead.

Oh no.

You were walking straight towards him.

Bob knew he should get up and head straight to the bathroom. Or go to the bar. Something so you wouldn't talk to him and discover he was quiet not because he was some cool figure but because he never fucking knew what to say.

But his legs were frozen in place. All he could do was ensure that he had brushed all the crumbs from the peanuts off his pants.

"Hi! Is this seat taken?" You asked. Bob was now thankful he was still sitting, because your melodic voice paired with that sweet smile would have made him fall to his knees.

It took Bob a few moments to realize that he needed to actually give you a response. You didn't seem to mind, which was surprising. He was used to folks getting huffy, expecting a quick response from him.

Instead, you just gave him that beautiful smile.

"No! U-uh, no, i-its free, ma'am," he managed to get out.

"Glad to know," was all you said before you sat yourself on one of his thighs. You slung an arm around his shoulders, your fingers reaching up the nape of his neck towards his sandy brown locks.

Oh sweet Jesus.

You couldn't help but smirk as you watch his face process what was happening and then proceed to short circuit. He clearly wasn't used to this type of attention, which was an absolute shame.

"Uh…um t-there's a s-spot uh o-over there," He stuttered, avoiding your eyes.

"I know," you leaned in, your breath hot in his ear, "I like this seat better."

Did he and Phoenix actually eject out of their plane in time or did he die that day and was now in heaven?

Maybe she had mistaken him for someone else. Bob kept thinking of scenarios that would explain why you were doing this, besides you actually being interested in him, because someone like you was never interested in someone like him.

For a moment, you worried that you may have been too much. It looked like he was malfunctioning at your attention.

But then you felt a strong arm wrap itself around your waist, securing you in place.

"I-I'm uh…I'm Bob." God, he was so cute. His cheeks had what seemed to be a permanent flush to them.

You giggled as you told him your name, which caused the corners of his mouth to turn upwards.

"It's nice to meet you Bob," your fingers twirled around his sun kissed locks.

"It's n-nice to meet you t-too, ma'am," He mumbled. He honestly didn't know what to do. He was usually the one pretty girls went up to to ask about the relationship status of his other pilots.

"You're so nice, but you don't need to call me ma'am," you giggled.

Somehow, his face turned an even brighter shade of red as he mumbled an apology.

"It's okay, it's quite sweet. And hot, to be honest," you admitted.

Oh.

Bob looked up, his eyes making contact with yours for the first time since you sat on his lap.

Hot was not a word used to describe him. Cute, nice, nerdy, okay, were the adjectives he was used to hearing. Not hot.

"R-really?" His voice was still shaky, though it was the most confident he sounded since he began talking to you.

"Yeah," you giggled, straightening his collar, "So is Bob your call sign or your actual name? I can't tell with some of these."

"Well, my full name is Robert but my call sign is Bob," he found himself becoming more relaxed, despite having to remind himself not to look at your chest that was at eye level.

"Does Bob stand for something?" You asked, genuinely wanting to learn more about him.

He shrugged, "It's a long story." Surely you didn't want to hear him talk, did you?

"Have anything to do with your commendation medals?" You asked. He looked shocked at your knowledge. For a brief moment you were almost offended until you remembered that he honestly thought you were just a civilian.

"Both my dads are in the Navy. I know what a lot of the medals mean. It's also how I know this guy," you motioned to the man clad in a Hawaiian shirt who was leading the crowd through another Jerry Lewis sing-along.

"Does he know anything other than Jerry Lewis?" Bob asked out loud.

"If he's feeling extra deep, he'll play Clocks by Coldplay. Other than that…no, he doesn't."

The two of you exchanged a look before laughing. He had the sweetest laugh you had ever heard.

You rested your head on one of his broad shoulders. He was sitting up a little straighter. The tension in his body had faded. Not all the way, but a bit.

You liked it. You wanted to see more of it, more of him.

Though Bob didn't really suit him. Neither did Robert.

"Can I call you Robby?"

"You can call me whatever you want." Oh, so he could be smooth.

You grinned, "Whatever I want? That's quite open. My Pa always said to never take something open-ended until you made sure there weren't any strings attached."

He shrugged, a small smirk slowly appearing on his handsome face, "Well, I guess there is something I'd want in exchange."

You quirked an eyebrow, "And what would that be, Robby?"

Here goes nothing.

"You can call me whatever you want, as long as I can call you for dinner?" Oh God, that was so cheesy. What was he thinking? Bob didn't blame you if you got up and left right then and-

A pair of soft lips pressed against his cheek, the sweet smell of lavender flooding his nostrils.

Oh your lips were like heaven.

"I'd love that Robby. I'd also love to call you for breakfast," you cooed in his ear.

His large hand gripped the fabric of your dress. You wondered if he could feel your thighs clenching. Not that you didn't want him to know you found him extremely attractive. Quite the opposite in fact.

"Y-you smell really nice," was all he could get out. His head felt fuzzy. You were overwhelming in the best way possible.

"I was just gonna say the same about you," you smiled as the scent of sage filled your senses. You then noticed that his glasses had fallen down the bridge of his nose. With zero hesitation, you gently pushed them back up.

Bob was thinking of every possible unattractive thing and scenario to kill the growing erection he had. Your fingers that were tracing circles over his biceps weren't helping.

If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

"W-would uh, would you want to get out of here?"

Realization set in at what he just said. Fuck. The last thing this angel wanted was to be taken back to base housing. The last thing he needed was Mickey walking in on him trying to flirt too. Also, when did she ever indicate she wanted to go back to a bedroom? She didn't. Yeah, she mentioned breakfast but maybe she was just a big fan of brunch. Brunch was pretty great. You could order waffles at two in the afternoon and no one bats an eye. Had he gone too far? He had gone too far.

Of course a beautiful girl would show interest in him only for him to fuck it up.

"We, we could go to another place! I-I, uh, I know this other bar, it's much quieter or there's a late night coffee shop we could go to, or-"

"My apartment is a fifteen minute drive, and I drove here." You told him.

"O-oh. O-okay." Bob was still worried. The last thing he wanted to do was make you feel pressured to do anything. He was truly more than content to just talk to you all night, maybe kiss you on the cheek if he was lucky. If you allowed it.

"I…..I have a good collection of board games if you're interested," you said, hoping it would alleviate his clearly displayed nerves.

"I-I just wanna, uh, wanna talk to ya," he admitted, a Midwestern drawl lacing his voice.

"Where you from Robby?" You asked, pressing your forehead against his. You could hear him gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing.

God, you wanted nothing more than to mark up his neck.

"M-Montana. W-why?"

"I could listen to your voice all day," you sighed, brushing your nose against his. It was obvious it took all his strength to not look away from you, to flash a weak smile instead.

"Really?" Normally, his accent wasn't something folks enjoyed hearing. After years in the navy, he learned how to make himself sound neutral.

You nodded your head, "Yeah. I like your voice. And you." That rose tint had made itself a home on his cheeks, not that you minded. It was honestly the cutest thing.

"Really?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" You asked. It was almost sad that he was genuinely shocked by this.

He shook his head, "I-it's just uh, usually, uh, I'm uh, not the one folks um, typically go for."

"Well, those folks are idiots," you responded, "you have a lot to offer: smart, sweet, kind, funny. Extremely handsome to boot."

You were being genuine. Bob couldn't help but smile, practically beaming.

"C-can I kiss you?" He found himself asking. Where that bravery came from, he wasn't sure.

He was genuine, something you didn't see often, particularly from those in the navy. Your fathers always had warned you of such, hence their 'no pilot' rule.

They never told you about what to do when you found a sweet, honest, good hearted man in the navy.

It probably helped that he wasn't technically a pilot.

You nodded your head quickly, not wanting to doubt for one moment, "Was beginning to worry that you'd never ask."

He was a good kisser. His large hands cupped your jaw and most of your neck. He was gentle when he titled your head down, moving his lips against yours.

You could kiss him for hours. When you broke away for air, his face was still red, though a proud smile was now on his face.

"You gonna take me home Robby?" You asked before placing a gentle kiss on his jawline.

"I-I don't know what your car looks like," his voice was now low, vibrating into your shoulder, a stark contrast to the adorable observation he was making.

You kissed his cheek again, the corner of your lips brushing against his, "you're really fucking cute Robby."

Bob knew in that moment he would follow you to the ends of the Earth.

"Y-you're um, you're one t-to talk." It sounded much smoother in his head. And yet, you didn't mind the stuttering or that he was still nervous despite being brave enough to ask if he could kiss you.

You liked him, just the way he was.

It was a nice change. A really nice change.

"Why don't we get out of here?" You hopped off his lap, extending a hand out to him.

Bob thanked whatever higher being was up there for throwing him a bone before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. Granted, you had made your interest in him well known, so was there really a point to being so nervous?

He grabbed your hand, following you out of the bar. As you two left, you flashed a wink to your friend Bradley, who simply gave you a thumbs up, signaling his approval.

"Did you plan that?" Phoenix asked as she watched you and Bob walk out the door.

"Not planned, more like hoped it would work out that way," Bradley responded, smiling.

[callsign-joyride]

Fluffy Fall Fantasy Masterlist

Welcome to the Fluffy Fall Fantasy! This is the event masterlist, but the original post with the prompts can be found here.

BRADLEY "ROOSTER" BRADSHAW

Love of My Life

It's Nice To Have A Friend

JAKE "HANGMAN" SERESIN

Love of My Life

Chicken Noodle Soup

It's Nice To Have A Friend

JAVY "COYOTE" MACHADO

Delicate

ROBERT "BOB" FLOYD

Head Over Heels

RHETT ABBOTT

JAVIER PEÑA

WARREN ROJAS

[dearsnow]

YOUR REAL BOYFRIEND

- you go on your first date with your “bar boyfriend”, who seems a whole lot nicer than the guy that tried to pick you up earlier. (bob floyd x fem!reader, fluff <3, you don’t necessarily need to read part 1 but it provides some context)

PART 1

word count: 1,686

a/n - i did not expect part 1 to do so well, omg 🥹 thank you all for the love. if i had the writing stability I would’ve turned this into a series, but there is still time for that yet lol. enjoy this fluffy part 2 <3

You sit in your small apartment anxiously. Your first text to Bob has just gone through, and in the heat of the moment, you threw your phone across your bed and smothered it with a pillow. It was a simple thing, just saying “Hey! I’m Y/N from the bar :)”, and you really have nothing to be scared of, but your breaths are uncomfortably quick in the early morning. It’s like you just took a five mile run. You pick up the book on your bedside table and flip through a few pages, failing to read a single word.

You only put down your fruitless attempt at calming yourself down when your phone gives a muffled buzz from underneath your pillow. You grab it quickly, seeing his just-saved name flash across the screen.

Bob: Hello, Y/N from the bar! I was a bit worried you weren’t going to reach out, but I’m really glad you did.

You: Of course I reached out. You’re a nice guy, I would be stupid not to.

You internally groan before hitting send. He makes your insides turn to mush just by typing on a screen. At this point, you’re scared of professing your undying love.

He is a nice guy, and a polite guy, and honestly an everything-you-could-ever-want guy. You barely spent thirty minutes with the man and you already find yourself wanting to slip a ring on his finger. He’s different, a really good kind of different.

Bob: I’m flattered.

Bob: This might be too soon, but would you want to go out sometime? I know this nice place by the beach where we could get to know each other better.

You: I’d love to!! Lmk the details and I’ll be there <3

As you fling your phone across your bed again to kick your legs, you almost feel bad for it. The man of your dreams is asking you out, and you can’t physically handle the joy that’s pouring out of you right now. You can just imagine his quiet, smooth voice talking away while his eyes light up. When you get the date plan, you eagerly type it into your calendar.

Saturday, 5:30 PM, Ocean’s Cove Seafood and Bar. It’s perfect.

You don’t know how you can get through the rest of the week with the date looming in your mind, but, somehow, you’ll have to find a way to manage.

Your management ended up being text conversations with Bob so frequently it felt like you were always checking your phone for a new message. For the first time in your pitiful dating history, he was the one reaching out often and matching your energy. Talking with him is like a breath of fresh air. It’s almost better than than the fresh air you’re breathing now, walking through the open entrance of Ocean’s Cove. You immediately notice a very handsome man sitting at the table you’re directed towards, with his sandy hair styled perfectly.

As you walk over, he stands and pulls out your seat for you, only sitting down himself when you’re situated. His cheeks are tinted pink. “Hi.” He offers, clearing his throat. “You look really beautiful.”

“Thank you, Bob. You look amazing too.” You say, reaching out to brush against his blazer’s collar. “You always do.”

His face grows impossibly redder.

Just like the first time you met, you fall into the rhythm of conversation easily. It’s awkward, at first, as things often are, but it quickly becomes one of the best talks you’ve ever had. Your food is eaten between giggles and playful comments.

“He seriously made you do five hundred push-ups for someone else’s mistake? Man, you must hate this Hangman guy after he pulled that.”

“Oh, everyone hates him. In a loving way, mostly. Just be glad you’ve never been around him while he’s drunk.” Bob’s eyes are lit up, and the sight is better than you could’ve ever imagined.

You wipe your mouth with your napkin gently, trying to not rub your makeup on the soft cloth. “Wait, what’s he like drunk? He’s gotta be a character.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, and you engrave the sound in your memory. This is amazing. “He gets so competitive, but he’s too drunk to throw the darts straight or hold the pool cue proper. It’s really funny, because he thinks he’s doing well until the darts end up pinned through Maverick’s uniform.”

“Oh geez,” you laugh. “That reminds me of my old friend. She drunkenly spilled tequila down the front of our boss’s suit while trying to impress our coworker.”

“It seems like we’ve got a lot in common.” He smiles. He’s about to say something else, but your waiter stops in front of your table before he can get the words out.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, sir, but we have another couple waiting for your table. We have a three hour policy.”

Three hours? You’ve been here for three hours? You check the dimming light and realize that what you thought was forty minutes was, in fact, a hundred and eighty. Bob pulls out his card and signs the receipt, seemingly a little embarrassed that he also didn’t realize the time. “Here. Sorry for the trouble.”

The card is whisked away before you can even request a separate check. “I would’ve paid for that.”

“No can do.” Bob says, placing his hand over yours gently. “It’s my treat.”

You try to formulate a response to his kindness, but your mouth falls dry. All you can do is whisper a “Thank you,” as the waiter comes back with his card and ushers you out politely.

The outside air is heavy and chilly, cut with the smell of sea spray. As the sun dips below the horizon, you shiver. Without a word, Bob drapes his blazer around your shoulders. You turn to him, eyes slightly wide. “Are you sure?”

The question is about more than just the blazer. It encompasses everything you’ve wanted to say to him, everything that you’ve been worried about from the beginning. Is he sure that he wants to do this? That he really actually likes the person he just so happened to save at the Hard Deck?

“Always.” Is his simple reply. Your hand finds his, and he entwines your fingers like it’s natural. “I apologize if this is overstepping-“

“Do you want-“

You both start and stop at the same time. “Continue.” You say, a smile working its way up to your eyes.

“No, you go.” He insists. He swings his arm a bit, taking your hand with him. You can feel his blazer dip past your hand and onto his, as the sleeves are too long for you.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go down to the beach with me. It might not be good for our formal clothes, but I really like you, and I want to spend more time with you. As much time as possible, actually.”

This time, it’s his eyes that widen. “You read my mind. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

You laugh, a sound that’s music to his ears. It’s perfect, like everything about you. Like your humor and your storytelling ability, like the slope of your shoulders and the softness of your hands. He could spend his whole life drowning in you. “Then let’s go, before we miss the entire sunset.”

You pull him along, your thumb smoothing over his own, and he thinks he’d let you lead him anywhere. “Look, the beach is so pretty at this time of day! It’s like something out of a magazine.” You exclaim, expensive heels digging into the sand. You can’t bring yourself to care about washing the sand off, not right now.

“It’s almost as pretty as you.” Bob breathes. He doesn’t expect you to hear it, but you do. You turn around and slide your palm over the smooth fabric of his shirt, playing with the collar, before kissing his cheek softly.

For once, you take initiative in your movements. You can’t let him slip away; you think you’d be devastated if you didn’t see him again, if you never told him exactly how you feel. “I’d say it’s nowhere near as pretty as you.” You can tell your face is warm, and his definitely is. “We need to do this again.”

“For sure.” He murmurs. His expression is conflicted, and you feel a small bit of insecurity bubbling up. Does he not want this as much as you do? He takes a small breath of air, eyes flicking up to the sky for a brief moment. His glasses slide down his nose just a bit, but he doesn’t push them up. He’s only focused on the words timidly making their way out of his mouth. “Please stop me now if you don’t feel the same way.”

“If ‘feeling the same way’ means wanting to continue talking, I wouldn’t stop you for the world.” You can feel a hint of anxiety in your tone. Bob takes both of your hands, and the small butterflies are eaten by larger, rougher butterflies. Think atlas moth sized butterflies.

“In that case,” he almost whispers, “would you let me be your boyfriend? For real this time. And I won’t hold it against you if you say no, or want to wait, because I know we’ve only really been talking for a week, and-“

You cut him off with a kiss. His lips are soft and don’t demand anything from you. He reaches for the back of your head, cradling you like you might break. When you finally break away, his glasses are just a bit crooked. You reach a hand up to fix them. “Yes. Yes, I’d love it if you were my real boyfriend.”

“Awesome.” Is all he can manage to say. You giggle anyways, placing your hands on his chest.

“Next time, if a creep hits me up in a bar, we won’t have to lie.”

He places a sweet kiss on your forehead. “If I’m there, I hope he wouldn’t even think to try.”

Taglist: @seitmai

[callmebyyourcallsign]

request 😛😛😛

bob floyd being flustered by reader in a fluffy and/or smutty sense☝️😛

pls ty bye 🫶

It starts innocent, at least, that’s what Bob tells himself.

You’re just helping him out of his flight suit after a long, brutal sortie, your fingers tugging at the zipper, peeling the heavy fabric off his shoulders. The locker room’s empty, the hum of the overhead lights loud in the quiet.

But your hands? Your hands are not innocent. Not when they linger at the edge of his undershirt, brushing warm over his skin. Not when you murmur, soft and amused, “You run hot, Lieutenant, or is that for me?”

Bob’s ears go pink. Then red. Then, somehow, even redder.

“W-what? I—uh—” His voice cracks like a kid’s, and he clears his throat, tries again. “I guess it’s kinda warm in here?”

Your grin is pure sin, and you lean in, close enough that he can smell your shampoo, feel the brush of your breath on his jaw. “Sure it is, Floyd. Real warm.”

You slide the suit down his hips, slow, teasing, and his brain short-circuits. His hands hover awkwardly, unsure if he should stop you or beg you to keep going.

“C’mon, Bob,” you whisper, mischief dancing in your eyes. “You look like you’re about to combust.”

“I—You—” He’s flustered beyond saving now, his mouth opening and closing like he’s forgotten how to speak.

And the best part? You love it.

You trail a finger along the waistband of his underwear, featherlight. Bob swallows hard, his heart racing like he’s pulling Gs again.

Finally, voice barely there, he manages, “You’re… you’re really not playin’ fair.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth, sweet and wicked all at once. “Never said I would.”

And just before you can tease him further, he finds his courage, grabs your wrist gently, pulls you in, and kisses you like he means it. Like he’s wanted to all along.

When you part, breathless, he smirks, smirks, cheeks still burning but eyes shining.

“Okay,” he says. “Maybe it is for you.”

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Happy Fourth of July

Lt. Robert ‘BOB’ Floyd x Reader

Words: 3341

Summary: Penny hosts an Independence Day Bash that the whole gang is invited to. The reader finds herself drawn to a certain, quiet WSO. 

Notes: The amount of will power it took to not name this Independence Day… Anyway, this one is just super sweet and fluffy and was a blast to write. I hope you enjoy! 

More Bob and 80s-inspired movies: HERE

-

There was no reason to be nervous. You knew that. Everyone there was friendly- well, friendly-ish. They were pilots. Not that that bothered you. You knew tons of pilots. It came with working at The Hard Deck. They were flirty, arrogant, and sometimes couldn’t pay their tab, but if they were invited by Penny, then they couldn’t be so bad… right?

You straightened your red, western-style vest and looked in the mirror. You felt a bit like a rodeo clown, but Penny insisted it made you look ‘like a sexy firecracker’, whatever that meant. Paired with a white tank top and denim shorts, you looked thoroughly decked out for the holiday. 

“Making a fool out of yourself is one of the best parts of life,” Penny had said when she took you shopping. “You’ll learn that the longer you spend with those yahoos.”

“And by yahoos, you mean your boyfriend?” You snickered. “Also, nobody says yahoo anymore.”

“Yes, Maverick, but also his pilot ducklings that treat him like he’s a god. And believe me, when you meet them,” you’ll understand. Was all the elaboration she gave you. 

Maverick equals plane god. Pilots equal… ducks?

You checked your hair one more time and decided it would just have to be good enough or else you’d fuss over it for another hour. If you didn’t force yourself out that door, there was every chance Penny would sail over and drag you out herself. She said she always liked an excuse to come out to Sky Reef.

It was the reason you moved out to North Island to begin with. Your grandfather owned a small island off the coast with a bungalow and sail boat. He always kept to himself, except when he was getting drinks at the Deck with his old Navy buddies. It was close enough that getting to work was never an issue, but far enough that the noise of the beach didn’t quite reach you. 

As your little boat made its way across the stretch of water, you spotted a huddle of people on the beach. They darted around, their laughter carrying out to you across the waves. A ball flew back and forth but it wasn’t like any game of football you’d ever seen. Behind them, smoke trailed up from a barbecue, and Penny waved.

“Y/N!” She called out. “You came!”

You laughed, waving back. “Here I am!”

Her voice sang over the crowd, like a queen commanding her knights. “Boys, go help her at the dock. I need her for the drinks!”

You’d promised to make your grandfather’s famous boozy iced tea. Penny had begged you for the recipe for years but the old man swore you to secrecy. She jokingly dubbed it North Island Iced Tea, which wasn’t too far off to be honest. 

Three of the players from the beach jogged across the sand to the small dock she let you use whenever you had a shift. Your grandfather’s boat wasn’t too big, so you didn’t have to worry about running aground. It also meant you didn’t really need help tying her off, so you had a sneaking suspicion that Penny had ulterior motives. You had the knots half done by the time they even reached you. 

“Well, fellas, I think our work here is done for us,” one of them said, grin spreading on his face. “Which just leaves room for introductions.” A handshake accompanied a wink. “Jake Seresin.”

You took his hand, unable to hide a smirk of your own. “I believe we’ve met, Lieutenant.” He raised a brow. “Penny made you buy a round for that terrible pick-up line.”

The mustachioed one next ot him howled with laughter, pityingly putting an arm around his shoulder. You crossed your arms, letting the confidence of the moment take over like riding a wave.

“And don’t think I don’t remember having you thrown overboard, Bradshaw,” you scolded. “No amount of pretty piano playing could save you from a declined card.”

Now it was Jake’s turn to snicker, blowing out a low whistle. But it wasn’t the two of them you were paying attention to, no. It was the one kneeling at the edge of the dock, tying off the last line.

“Thank you,” you said, walking over to him. 

The man’s eyes widened behind his glasses as his head snapped up, like he was surprised you’d noticed him at all.

“Oh, um,” he let the extra line fall against the post. “You’re welcome.” For a second, he just stood there, looking at you, but then he held out a hand. “I’m Bob.”

There was something about his small, nervous smile that had heat creeping into your chest. 

“Y/N.”

“Yeah. You work with Penny, right?” His fingers grazed your wrist and sent a shiver up your arm. 

“I work for Penny,” you laughed. “I think I’ve seen you in before.”

“Bob here is our stealth man,” Jake said, patting him roughly against his chest. “But hey, it’s always the quiet ones.” He winked at you again. 

Bob ducked his head to hide his blush. You remembered him a little more, then. He was always polite when he ordered and always carried all the drinks back to the others. And he always wished you a nice day.

“Well, boys,” you said to all three, “those drinks aren’t going to make themselves.” 

Bradley Bradshaw gave you a mock salute. Jake just smiled that cocky, flyboy smile, and Bob double checked the lines. You stayed back with him, the quietness of his demeanor calming amongst the blaring music and chatting crowd. The two of you fell into step together, listening to the calm roll of the waves beneath your feet. 

“So do you like working at the Hard Deck?” He asked, though you could barely what him over the game of not-football. Bradley and Jake had rejoined, playfully tackling each other. 

“Yeah,” you said, still watching the game unfold. “Yeah. Penny has been great and you Navy boys always keep things interesting.” You tried to follow along, but they all ran around each other with no apparent formation or anything. “I’m sorry, but what the hell are they playing?” You stopped so abruptly, his shoulder bumped yours. It’s your turn to blush and his sheepish smile returned with excitement.

“Dogfight football,” he said. “Maverick taught us. It’s offense and defense at the same time.” His gaze followed one of the women playing as she made her way down the beach. She must have scored, because he yelled, “Yeah Phoenix!” Bob turned his attention back to you. “It’s a lot of fun.”

“Looks like it.” You continued along the dock and onto the beach, turning back to him, expecting him to still be watching the game, but he was looking at you. “Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you want to get back in.”

There was that shy smile again. “Actually, I could use a break.” 

That feeling in your chest swelled. To be looked at the way he looked at you. To be noticed, really noticed, not like guys sometimes did at the bar. Irises the color of the ocean you’d just sailed on stared into yours with interest and attention and you could do nothing but keep walking with him at your side. 

Penny and Pete stood over the grill together. She cooked, he mostly tried to sneak a grilled peach and kept getting swatted at by her spatula. You’d met Captain Mitchell a couple of times. He was exactly how you always imagined your grandfather when he was young- charming, a little over-confident, and only able to love so completely, it showed in everything he did. 

“So she didn’t manage to scare you off, huh Bob?” Pete teased, hooking an arm around you for a side hug. 

Bob glanced at you again. Noticing. “No, sir.”

“I told you,” Pete tsked, tossing a drink umbrella at the younger pilot. “This is a party, Bob. You don’t have to call me sir.” 

Bob just nodded, muttering another ‘yes, sir’ which earned him another umbrella to the cheek. He flinched but didn’t deflect it, making all of you laugh. 

“Will you quiet it?” You scolded, snatching the container of drink accessories away from Pete. “I need those.”

Penny snickered, flipping over a hamburger and shaking her head. “You are just as bad as they are, I swear.” She pointed at the group of people tackling each other on the beach. 

Pete’s grin never faltered for a second. “You’d better help the lady with those drinks, lieutenant." He kissed Penny’s cheek. “I think our captain is getting restless.” He reached over her shoulder and managed to pop a slice of peach in his mouth only to spit it out again. “Shit, that’s hot.”

“I only told you that a dozen times!” 

You smiled at the couple and found yourself reaching for Bob’s hand. “Come on. The stuff’s in here.”

His fingers laced together with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. That alone made your head swim more than any drink you could mix up. The two of you went into the bar, where Penny had left out what she thought were the ingredients you needed. You laughed to yourself and put them all away, grabbing the large pitcher.

“Now,” you said, counting out the correct bottles. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to turn around.” Bob’s head tilted, a little line forming between his brows. You giggled like a kid and only felt a little embarrassed by it because this man was just so cute. “This is a secret recipe. Upon pain of death, lieutenant.” You made a twirling motion with your finger.

“I see. Well, when you put it that way.” He did as he was told, turning so his back was to you. “I wouldn’t want to compromise your mission.”

“Thank you.” You grabbed another pitcher since there was such a big group and began to mix the right liquors to make the iced tea, using very little actual tea. 

“So are you from the area?” Bob asked, rocking back and forth on his heels. His hands were clasped behind him and his eyes scanned everything on his side of the bar. 

“No, actually. I moved out here to take care of my grandpa a couple of years ago.” You’d made the drink so many times, it felt like second nature now, pouring the ingredients together and adding ice. “Penny gave me a job and I’ve loved it here ever since.”

“Is your grandfather coming tonight?” 

You couldn’t help the wince that overtook your features. “No. He, uh, passed away last year.”

Bob glanced briefly over his shoulder, a deep and sympathetic look on his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. He was sick for a long time and-” You inhaled. “Eyes forward, soldier.”

Bob whipped back around. “Right, sorry.” 

You were just about done anyway, only needing to take a few glasses out and pour you each a drink for ‘testing’. “Alright, you can look now.” Holding one out for him, you took a sip of your own to make sure it was right. Sweet, refreshing, and packing a punch.

Bob drank and his eyes widened. “Wow.”

“Right?” You grabbed one of the pitchers while he got the other. “Careful, though, this stuff will sneak up on you.”

“Noted,” he chuckled. “Don’t give it to the firework brigade.” He took another sip and followed you back out to rejoin the party. 

-

Through the whole of dinner, you were catching up on how the team met and the journey of Maverick- rebellious pilot to reluctant teacher to Penny’s grill bandit. Now, the group of Top Gun top pilots met every chance that they could, many of them having formed deep friendships, even the unlikely pairs like Bob and Jake, or as they called him, Hangman. 

“We should make this a tradition,” Penny suggested. “Every fourth, I’ll throw a dinner and you idiots better do your best to get your asses here for it.”

Another group might have said yes halfheartedly, knowing that they would come up with some excuse not to come next year. But when everyone raised their glasses and cheered in agreement, you knew they meant it. The thought made your smile widen even more. 

“And I hear one of us may be around more often.” Pete motioned to the young man next to you. “Rumor has it, Robert Reynolds will be assisting in the WSO course at Top Gun.”

A collective round of hoots and hollers made its way around the table while Bob’s face turned red. Pete patted him on the back with a “I look forward to working with you.”

Penny shot you a knowing look across the table. 

You frowned. 

She shrugged innocently and poured herself another glass of tea. 

“Professor Baby-On-Board.” Jake teased, rustling Bob’s hair. Bob shoved him off, but couldn’t help laughing. 

“So I guess that means we’ll be seeing a lot more of you,” Penny said, giving you another eyebrow-raise. 

“Yeah.” Bob cleared his throat, sneaking a glance at you. “Yeah, I hope so.” 

Penny nodded, a plotting smile spreading across her face. You pretended not to notice. 

“Does anybody want some more chips?” You asked, forcing your attention to the empty bowl instead of the very cute and soon-to-be very local naval pilot beside you. Just because he was sticking around didn’t mean you needed to get your hopes up. So you picked up the bowl and headed back toward the bar for a refill. 

“Bob, could you go help Y/N grab the extra BBQ chips from inside? I think there should be several bags,” Penny asked sweetly, making you roll your eyes and snicker to yourself. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Bob wasted no time and caught up with you in just a few strides. “What’s so funny?”

You just shook your head and took the bowl inside. Once the door was closed, you flashed him an apologetic look. “I”m sorry about her. Ever since my grandpa died, she must be worried I’m going to keel over on the island all alone and-”

“I’m sorry,” Bob held up a hand, “what are you talking about?” He watched with such sweet curiosity it melted your heart. 

“Well, Bob, I think you have become the next victim in Penny’s match-making project.”

“Oh.” He stayed in the doorway, pushing up his glasses. “I did think it was weird she thought you need help carrying chip bags. I mean, you definitely seem like a strong and capable woman who can take any bag of sliced spuds she comes across.” He glanced back up with a sheepish smile. 

“I don’t know,” you sighed dramatically at the whole two bags on the counter. “Seems like a two-man job to me.” 

His uncertainty faded into something warm in his chest. He liked the way you laughed, like there was a joke he was finally in on. You noticed him. He didn’t know how else to explain it. You saw him when so often he was left in the background. And he liked it.

“If you insist,” he teased back, snatching up both bags so you could just take the bowl. Bob let you go ahead, admiring the way the straps of your sundress sat delicately on your shoulders, sun-kissed and freckled in places. 

He couldn’t help but hope that maybe, if he was reading you correctly, Penny might be on to something. 

-

Around sunset, the crew began setting up the firework “show stopper”, as Jake called it. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen that many explosives, if ever. A part of you even wondered if they had to get permission from the Navy for something this big. With Maverick’s reputation, though, you figured it might lean more towards a forgiveness over permission kind of deal. While the others stood around, putting things together, you found yourself beside Bob, both of you staring out at the orange and gold horizon. 

“This is my favorite part,” Bob said. “Before it all starts.” His glasses reflected the sunset and he nervously toyed with the hem of his shirt. 

“Not a fan of fireworks, huh?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. “Smoke in the air.”

Your stomach sank. Of course. The Fourth was known for being a holiday that could trigger PTSD, and, from what Penny said, these guys had seen a lot. 

Bob gave you a shy smile and tucked his hands in his pockets. “It’s not so bad. I like watching the colors and everything. It’s mostly just the noise. And they all really like doing them, so…” He trailed off. 

An idea sparked in your mind and, once again, your fingers intertwined with his. “Come with me.” 

Bob glanced back at the others, waiting for some catcall or teasing remark, but they were all focused on getting set up. He nodded and you nearly pulled him off his feet, leading him down to a small boat at the dock.

“Where are we going?” He laughed, almost out of breath from how fast you were dragging him. 

“Just trust me.” You started the boat’s small engine and he climbed on board. 

Bob was right. His old squadron were too busy with the fireworks to notice the little vessel cutting across the water. Penny, however, shaded her eyes and watched you go. 

“Y/N leaving already?” Pete asked, his gaze following hers. 

“I think we’ve been ditched for a party of two,” she said, beaming. 

The sun was gone when you reached the island and the first few stars were coming out to watch the show. You docked and Bob tied the lines. He marveled at the quaint waterfront house at the end of the beach. 

“You live here?” He awed. 

You blushed. “My grandpa left it to me. He said I was the only one he wanted to have it.” Finishing up with the boat, you found the perfect spot on the beach to see the other shore. “Wait here, I’ll go get something to sit on.”

You rushed inside to the little storage shed attached to the bungalow. Just next to the door was a large, navy-blue blanket. On the other side were two folded up lawn chairs. After a brief consideration, you bit your lip and grabbed the blanket. 

Bob stood along the tide, letting it wash over his feet. Hearing the door behind him, he turned, the excitement and nerves he got every time he looked at you building up at you. Even in the faint light of the stars, you looked beautiful. 

“I think they’re about to start,” he said.

You laid out the blanket and stretched yourself over it, propping yourself up on your hands. After a second's hesitation, he joined you, half sitting, half lying down like you were. His hand planted right beside yours, the tips of his fingers grazing yours. 

“We’ll still hear them, but it shouldn’t be as loud,” you explained. “And the smoke won’t reach over here-”

“Can I guess you?” Bob blurted, already leaning forward like you were drawing him in with each breath. 

You were taken off guard for a second and your collective shyness settled between the two of you. But, with a shaky breath, you managed to say, “Yes.”

Bob’s eyes fell to your lips. His hand moved on top of yours. Slowly, he closed the space between you. His lips were soft and tasted like the watermelon you’d had with dinner. Your hand came up to his face. His moved to the small of your back to pull you closer. 

You didn’t even notice the first firework go off.

It really was a spectacular show, as promised, and the distance helped to settle Bob’s anxiety. Well, that, and the warmth of your body against his as you spent the night in each other’s arms, watching sparks take over the sky. 

[rhettrosunsets]

Danger Zone - Bob Floyd X Fem! Retired F1 Driver

Pairing: Bob Floyd X Fem!Retired F1 Driver

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff!

Summary: You've kept this part of your life held close to your chest for years, it doesn't matter that millions of people watched you live on TV. But when Bob Floyd wiggles his way into your secluded life, you realize that he deserves to know, and his reaction only makes you wish you would've told him sooner.

Based off this ask: here!

Warnings: Readers a bit of an over-thinker at times, mentions of F1 crash, illusions that reader has been used for being a driver in the past, mentions of reporters being assholes, no description of reader, no use of Y/N. Mentions of doctors, hospitals, bruises, etc, Mentions of reader having a scar across their forearm and wrist from the crash. Reader used to drive for Haas (yes, that deserves it's own warning.)

Notes: Thank you anon who requested this!! I hope I made it fluffy enough with all the world building I had going on here lol. I absolutely loved this request and am so happy that I got to write it. I had so much fun with this as it felt like my two worlds colliding. I hope I did the request justice :)

The crash didn’t end in screaming agony or dramatics like most thought, it had ended with silence.

You hadn’t raced since, the rehab had ended up taking months, with the doctors saying you were lucky you’d only shattered your wrist and not your spine considering the amount of bruising you had. Haas had sent you flowers, started working on press releases immediately, and gave you a contract release form buried under one too many thank you’s and “we’re so sorry, praying for your recovery” to make you actually appreciate any of it.

You had been just twenty-two years old at the time. You had come seventh place in Spain and your best result yet as you dragged your lifeless car as far as you could with what you could manage. You were the only woman in Formula One, barely into your early twenties, and clawing your way into points like your life depended on it, having a fire in your eyes, something to prove.

Then Monza happened.

Now, three years later at twenty-five, San Diego was the only place that didn’t make you feel like you were being haunted by memories you couldn’t run far enough from. You’d grown up here, before karting and the Formula Series had turned you into a never ending headline. 

You’d missed it while being gone for so much of your teenage years. You missed the gentle sea breeze that would cover your skin in a soft chill even on the warmest of San Diego nights. You missed hearing the aviator jets as you were lulled to sleep in your bed at night, the sound of crashing waves and the jets enough to knock you out instantly as a kid. You missed San Diego, and you missed who you used to be when you once lived here.

So here you were, barefoot in the sand as you stared out at the ocean, your hoodie sleeves rolled up just enough to expose the scar across your wrist and forearm that you didn’t bother hiding anymore.

You were trying your best to distance yourself from what you had lost, trying to focus intently on the way the seagulls were flying over squawking at anyone in sight, or the way that the water reflected the beautiful sunset happening in front of your eyes. But your wrist ached like it always did when the temperature dropped and you heard a loud engine backfire in the distance, giving you an instant reminder of everything you had lost all at once.

You needed something to pull you out of your own head, just something to distract you and make you forget about the last three years of your life, if even just for a moment. That’s when you heard music drifting from the beachside bar behind you. You heard loud joyous laughter, loud music, and the sound of Glasses clinking every so often. 

You turned toward it, brushing sand from your ankles and pulling your hood down. Just one drink, you told yourself. Just something to take the edge off for a minute. You didn’t know it yet, but that bar was about to change everything.

You walked into the bar and slid onto a barstool and quickly ordered a drink, quickly brushing excess sand off your calves with a soft groan at how the sand still tried to stick to you. And that’s when you heard a voice beside you, it was low, polite, and a little shy. Something you weren’t used to hearing much these days.

“You, uh..come from the beach?” 

You turned your head and blinked, looking up at the man next to you. He was tall, blonde, and had wire rimmed glasses that sat just a little crooked on him. You also noticed he had the kindest looking baby blue eyes you’d ever seen. He wore a flight suit, the name tag reading Floyd.

Something between the soft look in his eyes and the way he wore his quiet smile made your shoulders unclench from the tense state they always seem to be permanently locked in. “What gave me away?” you asked.

He chuckled quietly, lifting his drink. “Well, the sand spilling off of you may have given me a bit of a hint.” And you laughed, for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“I’m Bob” he said, offering his hand. You hesitated slightly, so used to people asking you for things immediately, or asking you wildly inappropriate questions. But for some reason, this felt different. So after hesitating just a beat longer, you took his hand and smiled up at him, saying a soft  “Nice to meet you, Bob.”

The evening changed. You didn’t tell him your last name that night, still carrying fear with you everywhere you went. But instead you just talked, you talked about anything and everything. About what types of music you both like, about books you’re reading. He didn’t ask what you did, and he didn’t seem to care when you didn’t mention it at all throughout the evening. When he walked you to your car later, his hand brushing lightly against yours, as he insisted on opening your car door even if you were going to drive it home, you knew something had shifted.

Now, a few months later, you were nervous, something that you really hadn’t felt in years.

It was quite absurd when you considered the fact that you had driven 200 mph into corners with half an inch of space between you and the wall and hadn’t even blinked, deeming it second nature. You’d skidded through the rain at Monza and survived after hitting a barrier so hard that your wrist would never be the same and your career would be over. You went through Formula One as the only woman on the grid and had to learn how to deal with horrific interviewers, awkward questions and things that would make anyone shiver.

But meeting you boyfriends team? That's where you drew the line, that was absolutely terrifying to you.

The team was loud, close enough to be considered family, and extremely chaotic. Yet, they welcomed you at The Hard Deck like you were already one of their own, like you were family.

Phoenix had shot you a smile and whispered into your ear that “Bob’s one of the good ones, I'd keep him if I were you.” which made you giggle and automatically like the girl, feeling much more confident than when you walked in. While Rooster gave you a casual nod before tipping back his beer and grabbing the pool-stick from Fanboy. Hangman, however, leaned in with that trademark smirk of his and immediately asked you “So what do you do?”

“I used to drive, but I’ve always loved photography, so I'm pursuing that for now.” you said simply, not wanting to dive into your entire career story right now, not when the night had been going so good and you had been in such a good mood. “What, racing or something?” Hangman had teased, clearly not expecting you to say yes. You nodded, swallowing the strange twist of emotion in your chest that came into your throat and left a painful hitch. “Yeah. Something kinda like that.” 

You didn’t elaborate much further, your shoulder’s hunching slightly inwards, and Bob, your sweet, caring, ever observant boyfriend caught that immediately as his hand reached under the table to wrap around yours, giving it a firm squeeze and rubbing his thumb gently over yours without saying a word. You knew at this moment that you truly loved Bob Floyd. And he deserved to know about the other part of your life that you’ve kept so tightly hidden to yourself for the last few years, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to try to bring it up and talk about it, all the memories and emotions flooding back as you do.

A few weeks had passed since you had met the team, and you knew that you wanted Bob to meet your family. You wanted your family to meet the man who treated you like gold, massaged your wrist out for you when it started aching on bad days, the man who opens every door for you and hugs you like you’re all he ever needs. You decided it was finally time.

You invited him to dinner with your parents at their house, your nerves through the roof as you imagined how this would all go down.

 Bob had come straight from the base, his shirt half tucked into his jeans, and a bouquet of grocery store flowers in hand as he hugged your mom, and shook your dad’s hand, introducing himself before giving you a gentle kiss. Your mom had practically swooned at the sight, asking him all sorts of questions about his job, how he became an aviator, and all the questions about how you two met. Bob had just laughed and smiled that shy smile of his that makes your heart skip a beat and answered all your moms questions intently, not brushing over anything or making her feel like she asked a stupid question when it came to the mechanics of being a WSO. 

Your dad had grilled him with narrowed eyes, asking every question in the book that he could think of, and saying the normal "What are your intentions with my daughter?” before breaking into a grin halfway through dinner as he saw the way Bob interacted with your mom and the way he never let his hand falter from yours, seeing the way Bob constantly would give a nod to you as if to ask if you were okay. After that, Bob was met with a big “Welcome to the family, Son.” and a clap on the back as everyone gathered their dishes.

But then, then the part you’ve been dreading since the moment this evening happened.

Bob had gone to the bathroom, walking down the hallway you know has every photo, memory and award hung up gracing the wall. He came back five minutes later looking stunned.

 You followed his gaze to the hallway wall he was still glancing at, his eyes taking in every photo and memory. Dozens of framed photos lined the wall. Every race win since you were in karting, every podium you’ve ever had while being in the Formula Series, every photos of you each season with your team. There was one of you at eleven years old, it was your parents' favorite photo. It captured you grinning widely as you were in your tiny karting suit, holding your first ever trophy above your head. 

Others littered the wall, like one from when you were in Formula 3, your helmet under one arm and your racing suit smeared with grease and champagne as you smiled big at your team principal. Then one of you during your Formula 2 days, it was you on the podium, your smile so wide you felt like you were reliving the memory just by looking at it. And then, well then there was the photo that you never wanted to look at again. The photo that you had worked so hard to get to the point of being able to take, a photo that your parent’s cherished and you grimaced at. It was you in the Haas garage, arm slung around your engineer as you laughed just before your first ever F1 debut, the whole garage smiling at the fact that they had a women driver, and she was about to debut, not in a practice session, not in pre-season testing, no, she going to debut on track in a race.

Your body deflates slightly and Bob notices, walking away from the years worth of memories and gently wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he leads you back to the living room, where the rest of your family is waiting, eager to hear more about you two together. 

Soon you bid your family goodbye, and start heading back to your car, Bob’s hand firmly placed on your back grounding you despite the anxiety you feel about the inevitable questions he’s going to have.

Bob opens your car door, softly helping you in, before gently pressing a kiss to your forehead before closing your door and heading around to the drivers side, opening the door and getting in himself, and starting the car. 

As he pulls away from your parent’s house his hand finds yours, giving it a firm squeeze and softly saying “I’ve got questions Baby, I would love to know why my girlfriend is such a badass and hid it from me all this time. But, I can tell this is a sensitive topic for you and if you don’t want to talk about it yet then we aren’t going too. This is something I want you to tell me in your own time, Hun.”

Your eyes instantly well with tears, because Bob, your amazing boyfriend who has been nothing but thoughtful and caring to you since you met him just saw the hidden part of your life, the one you hide with a mask, and isn’t pushing you like others, isn’t drilling you with questions about what the rest of the drivers where like, asking what your crash felt like. Bob’s just there, holding you hand firmly, and letting you process how you need too. 

It’s at this moment that you decide to tell him, not because you feel the pressure too, but because you trust that he will accept every part of you. You know Bob, and he’s not going to compare you now, to the you that you once were. You know Bob doesn’t care about how many trophies you’ve won, how many podiums you’ve made, the people you’ve met, Bob just cares about you, and not because you were once a formula one driver, but because you're his girlfriend.  His girlfriend who tries to make him lunches when you stay over at his apartment, the one who always litters his face with kisses after a long day to make him smile. 

You know Bob wants you, all of you. As the car pulls into his apartment, and you guys go in, you tell him everything. 

How you started karting when you were six after a friend’s birthday party made you wanna keep doing it. How you rocked a barbie pink helmet at eight years old and never let anyone tell you different, how the boys never took you seriously in karting until you started winning big events, which made you only more determined to keep doing it. 

How as you got older and older you knew that this was what you wanted to do in life. How you fought your way through F3 and F2 as a teen, fighting to let everyone know that a girl could beat the best of the best, always giving interviews with grace even when you wished you would’ve punched some of them for the questions they’d ask you. You told him how you sobbed in your moms arms when you got the F1 call up saying you were going to be racing for Haas. You told him how everyone said a girl couldn’t make it, that you'd get cut from your seat within just a few races, and how your first finish in the points felt like spitting in their face, telling everyone who ever doubted you just because you were a woman to get fucked.

And then? Then you told him about the crash, about how when you turned that corner and felt the grip go and your car begin sliding, you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop the physics of what was going to happen. You told him about the sound of your car crumpling and how it’s something that’ll never leave your memories, and how after you crashed all you heard was ringing and then silence.

You told him the way you’ll never forget the smell of the burnt rubber and carbon fiber, and then you told him about the way your wrist shattered against the wheel as it got stuck, breaking your wrist and multiple fingers to the point where you needed five different surgeries to correct the nerve damage that had been created.

You told him about the pain when you woke up in the hospital after managing to climb in the ambulance before promptly passing out. You told him the pain of waking up and knowing you’d never race again, as you saw the state of your body and hands, knowing you were going to have to completely relearn how to use your right wrist, how to write, how to hold things, all of that was going to have to be completely redone.

Bob didn’t once interrupt you, ask you questions to go more in depth, he just listened. His presence calming, and his gaze on you firm with concern and love. “I miss it. so much” you said, your eyes on the ceiling as you lean back against the couch the tension in your body fading to something softer, something sadder. “That feeling, It was like flying. When I was in those cars nothing else mattered to me but the line I was going to take. Always trying to push the limit, go a bit further than the person before, take a risk and see the payoff from it.”

He doesn’t speak, he just keeps his hand warm on your thigh, gently squeezing it to let you know he was there when he could tell you were getting emotional. 

“I just. I really don’t like talking about it because I hate sounding bitter. I can see the way people pity me and look at me like I'm wasted potential, like they’re always wondering what could’ve been if I had continued, yet never acknowledging what I did do. I see those races on TV, or playing at the bar and it just guts me, because that should’ve been me, that was me, and now it’s all a faded away memory that I keep locked close to my chest.” You admitted softly

He finally turned toward you, his eyes full of quiet awe and something that looked like admiration. “You’re not bitter Baby, you’re brave, you changed the game darling. You became what little girls looked up to. You made it possible for someone else to believe they could do it too. Sure, you may have not ended the way you wanted, but what you’ve done can’t be erased”

You blinked hard, trying to fight the tears trying to escape your eyes, but failing as they began to wall. “And yeah” he continued, his thumb brushing away a stray tear on your cheek “Maybe your wrist doesn’t work the way it used to, but that doesn’t take away a single thing you’ve done. You’re still you, and I love every version of you because I want all of you, not just the girl who once raced, and not just the girl who I get to curl up with everything. I want you baby, all of you.”

You let out a shaky breath and leaned into him burying your face in his chest, while he held you on that couch while you fell apart in his arms, and not once did he make you feel bad for it.

Later that night, you're wrapped in his sheets and lying against his chest, your thoughts beginning to spiral again. “You okay?” Bob whispered, his voice raspy from exhaustion. 

You hesitated before humming a gentle “Just thinkin.” He pressed a kiss to your temple and softly asked “You ever think about driving again? Just for fun?” You tilted your head up a bit confused “What? Like sim racing?”

“No,” he said, a smirk quirking up in the corner of his mouth despite his tired eyes “Like go karting, the real kind. Maybe’ we take the team sometime. You know Hangman’s too competitive not to talk trash everyone. I’d pay to see my badass of a girl leave him in the dust.”

You snorted, a smile finally growing on your lips as you shake your head softly.

 “Oh come on baby, It’d be so much fun. You would get to be in your element again without all the stress, and I'd get to watch my girl absolutely destroy everyone's egos.” Bob say’s trying his best to convince you.

You laughed loudly, the real laughs that Bob always manages to pull out of you even when you think it’s impossible. You curled closer to him, burying yourself further into his hold, relishing in the way his arms gently squeezed you closer to him. “Thanks, Bobby” you whispered quietly.

 “For what?” He asks softly, peering down at you through tired eyes. You smile, meeting his gentle gaze and softly say “For making me feel like I still have a purpose, like I haven’t reached my full potential yet.”

He kissed your temple. “You haven’t, Baby. Not even close.”

[nerdgirlbutinpink]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | dating lieutenant bob floyd hcs!

𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐠𝐮𝐧: 𝐦𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 | headcanons

𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘁𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆 𝗯𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗶𝘀!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

── .✦ bookworm dates and cuddle piles

bob is 1000% the type to invite you over just to read next to you. like, he has his book, you have yours, and you’re just curled up on the c ouch sharing a blanket and stealing glances every five pages. bonus: he’ll absentmindedly rub your knee while flipping pages with his other hand.

── .✦ he’s the quiet jealous type

he doesn’t blow up or start fights, but if someone flirts with you a little too hard, bob’s eyes go all sharp behind his glasses. he’ll come stand beside you real close and softly go, “everything okay?” with that quiet power that says, this is mine. back off.

── .✦ you help him style his hair for fun

bob’s hair is fluffy and unruly and he never does anything with it—but you start playing with it one day and suddenly it’s a whole ritual. he lets you try braids, clips, even gel if you’re bored. he pretends to hate it. he does not hate it.

── .✦ he makes you playlists, but they’re weirdly emotional

they’re all titled like “morning vibes” or “for your drive to work” but then track 2 is some haunting indie love song that makes you question everything. bob’s not dramatic—he’s just lowkey sentimental in a devastating way.

── .✦ flight jacket privileges

you “steal” his jacket once and he blushes so hard he can’t speak. but now he secretly leaves it draped over your chair or tossed on your bed like “oops, forgot it.” (he didn’t. he wants you to wear it.)

── .✦ he calls you by your full name when he’s flustered

when he’s flirty he’ll use nicknames like “sweetheart” or “babe” in this soft southern drawl, but when you catch him off guard—like kissing his neck or complimenting his hands—he’ll go all wide-eyed and be like, “y/n. please.”

── .✦ he teaches you all the aviation stuff and gets so excited

bob’s normally chill but if you ask him how radar jamming works? boy lights up. he’ll start sketching things on napkins and talking with his hands and it’s the cutest thing ever. you don’t even care if you understand. you just love seeing him that hyped.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅



a/n: please take my month long absence apology with these head canons of everyone’s favorite boy rn :D #illwritemore