#lt robert bob floyd

[voidpies]

lewis pullman in a suit and tie.

that’s it. that’s the post.

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Clear for Takeoff

bob floyd x fem!reader

Smut

The base was already alive by 0700, humming with movement, boots on pavement, jet engines revving in the distance.

Bob Floyd sat in the briefing room, posture straight, hands folded neatly over his open flight notebook. His pen was uncapped, ready to underline whatever Cyclone barked at them today. He’d already finished his coffee, already done a final walkaround of his aircraft, already memorized the sortie plan twice.

He did not look up when the door creaked open behind him.

He only looked up when he heard her.

“Don’t worry, I’m here. You can all relax now.”

She strolled in like she owned the place—coffee in one hand, aviators perched high on her head, flight suit rolled to her waist to reveal the fitted black tank top beneath. She smiled at Phoenix on her way by, shouldered Hangman with a lazy grin, and dropped into the empty seat next to Bob with the kind of confidence that came from always winning.

“Morning, Floyd,” she said, voice casual.

“Vixen,” he replied, quick and even.

He didn’t look at her. Not directly. Not at the way a few strands of her hair had slipped loose from her bun. Not at the curve of her mouth around her straw. Not at the patch on her shoulder or the scrape on her knuckle or the place her knee accidentally brushed against his under the table.

He absolutely did not look.

And yet.

She smiled a little to herself and sipped her coffee.

⸻

“Who wants first go at Vixen?” Phoenix asked an hour later as they crossed the tarmac.

“In the sky or in general?” Hangman drawled.

“In the sky,” Vixen said sweetly, tugging her hair into a bun. “The rest of you couldn’t handle me.”

Bob didn’t mean to glance her way, but he did.

Her smirk turned sharp.

“C’mon, Floyd,” she said, slinging her helmet under one arm. “Take me up?”

He blinked. “I—I’m not flying with you today.”

“Shame.” She turned on her heel, sauntering toward her jet. “Guess I’ll have to kick someone else’s ass.”

Phoenix let out a low whistle. “Poor Bob. You look like she just stepped on your throat and you said thank you.”

Bob didn’t answer. He just watched her walk away.

⸻

From the ground, he watched her take off. Smooth, powerful, elegant.

She flew like gravity was optional. Like the sky was hers and she’d never even heard of crashing.

Bob stared too long. He always did.

“You got it bad, man,” Fanboy said beside him.

Bob blinked. “What?”

“For flight envy,” Fanboy replied innocently, clapping him on the shoulder.

Bob rolled his eyes, but his stomach twisted anyway.

He didn’t have it bad. He didn’t have anything.

Not for her.

Not for Vixen.

He was just…watching.

That’s all.

⸻

Later, in the locker room, she was laughing with Hangman, peeling off her flight suit and towel-drying her sweat-slick hair. Bob passed by in a clean shirt and jeans, fully intending to keep walking—until she turned and winked at him.

Just a flicker of amusement in her eyes. Teasing. Innocent.

It wrecked him anyway.

Fanboy, behind him, snorted. “Jesus, dude, she looks at you and your ears go red.”

Bob didn’t dignify it with a response. Just kept walking. Straight past the hangar. Straight to his car. Straight home to try and forget that her call sign echoed in his head like it belonged there.

⸻

That night, the group chat lit up.

phoenix: hard deck in 30, come on losers

hangman: I’ll buy the first round if Vixen shows up in that sundress again 😮‍💨

vixen: I’ll show up if Bob does. He’s the fun one 😇

fanboy: ohhhh??

bob: …

He stared at his phone for a long time.

He didn’t understand it.

He didn’t get her.

But he found himself getting ready anyway.

——

The Hard Deck was full by 2100, all warm lights and louder laughter. The jukebox crooned something old and flirty. Phoenix was on her second beer, Hangman was already halfway through his tequila truth spiral, and Bob was—unexpectedly—drinking.

Not nursing a beer like usual. Actually drinking.

“You feeling alright, Floyd?” Vixen asked as she leaned beside him at the bar.

He didn’t meet her eyes. Just tugged at the hem of his shirt and muttered, “Fanboy made me.”

Fanboy raised his glass like a devil on Bob’s shoulder. “Peer pressure works, baby.”

Vixen grinned. “Well… I like drunk Bob.”

Bob turned to look at her—and promptly lost his train of thought.

She was wearing that sundress again. The white one with the little flowers and the thin straps. Her hair was down and her smile was sharp, and he was not equipped for this. Not even with three drinks in him.

Maybe especially not with three drinks in him.

“Y’know,” she said, sipping her cocktail, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

“I’m not,” he said too fast.

She smiled, slow and pleased, like she’d won something. “Good.”

And then she walked away.

Bob turned back to his drink and whispered, “I’m so fucked.”

⸻

The pool table was already a battlefield when he shuffled over an hour later, cheeks pink, sleeves pushed up. Phoenix handed him a beer he didn’t remember asking for, and Fanboy gave him a pat on the back.

“Vixen versus Hangman. Place your bets,” Payback called.

Vixen stepped up, cue in hand, sundress fluttering around her thighs. Bob leaned against the jukebox, watching her line up her shot.

She bent over the table.

And something just broke in him.

“God, I love the view.”

The words came out low and slow, like he didn’t even realize he was speaking.

The bar went silent.

She didn’t even look up.

Bob kept going. Louder now. Looser.

“Bet she tastes as good as she looks too.”

CRACK.

The cue ball missed.

Hangman turned, stunned.

Phoenix’s mouth fell open.

Fanboy muttered, “What the fuck.”

Bob blinked slowly, half-aware of what he’d done. He was warm, and swaying, and drunk on more than liquor.

And Vixen—still bent over the table—turned her head and looked at him.

Something feral flickered behind her eyes. And Bob realized too late: he’d said that out loud.

Fanboy grabbed him by the shoulders. “Alright. Time to go. Let’s get you home, buddy.”

“No, wait—” Bob stumbled, trying to look back. “I didn’t—I mean, I didn’t mean—”

“Yup,” Fanboy said, steering him through the crowd. “You meant every word. And you’re gonna regret all of it in the morning.”

The door slammed behind them.

⸻

Vixen stood up, pool cue still in hand.

Hangman let out a breath. “What the hell was that?”

Phoenix laughed, still wide-eyed. “Bob’s been holding that in?”

“Freaky little freak,” Hangman muttered, resetting the balls. “Who knew?”

Vixen didn’t speak.

Not right away.

She just walked around the table slowly. Cue dragging along the felt. Bob’s voice echoed in her head like a bell—

Bet she tastes as good as she looks too.

She sank the eight ball without blinking.

⸻

That night, Vixen lay awake in her room, staring at the ceiling.

She hadn’t touched her drink since Bob left. She hadn’t stopped replaying it since either.

He liked her.

No, scratch that.

He wanted her.

He wanted her bad enough to say that in front of everyone.

She laughed to herself—half-stunned, half-delighted.

“You freaky little freak,” she whispered into the dark.

And she smiled.

———

Bob Floyd woke up with a hangover and absolutely no memory of the night before.

His head throbbed. His tongue was dry. His hoodie smelled like someone else’s spilled whiskey. But none of that concerned him as much as the sick, gaping blank where his memories of the Hard Deck should’ve been.

He remembered arriving. He remembered the pool game starting. He remembered Vixen in that sundress.

After that? Nothing.

He stared at the ceiling in horror. ��Oh no.”

From the other room, Fanboy called out, “Morning, Casanova!”

Bob winced. “Why are you calling me that?”

“You’ll see.”

⸻

He got to base early, mostly to hide in the back of the squad room and suffer in silence. But fate, and Hangman, had other plans.

“Hey there, Romeo,” Hangman drawled the second Bob stepped inside.

Phoenix snorted into her coffee. “Speak of the devil.”

Bob froze. “Okay, what is going on?”

Hangman spun lazily in his seat. “You really don’t remember, huh?”

Bob blinked. “Remember what?”

Fanboy walked in behind him with the biggest smirk on his face. “You don’t remember anything you said last night?”

Bob’s stomach dropped. “No.”

“Ohhhh, buddy,” Phoenix said.

Hangman leaned back and crossed his arms. “Let’s set the scene. Pool table. You’re posted up by the jukebox. Vixen bends over for a shot—”

“Okay,” Bob interrupted, already red in the face. “You can stop there.”

“I will not,” Hangman said gleefully. “Because then you, Robert Floyd, opened your mouth and said—quote—‘God, I love the view.’”

Bob went still.

Hangman continued, voice full of dramatic flair. “And then, because you apparently hate peace, you added: ‘Bet she tastes as good as she looks too.’”

Bob made a sound like a dying animal.

Phoenix just laughed. “The delivery was pornographic, Bob. I almost passed out.”

Bob sat down hard in the nearest chair. “No. No, I didn’t say that. You’re messing with me.”

“Multiple witnesses,” Phoenix said, sipping her coffee.

Fanboy nodded. “You left right after. I dragged you out of there before Vixen could do anything crazy like climb you like a tree.”

Bob dropped his head into his hands. “I’m gonna pass away. This is it. I’m gonna die.”

“Want the real kicker?” Hangman added.

Bob didn’t lift his head. “What.”

“She’s here.”

That made him look up.

The door opened and in she walked—aviators in her hand, ponytail high, mouth glossed and smiling.

Bob felt his soul leave his body.

“Morning, gentlemen,” she said lightly.

She looked directly at him.

“Hi, Bob.”

He squeaked. Actually squeaked.

She took the seat in front of him like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t heard any of it. Or worse—like she had.

Bob panicked. Panicked.

He rushed over to her desk before his legs could talk him out of it. “Vixen. Hey. Um. Can I talk to you?”

She looked up with faux-innocence. “Oh? About what?”

“I—I heard I said some things last night and I just wanted to say I didn’t mean—well I didn’t mean to say them. I don’t even remember saying them and I would never—”

She cut him off, head tilting. “So you’re saying… you don’t have a crush on me?”

He blinked. Froze. “What?”

“I mean, I woke up extra early,” she continued, tapping her glossed lips, “put on cute earrings and everything—so if you’re gonna stand here and tell me last night meant nothing…”

Bob’s mouth opened. No sound came out.

Her voice dropped. “Didn’t you say something about the view?”

He combusted.

“No! I mean yes! I mean I do! I have a huge crush on you! I just—I didn’t mean to say it in public like that—”

She leaned back in her chair, triumphant. “There it is.”

Bob stared at her, stunned.

“You—you wanted me to say that?”

She smiled. “I wanted you to say it sober.”

———

It started as a joke.

“Movie night at mine,” Vixen said casually in the locker room, unzipping her flight suit halfway. “Bring snacks. I’ll provide the trauma.”

Bob looked up from where he was tying his boots. “Wait. Seriously?”

She shrugged. “Unless you’re too scared to be alone with me now.”

His jaw dropped. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Then I’ll see you at eight.”

⸻

Bob brought Red Vines, kettle corn, and a six-pack of root beer because—of course he did.

He also spent forty-five minutes debating which shirt to wear (he settled on a navy Henley because it “accidentally” made his arms look good), and paced outside her door for a full minute before finally knocking.

She answered in shorts and a tank top.

He died.

“Wow,” he said, blinking.

She grinned. “Wow what?”

“Nothing. You just… uh. Look comfortable.”

“Should I be less comfortable?”

“No! I mean—no. You’re fine. I mean—you look—you’re great.” He cleared his throat. “I brought snacks.”

She took them from him with a smirk. “Floyd, relax. We’re watching a movie. You’re not meeting my parents.”

⸻

Ten minutes in and Bob was not watching the movie.

He was watching her.

Not intentionally. It was just… every time she shifted on the couch, her thigh brushed his. And every time she leaned forward to grab popcorn, the neckline of her tank would dip just enough to make his ears turn red. And when she laughed—

He was gone. Fully gone.

“You’re quiet,” she said at one point.

He jolted. “What?”

“You’re always like this when you like someone?”

His head whipped toward her. “What? No! I mean—I don’t—what?”

She looked smug. “You’re blushing again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “You were more confident when you were drunk.”

He covered his face with both hands. “Please never bring that up again.”

She laughed and tugged one of his hands away. “C’mon. I liked drunk Bob.”

“You liked freaky little freak Bob?”

Her voice dropped. “I liked hearing what you actually thought.”

Bob swallowed hard.

“Y-you remember all of it?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, not looking away. “Every word.”

He blinked at her. “And you’re not… mad?”

“I was flattered.”

“Oh.”

Their faces were closer now.

She didn’t move.

And neither did he.

“Bob,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “If you want to kiss me… now would be a good time.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

⸻

The kiss was soft at first.

Hesitant.

But then her hand slid into his hair, and his fingers found her waist, and suddenly they were pressing closer, breathing each other in like they’d been holding back for months.

Her mouth was warm. Sweet. Open. Inviting.

Bob groaned into it before he could stop himself.

She smiled against his lips. “There’s that freaky little freak.”

He pulled back, dazed. “You’re gonna make fun of me forever, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

And she kissed him again.

———

They didn’t talk about the kiss.

Not the next day. Not the day after that.

They still trained together, still flew with the team, still threw snark back and forth in the locker room like nothing had changed. But it had.Something about the way they looked at each other now—longer, slower, heavier.

Needier.

It all came to a head on Friday night.

She invited him over again. Just another “movie night.”

But this time?

He brought nothing.

Just showed up on her doorstep in a plain black t-shirt that clung to his chest, all tense posture and unreadable eyes, and said:

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

⸻

They never made it to the couch.

She kissed him the second the door closed. He backed her into the wall, breathing hard, hands planted on either side of her head like he was afraid to touch her too soon.

“I’ve been going crazy,” he whispered. “Thinking about the things I said that night.”

She smirked. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to take them back,” he said, mouth brushing her jaw. “But I can’t. Not when every word was true.”

“Even the—‘she probably tastes as good as she looks’?”

He groaned, low and wrecked.

“I think about it all the time now,” she whispered, fingers curling in the front of his shirt. “Wondering what else you’d say if no one else was listening.”

That broke him.

His hands grabbed her waist and lifted—just enough to pin her between the wall and his body, mouth dragging down her throat, slow and sinful.

“Jesus, Vixen…” he muttered against her skin. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“I can,” she panted. “You started it.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“You really want to know what I’d say?”

She nodded, breath shaky.

His voice went dark. “If I didn’t respect you so damn much, I’d be on my knees right now with your thighs over my shoulders.”

Her lips parted.

“I’d pull that pretty little tank top off. Take my time with your tits. Bite just enough to make you gasp.”

“Bob—”

“I’d make you beg.” His grip tightened on her hips. “Make you cry for it.”

Her nails dug into his arms.

“You don’t say stuff like that,” she whispered, wide-eyed.

“You asked,” he said, mouth ghosting hers. “You asked what I’d say sober.”

She kissed him hard.

⸻

They made it to the bedroom. Eventually.

It was messy. Clothes everywhere. Breaths gone. Hearts racing.

She was straddling his lap, grinding slow and taunting, her tank top somewhere on the floor. His hands kept sliding under the waistband of her shorts like he couldn’t stand not touching her.

“You wanna keep pretending this is just a little crush?” she whispered, voice teasing.

His eyes were dark.

“I’m not pretending anymore.”

He sat up, hands cupping her face.

“I’m so into you it’s ruining me.”

And then?

His mouth was on hers again—hotter, rougher, hungrier.

———

She woke up to sunlight on her back and Bob Floyd’s hand already sliding up her thigh.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice low and sleep-rough, his lips grazing her shoulder.

She smiled into the pillow. “You’re awake early.”

“I never went back to sleep.”

He sounded calm, but his hand was not. It was slipping under the hem of the borrowed t-shirt she’d thrown on after they collapsed last night. He pushed the fabric up slowly, knuckles grazing the bare curve of her ass.

“I’ve been lying here thinking about how wet you were for me.”

Her breath caught.

“About how you begged.”

She rolled over, chest brushing his bare one, and met his eyes—dark, heavy-lidded, starving.

“You were loud last night,” he said, voice soft but wrecked. “You gonna be louder this time?”

“You want me to be loud?” she asked, already breathless.

“I want the walls shaking, baby.”

He kissed her like he needed her to breathe. Like the night wasn’t enough. Like he’d been thinking about round two since the second round one ended.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered against her mouth. “Laid out like this. All warm and sleepy and mine.”

Her hips rolled into his on instinct.

“Still needy?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she teased, reaching down to wrap her fingers around him. “You tell me.”

Bob groaned. Long and ragged.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he said, eyes fluttering closed.

“Then die slow.”

She kissed down his throat. Took her time. But Bob didn’t stay patient for long. Once she slid her shorts down and straddled his lap again, he was all hands—gripping her thighs, dragging her forward, lips at her ear.

“Ride me,” he said, voice a growl. “Nice and slow. Want to feel everything.”

She whimpered.

He licked into her mouth. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”

She rocked against him, slow and deep, and Bob lost it. His fingers dug in. His head tipped back. And the filthy things that poured out of his mouth—

“Fucking heaven.”

“Feel so good, baby, look at you—”

“Taking me so well. Like you were made for it.”

She moaned, thighs shaking.

“Yeah, that’s it. Give it to me. Give me everything.”

She clenched around him and Bob’s head snapped forward—forehead resting against hers, jaw tight, voice trembling.

“You’re gonna come just from this, aren’t you?”

She nodded, too far gone to speak.

“Goddamn. I knew it. Knew you were a filthy little thing under all that flight gear.”

“Bob—”

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”

She shattered.

⸻

When her vision cleared, she was still shaking. Still straddling him. Still trying to breathe.

Bob kissed her shoulder, her throat, her cheek.

“You okay?”

She nodded.

He smiled. “You’re not gonna walk straight today.”

She smacked his chest, giggling. “Shut up.”

He just grinned, smug and satisfied and utterly ruined.

———

It started with a look.

Bob was already twitchy that morning. Watching her like he hadn’t just had her falling apart in bed twenty-four hours ago. His hands kept twitching. His jaw kept locking. And when she bent over the Ops table during the briefing?

He whimpered.

Quiet. Barely audible. But she heard it.

And smirked.

⸻

The break between briefings was only fifteen minutes.

She barely made it three steps down the hallway before a strong hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged her into the nearest door.

SLAM.

Supply closet.

Dim light. No windows. Shelves full of classified binders and aircraft grease.

“Are you seriously—”

Bob kissed her before she could finish.

“I couldn’t wait,” he muttered, already lifting her onto a crate like it was muscle memory. “Been thinking about this all day.”

She gasped as his hand slid up her inner thigh. “We’re on base—”

“Locked the door.”

“Someone’s gonna—”

“Don’t care.”

His fingers found the waistband of her uniform pants and tugged. Hard.

“Bob—”

“I need you,” he whispered, wrecked. “Right now.”

And that was it.

⸻

Meanwhile…

Hangman was walking by with an energy drink in hand when he heard it.

The thud.

The whisper.

The distinct sound of Bob Floyd moaning.

He paused.

Turned back toward the supply closet. Stared at the locked door for a beat.

Then?

He sighed.

Leaned against the wall.

And waited.

⸻

Inside, Bob had her against the shelving unit, pants halfway down her thighs, his mouth hot against her neck.

“You’re already wet,” he rasped. “You like sneaking around with me?”

She nodded, breathless.

“You like being bad?”

She gasped as he slid two fingers inside her. “You’re the one who pulled me in here!”

“And you didn’t stop me.”

She grabbed his face and kissed him hard. Grinding against his hand. Breath catching on every thrust of his fingers.

“Want you,” she whispered. “Want you now.”

He groaned. “Say it again.”

“Fuck me, Bob—”

That was it.

He spun her around, pressed her chest to the shelving, and pushed her pants the rest of the way down.

“Keep your voice down, sweetheart,” he whispered, dragging the tip of himself over her slick heat. “Unless you want the whole hallway to hear you.”

⸻

Outside?

Hangman popped open his drink.

Sipped.

Checked his watch.

Smirked.

“Two more minutes,” he muttered to himself. “Maybe three if she’s feeling generous.”

Then he heard the slam of a hand on metal and a choked-off whimper.

He snorted. “Damn. Vixen’s got him on the ropes.”

⸻

Inside, Bob was losing it.

“Fucking tight,” he gasped, driving into her slow, deep, filthy. “You feel like heaven—shit—I’m not gonna last—”

“You better,” she whispered, bracing herself on the shelf. “Or I’m leaving you in here with blue balls and shame.”

Bob laughed, breathless.

Then he grabbed her hips harder, pulled out almost all the way, and slammed back in.

Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

“You want it like that?” he rasped. “Tell me.”

“Yes—fuck, yes.”

“You want me to fill you up right here in a goddamn closet?”

“Bob—”

“Say it.”

“*Yes—*want you to come inside me—please—”

Bob shuddered.

And then?

He did.

⸻

Two minutes later, they emerged—flushed, hair mussed, uniforms barely pulled back together.

Hangman was standing right there, sipping his drink.

Bob froze.

Vixen blinked.

Hangman just raised his can in a lazy toast. “Hope y’all used protection. You know how many germs are on that shelf?”

Bob turned bright red.

Vixen grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know weather boy.” (please tell me you guys get this joke)

They kept walking.

Hangman whistled after them. “Don’t worry, Romeo. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Then he muttered, “Until next briefing.”

[sportsmusicsoapsmoviesfan]

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Full of Surprises - Bob Floyd x Reader

A/N: Inspired by @galaxy-of-stories's post

pairing: Lt. Robert Floyd x reader

warnings/content: virgin!bob x fem reader, oral (f receiving), p in v, swearing, hangman actually being a decent friend towards bob.

word count: 3k

minors dni below the cut

Bob chewed on his bottom lip nervously as he watched you from across the beach, his dark blue eyes watching you intensely from behind his wire framed glasses. He rarely took part in off-base activities with the rest of the Dagger squad, but today, he’d been coaxed out by Rooster and Phoenix to join the team for a relaxing beach day. What he didn’t know though, was that you would be there. You were Maverick’s niece, and Bob had pretty much instantly fallen for you. Smart, funny, beautiful and friendly - Bob thought you were the whole package. He loved the way your eyes lit up whenever you spoke about something you were interested in, the way your cheeks blushed whenever Maverick and Rooster started reminiscing about your childhood, having grown up playing with Rooster on occasion when you were little, and he loved the way you were so outgoing, and so unlike him. He always hated his incurable shyness, the fact that he struggled so hard to come out of his shell, he resented it, especially now that it made it next to impossible for him to hold a conversation with you. 

“Hey, Baby-on-Board, you coming?” 

Bob turned his head around to face one of the pilots on his squad, Hangman, calling over to him. Bob rolled his eyes at the nickname Hangman had given him and shook his head quickly, his cheeks turning red again. He prayed that the UV rays were strong enough that day that he could lie and say the reddening of his face was due to too much sun exposure, but he knew that wasn’t likely going to work as an excuse on anyone, much less Hangman. The tall blonde pilot raised an eyebrow at Bob as he folded his arms over his broad chest. 

“Jeez, Bagman, don’t you ever wear a shirt?” Bob laughed dryly as he poked fun at Hangman, who had long ditched his t-shirt to show off his sunkissed skin, trying desperately to attract any female attention he could get on the beach.

“Hey, at least I don’t keep mine on the whole time at the beach.” Hangman shrugged as he sat down on the sand beside Bob. “Why do you anyway? I mean, you do all the same workouts as the rest of us do. It’s because you’re covered in chest hair isn’t it?” Hangman smirked as he playfully shoved Bob, flipping his sunglasses down over his eyes.

“No, I just don’t like to,” Bob shrugged his shoulders, “You know me, I’m not one to draw attention to myself.” 

“I hate to break it to you, Bobby, but you’ve definitely drawn someone’s attention,” Hangman grinned at him as he pointed towards you with his thumb as he spoke, “Mav’s niece hasn’t been able to stop herself from giving you the bedroom eyes, it’s hilarious that you haven’t noticed it yet though.”

“Bedroom eyes?” Bob laughed and shook his head, “What the hell are bedroom eyes?” 

“You know,” Hangman put his sunglasses atop his short blonde hair and grinned, imitating the lustful look he was referring to, the one he was so convinced you had for Bob.

“I have never seen anyone make that face in my life, Bagman. Are you bullshitting me?” Bob raised an eyebrow as he leaned back on his palms in the sand and sighed softly as he watched you again. The breeze blew your long hair back and the sunlight hit your tanned skin just right, making you appear to have a sunkissed glow. The sight alone was almost enough to drive Bob crazy. 

“Hah!” Hangman grinned as he pointed at Bob’s facial expression as he watched you, “You’re doing it to her right now!”

“I am not!” Bob protested, shaking his head. “Look, don’t you have something better to do?”

“No, I know I’m a shitty wingman half the time, but this time, I’m making it my personal mission to be yours.” 

Bob sighed again as he rolled his eyes. He knew he wasn’t winning on this one, and Hangman wasn’t going to leave him alone anytime soon. He just wasn’t ready to make a move on you yet. He’d had a handful of girlfriends over the years, but he’d never gone any further than making out for one reason or another, usually due to nerves. As badly as Bob wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to be humiliated in front of you.

“I’m fine,” Bob said through clenched teeth. 

“Dude, you can tell me what your hang up is. I’m not gonna go blab it, I promise,” Hangman said, placing his hand over his heart playfully to show that Bob’s secret would be safe with him.

“Fine…” Bob exhaled and shook his head, “I don’t know what the bedroom eyes are or anything because I’ve never, you know…gone to the bedroom…with anyone,” He said as he gave Hangman a pleading look, his facial expression begging him for some sympathy and compassion instead of the relentless teasing he expected from him.

“You mean, never?”

“Never. Not even close. I think I’ve made out with a girl once. I was like 18 though.” 

“Wow,” was all that Hangman could muster out.

“So now you get it?” Bob asked softly, “It’s not that I don’t want to ask her out. It’s that I’m scared I’ll screw it up because of that.”

Bob sighed and shook his head again as he stood up. He brushed the sand off his shorts and forced a laugh.

“I’m gonna head home, Hangman. See you later.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hangman laughed as he put a hand on Bob’s shoulder, his firm grip stopping Bob from walking away, “You’re at least gonna talk to this poor girl. She’s been interested in you the whole time she’s been here visiting Mav. Christ, even Mav’s noticed it,, and we all know how observant he is.”

“What if you’re wrong though and she’s not interested in me? Maybe she’s just being nice. I bet you’re more her type anyway.” Bob frowned.

“Me? No, she’s uh…she’s made it very clear I am not her type,” He laughed softly, shaking his head, “I tried. She outright told me “the cute guy with glasses” is her type. And how many guys with glasses are on our squad?”

“Just me…unless she meant sunglasses. Then it could be anyone.”

“Robert, I swear, you’re the dumbest guy I’ve ever met sometimes,” Hangman laughed as he rolled his eyes, “She meant you, jackass. She likes you. She told me. Now, what are you going to do with this information?”

“Talk to her…?�� Bob tried, a nervous laugh escaping his lips as he thought about it.

“Attaboy, Baby-on-Board, you got this,” Hangman grinned as he stood up, “Now, do me a favour? Try to look a little less like you’re about to shit your pants over this ok?” 

Bob rolled his eyes and took a deep breath as he approached you, a friendly smile on his lips as he nodded his head towards you. 

“Hi, I don’t think I ever properly introduced myself,” Bob offered his hand out to shake and smiled, “Lt. Robert Floyd, everyone calls me Bob, sometimes Bobby though.” 

“Hi Bob,” you grinned and shook his hand, “Y/N. Nice to meet you. My uncle’s told me a lot about you. You’re a WSO, right?”

“Yeah, I’m the backseater, it’s kinda fun, I’m a big nerd, so I get to use a lot of math in it to calculate where to aim the lasers and all that.”

You let out a giggle as he explained his role to you and he couldn’t help but smile and laugh along with you. Hours passed between the two of you conversing together, Hangman proudly watching Bob impress you from the background. After a while, the rest of the squad cleared out from the beach, leaving just you and Bob there by yourselves. It was beginning to get dark outside when you stood up beside Bob and smiled warmly.

“Want to come back to my aunt Penny’s? She’s not gonna care if I bring you over, she and Uncle Mav speak very highly of you. Aunt Penny always says you’re incredibly polite, and Uncle Mav called you a “good kid” so I doubt they’d mind if you came back to hangout for a little while.”

Bob nodded his head and smiled politely at you, the sunset making his eyes shine as he turned to face you. He leaned forward gently and pressed his lips to yours in a soft, gentle kiss. He pulled away after a moment and shook his head. 

“God, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did that. I’m not usually that forward. I mean, I wanted to, obviously,  I just normally ask first. And now I’m rambling, fuck sake,” He laughed and shook his head again.

You smiled and leaned in to kiss him again, quieting his anxieties and insecurities as your lips met once again. He moved his lips in time with yours as he kissed you, his tongue tracing along your bottom lip, as if he was asking permission for it to enter your mouth. Your tongues swirled together with passion and lust as you made your way across the sand and over to the front steps of your aunt and uncle’s home where you were staying, your lips barely breaking contact as you walked. You felt Bob put a hand gently on your waist as you pulled him inside through the patio door, into the sunroom where you were staying. You breathlessly pulled away from Bob to come up for air, shrugging your cardigan off your shoulders as you did so. Bob, finding a sudden burst of confidence, grabbed you by the waist with one hand and pulled you into his body tightly, pressing his lips to your neck. As his lips found your sensitive spot on your neck, his hands palmed their way over your breasts, gently cupping them and squeezing them as he felt you up. 

“Mhmm, Bob,” you groaned softly as he made contact with your sensitive skin. 

Bob pulled away for a moment and frowned slightly, remembering his earlier confession to Hangman. He let out a deep exhale before turning to face you, his facial expression full of concern as he spoke.

“Listen, I have to tell you something before we go any further, ok?” His voice was quiet and low, almost in a whisper as he spoke.

You nodded in response and waited, listening intently as Bob spoke.

“I’ve never…you know,” He finally said.

“Never?”

“No, never.”

“Do you want to though…?” You asked after a few moments of contemplation.

Bob bit his lip and laughed softly as he nodded his head quickly. 

“Believe me, I really do.”

“Then I’m honoured to be your first,” You nodded your head and kissed his cheek gently.

His cheeks flushed a bright scarlet red as you spoke. Without further hesitation, Bob leaned in and kissed you passionately again, tangling his fingers gently in your hair as he pulled you in closer to him. He pulled away ever so slightly as he spoke and laughed nervously.

“You’re going to have to tell me if I’m doing any of this right, ok? Kissing is about the only thing I know how to do.”

You giggled softly as you nodded your head reassuringly to Bob as he drifted his lips down your neck to your collarbone. He gently ran his hand up your leg, his fingers brushing against the hemline of your sundress as his hand drifted slowly up your thigh. You felt him take a deep breath as he pressed his lips to your collarbone again, his fingertips grazing your underwear gently. He looked up at you without saying a word, his lips still hovering above your collarbone, as if to ask for permission to keep going. You bit your lip, holding back a grin as you nodded your head, giving him the signal to continue.

Bob’s fingertips grazed against the dampening fabric of your underwear again, moaning softly into your collarbone, he looked up at you as he slowly dragged them down off your legs and laughed softly. 

“Wow.” he said, trying to hide his mix of arousal and curiosity, “You’re uh…you’re pretty into this, aren’t you?” He laughed as he tossed your underwear to the floor. 

“Mhmm,” You smirked at him as you guided his hand, his fingers gently brushing against your folds, feeling your arousal as it began to gather on you. 

“Shit,” Bob laughed softly as he shook his head, “This is where I start to not know what I’m doing.” He gave you an apologetic look.

“Everyone has a first time, Bob, I’ll show you what to do,” You smiled reassuringly at him as you continued to guide his hand along your core. He smirked as his wandering hand found your clit, two of his fingers pressing against the sensitive nub as he discovered it. The sound that fell from your lips was almost enough to make Bob lose all self-control on the spot. He arched his eyebrow at you as he continued to gently draw circles on it with his finger. 

“Y-you can use your mouth there too,” you nodded, trying your best to think clearly as he pleasured you.

Bob bit his lip gently as he positioned himself between your legs. He took his glasses off and sat them beside your leg as he ducked his head down in between your legs. He gently pressed soft kisses to your folds, his tongue carefully lapping up your wet arousal as he kissed at you. You let out a loud moan as Bob’s lips made contact, but before he could lift his head up to see if you were ok, your hand was grabbing a handful of his sandy blonde hair, pulling his head into you gently to tell him to keep going.

Taking the hint, Bob continued to leave soft kisses on you, grinning as he heard you moan out. 

“Feels s’good, honey, keep doing that,” You encouraged as he began using his lips to suck at your sensitive clit, your hips bucking upwards against his mouth, your body craving being as close to him as humanly possible.

Your compliment to Bob’s skill turned something on in him, and suddenly, he began moving his lips in the same rhythm but with more passion, like he’d just discovered his God-given talent on this earth was using his mouth to pleasure you into oblivion. As you reached your boiling point, Bob continued to lap his tongue at you, his lips sucking on your clit as you rode it out. He pulled his mouth away from you before pulling his t-shirt over his head. He wiped his mouth on his shirt before discarding it to the floor and working to unbuckle his belt before dropping his shorts to the ground. His boxers were tenting with arousal as he looked down at you, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. 

“Do you…do we need anything?” He asked as he tried build up the confidence to do what he was about to.

“I’m clean and on the pill,” You nodded your head and laughed softly, “So you’re good.”

“Right,” Bob chuckled softly as he nodded his head before peeling his boxer briefs down off his body. 

Bob stroked his length before lining his hips up with yours. He took a deep breath and looked to you for an indication that you were ready, that you were sure you wanted to go through with this. As you flitted your gaze to him, biting your lip as you sized him up, you couldn’t help but let out a nervous chuckle. Bob looked at you, somewhat mortified as his eyes widened.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing, you’re just…bigger than I’d pictured, if you get me. You might need to take a pause once you get started so I can adjust to you, mkay?”

“Gotcha, don’t worry darlin’,” Bob nodded knowingly and laughed as he ran a hand through his hair. 

You let out a sharp exhale as Bob lined his hips up with yours and gently pushed himself into you. As promised, he paused for you to adjust to his size, waiting for you to tell him you were ready for him to start. Once he heard you give the ok, he began thrusting his hips in and out of you, a deep grunt escaping his lips as he felt your body tighten around him, your arousal dripping from you and onto his cock. 

“Fuck,” Bob groaned as he thrusted deeper into you, finding his rhythm, “You feel so good, darlin’.”

“Keep going, baby,” you purred at him, encouraging him to continue before throwing your head back in ecstasy, moaning his name loudly.

Bob felt your walls clenching against him, gripping his erection tightly as he pumped himself in and out of your body. He felt as you arched your back against the bed, bucking your hips upwards into his thrusts as you came close to your climax again. He groaned loudly in pleasure as his thrusts became sloppier and more frantic.

“Fuck, darlin’, I’m so close,” He hissed as he let out another flurry of sinful sounding moans and grunts as he came.

The two of you sighed in unison as you rode your pleasure out together. Bob panted as he pulled himself out of you, his cheeks red from breathlessness as he tried to compose himself. He hovered over you, a smirk forming on his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. You pressed your lips to his passionately, moaning softly against them as your overstimulated body struggled between wanting more from him, and wanting to take a break.

“How was I for my first time then?” He grinned at you. 

“I never would have believed you if you told me that was your first time after we’d done it. I also don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before this either.”

Bob smirked as he laid himself down beside you in bed, putting his glasses back on.

“Well, apparently I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Lewis Pullman really landed two major movie franchises as guys named Bob

Which means…if we ever get a live-action Bob the Builder movie…hmm…

[cherrycola27]

Whoever's in Lemoore

Hello, loves! I wrote this for @roosterforme 's #tgmrocktober challenge!

This fic is based on the Reba McEntire song "Whoever's in New England"

Warnings: Language, cheating, pregnancy and related complications. Angst

...........................................

Bob Floyd was the best husband you could have ever asked for. He was kind, smart, hard-working, and attentive.

You were an elementary teacher, and Bob was a WSO. The two of you probably never would have met, had your best friend Jennifer "Boston" Lyons not set the two of you up. The two of you grew up together, and Jeni was a member of Bob's squadron in Lemoore.

Unfortunately, when Bob was called back to Top Gun and then eventually given a permanent station in San Diego, you had to leave her behind, but it was fine. You two had always made a long-distance friendship work. Honestly, it had helped prepare you for the times that your husband was deployed.

You were thankful though, that with his new station, deployments would be less frequent.

After buying a house and settling down, the two of you decided to start trying for children. Bob had three siblings, and while you didn't have any, both of you agreed on the fact that you wanted at least three kids.

You both also knew how stressful it could be on a couple when trying for children, so you decided to stop taking your birth control and have fun for a year. If you got pregnant, great, if not, after a year, the two of you would get serious, start tracking cycles, and see a specialist if needed.

You had really hoped that each month, you'd get a positive pregnancy test, but month after month, they came up negative.

Bob was extremely supportive of you, and after a year, the two of you buckled down. You tracked your cycle, both of you watched your diet, and you even saw a fertility doctor who assured you that both of you were healthy and to give it time.

Give it time.

You tried to give it time, you really did. But you were so desperate to be a mother that it started to take a toll on you, Bob, and your marriage.

Suddenly, trying for a baby wasn't as fun as it once was. Sex became more of a chore rather than a thing of enjoyment.

But finally—finally you and Bob got the miracle you'd been hoping for. Only, you seemed to be more excited about it than he was.

You chalked it up to shock.

Unfortunately, pregnancy was not easy for you. Early on, you were diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum, which caused you to experience dehydration and a short hospital stay. Your blood pressure was also dangerously high, and your blood sugar wasn't at a level that the doctors were happy with.

Which is why, at sixteen weeks, you were put on bed rest until your child was born.

It was hard for both of you. You couldn't eat or sleep. You were moody and irritable. You libido was also in the toilet. You hated your life, but you knew it would all be worth it.

At first, Bob seemed so supportive, but as time passed, be became cold and distant.

Looking at it now, you can pinpoint where the cracks in the foundation of your marriage started. If only you'd seen them sooner.

................

"Honey, I'm home." Bob called as he entered the kitchen. You were sitting on the couch watching TV. It was late. Almost 8pm. You had already eaten dinner, showered and changed into some comfy clothes.

You offered Bob a weak hello as he came in the door. He'd been getting home from work later and later.

In the darkest part of your mind, you thought the worst—that he had someone else. But he wouldn't do that to you. He was your Robby. You were carrying his son for crying out loud.

On a particularly bad day, you asked him about it. He was almost heartbroken that you could even think that.

He soothed your worries by telling you, "I'm working on important things for our future. I'm an officer on his way up. I'm trying to make sure you and the baby are taken care of." You believed him. You cried as you apologized to him.

"How's my favorite girl and my favorite little guy?" Bob asked as he came and kneeled in front of you on the couch. He pressed a few kisses to your stomach before moving to your lips.

"We are fine." You sighed as he trailed his lips across your jaw to your ear. "Fine? Is that so?" He whispered. His hot breath fanning across your skin.

Bob trailed one of his hands to the apex of your thighs before you stopped him.

"Bob, not tonight. I've been sick all day, and I've finally been able to keep something down." You told him with an apologetic smile.

He didn't say anything. He stood up, muttered something under his breath, and wordlessly went to shower.

You sat there and wept. You hated yourself. You felt like the worst wife on the planet.

Later that night, you tried to make it up to Bob, but you got sick halfway through. After you had puked your guts out, Bob had tried to hold you, but you didn't want to be touched. It led to an argument and him sleeping on the couch. What a Monday.

Tuesday, Bob came home and told you he'd be going to Lemoore Wednesday afternoon to help with a training workshop on Thursday and Friday and he would be back late Saturday evening.

"Again?" You sighed. "Bob, that's the third time this month! And you went several times the past two months. Doesn't Admiral Simpson understand that you have a pregnant wife at home who is high risk?" You ask him.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry, but just a few more weeks and everything will dial down. I promise." Bob said as he kissed your head and went to pack a bag.

The only thing you had to look forward to was that Jeni—or Boston, as she typically went by her call sign now, was supposed to visit this weekend.

However, se called you Wednesday night telling you that she was sick and wouldn't make it.

So, you spent the rest of the week alone, sulking, in your all too quiet house.

When Bob came home on Saturday, you were feeling good. The best you had in all thirty weeks of your pregnancy.

You made him his favorite dinner and greeted him at the door with a big kiss. He was more than happy to sit down and have a meal with you.

After dinner, you urged him to shower, with the hope that you'd be able to spend some sensual time together.

While he was showering, you grabbed his bag to unpack it and do some laundry.

As you were taking his clothes out, a feminine scent washed over your extra sensitive nose.

Perfume—and it wasn't yours. But you were sure you smelled it before, you just couldn't place it.

You shook your head before letting your mind wander. Bob worked with women, and he was friendly—one of them probably gave him a hug and was wearing a lot of perfume—it made sense. Bob wasn't that kind of guy.

You dismissed the feeling in your gut and started the washing machine.

A few minutes later, Bob's phone rang. You checked the caller ID only to see that Jeni—your best friend was calling him.

"Jeni?" You said as you answered the phone.

"Y/N!" She exclaimed, almost as if she was surprised to hear your voice.

"Jeni, why are you calling Bob?" You asked her. There was a long pause.

"Jeni—why are you calling my husband?" You ask, this time a little more forcefully.

"Oh, Y/N, it was supposed to be a surprise. I'm coming down at the end of the month because I was going to throw you a surprise baby shower, and Bob has been helping me with it." She tells you.

"Aww, Jeni, that's so sweet. Well, I'll have him call you back so I don't ruin anything else!" You cheer into the phone before hanging up.

"Why do you have my phone?" Bob asks you. You turn around, surprised to see him.

"Jeni—er—Boston, I guess, called you to talk about the baby shower that you're helping her plan. I'm sorry I ruined the surprise, but Robby, you're the sweetest!" You say as you wrap him in a hug.

"Baby shower—right." Bob breathes out. "Let me call her back." Bob says as he takes his phone. You leave to give him privacy, but before you can make it down the hall, you hear him speak in harsh, angry whispers. You hate that you ruined his surprise, but you wish he wouldn't be so hard om Jeni. It's not her fault.

Another week passes, and Bob becomes more distant from you. You hyperemesis gravidarum is acting up again and your mood is all over the place.

He's coming home from work later, and you can't help but wonder if something is amiss. But you dismiss it time and time again.

One Wednesday afternoon, you decide to surprise Bob on base with his favorite lunch.

You walk into the rec room where his fellow aviators are waiting and they look at you like you have three heads.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" Rooster asks you.

"I came to bring Bob some lunch. Where is he?" You ask them.

"Bob left early today. He said the two of you had some appointments this afternoon." Phoenix tells you.

In that moment, the world around you stops. The container of chicken pot pie and chocolate chip cookies slip from your hands and crash to the floor.

"Shit!" You exclaimed as you saw the mess you made.

"Y/N! Are you okay?" Hangman asks as he grabs some paper towels to clean up the mess.

"Yes, it's just I forgot, and I'm so late." You say as you turn on your heels to go to the hallway as you try to hold back tears.

"Y/N!" Phoenix calls after you. She intercepts you in the hallway.

"Is everything alright?" She asks you.

There's no point in lying.

"No. Nothing is alright. Between how hard this pregnancy has been and Bob having to go to Lemoore to teach classes, and him lying about where he is today. I think—I think he's having an affair." You finally admit.

"What do you mean he's been going to Lemoore?" Phoenix asks you.

You look at her blankly.

"Oh my god, I'm so fucking stupid. He's told me that almost every other weekend that he's had to help teach some classes in Lemoore. But that's when—that's when he has been going to see his mistress! That's where he is now! Oh my god!" You cried. Phoenix took you into her arms before leading you down the hallway to her office.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N, maybe there is another explanation." Phoenix offers, but you can tell she isn't sincere. "I smelled perfume on his clothes, and he's been hiding his phone. I should have seen the signs, but I've been busy growing a human." You cry harder.

"It's all my fault. I've pushed him away. I've been so moody and sex—I haven't had the desire to—I drove him into another woman's arms." You sigh.

"Hey now, this isn't your fault." Phoenix tells you. "Let me take you home. You're in no shape to drive." Phoenix says. You agree and she helps you to her car.

"I need to call my best friend, Boston, she's a pilot, too. She was supposed to come down next weekend to throw me a baby shower, but now I don't want her to. I can't—I can't believe this." You sob as you dail her number, but it goes to voicemail.

"Your best friend's name is Boston?" Phoenix asks you. "It's her call sign." You tell her.

Phoenix swallowed thickly, praying her gut was wrong.

Phoenix offers to stay with you until Bob shows up, but you tell her you need to be alone.

You grab one of Bob's duffle bags and start stuffing his things in it. There's no way you are letting him stay in your house. At thirty-three weeks pregnant, you probably shouldn't be stomping up and down the stairs, especially with you being high risk, but you have to.

You make your way through the house every time you see a picture of you and Bob. You tear it off the wall or shelf it's on and throw it across the room.

He comes home late that night and hears you screaming. He rushes in the house and finds the living room destroyed and sees one of his duffle bags packed on the couch.

"Honey, Y/N, are you okay?" Bob asks you. You look at him, he looks so concerned.

You don't say anything to him. Instead, you march up to him and slap him so hard that his glasses fall off his face. He picks them up and looks at you like you're a wild animal.

"What the fuck was that for?" He curses at you.

"You know exactly what it's for, you liar." You spit at him.

"Honey, what are you talking about?" He asks.

"How long? How long has it been going on?" You question him.

"How long has what been going on?" He feigns ignorance.

"How long have you been sleeping with someone in Lemoore?" You accuse him. Bob tenses at your words. A day he had hoped would never happen, has.

"Don't even try to deny it. I looked through our credit card statements and saw the hotel charges." You say to him.

"Y/N, I'm sorry." Bob says.

"Sorry? You're sorry? Why? Because you cheated or because you got caught?" You laugh. "It doesn't even matter. I packed you a bag. You can go stay with your mistress. And when whoever is in Lemoore is through with you, don't try to come back to me. Also, I'm telling you now, you will not be a part of this baby's life." You say as you try not to cry.

"Y/N, please, don't do this, I'm sorry, Boston, and I never meant to hurt you, it just—"

"Boston? Boston—as in Jeni? As in my best fucking friend who is like a sister to me? As in the person who introduced us? You've been fucking her?" Rage thrums through your veins. "I can't believe you, Robert. Take your things and leave. There's the door."

You turn away from him.

"Well, what did you expect, Y/N? You've pushed me away. You're moody and sick all the time. You never want to be physical. I was lonely. I needed someone, and Boston was there for me." Bob defends himself.

"You needed someone? You were lonely? That's rich. You don't think I've been lonely? You don't think I needed someone? The two people who were supposed to be there for me are the ones who betrayed me.

Bob opens his mouth to speak, but he quickly shuts it again.

"I packed a bag for you. We can work out a day where you can come get the rest of your things. Because when Boston decides she has better things to do, you don't have a home here anymore." You tell him as you sit down in the kitchen.

"Also, I called your mother, and while she and your family are more than welcome to be in this child's life, you won't be." You say.

"You called my mother?" Bob asks is disbelief. "Yes, Rebecca is very disappointed in you and told me to say that you weren't welcome in her home." You state.

Bob shakes his head. "So that's it? You're just giving up on us?" Bob asks as he stands at the door with his bag in hand.

"Don't try to spin this around on me. You're the one who gave up on us, Robert Floyd." You deadpan. There's no remorse in your voice as you ask him to leave.

Bob knows there is no point in trying to argue. He hangs his head and walks out the door.

That night, the Dagger Squad comes over to comfort you. Maverick asks you if you'd like to move to have Bob and Jeni dishonorbly discharged for their actions, but you turn him down. There's no sense in dragging it out.

Coyote and Hangman work to change all the locks for you in the house. Payback and Fanboy clean up the broken glass and thrown items in your floor.

You tell Maverick and Rooster where to find Bob's things, and they pack all of them in trash bags for you.

Phoenix sits with you on the couch, your head on her shoulder and she holds you as you cry.

Two weeks later, you find out that Bob put in a transfer to Lemoore after you serve him with divorce papers. You make sure to clean out your joint accounts before he can touch them.

Four weeks after that, your son is born.

Connor James Y/L/N is absolutely perfect when he is born. He has your features, and you're thankful for that. You don't know what you would have done if he'd come out looking like his father.

The Daggers and your family rally around you. True to your word, you let Bob's parents and sisters be in Connor's life. It's not their fault that Bob messed everything up.

You know, one day that your son will ask about his father, by then, you hope you'll have the words to tell him.

You also know that one day, you'll see Bob again. When you do, you'll ask him if whoever was in Lemoore was worth it.

You hope he's says no.

Taging somw who might be interested: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @wkndwlff @thedroneranger @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook01-blog @desert-fern @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @lt-spork @multifandomlover4life @beccaanne814 @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @rhettabbotts @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @tomanybandstolove @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @sunlightmurdock

[averagewriter-inthedark]

They Did The Monster Mash 🎃 | TGM Halloween Imagine

Set in an AU where the characters of TGM are classical and mythology monsters/creatures

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: mad scientist!Bob Floyd x mad scientist!reader (romantic), Dagger Sqaud (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, light profanity | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 2.4K

Premise: it’s All Hallow’s Eve, a night where ghouls and monsters alike awaken from every inch of the globe. What better way to celebrate the spookiest night of the year than gathering all those lurking in the shadows to the party everyone wants to be.

Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Here’s a fluffy, spooky little imagine for y’all as a treat 🎃

——————-

‘Twas the night before Halloween, and all through the cemetery. Not a creature was moaning, as they basked in solitary. The pumpkins were lit, with carved faces to stare. In hopes the monsters of the night, soon will be there.

“Bob!” Y/n shouted, frantically searching for her coat. It was a quarter till midnight on October the 30th. Soon it would be Halloween. And with a full moon high in the sky it was the perfect moment to test out their newest creation. “It is almost time! We must make haste!”

“I’m right here, darling,” her coat in his hand, Dr. Floyd dimmed the lights on his way into the lab. The woman exhaled in relief, kissing his cheek before placing the coat over her shoulders.

“What would I do without you, my love?”

Bob adjusted his goggles over his prescription glasses, chuckling, “Probably half as mad as you are now.”

Any other woman would be offended by the comment, but Y/n, the mad scientist she embraced herself to be, only giggled. The two had met during their doctoral program, falling in love and conducting research as a duo. Before long they were blacklisted for unethical experiments, moving underground to hide from society.

But what the world didn’t know, was they uncovered a world beneath their own. Where monsters heard in legends and fairytales roamed freely. Living amongst humans to the naked eye.

Since forming partnerships with fellow outcasts like themselves, the couple have traveled every Halloween to Transylvania, Romania. There the infamous vampire Pete Mitchell, descendent of Dracula himself, hosts an annual Halloween festival with monsters and ghouls alike.

The party always started around sunset on Halloween night. So the two had plenty of time before gearing up their transportation pod to zap them to Pete’s mansion. Y/n placed her own goggles on, brushing away her dyed jet black hair with white streaks, mischievous smirk painting her lips, “Shall we begin?”

“It was a one-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater. (One-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater). A one-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater. Sure looks strange to me.” The party was in full swing when the couple arrived. Creatures in every corner, a werewolf howling in the distance, bats flying overhead. They were home.

“Doctors!” They spun around to find the monster of the mansion sporting a cheshire grin, fangs threatening to poke out. Lord Pete Mitchell, having recently fed by the bright color of his eyes and lack of under eye bags, wore a snazzy black pinstripe suit with a blood red tie. The handkerchief in his breast pocket, as well as the soles of his shoes, were the same color. “It is so wonderful to see you. I’m always amazed by your entrance every year. God forbid the governments of the world discover you’ve cracked the code of transportation.”

“Don’t forget time travel,” Y/n winked, causing Pete to laugh.

“Of course,” he flashes his pearly white teeth before frowning after peering around them, “Where is your--.” Y/n gently cuts him off.

“Oh at the lab. Ever since we created his bride he refuses to leave the basement” Pausing she gives a knowing look, “You know how young love is, my Lord.”

Pete makes an ‘ah’ sound, “Yes, yes, I understand. When you return, do let him know he is missed. And that I cannot wait to meet his bride next Halloween.” He winks, adjusting the cuffs on his sleeves, “Please make yourself at home. We’re still waiting on a few more before the festivities of the night fully begin. Until then, the bar is open--as always--and do let me know if you need any more necessities for your upcoming projects.”

“Thank you, Lord Mitchell. My wife and I appreciate your hospitality and generosity greatly.” Bob shook his gloved hand, still able to feel the cold dead skin that laid beneath it. The vampire made his departure, moving to greet other guests. Y/n weaved her arm through Bob’s open arm, letting him guide her to their group of friends they spotted in the distance by the bar.

“Well look at what the wolves dragged in.” Jake Seresin, an incubus famous in both the underground and real world, was the first to notice them. With his ability to seduce and mentally bend people to his will, Jake succeeded in becoming a high profile Hollywood actor. Making it accessible for him to feed on the blood of men and women alike. Unlike Pete, who was a vampire, Jake appeared human and only took the form of his demon counterpart when he hadn’t fed in a long time.

“Seresin,” Bob nodded, glaring when the blonde creature approached to take Y/n’s hand and kiss her knuckles. He had nothing to worry about of course. Y/n was immune to Jake’s charms, threatening to experiment on him the first time he attempted to swoon her.

That had him running with his (literal) tail between his legs.

“Careful, Jake,” Came a teasing feminine voice from the side, “I hear the mad scientists have been searching for Incubi blood on the black market.” Jake sent a glare in the direction of the voice, the couple following it to find Natasha perched on a bar stool, stroking her black cat seated in her lap.

A witch, with family dating back to the Salem Witch Trials, Natasha was the type of woman people couldn’t help but fear and desire. In the small village she lived deep in the forest surrounding, rumors of the witch swarmed with many believing her responsible for the curse on the town's most corrupt and wealthy families.

Well, to them they were rumors….

Y/n slipped past Bob, opening her arms to the woman, “Lovely to see you again on this Holiday, dear Natasha.” The hug was brief, Y/n making sure to offer a light pet to the cat, piercing her with its stare.

“As to you, Madam Floyd.”

“Tell me,” Y/n leaned closer, “Were you successful?” Natashe smirked at the question, whispering under her breath.

“We shall find out once the sun rises. But I can assure you the Supreme Court will think twice before bringing forth groundbreaking cases to overturn.”

“Marvelous,” the doctor awed. She moved along to say hello to their other friends. There was Javy, a werecoyote and Jake’s best friend. The full moon affects him like it does werewolves, but he’d already consumed his monthly dose of Wolfsbane to prevent the transformation from happening.

There was Mickey, a hellhound who served as a guard for the Underworld. Tasked with keeping the secret of the supernatural hidden. One can imagine the headaches Jake gives him with being a celebrity in the real world. When Mickey became his hellhound persona, cracks in his skin appeared like molten lava.

Reuben was present, and thankfully Y/n remembered to wear her iron jewelry. The tall, handsome fairy sipped on his usual cocktail. Like Jake he was the most ‘humanlike’ of the bunch where he could easily walk amongst mortals without causing suspicion. His golden eyes were a stand out, however, often covered by contacts. Of the group he had known Mickey the longest, the two meeting centuries prior during a war between fae and goblins.

“I’m not late am I?” came a booming sound from the main entrance, all heads turning. Jake instantly groaned, the others pleased to see the Alpha werewolf, Bradley Bradshaw, in the flesh with his typical Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

“You’re right on time,” Pete announced from the top of the steps, raising a glass of red liquid. Bradley gave a two finger salute, strutting over to the group and ordered his go to--a pitcher of beer.

“Greetings, fellow myths and legends,” he drank half of the pitcher in a single gulp, winking afterwards, “at least to the humans that is.”

“What took you so long, Bradshaw?” Jake twirled his pue cue, “too busy brushing your winter coat? Or did you have to get one last howl at the moon?”

Used to the jabs, Bradley rebutted with, “Jake, good to see you again as always. You’re looking a little pale though--Did you not have time to drain a virgin before coming? I’m sure Pete can find someone in the nearby town.” Reuben whistled under his breath, Javy letting out a fool blown laugh.

“C’mon you gotta admit that was good,” he nudged Jake, who was very much offended.

“Men,” Y/n muttered, Natasha clicking her glass against hers in agreement. “They’ll never change.”

After several minutes of small talk and drinks, Pete tapped his spoon against his glass. The action is loud enough for supernatural hearing to get everyone's attention. For the mad scientists, they saw the reactions of their friends and followed their direction.

At the top of the mansion's grand staircase, Pete stood beside his wife Penny. The beautiful siren, infamous in Greek mythology for luring shipwrecked men to their death, was stunning in her black gown. Along her arms and neck, rimming her hairline were seafoam green scales, reflecting under the dim gaze of the lights.

“Good evening, everyone,” he began, “Thank you all for coming tonight. You’ve traveled from near and far, let my wife and I be the first to say Happy Halloween!” cheers broke among the crowd. Well really they were howls, moans, and chaotic laughter. “It truly is the best night of the year. And what better way to kick it off than to toast.” Penny was handed a glass of her own red liquid. To the human eye it’d be believed as wine. But to those witnessing below, they were well aware of what its contents contained.

Speaking of those in attendance, they all grabbed their own drinks and brews. Pete lifted his first, “Let us toast to the one time of year we get to leave the shadows. Where the world looks at us as more than creatures of night. They dress up as us,” chuckles echoed, “they consume everything in relation to us. They walk their streets oblivious to the fact we roam behind their shoulders.” Pete pauses, sending a sweet gaze to Penny. “To All Hallow’s Eve!”

“To All Hallow’s Eve!!’ glasses raised, everyone cheersing before downing whatever was left in their goblets. Bradley finished his first pitcher of beer, the bartender sliding down the next one. Natasha poured something out of her flask into her goblet. Leave it to the Witch to travel with her own brew.

“Alright,” Bradley raised the pitcher, “Let’s get this party started!” As if on cue the DJ, who happened to be a mummy, started to play the Halloween classics. Lights flashed on every corner, the dance floor glowing a spooky fluorescent green. Dry ice from the massive cauldron flooded the area.

Ghosts bogeyed during the Ghostbusters theme. Zombies got down and dirty to Michael Jackson’s Thriller. The children had a blast with ‘This is Halloween’ and ‘Time Warp’. Later on Nat and Y/n let loose to Rockwells ‘Somebody’s Watching Me’.

Bob kept his eyes on his wife during that one. Lowkey thinking about ending the party early.

Poker was played amongst the men. Pete even joined alongside two Harpys, Beau and Solomon. During this Y/n and Natasha conversed with Penny. They spoke of Y/n’s experiments, Natasha’s feud with the village she resides by, and Penny’s travels back to Greece earlier that year.

“Oh it was fascinating,” Penny boasted, finishing off her third glass of ‘wine’. “Still as beautiful as I remember, although it still takes time getting used to the fact they now call Anthemoessa ‘Cape Pelorum.’”

“Did you visit the Parthenon?”

“I tried,” the Siren scoffed lightly at the memory, “at night of course when no one was around, but I couldn’t get past the damn door. I’m not surprised though,” she rolled her eyes, “Athena never liked us.”

As Midnight approached the crowd began to gather on the dance floor. Of course the night could not end without playing the couple’s favorite. Once the DJ announced it was time for the grand event, Bob took Y/n’s hand, “May I have this dance, wife?”

“Why of course, husband,” she smirked. “This is our song after all.”

The others had already made way, forming their own little circle and grabbing partners of their own. There was a reason this particular song was favored over the rest. Starting from the very first verse.

“I was working in the lab, late one night. When my eyes beheld an eerie sight. For my monster from his slab, began to rise. And suddenly to my surprise.”

“He did the mash,” the moves Y/n and Bob started to do a twist, similar to Vince and Mia in the iconic dance scene of Pulp Fiction. “He did the monster mash.”

“The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash.” Natasha shimmied with Mickey. “He did the mash, it caught on in a flash.” Penny was spun by Pete. “He did the mash. He did the monster mash.”

A stunning succubus had managed to pull Jake under her spell. How fitting.

“From my laboratory in the castle east. (Wa-ooh) To the master bedroom where the vampires feat. (wa-wa-ooh) The ghouls all came from their humble abodes. (Wa-ooh) To get a jolt from my electrodes.”

Bob pulled Y/n to him, dancing chest to chest, “They did the mash, they did the monster mash.” Javy, Bradley, and Reuben were having a dance battle in the middle of the circle. “The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash. They did the mash, it caught on in a flash.” Y/n giggled, letting Bob twirl her in a circle, “They did the mash, they did the monster mash.”

It was a total spooky vibe. Monsters doing the Mash. Each time Dracula was mentioned everyone pointed to Pete, who rolled his eyes. He did, however, do the Transylvania Twist during its name drop, causing them all to hype him up.

The sun would rise at dawn, they’d all go back to living in the shadows. Back to a place where they were the villains of every story. Subjected to demise by the hero. No longer idolized and embedding fear in everyone who dared think of them. Once the sun rose, another Halloween had come and gone.

But until then, creatures of the night thrived in the darkness to the graveyard smash.

………

[sweetwhispersofchaos]

If Bob Floyd was from a tiny one or two stop light town, what state would it be in? Like wrap around porches, everyone knows everyone and their business. That sort of place. Don’t just pick your own state either. Really think about it.

Please vote and share! Working on something new.

[callmebyyourcallsign]

Touch and Go

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 4,983

Bob Floyd has always been good at silence.

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

That’s the kind you bring with you.

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

Bob pretends he doesn’t.

He's good at that too.

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

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

Now it’s been months.

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

And still. Neither of you has said it.

Neither of you has said anything.

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

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

“Morning, Flyboy.”

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

His hands pause on the panel.

“You’re late.”

You raise a brow. “You’re early.”

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

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

He flushes. Stutters. “No—no, I—”

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

He says nothing.

What could he say?

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

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

In the air, you’re like poetry.

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

“Looking good, Spook,” he murmurs.

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

He swears he hears Hangman laugh over the channel.

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

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

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

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

“You always say that.”

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

His voice is soft. “Always.”

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

Neither do you.

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

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

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

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

Sleep doesn’t come easy tonight.

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

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

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

-

The storm rolls in out of nowhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head. “No. I’m good.”

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

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

You and Bob?

You get stuck behind.

It’s quiet now.

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

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

You pause. “Not really.”

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

You blink. “The cherry almond kind?”

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

You take it.

You sit beside him, knees not quite touching.

Twenty minutes pass like a sigh.

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

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

You glance over. “Fly?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you offer the granola bar back to him instead.

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

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

Later, the lights flicker.

You both look up.

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

Bob nods. “Shouldn’t be long.”

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

It’s quiet. Not tense, just full.

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

He speaks first.

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

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

Bob shakes his head. “It’s dumb.”

“Bob.”

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

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

You look at him.

Really look.

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

You say, so quietly it barely counts:

“Me too.”

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

But it feels like something.

It feels like a shift.

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

-

You wake up stiff, aching, and warm.

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

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

The storm is gone.

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

You don’t move.

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

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

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

“Hey,” you whisper back.

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

“Sorry. You were shivering.”

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

There’s a pause.

And then you say, gently:

“You always take care of me.”

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

“You take care of me too.”

It’s quiet after that.

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

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

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

You think about that all the way back to base.

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

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

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

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

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

Thought you might be cold again.

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

You read it three times.

You don’t go.

Not because you don’t want to.

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

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

Instead, you write back.

See you tomorrow.
Save me a seat.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“Hey,” he says when he hears you.

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

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

Bob’s legs are longer than yours. One of them brushes yours under the desk. Neither of you moves.

The sim loads.

You start the mission. Standard approach, familiar territory. You and Bob in sync, calling coordinates, updating status, ticking boxes. It’s smooth. Too smooth.

And then, turbulence.

Not real, but simulated. Unexpected.

Your console flickers. You lurch slightly forward.

“Whoa—”

His hand flies out and catches you.

Fingers splay over your ribcage.

Just for a second.

Just long enough.

You freeze.

Bob does too.

His hand stays there, warm through your flight suit, palm over your side like a tether. You turn your head. His eyes are wide behind his glasses, breath caught.

“Sorry,” he says, barely a whisper.

You shake your head, equally quiet. “It’s okay.”

But he doesn’t let go. Not yet.

There’s something unsaid sitting heavy in the space between your mouths. Not even a breath away.

And then.

“Pilot One, altitude dropping—”

The console voice crackles, breaking the spell.

Bob pulls back like he’s been burned. His hand drops to his lap. He stares forward, ears red, jaw clenched.

“You good?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Fine,” he mutters.

But he’s not. You can see it. Feel it.

Neither are you.

You finish the sim. Land the jet clean. Call the end of the exercise with the same forced calm you use when your hands won’t stop shaking.

He logs the results. You shut down the system. Neither of you speak.

You walk out together, side by side, the hallway lit with that same bluish hum. When you reach the locker room doors, you hesitate.

“Bob,” you say.

He stops.

Turns.

Eyes soft. Scared. Hopeful. Tired.

You don’t say what you want to.

You don’t say you can touch me again.
You don’t say I wanted you to keep holding on.
You don’t say I think about you all the time.

You just say

“Thanks. For catching me.”

He nods, slow.

“Anytime.”

You part ways. Locker rooms. Showers. Briefings. Dinner.

But when you’re lying in your bunk later that night, wrapped up in the same silence you’ve carried all day, you touch your side where he held you.

Like maybe the shape of his hand is still there.

Like maybe it always has been.

-

It’s weird, not flying with Bob.

Not wrong, exactly. You’re a professional. He’s still on base, still training, still just a few hangars away. But it feels like the air shifts without him in the backseat, like the jet flies fine but not quite right. Like muscle memory tripping over a heartbeat.

The switch wasn’t personal. Scheduling conflict, maybe. A re-routed assignment. You didn’t ask. He didn’t explain. All you know is when you checked the flight log that morning, someone else’s name was listed as your WSO.

And his name was missing.

Your new WSO is capable. Sharp. Quick on comms. He does everything right.

But he doesn’t know how you like your patterns called out. Doesn’t echo your thoughts mid-maneuver like Bob does. Doesn’t glance up at you through the canopy after a perfect landing like he’s proud of you in secret.

You miss that.

You miss him.

Bob’s been quieter, too. Around the locker room. The mess. Even in briefings. He’s not avoiding you, exactly, but he’s not seeking you out either. The silence between you has stretched, uncertain and loaded. Like you’re both waiting for the other to say something first.

And neither of you does.

You catch a glimpse of him two days later on the tarmac, post-run. He’s halfway through a bottle of water, sleeves rolled up, curls damp with sweat. There’s a red mark on his jaw, helmet, maybe, and his eyes are on the horizon like he’s somewhere else entirely.

You open your mouth.

You almost call out.

But then your new WSO claps you on the back, says something loud and dumb, and Bob flinches like the sound hit a bruise. He walks away before you can stop him.

That night, you find yourself in the hangar.

It’s mostly empty, just a few shadows and the hum of after-hours maintenance. One of the jets, the one you flew today, is parked under a dim light.

You rest your hand on its nose cone and stare at the stars through the open bay.

“Miss me already?” a voice says behind you.

Your heart lurches.

You turn.

Bob’s standing there, hands in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable.

You try to joke. “You wish.”

He half-smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

That quiet hits you hard.

You swallow. “Why’d they pull you from the rotation?”

He shrugs. “Said they needed me to run backup sims. Training the newer guys.”

You nod. “Makes sense.”

Neither of you says what you’re thinking.

Makes sense. But it sucked.
Makes sense. But I wanted to look over my shoulder and see you.
Makes sense. But nothing else felt right.

You sit on the edge of the wing. He stands next to you.

The hangar is all hush and echoes.

Then he says it, softly

“I don’t like not flying with you.”

It’s not dramatic. Not even particularly romantic. But it hits you harder than anything has in days.

You nod, slowly.

“Me neither.”

There’s a long pause. Then

“I’m sorry,” Bob says.

You look up. “For what?”

“For leaving you in the air without me.”

Something cracks open in your chest.

“I don’t feel steady without you,” you whisper.

His breath catches.

Then, gently, he leans his arm against yours. Barely a touch. But it’s enough.

“I’ll be back in your backseat soon,” he says, voice low and certain.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You close your eyes.

And for the first time in days, you feel your heart start to level out again.

-

The base wakes before dawn, but you’re already tangled in thought, and maybe a little frustration.

Bob didn’t show up to breakfast.

No text, no word. Just silence that hums louder than the engines on the flight line.

You sip cold coffee, eyes on the muted chatter of the mess hall, but all you can hear is the thrum of your own heartbeat, tight, impatient, restless.

He’s been distant since the hangar night, like there’s a wall he’s building brick by brick, and every time you try to reach him, the mortar’s fresh and unyielding.

Later, you’re suiting up for another sim run. Your new WSO is ready, calm, competent , but he isn’t Bob.

You glance over at the empty seat beside you, where the cockpit light never flickers without him.

You fight down the ache curling in your chest, because this mission is important. Because professionalism means showing up even when your heart is jamming on stall warning.

You taxi down the runway, engines roaring to life, but it’s the silence in your headset that’s deafening.

Mid-flight, something goes wrong in the sim, a sudden mechanical failure on the enemy’s side. Your fingers tighten on the stick, muscles tense, and instinct takes over.

“Bandit at your six!” you bark into the comm.

“Copy that,” comes a voice you don’t recognize. It lacks the familiar edge you crave.

You’re scrambling, trying to shake the imaginary tail, but inside you’re scrambling for Bob, his voice, his steady calm, his fierce presence.

A bead of sweat runs down your temple. You miss him.

Hours later, back on the ground, you find him in the briefing room, eyes dark and jaw tight.

He’s barely spoken all day, swallowed behind a mask of professionalism.

You clear your throat.

“Hey,” you say softly. “We need to talk.”

He looks up, startled, like you broke some unspoken truce.

“What about?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “This… us. The distance. The silence.”

Bob’s gaze flickers, like a storm barely contained.

“It’s not that simple,” he mutters.

You cross the room and stand in front of him, heart on your sleeve, voice shaking but determined.

“It is that simple. We don’t have to pretend it’s not.”

He looks at you, eyes searching, and for the first time in days, you see the truth shining beneath the surface:

He wants this too. But fear is tying his hands.

The air between you thickens, heavy with everything unsaid.

You reach out, brushing your fingers against his.

He doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he sighs, low and rough.

“Why is it so damn hard?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.

You smile, bittersweet.

“Because it’s worth it.”

And just like that, the dogfight shifts from the skies to your hearts, a battle for courage, for honesty, for the quiet, messy beauty of letting someone in.

-

The squadron’s quiet buzz hums through the ready room, but all you feel is the weight of the moment pressing against your ribs.

Bob sits beside you, closer than before, but the space between you still tastes like a question unanswered.

You both know that whatever was there last night, no, whatever’s been there for months is waiting to be named. Waiting to take shape beyond stolen glances and tentative touches.

You glance at him. His jaw clenched, eyes locked on the briefing screen, but you see it, the hesitation. The part of him that’s still afraid to cross the line.

You clear your throat.

“Hey,” you say softly, voice barely above the hum of the room.

He turns, eyes meeting yours, surprised but steady.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you say. “The almost, the maybe, the silence.”

Bob exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath for too long.

“I know,” he admits. “But it’s not easy.”

You nod, heart pounding.

“Nothing worth it ever is.”

The briefing ends, and you walk side by side to the hangar, the sun filtering through the windows casting long shadows that seem to reach for you both.

Your fingers brush, light, accidental, but this time neither pulls away.

“Why did you stop coming around?” you ask quietly.

Bob’s eyes flicker, vulnerability softening his usual edge.

“I was scared,” he confesses. “Scared of what this could mean. Scared of what I might lose.”

You stop walking, turning to face him fully.

“You won’t lose me.”

His gaze drops to your hands entwined, then back to your face.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he says. “Not with you.”

You smile, something gentle and fierce blooming in your chest.

“Then let’s stop pretending. Let’s take the risk.”

That night, the base hums a quieter tune.

You find yourselves on the roof, under a sky strewn with stars, vast and endless, like the possibility before you.

Bob reaches for your hand, fingers trembling slightly, and you squeeze back, steady and sure.

You don’t need words.

The silence between you says everything

This is the beginning.

You lean in slowly, breath mingling, hearts racing, and for the first time, the line you’ve both been afraid to cross becomes the bridge you’re ready to walk.

-

The morning light seeps softly through the blinds, painting the room in muted gold. You wake before Bob, your fingers still laced with his, the warmth lingering like a secret promise.

His breathing is slow, steady, a rhythm that somehow feels like home.

You watch his face, the way his brow smooths, how his lashes flutter, delicate and vulnerable. It’s a side of him few get to see, and it makes your heart swell with something deeper than you expected.

When Bob stirs, his eyes open to meet yours, wide and raw and honest.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice husky with sleep and something more.

“Morning,” you reply, voice barely a whisper, afraid to shatter the fragile bubble you both inhabit.

There’s a long pause, the kind of silence that isn’t empty but full of everything you don’t say yet.

Bob’s hand tightens around yours, thumb brushing your knuckles like a question.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits, eyes searching yours for forgiveness or understanding.

“You don’t have to be,” you say. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

He smiles then, slow and shy, like he’s afraid to believe it’s real. And maybe it isn’t perfect, maybe it’s messy and uncertain, but it’s yours.

Later, the base feels different.

Every glance between you carries a new weight, every touch lingers longer.

You walk down the hallways with a secret shared just between the two of you, like you’re part of something no one else understands.

During briefings, you catch Bob’s eye and see the spark that’s always been there, only now, it’s not just longing; it’s something steadier, more fierce.

After drills, when the adrenaline fades and the world quiets, you find your way to each other again.

One afternoon, you’re sitting on the wing of the jet, the sky a brilliant blue canvas.

Bob sits beside you, helmet set aside, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“Ever wonder what it’d be like,” he says softly, “if we didn’t have to keep it all so guarded?”

You turn to him, heart quickening.

“I do,” you confess. “More than anything.”

He laughs quietly, a sound full of warmth and relief.

“Me too.”

For a moment, the world shrinks down to just the two of you, breath mingling, laughter light and free.

And then, almost without thinking, Bob’s hand finds yours again, fingers weaving together like they belong.

That night, in the quiet dark of the bunk, you lie awake, the afterglow of the day wrapping around you.

It’s not fireworks or grand declarations, just a steady, simmering warmth, the kind that roots deep and promises more.

You don’t need to say the words aloud.

You already know.

-

The day starts normal, but the air feels heavier, thick with the kind of silence that’s waiting to snap.

You and Bob are prepping for a joint training mission, the kind that demands every ounce of trust and synchronicity you’ve been building. But underneath the routine checklists and briefings, something feels off.

Maybe it’s the way Bob’s eyes flicker away when you glance at him. Or how his jaw tightens just a little too much when the instructor calls out formations.

You want to reach for him, steady him like he’s steadying you. But there’s that wall again, the one you thought you’d chipped away with every quiet moment.

The mission begins with familiar drills, engines roaring to life, the world narrowing to speed and precision.

You’re locked in your cockpit, the steady hum of the jet syncing with the pounding in your chest.

Bob’s voice comes through the comms, clear, but clipped.

“Ready when you are.”

You respond, heart thudding.

The sky blurs around you, adrenaline sharp and bright. You move together, two halves of the same pulse, perfect in motion.

But when you land, the air is still thick with unspoken words.

Later, in the dim glow of the briefing room, you catch Bob alone, staring at a map like it holds the answers.

“I messed up,” he says without looking up.

You step closer. “What happened?”

He swallows, voice tight. “I lost focus during the run. Missed a call. Could’ve put us both at risk.”

You shake your head. “We all mess up.”

“But this—this felt different,” he admits. “Like I’m carrying more than just the mission.”

Your heart clenches. “Bob…”

He finally looks at you, eyes raw and vulnerable. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of losing you. Of not being enough. Of what this means—us.”

You reach out, fingers brushing his cheek.

“You’re enough,” you whisper. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like it’s a lifeline.

That night, the tension hasn’t lifted, but something’s shifted.

You find yourselves sitting side by side, neither speaking, just sharing space.

Bob’s hand finds yours again, tentative but desperate.

And in that quiet grasp, all the fear and hope and longing swirl together.

It’s messy.

It’s real.

It’s yours.

-

The base is quiet in the early hours, a fragile calm that feels almost sacred.

You’re leaning against your jet, the dawn light soft against the glass. Bob slides in beside you, the world outside still waking, but beside him, time slows.

His eyes catch yours, no words needed. The space between you is charged, filled with every unsaid confession and yearning.

“Talk to me,” you finally whisper, voice trembling just a little.

Bob’s gaze drops, then lifts again, steady, sure.

“I’ve been scared,” he admits. “Scared of losing control. Scared of what this means. But mostly... scared of losing you.”

Your heart twists, but you reach for him, fingers threading through his.

“You’re not losing me,” you say softly. “We’re in this together.”

He smiles, small, genuine, and it breaks through every wall he’s built.

The jet rocks gently as he moves closer, breath mingling with yours.

“I want you,” he breathes, voice low and raw. “Not just when the world falls apart, but when it’s quiet. When it’s real.”

You lean in, the distance dissolving, lips brushing in a hesitant, trembling kiss that blooms into something fierce and tender.

In that kiss is everything, the fear, the hope, the long nights and silent battles.

When you finally pull apart, the world feels different.

Brighter.

Clearer.

You rest your forehead against his, breath mingling, heart pounding the same rhythm.

“We don’t have to have it all figured out,” you say.

Bob nods. “No. Just... this.”

Outside, the sky is vast and endless, a promise of more flights, more moments, more love.

And inside this small cockpit, you both know you’ve finally found your safe place.

Ao3

[sportsmusicsoapsmoviesfan]

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Forever and Ever, Amen - Bob Floyd x Reader

A/N: Inspired by the song Forever and Ever, Amen by Randy Travis. It's a cute song and it feels Bob coded imo. It's not a religious song other than the word "amen" being used.

pairing:  Bob Floyd x reader

warnings/content: sickeningly sweet Bob fluff.

word count: 1k

Mornings were never particularly easy for you, but mornings before Bob had to leave for a mission were on the verge of unbearable. At the start of your relationship, they were less frequent, only a few times scattered throughout those first few months of the honeymoon period, spoiling you with plenty of opportunities to spend time together in the early stages. Now at the end of your first year together, it felt like Bob was gone every 4-6 weeks, sometimes just to come home and leave again a day or two later. 

You breathed a heavy, reluctant sigh as you hit snooze on your phone and rolled over to face Bob in bed, who was just reaching over for his glasses. He adjusted them on his face and hummed softly, almost looking defeated as he faced you.

“That time already?” He sighed as he looked up at the ceiling, “I don’t want to go this time.”

“I don’t want you to go either, but I don’t think we get a choice in the matter, Bobby,” you sighed heavily as you turned on to your side, a frown forming on your lips as you looked at him. He shut his deep blue eyes for a minute and sighed.

“Alright, we have time for breakfast together first, right?” He said quietly, a strained smile on his face as he looked to you, trying to mask his sadness and frustration with his chosen line of work in this moment.

“Of course we do, you start getting ready, I’ll go make breakfast, yeah?”

Bob pressed his lips to your cheek in a loving kiss as he sat up, frowning as he looked out the window. You reluctantly got yourself up, padding down the hall to the kitchen, leaving Bob alone for a moment to collect his thoughts as he got himself prepared to go out again. The smell of fresh cooked bacon and eggs wafted through the house as you made breakfast for the two of you, the warm rays of the early morning sun came pouring through the window. 

Bob came up behind you, gently snaking his arm around your waist as you poured him a cup of orange juice. He pressed his nose into the back of your hair as he murmured a soft spoken “I love you”. You set the glass down on the counter before turning to face him, forcing a happy smile to hide the tears that were threatening to well up in your eyes as you caught sight of him in his uniform khakis. You adjusted his name tag for him, nodding your head once as you brushed any lint off his shoulders. You breathed in the smell of his aftershave, cupping your hands on either side of his face as you leaned up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“There, now you look perfect,” You gave him a nod of approval as you handed him his glass from the counter.

“Wait,” He shook his head and laughed as he set the glass on the table, “I need you to promise me something.”

“Promise you what, exactly?” Your brows furrowed together into a frown that probably appeared more like a pout than mild frustration.

“Promise me you don’t forget that I love you?”

“What on earth kind of promise is that, Bobby? Of course I’m not going to forget.”

“Just promise me, ok? You’ve had to be without me a lot lately, and I feel bad, but I want you to always remember that I love you, and I spend the entire time thinking about how I want to come home to you.”

“Alright,” you nodded your head as you looked at your feet, blinking back tears as you took a breath to collect yourself before looking back up at him, “I promise.”

 “Good, don’t make me sing that song to you,” He flashed a bright grin at you before pressing his lips to your forehead in an affectionate kiss. 

“What song might that be?”

“You’re really gonna make me sing it, aren’t you?” 

“You betcha, Robert”

Bob let out a playful sigh as he grabbed a piece of bacon off the plate on the table and bit into it carefully, being mindful not to make a mess out of his uniform. He swallowed his mouthful and rolled his eyes before clearing his throat and breaking out into song. 

“Oh baby, I’m gonna love you forever, forever and ever amen, As long as old men sit and talk about the weather–”

“As long as old women sit and talk about old men —” you chimed in, harmonizing with Bob as he sang.

“If you wonder how long I’ll be faithful, I’d be happy to tell you again, I’m gonna love you, forever and ever, forever and ever, amen”.

Bob smirked as he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Happy now?”

“Mhmm, how long was it you said you’d love me for again?” You returned his smirking glance, biting your lip to hold back a giggle. 

“Forever and ever, baby.”

“That’s what I thought. If I ever feel like I’m forgetting, I’ll just listen to that song until I remember, deal?”

“Perfect,” Bob nodded his head as he kissed you again before taking his seat at the table, quickly tucking into his breakfast.

A half hour later, as you say your goodbyes to one another at the base, you wave to Bob and give him a smile, refusing to let him see you upset as he leaves. Bob wraps you in his strong arms, enveloping your body as he gave you a passionate kiss. 

“Remember, forever and ever, baby,” he whispered softly as he held you tight.

“Forever and ever,” Your voice echoing his as you gave a subtle nod, breathing in his scent and taking in as much of him as you could, committing it all to memory before letting him go for any stretch of time again.

“Forever and ever, amen,” Bob grinned.

[sweetwhispersofchaos]

They’re my absolute favorite! I need another movie to see more of their dynamic!

Is anyone available to talk about Top Gun: Maverick? Specifically, is anyone available to talk about Phoenix and Bob’s dynamic in Top Gun: Maverick?

Phoenix literally knew Bob for only 10 minutes and was like:

(graphic via @tcmiv)

And Bob was like:

They were the best team in the squadron. I love them, your honor.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

First in Class Part One

Lt. Robert ‘BOB’ Floyd x Reader

Words: 5623

Summary: Your graduation from Top Gun seems like the perfect opportunity to introduce your boyfriend to your father…except they’ve already met. 

Notes: I don’t know anything about flying, obviously, but god it was fun to write. So much so, I think want to keep this character arch for other stand alones. Call sign ‘Rebel’ will just always have this backstory and general traits. I just had such a blast and I hope you guys enjoy and look forward to part two! 

-

Bob watched and tried not to hold his breath so long that he passed out, which seemed like a real possibility judging by how lightheaded he was getting. He wasn’t even the one in the plane, but with every impossible maneuver at an impossible speed, his stomach did more and more flips. 

“You alright there, Baby on Board?” Hangman patted him hard on the shoulder. “You look a little green.”

“It’s an intense dogfight,” he reasoned. 

Phoenix snorted. “It isn’t even real.” 

“Don’t tell me you didn’t do this when you were in Top Gun.”

“Of course I did,” Bob snapped back, hating the smugness perpetually painting Hangman’s features. Sure, the team of them had gotten close over the last year, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an asshole. He was just one Bob occasionally liked to have around. This was not one of those occasions. But when Phoenix suggested they all get together to get a preview of the new graduates’ skills, he didn’t really feel like explaining why he was already going to be there. 

“Besides, their ranking is already decided,” Rooster added, bringing them all another pack of beer. “This is just a few of them getting permission to show off.”

“They don’t know that,” Phoenix pointed out. “They never tell them when they’ve decided. They like to keep them on edge, the bastards.” She grinned, remembering her nerves from her time in Top Gun. 

“Which makes it worse, doesn’t it?” Bob leaned forward on the rail of the boat they were watching from. “A bunch of hot heads getting ready to graduate?”

“Remind me not to take you to any parties,” Hangman snickered. 

A roar echoed out above them, drawing their attention back to the two aircraft circling each other like vultures on a kill. 

Bob ignored the others and their barrage of critiques and kept his eyes on the plane being pursued. 

“Come on, baby,” he muttered. “You can get 'em.” The plane getting closer and closer to the blue waves captured every ounce of his focus. “Come on, baby. Shake them off.” 

On the carrier, more were watching the dogfight take place. 

“Come on, kid,” Pete said. “You can do this.” 

Maverick watched his daughter’s plane pull up at the last second, invert above her opponent, and swing back around to lock on the kill shot. He felt a swell overtake his chest, like he was being pushed under the water they floated on. Pride. That’s what it was. Pride. 

Bob clenched his fists around the rail, doing his best to hide his enthusiasm from the others. 

“That’s my girl.” 

-

When you took off your helmet and the cool ocean air hit your face, you were beaming. The chaos of the carrier set you at ease. People darted back and forth to check the planes for damages and refuel them for the next round of graduates to test their meddle. But you already knew they wouldn’t beat you. They hadn’t announced rankings, but you knew. You could feel it. 

Just like you could feel the presence of the man at the end of the flight deck before you saw him. 

Pete Mitchell. 

Maverick. 

Dad. 

You were running across the deck before the other pilot even landed, catapulting yourself into his arms. 

Pete laughed, spinning you around with his arms locked around you. 

“You said you weren’t going to make it,” you said into his leather jacket. 

He set you back down, pushing a sweat-stuck strand of your hair back. Pete shrugged, grin growing. “I lied.”

Your smile matched his. “I think I did it.” 

That pride in his chest came up in waves again. “I know you did.”

Your grin turned teasing, and you gave him a playful punch to the arm. “Jealous?”

“Hey, second in class is nothing to scoff at.” He pretended the punch hurt, rubbing the spot where you hit. 

“But it’s not first,” you smirked.

He raised a brow. “I’ll remember you said that when I’m thinking about buying you a drink tonight.” 

With your opponent, “Saint”, coming in, you knew you had to get back before your superiors chewed your ass. 

“Speaking of tonight,” you said, starting to back away, “there’s someone I want you to meet.” 

“Who?”

You said something, but Pete couldn't hear you over the bustle and noise of the flight deck. 

“What?”

You said it again, getting further away.

Pete huffed a laugh and asked one more time. “Who am I meeting?”

Finally, he heard your bright laugh over the sound of the planes. “My boyfriend!” You turned and hurried off before he could fully react. 

Dumbfounded, Pete Mitchell stared after you, wrapping his mind around the word. 

Boyfriend?

-

By the time you got back to the beach, you were ready for a drink. After long, long weeks of training and dealing with the boys’ club of Saint and his buddies, you’d made it. You’d done what you’ve been working your whole life towards, ever since you were a little kid and you snuck out of your mother’s house to watch the test planes. 

Your dad was meeting you at Penny’s, promising that he had a surprise for you. If you were being honest, you thought he was acting weird ever since you mentioned having a boyfriend. 

It wasn’t like you’d never dated. You’d had plenty of relationships throughout high school and the Naval Academy, but they hadn’t exactly gone well. You always fell for the hotrod, the arrogant bad boys who promised adventure and excitement. They never delivered on those promises, of course. 

And then you met Robert. 

He was a few years ahead of you in the academy. You’d been having problems with one of your instructors and, in order to not risk getting kicked out, you decided to find someone to tutor you. If your instructor was determined to have a problem with you because of who your father was, then you were determined to come out top of the course. Robert was the best at weapon systems, so you approached him to tutor you.

You were pretty sure he spent the next few months being terrified of you, but the rest, as they say, is history. 

Opening the door to Penny’s, the familiar scent of beer and salt water filled your lungs. The jukebox played a Tom Petty song, accompanied by the quiet clanks of pool balls sinking into pockets. 

The cheer that followed, you’d recognize anywhere. 

“As I live and breathe, Bradshaw,” you said, a grin slowly spreading across your face as you approached the group of people in naval uniforms around the pool table. Bradley Bradshaw was the closest thing you had to an older brother. Hearing your voice, his head snapped up. You stole his pool stick to set it aside and pull him into a hug. “Hey, Ugly Duck.” 

He rolled his eyes at your nickname for him. 

“I wondered if that was you up there.” Rooster raised a brow. “Cinderella.” Two can play at the name game. 

You punched his arm and hugged him again. 

Someone cleared their throat behind you. 

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Roost?” A tall officer with the kind of smirk you always used to fall for leaned on the corner of the table, eyeing you with a confident green-blue gaze. He held out a hand. “Jake Seresin.”

The name clicked in your head. “Hangman.”

“The one and only.” He shook your hand with a firm grip and a flirty grin. Yup. Definitely the kind of guy you used to go for. “So that was you this morning?”

“Y/F/N Y/L/N, but my call is Rebel,” you said. “And yeah. That was just for fun.” 

He chuckled. “Looked like it.” Sauntering toward you, he motioned to the bar. “Can I get you something to drink? Our buddy’s up there now getting a round.” 

You knew that head of light brown hair anywhere. 

“I think I’ll help him carry.” You made sure to give him a final glance over your shoulder before strutting your way to the bar. “Hey there, sailor.” 

Bob jumped, almost dropping the five bottles he was trying to pick up. 

You giggled. “Want some help?”

“I-I got it,” he said, brows coming together in focus. When he finally looked up at you, his eyes widened, and he almost dropped them again. “Y/N, hey. I thought you were one of the guys messing with me.” A sheepish smile spread across his face. “You were amazing today.”

He was the only one who could make you blush. You didn’t know anyone could be so sincere, so sweet, until you met him.

“Your friend wanted to buy me a drink,” you said. 

Bob looked over at Hangman, who was looking over at you. “Oh?” He glanced down. “Yeah. He’s um-”

“A bit of a prick?” You finished, laughing.

Bob snorted. “You could say that.”

You glanced over, finding that everyone was now watching the two of you. “Can you do me a favor?”

Bob’s face snapped back up. “Anything.”

“Put the bottles down, Bobby,” you smirked. 

His brows came together again, this time in confusion. It was adorable. He did as you said, setting the beers back on the bar. 

Then, you put your hands on either side of his face, and crashed your lips into his. 

And while the jukebox switched to Billy Joel’s “Shameless”, the bar went silent for the naval officers around the pool table. You reveled in the moment, but most of all, you just took him in. It’d been weeks since you’d been able to spend any real time with him, and just feeling him there, feeling his lips softly respond to yours, was everything you needed. 

“She’s with…” Hangman trailed off, rendered speechless for the first time. 

Rooster just whistled. “I didn’t know someone could turn that red.” 

Sure enough, when you pulled away, your boyfriend’s cheeks had gone such a shade, he matched the 3 ball. You flashed him a wink, grabbed three of the bottles, and calmly walked back over to the table. 

“Which one of these is yours, Hangman?” You asked, handing one to Rooster. Still unable to speak, he just pointed. You gave the opposite to the only other woman at the table and kept the final bottle for yourself, taking a swig. “Not my usual, but not bad.” 

“I-um-”

Rooster patted him on the back. “Don’t hurt yourself.” He strung an arm over your shoulder as your still-pink boyfriend trailed behind you with the other two drinks. “It’s easier to just accept her and move on.”

You elbowed him in the side, earning a breathy ‘Oof.’

“Are we playing or not, Ugly Duck?” You circled the table and gathered pool balls. “You and flyboy over here versus me and Robert.” 

Rooster and Hangman exchanged a look, overconfidence quickly overcoming the latter’s expression. 

Fanboy leaned over to Phoenix. “Who the hell is Robert?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. 

While you broke, Bob could feel everybody staring at him. Of the group, he was seen as the most secretive. It wasn’t because he kept secrets. He was just… quiet. That, and nobody ever asked if he was seeing anyone. Still, did they have to look that surprised? 

He watched you sink two stripes on the first break. Across the table, your sparkling eyes met his, and suddenly, nobody else’s stare mattered. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from grinning like an idiot. You made your way around the table to stand next to him, despite there being better shots on the other side. 

You purposely bumped his hip with yours, and he felt himself go red all over again as you leaned down to take the shot. 

“So,” Rooster started, brows furrowing, “why did you tell me about-” he motioned to the two of you, “this?”

You shrugged. “Robert and I met when you still weren’t speaking to me. After that, I guess it just never came up.” You gave him a faux-innocent doe-eyed look. 

You grew up with Bradley. He was basically your brother. But when everything went down between him and your dad… he cut you off almost entirely. It took years to build up your relationship again. You weren’t still mad about it, of course. But every once in a while, you liked to rub it in that you were the better friend. 

Bob cleared his throat. “You two, uh, know each other?” 

“Since we were kids,” Rooster answered, nudging you out of the way with his pool cue. “Unfortunately.”

You smacked him with the end of yours. 

“Oh, that reminds me,” you said to Bob. “He’s coming tonight.”

“Who?”

“My dad.” 

All of the color drained from his face. “T-tonight?” 

“Don’t look so scared. He isn’t that bad.” Rooster studied the two of you. His eyes went wide, and a slow, menacing smile spread across his face. “Does he not know?”

“Not know what?” Bob squeaked.

The older officer just snorted. “This should be good.” 

Sure enough, on the other side of the bar, the group’s former instructor entered, a large gift bag swinging back and forth by his legs. He flipped his aviators up onto his head, eyes scanning the crowd. You stood on your toes and waved so he could see you over Rooster and Hangman’s shoulders. Bob tried to peek around them, but the crowd was too thick around you for him to get a good look. All he saw was a flash of dark hair topped with golden-shaded sunglasses. 

Rooster snickered as he leaned down to sink two pool balls and flip you the bird. You stuck your tongue out at him and snuck back through the swell of people to meet your dad halfway. 

Pete spotted you for a second, but lost you again. Penny tended the bar and, as attentive as ever, had a feeling something was about to happen. Between Pete’s confusion and the very nervous-looking young man by the pool table, she wondered what you were up to. 

“Dad, over here!” You called, squeezing between two annoyed tourists. “Hey!”

Pete finally found you again and tucked the bag behind his bag to give you a one-armed hug. “Hey, kiddo. Don’t tell me the party started without me.”

“I told you I had someone I wanted you to meet.” You started to lead him back toward the table, but from his position now, he could see the group gathered, and he froze. 

“Don’t tell me it’s one of them,” he said, trying to wrap his mind around the odds. 

“It isn’t Bradly if that’s what you’re worried about.” You snorted at the idea. 

Pete winced, waiting for you to tell him that you’d been seeing the cockiest pilot in the whole group. 

“No,” you pointed, “him.”

Bob caught your eye and waved, at least until he saw who was with you. If he was pale before, he was ghostly now, eyes widening to the size of headlights. 

“Him?” Pete guffawed. “You’re dating Bob?” 

Your head tilted as you looked back at him, still leading your dad to join the others. “Wait, you know Robert?”

The two of you broke through the wall of people. 

Hangman choked on his beer. 

Rooster howled with laughter, both at his fellow pilots’ expressions and Maverick’s efforts not to look anyone in the eye. You stood in the middle of it all.

You glanced between the two sides, arms crossed. “I don’t get it.”

“Well,” Pete cleared his throat, “Y/N, sweetheart, you didn’t exactly tell me you were dating someone who graduated from Top Gun.”

Bob, who looked ready to lose his lunch, couldn’t manage any full words, so Rooster did it for him. 

“I take it she didn’t tell you her dad is one of the most decorated pilots in the Navy.”

Bob did manage to shake his head, unable to look at you or his former instructor, choosing the safety of the green felt tabletop instead. He tried to make it all make sense. 

He knew that your mom and dad weren’t together and hadn’t been in a long time. He knew it was partially because of your dad’s job and that she didn’t exactly support you joining the Navy, especially to become a pilot. So much so, she wasn’t even here. You were her only daughter, and she didn’t come to your graduation from an elite program, not that you’d mentioned it. He could tell it was bothering you. 

In that moment, however, all he could think about was how he didn’t see it sooner. Well, that and the fact that Maverick was staring him down with a puzzled look, like he was trying to fit two mismatched pieces together. 

Bob swallowed hard under the pin of those calculating eyes and tried to wash it down with more beer, which just made it worse. He ended up sputtering through his sip and had to turn away so he didn’t spray foam all over your feet. 

“I don’t tell many people because it tends to freak them out.” You sent eye daggers at Rooster while you walked around the table to stand beside Bob. You laid a hand on his shoulder while he got control of his coughing. “If I had known you two knew each other, I would have-”

“It’s-” He wheezed, “fine.” 

“So,” Maverick inhaled, “I didn’t mean to interrupt the party. I just wanted to give this to Y/N.” He drew the bag out from behind him and held it out to you. 

Keeping a hand on Bob’s arm, you grabbed onto the little twine handles and peeked inside. 

“You got fancy paper and everything,” you teased, pulling out blue and white tissue paper. Glancing up at the others, you smirked. “On my tenth birthday, he used the newspaper for wrapping after he’d spilled coffee all over it.” 

“Sounds about right,” Rooster said. 

When you got passed the paper, the bag fell right out of your hands, and your fingers fell away from your boyfriend’s bicep. You started to shake. 

“Y/N?” Bob’s head tilted forward to look into your face, which had gone pale. “You okay?” 

You held up the dark leather bomber jacket, reading the embroidered name on the pocket. 

Y/F/N/ “Rebel” Y/L/N. 

“Dad, this is-” your voice caught in your throat, finding yourself shaky on your feet. You leaned against Bob to keep upright. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” Setting the jacket on the green felt, you threw your arms around your father. 

Bob made sure the jacket didn’t fall off the corner and watched the happy moment with the shock of the moment fading into the feeling of seeing that smile on your face. 

The rest of the group applauded. Hangman rolled his eyes playfully, but Bob could tell he was just being… well, Hangman. 

“Alright, enough ‘Father of the Bride’,” Hangman teased. “Can we get back to our game now? I believe Roost and I here were about to kick the lovebirds out of their nest.” 

Bob scowled at him. Well, as much as Bob could scowl. To you, he just looked adorable. 

“You ready to put some money where that mouth is, Hangman?” You challenged, breaking away from your dad to put your hand on your hip. 

“She did learn from the best,” Maverick added. “Fair warning.”

“If you’re as good a pool player as you are a teacher, I think we’ll be just fine.” A grin spread across Hangman’s face. 

“Alright, Confirmed Kills,” you said, letting him know you knew exactly who he was and you didn’t care. “Whoever loses buys the next round-” Before he could scoff, you continued, “and treats everyone to a round of duet karaoke to a song of the winner’s choice.” 

You were going to enjoy wiping that cocky smirk off his face. Hangman held out his hand. 

“You’ve got a deal,” he winked, “Mini Mav.” Hangman lined up another shot. 

Pete watched you settle in with the group, fitting in like you’d all known each other forever. Of course, you and Bradly had known each other since you were kids, but the way you were with the rest of them… it was easy to see that you belonged there. 

What he still couldn’t quite figure out was the boyfriend situation. 

Bob? 

Really?

It wasn’t that he didn’t like him, of course. It just came as a bit of a surprise. Pete had met the guys you’d dated in the past, and they certainly weren’t, well, Bob. 

As if the kid could read his mind, he glanced over at Pete. 

Bob instantly looked away, trying to focus on you as you hit the Q-Ball. Of course, you were bent over, which meant he was looking at your ass, which of course made him panic even more. The last thing he wanted was for your dad to watch him watching you… in that way… oh God, this was going to be really hard. 

The voice in his head, which sounded weirdly like Hangman, made a crude joke. 

Bob chugged the rest of his beer before his turn. 

-

The group migrated out of the Hard Deck like a little tipsy flock of geese. Rooster and Hangman had just finished their stunningly bad rendition of ‘It’s Raining Men’ after losing to you and Bob at the pool table. They also each bought a round for the whole group, hence the slight sway to your step as you all climbed down the steps leading to the sand. 

Hangman, of course, had decided that everyone needed an encore.

“I’m gonna go out,” he sang, “and let myself get-”

He held out an empty bottle to you like it was a microphone. You rolled your eyes, but just couldn't help but join. 

“Absolutely soaking wet!” 

Everyone erupted in laughter, and you hooked your arm around Bob’s waist, to which Hangman, Coyote, and Fanboy all made kissy noises. 

“Gross!” Rooster whined over them, flashing you a grin. “Get a room, you two!” 

“Oh, I plan to,” you shot back. You could practically feel your boyfriend blush. “I’ll see you at the ceremony, yeah?” 

Rooster rustled your hair. "Wouldn't miss it, Cinderella.” 

“We will be there, Mini Mav,” Hangman said. He glanced over your shoulder, winking.“Take it easy with that one, Baby on Board.” 

Bob scoffed, shaking his head as the group shuffled off. 

“Oh, ignore him.” You leaned into him, the leather of your jacket smooth against his skin. You mussed his hair and stood on your toes to kiss his cheek. “He’s just jealous.” You wrapped your arms around his middle, tucking your head under his chin. You breathed him in along with the salt of the ocean and the lingering scent of beer. “I missed you.”

Bob enveloped you in his arms, smiling contently against the top of your head. “I missed you, too, baby.” He tensed suddenly, stepping away. You let out a pouty sigh, finding his gaze focused behind you. “Hi, Captain Mitchell.”

“Lt. Reynolds.” Maverick leveled his stare on your boyfriend, feigning seriousness. After he was sure the young man was good and freaked out, he cracked a smile. “Relax, Bob. It’s supposed to be a celebration.”

Bob, in fact, did not relax. 

You hugged your dad again for a long while, lowering your voice. “Thank you, Dad. For everything.” 

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N.” Pete fought to keep his voice from cracking. He cleared his throat. “You’re, um, you’re mother wanted me to tell you congrats, too.”

Bob watched your shoulders stiffen and your head tilt. 

“Sure she did,” you said. Tugging on your sleeves, you put a smile back on your face. “And this is too big, by the way.”

Pete’s face fell. “Really? I could have sworn I-”

“Dad,” you snickered, “I’m messing with you.” You punched his shoulder, glad to be passed the unpleasant topic you’d been avoiding for the last several days. Raising a brow, you added, “You staying with Penny?”

“Don’t give me that look,” he laughed. 

“What look?” You shrugged innocently. Reaching back for Bob’s hand, you laced your fingers together. “I’ve been renting her place down by the water.” You looked back at your boyfriend. “I figured we could head back and make some s'mores.” 

It was very clear by your tone that you were not talking about marshmallows and chocolate. Bob’s blood surged, rushing by his ears. 

He really missed you. 

You glanced back at Pete. “Don’t give me that look.”

“Hey, I’m allowed ‘that look’,” Pete said. “And I’ll be by in the morning for a run.”

You groaned. “Really? Do I have to train the morning of my graduation?”

He leaned over and kissed your cheek. “Just be decent by the time I get there, yeah?” He ignored the paternal urge to lecture you about not being stupid- which, of course, he knew would make him a hypocrite. 

“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Dad.”

“Night, kid.” He started back toward the bar to meet up with his girlfriend- a woman more like your mother than your actual mother since you moved to North Island for the course. Maverick waved back at the two of you. “Goodnight, Bob.” Bob started to say something, but the words just caught in his throat, so he ducked his head instead.

You hooked your arm through his and started along the beach to the quaint property you’d been renting from Penny for the last few months. The moon was high in the sky, shining down on the water in ripples of light. This was your favorite time--when the waves caught reflections of the stars and the moon in every crest and the world was an odd mix of still and alive, peaceful and energetic. There was an electricity to the evening that most people missed, but you always felt it, whether it was in the jukebox at Penny’s or walking along the beach now, head leaning against the shoulder of the man you loved. 

“You’re doing that thing,” you said, jutting out your bottom lip in a mock pout.

Bob blinked, like you’d snapped him out of a trance. “What thing?”

“The ‘I’m overwhelmed so I’m going to just stop talking and maybe forget to breathe a little’ thing,” you teased, but your eyes were sincere as you looked up at him, bringing you both to a stop along the sand. “Does it really bother you?” Confusion made his nose crinkle in that really cute way, so you clarified with a snort. “My dad being, well, my dad.” 

“Oh. Um. That.” Bob fixed his glasses further up on his nose. He did that when he was nervous, too. “No.” And his voice went up an octave- another tell-tale sign that he was on the verge of a mini Bob Breakdown. “W-why would it bother me?”

You raised a brow.

He exhaled a short sigh. “Okay. Maybe it’s a little weird.”

“Tell you what.” You played with the collar of his shirt. “How about, for tonight, it’s just you and me? No Top Gun. No famous pilot dads or moms who don’t-” You cut off with a sharp breath. 

Bob took your hands in his, pulling you forward to kiss your forehead. “I think that sounds great.” Bob wrapped an arm around you, keeping you tucked next to him while you walked across the beach. 

And just like that, the constant buzz in your body, the one that had kept you going at Mach 10 for the last few months, settled. You never knew how he did it, but Bob was the only person in the world who could bring you back to earth. 

-

There was something you took pride in knowing when nobody else did- WSO Lt. Robert Floyd was a really good kisser. Whether it was your lips or your neck or another stretch of skin against his lips, every touch was slow and perfect and just enough to make you a little bit crazy. And, at the moment, that was exactly what he was doing. 

Bob’s mouth trailed lazily over your collarbone, his arms draped around your waist, hair tussled from the night before, and pressed so close to you it was almost hard to tell whose warm, sweat-dotted skin was whose. 

“Morning,” Bob muttered sleepily against you. His lips made their way up to yours, but not before stopping at your jaw, at the little spot behind your ear he knew would make you blush. 

The small touch alone was enough to make your body ignite with the memory of everything that you did last night. The two of you had a lot of making up to do and, needless to say, you certainly succeeded. 

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and gave him a tired smile. “Good morning.” 

“Want some coffee?” Bob asked. His hair, usually neat and slicked back, flopped into his face in messy spikes. You pushed it back, letting your fingers glide through his light brown strands. 

“You’re a godsend.”

The corners of his lips teased upward. He kissed you again. “I know.” He pulled back, but couldn’t resist just one more kiss. “I love you.”

You almost took him again right there. “I love you, too, Robert.” 

He climbed out of bed despite your little huffs of protest and put on some sweats. You started to get up after him, but he stopped you. “I’ll bring it to you. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Breakfast in bed?” You said. “How fancy.”

“Well, I think that the top of Top Gun deserves a little spoiling.”

“We don’t know if I’m first yet.”

“Then call this wishful thinking.” He pointed at you. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You gave him a mock salute. “Aye aye, lieutenant." 

Bob chuckled, shaking his head, and went out to the kitchen to start the pot of coffee and put bread in the toaster. 

A knock at the door barely stirred you from the bed. 

“I’ll get it!” Bob called back. “You stay in that bed or I’ll make you.”

“Promises, promises!” You giggled back. 

Bob was turned back, looking toward the bedroom where he could just see you grinning at him from the bed, when he opened the front door. 

“It’s a little early to be selling something-” He started, immediately cutting himself off when he saw that it was definitely not a salesman at the door. 

Maverick cleared his throat. “Good morning, lieutenant." 

Bob- who wore a t-shirt to play beach football- stood there in the doorway, shirtless, without his glasses, and his entire body turning the color of a bad sunburn. 

It was in that instant that you remembered you were supposed to go for a run with your father. Who was now at the door. With Bob. Who definitely looked like he got laid last night.

“Shit shit shit.” You scrambled to gather your running clothes, almost falling over when you put on your leggings. “I’ll be right there!” 

“You better!” Pete yelled back at you. “If you aren’t out in five, I’m showing your boyfriend baby pictures.”

Your mind immediately went to all of the worst ones, and you got dressed a little faster. 

“I’m gonna, um-” Bob tried to figure out how to talk again. “I’ll go put a shirt on.”

Maverick stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Good idea.”

Bob shuffled toward the bedroom, getting enough courage to turn back and say, “I do want to see those baby pictures, though.”

Maverick cracked a smile and took a seat on the sofa. “They’re pretty hilarious. She’ll hate it.” 

Bob slipped into the bedroom and pulled the door closed behind him. “I think I just lost five years of my life.” 

You couldn’t help but snicker and lay your hands on his very pink cheeks. “You’re adorable.”

“I’m half naked!” He squeaked, trying to keep his voice down, which was just even cuter. “Do you think he knows? Does he think that we…”

“I’d rather not speculate as to what my dad has realized about my sex life, baby.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips and finished getting dressed. “And yes, he definitely knows.”

Bob groaned and fell face-first back onto the bed. Sitting on the edge beside him, you slipped on your running shoes. Bob rolled over, frowning. 

“I’m meeting up with the others to go to the ceremony, so I’ll probably just see you there,” he said. 

“That’s fine,” you shrugged. “I’m getting ready with a few of the women in class. We’re helping each other get our hair to stick down, because, believe me, it’s not easy.”

“Don’t I know it?” he teased. “It takes me hours to look this good.”

You reached over and rustled his hair so he yelped. Bob tackled you in revenge, attacking your sides with tickling jabs. 

“If you aren’t out in five seconds, I’m coming in there!” Pete yelled. “And believe me, I really don’t want to. One… two… three…”

You opened the door. Behind you, Bob sat ramrod straight on the bed. With an innocent smile, you jogged passed your dad.

“Come on, old man. Let’s see if I can still beat you to the water.” 

“I always let you win and you know it.” 

The two of you ran out of the small beach house, leaving Bob to catch his breath. He wanted to say he was happy. He admired Maverick more than anyone. That was the problem. He admired Maverick because of a mission Bob had grappled with for months. 

How could he tell you he’d left your father to die?

[cherrycola27]

Other Uses

This was inspired by this ask for my 2k celly!

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI

...........................................

You remember the day you met Robert Floyd. You'd just come to California to help open a new branch of your law firm, and you were celebrating a job well done with some of your friends at a Navy bar one of them knew.

You'd immediately spotted him, a wallflower amongst his friend group. He was shy, quiet, and reserved. Just your type. Most people would think that someone like you, a cut throat lawyer who'd been compared to Hades more times than you cared to count, would be drawn to someone loud and in your face.

But just how Hades longed for a breath of spring in Persephone, you desired someone to complete you. Reel you in and bring you back to earth when you became too much.

And that's exactly what Robby did. You'll never forget the look on his face when you confirmed that you were, in fact, talking to him. You spent all night getting to know him. Two days later, he was taking you on a date.

You were now three months into your relationship, and Robby's birthday was approaching. You planned to take him out of town and get a nice hotel suite and hopefully cross that final line in your relationship.

You had suspected that Bob didn't have much experience in the bedroom. What you hadn't expected was for him to almost shamefully admit to you that he was a virgin after the two of you had been making out on your couch and he'd cum in his pants.

You took his face in your hands and told him that there was nothing to be ashamed of, and whenever he was ready, you would cross that line together.

These past two weeks, Bob had been getting bolder when he kissed you. Touching you, pulling your hair, trying to dominate the kiss. You knew that he was ready.

This weekend, the two of you would be alone, and Robby would be all yours, to kiss, to love, to corrupt, to enjoy.

You were giddy the whole drive to La Jolla. You sat in the passenger seat of Bob's truck singing along to a playlist you'd made just for the occasion.

You were beaming when you checked in the hotel, and you were practically bouncing up and down in the elevator and down the hallway to your room. As soon you slid the key into the lock, you were practically dragging your Bob into the room.

He quickly rolled in the luggage and took in the suite.

"Wow, Honeybee, this is amazing. There is only one problem." He said as he faced you.

"What? What's wrong?" You asked him, slightly panicked.

"There is only one bed. Where are we both going to sleep?" He asked you. You threw your head back and chuckled. "We are going to share. We are a couple." You reminded him.

"Right." He said as a blush crept across his cheeks. "Well, it does look pretty comfortable. We should be able to sleep pretty well on it." He says. You can't help but laugh at your clueless boyfriend.

"Oh, Robby, there are so many more things that we can use it for other than sleeping. How about I show you." You purred into his ear as you lead him further into the hotel room.

Bob swallowed thickly as you pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed. You kissed him a few times before stepping back and pulling your sundress over your head.

Bob's eyes went wide as you revealed a black lace bodysuit with some tasteful cutouts. He swallowed thickly as you sank to your knees in front of him. You made quick work of his belt, and when you tapped his hips, he lifted them so you could bring his jeans and boxers down in one fluid motion.

His cock sprang free and slapped against his abdomen. You licked your lips as you looked at it. He was long and thick and girthy, with pretty veins wrapping around it. The tip was flushed, the same shade of pink that spread across his cheeks.

"Has anyone ever given you a blow job, Robby?" You asked him as you peered up at him through your lashes.

"N—no." He stuttered out. A wicked smile spread across your red lips before you leaned forward and licked the vein that ran from the base to the tip.

And long groan left his lips as you did so. Determined to see what other sounds you could draw from him, you kitten licked the head, lapping up beads of precum before taking the tip between your lips.

You bobbed your head further down his length, swallowing around him once you reached the neat thatch of hair at his base.

His hips bucked involuntarily, causing you to gag. You moaned at the sensation, hoping he would do it again, but Bob was too polite. You grabbed one of his white knuckled hands and placed it on the back of your head. His fingers tangled in your hair, but he was still frozen as you pleasured him.

You pulled off of him completely and told him, "Robby, you can be a little rough with me. I want you to fuck my face. Okay?" He sucked in a breath and nodded.

You resumed your work, and soon, his hips were bucking into your mouth, and both of his hands tangled in your hair. Bob couldn't stop the cries of pleasure from leaving his mouth as you worked him faster and faster.

"Honeybee, I'm gonna—" but Bob didn't have time to finish his warning before he was shooting thick, hot ropes of his salty cum down your throat.

You swallowed and pulled off of him before sticking out your tongue and showing him that you'd taken all of his release. He looked at you mystified.

"Did you like that, Robby?" You asked him innocently.

"I fucking loved it, Honeybee." He growled as he pulled you into his lap. You moan. Bob rarely cursed, and hearing is pretty mouth say something filthy just did it for you. You quickly whipped his shirt off before he brought your lips together.

His hands roamed all over you body. Eagerly taking in the lace number you were wearing.

"Can I— can I taste you?" Bob asked. This time, you were the one caught off guard shaking your head.

Bob manhandled you on your back as you nestled against the pillows.

He took his time kissing down your body. Your gasps and moans and words of praise spurred him on. He spread your legs wide before settling between your thighs.

"Have you ever done this, Robby?" You ask him. "I tried with my last girlfriend, but I didn't know what I was doing, and she didn't like it." He admits sheepishly.

"It's okay, baby. I'll help you. I'll teach you to eat pussy like a king, but only for me." You smirk at him. He blushes, and you give him the go-ahead. He peppers a few kisses along your thighs before pulling the crotch of the bodysuit to the side.

He placed a few kisses along your glistening cunt before tentatively licking a broad swipe over your folds.

You let out a high-pitched whine. Bob looks up and checks for reassurances before continuing.

He licks your folds over and over before deciding to try something he saw in a porno. He uses his thumbs to open your folds before spitting directly on your clit and sucking it into his mouth.

"Fuck, Robby!" You cry as you arch off the bed. "Was that bad?" He asks you with a panicked look.

"No, fuck, do it again baby." You tell him. Bob smirks at you before repeating the action.

You card your fingers through his hair to help guide him, but soon, Bob has your legs shaking as he buries his face in your sopping cunt.

You're teetering on the edge of an orgasm, slightly afraid he won't get you there when Bob surprises you and sinks two of his thick fingers inside you and strokes your walls.

You can tell he's looking for your g-spot. Once he finds it. Like a good WSO, he zeros in on it and drags his calloused finger tips along it over and over again.

You grind your core against his face and grip his hair tighter before arching of the bed and crying out his name as you cum.

Bob emerges from your thighs with a dopey grin on his face.

"Where did you learn to do that?" You pant out.

"I watched some porn, and I may or may not have asked Phoenix for some pointers." He tells you. "Remind me to send her a fruit basket as a thank you." You chuckle as Bob slides up the bed to join you.

The two of you kisses for what seems like hours. "If you don't want to do anything else today, we can stop." You tell him. "I want to. I'm just—can you be on top? Please." He asks.

"Of course, Robby. Can you help me take this off?" You gesture to your bodysuit.

Bob nods eagrly as he tries to undo the laces of it. He fumbles with them as he hands shake with excitement before he accidentally rips the garment. A look of fear flashes across his face.

You laugh before telling him it's okay. He finishes ripping the entire thing off. You help him lay down on the bed before straddling his waist.

"Wait! Do we need protection?" Bob asks you.

"I'm clean, and I have an IUD. Are you comfortable without it?" You ask him. "Yes. Please. I want to feel you." Bob groans. You smile at him before rubbing your slick folds across the underside of his length.

He grips the sheets for dear life when you take his length into your hand before slowly sinking down on him. Even with his fingers helping to prep you, it's still a stretch. Bob is easily the biggest man you've ever been with.

Once you're fully seated on him, his hands come to your hips as both of you adjust.

You start our nice and slow with your pace. Gauging his reaction the whole time. Once you find a rhythm that has him a panting, mewling mess underneath you, you speed up and ride him with earnest. His grip on your hips tightens as you throw your head back.

"You look so pretty under me, Robby, like a fucking dream." You praise him. He's a sight to behold. A blush spreading from his chest to the tips of his ears, glasses slightly askew, his brow knit, his mouth open and pretty sounds falling from it.

"Honeybee, baby." He groans out. "Yes?" You ask him.

"Can I— can I be on top now? Please?" Bob grits out.

You both whine when you still your hips. Bob sits up but moves a little too fast, causing the two of you to topple over. You land on your back with a oof. Bob's forehead accidentally bangs into yours, and you both laugh.

"Sorry." He mumbles. You reassure him that it's fine. He gives you a kiss on the lips before leaning back on his haunches.

Bob makes a few experimental thrusts before settling on wrapping both of your legs around his slim hips and pushing into your deeply. You can tell his trying to find your g-spot again because he is desperate to make you cum again.

He knows the moment he finds it because you're clawing at his back. He drags the fat head of his cock against it over and over again.

With each stroke, it feels like the tip kisses your cervix with how deep he is. You frantically claw at him and cry out his name over and over again.

"Robby! So close. Please!" You beg him. The truth is Bob is close, too. He's trying to hold out for you. One of his hands leaves its spot beside your head and he brings his thumb to your neglected clit.

"Me too, Bee. You feel so fukcing good." He pants out.

He draws tight circles on it, praying it is enough to get you there. His thrusts become sloppy as he loses his pace and hips stutter.

Bob can't fight it anymore and he cums deep inside of you, crying out your name. Your walls clench around him as his release triggers your own finish. They flutter around his cock as the milk him dry.

Bob collapses on top of you and buries his head in the crook of your neck.

You run your hands through his hair and sooth him with whispered praises as he comes down from his high. He's trembling in your arms.

The two of you stay like that until Bob can form real words.

"That was amazing, Bee. God, I love you. Thank you for being patient with me." Bob says as he kisses your nose a lips.

"Of course, Robby. It was wonderful. I love you too. Now, why don't we get a hot shower, and then we can cuddle." You say. Bob's face falls and he looks a little disappointed.

"Oh." He whispers. "Robby. What's wrong?" You ask.

"I was just hoping we could do it again. There were a few more positions I wanted to try." He grins.

You laugh and smile at him. "Okay, birthday boy. But let's pace ourselves. We have all weekend." You tell him.

Bob grins and reaches for you. It's a good thing that you didn't make any other plans for the two of you because neither of you leaves that suite for the entire weekend.

I wrote this for my "Dagger Deities Extravaganza" shout out to @withahappyrefrain for sending in the ask for this! The like to all the other blurbs can be found here

Tagging some folks who might be interested: @thedroneranger @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @desert-fern @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @lovinglyeternal @lovingbradshawafterdark @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @milestellerlover @katieshook02 @mak-32 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @ohgodnotagainn @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosterbruiser @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @rosiahills22 @dempy @seresinsweetie @my-obsession-spn @eternalsams @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @clancycucumber230 @lt-spork @multifandomlover4life @lewmagoo @bobfloydsbabe @bobfloydsbabe @ohtobeleah @rhettabbotts @bradshawsbaby

[littlemissrbf]

Summer Lovin’ (pt. 2)

Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!Reader

(No use of y/n, reader is a SoCal native & Bob is from Montana, language, reader has an annoying but loving uncle, Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a jackass, & Natasha "Phoenix" Trace is amazing and I love her, the Mickey-Rooster-Reuben department of shits and giggles is my new favorite thing)

Part 1, Part 2, Next Chapter [Word Count: 2.6k]

Until now, you’d only seen Lt. Robert Floyd from across the room, sitting or standing to the side with his shoulders pulled inwards like he was worried about taking up too much space. The distance between the two of you only made him look smaller, more like a “little nerd” according to your uncle.

But now that you have him all up close and personal, you realize just how big this man actually is. He's at least six feet tall with broad shoulders which only seem to add to his height. He practically towers over you, and when he stands too close you have to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

You realize you fucked up as he began to set up the pool balls into a diamond shape. You had asked him to play 9-ball but you've only ever played 8-ball, where the balls are set up in a triangle and you have to pocket all the stripes or solids before you go for the 8-ball. You couldn't even last 5 minutes without making a complete fool of yourself.

"You wanna break?" he asked, holding out the cue ball.

You laid your cue stick to rest against the table before making your way over to him, you took the ball from him and laughed at yourself before he could,

"I'm sorry I meant to say 8-ball instead of 9, but I got them mixed up in my head. I actually have no idea how to play 9-ball."

But he didn't laugh at you. He just smiled, grabbed the rack from another table, and started pulling six more balls from the pockets to rearrange them into a triangle.

"I'm really sorry about that, I should've said something before you'd finished setting up." you looked down and began to roll the cue ball in your hands.

He paused from lining up the rack with the foot of the table to look up at you, "It's okay, I don't mind."

When you still didn't look at him he made his way over to you, leaning down to get you to meet his eyes,

"Hey, it's alright. I figured I could show you how to play 9-ball after our bet." then he added "As long as you're okay with that."

You couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, that sounds good. But only after you've bought me a drink 'cause I'm about to destroy you."

"Oh someone's feeling confident all of a sudden." he smirked at you.

You smiled as you rolled your eyes at him.

"I'm still breaking," you said as you grabbed your cue stick and placed the ball on the table.

The two of you probably spent more time chatting than actually playing pool. The initial trash talk quickly blended into full-blown conversations that ended up with both of you forgetting whose turn it was (you ended up using rock-paper-scissors to decide who would go). At one point, you got so distracted that you forgot you were solids, accidentally sinking one of Bob's stripes into a pocket.

"You from around here?" he asked before taking a shot, the cue ball hitting a red one with a satisfying click, it rolled towards a corner pocket but bounced off the rails.

"No, I'm actually from OC," you said looking for an easy shot.

"OC?" he tilted his head.

"Orange County," you lined up for a pocket shot, "I live in Anaheim, it's about a two-hour drive from here." You hit the cue ball and watched as it rolled straight past your target and into the pocket. You sighed and lightly slapped your forehead, this was probably the fifth time you'd scratched. "What about you?" you asked as he reached into the pocket and pulled out the cue ball.

"I'm born and raised in Montana, my family owns a cattle ranch in Whitehall." he placed the ball on the table and leaned over to take a shot.

"Robbie, are you telling me that you're a cowboy?"

"No ma'am," he chuckled and shook his head, "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm just a Weapons System Officer."

"Yeah I have no idea what that means, you mind explaining?"

It's like you just triggered a sleeper agent, Bob immediately stood up, completely forgetting about his shot, and started to explain every last detail about what he did as a WSO. He talked with his hands and the pitch of his voice raised when he got excited.

"So, the pilot flies and you shoot, but you're also like the pilot's second set of eyes and ears?" you asked.

"Yep that's pretty much it," he nodded.

"That sounds... intense." You couldn't imagine being in charge of all of that, not to mention being responsible for someone else's life. "Have you always wanted to do something like this?"

"Well, my mom says I always really liked planes and jets." He made his way back to the table and lined up for one of the side pockets, "When I was a kid I told her 'One day, I'm gonna fly one of those things' and I figured the Navy was the best way to do that." He took the shot and the target ball rolled straight into the side pocket.

"It's really impressive." You started, he just shrugged and smiled to himself, he's too humble. "So is this your first time in Cali?"

"Actually, I was stationed in Lemoore for a bit before I got transferred here."

"San Joaquin Valley area?" That area is mostly farmland, so you can't help but ask, "Is it true that it smells like shit all the time?"

He smiled, "You get used to it."

He took another shot and sunk the ball into a corner pocket.

"You're pretty good at this," you said looking down at the table. He only had one ball left and you had five, at this rate you should just go buy his drink already.

A quiet "Thank you" slipped out as he leaned down over the table and lined up to knock his last ball into a corner pocket. He paused for a second, then hit the cue. He scratched.

He just looked at you and shrugged, trying to hide a small grin.

You raised an eyebrow at him, "Lt. Robert Floyd, are you letting me win to make me like you more?" You asked, hand on your hip.

You expected him to look down or maybe blush, instead, he held your gaze and tilted his head. That stupid grin showing up again,

"Is it working?"

Now you were the one blushing.

"Maybe." You said, brushing past him to grab the cue ball from the pocket.

This went on for a bit, you miss your shot and then Bob misses his (but on purpose), the cycle continued until some of his fellow pilots made their way back towards the pool tables, putting a pause on your game. It was a woman you recognized from earlier, two men who always seemed to trail behind her, and Mr. Mustache aka Rooster. Bob introduced you, and you shake their hands and learn that Natasha, Reuben, and Rooster are all F/A-18 pilots and Mickey is Reuben's WSO. You ask Natasha if Bob is a good back-seater and she laughs,

"I sure hope so, I haven't gotten the chance to fly with him yet. Most of us just got in today."

"Ooo something important about to happen?" You asked

"Well, I'd tell you if I knew." She smiled, and holy shit she's pretty, actually forget pretty, Natasha Trace is drop-dead gorgeous. Maybe the Navy is only taking hot pilots or something?

As if to prove your point, Rooster, who is tall and ridiculously good-looking, decided to make his way into the conversation,

"Nah you wouldn't, 'c'mon we all know you're a goody two shoes." Rooster pipes up and without missing a beat, she reaches up and slaps him up the back of his head.

"Don't mind him, he's an idiot," she says, "So what brings you around here? Family? Maybe a boyfriend?"

"No, no boyfriend," you say, trying not to look at Bob, but you can see Mickey out of the corner of your eye nudging him with his elbow. "I'm here with my uncle, he just retired from the Navy, today actually."

"Oh good for him, you guys here to celebrate?"

"Well he's definitely here to celebrate, I'm sure he just brought me along to be his designated drive-home." It was a good cover story, there is no fucking way you are about to tell these people that you were brought here to find yourself a husband.

"That's sweet," she starts "I love your dress, by the way, does it have pockets?"

You reach down and fluff out the skirt a little, "Thank you so much! I wish it had pockets, then it would be perfect."

You got to know the group better after just minutes of chatting apparently Natasha and Rooster go way back, Mickey is a chatterbox once he starts talking and won't shut up unless he's either eating or asleep, and Reuben's had his (albeit less dramatic than Rooster's) mustache since high school.

While listening to Rooster, Reuben, and Mickey get into it about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza. You subconsciously start drifting towards Bob, who is standing off to the side and silently observing the heated debate. Once you were side to side you gently bumped him with your shoulder, and he smiled before leaning over to whisper,

"I think it's your turn."

He was so close now and you could feel his breath against your neck, your heart decided to skip a beat and you figured if you didn't move soon this man was gonna give you a heart attack. So you quickly shuffled closer to the table and you locked eyes with Natasha, who saw the whole interaction, she gave you a knowing smirk and you felt the flush spreading further up your cheeks. You look down and try to focus on your next shot, but before you can pick which ball to go for you hear a new voice coming from the bar.

"Would you look at that, 'Baby on Board' actually has some game."

The man standing across from you is tall and blonde, he's got a set of perfect teeth that he flashes with a shit-eating grin, you notice the way Natasha looks at him as if she's fantasizing about punching him in the face or setting him on fire, or maybe both.

"Excuse me?" You tried to sound as polite as possible.

"You know B-O-B, 'Baby on Board'. I'm starting to think that's what his callsign actually stands for"

"Bob is just his nickname," you started, "It's short for Robert."

"No sweetheart, see 'callsigns' are what we fighter pilots use for communication and identification." he explained.

"So like a nickname." you replied with a flat tone.

You can hear Rooster and Mickey snickering, Natasha is still standing with her arms crossed but at least now she's smirking.

You decided to press your luck, thinking maybe if you annoyed him enough, Mr. Pearly Whites would just go away.

"What's your nickname?" you quickly corrected yourself "I mean, what's your callsign?"

More laughter came from the Mickey-Rooster-Reuben department but Mr. Pearly Whites just stood there and grinned.

"I'm Hangman, this here is Coyote." he nodded to the man next to him.

"Hangman?" You asked, you saw a slight crack in his smile and decided to go in for the kill.

"Do you just really like kid's word puzzles or something?"

At this, the Mickey-Rooster-Reuben department fucking lost it, cackling as they leaned on each other for support, Natasha was laughing too but at least she was still standing up on her own.

To your disappointment, Hangman just kept on smiling.

"At least someone's got a sense of humor, isn't that right Bob."

When you turned to glance at Bob, his mouth was pressed in a thin line, he nodded politely but his shoulders were hunched inwards again.

"Listen, it was great to meet you Hangman, and you too Coyote, but if you don't mind I'm gonna go back to playing 8-ball." you said turning back towards the table.

Before you could register it, you felt the pool cue being snatched from your hands and suddenly Hangman was in your place, shooting the cue ball perfectly to sink a ball into a corner pocket.

"I'm really good at this kind of stuff so let me give you some pointers," He started.

"No thank you." You reply immediately, but still polite.

"Aww c'mon I'm just trying to be nice, besides, it looks like you could use the help." He pressed on.

Before you can repeat yourself, Bob made his way around the table and he stood right next to Hangman, bringing his hand down onto his shoulder with a bit more force than necessary.

"You having some trouble with your hearing, Hangman?" He asks.

"Pardon?"

"I guess you are because I just heard her say 'No thank you' loud and clear. Maybe you oughta get your ears checked." He said, smiling sweetly, feigning concern.

Oh shit, he's hot.

Now Rooster got in on the action, "Nah, with that level of hearing loss I say we just let him get discharged."

"It's a shame, I was really looking forward to working with you, Bagman." Natasha chimed in.

And Hangman, the smooth son of a bitch just chuckled and patted Bob on the back, "Looks like we're all a bunch of comedians now." And he turned to you.

He held out the pool cue but when you took it in your hand, he held on, looking straight into your eyes.

"I apologize," he said with his other hand on his chest, it almost sounded genuine. "You have a good night, sweetheart." He flashed his pearly whites again, still holding on.

"Thank you." You replied, not breaking his gaze, not backing down.

He nodded and finally let go, making his way towards the dartboard on the other side of the bar. Before following him, Coyote nodded to you saying "Take care." You nodded back and said, "Thank you, you too."

The second the two men were out of earshot you whipped around to the group, "Oh my god, how do you guys put up with that?!"

Natasha lets out a groan, "He's the worst."

"Tell me about it." Rooster said leaning against a wall.

"You guys deserve a fucking medal of honor or something, I mean he is just such a..." You trailed off while trying to fish out the ball that he sunk.

"Jackass?"

"Dipshit?"

"Asshole?"

You placed the ball down on the table with a thud, "Yes, yes, and yes."

You made your way to Bob and placed your hand on his arm,

"Thank you for sticking up for me, I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome." Is all he gets out, looking down to where your palm rests on his arm, smiling softly.

When you pull your hand away, you barely see the way he leans towards it, as if his body is trying to chase your touch.

Natasha grabs the boys and makes a half-assed excuse about going for another round of drinks, winking at you as she gives you and Bob some privacy. No surprise, Natasha Trace is a solid wingman.

You let out a small laugh, "So, where were we?"

"I think you're about to win."

"Ha ha very funny," you said, aiming for one of your remaining balls. You took the shot and missed with flying colors. "Alright, Robbie go ahead." You said with a defeated sigh.

He sunk his last striped ball then picked a corner pocket for the 8-ball. He lined up his shot, looked at you, and hit the cue ball. It knocked the 8-ball into its pocket before rolling straight across the table and into the other pocket. Scratch on the 8-ball, he lost.

He turned to you and grinned.

"Oops."

Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

(Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Part 3 is in the works. This is still my first ever fic so let me know if you have any writing tips or suggestions!)

[ilovebabyonboard]

The Vitals Don't Lie

PAIRING: Bob Floyd X Nurse!Reader

CATEGORY: Fluff

SUMMARY: At the San Diego base infirmary, the nurse quietly observes the Top Gun recruits, especially Lieutenant Robert “Bob” Floyd, whose reserved nature and subtle glances don’t go unnoticed. When Bob is rushed in after a bird strike and emergency ejection, vulnerable and injured, the nurse’s concern deepens. Amidst medical checks and quiet moments, a fragile connection forms between them—an unspoken promise of something more once he recovers.

WORD COUNT: 2.7K

WARNINGS: Might be repetitive

The San Diego base infirmary woke slowly with the day, the pale light slipping in through the windows, catching on metal trays and the sheen of freshly mopped floors. It smelled like antiseptic and bitter coffee, a scent you’d grown accustomed to — strange, maybe, but comforting in its own way. It meant routine. Order. A kind of quiet before the flight-line chaos.

You sat behind the familiar white desk, clipboard balanced against your knee, absently spinning your pen between your fingers as the next round of Top Gun recruits shuffled in for their flight clearance checks. The room was filled with the usual blend of testosterone and early-morning haze: boots scuffed against linoleum, flight suits half-zipped, adrenaline simmering just beneath the surface.

You’d seen it all before. This job — this room — it was muscle memory by now. Wrap the cuff, listen for the heart beat, mark the chart. Most of the pilots were in and out before you could blink, barely sitting long enough for the vitals to stabilize, too preoccupied with thoughts of sky-high speeds and maneuver sequences to care much about blood pressure.

But then there was him.

Lt. Robert Floyd.

Bob.

Bob was never loud. Never jockeyed for attention like the others. He didn’t crack jokes or lean too far into the flirtation that usually buzzed around the exam table. Instead, he always waited patiently. Quietly. Shoulders squared, posture careful, hands folded in his lap like he was waiting for a final exam, eyes avoiding yours except in passing — but when they did meet yours, there was something there. Brief. Gentle. Intentional.

You, the only nurse stationed at this base, had come to recognize the patterns of the recruits.

Where Hangman flirted, Phoenix smirked, Rooster teased and Fanboy whistled low when you passed —

“Think she’d know if I fake a sprain?” "If I knew there was a hot nurse here, I would've come sooner." “Out of your league, bro. Like… multiple atmospheres out.”

Bob never said a word. Not once.

But he looked.

Not even when you took his blood pressure last month and he had to pretend it wasn't alarmingly high.

You’d seen him stumble a little over his words once, trying to thank you for handing him his completed chart. Another time, you watched his ears turn scarlet when your fingers brushed his while wrapping the pressure cuff. And last month, when you read off his blood pressure — unusually high — he’d just mumbled something about too much caffeine and looked anywhere but at you.

"Must've been the coffee."

You weren't stupid.

You knew it wasn't coffee

Today, the recruits filtered in one by one, lining up neatly by the wall as you moved down the row. Clipboard in hand, gloves snapped into place, you carried yourself with the same quiet confidence you always did. It was part of the job—being composed, a little distant. Untouchable.

Hangman was the first to pipe up, his voice coated in lazy amusement.

“Didn’t know Top Gun had perks like this,” he said, nodding toward you with a grin, his eyes sliding over to Bob. “No wonder Floyd’s always early.”

Bob didn’t look up. Just kept his hands folded neatly in his lap.

You didn’t look up either—but the twitch at the corner of your mouth betrayed you.

You moved through the line with practiced ease. Hangman rolled his eyes when you handed him a hydration pack.

“Try drinking something that isn’t jet fuel,” you said, scribbling on your clipboard.

“Only if you’re the one pouring it,” he shot back.

You gave him a pointed look and moved on.

Then it was Bob’s turn.

He didn’t move until you lifted your eyes to his. That’s always how it was—like he was waiting for permission.

“Your turn, Lieutenant,” you said gently.

He stood, slow and careful, posture straight but not stiff. His movements were always so measured, like he didn’t want to take up more space than he deserved. He lowered himself onto the stool, not letting his knees bump yours.

“Morning, Lieutenant,” you said softly, voice lighter than before.

“Morning,” he replied, just as soft. His eyes flicked up, then quickly down again.

You wrapped the pressure cuff around his arm, your fingers brushing against the skin of his forearm. He didn’t flinch — but he did hold his breath. Just for a second.

The room fell into a still kind of quiet, the kind that made you hyper-aware of every detail. His pulse thudded against your fingertips — steady, but fast. Too fast.

You didn’t look at him right away. You listened. You let the quiet stretch out, linger, become something intimate. Not awkward — just aware. There was always a hum around Bob. A tension made of things unsaid.

Finally, your voice broke the silence, low and teasing:

“You nervous, Lieutenant?”

He cleared his throat. “No. Just… long run this morning.”

You glanced at his chart. Tapped it lightly.

“No PT logged,” you said with a knowing smile.

Bob exhaled a short laugh — quiet, almost shy. “Guess I forgot.”

You looked up.

And this time, he didn’t look away.

The weight of it—the eye contact—felt heavier than it should’ve. Like he was trying to say something without saying it. There was something about Bob that always made you want to pause. He never took up space the way the others did. But he held it. Quietly. Unshakably.

“Heart rate’s a little elevated,” you note, jotting it down. Then, without thinking, you murmur under your breath:

“Easy, flyboy.”

Bob blinks. Caught. You see the faintest twitch of a smile tug at his mouth—like he’s not sure he imagined it.

Behind you, someone snickers. Probably Fanboy or Phoenix. You don’t turn to check.

Instead, you hand Bob his chart, letting your fingers brush his for just a second longer than necessary.

“All good,” you say. “But next time, don’t forget to log that mystery jog.”

He nods. Quiet. Composed.

But when he stands, you catch it—that half-second pause, like he wants to say something else.

Then: “Thank you, ma’am.”

Simple. Respectful. But it lingers in the way he says it. In the way he walks a little slower than usual on the way out.

He walked a little slower than the others on his way out, but you pretended not to watch.

When the last chart was filed and the tray was wiped down, you sat alone again behind the white desk, the coffee cooling beside you, the quiet returning.

And for the first time in a while, you hoped someone’s vitals were just a little too high again tomorrow.

The hum of the infirmary felt different this morning—restless, urgent. You were organizing supplies when a sharp knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts.

A flight medic hurried inside, eyes wide with concern. “We’ve got an emergency. Lieutenant Floyd was involved in a bird strike and emergency eject. They’re bringing him in now.”

Your heart stopped.

Bob.

The name echoed like a jolt through your mind. You barely registered the medic’s next words—something about a possible concussion and bruising—but your world narrowed to a pinpoint of worry.

“Where is he?” you asked, your voice tight.

“ER. Down the hall. You’d better get ready.”

Without hesitation, you grabbed your coat and rushed toward the emergency room, each step pounding with urgency. The corridor stretched endlessly, sterile walls blurring past as adrenaline flooded your veins.

You pushed through the double doors—and there he was. Bob, usually so composed and confident, now lying still beneath the harsh hospital lights. Monitors beeped steadily, but his face was pale, bruised, and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

Your breath caught.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze as you stood there, overwhelmed by relief that he was alive—and fear for what the injuries might mean.

You moved closer, your presence calm but urgent.

“How are you, Lieutenant?” you asked, voice soft but edged with worry. You pulled the curtain aside and stepped closer, careful not to startle him.

Bob’s gaze lifted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Morning, Nurse.”

The words were simple, but the warmth behind them caught you off guard. You quickly masked it behind a professional smile as you reached for the blood pressure cuff. “It’s the late afternoon, Bob,” you teased lightly.

“Oh.” Bob said sheepishly, his glasses slightly askew. He reached up slowly, fingers fumbling to adjust them, wincing when the movement tugged at a fresh bruise along his temple.

You caught the motion, your hand instinctively reaching out to steady his wrist—light, tentative. “Easy there,” you said softly.

He allowed you to hold his wrist a moment longer than necessary, eyes searching yours like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.

You cleared your throat and slipped the cuff gently around his arm. The warmth of his skin under your fingers sent an unexpected flutter through your chest, but you kept your tone steady. “Let’s see how you’re doing.”

Bob’s usual calm was replaced by a quiet vulnerability you’d never seen before. His breath hitched slightly as the cuff tightened, and for a brief second, your eyes met, holding a fragile exchange neither of you spoke aloud.

The monitor beeped steadily as you jotted down his readings—heart rate elevated but stable, likely a mix of adrenaline, pain, and something unspoken between you.

You finished noting his vitals and set the cuff aside, your eyes softening with concern.

“Alright, Bob. I’m going to check you for a concussion now,” you said gently, pulling on your gloves. “I need to see how your reflexes are, check your pupil response, and ask you a few questions. Just follow my lead, okay?”

Bob nodded slowly, his usual composure giving way to something more fragile. His cheeks flushed a deep pink, a stark contrast against the bruises on his face. He blinked a bit more than usual, his gaze drifting, unfocused.

You started with the basic checks—light reflex with your penlight, following your finger with his eyes, simple coordination tests. His responses were delayed, and his hands trembled slightly when you asked him to touch his nose then your finger.

“Bob,” you said quietly, concern threading your voice. “How are you feeling? Any headaches or dizziness?”

He swallowed hard, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile. “Wait... I’m sorry,” he murmured, eyes flickering up to meet yours briefly before dropping away. “I can't focus- You're just... You're really pretty.”

Your breath caught at the unexpected confession, but you kept your expression neutral, professional, though your heart thudded faster than it should.

It’s okay,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You were equally as flustered, but quickly reminded yourself he was clearly out of it—his brain scrambled from the injury and adrenaline.

Bob’s cheeks deepened to a richer shade of red, and he looked down at his hands, fidgeting awkwardly on the thin hospital sheet. He let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck, wincing again as he shifted slightly. “I think I’m making a fool of myself.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering up shyly, searching yours like he wanted to say more but was tangled in his own nerves. His lips parted slightly, then closed again without words.

You found yourself leaning in just a fraction closer, the space between you shrinking, charged with something unspoken.

“You’re doing great,” you assured him gently, “but you need to rest. It must be the concussion messing with your thoughts?”

“You always look nice,” he said, voice barely audible. “I just… I don’t say it.”

You fought the urge to reach out, your fingers itching to brush a stray hair from his forehead, but you kept it professional. You had too.

He blinked slowly, eyes heavy, then half-closed. “Maybe... after all this, you could show me how you stay so calm. Teach me to be like you.”

Your breath caught, a delicate warmth blossoming deep in your chest. The quiet hope in his voice made the sterile room feel suddenly intimate, like you were the only two people in the world.

You gently squeezed his wrist, your smile soft and full of promise. “I’d like that, Bob. When you’re ready.”

His tired smile deepened, genuine and vulnerable, and in that moment, the space between you seemed to shrink until it disappeared entirely — a quiet, tender understanding passing between you.

For now, rest was what he needed most. But soon, you knew, there would be time for more—time for laughter, for stolen moments, for something real and lasting. And when that time came, you’d be there. Right beside him.

Because some connections were worth waiting for.