#robert floyd x female oc

[randalsgrave]

Sweetness and Light: Part Eight

Five months later...

I've been through the ringer lately with school shit and back-to-back submarine deployments (someone please tell the Navy that I'd really like extended time with my husband; I'm tired of him being on the boat); needless to say, this has been on the backburner for a minute and it was high time I get this written for y'all's enjoyment. Thanks so much for your patience; I can't wait for you guys to read this. <3

Things start heating up for Bob and Katie.

BobxFemale!OC. F/C: Kacey Rohl

Word count: 7.2K

MAJOR WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY. SMUT. MINORS DNI.

MINOR WARNINGS: colorful language, not beta-read (we die like men)

***

Week 6, Monday. It’s been barely a minute since the morning portion of instruction finished, and Fanboy is already accosting Katie. Well, not accosting - more like sidling up alongside her with his arms folded and his eyes glimmering with… something. She wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘accusing’, but whatever it is, it comes pretty damn close to it. 

“All right, spill - what happened this weekend?” 

Boy, nothing gets by you, does it? “What do you mean ‘what happened this weekend’?” 

“Oh girl, don’t even,” Fanboy retorts with a snort as they wander out into the hallway. “You and Bob have been staring and smiling at each other alllll morning, which leads me to believe that something happened between you guys. So, what happened?” 

Despite Fanboy being rather annoyingly perceptive about her love life (damn him), Katie can only chuckle. “Really hell-bent on winning that five bucks, huh?”

“I mean, it’s an easy win for me; it’s obvious you two have something going on.” 

“Either that, or you’re seeing things. Speaking of seeing things, what’s this I hear about you seeing a girl in Los Angeles? Halfpint said you were gone all weekend with someone-”

“Ah ah ah, we’re not talking about me; stop avoiding the question-”

“Oh my god - we went to the aquarium and looked at fish. Happy now?” In her defense, she is telling Fanboy the truth - she just fails to mention the kiss they shared in the kelp forest exhibit, the hours of conversation, and the secondary kiss she gave him after he walked her back to her room. It’s not like it’s important for him to know the details right now. 

Fanboy knows she’s lying - or, at the very least, he looks at her like he knows she’s lying, complete with his hands on his hips and his eyes narrowed, just the tiniest bit. “You’re not telling me something. I dunno what it is yet, but I’ll figure it out - and you’re in trouble when I do.”

Katie heaves a sigh. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

Fanboy sounds almost affronted when he scoffs at her. “I’ve got five dollars on the line; of course I’m not letting it go.” He sets his garrison cap squarely on his head and lines it up with the bridge of his nose, then starts for the front door - only to double back and lean in towards Katie. “Her name’s Gianna, by the way.” 

He’s already walking by the time Katie thinks to respond. “You better gimme details on her, Garcia!”

“Only when you gimme details on you and Bobber!” he yells as a final farewell, just as the front doors cut him off with a loud clang!

Katie can’t help but groan. Can’t he at least give her the courtesy of some privacy before divulging the details of her love life? Apparently not. Nosy-ass.

“Boy, Fanboy’s in fine form today, isn’t he?” Bob’s come up behind her, hand brushing her shoulder blade to let her know that he’s there. 

She ignores the tingling she gets from his hand brushing against her and sighs. “You heard all that, huh?”

“Yeah… What was that all about?” 

Katie blows a raspberry with her lips, shakes her head. “He’s being nosy about this past weekend. He’s got money riding on you and me getting together.” 

“Wait…” Bob’s eyebrows furrow. “There’s a bet going?” 

“Five dollars that you and I become a thing in a matter of weeks,” Katie explains. She doesn’t even try to hide the wince on her face. “In my defense, I didn’t do shit to encourage him. He made the bet all on his own.” 

“Sounds like something he’d do,” Bob replies with a hum as he’s positioning his garrison cap. 

They’re outside now, making their way towards Katie’s 4Runner. The sun’s hanging directly overhead, beaming down and hitting Bob’s hair in a way that turns it to gold in the light. For a second, it’s all Katie can focus on, all she wants to focus on. Christ, he’s handsome…

She coughs after a moment. She hates to end it so soon. “Yeah, well, his competitiveness is making him badger me for money. He’s pretty well convinced you and I are a sure thing.” 

“Well, what do you think? Are we a sure thing?”

Katie’s breath stops mid-inhale. Oh boy. She should’ve known that it was going to come up; she just wasn’t expecting it to come up as soon as it did. 

She forces the air out in a small exhale, purses her lips as they climb into the 4Runner. “I think…” Choose your words carefully Katie… “I think we only just realized we have feelings for each other,” she says slowly. “And… while we’re figuring out where we wanna go with those feelings, I think I want to take things slow with you.” 

She’s half-expecting Bob to hang his head in disappointment, or to say something passive-aggressive in response - anything to suggest she’s in the wrong for trying to set boundaries and manage expectations. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to her. 

To her surprise, though, Bob nods. “That’s more than fair. Certainly makes things a little less intimidating.”

When he says that, Katie’s not sure if he’s speaking for her, or for himself. 

In any case, she hums in agreement as she starts the car up - then smirks. “If last weekend was any indicator, though, I’d say things are heading in a good direction.” She reaches over, slips a hand into Bob’s, squeezes softly as her eyes meet his. “Wouldn’t you agree?”  

Bob gives her a grin and his own squeeze of her hand as a reply. Wholeheartedly, it seems to say. 

She smiles, cranks her music volume, and points them  in the direction of downtown San Diego. 

Likewise, Bob. 

Likewise. 

***

Tuesday morning is a timeframe like most others these days - early rise, quick rinse, fresh flight suit…

And coffee with Bob in his lodge room. 

At 0730 he’s in his usual spot behind the kitchen bartop, hand-grinding coffee beans and keeping a casual eye on the kettle on the stove, watching for steam. Equally, Katie is in her usual spot too, elbow on the counter, propping up her head resting in her hand, eyes on Bob, lazy, sleepy half-smile on her face. She likes watching him make coffee for the both of them. It’s soothing, a balm for the unpleasantness of waking up early in the morning. 

Beans sufficiently ground, Bob pops the cap on the grinder and dumps them into his French press. “This stuff smells phenomenal. Where did you get it from again?” 

“Y’know James Coffee over on India Street?”

“Oh yeah, those guys. Been meaning to check ‘em out sometime. How’s their coffee?” 

Katie nods. “It’s really good - kinda’ fruity. At least that’s what the guy who sold it to me said.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Bob takes the kettle in one hand, wets the grounds with some water before giving them a stir. “You can smell the berries and chocolate in the beans.” He pours the rest of the water into the press, all the way to the top, then sets the plunger. “It’s gonna make a helluva cup of coffee, I can tell you that much.” 

He splits the resulting liquid between two white mugs, and hands one off to Katie, who takes a single long sip and hums serenely. Warm, toasty, and chocolatey.  Bob’s right - this is a damn good cup of coffee. 

“Dude, can I just, like… Take you back to Virginia with me when this is all over? Have you make me coffee everyday or something? Like goddamn.” She takes another sip of coffee, revels in the rich, fruity taste, the heat warming her insides, the caffeine flowing through her. “Seriously, I don’t think I can go back to my Keurig after this,” she says with a laugh. 

Bob chuckles as he comes around the bartop and takes the seat to Katie’s left. “I dunno. Big daddy Navy might have something to say about that, but” - he takes a long sip - “I’m sure we could figure something out.” 

“Eh, it’s nothing an SRC can’t take care of.” 

A shrug and a lip-curl of agreement. “SRC’s do take care of a lot of things.” 

“See? Problem solved.” Katie takes another pull of coffee. Right now she can’t get enough of it, it’s so good. “Just say that you’re, I dunno… establishing a coffee mess detachment in Norfolk. Y’know, something that says ‘mission critical’ and makes upper leadership happy.” 

“Spoken as if it’s actually gonna work,” Bob replies with a snicker. 

“Oh what, you think it won’t?”

“Trust me, I wish it would.”

“Oh, it definitely will. I mean, it’s gotta; I’ve got cute guy-supplied coffee on the line here.” 

Bob’s cheeks color, and there’s just the tiniest hint of bashfulness in the smile that crosses his face. “Cute, huh?” 

“Oh yeah.” She leans into him, hand running feather-light down his forearm before resting atop his free hand. “Very cute.”

Her heart still pounds in her chest when she leans in further and kisses Bob. She may be the picture of cool and collected on the outside, but there’s no controlling the anxious shriek of her nerves, the too-fast rush of her blood through her veins as her lips brush his, taste him. Kissing a man certainly isn’t a novelty for Katie, but… 

This is Bob Floyd she’s kissing now, and Bob, he’s… Well, where the hell does Katie begin? He’s…

Unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. 

She pulls back, surveys his face for a moment. Bob is blank-faced - dumbstruck, even. Clearly he wasn’t expecting a kiss this morning. 

“What about what you said yesterday?” 

Despite the hammering in her ribs, she sidles up next to Bob, leans until her lips are just close enough to brush the shell of his ear. Bold of her. VERY bold of her. “Just because we’re taking it slow, doesn’t mean I don’t want to kiss you,” she whispers. 

Katie can practically feel the heat coming off of Bob all of a sudden, can feel the goosebumps prickling across his skin. Hell, his breathing hitches for a second. So. Close proximity definitely has an effect on him. It’s a bit of a mean thing to do this early in the morning, but she’s definitely got his attention with that. She’s also fairly certain he’s not going to complain much about it, if he even complains at all. 

A moment later, Bob replies. “Well,” he says around a thick swallow, “thank god for that, because I haven’t stopped thinking about kissing you since Saturday.” 

He hasn’t? 

He turns back towards Katie, and picks up where she left off, nice, easy, no pressure. Unlike Katie, though, he doesn’t pull back after the one kiss. No - he stays there, wanting more, giving more. His hand comes up to cup her cheek, so nice and tender, and suddenly Katie’s the one with goosebumps. It’s so… intimate. It’s closeness that she hasn’t had, not in a long, long time. 

And it’s closeness that she wants more of. 

Her hands move of their own free will, creeping up to cradle Bob’s jaw, every bit as tender as the embrace he has her in, more more more please more - 

And then the soft rattle of a doorknob turning has them breaking apart and shoving away faster than they have time to process. Dashed is the moment of closeness, the moment of bliss that Katie was all too happy to let herself sink into - like a bubble bursting and fizzing into the ether.

The door to the left-side bedroom swings open, and out comes Rapture, swiping a hand down his sleep-riddled face, the very picture of ‘I’m up too early against my will’ as he all but stumbles into the shared space. 

He’s utterly oblivious to his WSO having kissed their fellow aviator all but two seconds ago, to the flushed pink tinting both their cheeks, their lips.  

And dare Katie even think it for a second, but she’s… annoyed by the sudden appearance of Bob’s front-seater. Very annoyed. 

“Pre-class coffee?” Rapture mumbles, to which Bob nods in answer. “Smells good.”

“Man, you have no idea. This stuff is amazing. You want a cup?”

Rapture all but moans. “Please.”

It’s a fight to keep a scowl from creeping across her face. Goddamn it Rapture, you couldn’t have done this earlier?

Bob seems to sense the thought running through Katie’s head, because his eyes dart to hers as he stands and goes to fix a cup of coffee for his front-seater - and if she’s reading the glimmer in them correctly, it’s definitely saying “I hear you.”

Perhaps he also had other things in mind before Rapture showed up. 

In an attempt to be conversational while waiting on the coffee, Rapture turns to Katie. “How’re you doing this morning?”

“Not too bad. Enjoying my one moment of peace for the day before other people see fit to destroy it.” The smile on her face is polite, but tight. Very tight. Pointedly tight. 

“Christ, that’s a mood,” Rapture mutters before taking the coffee Bob’s just passed to him and drinking, seemingly unfazed by the wording and stiff expression - and heaves a long sigh of bliss. “Y’think anyone’ll care if I take the mug with me off lodge property?”

“Uh… No?”

“Good. This is coming with me then. Fuck, this is good.” He takes another sip, smacks his lips, starts for the front door. “I’ll see y’all at the schoolhouse.”

Then, Rapture’s gone, breezing through the front door, leaving Bob and Katie to slump in the kitchen. Universe: one. Two romantically involved aviators: zero. 

“God bless my front-seater, but he has terrible timing sometimes,” Bob all but groans. 

“Yeah, tell me about it. S’pose we oughta’ follow his lead though and get moving; muster is in 15 minutes.”

“Yeah, you’re right; we should go. You driving or am I?”

“Eh, I’ll drive.”

“All right. Just leave your mug on the counter; I’ll wash it later.” Bob scoops up his notebooks and study material, dumps it into the black Navy-issued backpack resting against the kitchen floorboards, loops his arms through one of the straps, grabs his garrison cap off the counter. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

“‘Kay. Let’s go.” 

They march down the hall towards the stairwell at the opposite end, strides long and purposeful, minds clear and focused now. At least, Katie’s mind is, no thanks to Rapture and his sudden interruption. It’s definitely for the best though; being half-dazed and delirious from a kiss while learning rigorous combative flight technique is probably not the best state to be in. 

They’re making their way down the stairs, boots all but thundering as they hit the steps, when Bob comes to a standstill right at the bottom. Katie’s lucky she catches herself in time; one more step forward and she would be tumbling over him. 

“You good there?” 

“Fine. Just forgot something, is all.”

Katie’s eyebrow shoots up. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Bob says nothing else - just turns and leans into Katie and kisses her, right there at the bottom the stairwell, one second, two seconds, three. When he pulls away, there’s a grin - a self-satisfied, mischievous one - on his face. “That. We’re good now.” 

“You’re so ridiculous.” Even though her eyes roll and her voice scoffs, her lips still curl upwards in a smile.

“Can’t help it that I like kissing you - and that I’m gonna take every chance I get to do it.”

And with that, Bob smiles broadly, nudges Katie in the shoulder, and pushes through the door into the lobby, leaving Katie to follow with her mouth in a silly grin and her face flushed. 

So much for having a clear mind today.

***

The outdoors call to Katie today, more than usual. It probably has something to do with today’s lecture and hop being on the more hellish side, but by the time everyone’s released for the day and she’s made it back to her room to change, the initial reason doesn’t matter all that much. She just has to get outside, and soon. 

She texts Bob and Fanboy as she’s swapping over to shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. “Going hiking, y’all wanna come with?” 

Bob’s answer comes through almost immediately. “Sure. Where to?”

“No idea,” Katie texts, shrugging as she does, as though Bob can somehow see her reacting to the message. “You wanna pick?” 

As Bob takes time to ponder, another message chirps through - Fanboy this time. “Fuck it, why not?” his message reads. “Where we going?”

“No idea. Bob’s picking a spot.” 

“Cool cool. Bobber, where to?”

“Uhhhhhh thoughts on Bayside Trail? Two and a half mi roundtrip and it’s right along the ocean.”

Ah, a nice, quick oceanside hike. More importantly, a nice, quick oceanside hike at golden hour. How pretty - and romantic, Katie realizes a second later. 

Shit. Fanboy is definitely going to read into this now. 

She swears to herself, threads her braided hair through the back of the ball cap Bob bought for her, pulls it down tight on her head. She suddenly finds herself praying to the higher powers that be, asking them to please, for the love of all things holy, let her (and Bob, for that matter) have a nice afternoon without any prying questions from their friend, or (Christ) even so much as a sly sideways glance at the two of them. 

HA, she thinks, then groans. Who the fuck am I kidding? 

Much to Katie’s surprise, though, he doesn’t. In fact, Fanboy hardly says a damn word the whole time they’re together. Even when it’s an hour and a half later and she and Bob are drifting and talking to each other a good deal closer than most friends would, he doesn’t say anything. 

Maybe he doesn’t notice, Katie thinks briefly, right before shaking her head. No way. He’s noticed and he’s just choosing not to say anything. 

She all but confirms this when they reach the trail’s terminus and she snaps a picture of the three of them, standing high above the ocean in all its blue- and gold-hued glory, and goddamn it if Fanboy doesn’t smirk in the picture - smirk at her, more specifically. 

Yep, he definitely noticed. 

And he makes as much clear when he knocks shoulders with her on the return trip and murmurs to her, “Still think you’re not paying me that five bucks?”

“Yeah, when hell freezes over.”

“Y’know, that day might be coming a lot sooner than you think.”

“Fanboy, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Yeah yeah, only after you pay me.”

Insufferable, that one. Really and truly insufferable. 

And yet, Katie doesn’t have it in her to resent Fanboy. For as much as he pokes at and pesters her about it, for as much as it drives her damn nuts, they both know that there’s a point being made:

Something is brewing between her and Bob, something big, and to continue to deny it is a fool’s errand. Fanboy’s right, and not only does he know it, but Katie knows it too. 

…She’s still not giving him the money, though. 

***

She hasn’t stopped thinking about Tuesday morning. 

It’s been two days since then and her face still feels warm where Bob had laid his hand - tingly warm, good warm. A man caressing her face the way he did isn’t a novel experience to her - at least, it shouldn’t be; past boyfriends and flings have made similar moves in similar situations, but none of them affected her the way this one, this man, did. 

It’s made Katie realize lately how badly - how very, very badly - she wants Bob to touch her like that. To touch her in general. To run his hands over her face and her body and…

Her cheeks go from pale and freckled to burning and flushed in a matter of seconds. It paints a wonderful image in her head, but she scolds herself. They’ve only just started figuring things out; she doesn’t need to be having those thoughts just yet. 

But here she is, having them anyway. And she’s not in much of a rush to stop them. 

Hands on her face. Hands on her body. Hands everywhere she can think to put them. 

Oh god, she’s in trouble. She’s supposed to be meeting up with him in five minutes for some studying, and in his room, no less. How the hell is she supposed to manage that with the thoughts, the images racing through her head? 

Katie groans, tips forward and lets her forehead smack against the mirror in her bathroom. “Please, I am begging you,” she moans to herself, “get your shit together. You’re supposed to be taking this slow, remember?”

If only it were so easy to keep that in mind. 

She splashes some water on her face, wills her brain to stop racing and the flush in her face to disappear. The flush proves easy to dispel. The thoughts? Not so much. They circle and circle, over and over, and goddamn it, this is so not helping. 

It’s only when she forces herself to think of the most unsexy things in the world - namely, UCMJ articles and the Navy code of ethics - that she’s able to feel calm enough to handle things. She’s in control. She can do this. 

…Right?

Turns out that’s a lie - a big, fat one, because when Bob greets her in his doorway five minutes later, wearing a USN hoodie with the sleeves bunched up to reveal the tone of his forearms, Katie’s body goes hot and all thoughts of calm and control go flying out of her head. 

Did he have to wear something that shows off one of the best parts of him?

Thinking those thoughts about a friend of yours… Have you no shame?

For once, Katie doesn’t wince at the nagging little voice in the back of her head. 

“All right, I’ve got Thai food on the counter,” Bob says without a moment of hesitation. “I say we eat first and then dive into studying.”

It’s enough to snap Katie out of her momentary stupor. She nods in agreement and follows him through the doorway. “What’ve you got?”

“Summer rolls with peanut sauce, pork pad kee mao, and green curry with chicken. The pad kee mao’s good but if you’re not a fan of spicy, I’d skip it.”

“Well,” Katie asks as she takes a plate from him, “how spicy are we talking here?”

“Like a five, maybe a soft six out of ten.”

“Am I gonna be doubled over in your bathroom in twenty minutes if I eat it?”

“Eh, I don't think so. If you can handle last week's Chinese food, you'll handle this just fine."

Katie’s first response is to purse her lips in thought - then to take the spoon nestled in the noodles and dump a big scoop of them onto her plate. “Guess we’ll see how I’m doing in twenty minutes then.”

Luckily for her, twenty minutes go by without any issue (fire-coated throat and tongue notwithstanding). She makes a mental note to order from this place sometime after going for her second serving of pad kee mao and green curry. Or, better yet, to just have Bob make all her food decisions from now on. He hasn’t steered wrong yet and the food he’s picked out only seems to get better. 

“All right - so, what do we wanna go over?”

“I mean, anything and everything,” Katie shrugs, “but uh… Lecture notes? Lab notes? Flight observations?”

“Lecture was pretty dense today…” Bob flips open one of his many notebooks, eyes scanning through line after line of bullet points and side notes. “Wanna start with radar?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

And so it goes. Books are flipped open, old notes are thumbed through, new notes are scribbled down in the margins. For Bob and Katie, it’s the heaviest use of their brain power outside of the schoolhouse. 

Three hours later, at 2100, they sit side by side on the sofa in Bob’s living space, dialed into their studies while vaporwave drones in the background, poring over pages and pages of notes and analysis, over papers that lay scattered across the coffee table, over… Well, who really knows at this point? 

Katie traces a line of text with the tip of her pen, willing the words to, one: make sense; and two: stick in any way possible. Whether it’s due to the late hour or her own subconscious desire to stop learning for the day, none of what she’s reading is making much sense to her. 

Seems like there’s only one thing to do at this point. 

She sighs, turns to Bob, whose eyes seem to rove over the same paragraph repeatedly in his book. “Is your brain as soupy as mine or…?”

Bob snorts. “Katie, if you tipped my head to one side, I’m pretty sure it would fall out of my ear.”

Noted. 

“So we’re calling it for the night then?”

A nod. “Yeah, we’re calling it.” 

“Fair enough.” Katie flips her guidance book shut, tosses the pen onto the coffee table with a curt sigh. “Now what?”

“Dunno - we relax, I guess.”

“As if we don’t relax together every weekend?” Katie says wryly. 

“Ah, that’s different. That’s ‘morale is high and we have a whole day to ourselves’ relaxing. This is ‘stare at a wall and contemplate our life choices’ relaxing.”

“Seems a little sad, but I suppose you’re right.” Katie sinks back into the couch, blows a strand of hair out of her face. “I am kind of wondering what I got myself into here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, y’know, wondering why I said ‘sure’ to my boss when he told me I was going to TOPGUN, that sort of thing. All it’s done for me is get my ass kicked.”

“Well, even if it is getting your ass kicked, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Glad someone is,” Katie replies with snark. 

“Hey, c’mon now, I am. You’re one of the few people keeping me sane here.” 

“Oh, is that why you’re so interested in me?” 

Bob only gives Katie a look that can be described as withering, but it’s hard to call it that when he can barely keep a smile from spreading across his face. “You know it’s for more than that.”

“I know. I’m just teasing. Oh man…”

Katie tips to the side, into Bob, her temple knocking into the curve of his shoulder. Bob, meanwhile, stacks himself on top of Katie with a sigh, cheek pressing into the crown of her head. His hand comes to rest on the inside of her leg, by her knee, but he doesn’t dare inch it up any further than that. 

It doesn’t matter. Even in a spot so unassuming, his hand on her knee is enough to send lightning ripping up her spine.

Hands on her face. Hands on her body. Hands everywhere she can think to put them. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This man is going to be the death of her. 

“Guess it’s my turn to be the nervous wreck now,” she comments wryly, voice bordering on a rasp. 

She can feel Bob frown against the crown of her head. “Why do you say that?”

“Y’know how you weren’t able to stop thinking about kissing me? Guess it’s my turn now.”

“…Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm. Your hand on my knee is, uh, having quite an effect.” As if emphasizing her words, her knee gives a twitch beneath his hand. 

“If it’s making you uncomfortable I can take it off-”

“No, no. It’s…” Oh man, why are words suddenly hard? “I want you to keep it there. It’s… It’s nice.” 

“Yeah?”

She manages a nod, the words failing her this time. All she can think about - all that really matters - is his hand on her leg - that closeness between them. 

Oh, they’re playing a dangerous game now. Katie realizes it the second the thought goes through her head. After that first kiss in the aquarium, she’s realized just how starved for physical contact she’s been, and with Bob being more than willing to give it to her…

Oh yes - a dangerous game, indeed. 

And Katie can’t bring herself to care all of a sudden. 

She turns, curls into him with a long, soft sigh, face pressing into the curve of his neck. He’s warm - so warm, and it radiates through, soaks into her, and it damn near makes her hum. This. This is nice. Real nice. 

She drapes an arm loosely across him, nuzzles into Bob, seeking the heat of him. 

Bob is utterly still beneath her. 

…To hell with it. 

Katie removes her face from the crook of his neck - only to lean in, mouth slanting over Bob’s in a soft, questioning kiss. Do you want this? 

His hand slides up her shoulder, rests on her neck, pulls her closer, ever so gentle. Please. 

She obliges. More than that, actually; she pushes in hard, steals the breath from his lungs and replaces it with her own. She needs to be close to him, as close as humanly possible - needs to feel him in some way. 

And Bob? Bob meets her halfway every time she dips in, meets Katie touch for touch, kiss for kiss, sigh for sigh. His teeth prick down on her lower lip and tug it into his mouth, and it’s all Katie can do to clamp down on the heat surging between her legs. The thoughts from earlier resurface. She can’t get enough of the way he feels against her.

She needs more. 

She threads her fingers into Bob’s golden-brown hair, nails digging ever so gently into his scalp. It’s been a long time since she’s done this - shamelessly made out with a man, lost herself in the fog of lips and teeth and tongue. Lips that burn hot against her own. Teeth that pull her in close, into him. Tongue that tastes her. And god, is Bob good with them - better than she would’ve guessed. 

It makes Katie wonder what else he’s capable of… 

Makes her wonder where else he could make her burn and feel utterly breathless. 

Before she’s even fully aware of it, her leg is thrown over Bob’s lap and she’s half straddling him, body going through motions she hasn’t been through in ages, motions she’s all too happy to surrender herself to - that is, until Bob groans beneath her, and suddenly her brain catches up with the rest of her body and it all comes to a screeching halt. In an instant she’s pulling back, her breath frozen in her throat and her eyes wide in mortification. 

“Oh my god-” She shoves herself off, puts some desperately-needed space between the two of them. “I’m so sorry, I got totally carried away-”

“Katie-”

“I’m not trying to give you mixed signals or force you into something-”

“Katie-”

“I swear I wasn’t trying to-”

“Katie!”

Katie freezes, a deer caught in the headlights. Did she just royally screw things up? 

Her heart is hammering in her chest as Bob, with his mussed hair and flushed cheeks and full lips, reaches over and takes her face in both his hands, thumbs brushing over the lines of her cheekbones. “Look at me, look at me - it’s okay. You did nothing wrong.” 

“But- But you groaned and-” Why, why, why does she sound like a nervous high-schooler? Christ - she really is out of practice with this… 

Bob chuckles, and a bit breathlessly at that. “I can’t help it when I’ve got a girl practically on top of me, doing some real nice things to me…” 

“I, uh… don’t know if that helps.”

“Katie, it’s fine. I’m having the time of my life here. I mean…” His eyes travel downward, and Katie follows them, and… 

It’s the first time she’s looked at him since they started this whole thing - really looked at him. And now that she’s here, in this moment, there’s no missing the stiffness in Bob’s jeans. It’s a total rush of blood to the head, seeing how she’s affected him.

Katie lifts her head, light blue gaze meeting Bob’s newly dark blue gaze. “Do you want me to keep going?” 

“Oh god, more than anything, but…” He’s gentle as he takes her hands in his. “Do you wanna keep going?” 

The warmth pulsing between Katie’s legs all but screams ‘yes’ - but she finds herself sighing and drawing back. “Maybe we should hold back a little, or… I dunno. I think if we’re trying to take it slow and figure things out, this kind of isn’t the way to do it… Y’know?” 

“Yeah, you do have a point there.” 

She’s waiting for the 180, the moment when he tells her that he is, in fact, disappointed in her for stopping and guilts her into changing her mind. Only it never comes. Of course it never comes, because it’s Bob, and why on earth would he do that? He’s not one of the boyfriends of days past. 

And he’s certainly not her. 

“D’you want me to walk you back?” 

Yes, and lock us in my room and pin me to my bed and- “I appreciate the offer, but uh, there’s that slight risk of getting handsy again and uh…”

Bob’s lips quirk up in a smirk. “Well, who says that’s a bad thing?” 

The heat in Katie’s core flares like a sunburst. Whether or not Bob knows it, he’s making it damn difficult for her to want to slow this down. 

“I think I’ll walk myself back,” she answers softly - then smiles. “But thank you.”

She doesn’t give Bob a chance to convince her to stay, or even to reply; to do so would be to invite trouble - tempting, fun trouble, yes, but trouble all the same. 

She stands, gathers up her instruction binders and notebooks into her arms, her pens clasped in one hand, key card clasped in the other. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“See you.” His eyes remain locked on her, smoldering despite the easygoing, sweet smile on his face. It’s a look that sends heat blazing through Katie’s body. 

Yes, time for her to go. 

She turns, makes for the front door, slips through it, her steps silent. 

She’s certain she can feel Bob’s eyes on her long after the door shuts behind her. 

***

The walk back from Bob’s room to Katie’s own is a long one. 

At least, she tries to make it that way. She makes her steps slow and measured, takes the stairs down to the first floor, then all the way back up to the third, and makes her steps even more slow and measured going down the hallway…

All in an effort to quell the burning of her body, the burning between her legs. 

Something happened tonight - something big. Something earth-tilting. 

Something that makes Katie want to turn on her heel and march right back to Bob’s room. 

To finish what they started. 

She approaches her room, heart thumping, pounding in her rib cage, body aching - aching in ways it hasn’t in a long time. Christ, everything in the realm of intimacy hasn’t happened in a long time. It’s been years between partners - hell, flings - and now she seemingly has one again and everything in her just… aches. Yearns. 

Needs. Needs needs needs. 

There’s only one light on in the living space of her room. In the bedroom to the right, it is mercifully black, quiet - the perfect environment to help quiet the storm roiling within her. 

Hopefully. 

Her study materials are tossed into the living space without a second thought, the single light shut off with a paw of her hand against the wall. She slips into the bedroom, closes the door, takes the one, two, three, four steps to her bed before twisting and falling back-first into it. It takes minutes for her to adjust to the darkness surrounding her, to the stillness that comes with it. 

To the thoughts, the feelings it seems to invite. 

Katie knows full well that she is alone in the room, but the darkness seems to conjure shadows, figures. Figures that can move. Figures that can do things. Things to her. 

Things she had half a mind to do with Bob earlier. 

Hands on her face. Hands on her body. Hands everywhere she can think to put them.

They were definitely going somewhere before her thoughts had stalled her and pulled her out of the fog, somewhere heated. Katie had felt one of his hands trailing down her side, coming to rest on her hip, fingers flexing, gripping firm yet gentle. Bob had wanted her there, just as much as she’d wanted to be there, and…

The ache is back. And it’s between her legs again, warm and pulsing and wanting. She squeezes her thighs together, bites her lip at the pressure it creates. 

And it does nothing to alleviate the burning she feels. In fact, it intensifies it. 

She needs more.

She needs release. 

Somewhere in the five seconds it takes her to figure out what her body is desperate - screaming - for, Katie’s heartbeat goes erratic, off-sync and shaking in her rib cage. This. She really hasn’t done this in a long time. 

Her breath stutters out of her mouth in shallow breaths as she reaches down and undoes the button and zip of her jeans, pushes them down to a bunch around her knees. The cool air from the air conditioning nips into the skin of her thighs and she twitches, presses her legs together again, writhes when it gives her that sweet, warm pressure, those goosebumps prickling across her skin. They’re featherlight, almost like the barest brush of a hand. 

What Katie imagines Bob’s hands feel like, brushing ever-so-gentle across her bare skin. 

She can envision it: the long, delicate fingers, the soft tips, the veins running along the back, those beautiful, beautiful hands just… touching, tracing, whispering along her. 

Her hands move along the same trail he would take with his. They skim up the length of her quad muscles, drift up and across her hip bones, her stomach, the sensation like small bolts of lightning and heat on her skin. They continue upwards, nudging up the hem of her t-shirt, the band of her bralette, up and up and up, and they whisper across the swell of her breasts, now pebbled and sensitive in the chilled air of her room. Then, imagination has them moving back down, across the planes of her stomach, across her pelvis, and then her fingers alight along the lace edge of her underwear and… 

She contemplates leaving them on and simply pushing them to the side, or even just dipping her hand beneath and forgoing the extra movement. She has no need for it, for all the suspense and built-up tension and thrill.

But what would Bob want? What would he do?

Bob, Katie decides, would pull them down - not all the way, just to around her thighs, just enough to give him full view, full access. He would want to see all of her; Katie’s sure of it.

So, she inches her underwear down, grants herself that openness, that exposure. The cold air breathes across her, across the wetness of her, and she shudders at the sensation and fuck, she needs to touch herself now. 

Her fingers go low and drag upwards through her folds, arousal wetting the tips, and it’s bliss as they circle her clit, nice and slow and steady. She imagines it’s Bob doing it, that it’s his fingers circling her, rolling across her most sensitive parts. It could’ve been his fingers, his hands doing this, if she hadn’t let her brain catch up and she’d just let them feel, lose themselves to the pleasure, she thinks. 

No matter now. She’s in the dark, and here, anything is possible. Here, Bob can give her the touch, the pleasure, the release she so desperately craves. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, deep in the recesses, a voice - a shitty, cutting one - hisses at her that what she’s doing is the height of crass, the height of disgusting, masturbating to someone she knows but isn’t quite involved with. She gives the thought maybe a half-second of consideration - and then decides that she doesn’t care, not as her fingers tease and touch and stroke softly. She finds that the voice deadens to a whisper the more she does it. 

Of course, Katie finds that it disappears entirely when she drops her hand fully between her legs and slips her middle and ring fingers inside, palm pressing against her clit as she curls into her own velvet softness, breath leaving her lungs in a gasp, because oh good god, she forgot how good this feels…

And then she thinks of Bob doing it and suddenly her body blazes. 

He had a gentleness to him when he touched her earlier in his room. The way his hands ran over her, sure and warm and soft… It’s that same gentleness she pictures, feels in the hand between her legs, that same soft touch that she writhes and arches against. 

Hands on her face. Hands on her body. Hands everywhere she can think to put them. 

It’s not long before heat, sinful and borderline unbearable, is pooling low in her stomach and her cunt is fluttering around her fingers, desperate for one more touch, one more stroke that will send her over the edge. It’s an effort to keep her moaning contained; she has to bite down hard on her lip to keep it from floating through the walls - but god, she can’t help herself. The things that run through her head, that she feels… In the dark, it’s Bob’s hand that Katie rides, his fingers that clench her bare breast, pinch and roll her peaked nipple…

And in the dark, it’s his thumb that drags up and presses into her clit, rolling and stroking across it, and it feels so good that it makes Katie want to sob, and… and…

It’s enough. She comes hard, a ragged cry tearing from her mouth as her body bows and spasms against the bed, against the hand still sliding into her, drawing out every last little bit of pleasure, until she finally collapses against the mattress, chest heaving with the intensity of it all. For something so… one-sided, it’s left her feeling spent - utterly mindless. 

A feeling she hasn’t had in a long while.

Haze quickly fills her, the sleepy, sated kind. Katie doesn’t even bother redressing, or crawling into bed properly. She shucks off her half-removed clothing and flings them into the darkness of her bedroom, to be dealt with in the early hours of the morning. Then, she pulls the nearest edge of the covers over her, and wraps, swaddles herself within them, warmth immediately seeping into her naked body and lulling her, easing her into sleep. 

Burning blue eyes are the last thing her mind conjures before she slips off into oblivion, warm, black, and depthless. 

@thestagsheadsblog @everything-i-love-in-life @docdetective @luckyladycreator2

[horseshoegirl]

Set Me Alight: Part 8 - Salt and The Sea

📜Everyone has been on a Bob kick lately (I think), so this is coming right when it should! Let's see how Grace and Bob feel about all this. Shall we? 👀

‼️ - +18, Minors DNI, Strong Language, Original Female Character (s), Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, Bob Floyd x Original Female Character (This is all in their perspective), Third Person Pov for this one, Angst, mentions of bullying, hurt, overheard fights, preventing a panic attack, frustration, and Grace being sad and done with Bullshit. 

#4.6k

Part 7 | Masterlist | Part 9

Present Day

Sixteen hours.

That's how long Bob's carefully guarded, carefully constructed walls took to crumble after all these years.

There was an inkling the night before as he settled into his tent, a feeling that knocked once or twice from the inside of his chest. It wasn't there when he woke up this morning or during the trek here to the falls.

But the second Grace raced up behind him, everyone watching Veronica climb out of the water, that feeling returned. It seemed no longer content to sit around and wait for Bob to figure out why it had.

Grace grasped his hand, pulling herself to hide behind his body so she could stifle her giggles into the back of his shoulder. Bob couldn't help the few snorts that shook through his body either. However, he pitied Javy, watching as he tried to console his girlfriend, who was stomping her foot like a three-year-old child over the fact that her makeup had been ruined.

The both of them couldn't say it wasn't an unwelcome sight. They knew what Maeve had done, catching her hooking something onto the loop of Veronica's jeans, knowing it was damn well meant for Jake. Though the pair knew better than to act on it, they imagined themselves holding up a fist to the air, like in the Breakfast Club, silently praising the act of Karma on her behalf.

Maybe even quietly counting tallies next to her name in Bob's traveller's journal.

Maeve needed a win. A big win against one of those two. They weren't going to say shit about it. They only wished, deep down, they could have helped.

But when Bradley had taken her by the arm, leading her way, another knock, this time harder, thumped in his chest. Another followed it. And another, until that feeling morphed into what Bob could only describe as a white-hot pain, burning every nerve in the pit of his stomach.

Bob knew what was about to happen.

While there hadn't been much to discuss, Bradley had pulled all the guys together after Maeve went to bed last night to discuss his proposal. Standing in that circle, Bob realized it had been more of a pep talk than anything else.

Everyone already had a predetermined role—some part to play in helping Nat get to the right spot. Bob and Grace merely had to act surprised, with the rest of the group save Jake, Maeve, and Rueben, when they eventually emerged from the bush, a shiny new ring hopefully on her finger.

It was a horrible plan, he had thought then. He knew—more so than most—that involving Jake and Maeve in such an event would only result in disaster. He even had said as much to Grace when he turned in for the night, climbing into their shared tent.

Grace merely highlighted Nat's inconsiderate behaviour regarding her feelings, turning her back to him as she settled into her sleeping bag. The action was so absolute, so final, they said nothing else about it the rest of the night.

But laying awake, staring at Grace's back, Bob couldn't help but think about it. Grace was right. With all the shit Jake and Maeve threw at each other since the moment they had met, Nat would have to be completely stupid not to realize just how fucked up it was not to tell Maeve Jake would be coming on this trip.

It wasn't the first time Grace brought it up, either. Bob knew how his girlfriend felt about Nat, Maeve, the entire group, their inability to stand up for her, and their failure to separate themselves from Nat.

He'd be lying if he hadn't felt the same at one point or another.

But Bob knew why everyone didn't, why he didn't, and why, even to some extent, Jake didn't either, even if he was more verbal about it than anyone else.

From behind the scenes, everyone tried to protect Maeve and themselves from a fallout with Natasha. Not the fallout itself but the aftermath. At that point, he had rolled on his back, trying to figure it all out from the safety and privacy of his tent.

But who was he kidding? There was nothing to figure out.

Nat's scandal was an anvil, and her history and behaviour were hanging over every person in the group by a single thread. Even in the years since it happened, since they had all left school and Grace and Cora joined the group, it still had everyone in a chokehold.

And Maeve was oblivious to it all.

Bob wasn't sure when it happened, but it became an unspoken agreement to protect Maeve from that truth. So they were burying it to keep the peace—at least, everyone but Bradley. Bob couldn't say what was happening inside his friend's head, nor would he ask him.

But nobody would go out of their way to upset the group's 'supposed' hierarchy—not when real friendships and relationships, whether made with Nat's influence or not, were at stake.

Maeve had to deal with the brunt of it, and Bob would regret it every day for the rest of his life.

No kind words or assurances could help the cluster of nerves swimming in Bob's stomach when Grace hooked her arm through his. Leading him to a section of the pond free from tourists, she wanted to avoid the temper tantrum Javy and Rueben, to an extent, would have to deal with. Seeing fish in the water earlier and knowing Bob would get a kick out of trying to identify them, she welcomed the distraction.

But as the pair searched through their books to match the first fish they saw, the first shout vibrated through the air, and Bob felt like he was going to hurl.

There was no mistaking it for what it was. Nat was, for lack of a better word, shitting on Maeve and Jake. It was loud. It was scary. And no matter where anyone went, it was impossible to block out the noise.

They stood there, staring down at the words and diagrams in their books, no longer interested in the fish, scared any movement or action would have them on a chopping block. Though her eyes blurred, Grace was sure there were no more fish to look at anyway, for they, too, would have felt the noise vibrate against the water and would have been scared away.

At least they felt like they were able to.

When it finally fell silent, Grace nervously reached for Bob's hand. She led them away from the water through a tiny gap in the bush, deep into the forest. She didn't dare stop, walking blindly for minutes until she saw a little nook encased by a massive tree.

Its branches hung low, as did those of the surrounding trees. Each covered the space in a vibrant green shade, offering a safe place from the events leading up to this moment. A giant, thick tree root rested above the ground, and Grace pulled Bob down as she sat upon it.

Neither one spoke, nervous to say anything. Birds, the wind and bugs filled this space instead. It could have been hours, though Grace started to play with Bob's fingers only minutes later. He let her slide her fingertips over his skin and grasp around each finger until she smoothly threaded each together. Over and over, she did this, never once altering her pattern or rhythm.

Grace was trying to ground herself. And for Bob, it made everything that much worse.

It had been sixteen hours to the dot since that first knock in his chest. And while Bob had admitted last night and perhaps now that the trip, the excuses, the group dynamic, Nat's behaviour—was hopelessly warped—the truth was he had known for days, months, maybe even years.

He'd simply shoved it all deep down under lock and key, partly for selfish reasons. Sixteen hours was merely all the time it took for that lock to break and for everything to come rushing back to the surface. Because while the person he loved was hurting on behalf of someone else, it was too silent in this forest, even at this distance.

It was the lack of Maeve and Jake tearing each other apart.

"I think something happened to Jake and Maeve," Bob said in a rough voice, finally finding the courage to speak.

Grace's hands froze, not moving an inch. She lifted her head, eyebrows knitting together. Bob didn't meet her gaze, too nervous to look away from their joined hands.

"It's too quiet," he offered softly. "Especially after that."

Grace also dropped her eyes to their hands, biting the inside of her cheek hard. "She'd be tearing into him right now. Forget Nat. Maeve would clear out the whole damn park with a single shout."

Bob nodded absentmindedly, turning his hand to mock Grace's earlier pattern, a silent gesture to let her know he had been paying attention.

"Or she'd be running off to apologize to Nat, and Jake would be seeking us out, tail between his legs."

"Nat should be the one apologizing to her."

Grace's statement was so blunt and sharp that Bob feathered his jaw. And something in that quick movement made a thread in Grace's gentle heart snap.

She tore her hand from Bob's grip and shuffled away from him further down the log. She swallowed hard, refusing to turn back and look at him as she fiddled with a ring on her finger. When Bob went to follow, naturally reaching for her like it was second nature, she shuffled again.

"No," she mumbled lowly, shying away from his touch. Bob frowned, sliding closer once again, softly calling her name. But Grace only pushed herself up from the log, her fists balled and clenched tight. "No!"

She stomped forward a few steps, not wanting to leave the found safety of their little nook. Threading her fingers through her hair, she paced back and forth, trying to count her breath.

"Grace..."

She spun wildly, her eyes narrowing, her lips pressing into a thin line, and her jaw clenching. "Don't 'Grace' me," she gritted out behind her teeth.

Bob dropped his forehead into the palm of his hand, his elbow digging hard into his knee. "Don't..."

"Don't what, exactly?" she seethed. "Don't talk about 'it'?

Bob dug his nails into the denim of his jeans - enough to feel a pinch through the fabric on his thigh.

The laugh Grace let out was bitter, morphing into a harsh shout. "Come on, Bob! Cora and I might have been the last ones to join whatever fucked up friend group this is, but Nat couldn't give two shits about Maeve! And it's this unspoken thing nobody talks about. Why?!"

"Grace..."

"Don't!" she snapped, stomping her foot, making clumps of dirt fly out in all directions. "I don't care about some fucked up unspoken agreement! I care about Maeve! Don't tell me you don't, Robert?!"

Bob finally lifted his head, though he focused on the way they came, not once meeting his girlfriend's angry stare.

"Bob, so help me... If you say no..."

"You know I do!" he rushed out, shaking his head.

"Then why don't you fucking say something?!" she cried out. "Why doesn't anyone say something?! She's suffering, and nobody does anything!"

She didn't even know she was crying hot, angry tears until she felt one fall off her cheek, a slight cool breeze marking a path on her skin.

"I wanted to. I wanted to, so badly, the first time I noticed it. And you told me not to."

Bob did, and he always wondered if Grace resented him for it.

She sighed, wiping the tears from her face. She paced back and forth a little bit, trying to calm herself down. Because Bob didn't deserve her anger, it was unfair of her to even yell at him in the first place.

Instead, she walked up to the tree, pressing her forehead into the bark, once again trying to count her inhales and exhales.

"When Bradley told me about Nat when he was going to school, I thought she was just a phase. Whenever he called to talk to Dad, I just sat back and wondered. I wondered how long it would take and what the reason behind the break between those two would be."

Grace lifted her head, fixing her eyes on a ladybug climbing the trunk. "You could imagine my surprise when he brought her home for spring break."

She placed her hand on the wood, twisting back to look at her boyfriend. "I never told you this, but I didn't like her the second I met her."

Bob lifted his head to meet her gaze. "Why..?"

"Because she thought I was a threat. That I harboured a crush on Bradley, and I would steal him from her," she shrugged.

Bob's eyes shot up his skull. "... I mean, you two grew up together... did you... ever?"

Grace audibly gagged, adding a few choking noises for a dramatic effect. "He's like my brother, Bob. What the hell?"

He held his hands up in surrender. "I had to ask."

Grace didn't address the remark when she continued, "She treated me horribly that entire week. She sweet-talked my dad and only was nice to me when he was around. Thank God he saw right through her. The second he left, he said that Carole, Bradley's mom, wouldn't have approved. I agreed."

With a narrowed forehead, Bob's mouth gaped open, bobbing like a fish. "Wait... then why did she..."

"Why did she suddenly start inviting me to stuff? It's cause I was dating you. I was no longer a threat. And she acted like she had never done what she did in the first place."

While Bob might have met Grace through work, he was surprised to learn she had grown up with Bradley. How she acted around Bradley bore no resemblance to a long-lasting, familiar childhood friendship. However, the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense—her closed-off and quiet nature when she was around them.

That the first time they saw each other again, all Bradley could manage was a slight nod.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Grace only offered causally, "You'd be surprised at all the stuff that doesn't require your input. Sometimes you gotta leave people to do the lame shit they do and watch them fuck it up on their own."

A ball formed in her throat. "But Maeve... when I met Maeve and saw what was happening, my heart broke. And she is the only exception to what I just said."

Bob knew what was coming next. Like a coward, he braced himself hard.

"You told me not to say anything when I first brought it up. But now? I can't keep doing it. Not after what she just did to them. Not after that."

"Grace... Don't..."

"Maeve is drowning, Bob! Drowning!" she shouted angrily, startling a nearby bird on a branch. "And I can't stand it any longer. We need to find her, grab her, and take her home. Take her away from all this. From Nat, from those two bitches... God, if they gaslight anything else, they could practically set the whole fucking forest on fire."

"You don't believe in swearing, Grace," he deadpanned.

"Maybe I do now!" she cried. "I feel guilty. Guilty Bob! Cause I bit my lip like a good girl when Nat just what? Uses her? Ignores her? Disregard her feelings? Like hell, why didn't she try harder to figure the fuck out why Jake and Meave are at each other's throats?! Or how those two bully the fuck out of her?"

"Maeve wouldn't tell us about Jake when we asked."

"And you don't find it strange she wouldn't?" she challenged him. "Out of everyone in the group, she didn't tell a soul. Why? Why didn't she? Why wouldn't she?!"

Grace's heart was hurting, and she knew Bob truly knew why. He had been around them longer than she had, so there must have been a reason he told her not to. There had to be.

"At first, I thought it was something everyone accepted, you know? That everyone was trying to figure out what had happened between her and Jake. I thought tensions were high because of that."

She blew out a shaky breath, Bob not once interrupting her.

"Maybe it was a fucking game they were playing with each other until they finally worked up the courage to admit they like each other enough to get into each other's pants. Cause whatever the cause, Maeve wouldn't be so goddamn hurt if she didn't care!"

Bob closed his eyes, a huff of a laugh escaping his mouth.

"But last to join the group, right? You have to be quiet. Read the room. Get a sense of how to act and what you can say. Cause learning to fit in with new people, you have to pick up these things. The best way to get along with everyone else. Like how Maeve runs the second Jake walks into the room? How she avoids conversations about him if she can help it?"

Grace blew a raspberry out of pure frustration. "Jake was never the real issue, though. Everyone just made it out to be. Everyone should have noticed how Maeve bit her tongue as Nat walked over her opinions. How Nat derails conversations, not just where Maeve is concerned, but practically with everyone to make it about her."

Grace laughed, shaking her head. "She got the brunt of all of it, and we just... watched."

Grace finally approached Bob, standing before him, though he didn't lift his head from where it hung low on his shoulders. Had he chosen to look up, he would have noticed how the sun finally peeked through the leaves, beams of light breaking the shade, leaving Grace in their spotlight.

"I meant, she invites us all on this trip so we can watch her get proposed to? And she doesn't bother to tell her that Jake is coming along, too? I mean... how selfish can she get?!"

"Grace, this isn't going to solve..."

"WHAT ELSE CAN I DO?!" she yelled, throwing her hands at the sky. "That ship left the fucking dock ages ago."

Bob's eyes fixed on a leaf stuck under a fallen branch at her words. Grace knew from that reaction alone that she had resonated with something within his kind, caring soul.

"I just... can't... I can't anymore, Bob. If I'm the first to take the leap and break up this group, then good fucking riddance. It needs to be done so we all can get some peace."

She slid to her knees in the dirt in front of him, her hands resting firmly on the sides of his thighs.

"How many years have Nat and Maeve known each other, and not once did Nat realize how hard her supposed best friend had been falling? How could she not recognize that, Bob? And how could she continue to force Jake and Maeve together when Maeve just wanted to escape?"

She reached forward to cup his cheek, guiding his gaze to meet hers. While silent rage resonated within them, Bob knew it wasn't meant for him.

"Why did you tell me to be quiet that first time I brought this up? Why do you still tell me, too?"

Bob gulped, forcing his eyes away. Grace stroked her thumb under his eye, encouraging him on. "I don't know what happened, baby, but I don't think it will be all sunshine and rainbows when we return to the group. Not this time. Just tell me, please."

Bob blew out a shakey breath and shook his head. "Because I wanted you to stay."

"Stay?"

He had contemplated all the reasons, stacking them up brick by brick last night, refusing to acknowledge the leverage Natasha could have used against him. But Bob had damned himself with that one word.

Stay—He wanted Grace to stay. Because if he brought this up, if he told her, there was a chance she wouldn't—at least, there was a possibility.

He lifted his chin, staring into her eyes.

Nat's so-called leverage was kneeling in front of him, begging him to tell her the truth. Her eyes were desperate, so much so that Bob knew he was possibly damned if he did and undoubtedly damned if he did not. Grace had chosen her path, and he would steadfastly follow her wherever she decided to go.

There was no ever questioning that.

Bob reached for her sides, pulling Grace close between his spread legs. She let him, hands landing softly on his biceps before they slid down to his forearms. Bob traded his grip on her jacket to hold her hands, only to trace the same pattern she had a few minutes before.

He braced himself and took several sharp breaths before asking, "Did anyone ever tell you about Natasha's so-called scandal? Back in school?"

Grace cocked an eyebrow. "Only what Maeve's told me. Bradley and I weren't on speaking terms, and he'd never tell Dad if she had one. Though, Maeve didn't even know the complete story."

She let Bob turn her hand over and trace the lines on the palm of her hand. "But she shut me down hard after that. Saying Nat worked to put it behind her and move on, so we all should, too."

Bob scoffed. "Always protecting her."

"Bob?"

Bob hesitated, his gaze flickering away from Grace's expectant eyes. He swallowed hard, the reluctance clear in his tight jaw. Then he closed his eyes, leaning over to whisper in her ear, his voice cautious but a whisper.

Grace's eyes widened, and a gasp slipped through her parted lips at his words. She could hardly breathe as he told her the story. And when he was finished, she tilted so far back on her heels in shock that she almost fell onto her butt.

"Bob! What the hell? After everything I just told you?!"

Bob still hadn't opened his eyes, his head hung low in shame.

"I would have never left you over that! Over complete and utter bullshit? Who do you think I'd believe more? Her or my boyfriend?"

"I didn't know. I didn't want to risk losing you."

"You listen here, Bob Floyd," Grace urged, grabbing his face with both hands and forcing him to look at her. "I'm in a relationship with you. I love you. I would have never believed her if she had done that to us."

He kissed the inside of Grace's wrist, a deep weight lifting off his chest.

"God, I want to throttle her."

"I think that's why everyone doesn't call her out. Cause they don't want it to happen to them. Or at least, deep down, I never did 'cause I didn't want Maeve or Bradley to be alone with..."

Grace nodded, letting Bob know he did not need to continue explaining.

"We should try to find her, Bob. Let her know we love her and that we'd follow her. I have no idea if anyone else would besides Mickey and Cora. Hell, I'd even offer to leave with her and get drunk on her Aunt's apple cider 'cause this whole damn trip was a bad idea."

Bob huffed a sad laugh. "It is apple picking season. I bet she'd love it if we went with her."

Grace snorted. "You just want free apples so I can make my apple crisp."

With the tension from before gone and the weight of Bob's chest finally disappearing with his confession, he joked comedically, "Ssshh, don't jinx it."

Grace rolled her eyes, letting the moment pass before offering quietly, "Where do you think she is? Maeve?"

Bob regarded her for a moment before letting out a long sigh. "Considering the lack of voices, Maeve's probably tried to separate herself. Or she made a rash decision and decided to leave alone."

Grace gasped. "What about Jake?"

"Jake ... I bet 50 bucks Jake ran after her regardless."

Her face contorted into one of disgust. "What? Why? Can he not leave her alone for once in his life?"

Bob stood, wiping his hands on his jeans, before extending a hand to Grace. She took it without another word and allowed him to guide her up and off the tree. He revealed yet another truth as he helped her step over the massive root.

"Remember when I went with Bradley and Jake before Maeve hurt her wrist? Jake wanted to show us a fishing spot...?"

Grace winced. When Bob told her what happened, she instantly regretted not being out there with her. Hold up in her tent, she had been working on plans for a museum exhibit. Even if she had to do a little work, she could have at least done it in the company of a friend.

"I found out Bradley's been trying to coach Jake into mending things with Maeve. We might have been giving him some... advice."

Grace froze with her two feet atop the curved piece of wood.

"What!!?" she shrieked, making Bob wince. "Please tell me you weren't the one who encouraged him to keep up the prank thing. Bob, if you told him to scream 'there's a Bear..'."

"It wasn't me! Nor was it Bradley! We just told him to try to talk to her without anyone around. Cause things seem to go to shit when everyone else is there. He just needed to incite her to stay. Make her laugh. Talk to her like a human being!"

"Men," she scoffed, jumping down off the root. "Never go to a group of idiots to do a woman's job."

Bob froze, eyeing her carefully. "Are you calling me an idiot?"

Grace smiled, reaching up to stroke across his cheek. She kissed his lips with a quick peck and leaned back. "Hmm... my idiot, though."

She took several steps back towards the falls when she called out over her shoulder to a befuddled Bob. "You realize if we locked them in a room or trapped them in an elevator, with nobody else around, they'd probably figure it out?"

"How so?" he called back, finally following her.

"Jake obviously wants to fix it. Maeve runs. All you need to do is stop her from running. She'll give in if you provoke her enough, which Jake already does. "

Bob paused, reflecting for a moment. "He doesn't think when it comes to her, does he?"

"Does she?"

When they emerged from the bush, Bob and Grace ran to the first person they saw, hoping at least someone saw either Maeve or Jake. Nobody had. Not until a few minutes later did a couple mention seeing someone bearing her resemblance climbing the waterfall. They also mentioned seeing someone who looked like Nat go up, but she had already come back down.

Grace stared at them in horror. "I'll go get Mickey and Cora," she rushed out quickly, leaving Bob alone to start the trek up the rocky slope. As he did, a million thoughts crossed his mind.

Finding Maeve and Jake tearing each other apart, hoping Mickey and Cora's skills weren't needed. Or the more stupidly optimistic thought - either was trying to find a few moments of peace.

As if.

Or perhaps it was none of those things. Maybe what awaited him above was something far worse than he could ever fathom.

But when he reached the top of the falls, neither Maeve nor Jake were there, and Bob didn't spare the effort to take in the view. Instead, he searched the ground, kneeling when he spied several tracks in the mud.

Two sets, both inherently female, were marked along the river bank in the mud. Bob's eyes followed them until he saw a separate path of them walking back. Then he noticed another pair of tracks, the boot tread clearly belonging to a man. They followed one of the other tracks, veering quickly off into the bushes. They were noticeably disturbed, leaves and branches bent unnaturally, and the longer he followed the underbrush and mud, the more he understood what happened. 

Bob set off, knowing just exactly where he needed to go.

Can I just say I love Bob and Grace?

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[wierdblavk-girl]

𝓑𝓸𝓫 𝓕𝓵𝓸𝔂𝓭

ᴺᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉʳᵉ ʸᵉᵗ

[roosterbruiser]

If you're still taking requests, how about a beach day with Bob and the squad finds out he has a matching tattoo with his partner

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐩

𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐛 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

There's a reason that Bob usually wears a shirt on beach days. Even if everyone else on the squadron likes to tease that it's because he's not as toned as they are--which simply is not true--no one really knows why that is.

Until you accompany your boyfriend to the beach one hot and wet afternoon, a wicker picnic basket tucked under your arm and straw hat flopped on your head.

You're happy to be at the beach--you and Bob had agreed to take advantage of the nice weather in San Diego more than you had in the past, so when the squadron deemed that afternoon as a beach afternoon, the two of you had been all in.

"Floyd," Hangman greets, waving the two of you over to the parade of sweaty bodies in the sand. Hangman cheekily tips his cowboy hat at you. "Eventual Floyd," he greets with a wink.

Bob's blushing--a good sort of blush, one that makes his heart pulse with adoration. Yes, you will be a Floyd--eventually. And he's glad that everyone around knows it.

And you're all grins, tipping your straw hat at Hangman and gesturing to the picnic basket.

"I brought strawberry muffins," you tell him, which causes a chain-reaction of hollering from the group as everyone abandons their previous activities to gather around your picnic basket.

Bob just watches you for a moment, slipping his sunglasses on, smiling softly as his toes dig into the sand. You're grinning that pretty grin of yours, happily giving away all the strawberry muffins you made this morning so dutifully. You're such a giver--and so, so kind--and that's something he loves about you. Even right now, you're offering everyone bottles of water and extra tubes of sunscreen. You just can't seem to help yourself.

And you're just happy to be there--you really do love the squadron and reckon you've found somewhat of a family in their company. So after everyone's given you very wet hugs and thanked you profusely for the muffins and refreshments, they're begging you and Bob to join them for another game of Dog Fight Football.

"Shirts and skins," Coyote says, looking between you and Bob with a smile. "Who's who?"

"Good question," Payback adds with a playful eye roll.

"You can both be skins if you want," Fanboy finishes, bumping you with his elbow. "Don't think anyone here would complain."

Phoenix strikes him in the back of the head with a grumble before Bob can.

You're blushing, laughing.

Bob's shrugging his shirt off before you can even think about it--even if Coyote's only teasing the two of you, Bob never wants you to feel uncomfortable.

"Bob, man," Rooster calls with a smirk. "You've got a tattoo?"

It tickles you that the rest of the squadron has seemingly never seen him shirtless--because if they had, they would have seen it already. It's hard to miss: it's about the size of the middle of your palm, inked on his skin in black. It's a stamp of a honeybee, drawn in a classic illustrative style that Bob found himself drawn to the year he got it.

"Uh huh," Bob says, shyly raking his hand through his hair and resisting the urge to put his shirt back on. He feels like he's going to burn alive not even under the sun but under the gaze of his entire squadron as they come to get a better look at him. "So, football?"

"Uh-uh," Phoenix tuts, letting her sunglasses fall down on her nose as she looks closer at the tattoo. "Is that a honeybee?"

Bob nods, pretending like the red in his cheeks is from the sun and not from their prodding.

You know Bob well--arguably, you know Bob better than anyone else in the world. So as you stand beside the emptying picnic basket and watch him shrink underneath everyone's gaze, wringing his shirt in his hands nervously, stuttering out responses and trying to steer everyone away from him--you know you need to do something.

So you take your cover-up off, which you know will give everyone a view of the matching stamp on your outer shoulder. You move over to the group, holding a tube of sunscreen in your hand, pushing your sunglasses up your nose.

"Hey, Nix," you call, smiling when she turns to you with her eyebrows raised. "Can you get my tattoo? It's sensitive to the sun. Don't want it to fade."

That's got everyone's attention, much to Bob's immediate relief. You've always been much better at receiving attention than him. You're less shy by nature, which is something he's always admired about you, and you don't get so stuffy beneath everyone's gaze.

"You have one, too?!" Rooster asks, coming to take a closer look at your arm as you smile, pretending to be coy.

"Uh-oh," Payback sing-songs. "That's a flower, isn't it?"

It clicks for the group just before you give a proud nod, confirming that you and Bob indeed have matching tattoos. And they're thinking about chiding you, the lot of them cooing mockingly and pinching your sides. But you're too prideful for that, just tilting your chin towards the sky and smiling your pretty smile, giving all of them the same energy.

"I'm his petal," you say, intentionally inducing a grimace on their faces, "and he's my honeybee."

"And suddenly, I want to play football again," Hangman snorts, promptly nodding before turning back to the sand.

What you're saying is the truth; you do call each other petal and honeybee. But it's always been something the two of you have kept under wraps, indulging in the sweetness of it but all too aware of just how sickly-romantic it is.

Phoenix is rubbing suntan lotion on you through her remaining giggles and the rest of the squadron is starting to filter back over to the sand to pick back up where they left off, crumbling their muffin wrappers and tossing them into the trash bag.

Bob falls more and more in love with you every single day--he is just a man after all. How could he not when you're the most perfect person he's ever met? You outdo yourself everyday--outdoing the previous days sweetness, selflessness, kindness, wit, beauty. And right now is no exception; you're chatting with Phoenix about her date, something she mentioned last weekend off-handedly but something that you'd remembered to ask about because that's just how you are. You're so happy, gasping and oohing and awing along with her words, practically glowing under the sun.

Whenever Phoenix finishes and you glance over at Bob, your eyes partially hidden by sunglasses, your smile is as sweet as those muffins everyone loves. Bob can't help himself--he cups your cheeks, tipping your hat back just slightly, thumbing your cheeks gently.

"Too much?" You ask, searching his wanton face as your smile falters. "Didn't mean to give our pet-names out like that, but I could tell you weren't comfortable and--!"

"--You better get ready," Bob interrupts, smiling softly as your face softens and your brows come together.

You carefully stroke his tattoo before letting your hands rest on his shoulders, his skin warm beneath your palms.

"For what?" You ask, giggling when he pulls you against him and presses his lips to yours sweetly.

"To become a Floyd," he mumbles against your lips with a grin. "Sooner rather than later, petal."

here is my tag list!!

[thestagsheadsblog]

Seeing You Again (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader, Childhood Friends

Word Count: 4.4K

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Read on AO3

Notes: 18+ NSFW. Can be read alone or as part of work. Sorry for the loooong delay on this finale!

You weaved through the throngs of people waiting pierside at North Island as thousands of sailors and airmen disembarked the newly returned carrier. You were warned that the spectacle could take hours, and while you were never a fan of crowds, you had to admit you were charmed by the images of families reunited after a loved one had been away at sea. Parents greeting daughters, fathers meeting their infant children for the first time, spouses reuniting with little concern for who may be watching. It was impossible to be unaffected by the infectious joy of long-awaited reunions. 

By the same token you felt like an intruder. You had asked Bob to be there, not the other way around, and now you were wondering whether you overstepped his boundaries. Surely, he wouldn't consider you on the same level as family and leave it to Bob to be too polite to tell you that your offer was a bit much. You looked down nervously at your phone where you had shared your location to make it easier for him to find you in the crowd. It might've been too forward but there was no turning back now.  

You were standing on the balls of your feet trying to see over the heads and shoulders of the families around you when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning around, any doubts you may have had about Bob wanting you to be there were swept aside when he gathered you up in a tight hug, lifting you clear off your feet. Your gasp of surprise was quickly replaced by laugher as he spun you around once, nearly tripping over his own duffle bag. When he set you down you could hardly formulate a greeting before his lips where on yours in a heated, albeit brief, kiss. 

"God, I missed you," he exhaled with another smile, his hands still cupping the sides of your face. 

You felt your cheeks get warm in a way that had nothing to do with the San Diego sunshine. "I've missed you too," you admitted, your eyes drinking in his features, noticing the freckles on his cheeks and the slight sunburn at the tip of his nose where the visor of his flight helmet must end.  

He grew shy under your gaze and leaned his forehead against your own.

"Thanks for your letters," he murmured closely, enveloping you both in a bubble or privacy and drowning out the buzz of reuniting families. "I mean it. You should have seen me pushing people out of the way at mail call."

You laughed lightly. "I always saved yours for when I was off work and had time to enjoy them. Had to hide them so Emily wouldn't go snooping for them while I was out of the house." Your eyes closed as Bob's thumbs kept brushing the skin below your ears. 

"I was so happy when you said you'd be here. I haven't had anyone pierside since my first deployment. It's nice to know there's someone waiting for you."

Your arms tightened around his shoulders in response, but your illusion of privacy was ruptured when Bob's fellow officers spotted him in the crowd with you. 

"Heeeeey Bobby!"

Your eyes popped open, and Bob looked up with a quiet sigh and a smirk.

"Here we go..."

You suppressed your laughter as you were surrounded by a group of aviators materializing from the crowd, some you knew from hanging out with Bob at the Navy bars and some you had never met. The few you had met greeted you by name with knowing looks that made your blush from earlier come creeping back. 

"Well, if it isn't the pen pal," the green-eyed Lieutenant with the shit eating grin took in the sight of you and Bob, newly reunited. "You sure kept Bobert here entertained at sea. The way he ran at mail call. Must've been some interesting letters."

"Or pictures," his friend replied, earning a cackle from Jake. You rubbed the bridge of your nose, preparing for further humiliation, when Bob replied with the lightning-fast reflex of a seasoned Naval officer.

"I already get enough nudes in the mail from your mom, Seresin."

Your mouth dropped open at Bob's unexpected retort, along with the mouths of half the officers present before everyone joined in a barrage of laughter at Jake's expense.

"Hey, fuck you Bob," he replied with a little impressed smirk at Bob's rudeness.  

Bob gave you a sideways look of apology for everyone's behavior, including his own. <i>It's just the Navy</i> his eyes said, even though you knew he was a bit proud to have put Jake in his place so quickly. 

"Hey Bob," one of the other Lieutenants cut in with the obvious intent of poking the bear, "a few of us are going to The Hard Deck if you and your friend want to join. Unless you have something else going on?"

You opened your mouth to protest the offer when Bob spoke. "Sure, we'll meet you there," Bob agreed immediately, to the dismay of his scheming shipmates. "Just have to drop my bag off at the car."

With that, Bob took his duffle and your arm and ushered you through the crowd in a quick escape from the other officers.

"The Hard Deck, really?" you laughed as Bob dragged you along. "It's going to be a zoo, with the carrier just in."

"Oh, don't worry. I have no intention of going there," he smiled down at you reassuringly. "It's just easier to get them off my back if I say I'll be there. Otherwise, they'd be asking where we're going and what we'll be doing...it would be a whole thing."

When you were free of the thickest part of the crowd, he took your hand in his as you lead him toward your parked car. 

"Besides, I've been stuck on a ship with them for months," he said. "They'll live without me for an evening."

"Good," you replied, "because I wasn't planning on sharing you."

It was time for Bob to blush as you approached your car and he threw his duffle into the trunk. Inside the car you both gave an involuntary sigh of relief, as you both finally had some semblance of privacy. For Bob, it must have been especially cathartic after months at sea on a floating city. You reached over and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, looking down at your entwined fingers. 

"Where to?" you asked.

"I have a place to stay on base until I fly home to see my parents, but..."

"Not feeling the base housing right now?" you smiled, understanding. 

"I just want some normalcy," he admitted with a long exhale, "and a shower...a real shower with hot water. I want the stink of the carrier off me."

You laughed and nodded, not fully knowing what a carrier smells like, but imagining that thousands of people and aircraft on a ship for endless months can't be particularly pleasant. 

"We can drop your stuff off at my place, you can take a shower and then figure out what to do from there," you offered.

"Sounds good to me," Bob replied. 

"Okay," you said, suddenly a bit nervous, shifting your car into gear. 

On the drive to your apartment, whenever your right hand wasn't needed on the wheel or the gearstick, it slipped back into Bob's hand. You could hardly believe he was back, just beside you. The prospect of his physicality made you both excited and anxious in equal measures. As much as you wanted to jump his bones as soon as he entered your apartment, you had to remind yourself that he was just back from a long deployment, and that you should let him get settled in to being back on shore. He was probably exhausted and more interested in sleeping than...well, other things. You could be patient.

At your apartment, Bob deposited his duffle beside the couch where your sister had caught you making out all those months ago while you went looking for a clean towel in the linen closet.

"Where's Emily?" Bob asked conversationally.

"At a music festival up in NorCal for the weekend," you replied as you returned with a towel. "She won't be back until Monday night."

You handed Bob the towel as he smiled his thanks and took in the meaning of your words - you'd have the apartment to yourselves for the weekend. No one to barge in at inopportune moments.

"Bathroom's all yours," you said. "Take as long as you like. Use all the hot water."

"Thanks," Bob said with a soft lingering look before retreating to the bathroom. 

When the door closed you released a breath you hadn't known you were holding. For months you had been thinking of this moment - having Bob in your home with no possibilities of distractions or interruptions - and now you were sweating it. As soon as he was out of that shower there would be no more hiding. You no longer had the excuse of time or distance or uncertain feelings or pesky sisters. If Bob made the move, you knew you'd be putty in his hands. 

Unsure of what to do with yourself while Bob showered (other than visualize Bob in the shower which was very very distracting), you undertook some unnecessary panic tidying of your living room before darting to your bedroom to make certain everything was in order there. Not that it mattered, you had no idea if he was going to be staying the night, you chided yourself. Of course, he will. He's your boyfriend and he has been gone for months. He'll want to. Unless he'd rather have time to settle back into what you had before he left. It'd be awkward otherwise, right? He won't even see this room or maybe you'll both be naked in here within the hour.

You felt a quiver in your belly and your heartrate picked up. You couldn't stay in there staring at your bed like a mad woman. 

You scampered back to the living room and nearly collided with Bob. Shirtless Bob with damp hair and a towel around his waist. Bob wearing only a towel, standing in your living room. 

"Sorry!" you said, backing off and giving him room. "Didn't know you'd be out already"

"Oh, um, yeah," Bob blushed a pinkness that spread all the way down to his bare chest. "I just wanted the grime off."

You could smell your own shampoo in the hair that fell in damp wisps against his forehead. Before you could stop yourself, you let your eyes wander from his hair to the droplet of water under his chin that threatened to fall on to his naked chest. Your sightline fell further to his navel and the dusting of blonde hair that trailed below it and disappeared beneath his towel.

You hadn't seen Bob without a shirt on since he was a child, back when he was scrawny like a twig. The years and puberty had blessed him with a wiry, fit physique that had been well hidden beneath both his uniform and civilian clothes. With nothing but a towel for Bob to hide behind you found yourself thanking your lucky stars for testosterone and the US Navy.

Your mouth was suddenly very dry. 

"I, uh, forgot my bag out here," Bob's words snapped you back to reality, your eyes wide in panic at having been caught ogling his body.

"Oh, shit sorry," you apologized again as you realized you were standing between Bob and his duffle. He seemed amused or maybe even charmed at your near incapacitation in the presence of his not quite nakedness. You stepped out of the way so he could access the bag beside your feet.  

Bob bent to reach for his bag and your eyes followed the reach of his long fingers and up along the vein of his hand that extended the length of his forearm. Without fully knowing how, you realized your hand was now softly wrapped around that forearm, stalling Bob from reaching his bag.

He slowly stood upright as your hand travelled up to just above his elbow, watching in interest as his skin broke out in goosebumps where your fingers touched. Your eyes drifted up to Bob's and an apology died in your throat as he leaned forward to kiss your upturned face. 

The kiss was more hesitant than the one you had shared pierside despite being in the privacy of your home. Your eyes closed as you felt Bob's lips travel lightly over yours and along the line of your jaw. Your hands finished their journey up Bob's arms and settled on his shoulders as his own cupped your face like before. Hesitation gave way to impatience when you lightly nipped Bob's lower lip, which was all the encouragement he needed to open his mouth to yours. 

Sighing against your lips, Bob took a step closer, hands firmly along your jaw as his tongue explored your own. Your fingertips traced the muscles of his shoulders when your own contented sigh was cut short by the feel of damp terrycloth dropping on your bare feet. 

You and Bob both froze mid-kiss, your breath warm on each other's cheeks. A moment later Bob pulled away a fraction, his eyes locked with your own. You wouldn't dare look down while he was watching you.

"I should get that," he breathed, more a question than a statement. 

As he began to slowly bend you stopped him again with a hand to his chest. Mustering all the bravery you had, you let your eyes drop slowly from Bob's face and trail down his uncovered body. You audibly swallowed as you admired him, wanting to touch every surface you were currently raking over with your eyes. Your breath was coming quick with arousal and there was more than enough visual evidence to prove Bob was feeling just as affected by your proximity as you were his. 

"I really don't-" you managed with a husky voice before having to swallow your words once again.

"You really don't, what?" Bob asked, a rasp in own voice.

"I really don't want you to put your clothes back on," you admitted, eyes trailing back up Bob's body to meet his own gaze dead on.

Bob blinked before pulling you flush against him, his lips once again locked on yours. All pretense of politeness vanished as your frenzied kiss was matched by wandering hands; yours exploring the planes of Bob's body as his tangled in your hair and in the fabric of your shirt on your lower back. 

Your hand snaked its way between your bodies, finding the object of your earlier admiration. A heated moan erupted from Bob as you lightly stroked him. "Holy shit," he whispered, eyes slammed shut in fierce concentration as you continued your exploration. There was something intensely hot about having Bob in your living room without a stitch on while you remained fully clothed, milking whatever noises you could get out of him. It was well worth the months long wait; you mused in that moment. 

When your grip tightened a fraction, Bob cursed and stilled you with a hand to your wrist. "I...wait," he managed to choke out, causing you both to momentarily break out into a fit of nervous laughter at Bob's obvious dilemma. He pressed his forehead to yours as he sobered. "It's been a while. I don't want this to be over before we have even started."

You smiled up at him and allowed your hand to retreat. "Sorry, got a bit carried away," you murmured, 

Bob released a contented sigh and looked you up and down. "Besides, it's a bit unfair," he mused. 

You quirked a brow at him, inviting him to elaborate.

"I have nothing on, and you're still dressed," he teased with a playful grin.

You bit your lip, grabbed his hand, and finally dragged him to your bedroom. Inside, Bob helped you remove your own clothes with desperate shaking hands. He sucked a mark onto your neck as you both worked to push your underwear off. Before you knew it you were just as naked as Bob and he took a moment to step back to admire what stood before him.

His eyes took you in hungrily, a half-smile of wonderment on his face as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Wow," he breathed. "You're perfect."

You blushed even redder than you already were, his eyes still roaming your body.

"Better than Jake Seresin's mom?" you joked lightly. 

Bob huffed with amusement. "Well, I don't have my glasses on, so..."

You gasped in mock outrage and gave a solid push to Bob's chest, knocking him back on to the bed. Grabbing your arm, Bob pulled you down onto the mattress with him, rolled over on top of you and quickly smothered both of your laughter with another kiss. Even though you had never been naked with him before, being with Bob in this way felt like the most natural thing in the world. There was none of the apprehension or insecurity that you typically felt with a new partner. Even when Bob trailed kisses down your body and settled his face between your legs you felt no need to hide yourself. 

"This okay?" he asked, peering up at you.

You answered Bob with a quick nod and parted your legs just a bit further to allow him to settle between them. You sucked in a sharp breath when Bob delved in, clearly feeling no inhibitions on his end either. You briefly wondered where the hell he had learned <i>this</i> but your thoughts soon turned to goo between your ears as you surrendered to the liquid heat of Bob's mouth.

Your thighs began to tremble with building release, but Bob made no sign of letting up. "Good?" he managed to murmur around his work, blue eyes glancing up to check in.

"Yes," you groaned. "Did they not feed you on that boat?"

He huffed in amusement against your core, earning a whine from deep in your throat. "Better than anything they served in the wardroom," he mumbled before doing something with the tip of his tongue that sent you over the edge.

Your back arched off the bed and your hand tangled in Bob's still damp hair, earning a grunt from the mouth that worked you through your climax. When you were nothing more than an overstimulated and panting mess, Bob crawled back up your body to inspect the results of his labor. 

You blew the hair off your face as you took in the self-satisfied smirk that Bob wiped with the back of his hand. You playfully batted his face away before he grabbed your hand and kissed the inside of your wrist.

"You're full of surprises," you sighed with a satisfied grin.

Humble as always, Bob just shrugged. "Maybe it is better that we hooked up now rather than back in the day when I didn't know what the hell I was doing." 

You brushed the damp, dangling curls aware from his eyes. "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have minded," you smiled, imagining yourself and a younger, clumsy Bob exploring your bodies together. 

"What else you got?" you asked coyly. 

Bob's face settled into a determined frown as he inspected your surroundings. You watched as he reached for one of your thicker pillows, letting him maneuver it under your hips. Ever the strategist, he placed your legs exactly where he wanted them while you happily complied. He looked at you like a man half-drunk, eyes heavy lidded and hungry. 

"Well?" you teased, inviting his next move.

Bob snapped out of his daze for a quick moment of responsibility. 

"Are you, uh, on the pill?"

Why that frank but polite question had your blush returning you couldn't say but you assured him you were. 

All preliminaries out of the way, Bob stretched himself on top of you. You found yourself marvelling again at how much bigger he was just as you had the night you reunited at the Hard Deck. He kissed you as he braced weight on his arms, careful not to crush you. 

"Ready?" he asked. You answered by reaching down between your bodies and guiding him through to that last step. 

You sighed as he sunk in, his own groan muffled into your neck. It was now your turn to ask, "good?"

His gentle huff of laughter ticked your clavicle. "Almost too good," he confessed, and your heart clenched a bit seeing how hard he needed to concentrate to control himself. You gave him a moment to collect, your hands skimming down his back as a shudder ran through his shoulders.

When he was ready, he began to move slowly, but deeply and with purpose. You whimpered, adjusting to all of him and briefly wondered how many women must have underestimated him before finding themselves in this position. 

He expertly hit some spot far back, nearly too far, just brushing your physical limit. You bit your lip and dug your nails into the muscles of his shoulder wavering between asking for more and telling him to pull back. Ultimately, the unrelenting-almost-nearly-too-much had you digging your heals into the dimples on his lower back and your toes curling. 

He certainly knew his anatomy, you thought in a moment of clarity, or maybe his geometry...whatever the case he was a man who could strike a target. You almost cracked a joke relating to how proficient he must be at his job but any quip you might have made died in your throat as a moan ripped through you. 

"Don't stop," you gasped, "keep going." Where most men would take that as a cue to go faster or harder, Bob could follow a direct order and kept on with his steady, unyielding pace. 

Your orgasm began as a quick twitch in your lower belly, piqued by Bob's movement deep inside you. Your thighs were soon trembling and your hips bucking up against his. Your back arched and from your mouth tore the most animalistic noise you had ever heard yourself emit. It quickly bubbled into something euphoric and somewhere far away you heard yourself laughing.

Coming down from your high you felt Bob's thrusts becoming sloppy and urgent; his careful and consistent rhythm ruined by the wet warmth brought on by your climax. In his own state of ecstasy, he gasped and cursed against your temple stuttering to a halt, his sweat slick chest heaving against your own.

It took you both a long moment to recover, your labored breathing filling the quiet room.

Bob was the first to move, raising himself up on his elbows just high enough to see your face. You kept your eyes closed but you could almost hear him smile.

"Do you always laugh when you come?"

You scrunched your eyes closed even further, running a hand over your face. "No, that's something new," you admitted. "Hope it didn't ruin the mood."

You felt him shake his head. "No, I kind of liked it."

You cracked your eyes open to see Bob staring down at you in a blissful state. His own eyes were still half-hooded, and his already damp hair was now clinging to his forehead from perspiration. His breathing had settled but he looked well spent. 

You pulled him down into a lazy, hot kiss, enjoying the pleasant feel of his full weight on your body. 

Eventually he settled just beside you. With the sexual tension sated for the moment, you enjoyed each other's calm familiarity. 

"I wanted to ask you something and you can say no if it's too soon," Bob said after a while, his voice deep and a bit vulnerable. 

Your sex-dampened mind suddenly whirled with activity, your sister's voice ringing he'll probably propose immediately after he-

"What's that?" you asked, trying to sound composed.

Bob propped himself on his elbow, looking sheepish in a way that had nothing to do with his current nakedness. He scratched the back of his neck as he mulled over his words; a nervous tick he had had since he was a child.   

"I was wondering if - and only if you want to - if you maybe wanted to come with me when I go to see my parents?"

The exhaled the breath you hadn't know you were even holding, relieved but strangely also a tiny bit disappointed Emily's prediction of a post-coital proposal wasn't correct.

"I...I know it's not your home anymore and you probably haven't been back since you left, but I thought maybe you'd like seeing the neighborhood again, and of course I'd like you to be there and this is only if you can take the time away from work-"

"Yes," you interrupted his nervous rambling, taking his hand in yours. "Yes, of course! I'd love that."

A genuine smile of giddy excitement spread across Bob's face. "Really?"

"Yes!" you assured him again, this time with a kiss. "As long as you are okay with both of our families conspiring behind our backs once they find out we are together together."

Bob shook his head with amusement. "I'm fine with that. It means my mom will let you stay in my room."

"Are the Star Wars posters still on the wall?" you giggled.

"You know it," he winked. "Can't set the mood without them."

After another draw out kiss you got up to use the bathroom and grabbing your phone from the living room. You checked the screen and saw a notification from your sister containing only eggplants and question marks. You sighed and placed it face down on your nightstand as Bob returned from his own trip to the bathroom, now wearing only his boxers and his own phone in hand.

He too sighed when he settled onto the bed beside you and looked at his notifications. 

"Well, the penny dropped, and they all know we aren't coming to the Hard Deck," Bob lamented. 

"Oh?" you leaned over and peered at his phone as Bob scrolled past the dozens of messages of mock concern and overt speculation.

"Are you going to respond?" 

Bob leaned over you to place his phone face down next to yours before lowering his face to kiss your neck.

"Nah," he murmured against your ear. "Let them wonder." 

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[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 19 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: When Bob is away, Anna can feel his absence everywhere. But nothing beats a perfect reunion. 

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language, mentions of smut, 18+

Length: 2000 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

Months later....

Sitting in the coffee shop alone after visiting so many times with Bob truly made Anna sad. She was so used to sipping her coffee while he drank his hot tea, and somehow the scent always clung to his hair for hours afterwards. She'd bury her nose against him when they got home, and he would laugh when she told him he always smelled good.

But now he was gone, and she couldn't do anything about it. She accidentally burned her mouth on her coffee, and after that it tasted disgusting. She got herself a croissant, but they were better when shared. Tears stung her eyes, and she had to take a deep breath and convince herself that it would be over soon. Then she focused her attention on her computer as she worked through some more of the changes she wanted to make to her manuscript.

After three more paragraphs, it was no use. It wasn't even ten o'clock in the morning yet, but she gave up and switched to the notes app on her phone where she had been adding ideas for Jessica's bridal shower and bachelorette party. Physics jokes about the laws of attraction? Designer lingerie shop in LA? Can you make a math equation that looks like a penis?

She would defer to Advanced Calculus for that last item. With a sigh, she was about to close her computer, buy another croissant for Suzanne, and then head out when she saw a new email notification.

"No way," she gasped as she tapped on it and stared at her computer screen.

Sky Writing has posted a new, original work! Click the link below to check out the subscriber that you follow!

Anna's heart started pounding erratically, and her fingertips felt numb. Anticipation and confusion mingled together as she opened the link. It was difficult to read as she tried to take a deep breath, but she wanted to consume Bob's words as quickly as possible.

I can see the dusky outline on the horizon,

But the California coastline isn't enough.

I need to be at home.

I need my bookshelf.

I need my books.

I need your books.

I need my Anna.

I need to see you in the next two minutes,

Because twelve weeks is way too long.

"The next two minutes?" Anna mumbled to herself as she read the last lines over again. "Two minutes?" She was out of her seat immediately, neck craning around the crowded coffee shop, looking in every direction. And that's when she saw him stroll inside in his khaki uniform and silver glasses with the most handsome smile on his face.

"Bob!" she cried out, nearly tripping over her chair as she left her stuff behind to get to him as quickly as she could. He was home. He was home early from his deployment. Communication had been a little spotty, and there was so much she wanted to tell him, but he was finally home.

"Anna," he murmured as she threw herself at him, knocking the wind out of her own lungs. His arms were wrapped around her as soon as her lips met his, and she didn't care if there was a whole shop of people watching them. He was finally home. Somehow he still tasted like tea, and he smelled so good, she buried her nose against his neck as he chuckled.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked, kissing him just above his shirt collar.

"Jess told me," he replied easily.

She kissed her way up to his ear as he started to slowly walk her backwards to the small table where she'd been sitting. "Why didn't you call me? I could have picked you up. I missed you so much."

"I just wanted to surprise you," he whispered, claiming her lips again as they stood next to the table.

She looked up at his pretty eyes and said, "This is a wonderful surprise. And I have one of my own."

"What is it?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing the freckles along her cheek and chin as she grinned up at him.

"I'm divorced."

His eyes went wide, and a sound of pure excitement escaped him as he scooped her up into his arms. "You're divorced?"

Anna laughed as she told him, "Finalized ten days ago. Fuck Kevin."

"You drove my truck here? Let's go," Bob said, immediately carrying her toward the exit.

"Wait, I need my stuff!"

"Oh. Right," he replied, suddenly very flustered as he helped her shove her computer and phone into her bag.

"I was planning to get a croissant or something to take to Suzanne," she said as he practically dragged her outside and down the street to his truck.

"Well, I was planning on taking you back to the bookstore to pick out something we could read together tonight, but this is even more important."

Anna ended up with her back pressed against the side of the truck while he unlocked the door, and she pressed her lips to his Adam's apple while she tried to hold onto her bag. She wanted to taste him everywhere. "Going right home actually sounds like a pretty good idea."

"That's exactly where we're going," he promised, tossing her stuff onto the seat before helping her in as well. The six seconds when he was walking around the truck and she couldn't touch him were miserable, but soon enough, he was kissing her while he started the engine. Then she had her fingers wrapped up with his while he started to drive. "I love you, Anna." He kept his eyes on the road as he made his way through Coronado, and she felt warmer than she had in twelve weeks. "I love you, and I would never pressure you to do anything you didn't want to do."

She turned to look at his handsome profile. "I know you wouldn't. That's why I love you so much."

She watched as he swallowed hard before saying, "I know we talked about our future, but it was always kind of ambiguous while we waited for your divorce decree."

"It's not ambiguous anymore!" Anna cheered as they neared his house where she had been living for months. "I'm ready for the future. The future is here. The future is now."

She was all smiles as he parked the truck with an anxious look in his eyes. "You told me you wanted me forever," he whispered, and Anna couldn't figure out why he looked so nervous. 

"Of course I want you forever," she told him once again. She'd made it as clear as she could that she was done running. Kevin and New Jersey and everything that could have broken her but didn't were all left in the past. She was moving on a little bit more every day with Bob and her best friends and her tenure track teaching position at San Diego State. She was unashamedly taking excellent care of herself, and she never stopped Bob when he told her she needed to take a break and that he'd handle something for her. She wasn't going anywhere ever again.

"I want you forever, too. And we can go slow, or we can go fast. Or you can tell me you don't want what I have to give you, and that's okay too."

"What?" she asked, her heart sinking in her chest as he parked and climbed out. She wanted everything Bob had to give, and she wanted to give him everything, too. They even talked about getting married someday after he initially got over his nerves enough to bring up the topic. She had assured him that he was exactly the only person she would do that with after her disastrous first marriage. Why would he think she didn't want what he had to give?

"Bob?" she asked as she climbed out as well and met him on the sidewalk. "Why do you look so concerned?" He didn't respond. He only led her up to the porch and unlocked the door. "Bob!" she complained when he scooped her up and carried her up the stairs, going two at a time until his breath was coming in shorter gasps. Instead of turning toward their bedroom like she expected, he went into the guest room and dropped her onto the futon.

She rarely came in here. It was almost funny that Bob planned on sleeping in this room when he insisted Anna come home with him after Kevin figured out where she lived. And now he was on his hands and knees, crawling under the futon as she asked, "What in the world are you doing?"

He hit his head and grunted in response, but a second later, he emerged with his hair all messed up and something in his hand. "I got you a ring."

"A ring?" she asked, realizing he was holding a small box. A jewelry box. She looked at him where he was kneeling in front of her, cheeks turning pink. "What kind of ring?" she whispered, hopeful yet needing to be sure.

Bob snapped the box open, and all Anna could see was a beautiful diamond. "An engagement ring. But only if you want it. I know you probably need more time. I don't even need an answer right now, I promise," he told her earnestly as she scooted a little closer to him. "You were still married two weeks ago, but I wanted to give it to you now anyway. You can wear it or not wear it. We can wait a while if you want. I just... wanted you to know it's all yours. I'm all yours."

She hadn't worn the rings from Kevin in over a year and a half. She pawned them with no remorse before she left for California. "It has been a very long time since I was really married, Bob." She took the box from his hand and looked at the ring. She couldn't stop smiling, and the tears in her eyes made the diamond look all blurry as she asked, "Do you really want to marry me? I'm a mess."

He grinned at her. "You're really not, Baby. You're smart and beautiful and funny and kind. You're a fighter. Of course I want to marry you."

Without another word, Anna took the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger. She'd known Bob long enough to be sure that his words were honest. She was willing to throw it all in on Sky Writing. "We can take our time," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him. "There's no need to rush. But I definitely want to wear this ring."

They made a long, luxurious stop in their bed where Anna almost lost her voice from the number of times she called out Bob's name, and then he made her lunch before the two of them made their way to the living room bookshelf. 

"We didn't make it to the bookstore to pick out anything new to read," she mused, brushing all of the colorful spines with her fingers.

"Maybe we could read the first book you ever recommended for me. Together this time," he replied, his hands settling on her hips as his chin rested on her shoulder. 

Anna smiled as she reached for A Room With a View, remembering so well the day she started to fall in love with Bob Floyd. The book still looked practically brand new even though he'd already read it, and she grinned as she said, "I can't wait to dog ear all your pages."

"I will gladly let you."

---------------------------

The End! Thank you for reading another adventure in the Sugarverse! I hope you learned that even when you're a mess and barely holding it together, you're still worthy of friendship and love. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[attapullman]

INTRODUCTION: Just For Tonight One Night Only // series

A commitmentphobe and a serial dater meet in a bar. Then decide to have a one night stand. A relationship just for tonight.

All the paths they lead / To the single solemn place / Then we'll stay for a weekend / And leave without a trace - JUST FOR TONIGHT ONE NIGHT ONLY

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Maggie Brentley (female!OC)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: 18+ (minors and blank dni), alcohol, yearning, later chapters will have explicit language, smut, anxious attachment style, and angst

A Note From Mo: Hello, I am nervous about posting my first OC fic! This fic has turned so deeply personal while still being so unbelievably fun and goofy, so I can't believe it's finally ready to share with the world. Enjoy!

ONO MASTERLIST

Nothing is permanent.

But how Maggie Brentley wished some things were. Perfume on the skin. The sunset over the ocean. Her dog’s puppy coat. Not anything too substantial, but the little moments that make life special. A smile to be enjoyed at any time without the sorrow when it leaves. 

Her whole life she had looked for something constant. A childhood shipped between military bases, the most consistent part of her upbringing had been the inevitable moving sign on their front lawn. The faces of friends had changed, neighbors had been replaced, and languages had swapped. Maggie just wanted something that was hers. Something that was forever.

And maybe holding onto a dream is how reality happens, sitting at this weathered Navy bar no better than the ones her dad and his colleagues hung out in, wearing her tightest jeans and too much mascara. Living this close to North Island almost felt comforting, all these men in uniform and the smell of engine fuel mixing with the sea air. It was a scent she’d happily enjoy for a lifetime.

Maggie chewed on her bottom lip as she surveyed the crowd. Close-cropped hair, biceps for days, not a scruff in sight. Exactly what she had come for. It wasn’t really a matter of if one of the uniformed men took her home, but which one. But for the love of all that is holy, could one of them please commit to happily ever after?

Her nails tap on the screen of her phone, the godforsaken app open to their messages all week. Some aviator hot shot who promised he could rock her world and show her the sky. His profile said he was looking for a long-term relationship and that was enough for her. When the bar is in the sand, find a guy who flies a plane. Worst case scenario he would buy her a well whiskey and soda and never talk again.

There’s a hand on the back of her barstool and suddenly a thick chest pushes into her line of sight as a man puts his tanned forearms on the bar. “Oh, Penny, my dear!” 

He could do. No ring, strong arms, the slick smile of a man who gets what he wants. Maggie’s hands fidget to straighten her top, make herself more open and alluring. The man casually looks to his left, unknowingly taking in the way she sips her sweating drink through its tiny straw and batted her lashes. But his sea glass eyes instantly drop away, uninterested. 

The man grabs his beers and heads back to the pool table, his group of khaki uniforms whooping and hollering loud enough to be heard through the bar. Maggie holds back the sigh she desperately wants to let out - a sound of defeat - and focuses again on waiting for her hot shot to text her back. Silence since last night, but her mother had always said she admired Maggie’s optimism. 

Any second now.

But when her first whiskey soda turned into two and a small clump of mascara collected under her eye, it was clear that hot shot had found another way to spend his evening. The evil part of her brain hoped it was in the infirmary with a full body cast. Or shipped out to a November in Oymyakon.

The ice in her glass melts a bit more - a sad excuse for a drink at this point - and Maggie knows she’s was avoiding the bartender’s questioning glance. Did she want to stay for a third? Between Hot Shot and the man with the sea glass eyes, any hopes of a self-confidence comeback were slim. Might as well pack it in and go home where at least her couch and dog would love her.

But despite the change Maggie disliked, everything happens for a reason. And that was how when she raised her hand to pay her tab, she accidentally smacked a cup of peanuts right out of some poor, unsuspecting man’s hand right onto the sandy, beer-covered floor.

“I am so sorry!” Her face floods with color as she leaps from her barstool. The man stands dumbstruck. Peanuts in his hand, gone the next. Without a second thought she’s crouching in jeans meant for standing, brushing nuts into the cup and hiding her embarrassment.

Most of the peanuts are swept up when Maggie sees khaki slacks kneel beside her, a large hand outstretched at the mess. “It’s okay, please don’t pick those up. I don’t even like peanuts that much.”

And when she looks up to apologize again - her cheeks hot and blooming with color - the freshest ocean blue washes over her. She didn’t know they made eyes that beautiful. Clear and honest, with a sliver of sapphire at the edges. The crafted frames resting on his nose only highlight their organic beauty. 

Words are lost on her lips, the last handful of peanuts falling back to the ground. Of all the Navy men in the world, she just had to hit the one with the prettiest eyes.

Before she’s even fully standing up Maggie’s waving down the bartender. Her elbow comes way too close to his face, another accident narrowly avoided. “Let me buy you another cup, that was full.” This whole situation is a disaster. He shakes his head, promising it’s fine. “Really, I insist.”

Her parents had always said she was too stubborn, too focused on having things how she thought they should be than accepting the world for how it was. Maggie would roll her eyes and say she just believed in fairness. If you destroy a guy’s cup of peanuts, you buy him another. Who cares if he doesn’t want one?

With a hesitant smile, the stranger takes the barstool next to hers. He falls into it, all limbs. She uses the support to hop up into the seat. Her original plans for the night might be dashed, but renewed optimism fills her senses at her new company. His face is warm and genuine. He looks like he steps out of the way for lady bugs. When it came to bed companions, he was looking promising.

“I’m Maggie,” she croaks, her hand shooting into the space between mechanically. Raised by a Navy General, she had a firm handshake before the third grade. Warm, calloused fingers slip around hers, palm zinging at the first touch. 

“Bob. Nice to meet you.”

Nothing is permanent.

It was a mantra Bob Floyd lived by every day. Every time he got up into that jet, it could be the last time. 

The temporary nature of it all was why he didn’t do relationships. The deployments, the constant moves. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been home for two holidays in a row. It was not only his own heart, but the hearts of others he was protecting when he said goodbye after a night between the sheets.

Attachments were messy. He was the best of the best, and any self-respecting WSO kept a tidy backseat. 

Plenty of squadrons had seen him deploy this method of dating - a girl never seen twice - and joked more than once that his call sign should be “One Night Only”. But he took their jesting in stride and continued to bade his goodbyes in the wee hours of the morning. When nothing was serious, no one got hurt.

So when he made his way back to the pool table and his cup of peanuts was assaulted, there was no harm in a little flirting. She had a too big smile and eyes that begged for conversation. But it was the mischievous grin when she slammed her card down to pay that kept him in his barstool, that familiar itch of want crawling up his spine.

Fresh peanuts in front of him and a full drink in front of her, Bob doesn’t realize he’s completely ditched his group until he hits the bottom of his cup. They’ve talked about different Naval bases they’ve lived on, whether pepperoni or sausage is better on pizza, and for the past few minutes she’s been guessing where his accent is from. She got it right on the first guess, but he’s enjoying watching her forehead crinkle as she goes through all the twangy states in her head. 

His mother had always told him he was too set in his ways, that sometimes a little hiccup or break in the routine actually benefitted in the long run. Bob had always rolled his eyes, there was a reason they were called routines. You could have a good time with just about anyone, his years of deployments were proof. Whatever this flirty bar conversation was, he enjoyed the moment for the temporary joy it brought, especially with Maggie’s outraged expression when he revealed where he grew up.

“That was my first guess!” Her hand shoots out and smacks the shoulder of his khaki uniform. The skin is hot where she touched him, a shot of warmth shoots down his arm fueled by flirty tension and whatever peppy retro track is blaring from the jukebox. Just as quickly, she tucks her palm back at her side with an almost guilty grin.

He can’t remember the last time he felt at ease in a crowded room.

Since initially sitting, Bob’s shoulders loosened and he’s practically on top of her with how far he’s leaned over during their conversation. Bright hazel eyes twinkle in the warm light, that mischievous sparkle beckoning him in.

“You want to get out of here?”

While Bob remained composed and lightly put his palm to the small of her back as he led them out, adrenaline rushed his system. The excitement of a new adventure ahead, of the unknown. The same energy as every time his front seater starts the engine. 

He heads toward a particularly thick throng of people in front of the entrance and his hand drops to let her go first. Maggie tugs his hand back, linking them together again - a zing of electricity! - and his fingers stray too close to the rounded seam of her impossibly tight jeans. The blood rushing to his lower extremities pleads to find out what those jeans look like on the floor. 

It’s an unseasonably warm night, the lightest breeze brushing the surrounding palms and loose sand. The absence of music and bodies and lights out here in the parking lot has Bob nervous. His eyes meet hers and a moment passes between the two amorous strangers. As if waiting for the other to come to their senses. 

It’s only one night. I’ll never see you again.

Bob motions to his truck, a small hopeful smile playing on his lips. “I’ll follow you?”

That obnoxiously wide grin splits open and lights up the dark lot. For the next twenty minutes his focus is solely on the taillights in front of him as North Island fills his rearview, her little sedan forking left onto Harbor Drive. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, the combination of road sounds and the staticky radio not enough to drown out his thumping heart. 

Blood rushes in his ears when they finally reach Maggie’s stucco-and-terracotta apartment a few blocks from the beach, the red paint on her door peeling. His hand makes its way to her hip - a comforting gesture -  as she unlocks the door and lets it slowly creak open. His sapphire eyes meet her hazel in the dim lamplight. 

Nothing is permanent, so let’s make the most of tonight. 

Now that you've met our players, who's ready for more? Our commitmentphobe and serial dater are almost here with their first chapter (which I promise is longer, there's a reason I made this a prologue)!

Since this is my first OC fic, I'm skipping a taglist and letting this find who wants it. But of course need to tag my babes who have been so supportive with this fic and the journey: @sorchathered @bobfloydsbabe @baezen @roosterforme

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this for @ohtobeleah and her TGM Valentines Day Special.

It is a Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x female!reader imagine.

Happy Valentines Day! 💛✨

The song I chose is ‘Dandelions’ by Ruth B.

Warnings: this is racially and body type inclusive despite the moodpboard suggesting otherwise, your favorite flowers are now dandelions for the sake of this fic, this is only proofread by me :)

Bob Floyd had been your friend for years, best friend, really, and he was your favorite human being.

He was kind and gentle and oh so charming, which was one of the reasons why you couldn’t help but fall in love with him.

It had happened slowly and shortly after the first the first time you met, and the two of you became inseparable.

When Bob finished his bachelor’s degree he wanted to go on to Officer Candidate School in Pensacola and then train to become a pilot for the Navy.

You went to the same university because you didn’t want to be apart and you found a career that you could pursue while traveling a lot, should it be necessary.

It wasn’t that you planned to spend the rest of your life with Bob but if you were honest you couldn’t really think of your life without him.

While it might have been weird to others Bob and you always celebrated Valentines Day together, because you were the people who mattered most to you.

It had become a tradition that a nervous slightly pimple faced teenage Bob had brought to life, explaining that he wanted to celebrate your friendship.

Neither of you had ever really seriously dated someone else so you were always free to spend the day together.

Bob had graduated in December and planned to start OCS as soon as possible, which meant that he’d have to stay at Pensacola for at least twelve weeks.

That meant he’d be away from you for a while, and you already dreaded it.

When Bob picked you up for your annual Valentines Day date you did your best to look as pretty as possible, finding the perfect dress in Bob’s favorite color.

He brought you out in his truck that he had already loaded with everything necessary for the trip, not telling you where you were going.

Bob looked extraordinarily attractive, having put on a new shirt in your favorite color and having taking special care of his hair, combing it and trying to keep it from falling into messy locks over his forehead.

You were sure he had put on more cologne than usual when you hugged him and it immediately made you smile.

The drive to your unknown destination was short but despite listening to your favorite music Bob somehow seemed nervous, which also evoked the same feeling in you.

Bob had developed a habit of putting his hand on your thigh most of the drive, which always gave you comfort as well as a sense of happiness at his show of affection.

When Bob finally stopped the truck you were seemingly in the middle of the road, in a beautiful field that was blooming with your favorite flowers.

Bob sent you a giddy smile as he rushed outside to open your car door, another habit you had established throughout your friendship.

You were grateful for his kindness as he helped you climb down from your seat to stand next to him.

Bob gave you another grin before he turned to his truck bed, grabbing a basket as well as a backpack.

He held your hand as he pulled you through the field that was glowing with dandelions in different stages of bloom.

It was really beautiful, especially to be there with him.

When you stopped walking he put a blanket down for you to sit on, pulling you onto it to talk to you.

Until now you had shared a comfortable silence, because you knew he had something to share with you.

“I’m going to Pensacola in a few days. I just got the call from OCS,” he said softly and your heart fell, knowing that from then on he’d be busy beginning a new part of his life.

You weren’t entirely sure you were in it so you took a short breath, your entire body feeling as heavy as lead as you waited for him to continue.

His eyelids fluttered as he saw your reaction and he reached out to hold your hand.

“I don’t, I mean… I have never felt about anyone the way I do about you. I’ve heard of love that comes once in a lifetime. And I’m pretty sure that you’re that love of mine,” he went on to shock you to the core, and an amount of feelings you didn’t know you could feel rushed through your body.

While you were sad he was leaving a heat rushed through you at his confession, the relief of feeling the same but not feeling the strength to say it first as strong as the amount of oxytocin in your body.

You were speechless as you felt tears well up in your eyes and Bob smiled, reaching in his pocket to find a small box in it.

It was a beautiful light color and when he opened it you found a necklace with a delicate dandelion charm inside that made you actually shed one of the tears that were forming.

“I love you,” he said softly and you chuckled in disbelief, not quite knowing how to react.

“I…,” you choked on your own emotions but Bob chuckled, nodding lightly.

“I know you do,” he replied, his gentle smile all you needed in that moment.

Your fingers gripped his tighter and he mirrored your actions, giving you the security he knew you needed.

“I’d love to be with you, baby,” he added, and you couldn’t have nodded any faster.

tagging: @starkleila @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @letsfvckingdance @iangiemae @klmpun @yespolkadotkitty @whateverbagman @neptunes-curse @sweetheartlizzie07 @top-gun-rooster @iloveprettyboysblog @ateliefloresdaprimavera @imjess-themess @littlebadariell @angstyjellybean @marchingicenotes7 @midget713 @supernaturaldawning @gspenc @adorephina @gigisimsonmars @tipsykeen @bespinnn @airedale17 @malindacath @aerangi @luckyladycreator2 @kwanimations @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @luckyladycreator2 @mavericksicybabe @kendra-rose @desert-fern @mavrellover91 @allivingstone01 @rhettabbotts @withakindheartx @trikigirl271 @cherrycola27 @atarmychick007 @bonitanightmxres @ratcatcher2world @glowingtree @wingmanvenus @jewels98 @oliviah-25 @natasharomanoffisbaebby @tipsykeen

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[randalsgrave]

Sweetness and Light: Part Six

Holy Mother of GOD you guys. This part was literal hell to write. It's definitely a lot closer to the material I WANT to write, but good god, there was a LOT of it to write for this part. You'll see what I mean. Anyway, thanks for your patience for the last 4 months. I hope you guys enjoy this latest update!

Two casual weekend outings lead to some fairly interesting encounters.

BobxFemale!OC. F/C: Kacey Rohl

Word count: 9.6K

WARNINGS: colorful language; not beta-read (we die like men); discussion of toxic family dynamics; anxiety attacks

Recommended soundtrack: Sweetness and Light - Lush; Peace Frog - The Doors

***

Week four of training begins in earnest with the section unit, and as expected, it’s more in-depth and mind-boggling than the previous one. Katie - and everyone else, for that matter - was already anticipating the coming units being more challenging than the last. She wasn’t, however, expecting it to be the brain melt that it actually is. 

She’s fully convinced she’s in over her head (way, way over her head) when she gets back to her hotel room Friday afternoon, head absolutely scrambled after a day of dense lecture and lab work, and collapses in the armchair by her window with an exhausted groan. Activities with little-to-no brain function are going to be an absolute must tomorrow - and likely Sunday too, if she wants to give her brain a chance to recuperate before Monday. 

Luckily for Katie, the universe has just that in store for her. 

Mostly. 

It’s just past 08 the next day when she awakens to the chirp of her phone on the nightstand. Well, sort of awakens. She can barely crack her eyes open as she reaches out and slaps her palm against the hard surface, nor as her fingers curl around the phone and bring it to within inches of her face. 

Turns out, it’s a text from Bob - nothing too out of the ordinary, considering how often they spend time together these days. She wonders what he could be up to at this hour. 

She taps open the message, squints at the gray bubble on her screen. “Planning on getting breakfast in downtown SD,” it reads. “Wanna come with?”

Hm. Katie could go for a full breakfast plate. Yet…

Her fingers fumble their way across the keyboard. “I thought you weren’t a breakfast person tho.”

“I mean normally I’m not, but if it means I get to spend time with a friend like you, then I can be persuaded otherwise.”

Well then. 

The flush is creeping across Katie’s face before she’s fully processed the message. Thank god he isn’t in the room with her; she’s pretty sure she’d die of embarrassment if he saw just how crimson-faced she is after reading that text. 

But why is she, though? It’s an invitation to get breakfast with Bob. Breakfast with a member of the opposite sex is a total non-issue. Hell, it’s not like she hasn’t done this sort of thing dozens of times in the last couple of weeks with him. Granted, those ‘dozens of times’ are short mornings sipping coffee in his hotel room, but what does it matter?

It’s not a date. It is 100% not a date. In fact, as far as she’s concerned, as far as she’s forcing herself to be concerned, it’s the opposite. It’s a shared outing, something as casual and noncommittal as the hike they went on during their first week here. There’s no need for her to freak out and turn red like this. She needs to calm down, and right now. 

Closing her eyes, Katie takes a deep, steadying breath, gives herself a moment to recompose before opening her eyes and tapping out a reply to Bob. 

“Can I dress like a bum or do I have to put in some effort with my outfit?”

“Dress however you want. If it helps, I’m wearing jeans and a tshirt.” 

Shit. No sweatpants for her then. “Put in some effort with my outfit, got it. See you down in the lobby in 10?”

“Yeah, that works.”

“Cool cool. Who’s driving?”

“Uhhhh, you know what I will. Least I can do to say thanks for driving me everywhere most days.”

“Works for me.”

Katie doesn’t give herself much time to think; she just sets herself in motion and goes. She quickly settles on jean shorts, an oversized worn green shirt with ‘FEAR THE DUCK’ scrawled across the chest, and her Birkenstocks. Then, it’s on to the bathroom. Teeth? Brushed and flossed. Face? Moisturized. Hair? Loosely French-braided. All things to suggest she made somewhat of an effort this morning, but not too much. Besides, why should she make a big fuss over how she looks? It’s breakfast, not a red carpet event. 

Heaving a sigh, she grabs her phone, wallet, and sunglasses, and makes her way down to the lobby, where Bob’s waiting for her on one of the side couches. True to his word, he’s wearing jeans and a navy blue t-shirt. However, it’s a t-shirt that hugs his biceps just a little too tightly, and it’s all Katie can do not to outright ogle. Holy Christ, has he always had those?

C’mon idiot, say something - “You ready to go?” she asks with a bright - if not somewhat forced - smile on her face. 

“Always.” Bob stands, palms his car keys, motions for her to follow. “You hungry?”

“Starving. Where are we going for breakfast anyway?” 

“You ever heard of Harry’s Coffee Shop?”

Katie shakes her head. “Don’t think I have.” 

“It’s this little diner-type place out in downtown. I’ve heard nothing but good things about it so I thought I’d go and check it out, y’know?”

“Fair enough.”

“Yeah. They’ve supposedly got really good cinnamon rolls.”

“So you’re a sweets for breakfast guy,” Katie says with a wry smile. “Wouldn’t have guessed that with the way you drink coffee.”

Bob snorts, almost as if it’s an obvious revelation. “Of course. It helps balance out the bitterness.”

The two are now making their way down the far right aisle of the parking lot, towards the nose of a dark gray car - a Subaru, Katie realizes when they draw closer. It’s one of the sporty hatchback models, complete with carbon-black rims and what’s sure to be its own bite under the hood, but it’s… small. Granted, Katie wasn’t sure what to expect (with Bob, she hardly ever knows these days), but she’s not entirely sure she expected this. 

“A Subie, huh?” Katie’s lips curl into a gentle smirk as she ducks into the passenger seat. “Not really a big truck type?”

“Nope,” Bob replies, lips popping on the ‘p’. “I make a living flying around in a massive multimillion-dollar aircraft, but take comfort driving a little hatchback. Ironic, huh?” 

“I mean, I guess.”

“End of the day, the less machinery I have to operate, the better.”

“Considering your car’s a manual, I’d call that ironic.”

“Oh har-har.” He sticks the key in the ignition, turns the car on. “Do you know how to drive stick?”

“Only in theory,” Katie says with a sigh. “I’ve tried so many times to learn from different people but I have the worst time trying to get-”

“-TOO MANY DOSES AND I’M STARTING TO GET AN ATTRA-”

Bob’s immediately slamming his hand on the audio power button with a grimace and a hissed ‘Jesus Christ’. Katie, though startled (more like scared shitless) by the sudden blast of music coming from Bob’s speakers, frowns, letting the lyrics roll around in her head like a ball in a roulette wheel. She’s heard those lyrics before, she knows it…

After a moment of contemplating, she glances over at Bob, brows furrowed. “…Was that Avenged Sevenfold?”

Bob cringes. “Teenage Bob was a big fan,” he replies sheepishly. “…You were saying, though?”

“I was saying that I have the worst time trying to get moving in first. Honestly, I think I’m just destined to drive automatic for the rest of my life.”

Bob scoffs as he maneuvers the car out of the parking lot with practiced ease. “Oh please - not like you’re much worse than I was. First few times I drove, it took me twenty minutes just to get moving in first gear. Twenty.”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Yep. It was bad.”

Katie can’t help herself. A snicker bubbles from within her. “Okay, yeah, that’s pretty bad.”

“Glad we agree on that,” Bob snickers back. “Anyway, um… If you ever wanna get better at driving stick, I’d be happy to help you practice.”

“You risk me breaking your transmission.”

“This baby can handle it. She’s sturdier than she looks. Seriously though, let me know. Your issue is nothing that practice can’t fix.” 

“If you say so.” Katie pauses, contemplates, chuckles after a moment. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do anything too strenuous this weekend, ‘cause, y’know, this past week in class was hell, but uh, I guess… if you’re not doing anything tomorrow and are cool with me stalling your car a bunch of times, maybe…?”

Bob grins. “Let’s do it.” He wheels the car left, right, left, right, shifts seamlessly between the low gears as they drive off-base. “So, what are we listening to?”

Katie shrugs. “I mean, it’s your car; it’s your call.”

“Well, considering I stole your aux cord and played my music last time we went somewhere, I think it’s only fair that you get to do it this time.”

“Hmm…” Katie pulls up her Spotify playlists, thumbs through her myriad of songs while she chews on her bottom lip. Song-wise, there’s any number of directions she can go in - there’s Milo Korbenski and the Hot Garbage album; there’s My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless album (actually, on second thought, maybe not that one - the ‘noise’ aspect might be a bit too much this early in the morning); there’s copious amounts of Swervedriver and Catherine Wheel and Echodrone. 

And then she scrolls past one song and suddenly, she knows what she wants to listen to. 

“You ever heard of the band Lush?” she asks as she hooks her phone up to Bob’s soundsystem. 

Bob shakes his head. “Can’t say I have.”

“Okay… How do you feel about shoegaze or dream pop-type music?”

“I mean, I’ll listen to anything once. Usually wind up liking whatever I listen to. And honestly, I’ve liked whatever you put on when you drive.” 

“Good,” Katie smirks, “that makes me feel better about putting this on.” 

And with that, she hits the ‘play’ button, and out comes the opening chords for Lush’s Sweetness and Light, ringing out in hazy, perfect harmony and glory. It’s a song she’s heard many times over the last several years, but it never gets old. There’s beauty in the lyrics’ sweet nothings and warm sentiments - and it’s beauty she’s all too happy to revel in, and to share with others willing to listen. 

“I like it,” Bob muses over the music’s heightening volume. “Very spacey.”

“Yeah, that’s shoegaze for ya.” She settles back in the passenger seat, closes her eyes, smiles blissfully. “This is what happiness sounds like to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” She swirls her hand through the air, loosely matches the rhythm of the song. “Love, adoration, and… sweetness and light.” 

“Well, whaddaya say we play it good and loud?”

Katie’s eyes slide open, and Bob’s looking at her with a smirk on his face and his eyebrows quirked as he’s reaching for the volume knob.  

He’s getting to know her quite well now, isn’t he?

She grins. “Crank that shit.”

Bob obliges, turning the dial up high just as the intro crescendos, spins into the main verses, the sound of saturated guitar and endless dreamy reverb soaking into them as readily as the morning sun does. 

And Katie? Katie just grins, and grins, and grins. This. This is what makes her happy. 

What a wonderful way to start things off today. 

***

Harry’s Coffee Shop on Girard Avenue is a veritable time capsule of the ‘60s. Big and white with red lettering adorning its roof, its outside appearance serves as a small taste of its overall retroness. Inside, it’s tenfold, with walnut-colored wood paneling running the whole perimeter of the restaurant, two-tone leather-covered booths, schoolhouse pendant lights hanging over the diner counter, green carpeting, and framed photos of various sizes hanging on the walls, telling the restaurant’s nearly 60-year-old story in shades of faded color and black and white. 

The restaurant is buzzing with activity when Bob and Katie walk in through the double doors. Customers occupy every other booth and table. Waiters breeze from spot to spot, customer to customer, carrying various elements of each person’s breakfast. Somewhere through the din of conversation and hustle-bustle, the Doors’ Peace Frog beats out a jaunty, keyboard-laden rhythm that sets the tone for the morning. Every inch, every movement, every sound contained within the space screams ‘busy Saturday morning’ - and yet, that only makes the restaurant all the more inviting. 

Katie and Bob quickly find themselves seated in a small booth at the front, right beside a window that looks out at the street and surrounding neighborhood. It’s the ideal place for people watching that maintains some semblance of privacy, of anonymity, and normally, that would be a big draw for two people like Bob Floyd and Katie Garland. 

But neither of them are here for that. 

Bob’s in the middle of regaling Katie with tales of past OCS instructors when they’re seated, and he hardly misses a beat as they take their spots opposite each other. “I had this one RDC when I went through; still not entirely sure what I think of him,” he says. “He always had this blank, borderline-bored look on his face, and it stayed that way the whole damn time we were going through it. He’d be absolutely beating our asses in the compartment and it would just be” - Bob passes his hand over his face, which immediately relaxes into the blank look he speaks of - “completely flat.”

“By any chance, was it Lieutenant Reynoso?”

“Yeah, actually, it was.”

Well, boy howdy. 

“Reynoso was one of my RDC’s when I went through,” Katie smiles wryly. “That guy honestly scared the shit outta me for a while.”

Bob’s face instantly splits into a grin as a laugh bubbles from him. “Scared? Why?”

“I didn’t know what he was thinking! He always had that blank look in his eyes, AND major resting bitch face; I didn’t know if he was contemplating murder or playing the Mii Channel theme on loop!”

“Oh c’mon, it wasn’t that bad!”

“Oh bullshit - tell me you weren’t intimidated as hell by him that first week.”

“...Okay, maybe a little.”

Katie giggles. “See? Reynoso was fuckin’ scary. Probably would’ve stayed scary if he’d let the other RDC’s do the talking. Oh man… Who else did you have?”

“Let’s see…” Bob holds up his hand, counts off instructors with his fingers. “There was Gunny Haltermann, MMSC Stennis-”

“No fucking way, you had Stennis?!” This conversation keeps getting better and better. “He was one of the RDC’s for my brother div!”

“No kidding.”

“Oh my god, this is wild - did he play Tupac during your div’s PT sessions?”

“Sure did. Had the lyrics to Ambitionz az a Ridah practically memorized after a few weeks with him.”

“Oh my god, yes, same.” Katie is practically giddy with excitement over the new information; after all, what are the odds of knowing someone who had virtually the same training experience as you, the same mentors and instructors? “He played that shit all the time during our sessions with brother div. It was kind of nice, actually. Like, nice in the sense that we got to hear music other than cadence during training.”

“Honestly, nice that we got to hear music, period,” Bob comments. 

“I’ll take a black coffee, thanks - yeah, true. Y’know I made a list of music I was gonna listen to the second I finished training?”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. I had, like, somewhere around 75 songs on that list,” she laughs. 

“Make that two black coffees, ma’am - what was the first one?” 

Katie snickers. “Highway Tune - Greta Van Fleet. Specifically so I could blast it as I was leaving base and yell ‘see ya fuckers’ out the window.”

“Sounds about right,” Bob snickers back. “Kinda figured you’d have shoegaze at the top with how much you listen to it.”

“Oh trust me, there was plenty of it there. If I remember correctly, song number two was a My Bloody Valentine song.”

“Hell of a band name.”

“It belies the dreamy acid trip vibe.” With their coffee having been delivered by their waitress, Katie takes a sip, proceeds to doctor it with a packet of creamer. “Enough about me though - I wanna hear more about you.”

“The La Jolla Scramble, cinnamon roll on the side please - uh, not really much to tell. Got orange-carded once for screwing up facing maneuvers. Listened to a lot of Tupac and Childish Gambino when Stennis was leading things. Honestly, you’d have gotten a better answer if you’d asked me about college.”

“I’ll have the Mediterranean omelet and a cinnamon roll on the side, please - well, I guess this is me asking you about college then.”

Bob purses his lips, ponders for one, two, three seconds. “Well, I went to the University of Georgia, graduated with a degree in mechanical engineering. In and out in four years.”

“Definitely weren’t in NROTC while you were there, if the, uh, OCS bit was any indication.”

“Nope,” Bob replies with a shake of his head and a sip of his pitch-black coffee. “Honestly, the Navy wasn’t even a thought in my head until after I graduated.”

“Wasn’t in mine either.” Katie pauses - then smirks. “Did you have a raging hard-on for your college football team?”

Bob scoffs, and loudly at that. “Hardly. Couldn’t care less about football.”

“Isn’t college football a big thing where you’re from, though?”

“It is - but you forget this is me we’re talking about,” Bob replies wryly. “Only reason you’d really catch me saying ‘go ‘dawgs’ was so I didn’t get the shit beat outta me, y’know?” 

“Mmm. So not much of a football guy, got it.”

“Eh, not much of a sports guy, really. I like hiking though. And biking. Shit, put my happy ass on a bike and I’ll ride it ‘til the cows come home.”

“So what I’m hearing is that you like anything that gets you outside and exploring the world around you.”

“Exactly.” Another sip of coffee, then Bob sets his hands one on top of the other. “Your turn now. I think I know what you’re gonna say, but where’d you wind up for school?”

“U Oregon. Go Ducks and all that, woo woo, rah rah.”

“Kinda sounds like you weren’t much of a sports person either,” Bob comments with a chuckle. 

“Sports, no. School pride, yes. I loved it there.”

“Very well then. Whadja major in?”

At that, Katie snorts out a laugh. “Political science,” she says around the rim of her coffee mug. “I had this convoluted - and I mean really convoluted - reasoning that it would be useful for working in nonprofit - something about ‘understanding how our laws and policies work and using that knowledge to help nonprofits with their missions’.”

“Yeah, how’s that working out for you now?”

“I dunno,” Katie laughs, “ask the Navy.” 

“Man, I’m one to talk, though. All this ‘ooh and ah’ with a mechanical engineering degree and you don’t see me putting it to good use eith-”

“No, you cut that out; you actually have a useful degree. Mine’s a glorified scrap of paper that’s going to sit in my important files and collect dust for the rest of my life. And clearly, I’m putting my knowledge of U.S. and foreign policy to good use as a pilot in the Navy, right?” 

“I mean, just because you’re not using it now, doesn’t mean it’s useless for the rest of your life. Pretty sure all the three-letter agencies would go nuts for someone like you. They’d be worth considering when you’re done doing barrel rolls and shooting things out of the sky.”

Yeah, I suppose.” An amused smirk makes its way across Katie’s face. “I could go to work for the NSA and do some spooky government stuff. That would be pretty neat.”

“See? That’s the spirit. Just gotta consider the possibilities.” 

It’s not long before their waitress comes ‘round with their breakfast, fluffiest of omelets loaded with filling, lustrous scrambled eggs, and hand-sized cinnamon rolls painted with white icing, and goddamn, does it look good. 

More than that, it tastes good. Katie takes a bite of the massive cinnamon roll she’s been presented with and her eyes practically roll to the back of her head. Yeah - Bob definitely knew what he was doing when he picked this place out. 

He’s in a similarly rapturous state with his plate of scrambled eggs, Katie sees when she regains (some of) her senses and looks across the table at him. “Remind me to come here every weekend for breakfast from now on,” he all but groans. “Christ, this is good.”

“If the food I get is this good, honestly, I’d trust you to take me anywhere.”

“Good,” Bob snarks around a mouthful of eggs, “there’s a lotta places I wanna try while we’re here.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Katie snarks back. 

Silence soon fills the space between them, the easy kind borne of mutual understanding and comfort with one another. Katie tucks into her omelet and cinnamon roll in turns, pondering the state of things. It’s… strange. Good strange, to be sure, but still. She’s not really the type to sit comfortably in silence with another person. People have expectations for her, for the interactions between them - expectations that usually don’t involve silence. Anything contrary to that is… unnatural. 

But not here. Not with him.

With Bob, it’s different. Katie doesn’t have to worry about filling the empty spaces with talking and constant noise. She can just be, exist in the quiet moments. Hell, they both can. It’s nice, being this kind of comfortable with each other - and no doubt Bob has been thinking the same. 

She’s cutting off a piece of omelet to eat when Bob breaks the silence between them. He sips his coffee, clears his throat. “So, uh… Not to bounce around or anything, but… What made you decide to join the Navy?”

There it is - the question that everyone inevitably asks her. Oh boy. 

Katie takes the bite of her omelet, chews thoughtfully, shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like I was ‘unfulfilled’ or anything. I went home, got a job at a nonprofit for homeless veterans, and it was great and all, being a part of my hometown in that capacity, but…”

The truth. It lingers on the tip of Katie’s tongue, waiting to make its appearance in the conversation. And god, does she want to let it out, but… 

“It didn’t… I dunno, add up. Job wasn’t really going anywhere and I felt stuck. Trapped, actually.”

“Yeesh, don’t I know that feeling.”

“Like, it was at work and at home. Practically everyone I’d gone to school with had up and left Portland and started living their lives, and I was just… home, suffocating. Tethered to my house like I’d been for the last eighteen years, and… I didn’t want to be that anymore.”

“So you joined the Navy.”

Yeah, pretty much. “Walked into the nearest recruiting office and asked what was available for someone with a degree,” Katie says. “The AO2 I talked to basically told me I could do anything, buuuuut he also told me that he’d personally kick my ass if I came in and tried to pick a rate without putting in a package for OCS. Told me it’d be a waste of my degree if I went enlisted.”

“You actually had an AO tell you to go officer? Man, I had a CTIC at my recruiting office and he was hell-bent on trying to get me to go enlisted.”

“Thank god you didn’t; you make a lot more sense as a WSO.”

“And you make a lot more sense as a pilot.”

Heat and blush (seriously, what is with you?) creep their way across Katie’s cheeks. “Took me until BFT to realize it, but I’m glad we agree on that.”

She’s about to slip another piece of omelet in her mouth when her phone vibrates and chimes from her pocket. She pops the piece into her mouth, pulls it out to look at the message that’s come through - most likely from Fanboy, she thinks. No doubt he’s dying to know what she and Bob are up to (nosy bastard he is). 

Only it’s not from him. 

No - it’s from someone much worse. 

“Katherine, we need to talk,” the text reads. “Your behavior last week was absolutely unacceptable and needs to be addressed immediately.” 

Carrie. It’s all Katie can do not to groan out loud, not only at the timing of the text, but at the sheer audacity of it. Her behavior was unacceptable? Was she being serious?

Keeping her face smooth and neutral proves to be difficult as she types out a reply. “Pretty sure I told you not to contact me. AND to give Naomi her phone back.”

Carrie’s response is almost immediate. “What gives you the right to talk to your mother like that?” she seems to snap through the phone. “Call me NOW.”

The reaction is almost instantaneous - stomach in knots, shakes radiating outwards from within. No, not this, not now. She doesn’t need this woman barging back into her life and bullying her.  

Tightness in her chest is starting to set in. Anxiety. Strong anxiety. Oh no. Oh, no, no, no. 

Katie stands abruptly, shuffles out of the booth with a mumbled “gonna use the head” and takes off in a brisk march towards the bathroom. If it wasn’t for the fact that Bob and the entire restaurant have their eyes on her, she would be running. She doesn’t want people - especially him - seeing her on the verge of an anxiety attack.

She shoves through the restroom door in the back of the restaurant, trudges to the nearest sink and curls her body above it, hands gripping the edges white-knuckle tight and breath coming in shallow shudders. God damn it. God fucking damn it. This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening. Two texts from her mother and it’s enough to reduce Katie to a near mess in a diner bathroom. It’s as if the last four years of silence and purposely missed calls and texts never even existed. Worse still, it’s as if she’s back in college and her mother is down the road from her, ready and waiting for her to do something, anything to snatch her away and prove that she is helpless without her. 

That she is nothing without her. 

Katie swallows thickly, grips the sink edge so hard that her hands ache. She’s wrong. She’s a fighter pilot in the world’s finest navy, a warrior, an angel of death and savior of people. She is all of these things and more, a real powerhouse of ‘something’ - and she did all of it without her mother. Carrie can go fuck herself. After all the shit she’s put her through, Katie owes her nothing. 

She lifts her head, stares down her reflection in the mirror. “I owe her nothing,” she utters in a low voice, steeling it against the shaking wracking her body. “I owe her nothing. Not a phone call, not an explanation text, not a single goddamn thing. I owe her nothing after everything she’s put me through, and I will not let her guilt me into anything else.” She repeats the words, over and over and over again, wills them to stick. I owe you nothing. I owe you nothing. I owe you absolutely NOTHING. 

Eventually, the words do stick, and she’s able to calm down enough to suck in a deep breath and steady herself. She can do this. Carrie can rage and harass her daughter all she wants, but she has no power over her. Katie won’t let her have it. 

She takes another big breath in, blows it out nice and slow. She’s ready. She can face the world again.

With a final breath, Katie turns and makes her way back out into the restaurant, mind working its way back to the point before Carrie interrupted her and Bob. She was having such a nice time with him before she had to show up… She just wants to go back to that point and forget that the last 5 minutes ever happened…

Unfortunately for her, there are other plans in store. 

When Katie makes eye contact with Bob, there’s no missing the gleam of concern in his eyes. Oh no. “Hey, uh, your phone’s been ringing nonstop for the last five minutes.”

Oh fuck me, she didn’t - “Has it now?”

“Yeah. Same person too, from the looks of it.” Bob’s face colors as the implication that he might’ve done something stalkerish dawns on him. “Not that I was going out of my way to get in your business, you left your phone facing up and I could see the name on caller ID-”

“No no, you’re fine; I get what you’re trying to say.” Katie slides back into the booth and takes her phone in her hands, stifling another groan when she sees the never-ending list of missed calls from her sister. Only it’s not Naomi, she thinks, her thoughts edged with a growl. Christ, Carrie’s in fine form today. 

No sooner does the thought pass through her head than her phone starts ringing again, ‘Naomi’ scrolling across the top of the screen, the damn thing playing that stupid marimba ringtone while it buzzes expectantly in her hand. It has to be the 11th time her mother’s tried to call her now. 

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. She clicks the power button to decline the call, switches it to silent mode, and all but whips it to the far end of the table, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose in a death grip. Stepping out to fend off an anxiety attack was bad enough, but this… She does not need this today. She absolutely does not need this today. 

“…You’re not gonna take that?”

Katie doesn’t even hesitate. “Nope.”

“You sure? Whoever’s calling must really wanna get a hold of you if they’ve been going like that.”

“Yeah, well, she can choke.” Katie stabs her fork into the piece of cinnamon roll she’s just cut up, sticks it in her mouth and chews stiffly. Christ, she can’t believe this is happening right now. 

“Oh.” Bob’s gaze shifts down, blinks as he contemplates his next move, if it’s even appropriate to have one at this point. Katie’s hoping he drops the subject and moves on to something different, but she can’t say she’s surprised when his eyes steel and he looks back up at her, trying to understand. “What’s, um… What’s the story with” - he steals a glance at the list of missed calls - “Naomi?”

“She’s my little sister,” Katie replies around a sip of coffee. “Problem is that she’s not the one spamming my call log.” 

“Oh? Who is then?”

“My mother,” she mutters. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls between them again, permeates the air for one, two, three, four, five seconds. This silence, however, is uncomfortable, uneasy, heavy. It’s not often that Carrie and her bullshit make their existence public. In the four years she’s been in the Navy, Katie has worked hard to keep it that way. Now? She’s being forced to acknowledge it (in public, and to one of her friends, no less), and she hates it. Hates it, hates it, hates it. 

“I don’t…” Katie closes her eyes, takes a long, deep, steadying breath. No one wants to hear this. Why the fuck am I doing this? “I don’t have a good relationship with my mom.” 

She pauses, looks at Bob, wills him to say something, anything in reply. But he doesn’t. He just stares, gives her that intent look that tells her he’s listening and that he’s not saying anything until she’s good and done, REALLY good and done. 

Fuck. Not the reaction she was hoping for.

Well then. Looks like brevity is about to be her best friend for this conversation. 

“It took a long time for me to realize it, but she’s… damaged. Like, really fucking damaged. And she’s done stuff that’s messed me and my sister up over the years.”

“Like what? Um, if you don’t mind me asking.” 

So much for keeping this brief. Fuckity fuck.

Katie licks her lips, sucks her teeth in thought. “Well… A lot, really, but uh… Gaslighting, emotional abuse, manipulation… You uh, you name it.” Her chest aches from the truth and the rawness of it all straining against it, but she forces it back, forces it deep inside her where it can’t see the light of day. She doesn’t want to talk about it with Bob anymore, not right now, not when things are going as nice as they are and he thinks she’s a good person to be around. He certainly wouldn’t think that if he knew, would he, Katherine Mae? You’re not damaged. You’re worse than damaged; you’re categorically shattered-

“…Katie? You okay?”

Katie blinks, punches Carrie and her noxious words deep into the recesses of her brain. She really needs to stop having moments like these. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” she mumbles. “It’s, um… It’s a tricky thing for me to talk about.”

“It’s all right; I shouldn’t have asked about it in the first place. I’m sorry.” Bob takes a long, ponderous sip, eyes following the people strolling on the other side of the window. “Guess that explains why you joined after college.”

“Yeah. Shitty circumstances, but definitely the best decision I could’ve made.” Katie’s mouth curls upwards in a soft smile. “I have a job I love, I’ve already been to a few cool places, and I’m basically in an honors program for fighter pilots… I’d say I’m doing pretty okay these days.”

“I’d agree with you.”

“Bonus points for some of the people I’ve met recently, too,” she adds, the smile growing just the tiniest bit larger. “I haven’t known them long but they’ve made a pretty big difference in my life.”

At that, Bob’s cheeks go pink and he grins sheepishly. He still can’t quite smoothly take a compliment, but at this point Katie doesn’t care and she chuckles to herself. If anything, she finds it rather endearing. 

They soon return to the silence of before, tuck into their breakfasts amidst the din of the restaurant and with a renewed sense of ease and contentment. There’s beauty in being comfortable with silence. The simple pleasure of their company is enough for them; there’s no real need to speak. 

Until…

“We’re being watched.” 

Bob’s buttering a piece of toast when he says it, and he says it so nonchalantly and with such a calm face that at first Katie thinks he’s joking. But, she follows the line of his gaze, and sure enough… 

She’s not really noteworthy, the old lady sitting by herself at a nearby table. She nurses a cup of coffee that’s far more milk than it is coffee, and picks slowly at a raspberry danish on a small white plate. If she’s not holding the coffee in her veined right hand, then it’s a weathered copy of some old romance book. So absorbed is she in her little routine of coffee, pastry, and reading that Katie wonders if Bob’s imagination might be playing tricks on him. 

However, all of that goes out the window when the lady looks up and catches Katie’s gaze with her own. She grins at her, and suddenly, inexplicably, Katie has a bad feeling about where this is heading. 

“Y’know,” she says, “I’ve had dozens of boyfriends in my time, and none of them ever treated me the way he treats you. You’ve got yourself a good one there!”

Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. 

Katie’s not sure who turns beet-red first: her, or Bob. She’s also not sure who starts coughing first. Oh my god. That actually happened. 

She can’t believe it. First there’s Fanboy making jokes during PT. Then there’s Halfpint making snide comments whenever he sees them together. Now there’s some old lady mistaking them for a couple at a diner. Holy Christ, Katie’s inner thoughts moan, what is going on here?

“Oh no,” Bob coughs, “no no no, we’re just friends, ma’am.” 

Katie’s quick to voice her agreement with Bob (albeit around a massive wheezing fit), but she gets the sense that the lady isn’t buying it. She nods politely and smiles at them before returning to her book, but there’s no missing the twinkle in her eye, the one that clearly says ‘you’re in denial’. 

Christ - if Katie didn’t know any better, she’d say that this little old lady is a damn Cupid in disguise, trying to bend the universe and push her and Bob together. 

Whoo boy. She doesn’t want to dedicate even a second of thought to that. Breakfast has already been complex enough without adding that in. 

Thank god for the both of them, their remaining time in the restaurant is short-lived. Bob has them rung up and checked out in less than two minutes, and they slip out of the booth and through the front doors with hardly a word exchanged between them. The last thing Katie sees before they leave is the old lady grinning at them, twiddling her twisted fingers in farewell. 

It’s only when they’re outside that they fully react to the exchange that’s just taken place, and while Katie heaves a heavy breath and stares up at the sky with her hands on her hips, Bob damn-near doubles over with laughter. 

“Well, that turned into a real interesting breakfast, didn’t it?” 

“Yeah, sure did… God, I can’t believe she thought we were a couple…” Katie’s head is spinning and her insides are burning. The universe, it seems, is really trying to pull something with her and Bob, and with each passing day, with each shared moment and second-too-long glance at one another, she’s beginning to question whether she even has a choice in the matter. 

We’re friends and nothing more. We’re friends and nothing more. WE’RE FRIENDS AND NOTHING MORE. 

But, as they start making their way back to the car, Katie looks down at Bob’s hand, veined and strong and relaxed beside his leg, and two thoughts pass through her head. They’re thoughts so… out of left field, so dubious and unlike her, she wonders if it’s really even herself: what if? What if she were to reach out and take his hand in hers? 

And… what if they were ‘something more’? 

***

A day and some change later, Katie has effectively put Bob’s Subaru through its paces and thensome. They spend close to four hours in the car, doing everything from going forward and backwards in one empty aisle of an isolated lot, to puttering around one of the on-base neighborhoods, to making full laps around North Island. 

At first, it’s rough - really rough. Seeming to follow in Bob’s footsteps, Katie stalls out multiple times and struggles to make the car move in first gear. There’s frustrating, and then there’s what Katie feels, and it’s borderline agonizing. She knows how to drive, and goddamn it, she’s good at it; why is she suddenly so categorically unable to now? 

She’s certain Bob’s going to boot her out from behind the wheel and take over driving, is certain that this is the worst attempt anyone’s ever made to drive manual, is certain that she’s a lousy driver and that everyone, Bob and the entire on-base population included, knows it. After all, she’s long since lost count of how many times the car has jerked forward and shut off, has lost count of the number of times she’s sworn out loud every time she’s slammed them back in their seats. Bob’s car has to be the damn finickiest piece of machinery she’s ever sat behind, but good god, it REALLY doesn’t help that she can’t get her shit together and just drive the car. She’s making an ass of herself and at this point, she’s waiting, waiting, waiting for Bob (Christ, practically begging him in her head) to just heave a sigh and tell her to stop. 

But he doesn’t. Quite the opposite. He sits calmly in the passenger seat, bears each violent jolt and jerk with an understanding smile, tells Katie that she’s doing great in a way that makes her stomach flutter and her cheeks threaten to burn crimson. There it is again, that calm, quiet kindness of his. It’s like a pressure valve loosening within her.

Katie grits her teeth, pushes onward. Goddamn it, she has to nail this - if not for herself, then for the man sitting beside her. 

And she does. For as awful as it is subjecting him to her inexperience, the numerous attempts and spiteful reattempts do finally pay off. She’s not perfect, but she does manage two laps around base without stalling or any significant lurching.  And that? That is a victory she’ll take.  

Hours later, it’s closing in on 8 p.m. and the two of them are occupying their usual corner of the Hard Deck, accompanied tonight by Fanboy, Halfpint, and a rather hefty pitcher of Coors (at Katie’s insistence because, even with her earlier success behind the wheel of Bob’s car, holy Christ, does she need a drink). 

“So what’s this I hear about you learning stick with Bobber earlier?” Fanboy asks as he’s pouring himself a glass. 

It takes all of Katie’s strength not to roll her eyes at the barely-there sly smirk on his face. Still trying to imply shit. Of course he is. 

“It was more putting the theory into practice, but yeah,” Katie shrugs, just as a wince flashes across her face. “Pretty sure I tortured Bob’s car doing it, but I guess it all worked out.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. Did a couple laps around base with little issue, so I’d say I did pretty good.”

“Sheesh,” Fanboy says with a whistle, “maybe I’ll let you start driving my car when we get back to Virginia-”

“Nah, I had my fill driving Bob’s today; I think I’m good for, like, the rest of my life.” 

“Wise choice,” Halfpint mutters around the lip of his beer glass. “Trust me, you don’t wanna get behind the wheel of that thing.”

“Bro, why you gotta be like that?”

“Because your car’s a death trap and the last thing you wanna do is put a newly-minted manual driver in it!”

“Oh my god, it’s not that bad.”

“What do you drive, Fanboy?” Bob asks. 

“An ‘09 370Z.”

“What, like a Nissan?”

“Yeah.” 

“It’s a shitbox,” Halfpint cuts in, much to the annoyance of his WSO, who throws his arms up in exasperation. 

“It is not a shitbox! It gets from point A to point B with no issue, and it sounds cool doing it!”

Halfpint snorts. Loudly. “My dude, you put more emphasis on that trash can exhaust mod than on, like, anything else in that car - y’know, like safety, or what actually makes the car run.”

“Oh what the fuck would you know, huh?”

“More than you, apparently.”

“First of all, if I’m gonna go anytime soon, then it’s gonna be in a blaze of glory. Second, bitch, have you heard my car? If it don’t sound like I have a hive full of angry fuckin’ bees under the hood, then it’s not a proper tuner!”

“Well if you’re going for loud, then you’ve definitely got that down, because Jesus… You’re worse than the fuckers who blast down the highway at two in the morning.”

“Well” - Fanboy swills the last of his beer and clanks the glass down hard on the tabletop - “I’m clearly being attacked here, so I’m just gonna go home now.” He stands up, and makes like he’s actually going to walk out and head out, but allows himself to be swung back to the table by Katie, who loops an arm through his with a laugh and a promise not to bully him anymore. 

“We’re literally just giving you shit. Promise we’ll stop.”

“Yeah girl, you better,” Fanboy scoffs. “I know where you work.”

“Yeah, I know where you work too, dumdum,” Katie shoots back with a roll of her eyes. “Enough about shitboxes though - how was y’all’s weekend?”

“Couldn’t tell you a damn thing about Halfpint’s weekend, but mine was pretty good - hit up Coronado Beach yesterday, then spent the rest of it catching up on Demon Slayer and Jujutsu Kaisen-”

“Nerrrrrrrd-”

“Fuck off, Kozer! At least I left my room this weekend!”

As the pilot and his WSO launch into another spat of arguing and name-calling, Katie leans over towards Bob. “I swear, it’s like hanging out with a married couple with these two,” she murmurs to him around a sip of beer.

“Tell me about it… Do we break ‘em up or let ‘em keep going?” 

“Eh,” Katie shrugs, “let ‘em bitch. Think they’ll notice if we drink all the beer?”

“Dunno. Let’s find out.”

Katie merely clinks her glass with Bob’s, then swills down the remains of her drink and pours a fresh one. To no one’s surprise, neither Fanboy nor Halfpint notice their classmates quietly kill the pitcher of Coors between them. When Bob orders them a second pitcher, it’s much of the same: more drinking, more people watching, more quiet laughing. For a Sunday evening, it’s a good way to pass the time. 

Eventually, things wind down for the night. When the Hard Deck closes things down at 10, the two of them are among the last to leave. Fanboy and Halfpint have long since headed back to the Navy Lodge, and there are maybe four other patrons occupying the bar with them, all paying their tabs and shuffling off to their cars or loping their way back to their quarters. Despite Bob’s protesting, Katie pays for the pitchers. 

“Gotta let me pay for something sometime, Bob,” she says with a wink as she’s scribbling her signature on the receipt.

“Do you realize I have a Georgia-based mother to deal with?” Bob groans (albeit jokingly). “She’d kick my ass if she found out I didn’t pay for a lady.” 

“Well, guess it’s a good thing you’re all the way on the other side of the country in California,” she grins. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.” 

“You wanna drive or do you want me to drive?” 

“Oh dude, that’s all you. I put you and your car through enough today.” 

“You sure?”

Katie nods with a tight smile. “Oh yeah.”

They push through the front doors into the warm, salt-tinged air of the night, chatting casually amongst themselves, ready to end the evening with a nice, easy drive home...

“Hey, you’re gorgeous.” 

Katie whips her head around to the source of the comment, and finds herself looking at a man propped up against one side of the walkway railing. Judging by the way his words slur, he’s drunk - very drunk. Katie pays him no mind, continues on her way to the parking lot with Bob.

“Damn, I give you a compliment and you can’t even be bothered to say ‘thank you’? Th’ fuck’s amatter with ya?” 

Oh Christ, I SO don’t need this right now - “Well,” Katie huffs as she turns on one heel to face the guy, “I’m a little hard-pressed to when I don’t even know you.” 

“Oh. Well, that’s easy to fix.” He pushes himself away from his spot on the railing, stumbles over to Katie, body lurching to a stop when their chests are practically touching. Only they aren’t. Katie’s eye-level with his collarbone, and the realization of this twists her stomach. This guy is a fucking giant compared to her, and something tells her he knows it and is using it to his advantage. 

Shit. She already doesn’t like how this is going.

“Gimme your number and we’ll get to know each other better sometime.” 

She tries to play things cool, plays the noncommittal angle. “Maybe,” she sighs. “They keep us pretty busy at TOPGUN. Doubt I’ll have time to get away from all that-” 

“Oh, you’re one of those snobby pilot bitches, aren’t ya?” The guy leans down, leers in her face, sour beer breath curling across her nose. “Think you’re too good for me, huh?” 

“Seriously? You’re the one acting like an asshole and getting all up in my personal space,” Katie bites. 

“Wouldn’t be a problem if you’d just gimme your number - so how ‘bout it?” Inch by inch, he’s moving forward, and inch by inch, Katie’s moving backward, closer and closer to the wood railing behind her, closer and closer to trapping and being trapped. “Make this easy for the both of us, huh?”

“C’mon man, she’s not interested” - Bob makes to step between Katie and the nameless guy harassing her - “leave her alone-”

It’s like Bob’s not even there. The guy shoulder checks him out of the way and continues on with Katie as if nothing happened. Undeterred, Bob makes another attempt to shield her - and is shoved off with a laugh and a ‘get lost bitch’. 

Katie’s vision immediately goes red. Enough of this. It’s bad enough that this guy’s harassing her - but putting hands on her friend and calling him names? Absolutely not. 

“You want my number? Here.” She snatches the guy’s phone out of his hand, punches in a series of numbers, and all but throws it back at him. “There’s my number. Now can you leave me the fuck alone?” 

“All right, all right, damn, don’t need to be a bitch about it! I’ll hit you up later, yeah?”

In your dreams, asshole- “Yeah, I’m sure you will,” Katie mutters before taking Bob’s hand and leading him down the ramp to the parking lot. She doesn’t even care that she’s being rude or putting herself in a risky position anymore; she just wants to leave and never see this asshole again. 

“Better be ready for me when I do!”

Katie doesn’t even dignify that with a response - just stomps off for the car with Bob in tow. She’s fairly certain that if she did, it would be an aggressively physical one - and she definitely doesn’t need the kind of trouble that would bring. Neither of them do.

The instant they’re out of earshot, Bob’s got an arm around her shoulders and he’s pulling her tight to his frame, sheltering her from the two pricks they’re fast leaving behind. Were this a normal situation, Katie would be a blushing mess right now, but after the last five minutes, she’s too rattled and on-edge to be flustered. She wordlessly accepts the pull into him, snakes her own arm around his waist - and he jumps, just the tiniest bit. He must not have been expecting reciprocation from her. No matter.

His voice is soft, low. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine… Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine…” He pauses, purses his lips. “Please tell me you didn’t actually give that guy your phone number.”

“Wha- no. I gave him a bunch of randoms. I don’t even know if what I gave him is a phone number.”

“Good…”

“Believe me, I want nothing to do with that asshole.” 

“Yeah, neither do I.”

Bob says nothing else beyond that. At least, he doesn’t at first. He’s far too focused on putting distance between them and the harasser - but it’s clear that he’s got something on his mind, something to say. 

“...Bob?”

No response. Just step, after step, after silent step.

“C’mon Bob, talk to me.” 

Still no response. Step, after step, after silent step. Katie exhales in disappointment and goes to drop the subject, but before she can, he speaks. 

“That’s why my callsign’s Bob.”

“…What?”

“You asked me three weeks ago why my callsign’s my first name. That’s why.”

There’s no missing the hard edge in Bob’s voice. He’s angry - a rare thing, given his usually easygoing, soft spoken disposition. It’s not just in his voice, though. It’s in the way he stares straight forward, even when he’s speaking directly to Katie; it’s in the stiffness of his walking; it’s in the tautness of his arm around her shoulders. This is a full-body, full-brunt feeling - and quite honestly, it unsettles Katie. 

“Wait, hold on-” She steals a quick glance over her shoulder, turns back and looks up at Bob as she juts a thumb back. “What does he have to do with it?” 

“It’s guys like him,” Bob replies stiffly.

Katie’s brow furrows but she says nothing. She’s not entirely sure where he could be going with this, but she’s not so sure she wants to find out - or, rather, that she should be finding out.

“All my life, I’ve been pushed around and counted out by guys like that. It happened every three, four years when dad would haul us with him to a new duty station; it happened when he retired and we settled in Georgia; it happened when I went to college.” He pauses, inhales deeply through his nose, presses on. “I joined the Navy because I thought things would be different - y’know, that I’d get to prove myself and show people I’m someone to be taken seriously. You know what it actually was? Same shit. More pushing around, more laughing, and more forgetting.”

“Bob-”

“Guys like that who look at me and don’t think I’m even worth the dirt on their boots, much less their time and consideration? They’re everywhere in the Navy, but I picked the one community that’s absolutely infested with them.” He barks out a laugh, a mirthless one. “God, what was I thinking?”

“You were thinking you were gonna end that cycle of bullshit.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t. I tried to, but… Nope. I wound up being an afterthought all through OCS and primary flight training. I didn’t even get a callsign until well over six months at Lemoore, and when I did, it was a matter of ‘who are you and why don’t you have a callsign? I guess it can be Bob, whatever.’” When Katie looks up at him again, Bob’s gaze is glazed over, distant - and while the rest of his face is smooth and neutral, there’s no missing the shame, resentment, and hurt in his eyes. “They gave me that name because I’m forgettable and don’t mean much. And… And what you saw just now proved what I am and what people think of me.”

Oh, Bob.

Katie’s throat closes and she thinks she might actually start crying. So that’s why Bob never told her. That’s why he’s kept that story so close and tight to him. And it makes perfect sense, but god, if it doesn’t rip her heart into little pieces. 

“Do you really think that?” she asks him quietly. 

Bob sighs, shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what everyone else thinks.”

In an instant, the hurt and sadness is replaced with anger of her own, a burning, snarling anger. 

The words that come out of Katie’s mouth bite the air around them. “Fuck them,” she spits. “Fuck all of them. They don’t know a damn thing about you. And for the record, I don’t think that about you.”

“Katie, you don’t have to-”

“No, lemme finish.” She shushes Bob with a single pointed glance. “You’re genuinely one of the nicest, smartest, coolest guys I know, not to mention you’re pretty terrifying in a Super Hornet. I think you’re fucking incredible, okay? I could never forget about you - and quite frankly, I don’t wanna forget about you.” 

Bob is silent, staring at her with a gleam of awe in his eyes. One would think he’s never heard reassurance like this before; judging by the way he was talking earlier, he hasn’t. Well, enough of that. He deserves better and Katie knows it. 

“Seriously, fuck that guy back there, and people like him. I doubt you’ll ever run into him again, but even if you did, he doesn’t matter in the long run, and neither does his opinion of you.”

“I know. Just…” Bob exhales, long and exhausted. “I’m tired, Katie. I’m so tired of it.” 

“I know you are, and I’m sorry that you’ve had to put up with that shit for so long.” She’d give anything to reach over and just wipe away the tired, defeated look on his face. She hates seeing him look like that. 

“Gonna have to put up with it as long as I’m in the Navy…” The look lingers for one second more, then in an instant it’s gone, replaced with one of resolve, of steel. “You’re right, though. He doesn’t matter.”

“No, he doesn’t - and I’ll tell you what, if that guy had put his hands on you one more time, I would’ve turned around and decked him.”

“…Really?”

Katie nods. “Really. You matter more to me than he does.” Her cheeks are burning bright and she’s certain that Bob can see it, but she doesn’t care. It needs to be said. 

When Bob speaks again, his voice is soft, softer than anything it’s been in the last five minutes, so soft that she has to strain to hear him - but she does, and oh. 

“You matter to me too, y’know. A lot.” 

It’s no different than what she just said to him a moment ago, but coming from him this time around? It hits differently. There’s something there, something peculiar, something hanging between the two of them; Katie can feel it. She’s certainly not one to read too much into situations or energy, but there’s no ignoring the something between them, not after the last few weeks. Hell, the last 24 hours. She can’t. 

And, with one look into the cerulean blue eyes walking beside her, Katie is certain that Bob can’t, either. 

“C’mon, let’s go home.”

And off they go, Bob’s arm around Katie’s shoulders, her arm around his waist, their steps synched with the other’s…

And god, if it isn’t the most natural feeling in the world. 

It almost feels like home.

@thestagsheadsblog @everything-i-love-in-life @luckyladycreator2 @docdetective

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Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

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Every third week in March, fourth year medical students find out where they'll be going for their residency. A quick 2.2K word one-shot of Jake's girlfriend going through that process.

we can't be friends (but i'd like to just pretend) (Jake Seresin x unnamed Reader [Ladybug] one shot)

Jake's not entirely sure how the bet came about other than being too drunk and maybe a little bored at the Fourth of July party. But after shaking on it with Yale, he agrees to help the new WSO - Ladybug - out with her crush on Rooster and figure out how to get the two of them to the Navy Ball together. With four months to get it done, it'll be simple. But when the reserved aviator is harder to get to know than expected, Jake has to push her to get out of her own way.

Two Lines (Jake Seresin x Reader one shot)

The last thing Jake expected to see first thing in the morning was a pregnancy test in the trash can. And he definitely didn’t expect a debate with his wife about what those two lines meant. 

Robert 'Bob' Floyd

(Every Step You Take) I'll Be Watching You (Bob Floyd x Reader one shot)

Bob disliked Friday team nights at The Hard Deck but knows they're important to the squad. That is, he disliked them until Penny hires a new summer bartender who gently pushes him to try new things. But when he comes in to find the police asking for her, the last thing he expected was to find himself protecting Evie. Trigger warnings: stalking, attempted assault. (Bob x Reader [Evie], no physical description)

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Santa's North Island Delivery Service (Bradley Bradshaw x Reader one shot)

Stuck at work, Bradley is missing his daughter's first Christmas Eve. But when the squadron decides to turn the hanger into Santa's Workshop, the pilot is able to sneak away to spend a little time with his girls. (Inspired by a true story; Rooster x Reader Christmas fluff)

Wanna Dance with Somebody (Bradley Bradshaw x Reader one shot)

When his girlfriend of three months ditches a night at the Hard Deck after a rough day, Bradley knows just what to do to cheer her up.

[topguncortez]

The Origin of Honeybee

pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader (OC: Bea Clark) word count: 3.5k warnings: angsty, smutty, language, teen pregnancy, religious trauma themes Bob & Bea Masterlist | Opposites Attract Masterlist

It was a fairy tale love story. The two high school sweethearts who were never seen apart. But, it had started before that fateful day in junior year when Bob found the bravery to ask you out officially. He knew you were going to be his from the first day you walked into his father’s 5th grade classroom. You had started the school year late, beginning in October. Your mom had taken over for a teacher who decided to quit during the school year. Mr. Floyd had introduced you to his class, and Bob couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

You were mesmerizing, your eyes hidden behind a pair of blue glasses, your hair in pigtails which you had fought your mom on saying that they made you seem too little kiddish, and the most noticeable, a bright pink cast on your right arm. You had taken the only open seat, right next to Bob, by his father’s desk. You two didn’t say anything, paying attention to the math lesson his dad was teaching. It wasn’t until you went to lunch, you sat at the only empty table, opening your purple lunch box and pulling out the PB&J your dad had packed. Bob walked over to you, you looked up at him,

“Can I sit with you?” He asked shyly and you nodded. He sat across from you, opening his Superman lunch box. The two of you sat in silence for a couple moments, eating your home lunches until Bob spoke up. 

“I’m Bobby,” Bob introduced himself softly.

“Beatrice, but everyone calls me Bea,” You said.

“What happened to your arm?” He asked.

“Fell off a four wheeler at my grandma’s house,” You said wiggling your fingers, “They had to put a metal rod in,”

“Are you serious?” Bob asked, his blue eyes wide. 

“So serious,” You said with a smile. The two of you didn’t separate for the rest of the day, getting to know one another. At the end of the day, Bob walked over to you, he didn’t say anything but held up a black magic marker. You nodded and held out your casted arm, and in very scribbly handwriting Bob wrote his name.

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — — 

It was from that point on, the two of you were inseparable. No one ever saw Bob without Bea, and vice versa. They had moved on from playdates after school, to begging parents and older siblings to take them to the roller rink, to sneaking sips of alcohol at Bob’s older brother Ben’s legendary bon fires. You were lucky to have someone by your side to battle that awkward first of high school, where everyone was starting to change, but they never seemed to change. The only change was that Bob’s father had died your freshman year. You sat by his side the whole time during the funeral, holding his hand and occasionally wiping a tear from his face. 

“Have you been asked to homecoming?” Ben asked you, as he sat on the couch in the Floyd family basement. 

You shrugged, you were shy, no one had noticed you outside of your friends. You had gotten braces over the summer, and were constantly checking the wires on your teeth in the screen of your phone. You had also started the joyous life of being a woman. Puberty had hit both you and Bob. You guys had now started to move into that awkward phase of life, where you were trying to figure out what was happening and if you found someone else attractive or if it was just the newly released hormones.

“Well since it’s your first homecoming, I’ll take you. . . and Bob.” Ben said and glared at his younger brother who was setting up his model train set. 

Bob was thankful that Ben had asked you to go with both of them. It made it easier for him to suppress his feelings a little longer. The only person who he confided in about how he felt was Ben. Bob wasn’t jealous of your relationship with his brother, your and Ben’s relationship was brother-sister. You constantly butt heads but would make up with a joke or buying the other food. Ben had purposely ditched the two of you at Homecoming to dance with Megan Stevens, making you and Bob have to not only talk to each other alone, but dance with each other too.

Freshman year fall faded into the summer, and the boys were busy working on the ranch. You hardly saw the two of them unless you were helping their mother Elizabeth cook dinner, or they needed your help with something. While Bob was sweating in the sun every day, you tried out for the cheer team and made it. You had fallen in love with the varsity quarterback, Logan Brooks, and had decided to join the cheer team. You got your braces off and had figured out a good hair care routine. Your new found confidence was radiant, and the boys could see it.

Much to Bob’s dismay, you had started to slip away from him, spending more time with your new cheer friends and boyfriend. Bob had fought his shyness and stood next to his older brother in the front row of the stands during every football game. Ben knew that Bob didn’t care much about the team, but was there to watch your bright smile as you cheered along the side lines. 

“I don’t even understand football,” Bob said.

“It's easy,” Ben said, explaining the game to him, but Bob absent mindedly nodded along, his eyes looking at you cheering in front of him. 

“If you don’t ask Bea to prom this year, I’m gonna ask her,” Ben said, snapping Bob out of his daze.

“What? Why would you do that? And what makes you think she won’t go with Logan?” Bob said.

“Cause Logan’s eyes aren’t staring at Bea’s ass right now,” Ben said and pointed towards the quarterback, who’s eyes were looking at another girl. 

Bob grimaced and frowned. He saw the way you smiled and hugged Logan’s sweaty frame as he walked off the field after winning. Bob also saw the way Logan was looking at another girl from the other team, as you talked to him about how good he did during the game.

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — — 

“I don’t even know what I did wrong?” You cried, rubbing your nose with a crumbled up Kleenex. Ben was standing in the doorway to his and Bob’s room, as you sat on Bob’s bed. Some sad song was playing on the record player and Bob was handing you more Kleenex. 

Logan had started to be secretive and distant. He was constantly on his phone, hiding it from you. The nicknames and PDA had stopped, and so did most of the daily conversations between the two of you. It wasn’t until you went to deliver him some cookies for his birthday that you had spotted the white BMW in the driveway. He opened the door, shirtless and light bruises covered his abs and collar bone. He didn’t even have to say anything, but you knew. Logan had called out to you as you threw the cookie dish at his car and flipped him off walking away.

“We should go egg his house,” Ben said, “Or go all Carrie Underwood with a Louisville slugger,”

“Ben,” Bob said and shook his head no, “He’s an idiot, honeybee.” The nickname that Elizabeth had given her years ago fell so easily from Bob’s lips, “He didn’t even realize how lucky he was to have you,” You looked up at Bob, those E/C that he had fallen in love with wet with tears. He sat next to you on your bed, his arm thrown around you, while Sam sat in your beanbag chair, “You want to watch a movie?”

“Tommy Boy?” You asked, it was your favorite movie, you could almost quote it word for word.

“Well, thank you both for the invite but I gotta go pick up Olivia for our date,” Ben said, winking at his younger brother. Ben came and kissed your forehead, “It’ll all be okay, Bea. But if you wake up and see my face on the front page for egging or slashing a hole in all four tires, it was for a good cause,”

You laughed at the boy and Bob said goodbye to his brother. You two settled in, watching the movie. At some point in time you had both fallen asleep, but when you woke up, Bob’s arms were wrapped around your waist and your head was on his chest. It was then that you realized that you were falling in love with your best friend.

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — — 

There was an obvious shift between the two of you. Everyone could see it, Bob’s siblings, Ben, your parents, Bob’s mom. It was just a matter of time until you two could see it. You both felt the love you had for each other, but both were too stubborn and scared to act on it. It wasn’t until you brought home another boy that Bob knew his window of opportunity was closing. So while you were walking around, pacing the basement floor ranting about whatever his name was, Bob stood up.

“Bea, he doesn’t deserve you. None of them do,” Bob said, “Does he even know your favorite flower? Or what color do you prefer of your favorite flower?”

“No but-“

“It’s orange roses,” Bob said, “You said you hate the cliche white and red, that you prefer orange but will settle for yellow. You fell in love with them when your grandma accidentally planted an orange rose bush when she got sick with dementia. She tried to dig them up, but your grandpa told her that they were unique and beautiful just like she was. You said that was the moment you believed in true love.”

You looked at Bob, his honey brown eyes staring into yours. Your body moved quicker than your brain, and you grabbed his face, connecting your lips together. He grabbed your hips, pulling you into him as you both melted into the kiss. It was like time stopped, and fireworks exploded behind you.

“Ah!” Ben yelled, opening the basement door, “Mom! It’s happening!” He smiled and ran over to go get his mom, leaving the two teens who now had deep red blushes across their cheeks.

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — — 

You and Bob seemed to be even closer than ever before. Like always, where anyone saw Bob, you were surely to follow. When they told their friends that they had finally started dating, everyone let out a sigh in relief followed by a “finally”. It seemed as though you and Bob were the only ones who were oblivious to the love that you both had for each other. 

Prom was supposed to be the most important night of a young girl's life, but you were absolutely terrified. You had been hyper fixating on your dress and thinking of all the things that can go wrong when you put it on. Your mother did your hair, deciding to curl it and leave it down. Your dress was black, you went for simple (partially because it was what you could afford). Bob was just as nervous as you as he sat on your couch, your dad staring him down. He held onto the plastic box with your corsage with all his might. He was sure that he was sweating through the rental tux. The moment he heard your mother come down the stairs and he stood up, his blue eyes going wide. 

“My god, honeybee,” Bob sighed out and your father glared at him. Bob walked from the couch over to the bottom of the stairs and held his hand out for you. You smiled and took his hand, “You’re gorgeous.” 

“Thank you,” You said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “You clean up nicely.” 

“Oh, Bea, be nice to that boy,” Your mom said, “Get close for pictures!” 

You probably took a thousand pictures in front of your fireplace. Your face was hurting from smiling so much. Bob had spent all morning cleaning his truck so you didn’t get your dress dirty. He helped you get into the old Ford, making sure that no part of the dress would get stuck in the door. Your mom smiled fondly at the two of you as you drove off. 

“They’re going to get married someday,” Your dad muttered and looked at his wife, “He looks at her the way I look at you.” 

“I know,” Your mom said and kissed her husband. 

You and Bob danced until your feet hurt and he ended up carrying you in his arms back to his truck at the end of the night. There was too much excitement in the air to just go home and go to sleep, so instead, Bob drove you out to the old Oak tree in the middle of his family’s ranch. The night was clear and you could see all of the stars from where you laid in the back of his truck. He put a blanket down so you wouldn’t dirty your dress and you would be somewhat comfortable. 

Though stargazing only lasted so long, and soon enough you were in a heated make out session in the back of Bob’s truck. His hands were grazing all over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Your hands tugged on his long locks, his curls curling a bit under his ears. You loved his longer hair, you thought it made him look perfectly older. 

“Bob,” You moaned as he kissed your neck. 

“Yeah?” He asked, grinding his hips into yours. 

“Make me yours,” You said barely above a whisper. Bob pulled away from you and looked at you. 

“Are-are you sure?” He asked, caressing your cheek, “We don’t have to do anything just cause it’s prom night. Hell, that’s such a dumb-” You cut him off by kissing him. 

“Bobby,” You said, holding his jaw with your hand, “Make me yours.” 

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, honeybee,” Bob said, his voice a bit raspy as he leaned back in and kissed you. You guys fell into a frenzy of roaming hands and kisses, stripping each other of your clothes. You guys looked at each other, having to see each other naked and being intimate for the first time. You laid under Bob, eyes roaming all over his body, “You are even more perfect than I imagined,”

“You imagined me?” You smirked and Bob blushed.

“Once or twice,” He said and leaned in to kiss you, “Do you want to do this?” He asked you again, his blue eyes full of love.

“Make me yours, Bobby.”

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — — 

You had been sicker than a dog for nearly three weeks. Bob was starting to worry when you missed yet another day of school, but you were just too weak to even climb out of bed. He had gathered your homework and planned on stopping by to give it to you after school. But the frantic text from you had him rushing into the parking lot and speeding to get to you. 

You were sitting on the couch in tears when he arrived, your mother and father sitting across from you. Bob felt like he just walked into the middle of an intervention, the air was thick with tension. He called out for you, but you shook your head and your father stood up from his chair. 

“Robert Floyd,” Your father’s voice was gruff and all Bob could do was nod, “You got my little girl pregnant?” Bob’s head snapped to you and you seemed to be crying harder than before. 

“I’m so sorry,” You cried and Bob looked back at your dad and nodded. Your mom let out a gasp and left the room quickly, not being able to look at you any longer. 

Your father ran a hand down his face and then put his hands on his hips. His eyes looked at you, “Get out of my house, Beatrice.” 

“Daddy,” You stood up from the couch.

“Wait, Mr. Clark-” 

“You disobeyed the bible!” Your father’s voice was loud and rattled you to your core. Bob watched as you began shaking like a leaf in the wind, “I will not have a sinner and a bastard child under my roof! Look what you did to your mother!” Your dad pointed to the direction your mother went crying, “Gather your things, and get out of my house.” 

Your father stormed out of the room, leaving you and Bob alone. Bob quickly rushed to your side and wrapped you up in his arms. You held onto him tightly, afraid he might disappear on you. Sobs racked your body as Bob tried to shush your tears. 

“Shh, honeybee, breathe,” Bob said, rubbing your back. He couldn’t help the tears welling up in his eyes at the sound of your cries. He wasn’t 100% sure what was going on other than the fact that you were possibly pregnant and your parents had just kicked you out. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” You said and Bob pulled back from you. He gently held your face in his hands and wiped your tears away with his thumb, “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Bobby, you have to believe-” 

“I’m not blaming you for anything,” Bob shook his head, “Is what your dad said true? You’re pregnant?” 

You nodded and sniffled, “I haven’t been feeling good for weeks, and I missed my period. I drove to Davis to the drug store and got a pregnancy test and it came back positive. I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, quit apologizing, alright,” Bob said and kissed your forehead, “We’re gonna get through this, together. I’m not leaving you.” 

“What about the Navy? Bob, you have been dreaming of that since you were a kid.” One of  the first things Bob had told you back in the fifth grade, while you dangling upside down from the monkey bars was that he wanted to join the Navy. His dad had been in for a couple years to pay off his student debt, and he loved it. Bob had grown up watching air shows in Virginia beach during the Fourth of July. 

“I’ll figure it out. Whatever you want,” Bob said, and took both your hands in his, “You and this baby are my future, okay,” You nodded and bit your lip as brand new tears threatened to spill. 

“I have no place to go,” You cried and Bob shook his head. 

“Yes you do,” He said, “What do you need? I’ll go get it.” You rattled off a couple items that you can think of off the top of your head and Bob ran up to your room and packed you a bag. Your parents were hiding in the kitchen, far away from you and Bob. They must’ve really been ashamed of you if they couldn’t even say anything as Bob guided you out to his truck. 

The ride to the Floyd ranch was painfully silent. You looked out the window the whole time, resting your hand on your stomach. Bob would steal glances over at you every once in a while. You had stopped crying which was a plus, but your cheeks and nose were still red. When you pulled up in front of the old farmhouse, Bob jogged around to your side of the truck and helped you out. He held your hand the whole time as you walked into the house, the smell of dinner hitting both of your noses. You both could hear Elizabeth Floyd yelling at her younger kids, and the squeals of children running around. 

“Allison Floyd, if you don’t stop messing with your sister!” Elizabeth’s voice was firm as you and Bob walked into the kitchen. She took one look at you and knew what was going on. Call it a mother’s intuition. 

“She needs a place to stay. . . for a while,” Bob said and Elizabeth nodded. 

“You can take Benny’s room down in the basement,” Elizabeth said. You nodded and took your bag from Bob’s hands and made your way down to the familiar room that the eldest Floyd child once inhabited. When you were out of ear shot, Elizabeth looked at her son, “Her parents found out?” 

“Yeah,” Bob said, placing his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, “Kicked her out. I didn’t even know until I got there”

“And what are you gonna do? You gonna step up?” 

Bob nodded, “Of course. That’s my baby. I’m not gonna leave her high and dry. I’ll do whatever she wants to do.” 

“You better not, Robert Floyd. I raised you better than that. Now,” Elizabeth said and walked over to the pantry. Bob watched her a bit confused until she walked out with a sleeve of saltine crackers and a ginger ale, “Go give these to her. Poor girl looks like she hasn’t kept anything down in days.” 

Bob nodded again and took the items from his mom’s hands, “How did you know?”  

Elizabeth sighed, “Cause I had that same look on my face when we told your grandparents I was pregnant with Ben. Now go on, no time for questions.” 

“Thank you,” Bob said and went downstairs to find you.

[roosterbruiser]

𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 ☾☽ 𝐂𝐡. 𝐗𝐈𝐈

☾☽ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐚𝐲𝐞 "𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫" 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫

☾☽ 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: It’s been almost three years since the accident that took half of her, and Faye “Clover” Ledger seems fine, really. She loves her old house, she has a perpetually expanding vinyl collection, she’s got a job she likes on base, and she is only a short drive from the beach. She’s grounded--literally. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw feels like he’s been homesick his entire life. He’s always on the move;  jumping from one squadron to another, living one mission to the next. Somewhere in between losing both his parents and carving a successful career as a Naval aviator, he’s never found himself a home. When a call to serve on a high-priority mission with an elite squadron brings Rooster back to Miramar, he finds that home. Except it’s not a house that he finds--it’s the former backseater that observes and records the mission for the Official Navy Record. 

☾☽ 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟐𝟗𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗

The morning feels short. From the moment Rooster and I are awake we are helping each other: kissing each other’s closed lips and pulling the other out of bed, brushing out teeth at the same time but taking turns spitting into the basin. 

I dress myself in the dark, slipping into a cold pair of slacks and a cotton shirt that will hardly touch my skin--it’s supposed to be a scorcher today. And I leave Rooster in the bedroom, belting his pants, to start the coffee maker. It all feels very routine, very easy. 

He pours the coffee and I feed Stevie. The house was very dark, very quiet. 

In the foyer, as I am slipping into my block-heeled mules, Rooster leans against the doorway and watches me. His eyes are gleaming in the morning light, which is only just bright enough for us to see each other. His mouth is pink and clean and smooth. 

“What?” I whisper to him.

He exhales softly--his cotton tee ripples with his breath. He pulls his eyebrows together as he watches me, shaking his head just slightly. 

“I’m still sorry,” he says and his voice is not shy and quiet--it is clear and steady, “that I froze. That I didn’t know what to do.”

 He says this like I haven’t already forgiven every single bit of him--like we didn’t sleep in the same bed last night, like he didn’t wake me up by pressing kisses against my throat and slamming his hand down on my alarm. He says this like we did not shower together last night, holding each other under a stream of boiling water. He says this like he hasn’t already said it before. 

“Bob handled it,” I say, just as clear and steady, except I’m smiling just slightly. 

His eyes fall from mine to the middle of my chest. He stares there for a long moment, still just slightly shaking his head, his eyes untrained.

“You would’ve said something if it was me he was pounding into,” he says, pulling his arms to cross over his chest. 

I think of when Hangman brought up Goose--when they almost fought, when Hangman stalked out like a tomcat and had the audacity to wink at me. But I say nothing to Rooster. He is still staring at my chest, right where my heart is beating, when I cross the small space between us. Tenderly, I put my hands on his cheeks and hold him for a moment. I savor it--savor his warmth beneath me.  

“C’mon,” I whisper, smiling, “it’s take-your-girlfriend-to-work day. Can’t be late.” 

And then he brings his eyes to mine and a smile is dominating his face, eating his pretty pink mouth. I smooth my thumbs over his mustache and grow woozy just feeling it under the pads of my fingers. 

“Girlfriend, huh?” 

I bite my lip, nodding, pretending like my heart isn’t about to fall out of my body. 

“Maybe,” I say, still smiling, “unless you’ve had a change of heart--ow!”

He releases the skin of my hip from between his two fingers and now we’re both laughing, my mouth held open in mock-astoundment. He smooths his hand over my hip where he pinched even though he didn’t truly hurt me, would never, could never. 

My heart pulses because we have these things between us that are only ours. He pinches when I tease, I kiss his palms when he’s sweet, he smoothes the crease between my brows when I’m thinking too hard, and I take little pieces of his anger when his arms are full. Yes, these are only ours, him and mine. It makes my chest ache with want to be able to share these things with someone again, these small little actions that feel so minute and so gargantuan at the same time. 

“Kiss me, baby,” he says, crooning. 

And when we do kiss, he holds my body close to his, presses every one of my hills against every one of his valleys. I am throbbing entirely, tangling my hands in the ungelled parts of his hair, pouring every ounce of affection into his mouth and out of mine.

When he pulls back, still pressed tightly against me, he looks down at me with that silly loved-up expression that makes my knees weak. He pushes my hair behind my ears, kisses both of my temples. 

“Ohhh,” he sighs, still crooning just a little bit in that knucklehead way, “that feels good.”

It makes my chest tingle. Even in the darkness, even that early in the morning, he is so hauntingly beautiful. He was like a statue, standing tall and proud and broad, right here in my entryway. Something that could hold my coat at the end of a long day, but also something I want to see every time I come in and out of that door.

“That might’ve been a dealbreaker for me--hey!”

Then he’s all over me, pinching my hips and grabbing my arms and kissing my face. It’s good--just thoroughly, intrinsically good. We could stay right here and be good forever. 

The rising sun is lemon yellow, feeble and pale, against the cornflower-blue sky. It is a cloudless day and I sit in the middle of the bench on our first drive to work together, in the same car. 

And when we walk into the building together, our skin goosing under the fluorescents because of the frigid air conditioning, we have one more moment of aloneness before the building becomes crowded. I am holding the leather strap on my shoulder, biting a grin, and he has his hands on his hips. It is the moment right before I go left and he goes right. 

“See you in there,” I smile. 

He nods. I know he wants to kiss me again. 

“Looking forward to it,” he returns, pretending to be all sorts of casual, his jaw flexed, his eyes fixed on mine, “Lieutenant Ledger.” 

It is quiet when I walk into the lounge after lunch. The country radio station Hangman always tunes into is playing very lowly on the portable radio beside him, on the couch where he’s lounging. It’s playing so lowly that I can’t even make out what song is on, even as I set my bag down on one of the counters. The oscillating fan is on and whirring discreetly in the corner, sending sporadic wafts of cool air around the stuffy room. The sun is pouring in, golden as ever before, shimmering against the bleached tiles. 

My heels are the loudest sound in the room--maybe even the entire hallway.

Hangman glances up through his lashes at first--and I know it’s because he wants to make sure whoever just came in is worth turning his face for--then turns slightly on the couch to behold me unloading my bag. His face is still one of the most handsome ones I’ve ever seen--smooth and tan, but with just enough fine lines to make him seem real. His lip, though--his lip is swollen slightly and bruised the color of a pale plum. It’s scabbed over by now, just a line of red where his lip broke. 

Bob really got him good. It makes me want to hug Bob, look at his knuckles again. I’m still in mild disbelief that Bob even knew how to hold his fist, let alone the fact that he sprang into the action so suddenly and completely. Maggie would’ve bought him a beer for what he did to Hangman’s pretty mouth.  

“Clover,” Hangman nods and for once, his voice isn’t dripping with that melodramatic gallant tone. 

He sounds, at least I think, normal.

“Lieutenant,” I greet.

It’s the first time I’ve spoken to him since the bonfire, since he said what he said and did what he did. My voice sounds firm, but not unfriendly.

“No ‘Bagman’?” he asks softly before he sighs, “can’t tell if that’s better or worse.”

Everyone is calling him Bagman again--and they’re not being subtle about it. Politely, I give a single dry chuckle. Just one hah. Just one forceful exhale through my nose. He doesn’t turn away from me, even when I look back to the desk, setting my pens and highlighters beside my dictionary. 

His messages--I still haven’t responded to any of them. After the initial text, the one Rooster read with a sneer, only one more was sent. He didn’t try to call again and leave a voicemail, no, no. Just one more five-word message. 

Do you hate me now?

It was sent after Rooster and I had already showered and gone to bed, when we were already sleeping together, when I was praising a higher power for the hunk of man drooling into my naked neck and being lulled to sleep by his loud, heavy breathing. 

This is to say that it was sent late--too late for someone who has to be on base as early as he does. I imagine that maybe he laid awake and replayed the sequence in his head. Maybe he keeps having nightmares about it. Maybe he keeps thinking back to just one thing, one small part of it. Maybe the small part he incessantly thinks about is the blistering, inadvertent tears on my face when I staunched his wound. Maybe it’s my silence that he thinks about, the way I stared at him doe-eyed and slack-jawed as he mouthed off to me. Maybe, and I think this is the most likely scenario, he keeps finding himself awake thinking about the one moment we shared just before he did what he did; when he didn’t draw attention to me, when there was a secret between us, when he was just watching me and I was just watching him. 

Or maybe his ego is so inflated that he just can’t stand to be hated by anyone. This, though--this feels less likely.  

I know his shoulders are stiff now--I know he’s tense. I wish that I could just turn around and tell him to move on--that there are more important things to focus on other than the shitty things he said to me. It’s true, at least partly. When I think about what he said, or how he looked at me, it makes my throat tighten and alarm bells cry inside my skull. When I think about the pile of empty cans at his feet or the way he leaned forward to come close to me or the way he bit his words at me before I pressed cotton to his lips--it makes me want to draw into myself. 

I am still somehow embarrassed by what he did, what he said. 

“Everyone thinks Hangman’s the asshole,” Bob had told me during our lunch break, “so don’t fret.”

I was eating an apple then, sitting with him in the cafeteria at a table in the corner. We were sitting by ourselves, both of us propping our feet in empty chairs. I was strategically eating half of the apple in hopes he would grade me a granola bar.

I nodded. 

It was so like Bob to find that out, perusing conversations stealthily until he attained the general consensus. It was so like Bob to synthesize the information with his own free will and then relay it to me like it was his genuine job. 

“Doesn’t everyone always think he’s the asshole?” 

Bob, who was finishing his salad, pushed his glasses back up his nose as he eyed me. He chewed for a long moment, narrowing his eyes. Then he pointed his fork at me, swallowing hard. 

“Are you implying that my internal investigation is ineffective, Faye?” 

He’d been nothing short of perfect since the bonfire--validating me but not condescending me. Now he was back to calling me everything else besides Fee--which meant whatever pity he felt for me was dissipating. He was stepping down from his position as surrogate sibling, at least in one small way. He was back to teasing me, chiding with me. 

It made me heave a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.  

Even with my back turned, I know Hangman’s eyes haven’t left my form. I know he’s still watching me. And I can feel it, sense it, when he opens his mouth to say something to me--can feel that little intake of breath and the muscles in his face working to speak.

“Listen, I--!”

That’s when Rooster walks into the room, just as I turn to look at Hangman over my shoulder, at his bobbing Adam’s apple and sweat-spackled forehead. If Rooster heard anything Hangman said when he was walking into the room, he doesn’t show it. 

He’s smiling as soon as he sees me, but in a smaller way now than yesterday. I know the mission is weighing heavy on him, especially today when they are relentlessly running the fruitless simulation. His shoulders are pulled together tightly, just like Hangman’s, but his eyes are soft when he looks at me. 

“Hey, you,” I say softly, smiling, letting my hand rest on the table. 

His smile broadens a hair, just a hair. I think he is just about to reach out for me, just about to push my hair behind my ear or lay his hand over my own, when he suddenly realizes Hangman is in the room. 

I watch it--watch his eyes dart between Hangman and myself, watch the way his smile begins to falter. But then he’s looking at me again. 

“Hey yourself, Ledger,” he sighs, “who’s up?”

“Blue team,” Hangman says before I can, “Coyote, Phoenix, Bob.”

Rooster just nods, not breaking his eyes from mine. Still, I know, Hangman is looking at me, my back turned to him. It makes my throat burn.  

When Rooster is this close to me, I can see the sweat in his pretty hair from where his helmet was secured on his head. I can see how red his cheeks are, how bitten his lips seem. He’s stressed. No doubt about it. It makes me want to kiss his face all over, makes me want to serve him dinner in bed, makes me want to wrap my lips around him.

“Coffee?” Rooster asks. 

He’s close to me now, close enough that I can feel the naked skin of his arms against mine, close enough that my fingertips are tingling and my lungs are shivering and my knees are weakening. I want to touch him always--but especially when we are this close. 

“Yes,” I tell him, my voice thin, “please.”

“I take mine regular,” Hangman calls, smirking. 

Rooster pretends not to hear him, doesn’t even glance in Hangman’s direction. 

He winks at me, flirty and sweet, and lets our arms graze as he walks past me. He doesn’t have to ask me how I take my coffee, doesn’t have to ask how much I want. He throws one more glance at me before he enters the hallway again and I smile my prettiest smile. 

“What were you saying,” I immediately ask once Rooster’s form has disappeared, “before?” 

I don’t even turn around. I don’t know if I can look at him when he’s being sincere. So I make my hands busy with papers and pens and clips and sticky notes, pretend like I can’t feel the intensity of his gaze. 

“I know I’m a dick,” he says, “and I know I’m especially a dick when I drink too much, which I did.”

He sounds genuinely awkward for the first time, his smooth voice suddenly jagged as he navigates pauses and stammers. I still can’t get myself to turn around.

“I went…too far. I know I hurt your feelings,” he sighs. 

I nod. 

“Humiliated me,” I add and my tone is just as thin as before.

He inhales sharply and I think if I was watching him, he would be nodding, his eyes untrained as he stared down at the floor. 

“For what it’s worth,” he adds quietly, softly, “I am sorry.”

I am sorry. 

It almost knocks me off my feet. Hangman is the kind of guy no one has to know very long before they immediately understand that he isn’t a “sorry” kind of guy. It stuns me into complete silence. 

The silence between us swallows him and I let it, try to look busy still, try to look like I’m organizing my things and preparing my setup, preparing to listen to the comms, re-engaging after our lunch break. But I can’t get myself to move. 

“I take it you probably don’t like me very much now,” he adds.

I know then and there that he also isn’t someone who can sit in silence. He squirms in it--it makes him crazy. 

“I never said that,” I say quickly, finally turning so he can see my cheek.

Maybe I mean it, too. Maybe I just can’t help it. Maybe it’s because the man that danced with me at The Hard Deck, the one who was so cocky and sure of himself but still sweet with me, is still inside him somewhere. Maybe it’s because I knew even at the bonfire that he had drank too much--everyone did. Maybe it’s because I want to be punished for what I did and he was my unknowing, unlikely punisher. Or maybe he’s just too pretty to not like. 

He’s just looking at me, his face somehow both anguished and soft. His brows are pulled together and his lips are tightly pressed against another in a straight line. His forehead is lined with worry and so are the crinkled beside his eyes, but his gaze is soft now. 

Maybe he wants to say more. His jaw flexes, he inhales through his nose deeply, but then Rooster walks back into the room with two paper cups of coffee, beaming at me. 

“Thanks,” I say, taking the steaming cup into my palms. 

The heat burns intensely through the paper material--and in some ways, it brings me back to where I am right now: I am at work, in the lounge, and I have a job to complete.

Rooster is searching my face and just his eyes on me make me want to melt into the tiles. I want to lean forward and kiss him on his pretty mouth, on his perfect lips. But I just smile at him, biting my lip. Then I settle into the chair and pick up a pen. 

Hangman abruptly turns his portable radio off--a louder quietness fills the lounge. I can feel Rooster and him looking at each other, can hear the rustling of Hangman standing up and readjusting his uniform. Before I can even take the cap off my pen, before I can really blur them out and listen in on the comms, Rooster falls in place beside me with his cup of sugary coffee and Hangman falls into place a few seats away from me with his hands folded. 

The tension is palpable. Neither men are willing to speak first.

But I am at work--it would be silly for me to engage in whatever conversation is necessary between the pilots. 

“Could you turn the comm up?” Hangman asks.

His voice is still that same soft voice from before--the one that seems achingly normal.

Without looking between the two of them, I turn the dial on the radio and begin transcribing. Their eyes are burning holes into both sides of my face--both my cheeks are flushed and I can feel the blood spreading to my neck and chest. 

“Is it hot in here?” Hangman asks. 

I say nothing--wish the world would gobble me up. 

 ☾ ☽

There is a water spot on the drop ceiling, brown and big and ugly.  

I am sitting here in the waiting room of the closest hospital to base and I know that it is warm in here. I know that it is crowded with crying babies and crying mothers and whining children and bleeding men and pregnant teenagers. I know that the lights above me are bright white but feel like they’re neon. I know that the air conditioning isn’t working and that the staff is overworked and underpaid. I know that outside the sun is beginning to sink.  

But I can’t get myself to move--can’t adjust, can’t blink, can hardly breathe. And I can’t look away from the ugly, stupid water spot on the ceiling.

Vaguely, I’m aware that Hangman is on one side of me and Rooster is on the other. I know, I think I know, that they are both standing instead of sitting because they gave their seats to an elderly woman and a pregnant woman respectively. 

We listened to the bird strike--the three of us. We all listened to Bob and Phoenix burn in, listened to Maverick direct them to eject. Listened to their voices scream through the comms. 

“We’re going down, Phoenix! We’re going in! We’re going in!”

I don’t know how I did it, but I did not panic at first. I trailed behind Rooster and Hangman as they hurried to Hondo. I think my ears rang from the moment I heard the calls for ejection. And when Rooster and Hangman started for the parking lot, I was right behind them, my vision tunneling. 

Yes, yes, I was watching them in their flight suits and I could see the blue of the sky and feel the heat of the sun--but I was not really there, no. 

I was back up in our jet on that October day, in the endless blue sky, soaring above the snowy terrain of Somewhere, Europe. I was behind my sister, looking at her pink helmet with the scratches on the back. I was turning my cheek and spotting the third dagger. I was watching Maneater switch to guns. I was being pressed against my seat as we bustered. I was pressing the flare-deployment button and nothing was happening. I was listening to my sister call for help, listening to her scream mayday! Mayday! I was pulling my ejection handle, bursting into the sky in tandem with my twin. And then I was watching her die. That’s where I was--from start to finish, from top to bottom--that’s where I really was. Even when I was in the front seat of the Bronco, my hands folded in my lap, my eyes blinking at the road--I wasn’t there. 

I’m still not here. No, not really. 

When Maverick comes down the hallway, when Hangman and Rooster jump forward to speak to him, I don’t think I can move. They’re a million miles away on the other side of the waiting room and I am stuck here, in this stupid little chair, and the pregnant woman beside me is crying. 

Rooster keeps turning to look at me over his shoulder like I’m a toddler bound to wander off--or maybe that’s just how boyfriends are supposed to check in on their shell-shocked girlfriends. I don’t know. 

And very suddenly, all three of the men are looking at me, I can feel it. So I grip the sides of the chair, grip them until my knuckles are as white as rice, and pry myself out of the seated position. Even though I feel like I’m in the endless blue of an October sky, even though I feel like the plane is about to drop out from under me, I square my shoulders and walk in a straight and narrow line to the three of them. 

“Lieutenant Ledger,” Maverick says and his voice sounds so hollow and deep and if Bob is gone I think I will die, just fucking die, and I will wait to do it until I am out of the hospital so they won’t put me on a crash cart and pump my heart and give me oxygen, “they’re going to keep them overnight for observation, but they’re alright. Cuts and bruises.” 

So that’s when I nod solemnly and excuse myself to the restroom.

My vision is tunneling, but I don’t want to touch the walls. Bob’s face, Bob’s sweet and cute and familiar face, is all I can see as I stumble down, down the hallway and into the public restroom. It’s too bright and smelly and pink and ugly in here. It smells like bile and shit and bleach and antiseptic all at once. And it’s much, much quieter here. So quiet that I can faintly hear Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go by Wham! playing over the speakers.  

“Fuck,” I whisper and it really does sound like I am saying it from behind myself, like my body and soul have untethered.

Locking myself in a stall, I don’t even have time to fall to my knees or wipe the yellow piss off the toilet seat before my body is reacting to the porcelain toilet under me. 

The bile is acidic, burns me all the way from deep in my gut to my throat and to my mouth. The bile is somewhere between green and brown--coffee and apple and granola bar--and my belly is quivering inside my body. 

Fuck. What would I do if Bob died? My best friend on this empty fucking planet. The only boy in the class, the only boy in our degree interested in learning about Virginia Woolf. The boy who sang into my mouth, his breath hot and scented like UV Blue, at a fraternity party on a dirty rug in a dirty house. The boy whose hair I would cut in my little galley kitchen, who always wanted to listen to Aretha Franklin and Elton John. The boy who would pick me up at my apartment with an umbrella and walk me to my classes. The boy who loved my sister as much as I did. The boy who turned into a man somewhere between graduating college and living beneath the California sun. The man who asked my sister’s dates for their ID’s, who kept a folder on his phone especially for them. The man who hates dancing but will always dance with me when our song comes on. The man who memorized poetry and never showed it off, never became cocksure about it--just said it quietly in my ear. 

If he died today, if he burned in, he would die with a mangled fist because of me. His body would be stunted, perfectly branded by the one and only time he ever punched someone. And it was because of me.

Him, that boy, that man. 

The world would be mighty empty without him--my life would be hollow, echoey. 

And I’m crying now, crying as puke spews out of my nostrils and I have to cough so I don’t choke, but maybe I’m crying because I couldn’t guard him. My shield, the shield I thought was supposed to protect everyone else I love, was penetrable. I had more faith in the universe, in whatever being is controlling this life, before. I thought that I would get just one really, really bad thing that would happen and the rest of my life would be pulling the shards of it out of my skin. I thought if I loved someone hard enough, deep enough, then the shitty parts of it would reflect off me and onto them like a burning ray of sunshine. I thought my shitty thing would be their shitty thing. I thought, if nothing else, that the people I loved would be safe. So, so safe.  

When my heaving is dry, when my belly is empty, I straighten myself out. I wipe my face in the mirror, pushing the black mascara staining my undereyes off my skin with shaking fingers. My mouth tastes putrid--I know my breath smells too. So I swish soap in my mouth, ignoring the bitterness, and wash myself thoroughly with water. 

I leave the bathroom, one foot in front of the other, and pretend like I am okay. I’m fine. I just feel like I’m going to faint. Hangman is standing against an outdated poster wall and when he sees me, he nods in my direction. A nod that says come here. 

When I’m standing in front of him, he looks down at me, starting to survey my features, but I wipe under my nose and speak before he can say anything. 

“Can I see him?” 

His open mouth closes. He nods. The blue of his eyes deepens as he stares at the white tile below my feet. 

“C’mon,” he offers, “I’ll walk you.” 

I don’t need to ask where Rooster is. His best friend burned in, too. I know exactly where he is, where he should be. And I know why Hangman was waiting for me outside the bathroom. 

“You okay, kid?” 

Kid. He’s never called me this before. I almost have to strain to hear him over the ringing in my ears. 

“Fine,” I say, my throat still burning from the bile. 

“I know we aren’t the best of friends,” he starts and I look around us, at the blue-green curtains and the foggy glass windows and the pale people in dirty beds and the nurses with their tired eyes and I want to cry again, “but if you want to talk…”

He leaves the end of his sentence open, open for me to finish. 

Shaking my head, I look at the floor. Count my steps. One, two. Three, four. My feet fucking hurt. 

“I don’t,” I say. 

And now we are in front of Bob’s hospital room. Hangman lets his head fall when we stand in the threshold, not pushing his luck. He won’t go in. 

It’s a private room, one that is nice and spacious--too nice and too spacious for just one person with some cuts and bruises. Navy perks. It’s still terribly outdated and smells too much like body and antiseptic. There’s steel appliances and beeping machines and blinking screens and sterile sheets and trash cans and moving beds. But there’s a nice, big window beside Bob’s bed. He's watching the sunset from his spot in the middle of his big, big bed.

I come rushing back into my body and it feels like running full force at a brick wall and making it to the other side. The ringing in my ear subsides, the vision that is tunneled broadens until I can even see the view from his window. I can feel my body again, every single part and every single nerve, and it hurts so good. 

“Floyd,” I choke out, putting my hands on my hips. 

Bob snaps his head in my direction. His face looks perfect--unblemished with wounds, no matter how minuscule. Thank fucking God. 

“Faye,” he says and his voice sounds so relieved, so sad. 

Swallowing feels like such a task. Hangman is looking at my face and I’m growing pink. 

“You’re grounded,” I say, pointing at him and I don’t mean to but I’m choked up again, my eyes watery, “forever. For the rest of your life.” 

Softly, I hear Hangman chuckle quietly. Then Hangman nods one time, sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” he mumbles and just before he spins on his heel and starts down the hallway, he glances at Bob, “don’t die on us, Floyd.”  

Bob is shrugging at me, smiling very small, very shyly. 

“You’re the boss,” he says to me, to Hangman. 

Hangman starts down the hallway by himself, his hands in fists by his side. And now I’m walking to him, putting my arms around him, being careful to navigate the IV in his arm, being careful with his body that suddenly feels very small and precious in my arms. 

Stay here. Stay here with me. Don’t move.

He still smells like he just took a shower, still smells like a clean infant. But he also smells like hand sanitizer and sweat and hospital laundry. His hospital shirt is thin and papery against my arms as I hug him to me, as I let my head fall onto his shoulder. 

“Scared me,” I choke, tears rolling down my face, “you asshole.” 

Even though he’s soft under me, I know that his face is becoming wet now, too. I know he was scared. I know that the breath was knocked out of his lungs when he launched out of the burning jet, I know his chest was heavy with the weight of the atmosphere. I know his belly dropped and he felt like he was soaring, falling. I know he thought of me, of Maggie. I know he was worried about Phoenix--I know he shot out first, flying high above the canyon and in those split seconds where he was alone, I know he was worried that he’d left her behind. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry.” 

Maybe he’s saying sorry because he scared me. Maybe he’s saying sorry because he knows that if he died, knows that if he was gone, that I would be thoroughly and completely alone here. 

“Are you okay?” 

I pull back and my nose is running and I can smell the remnants of vomit that came out of my nose but I hold his arms in mine and try to see his body, even if my vision is obscured with fat tears. His hair is messy and I think there’s a cut there, splitting the skin of his scalp, but it’s small and bandaged. His hands are a bit gnarled, I can tell from the amount of bandage on them, but other than that he looks okay. Perfectly okay. 

“I was scared,” he says quietly and that’s when I realize his glasses are bent and sitting lopsided on his pale face, “but I’m okay. I’m good.” 

Chewing my lip, I nod, just watching his sweet face. I told him I would see to it that he is okay. And for some reason, as I watch his eyes land on the spot of vomit on my shirt, I know that I don’t have that ability. I cannot see to anything, not here, not when I’m on the ground. Perpetually below everyone, everything. 

I want to tell him that if I lost him, I wouldn’t be able to move on. But what good would it do? What purpose would it serve? 

So I just hold his face in my hands; my best friend. My hero. I can feel myself frowning.  

“You two did everything right. Everything. You’re the best WSO.”

The earnestness surprises him. His blue eyes glaze with tears and I stroke his cheeks very softly, very sweetly. The fluorescents are burning my skin. 

“Now that you’re grounded I am,” he whispers. 

I can’t help the wet laugh that falls from my mouth. It hurts and it feels so, so good at the same time. Sweet Bob, his face between both my hands. 

“Okay, I’m gonna say it,” I warn him, widening my eyes. 

He nods a few times. 

“I love you, Bob,” I say, shrugging, “just can’t help myself.” 

“Who could?” He asks. 

 ☾ ☽

We meet between Phoenix and Bob’s rooms, in the empty vast hallway that connects them. I am slumped over by now, too tired to straighten my shoulders, my belly very empty and my eyes suddenly too dry. No more tears to cry, no more bile to heave. 

Rooster doesn’t look much better. His hair is falling, his mustache drooping under his frowning lips. His flight suit is unzipped halfway, black t-shirt clinging to his skin. He can’t get himself to perk up either.

“Hey,” I whisper to him, meeting in the middle, face angled towards him, “she okay?” 

His hands very softly find my elbows and he holds them solidly, looking down at me with his brow furrowed deeply. He’s holding himself steady, grounding himself with my weight. It makes me plant my feet more surely on the tile. His eyes are downcast to look at my parted lips, my pale cheeks. 

“She’s fine,” he says, his voice crackly and deep, “Bob?” 

I nod, coming a little bit closer to him, close enough for my folded hands to touch his canvas flightsuit. 

“Fine,” I whisper. 

The intercom over us is mumbling something, there is distant 80s music playing somewhere near the nurse’s station, babies are crying, machines are beeping. And in this quiet, but also not-so-quiet, hallway we just stand there. His hands over my elbows, the backs of my hands pressed against the flat plane of his belly. We are both looking down at the floor, down at our feet.

“I’ll drive you home,” he whispers to me. 

I nod, looking at the stuff on the toe of his laced-up boots. 

“You aren’t staying?” 

I make my voice flat when I say it--can’t possibly give him anymore grief today. He’s been through enough--too much even. I just want to lay him down on my bed and let him sleep. 

He pushes my knotted hair off my shoulders then lets his hands come to my waist. He grips me, holding me tighter but not closer. My eyes flutter shut. His hands feel like bathing in a pool of warm, soapy water. 

“Have to go back to base,” he whispers, “but I’ll come back late tonight. That okay?”

That okay? As if he couldn’t show up on any day, any time and I wouldn’t have a glass of sparkling wine waiting for him. Like there wouldn’t already be cookies in the oven.

“Whatever you want, Bradley,” I whisper and I really mean it--mean it with every piece of myself. 

Finally, he closes the distance between us. When he wraps his arms around me, really wraps his arms around me, everything else melts away like we’ve just stepped into the shower together. All the shit, all the awful. Every single bit of the day washes away.

If only we were together during the worst parts of each other’s lives. If only he was here when I was discharged from the hospital after the accident, when I was wheeled outside the automatic hospital doors without my twin sister and my parents cried in strange silence. If only I was there when his mother passed, holding his hand as he held hers. If only we had stood beside each other at the funerals--then maybe we wouldn’t have been so lost. Then maybe things wouldn’t hurt so wholly. 

But then I jolt, jolt myself back to reality. Because if something bad could happen to Bob, Bob who I’ve known for what feels like my entire life, then something bad could absolutely happen to Rooster, too. And then it wouldn’t matter how lost either of us ever got because it would be over. Then I would be the one alone, standing over the grave, the blank shots of the rifles ringing through the--

Without a single word, Rooster kisses my throat very tenderly. He kisses my four freckles, still doesn’t speak. But it is enough. It is enough right now to keep me here with him. 

Rooster doesn’t release me, his nose finding its way back in my hair. I don’t interrupt him, just stand here, gripping him, digging my nails into his flight suit. Stay here with me, baby.

“Lead the way,” I whisper finally, pretending like I hadn’t just imagined standing over his open grave, pretending like the smile on my lips is really authentic, really me, “tramp.” 

When we walk back through the waiting room, we both see Hangman at the same time. He is leaning against the wall by the exit, his eyes on the floor as he incessantly rubs the scab on his lip. His hair is falling, too, but the most prevalent part of his being that Rooster and I seem to also both notice in tandem are the purple bags under his eyes. 

I think about his message late at night, think about how early he had been on base this morning. And now it’s night time and he is still here in this dingy waiting room. 

“Hangman,” Rooster says softly when we approach him, our hands joined. 

Hangman snaps to attention immediately, hands dropping to his sides, his lip red with irritation. 

He looks at Rooster with his bloodshot eyes widened just slightly--then flickers his eyes to mine. He looks small standing here by himself, like he is our forgotten child. And I wish I could help it, but my heart throbs because I suddenly want to take care of him, too. I want to run him a bath and let him stay in my bathroom for as long as he wants. I want to pour him a glass of wine and let him pick a movie. 

“They’re good?” 

He is looking between us again. I nod sharply. 

“Fine,” I whisper.

His shoulders drop, chest loosens. I wish that my fingers weren’t tingling, wish that my heart was not throbbing, wish my eyes weren’t so glossy right now. Rooster squeezes my hand and I squeeze his, too. I wish I could press my lips against his palm right now, right this moment. But Hangman is looking down at me very seriously, very gravely. 

“Can I walk out with you guys?” 

Then they’re both looking at me, both of them so exhausted, so stressed, so tight. I think about Bob calling me the boss, think about Rooster looking to me for every decision now. So I nod again, biting my lip. 

“Of course you can.” 

So we walk out together, the three of us. Our eyes are half-shut and our walks are stilted by tight joints and even tighter, more stressed muscles. The night is dark and wide and our cars are parked very far away. Fuck, my feet fucking hurt. 

“Hold on,” I mumble to them before we can even get ten feet from the hospital entrance. 

They both pause, looking back at me as I slip my shoes off and fall back onto the earth four inches shorter and a million pounds lighter. I have to smile at them, smile very small. Silently, Rooster reaches out and takes my shoes from me, holding them. It makes my throat tight--makes me think of the suitors that would hold Maggie’s shoes for her when she got tired of wearing them. Oh, Lord. 

“Do you want dinner, Hangman?” I ask. 

Rooster glances at me from the corner of his eye, mouth flat. I squeeze his hand again. It’s okay. It’s fine. And he seems to understand this--understand that I cannot help but forgive. I cannot help but move forward and take care of everyone. I have always had a soft spot for pilots. 

Hangman is pretending like he isn’t shocked. He’s blinking rapidly at the night around us, his hands in his pockets, his spine straightened. 

“That would be nice,” he says tightly, “thank you.”

Rooster drives me home silently, the headlights from Hangman’s purring Jaguar lighting our silhouettes. I am sitting in the middle of the bench, my head on Rooster’s shoulder. He drives with one hand, his legs spread, his arm draped over me and his free hand holding on tight to my arm. 

Going to California by Led Zeppelin is playing now. 

 It is peaceful in here, listening to the cars whizz past us, listening to the radio, feeling the night air leak in through the cracked windows. Life will not be peaceful for a long time after this. No, no. This feels like the last stop in a while. 

And when we pull onto Mulberry Street--the street with the house that I own, the street where my sister used to drive down all the time--he finally speaks. He clears his throat first and I look away from the eucalyptus trees and the purple sage and desert mariposas being illuminated by the Broncos headlights, look up at his serious face and his flexed jaw. He’s watching the road very seriously, his lips parted. 

“I love you,” he says and I hear it clear as day. 

It sounds like being called home when the streetlights turned on. It sounds like the dinner bell is ringing. It feels like my entire body is being dipped in nectar. It sounds perfectly correct. 

His grip on my arm tightens slightly, just enough for me to notice. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the road, doesn’t dare glance at me. He just keeps watching the street before us, keeps waiting for my breathing to even out. 

“I know,” I finally say because I do know, I really do. 

His face slacks, his grip lessens. 

We pull into my driveway as Hangman parks on the sidestreet. And then Rooster looks at me and the motion light above my garage blinks on. We are just sitting, our thighs pressed together, looking at each other in the warm July air. Here we are, at my house, and he is not going to come inside. 

I stroke his cheek, his skin like smooth leather beneath my cold fingers.

“Come back, okay?” 

He nods, mouth flat, eyebrows pulled together. He’s looking at my mouth. 

“Okay,” he whispers.

And we both know what I mean. We both know that I mean tonight--and every single night after. He knows I mean the mission, if he’s chosen. We both know that I mean always. Come back always, okay?

He presses his lips to mine and we kiss softly, tenderly, sweetly.

And then I’m squeezing his knee and climbing out of his car and closing the door and standing there with my leather bag and my heels in my hands and waiting for Hangman to approach me, his hands in his pockets. He falls in-step beside me and we both wave to Rooster, who is watching us with his throat tight. 

We silently watch the Bronco pull out and start down the street, darkness falling over us, Rooster just a dot of cyan in the dark. Crickets are chirping and somewhere distantly, cars roar on the highway and seagulls cry out fleetingly. If we strain and don’t breathe, don’t make a sound, maybe we can hear the tide coming in.

“Do you like prosecco?” I ask, turning to Hangman. 

The motion-sensor light blinks off. 

It’s almost eleven o’clock when I set our bowls in the sink, dirtied with spinach and white-wine and little pieces of spaghetti. I refill our glasses, taking a deep breath alone in my dark kitchen, my cheeks red and my eyes tired. And then I hold them in my hands, push through the kitchen door, and return to the living room. 

Hangman is sitting against the marmalade ottoman, his legs spread open as he twiddles with the fibers in one of the rugs he sits on. He takes the glass from me thankfully, holding it with two hands. 

I go back to the couch, where I lay against its plushness, my feet on the coffee table. The candles are lit and the curtains are drawn. There is a distinct sense that we are both just waiting for Rooster to come back to us, to come home. 

The Rolling Stones’ album Sticky Fingers is spinning. Wild Horses is playing.

We haven’t said much to each other. He sat at my kitchen table while I cooked and was polite when I served him. We ate in almost complete silence, too, and I don’t know if it’s because we are so tired or maybe because the day has been so long. Or maybe we don’t have anything to say to each other. 

It’s only been an hour since Rooster left us here together, only an hour and a half since we left the hospital as a trio. Not very long at all since we came into the living room after dinner. 

In place of words, Hangman has been looking around my house with shining eyes. It’s the same way other people look at my house when they see it for the first time. Filled with so much color, so much exuberance. It is so interesting to see how I live, the researcher who exclusively wears linen earth tones. My home is beautiful, I know this. I know this because it has been built with my hands, with my brain, with my love. It is everything I have ever wanted in a home. 

Finally, he speaks. 

“Your house is nice,” he says quietly. 

I nod, glancing at him on my floor. He’s looking down into his glass. 

“Thank you,” I whisper, “took a long time to get it here.” 

Another beat passes and he sucks in a breath, looking up at me with his tired eyes and his mouth a singular plane on his face. A shadow is beginning to appear on his face--stubble, a very dark blonde. 

“I like you, you know,” he says and it’s not hasty or reckless. He just says it. 

My eyes fall to my glass, too. Fuck. I say nothing. My throat is tight. 

“You’re a good person,” he continues, “like an actual good person--no bullshit.” 

Graceless lady / You know who I am / You know I can't let you / Slide through my hands 

  I take a long, long drink. The bubbles are making my nose tingle. Stevie is sitting on top of the stairs, blinking slowly at Hangman the same way she blinked at Bob. Well, you definitely aren’t Him. 

“Thanks,” I mutter. 

I wish he would stop talking now. My heart is in my throat. But there is also that need to keep him talking, to let him cry on my shoulder, to spill all of his feelings so I can sweep them into a dustpan and keep the floor spick and span. 

“When I say I like you…” he trails off and I let him, blinking at the sofa, measuring my breaths, “but you haven’t thrown me a second glance. I know you only have eyes for Bradshaw.” 

Fuck. Fuck. 

“You two deserve each other,” he says again, “he’s crazy about you.”

My throat aches with a dry laugh. He’s looking at me.

I can’t help it--it’s the prosecco, it’s the image of Bob in a hospital bed, it’s Rooster’s confession in my driveway, it’s the ghost of my sister in the room with us. 

“Why’d you do it?”

I finally turn and look at his face. I can’t stop looking at the spot where his lip is split. His mouth is ajar, his hair is messy. He’s blinking at me, incessantly rubbing his finger around the rim of his glass. He knows what I’m asking. I don’t have to spell it out for him, I don’t have to point at the elephant standing in the corner. He just knows.

“I just told you why,” he says softly, shrugging. His voice is almost a whisper, which is the first time I have heard him speak so quietly. 

He sounds kind when he speaks to me quietly--sounds real and grounded.

Except he’s talking like he just tugged on my pigtails at recess. He’s talking like he just cut in line in the cafeteria and stuck his tongue out at me. He’s talking like he’s a little boy and I’m a little girl and we still abide by the societal rules of the youth. Be mean to girls when you like them. Pick on them. It makes me a little bit sick to my stomach. 

I actually scoff out loud, loud enough to make him blink in surprise. 

“How elementary of you,” I say, taking another long drink. 

He shakes his head, his eyes falling down to the empty space beside me. Don’t fucking sit here. Don’t move. I feel like anything in the world could happen if he moved and sat beside me. We are two people who should not be alone in a room together--two people so exhaustively different, so on two opposite ends of different spectrums. This empty couch around me, this space beside me--it is not for him. 

He doesn't move.   

“Never said I was a complicated guy,” he responds. 

There’s another beat and I can’t stop thinking about the way his entire body softened when I pressed the cotton to his lips, when I was crying and couldn’t help myself, when I felt like I was on fire. 

“But you don’t hate me,” he says before continuing, “you don’t even dislike me.” 

I shake my head, furrowing my eyebrows just slightly. 

“No,” I confirm verbally, rolling my cheek to my shoulder to look at him again. 

He has turned so his entire body faces me. He is still leaning up against the ottoman, his legs splayed before him, his feet slightly obscured by the couch. His face is warm in the candlelight. 

“Why not?” 

Now I blink in surprise. Why not?

“Because then what’s the point?” I say and I mean it, I really do. 

What is my purpose here, on this earth that my sister is buried in, if not to love? What is the point of my own being, my own entire being, if not to forgive and push forward? Who am I if I am not taking care of anyone--of everyone? What is the reason for my existence if not to nurture? 

I can’t say any of this to him, though--this I am crucially, keenly aware of. 

“The point of what?” He presses. 

I gesture to the air around me. 

“Of this,” I chuckle humorlessly, “of anything.”

He slouches back against the ottoman further, his chest sinking. 

“See,” he quietly says, eyes falling to the rugs, “there it is. That goodness.”

I want to roll my eyes. I want my sister to be here beside me to lighten Hangman up. He is so wholly deflated, sitting here in my house with his belly full of my pasta, and I don’t know how to pump all that cocksure air back inside him. 

“I’m not that good of a person,” my voice quivers, “you know that. Everyone does now.”

Even I know that blow is low when I say it. My face is hot. He doesn’t seem fazed. 

“Having a high body count doesn’t make you--!”

He stops talking when he meets my eyes. I can’t help the expression that holds my features--my eyebrows sloped, my mouth pursed, eyes narrowed. It is a mom look--a look of disappointment, a look that says shhh. A look that is still, in its own way, nurturing. 

But as soon as he feels his face flatten, he inflates a bit. He sits up a little straighter, setting his glass on the ground beside him. 

“Okay then,” he says, “I’ll bite. What makes you not that good of a person?”

 I gape at him for a moment, chest flushed. Fucking pilots. 

“Lots of things.” 

My addiction. The booze. Not knowing I was pregnant for fourteen weeks. Not knowing who the father was. Being in rehab on mine and my sister’s 25th birthday. Wanting to die with her in the woods. Wanting to make my parents whatever parents are when they lose all their children. 

“Like?”

 He’s really pressing now. 

I scoff again. 

“Why do you wanna know?” 

My voice is that silly, unintentional bitter voice that I get when I’m upset.

He gestures to me with wide eyes. Oh, right. Because he likes me. It makes me soften, makes me pull my legs into myself.

With my eyes downcast, I pick lint off my pants and say, “What, you want me to talk you out of having a crush on me?”

I don’t look up, but I see his head when it nods one time, just one solid jerk. Fucking Christ. But I am not ready to give him all the parts of myself that I have given Rooster--not ready to let him know me like Bob does 

“Because I’m still messed up after what happened to me,” I say, “and I saw things that nobody else should have to see.” 

He’s staring at me and my throat is raw. I take another drink, my face so hot that it could make a cake bake. 

“Like what?” 

I snap up at that. His face is soft, plain. He isn’t challenging me. He’s inviting me in a strange, strange way. But no. No, no. These things I’ve seen--they will be mine until I die. Because no one needs to know. I will put her to bed, let her rest, in that small way. No one needs to know about the smell of her body or the way her eyes were wide open. It’s just for me--we were born together and her death will die when I do. 

“You really, really don’t want to know.” 

When I say this to him, my voice is thin and flat. 

“What if I do?” 

I have to bite down hard on my lip. He sounds like Maggie--challenging me in that quiet, intense way. 

“Trust me, Jake,” I say a little bit louder now, emptying my glass before I finish, “you don’t.”

Then I stand up and cross the living room, through the kitchen door, and open my fridge. I am shaking so badly that I almost let the cold bottle slip out of my grip and onto the floor. But I just pour myself another drink and come back into the living room with my glass and the bottle. 

He watches me set the bottle on the table, watches me return to my spot, chewing my lip. 

“That doesn’t help,” he says. 

His voice is calm. That doesn’t help him not like me? I could puke again. 

“Well, fuck me then,” I sigh, exasperated, throwing my hand up and looking at him. 

Then I realize what I’ve said. We both shift in our spots and I shake my head, that silly blush creeping up my chest again. 

“I don’t listen to music past 2016,” I start and I don’t even have to tell him that it’s because it was the last year I was able to listen to music with my sister--the last year she was alive, “and I want to get married and have kids and buy project houses. I don’t want to be in the Navy forever.”

His face is pulling together, lips pursing, eyes narrowing.

 “Maybe I just don’t know you very well, but I’m guessing those are the last things that you want, right?” I ask. 

He nods. 

“Well,” I sigh, smiling, “there you go. Crush averted.”

A quietness falls over us. I get up and flip the record, running my cold hands over my face before I sit back on the couch. He is more pulled into himself now, his legs criss-crossed. 

There is a strange energy in the air--somewhere between buzzing and limp. He’s looking at me still, fingering the carpet beneath his hands. 

“Faye,” he says, his voice profoundly big and loud in this living room. 

It’s the first time he’s ever called me by my name--my actual name, the one that was dissected from my sister’s.

Our eyes meet. 

���I never meant to make you cry,” he says and I know, can tell, that he means it. 

I can’t help but smile. He is such an asshole. He would be so, so perfect for someone like Maggie. He could make a different girl very happy, fill her up so nicely with his words and that face and his body. 

But even as I sit here in his sweet gaze, I am radically and indisputably in love with Bradley Bradshaw. There is not even the beginnings of a single doubt. It is intrinsic to me, the same as forgiveness and kindness is to me. 

“No one ever does.”

After one more moment, one where he rakes his hands through his hair and finishes off his glass and throws his legs out in front of him again, he grins at me. His inflating bit by bit.

“You wanna know what made me text you?”

No, no. Not really. Not at all. Because this is making me very dizzy. Because this is making me ache for my sister in a way that I usually don’t ache for her. I wish I could go give her a panicked phone call in the privacy of my backyard and beg her to come save me. Fuck, she would have a hay-day with this. Relentlessly teasing the two pilots pining after me. Me of all people. Fuck.

I don’t answer, so he just says it, before I can stop him. 

“It was when you came back to get your things,” he says and he still sounds soft but there’s an edge to his voice, “and I said another shitty thing to you--on top of the shitty things that made Bob of all people actually punch me in the face--and instead of shitting on me too--you took care of me. My lip--the cotton. I made you cry and you were still cleaning up my face.”

It makes me embarrassed when he explains it. It makes me embarrassed because I did not attack him the way Maggie would have--all teeth and torn flesh and sharp nails and decisive strikes. No, no. I froze--just like Rooster--and let Hangman say all the shitty things that he said and then I went back and took care of him. 

“You don’t think that makes me weak?”

The voice that says this hardly sounds like my own--so meek, so doubtful. 

He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing. 

“I think it makes you better than the rest of us,” he says gently, “tougher, really.”

“Tougher?” I echo.  

He’s watching me bite my lip. He nods again.

“Yes,” he confirms, “tougher.” 

I’m biting my lip so hard that I taste metal. I wish Rooster would come home now, right now, and interrupt whatever energy is invading this room. Hangman is being too friendly, too sweet--it’s starting to scare me. Maybe he’s delirious. Maybe today has traumatized him more than we thought before.

He’s just looking at me now, smiling faintly, softly. He’s looking at me the way Rooster looks at me--his eyes just a touch too bright, his face a touch too open and pretty. I swallow hard. 

Moonlight Mile is playing now. 

It’s when I move my eyes from his, my chest starting to hurt, that he looks down at his glass again. He sighs very deeply, seems to be thinking about something very hard. I wish we weren’t alone--I wish someone else was seeing him like this so they would understand why I am so soft in some spots. 

“It’s also when I realized you were too good for me,” he says, a little louder now. 

My chest is burning, pulsing. Fuck. I can’t get myself to say anything else--no words will come to me. Not now, not when he is being so obscurely soft. 

“I think I should go,” he tells me. 

I nod, biting my lip. 

“Okay.” 

So we stand up and he looks tired as he ever has before, his lip plum-colored and still swollen. The rest of his face is so pretty that it’s actually mildly offensive. He takes his glass to the kitchen without me saying anything and I trail behind him and cork the bottle before putting it on my fridge. 

There’s that silence again. We don’t say anything as he washed the glass with his hand, don’t say anything while he dries it with a linen tea towel, don’t say anything when he turns to me with his face golden and rosy.

I am just living to be lying by your side / But I'm just about a moonlight mile on down the road 

It isn’t until he’s on my front porch that we say anything to each other. I’m holding the door open with my foot, leaning against the doorway with my arms crossed. He is meandering down the steps, but pauses and turns to me. He looks very tired--his eyes are red. 

“Did I stand a chance?” He asks. 

How could I be anything but honest when he’s standing there looking like that?

“No,” I sigh, “you didn’t.”

This gives him some sort of solace. He nods, sucking his lip under his teeth. If his ego is wounded, he doesn’t say anything to me. He doesn’t let his expression run free with the good grief of the situation. 

“Right,” he says, nodding. 

“If you’re too tired,” I say because I have to, because I really have to, “you can sleep here. On the couch.”

He blinks at me a few times before roses paint his cheeks. He shakes his head determinedly. 

“No,” he tells me, “I might get the wrong idea.” 

He winks at me a final time before he finishes the trek to his car, which is parked dutifully on the street and glowing under the moonlight. 

Fucking Christ.

He waves from inside the car and I smile, raising my hand, too. It isn’t until he’s driving down the street that I finally close the door. 

☾☽ 𝐚/𝐧: I literally can't help myself, I love Hangman so much...such a complex character. and I really love writing dialogue for him!!!

☾☽ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

[averagewriter-inthedark]

She’s Still Preoccupied With 1985 🎤 | Bob Floyd x Rockstar!reader Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x modern-day rockstar!reader (childhood best friends/romantic), dagger squad (platonic), Bob x female!oc (past romance), male!oc x reader (past romance), The 1985’s!BandOCs (platonic)

Content Warnings: major fluff, angst, profanity, canon divergence (Bob is born in 1985 in this, making him roughly 34 during TGM & 37 in the year 2022), pop culture references, second chance romance troupe, suggestive content and light smut + implied smut (MINORS DNI!!) inspired by the song ‘1985,’ by Bowling For Soup | Female!reader—afab!reader (she/her) | wc: 17.2k

Premise: Join Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd as he looks back on his fairytale love story with childhood best friend and real life rockstar, who’s set to perform one last time on the country’s most iconic stage, in her band’s final show of their farewell tour.

Note: so after I wrote ‘It’s A Long Way To The Top’ with Maverick x 80sRockstar!reader, I had inspiration for someone from the dagger squad x modern-day rockstar!reader. I was going back and forth between Rooster and Phoenix, but this anon suggested Bob with a rekindled childhood best friend and I thought that was the bullseye. Once again feel free to imagine your friends as your bandmates, I just gave names to make it easier to write. I do not own any of the song or pop culture references, this is for fictional purposes. Let me know what you think! - Bee 🐝

Songs that are real life songs, but are used as ‘your’ songs in this imagine: ‘1985’ by Bowling For Soup, ‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls, ‘Some Nights,’ by Fun, ‘Pompeii’ by Bastille, ‘Payphone,’ by Maroon 5, ‘Let’s Get Lost,’ by Bats for Lashes & Beck, ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go’ & ‘Little Black Dress’ by One Direction.

——————————————————

Lt. Robert Floyd had seen a lot in his 37 years of life. Growing up on the plains of Montana, there wasn’t much for him until it came time to leave for college. There, life seemed to pass by quicker than the night sky. He’d experienced the hype of a Navy vs Army football game, getting wasted to the point he hated alcohol. Endless nights of studying that paid off when he received not only his diploma but also the rank of Ensign in the U.S. Navy. Then there was that time he nearly married his college sweetheart only to end things weeks before the wedding because he realized his heart belonged to someone else. In his career Bob pulled Gs with his pilot against the speed of sound in an F-18 and most recently, dogfighting SAMs out of enemy territory.

But no words could describe what Bob felt as he stood on the floor of Madison Square Garden with the people he called his best friends, waiting for the appearance of his one true love on stage.

The love that was once thought to be impossible, until fate was like, “These souls belong together. Once the time is right, I will work my magic.”

17 years prior in 2005, Bob was certain he’d never get the chance to tell Y/n L/n he had loved her since they were fifteen years old after hearing her voice on the radio.

“That was Kelly Clarkson’s ‘Since U Been Gone,’ part of her Grammy nominated album Breakaway released last summer. Clarkson is the favorite to win the award for ‘Album of the Year’ at next year’s Grammys. Up next is a new group recently signed to Capitol Records….here is ‘1985’ by, funny enough, The 1985s”

Something about the name of the group and title of the song had an odd feeling swirl through the then college student. Driving the car he was in was his roomate Derek and their buddy Adrian along with Derek’s girlfriend Willow.

Nothing could’ve prepared Bob for the voice coming through the speakers, the lyrics bringing back the memory of when she showed him the paper with them written down in her semi-sloppy handwriting.

“Debbie just hit the wall, she never had it all.”

“One Prozac a day, husband’s a CPA.”

“Bob, you okay?” Adrian tapped him on the shoulder, “You look a little pale.”

“Her dreams went out the door when she turned twenty-four.”

“Only been with one man, what happened to her plan?”

“This has a good beat,” Willow bopped her head.

“She was gonna be an actress, she was gonna be a star.”

“She was gonna shake her ass on the hood of Whitesnake’s car.”

“My mom could definitely relate to that,” Derek joked, stopping at a red light. He too was enjoying the song. It gave that classic rock feel that the 80s music his parents listened to had. Nowadays Hip-Hop and Pop are becoming the main genres of music on the radio.

“Her yellow SUV is now the enemy.”

“Looks at her average life and nothin’,” *guitar riff* “has been,” *guitar riff* “alright.”

Bob, who’s eyes were wide and heart racing, breathed in awe, “No way.”

“Since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna,”

“Way before Nirvana,”

“There was U2 and Blondie,”

“And music still on MTV.”

“Her two kids in high school,”

“They tell her that she’s uncool.”

“‘Cause she’s still preoccupied,”

Tears spring in Bob’s eyes, wiping them away before his friends could see when Y/n sang the final line of the chorus.

“With 19, 19…1985.”

That was how the future naval aviator discovered his childhood best friend had accomplished her dream. Breaking into the music industry. It’d been nearly four years since he’d seen Y/n, the two parting ways after her father took an accounting job in California, uprooting the teenager and her family from their home state of Montana.

They’d grown up on the same street, both their moms teaching at the elementary school. The two had pretty much gone through every grade together considering their school was small with few teachers. Every year they were in the same class, often sitting next to each other and spending time after school on the playground while their moms finished up for the day. Bob spent nearly every moment with Y/n as kids, becoming best friends when they were only five years old. But it wasn’t until the boy was twelve that he realized what a crush was….and boy did he have one on her.

Cherishing their friendship, poor Bob didn’t say anything about his surfacing feelings for his best friend. Even when the news of her moving was announced when they were 16, Bob remained quiet. It pained him to do so but he’d rather have her in his life than risk losing her if she didn’t feel the same.

In all the years Bob Floyd knew Y/n L/n, music was her life. It consumed her entire being with the young girl always humming a tune or singing along on the radio. When she was given a keyboard and guitar for Christmas, Y/n self-taught herself how to play until they could afford to put her in lessons. Then there were the notebooks.

At first it started as sticky notes with a verse or two, then it turned into loose pages of lyrics before finally the teenager wrote them all into notebooks. Anytime inspiration came to Y/n she was writing it down on whatever she could find. Napkins at a restaurant, receipts from her mother’s grocery run, hell even on her arm Y/n was writing lyrics so she wouldn’t forget. Sometimes she’d have the whole song complete before settling on a title, or a catchy title would come to mind but the lyrics would take time. Bob would always get annoyed when she’d steal his pen from out of his hand, but would let it go, understanding she had to write it down before she lost it.

At a football game he witnessed her unable to find a pen in time to write something on her arm before the lyric faded away. The teenager nearly sobbed right there in the middle of the stands, face in her hands as though to will herself to remember. “Are you okay,” Bob whispered, to which he received a sad groan.

“No….please don’t interrupt my thinking. I’m having a crisis, Robby.”

Y/n’s mom, who mentally still lived in the 80s, was the inspiration for her song ‘1985’, Y/n wrote at 15. Bob could still remember the day she raced up to their reserved lunch table, planting the paper in front of him, “Read this,” she was out of breath, but smiling nonetheless. Picking it up, Bob adjusted his glasses and let his eyes read over the words scribbled down that were separated into: intro, verse 1, chorus, verse 2, chorus, bridge, chorus, & outro.

“Wow,” he reads over the lyrics again, brows raised and feeling a connection to the song. It wasn’t hard to pick up on the fact it was likely titled ‘1985,’ which also happened to be the year they were born. “This is amazing, Y/n. Almost like….wait is this about your mom?” As her best friend growing up, Y/n’s mother was like a second mom to him….so Bob knew her obsession with the 80s and how she had plans to be an actress before she and her high school sweetheart, Y/n’s father, got married after college and had Y/n when they were 24. Then they had her siblings afterward and both changed their course of careers in order to raise them. The line that said ‘husband’s a CPA,’ is what really gave it away considering her father was an accountant. Debbie wasn’t her mother’s name, but even a rocket scientist could piece it together Debbie represented her.

Glancing up, he sees her guilty expression, offering a light shrug. “Is it that obvious?”

Bob never forgot that song. Even with all the ones Y/n showed him afterwards and when they lost touch two years after she moved, he never once forgot the song, ‘1985’.

It was a sad day when she told him the news. They were halfway through junior year, college applications around the corner and setting up for SATs/ACTs when she dropped the bomb, “My dad’s being transferred to California.”

The Coca-Cola he’d been drinking nearly went all over his steering wheel when he coughed, her words sending him into shock. “W-what-you’re moving?!”

“Next month,” she mumbled, head down to hide her face from his view. “My dad is there now looking at places for us. In the meantime Mom is dealing with the house while also applying to schools in the area my dad’s gonna be working.”

“Where?” Bob asks after a moment of silence, allowing him to fully process the news.

His best friend—who he was in love with—was leaving him.

Y/n sighed before replying with a sad chuckle, “Los Angeles. You know I would feel excited, seeing it was my plan to move to L.A after graduation, but I just can’t bring myself to.”

“Why?” Bob says softly with a frown, “This is your dream, Y/n. All you’ve wanted was to go there and audition for American Idol—or whatever that singing show is.” He was trying really hard to cheer her up, pushing down his heartbreak all the while. “This is your chance.”

“Yeah, but….” She glanced out the window, “what if it doesn’t work out? I don’t even know if I wanna go to college—which my mom still scolds me every time she gets the chance because she thinks I’m a fool to wanna pursue music. You know how it is,” Y/n gives Bob a knowing look, “she thinks of her life and wants me to go to school before selling my life away to a 9-5. I know she’s looking out for me, but God, let me make my own mistakes.” Her head leans on the window, “If it doesn't work out then that’s on me. But I’m not gonna give it up just because it seems out of reach. That’s what back up plans are for.”

Silence fills the car, the two letting their thoughts wonder. “Promise me something, Robby.”

“Anything,” he doesn’t hesitate.

“Promise me that even though I’m leaving, we’ll still be best friends. We’ll still write letters or talk on the phone…just don’t give up on me.”

Taking her hand in his, hoping she doesn’t feel the slight tremor as the words he so desperately wants to say are on the tip of his tongue, Bob gives her a look of love which she likely would believe is one of sincerity, “you’re my best friend, Y/n. I believe you will accomplish everything you set your mind to. When you make it big, I’ll be cheering you on every second and until then, we’ll talk every day if we have to,” he makes a face after thinking, “though maybe narrow it down to once a week so my mom doesn’t kill me for the phone bill.”

That makes Y/n laugh before reaching over the console to hug him. Arms go around his neck while his one arm awkwardly wraps around her side.

“I love you, Robby,” she tells him, sending his heart soaring. “You’re the only person I can count on in this whole damn world.”

“I love you too, Y/n.” ‘More than what you could possibly know.’ “I’ll always be here for you. Forever.”

He never thought he’d break that promise. But around the time of graduation things became so hectic in Bob’s life on top of the fact he was hurting. Hurting because he loved Y/n, and anytime they would talk on the phone or send letters he was reminded of the fact she was in California while he was stuck in Montana and they could never be together. Bob felt the only way he could save his heart and move on from that love was by cutting contact. It was his fault and he knew it when the letters eventually stopped coming and the phone stopped ringing every Friday. His mother could only relay an excuse to the girl so many times before Y/n eventually gave up. The last letter she sent him came two months after their last phone call, “So much for always being there, Robby. Have a good life, I hope it treats you well. -Y/n.”

He didn’t know what happened to her until two years later when ‘1985’ played for the first time on the radio for the whole world to hear. Tears lined his eyes, the man having to look out the window away from his friends. The flooding of emotion was overpowering, forming a sob in his throat.

She did it. She’s on the radio like she always dreamed.

“That was ‘1985’ the debut single of incoming rock band, The 1985s. Hits the nostalgia I gotta say—I feel we’re looking at some fresh new faces to the scene. Can’t wait to see what they have to offer in the future.”

The prediction of the radio host came true, when in 2006 the group released their debut album Established in 1985. Like their name, it referenced the year all members were born in which included frontwoman and occasional guitar player Y/n L/n, bassist Thomas Quinn, guitarist Farrah Cortez, drummer Xavier Hernandez, and keyboardist Pepper Renolds. All met at the University of California Los Angeles, and funny enough none were students in the music program. They were all in STEM/humanities with Y/n studying sociology with a minor in music, meeting the others when they formed a study group after they all had the same prerequisite classes their second semester.

It was at one of their meetups that Y/n couldn’t help but sing along to Journey’s ‘Faithfully’ and The Who’s ‘We Don’t Get Fooled Again,’ as they played on the little radio in the corner. “Damn Y/n,” Thomas looked amazed, “You got a voice, girl. How come you’re not studying music?”

“Same reason why you aren’t—don’t give me that look, Quinn, I saw that bass in your place when we were there last week.”

Next thing they knew Pepper mentioned she was a pianist who was progressing onto keyboard. Then Farrah said she played guitar and Xavier smirked, “all y’all need is a drummer and you can be a band….oh wait, have I ever told y’all I play drums?”

And thus, the 1985’s were born.

Months were dedicated to them building their sound and learning to be a band all while keeping up with their school work. Y/n was the brain behind all their songs, literally dropping the pile of notebooks onto the table one day saying, “I’ve got at least four albums worth of songs in these…maybe even more.” Working little by little they eventually got the tunes for several that they knew they’d want to release first if they managed to get discovered. MySpace was just starting out and Y/n took it upon herself to be bold, creating a profile for them. She listed her information since they didn’t have a band email set up. That would hopefully come in the future.

It was on MySpace that their lives changed forever.

Roughly after a year of working nonstop to create songs and develop their sound, the band uploaded a video onto the platform for ‘1985,’ in May of 2004. It almost looked like a music video, teaming up with students from the drama programs who were in need of doing their end of semester project. They had someone play Debbie, her husband, the two kids, and a group of extras. Even the yellow SUV Y/n’s mom drove was used as well as a poster of Duran Duran for the line in the second verse. The band would be in clips throughout the video, Y/n singing and playing the guitar. It took them the whole night spray painting a makeshift logo of ‘The 1985’s’ onto Xavier’s drum set.

When they first uploaded the video they were all like, “Even if no one sees it, this was still fun as hell to make.”

But little did they know it was going to be seen by many eyes…..including an executive of Capitol Records.

Y/n was just coming home from her shift at a local diner when she checked her email, dropping the water bottle in her hand and letting out an ear-piercing scream that woke her roommates.

“Y/n, my name is Martin Plaza and I’m a talent exec at Capitol Records. A member of my team came across your video on MySpace and we were impressed by your band and song, ‘1985’. We’d like to set up a meeting if you all are interested and please bring any demos you may have. Email me back as soon as possible or give me a call using the number listed below. Hope to hear from you soon. Regards, Martin Plaza.”

Y/n and the group could hardly contain their reaction at the meeting when Martin and a few members of Capitol Records were visibly pleased with what they were hearing. With so many songs they had recorded, they settled on bringing five, including ‘1985,’ and ‘Some Nights,’ which they were planning on uploading to MySpace next.

Martin and the team had excused themselves briefly before returning with the offer: a six year contract with Capitol Records releasing at least three albums during that period.

You can bet your ass they agreed. Signing their names before the sun could set on the horizon.

Champagne popped that night with Y/n crying against the receiver of her pink Motorola as she informed the news to her family. Her mother cried with her, her dad celebrating in the background while her siblings were like, “Don’t forget me when you become famous, sis.” What made her sad though after the call ended was when she went to dial Robby’s number, only to close the phone with a sigh. It’d been over a year since they last spoke, Y/n unsure where he even was or if he had a cell phone. The only number she knew was his home phone.

Curiosity and slight anger rising, Y/n dialed the number saved as his home landline, not surprised when his mother answered. “Y/n! Why hello, darling, I wasn’t expecting your call tonight.”

“Hi, Mrs. Floyd,” she sniffed, feeling tears prick in her eyes again. Y/n was not used to addressing the older woman by her last name. It felt awkward now to call her by her first. “I know he’s probably not going to come to the phone…but if Robby—Robert is there, could I…could I just speak with him please? It’s important.”

“Oh honey,” that was enough to indicate it wouldn’t happen. Y/n looked up to the sky, heart breaking in two at the fact her so called best friend, who she loved more than anything in the world, had completely discarded her. “Robert is uhh—he’s at the Naval Academy, sweetheart, I can give you his email or cell number—.”

“No-no-no,” Y/n interrupted, stunned by the news. “It’s fine. Uh, just never mind.”

“Honey—.”

“Sorry to bother you so late, Mrs. Floyd. Take care and thank you for your help.” Placing the phone in her pocket, Y/n allowed the tears to flow freely before moving back inside to where the party was. Only she could hardly enjoy it now. Instead she let her feet carry her over to the notebook placed on her backpack, removing a pen hastily from the pencil pouch and scribbling down the lyrics that were screaming in her head. The words that took over the paper went onto become their Grammy award winning singles, ‘Iris,’ and ‘Payphone.’ Iris became so popular it was used in several movies and tv shows after its release in 2006, earning the band the Grammy for ‘Record of the Year,’ to go along with their ‘Best Rock Performance by a Duo/Group’ and ‘Album of the Year’, three MTV moonmen including ‘Video of the Year’ and the American Music Award for ‘Song of the Year.’ Payphone was just as successful, topping the Billboard Hot 100 for 20 consecutive weeks and winning just as many awards as Iris.

Anytime the songs played on the radio or wherever he was, Bob had to change the station or frown until it ended. Deep down, he could feel they were about him—hurting him even more at the realization Payphone was basically saying how Y/n loved him and was trying to move on. Just in the way Y/n sang combined with the lyrics telling a story, it was obvious he had broken her heart. And they weren’t even together. They were just best friends…..who were too stupid enough to not admit their feelings for each other.

His senior year of college Y/n and the group were starting to become big, all the members taking a break from college in order to build their careers as musicians. Often Bob would check in to see how Y/n was, tuning into award shows to watch them perform. Pride and awe filled him watching her sing, living her dream just as he believed she would. He hated that he broke his word to her, and it seemed to affect Y/n whenever she performed Iris and Payphone, putting every ounce of emotion into each lyric.

At 21 Bob had finally entered a relationship with a nice girl from the Naval Academy. The possibility of him reuniting with Y/n was long out of the picture and his friends were getting on him to finally break out of his shell. They had no idea of his connection to the rockstar, but they could tell anytime they were on the radio Bob’s demeanor changed. Abby, a sweet pre-law student at the Naval Academy, was his first serious commitment, the two bonding over similar interests and plans for the future. Hope rose at what it could hold.

Until she and their friends decided they wanted to go see The 1985’s concert.

It was 2007, they’d just graduated and were commissioned to the rank of Ensign’s waiting to be shipped off to their respective duty stations. And Bob was engaged…..but he hadn’t really proposed in the traditional way. It was more of Abby pointing out if they wanted to get stationed together then it was best for them to get married and he just agreed. But a big part of him was hesitant to go through with it.

The news of Abby and their friends' desire to go to the concert made his stomach drop and head spin. Still in Maryland, they had gotten tickets to the show in New York at Madison Square Garden which was only a couple hours away. Abby had went ahead and got them as a surprise for Bob, not telling him until the day before the show.

“You guys go,” Bob initially said, praying she couldn’t pick up on the anxiety in his voice. “I—uh—I’ve got some things to get done—.”

“What things?” She scoffed, shaking her head as she laid out the outfit she planned to wear. “School is over, you aren’t planning to see your family until next week, and you don’t leave for flight school till the end of summer. What could you possibly do tomorrow night, Bobby?” He mentally cringed at the nickname, unconsciously thinking of how Y/n would call him Robby.

This wasn’t a good idea and he knew it. Already he was starting to think of her again. More and more by the second. Feelings were resurfacing, and Bob was fighting them hard. If he saw her on stage it was only going to confirm what he already knew.

That Y/n owned his heart. And no one else would have it. Not even Abby.

In the end, Bob found himself on the floor of Madison Square Garden of all places, wondering just how the hell their friends managed to get the area. The band was touring for their debut album, selling out within seconds and what made it more historic were they managed to get The Garden in their first ever tour. Usually groups/artists had years before they played at the Garden, settling for smaller venues in New York, but the 1985’s had become sensations.

The entire time they waited for the band Bob’s hands were shaking, the man unable to contain his tremor with each minute. Abby asked at one point, but brushed it off as him being excited when he didn’t give her an answer.

He was a little excited….but mostly fucking terrified.

Especially because they were very close to the stage. Like if one of the members happened to walk close to where they were standing they’d be spotted.

Bob should’ve fucking knocked on wood.

When the band came out Madison Square Garden erupted, Y/n belting out the lyrics to their opening number, looking like an actual dream. Her look was more of a modern take on rock n roll but still looked classic. Black leather adorned her body with cutouts to showcase some skin, arms covered in ink from the various tattoos and hips rolling to the beat of the drums causing the crowd to go crazy.

Y/n really knew how to work the stage and make it her bitch.

Bob was mesmerized. Utterly speechless as his eyes glued to the woman he once called his best friend. All he could do was stand there and stare, while willing his heart to calm down by how fast it was beating.

It was to be a two hour show at the least, and Bob didn’t know if he wanted to leave as quickly as he could or wishing the show would last forever. Seeing Y/n up close and performing before a crowd made him feel things he didn’t know were possible. Her dazzling smile, dancing across the stage and playing the guitar was everything he could’ve dreamed for her.

He loved her. Bottom line, Bob loved Y/n like no other.

When their eyes connected 30 minutes before the concert ended, causing Y/n to drop the microphone and throw her off for the remainder of the concert, Bob knew he couldn’t marry Abby.

He wasn’t sure if Y/n recognized him at first, but the rockstar had approached the side he was standing at to interact with the crowd when her gaze landed on his. Eyes widening, Y/n literally dropped the microphone causing the impact to echo through the speakers. Bob’s cheeks went bright red, unable to look away in their 2-second staring contest until Y/n blinked rapidly and cursed.

“Shit,” he saw her mouth as soon as the microphone hit the platform, bending down quickly to pick it up. “Sorry about that guys,” she nervously laughed, eyes glancing at Bob as though to make sure they weren’t deceiving her. A sharp intake of breath indicated she realized it wasn’t a trick. Walking backwards until she was back to the middle of the stage where the band was, Y/n’s tone became flustered, “U-uh, we only got a couple songs left in the show. We’re gonna take a quick five minute break so just hang tight.”

Bob could see the looks of concern from her friends/bandmates as she ran off stage, the group following behind. His heart dropped, rubbing a hand over his face to calm down the anxiety in his veins.

“What the hell was that about?” Derek laughed, “It was like she saw a ghost or something.” Everyone besides Bob agreed, none seeing the way Abby was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

When the band returned for the final act Y/n did her best to not look at the section Bob was in. Unlike everyone else in attendance, the Navy officer could pick up on the fact she was more tense than at the start of the show. Her voice shook lightly when delivering the lyrics to ‘Iris’, although it was as though she was putting more emotion than ever into the song, bringing tears to Bob’s eyes. Y/n also appeared to hold back tears, quickly transitioning the song to their next to avoid breaking down.

‘1985’ was the last in their set, everyone in MSG jumping up and down to the chorus and screaming the lyrics. Y/n smiled the entire time, finally letting a tear slip when the concert came to an end. To everyone it may have looked like the rockstar was overwhelmed with emotion at the fact she just played Madison Square Garden before a sold out crowd. But for Robert Floyd, he knew those tears were because of him.

Especially when they connected eyes again, Y/n’s lip quivering before turning away to hide her face. When she walked off with the band Bob felt his heart go with her.

“You’re hiding something,” Abby said with a soft tone when they arrived back home late that night. It was nearly 3 in the morning, the concert having ended at 11.

Bob tilted his head back, eyes closing to block off the rest of the world, “Please, let’s not do this.” He just wanted to go to bed and sleep the night away.

“You know, I always wondered why your knuckles would tighten around the steering wheel when their songs played on the radio, or why you look like you wanna cry anytime I sing ‘Iris’ at karaoke, why you can’t even look at me when I do,” she lists off, voice slightly rising. “Then there’s that box of letters you hide in the closet. And….and the photo album you won’t even let me look at. We’ve been together for a year, and you have not once told me you loved me.” By now Abby’s voice wavered, sniffing as she continued.

“I’ve been a fan of The 1985’s for close to a year now, but it wasn’t until tonight I actually read up on them. On Y/n…..” she saw how his body reacted, confirming her suspicion even more. “How she was living in L.A when they got discovered, but she grew up somewhere else…..She’s from Montana. The same town as you, Robert.”

“That’s just a coincidence—.”

“She went to the same high school as you!” Abby shouted, pushing off the wall she was leaning against. “You told me your town had less than four-thousand people—and only one high school. She would’ve gone there, Robert—in fact it said her mom was a teacher at the elementary school. The same one your mom taught at!”

By now Bob had enough, mouth tightening as he spoke calmly to his ‘fiancé’, “What do you want to know, Abby?”

“Who was she to you? Don’t fucking say shit like ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’—I saw her look at you,” tears pricked in her blue eyes. “How she looked like she’d been punched straight through the heart. She fucking dropped the microphone—and looked like she wanted to faint! Like you were a walking ghost. And you….you looked the same.” Pausing, she thought back to his face at the concert. There was no doubt Y/n and him had locked eyes, she heard him audibly react despite the noise.

“You looked like someone with deep regret. Someone who longed for a second chance. You looked like someone in love, Robert. Never have you looked at me that way.” Abby waited for him to respond, but Bob was unable to speak, expression unreadable causing her heart to break.

“Just please,” she breathed out, “tell me the truth, Bob. What was she to you?”

Silence filled the room, causing the tension to rise. It stayed that way until Bob finally sighed, face falling as he admitted what she already knew.

“She was everything. She is everything.”

When it came time to ship out two months later Bob was not the married man he expected to be. In all honesty, he was relieved. That night the argument had ended with Bob telling Abby he couldn’t marry her—he’d be hurting her even more if he followed through with it. Never could he love her the way he did Y/n and wouldn't put her through that. Going their separate ways was for the best. Even though he’d likely never be with Y/n, no one could compare to her.

Abby was angry as one could expect but part of her knew it was for the best. What good was it getting into a loveless marriage? She almost resented the rockstar, feeling like she could never enjoy the 1985’s anymore knowing the man she thought she spent the rest of her life with was hopelessly in love with his former best friend, who was the frontwoman of her favorite band. But then Abby took some time to think, and felt her heart break for Bob. She couldn’t imagine what it was like loving someone you couldn’t have.

Ending their engagement and agreeing to be friends, Bob told stories about growing up with Y/n—even bringing out the letters and photo album for her to see. It amazed the woman, flipping through the pages to see the singer when she was a child and teenager. It was almost funny to see how polar opposites the two best friends were, Y/n with her 80s band t-shirts and ripped jeans next to a Bob in his cowboy hat and flannels. As teenagers Y/n dabbled more in the grunge makeup. One photo made Abby laugh as it showed Bob with black eyeliner and glitter on his cheeks.

Coming across the end of the album was a half of a ‘Best Friends Forever’ necklace taped to the page. Abby frowned, “What happened between the two of you?”

This was a question he never thought he’d answer, thinking he’d go the rest of his life without anyone finding out his history with Y/n.

“After she moved we stayed in contact for about two years. We’d call every Friday—send letters from time to time ....” He paused, biting his lip as the frown took over. “But I stopped responding and answering.”

“Why?”

“It hurt too much,” he admitted, hating the way his heart clenched. “I never said anything because I didn’t want to lose what we had,” he looked to the ground, “but then it just became too overwhelming and I thought if we….if we drifted apart then I eventually could move on.”

Abby is silent, glancing at the picture of him and Y/n before looking back at the necklace, “Wanna hear something, Bob? Something you probably won’t believe, but I promise you it’s more likely than you think?” He looks up from the floor, brow raised slightly.

“What?”

“I think Y/n loves you.”

“Not in the way you think, Abby,” Bob deflects with a shake of the head. “And she definitely doesn’t anymore—she hates me no doubt.”

“No, listen to me,” she closes the album, setting it aside. “When did you two stop talking?”

“Around fall of 2003,” he tells her, look of regret in his visage, “in 2004 was the last time she phoned the house.”

Abby thinks back in her research of the band, shoulders dropping slightly, “That’s when they got signed to Capitol Records. ‘Payphone’ and ‘Iris’ came out last year, but Y/n said in an interview she wrote them the night they were signed—which had people confused because they’re sad songs that were written on a night that was supposed to be happy. Don’t you see?” She waves her hand at his now confused gaze, making her huff. “She probably had called your house hoping to tell you the news! Anyone who hears those songs knows it’s about heartbreak. And not the type of heartbreak you get by a friendship disintegrating, Bob. That’s the heartbreak when someone you love with your entire soul hurts you.”

“Abby please,” Bob pleads with her, water lining his eyes. Falling silent the woman leans away, solemn in her expression.

“All I’m saying is she loved you more than you think. And judging by her reaction to you tonight, I think I’m right when I say Y/n would give anything for you to talk to her again…..”

For years Bob thought about what Abby had told him that night they broke up. It kept him up at night especially when The 1985’s came up that day either in conversation or on the radio. There were times he was tempted to write a letter, but life would get crazy with the Navy and then in 2011 he was invited to Top Gun.

Devastated couldn’t even be the right word to describe how Bob felt when it was revealed Y/n had eloped with a Hollywood heartthrob. Not a fan of social media, Bob had just returned back to his squadron after graduating from Top Gun to turn on E! News where they were covering the story.

“Wedding bells are in store for rockstar Y/n L/n of The 1985s and actor Enrique Lorenzo from The Walking Dead. The two have been spotted throughout the year looking cozy at award shows and Lorenzo attending The 1985’s concerts in L.A and Atlanta. An inside source has gotten word the two applied for a marriage license two days ago and earlier this morning had a private ceremony with close friends and family in West Hollywood. Neither has confirmed if they have in fact tied the knot, but I would keep your eyes out. In the meantime, congratulations to the happy couple and we’re looking forward to seeing Y/n’s ring.”

It seemed like all the air had left Bob, turning off the tv in a flash but still pointing the remote as he stood stunned. Then his phone buzzed with messages.

“Honey, just checking in. Call me when you get home,” was from his mom, trying to avoid the obvious elephant and would rather discuss it over the phone.

“Have you heard the news?” Abby wrote. “I’m so sorry, Bob.” He actually appreciated that she wasn’t walking on eggshells. That she was upfront with him. Though it’d been over four years since their breakup, and Abby was now married with children, the two remained friends and often checked in with each other occasionally.

“It was bound to happen some time,” he replied before turning off his phone so he couldn’t receive any more messages.

The rest of the night he was pretty much a walking shell, then as the years went on Bob closed himself off. Hardly did he date, and when he did they only lasted a few months before the girls realized he was not ready for the commitment they were wanting. Some understood, others were more aggressive when spitting out their feelings. Never did he admit why he couldn’t love them the way they wanted. The only people who knew who his heart belonged to were Abby and his family.

2015 Bob was transferred to Lemoore when the news broke that Y/n and Enrique had divorced after nearly four years of marriage, however, they had been secretly separated for almost a year before it was finalized. Cursing mentally, Bob couldn’t help but feel a slight relief—which was completely fucked up knowing Y/n was going through a difficult time and here he was silently celebrating, as though he really had a chance now to make things right.

That should’ve been his sign to call her mother and ask for Y/n’s number, with the hope she’d give it to him. But then Bob felt it was too soon. Her divorce had just been finalized, he didn’t know the exact reason despite the former couple citing irreconcilable differences. Whatever it was, Bob wasn’t sure he wanted to know but at the same time couldn’t help but be curious.

He’d get his answer almost two years later in January of 2017 when he flew home to Montana to celebrate his birthday. It was his 32nd and his mother literally begged him to come home so they could all be together now that Bob’s sister had recently had twins and were there to visit. Wanting to meet his nieces, the WSO relented and booked a flight for the weekend after confirming his leave.

Suspicion filled him with the way his family was acting when he arrived. Almost like they were excited but nervous, which only confused the officer. He was in his service khakis, pulling his cap off when they got inside and removing his windbreaker before setting it on the coat rack.

That’s when he saw the black suitcase in the corner.

“Who’s is that?” He asked with a raised brow, noticing his mother slightly tense. It wasn’t a luggage he recognized as one of theirs, and it was as though it had just been placed there.

And his sister had already unpacked in her old room. So it wasn’t hers.

Blushing, his mother tried to find the right words, “Oh-um, It’s—.”

“It’s mine.”

32 years had gone by in Bob’s life and never did he think he’d experience anything close to cardiac arrest. But hearing Y/n’s voice, so close as though she was behind him, made him think he was about to die right then and there.

Then he turned around, slowly, heart beating so fast it was about to explode from his chest, and she was there. Standing at the end of the staircase in a beautiful black leather dress with matching knee high boots, her hair slicked back into a bun and minimal makeup showcasing her gorgeous face.

She was ethereal. Absolutely breathtaking.

The last time he saw her in person was when they were 22, before that was 16. Here she was a grown woman who’d been through a hell of a life. She looked beyond gorgeous, and Bob felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

Only her gaze was not as warm as the emotions Bob was feeling. Honestly he felt like he could be six feet in the ground with how she was looking at him. Betrayal, heartbreak, anger, but underneath it there was love and hope.

“Hello, Robert.”

He didn’t even know how to react. All he could do was stand there, speechless with his mouth slightly agape. Eventually he just breathed out, “Y/n.”

Stoic, Y/n glanced at his mother, “Mrs. Floyd, could you please give us a moment.”

“Of course,” the older woman nodded, bidding her son a glance, “We’ll all be out on the porch.”

Nodding in thanks, Y/n waited until she and everyone in the house had moved outside before facing Bob again. Chills ran up his arms when she let her eyes trail over his figure, remaining emotionless.

An awkward silence passed, neither really knowing what to say. Bob was hesitant to break it, hoping she would but Y/n just continued to stare at him. Both unable to form the words.

Finally he tried to say, “y-you uhh, wow.” He swore he heard her scoff under her breath.

“Yeah, wow,” her tone broke his heart, but then again Bob couldn’t blame her. After all, he’s the reason they drifted apart. When he didn’t reply, instead glancing to the ground, she scoffed louder, “That’s all you can really say? ‘Wow’? After thirteen years, Robert, all you have to fucking say to me is ‘wow’? No, ‘I’m sorry,’ no ‘I can explain everything.’”

Anxiety rising, Bob sighed which only made her angrier. “Y/n, I-I—.”

She couldn’t stop herself, “Why?” The question haunted her for over a decade. “Why did you just throw me away like trash—a-after everything we’d been through? You owe me the reason why you broke your word to me and made me feel like shit. I have waited and waited for years, Robert, hoping you would call or send a letter but now I’ve had enough so you can’t run away from me now. So start talking.”

“Y/n, I didn’t mean for y-you to feel like that,” he tried to explain, but the words were not the best, causing her to explode.

“How else was it supposed to make me feel!?” She threw her hands out. “That’s how it came off as to me! ‘All always be here for you,’ my ass, Robert. You remember telling me that? It was only two years—two years of us doing so well with the distance—I was even planning on surprising you for fucking Christmas and then it was just gone in the blink of an eye,” snapping her fingers, Y/n emphasized her point. “No explanation, no warning. Nothing to tell me you didn’t want to be friends anymore, having your mom give me excuse after excuse why you wouldn't come to the phone.” She pauses to calm herself, her tone kept rising with each word.

Bob takes the moment to speak, “It’s…Y/n, you have to understand it was never my intention to hurt you,” when she made a sound of, ‘yeah right,’ he rushed out, “Please! I fucked up, I know I did and I’ve regretted every second of it since then—and as much as I wanted to reach out and apologize, explain to why it happened…I just felt so ashamed and then I heard you on the radio,” a sad smile comes to his lips, seeing her stiffen at the mention of her debut. “And when I heard your voice, I just thought that was it. You didn’t need me anymore and believed you would forget about me eventually.”

“Forget about you?” Her tone went soft, eyes glistening. “You were my best friend—since we were fucking five, Robert!” He flinched, shame filling his veins. “We did everything together, I shared everything with you. My music—some of which were inspired by the fucking things we did,” the confession had his eyes widened a bit, “You think I would just forget all of that? Thirteen years worth of friendship down the drain? Sorry, but I’m not like you—I wouldn’t just ditch the only person I trusted most in this world because I was starting to become something. Did your mom tell you I called?” She suddenly asked, not letting him answer before she was ranting again, “It was almost a year after you threw me to the winds. The night I fucking met with Capitol Records and got offered the opportunity of a lifetime….I wanted to share that with you. Despite the fact we hadn’t talked for almost a goddamn year, I desperately wanted to hear your voice and tell you I did it,” her voice cracked at the end, causing tears to prick in Bob’s eyes at the sight she was fighting back her own.

“That I did it,” Y/n held back the sob threatening to escape. “You were the only one who believed in me, and I couldn’t even share that with you. Because you didn’t want me in your life anymore—and you know what that’s okay. Friendships come and go, but you couldn’t even give me the fucking respect to tell me. And then you come to my show!” Now she was shouting, “Yeah I know that was you, don’t even try to deny it. It may have been four years at that time but I know damn well that was you in New York. I cannot fucking believe you would come to my show and not even tell me! And then to not reach out after was a fucking slap to my face.” Her breathing was starting to get heavy, the woman pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t even recognize you honestly. The Robert I knew would’ve never hurt me like you did. He would’ve at least shown me some respect. He wouldn't leave me to wonder what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said sternly.

“Well it doesn’t feel that way now does it?” She said just as harsh, “Why?”

“Y/n, it’s complicated,” he put his hands to his neck, looking at the ceiling as he started to lose composure.

“Then tell me why!”

“Because I fucking love you that’s why!”

The words had left Bob’s mouth before he could stop himself. Silence ignited, the WSO covering his mouth with a hand as he went pale, staring at Y/n whose own mouth was parted. The confession had hit her full blast, causing her to stumble back as though she physically felt them possess her. A shaky hand came to her own mouth, looking away from the man when her eyes closed allowing the tears to spill on her cheeks.

“I love you,” Bob whispered, mirroring her expression. “I’ve loved you since we were fifteen, Y/n. I knew I felt something when we were twelve, but I just brushed it off thinking I was confused. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about you—and what we could have. But I didn’t want to lose you if you didn’t feel the same.” Opening his eyes, they locked on hers. God even when she cried she looked beautiful. “When you left…I thought it would be easier to move on. But then we talked every week and the feelings wouldn’t go away. No matter how much I tried. You took my heart with you to L.A. and you’ve had it ever since.”

He waited for her to respond, chest on fire with how bad his heart was racing. Fingertips were going numb as Bob stared at her with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t go back in time and change it as much as I wish I could. Please know, Y/n, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you. I won’t ask for your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. I won’t blame you if you walk out that door and we never see each other again. But just when you do, know that I’m truly, deeply, sorry.”

Time seemed to slow now with the two adults staring at each other. Now that it was all out in the open, Y/n seemed to be processing the whole thing. Bob couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Unbeknownst to him, Y/n’s brain was screaming, as was her heart. Lips quivering, the woman sniffed.

“You love me?”

“I do,” Bob signed after a moment. He no longer could keep it in, feeling the immense relief at being able to finally say it aloud.

“For years?”

“Almost seventeen.”

“Seventeen,” she repeated with an unreadable tone. “Y-you, I thought—your mom told me you were engaged.”

“That was in college,” he explained softly. “She was at the show with me that night. Saw how we reacted to each other and realized things I tried to hide. I ended things with her—I couldn’t trap her in a marriage that would make her unhappy—make me unhappy. She understood after a while and we stayed friends.” Bob rubbed his jaw, adding, “everyone else that came along was the same. I couldn’t love them the way they wanted me to. My heart wouldn’t allow it.”

Y/n leaned her head against the wall behind her, gazing at the ceiling, “A-and you were just going to go through life alone? Never planning to settle or be happy?”

“What good would it be hurting someone by committing to them when I couldn’t offer everything they would give me in return. They could love me, but I couldn’t love them, Y/n, and that’s unfair.” He wiped away a tear that slipped from his eye, no doubt his irises were red, “I’d rather be alone than do that to someone.”

She took a sharp inhale at that, more tears falling. “You should’ve told me,” her voice cracked, making him look away. Only to freeze when she said in almost a whisper, “Because we could’ve had all this time.”

“Wh-what?” Was his mind playing tricks on him? Or did she really just say what he thought she did?

Y/n chuckled, but it was more of laughing at how sad the situation was. Shaking her head, her eyes stayed on her boots as she said, “Did you ever wonder why I rejected Tyler Davies when he asked me to homecoming junior year, insisting I wanted to go with you instead?” Tyler was the quarterback of their high school football team. A senior, who asked Y/n to the dance and became the talk of the school when she said no. Many were jealous she even got his attention, riddled with shock she would reject the star player.

“Because you felt sorry for me I didn’t ask anyone?” He asked like it was obvious, causing her to huff.

“Because I wanted you to ask me,” his heart skipped again, “And whenever Melinda Perry would flirt with you in government I would literally send her daggers because of how jealous I was. Why do you think I warned you not to go out with her when you asked for my advice? Yeah I knew she was a snake to most of her boyfriends, but I was also selfish because I didn’t want you dating someone else. God, Robby, you were so blind. Even with your glasses you still couldn’t see that I loved you.” It was though he was on cloud 9, disbelief at what he was hearing.

Y/n loved him. At least she did when they were teenagers.

The next question couldn’t even form in his mind before she was lifting her head back up, shrugging when allowing the confession to fall from her lips. “And as much as I want to hate you right, I can’t bring myself to. Because I’m still hopelessly in love with you, Robby.”

Now he was the one stumbling back. “Y-you do?”

“I do. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen.”

He didn’t recall much that happened after that. Just that his feet were carrying him over to her, cupping her face in his hands and moving their faces close together. Lips just barely brushing over, he waited for her to make the next move. Y/n wasted no time, pressing her mouth to his and the two felt the eruption of warmth and love consume their bodies. Her arms around his neck, her fingers ran through his blonde hair causing Bob to groan. The sound made her gasp, allowing Bob to slip his tongue past her lips and heat up the kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips, bringing them back together.

“I love you too.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” His arms went to cradle her, pressing her against the wall. She simply nodded before kissing him back, “I forgive you, Robby.” God he missed that name. Only she could make him feel some type of way when she said it. He chuckled when she added, “Even though I should slap the fuck out of you.”

It was a miracle they made it up the stairs and into his childhood bedroom which was now a guest room. He had to remember to lock the door after setting her on the bed, praying to God his family would stay outside. There was music playing from what he could hear through the window so it made things easier when the two got lost in each other.

Clothes scattered the floor, kisses and hushed whispers shared between the two. Bob worshiped Y/n, letting his mouth kiss along every inch of her, trailing down any tattoos that coated her skin and paying extra attention in the places that brought her the most pleasure.

When he entered her they both sighed in bliss, moving as one until they reached a climax that brought them both to tears. All the time Bob whispered how much he loved her, Y/n repeating it each time. She moaned with each thrust and whenever she pleaded with him to do something Bob delivered it without hesitation. With her leg over his shoulder, chests pressed and mouths attached together the officer believed if he died right there it would be with a smile on his face. They came together, Y/n gasping his name as he eased them through their climax. When it was over Bob leaned down to capture her lips, wiping away her tears before removing himself to clean her. They basked in the afterglow, Y/n laying her head on his chest while he lightly traced the tattoos on her arm with his finger.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked, making her humm in response. “Enrique…”

The woman made a sound, lifting her head to gaze at him. “Enrique and I had been friends for some time—and we did drunkenly hook up once to get the sexual tension out of the way but that was it,” Bob controlled his reaction, though he couldn't say anything for he too had his fair share of one night stands. “The band’s contract was renewed and The Walking Dead was just starting out. The label and his producers thought it was a good idea for us to be seen together. Just to bring in some press for our upcoming album and the show. But we never felt anything more than friends for each other.”

Bob sat up a bit, causing her to lean on her elbows as she rested on her stomach. His expression was unreadable, “but you two were married.” Again Y/n let out a sigh.

“Enrique and I were friends so we shared things. He confided in me, I confided in him—Enrique was in love with someone who he couldn’t have. Ring a bell?” She raised a brow at him. “I was in the same boat. Just like how you said you couldn’t bring yourself to love anyone else, I couldn’t either. But at the time I thought you were married, Robby.” That had his eyes widened. “I called your mom after the concert that night, hoping to get to you and she told me you were engaged. So when I met Enrique and we both were going through the same thing, we thought ‘instead of being miserable alone, let’s be miserable together.’ Our publicists hated the idea, but we both believed we wouldn’t get our fairytale ending.”

Something in the way she said that last sentence had Bob think about Enrique Lorenzo. Most recently it was revealed he was in a relationship with fellow costar Simon Zahir, coming out as bisexual to the world with an instagram post of the two sharing a kiss.

“So you married him even though you didn’t love him?” Kinda like how he almost did with Abby. It made Bob frown thinking about it.

“I did love him, just not the way a wife should love their husband. And he understood because he couldn’t love me the way a husband would their wife,” she sadly smiled, “It was a mutual understanding where we would go and support each other at premiers and award shows, kiss for the cameras, all that was needed to show the media we were a happy couple. But behind closed doors we actually lived separately.”

Hesitant to ask, Bob waited a moment before saying what was on his mind the last couple years. “What made you two divorce?” The question made her give a small smile.

“Simon confessed to Enrique he loved him after they finished filming season four, and that he and his wife were divorcing. When Enrique told me… I could just see the hope in his eyes, and who was I to deny him his chance at happiness just because I didn’t want to be alone. It would have been selfish of me to. No, I told him the first thing the next morning we’d file but our publicists called and asked to wait until Simon was divorced before we went through with ours. That’s why we were ‘separated’ for a year,” she put quotes around ‘separated’. “We didn’t want to cite irreconcilable differences since it was a mutual decision, but the lawyers thought that was the best route to go.”

Bringing a hand up to caress her cheek, Bob asked the second question he wanted to know, “What made you come here?” She leaned into his touch, “you said you thought I was married. How did you even get here?” The last question was more due to the fact The 1985’s were currently on tour. It was another reason why he was so shocked to see her there when he arrived.

“We played in Helena last night. After the show I had this feeling I needed to come here, so I called my mom to get your mom’s number. That’s when she told me you were flying in today.” Her face turned to one of guilt, “I sorta feel like a bitch because tomorrow is your birthday and I came here knowing there would likely be an argument. Even though I thought you were married, I just really wanted to know the truth. It was eating me up. And with that feeling I needed to come here again after so many years, it sorta felt like a sign—if you can call it that.”

Leaning more into his hand, Y/n added, “I didn’t come with the intentions of winning you over or anything—especially under the impression you were married. I wanted answers, that was all. Although,” she kisses his wrist, “I’m not complaining with how things turned out.”

“Me either,” he agreed with a laugh. As he moved in to kiss her, a knock on the door interrupted causing the two to look like deer in headlights.

“If you two are presentable,” it was his sister, “then we’d be happy if y’all joined us for dinner sometime soon. But by all means, take your time.” She ended with a cheeky laugh before footsteps indicated she had walked away.

Bob let his head fall back into the pillow with a groan while Y/n giggled. She went to get up, but the man wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled into her neck. “I’ve waited too long for this.” Humming, he felt her hands go to his air, maneuvering them so he was on top of her.

Y/n gasped at the feeling of him becoming hard again, causing Bob to smirk as she wrapped her legs around him to offer assistance. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

In the haze of it all and as the weeks passed, the two began to live the life they dreamed of with each other. Neither realized they had forgotten protection that night….until Y/n was puking on the tour bus and counted the days since her last period.

“Look at me,” Bob held her hands. They sat in her hotel room in Sacramento, the band finishing out their tour in California before setting to work on their next album. When she called him that morning about her possibly being pregnant Bob got in his car and drove straight there. Thankfully it was a Saturday so he was off and had great timing. Pepper was kind enough to give her a spare pregnancy test she had on her, so Y/n waited until Bob arrived to take it.

Relieving herself on the stick, she kept it in the bathroom to wait for the results while she sat with him on the bed. She was crying, unsure how to feel. Part of her was excited at the idea of being pregnant and having a baby with Bob, but also feared it was too soon. They had just started dating, she was on tour until the end of the month, and they had been keeping their relationship quiet from the public so she was scared of what could happen.

For the WSO, he was going to be happy regardless of the outcome. “Look at me, Y/n. Everything is going to be okay. I am not leaving you—I swear to you, baby. If that says positive, then believe me when I say I will be the happiest man alive,” she whimpered, making him press kisses her cheek lovingly, “We’ll get through it together. You’re gonna be done with the tour in a few weeks and then we can take it from there. And if it’s negative then that’s completely okay too.”

When the results did come, the stick reading in small letters pregnant, the couple cried together with Bob pulling Y/n into his lap. “I love you—I love you,” he kissed all over her face, her cries turning into giggles. “It’s going to be okay, Y/n. I’m so happy, darlin’. So so happy. I want nothing more in this world than to have a baby with you. You’re going to be the best momma ever. I know it.”

October of 2017 brought Marcel Brandon Floyd into the world. Keeping her pregnancy a secret, no one besides the band and their families had knowledge of the birth of their son. Thankfully Bob’s identity was still hidden, both very careful to not let paparazzi catch them together. Especially with Y/n being pregnant they didn’t want to add on the stress of the media discovering their relationship. They planned to announce it on their own at some point once the baby had arrived.

It wasn’t until Marcel was roughly a month old that Y/n posted an Instagram picture with his tiny hand wrapped around her finger, ‘my world has arrived 🤍 10.20.17.’ The announcement had Y/n trending #1 on Twitter and talk show hosts calling to have her on the show. Y/n declined, she only really made television appearances with the band if they were performing, but that was only when they released new music.

Around the holidays was when Bob proposed. They were sitting by the fire, Y/n in his lap with Marcel in her arms when Bob simply said, “Marry me.”

At first she thought he was joking, but then he removed a velvet box from his pocket. Her eyes watered, “Are you serious?”

“More than I’ve ever been. You’re my person, baby. I’ve waited for this moment my whole life—and I won’t waste another second. Marry me, Y/n. Be my wife and I promise to love you even after death.”

He truly meant it when he said he didn’t want to waste another second. After she said yes, they put Marcel to bed and Bob made an appointment at the courthouse, both agreeing to get legally married and wait for a big ceremony some other time. They made love all through the night until the sun rose. In the morning the little family and the band gathered in the courthouse and tied the knot.

Y/n already knew the media was going to have stuff to say about her when the news broke. This was her second marriage, also happening in the spur of the moment like her first one. Only this time around it was with her soulmate so the rockstar couldn’t give a fuck what they had to say. She and Bob were coming up on a year, had a child, and planned to spend every second of their lives together. She loved him with every ounce of her being.

On instagram the picture posted was of their rings followed by one of them kissing where his face was hidden. “I’ve been keeping a secret from all of you. In January I reunited with my childhood best friend, who I was in love with way before The 1985’s were even thought of. Things happened in life causing us to drift apart, but we recently found our way back to each other and I plan to never let him go. He is my second half. The person I was meant to grow old with. I can’t put into words how happy I am and with the birth of our son, our little fairytale seems to be working out. Some of you may think this is all too fast but let me tell you this, we’ve waited a long time for this moment. I ask that you please respect our privacy and thank you to all who have supported me over the years. Much love, Y/n ♥️”

For almost two years the two kept their relationship under wraps from the media. Then in October of 2019, just before Marcel’s birthday Bob was called back to Top Gun. It’d been several years since he graduated from the program, surprised they even wanted him for the mission. With how timing was the WSO would have to report to Fightertown a couple days after his son turned two. Y/n had a beach house in San Diego, deciding her and Marcel would stay there while Bob was in his detachment and what made it better was Xavier and Farrah—who fell in love over the course of their years as a band— were both from San Diego, both currently there while the band took a small break. Bob would have to stay on base with candidates, but after training ended he’d come to the house to be with them.

Pepper and Thomas were back in L.A, but we’re working on beats for their upcoming album and sending the three what they had for them to add on or scrap if they felt it didn’t fit. They had a meeting with the two Zoom with Xavier and Farrah and their two young kids at Y/n’s place the day she got the call Bob was in an accident.

“Hello?” She answered the phone, moving to the side away from where Xavier was drumming. Marcel was in his little playpen, a pair of baby earmuffs over his ears to protect them from the loud noise.

“Hi….” The guy on the opposite end let out a soft chuckle. “I’m looking for uh, Y/n L/n?” His tone was that of someone who found it funny he was asking for someone he definitely thought wouldn’t be on the other end of the phone. Like he saw the name on the card and said, “there’s no fucking way this is the guy married to Y/n L/n,” but because of his job he had to call the number anyway.

“This is her. Who am I speaking to?”

The man went silent for a moment, before clearing his throat. “This is Lieutenant Royce from NAS Miramar medical group,” Y/n’s heart picked up as dread filled her, “Can you confirm you are the spouse of Lieutenant Robert Floyd.”

“Yes,” she rushed out. “I am. Is he okay? Did something happen?” Closing her eyes, she prayed she wasn’t about to receive the worst news imaginable. No, Bob had to be okay.

“There was an accident with his F-18 this afternoon, he had to eject—.”

“Excuse me one second,” she apologized before bringing the phone back slightly to yell at the drummer, “Xavier! Stop drumming for five seconds—I need to fucking hear right now!” The man winced as he mouthed, ‘sorry’ catching the ashen look on her face. Both he and Farrah set aside their instruments, watching Y/n turn away to speak again, this time more calmly. “Please repeat that for me, Lieutenant.”

When Royce heard the name of The 1985’s drummer being shouted at, the Lieutenant nearly forgot what he was calling for, “U-uh, yes. There was an emergency ejection in your husband’s F-18 this afternoon during training. He is okay minus a few bruises, but he will be staying overnight in our facility for observation.”

“Oh my gosh, okay,” she breathed in relief, bringing a hand to her mouth to calm herself. “Is there any way I can see him?”

“Do you have a dependent ID card?” She tells him yes and he says with a light cough, “Then yes you can come onto base and see him.” Royce gave the address, still finding it hard to believe he may have been talking with the frontwoman of the most popular rock band in the last 15 years. He really thought it was just someone who shared a name with her. But then again, they sounded very alike.

Thanking the officer, Y/n wrote down the address and rushed to grab her purse. “I have to go to base—something happened with Bob. Can you guys watch Marcel until I get back?”

“Of course,” Farrah told her, “go go, we’ll stay here and clean everything up.”

Practically speeding onto base, it was the first time she ever had to use her military ID, which had the guard at the front gate jaw drop. He maintained professionalism, scanning her card and nodding to the rockstar. As much as he wanted to ask for a photo the guy could tell she was in distress and it wasn’t a good idea. “Have a good day, Ms. L/n.”

“Thank you, sir. You too.” She waved apologetically, recognizing the look she often got from fans. Had the situation been different she would’ve happily chatted a little longer.

It was the same when she got to the infirmary. The receptionist, who looked to be in her mid twenties, dropped the apple in her hand while other young servicemen were doing double takes and whispering. “That’s fucking Y/n L/n.” “Are you sure?” “I’m serious! I had a huge crush on her in college. I’d recognize her anywhere.”

“Hi,” she offered a small smile, aware the guy to her left had his phone out trying to sneak a picture, likely tweeting the fact she was in a Navy hospital. “I’m looking for my husband, Lieutenant Robert Floyd. I received a call from a Lieutenant Royce saying he was here.”

Upon hearing his name, the gentlemen seated behind the girl with his back to her spun around, eyes bulging when they landed on Y/n. The chair almost fell when he stood abruptly. “T-that’s me. Yes I’m the one who called you, Ms. L/n. If you would follow me I’ll take you to him.”

“Thank you,” she walked behind him, ignoring the whispers and comments made by those around. By now TMZ probably got tipped off, she could already feel her phone buzzing—no doubt from her publicist wondering what the hell was going on. She made a mental note to call her back later to explain.

Royce knocked gently on the door before opening it, “Lieutenant—oh you have visitors I apologize,” he glanced over his shoulder to Y/n, still in disbelief on what he was about to say. Turning back to Bob, Royce gives a nod, “your wife is here.”

“She is?” Y/n heard Bob, and some murmurs of voices going, “Wife?” “When the hell did he get married?”

Pushing past Royce, thanking him briefly, Y/n entered the room only to stop short at the several pairs of eyes landing on her. Off to the side she saw a man with a buzz cut drop his bag of chips, choking on the one in his mouth, “What. the. fuck.”

The two standing in front of the bed—mouths agape—parted away allowing Y/n to see Bob sitting with his flight suit unzipped and tied around his waist. Exhaling in utter relief the woman rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, Robby.” She felt his arms go to her waist, pulling her closer as she hid her face in his neck. Y/n could literally cry with how happy she was to see him in one piece.

“I’m okay, darlin’.” He rubbed her back, aware his fellow aviators were staring at them with mixed expressions. They looked confused, disbelieved, shocked, and in awe.

The quiet, reserved, yet sometimes sassy WSO is married to the woman who's been ruling the radio over the last decade.

Who had seven fucking Grammy’s under her band’s name.

Pulling away, Y/n ran her hands along his shoulders, checking for any visible wounds. “What happened? Lieutenant Royce told me you had to eject?”

“There was a bird strike,” he explained, taking her hands and soothing them with his thumbs. “We lost both engines—Phoenix tried to get back control but we were going too fast and couldn’t save the jet. Had to eject at the last second—we’re okay though, I promise. Just a little shaken.”

“Thank God you’re alright,” she sniffed, hugging him again while kissing his cheek. “Leave it to you getting in an accident that makes me use my ID for the first time.”

“How was that?”

“Interesting. I was tempted to run the gate because I had no patience, but controlled myself. Getting arrested would not have been good.”

“No it wouldn’t,” he chuckled, pressing his lips to her forehead.

The clearing of someone’s throat ended the moment, Y/n removing herself from Bob to face the group of aviators who were still speechless by the scene. Smiling shyly, Y/n took in each of them. “Hello, I’m Y/n.”

“Oh we know who you are,” Fanboy said with awe, groaning when Payback smacked his shoulder with a disapproving look. “Sorry that was not the best thing to say. What I-I meant was we’re all fans of your work.”

“And by that he means we were all jamming to your music on the tarmac just yesterday, not understanding why Bobby here looked so smug when Seresin said he could totally get a shot with you if he ever got the chance,” Rooster added on, resulting in the blonde pilot to glare at him before blushing when the others started to laugh.

“Well now I sure as hell won’t try—I’m not that shallow to hit on a married woman, Bradshaw. Made that mistake ages ago and it was not pretty. Anyways, sorry Bob for what I said,” he held a hand up, “but let me be the first to say what a fucking G you are. And Y/n, it’s an honor to be in your presence. Big fan.”

Y/n raised a brow, smirking to her husband to see his reaction. He sure did look smug, keeping his arm around her waist. “A fucking G, huh?”

“He’s the one who said it,” he smiles before noticing she was alone when she arrived, “Where’s Marcel?”

“With Xav and Farrah. They were at the house when I got the call—we were working on some songs.” In the corner of her eye she saw Coyote and Fanboy visibly react to the mention of her bandmates.

“Forgive me for asking,” Phoenix finally spoke from her bed that was seated right next to Bob’s. “But weren’t you two childhood best friends if I’m not mistaken? Sorry if it’s too personal, but I remember seeing your post on instagram two years ago and I thought it said something like that.”

The couple smiled, confirming her wonders. “Yeah,” Bob looked at Y/n with love in his eyes. “We grew up together. Took a hell of a long time before we could get our chance at love, but it was worth the wait.”

For almost an hour the aviators learned more about Y/n and Bob’s relationship, literally saying it should be a romance novel with what life threw at them. The hopeless romantic in Phoenix couldn’t help but awe, feeling so much happiness for her backseater and the rockstar she’d been listening to since sixteen. They truly were the ultimate love story.

When it came time for the mission with Bob and Phoenix selected as one of two foxtrot teams, Y/n held onto him the entire night prior to him shipping out. He made love to her for hours, very slow and sensual ensuring she felt every inch of him. And when they climaxed a tear spilled from her eyes, “You better come home to me.”

He kept a picture of her and Marcel in his pocket the entire time. Before the jet took off of the carrier Bob gave it a small kiss before keeping it safe in his flight suit. The second they got back after successfully completing the mission he called his wife to tell her he was coming home. She practically catapulted into his arms when she picked him up from the docks, not giving a shit that the paparazzi had followed her there. By now the whole world knew who Bob was to her.

The rest of 2019 seemed to go by in a blur. They first thought 2020 would be the best year of their lives when it was discovered Y/n was pregnant again, having conceived the night Bob had left for his mission. She was just at the end of her first trimester when the entire globe shut down. When the rumors spread of a possible pandemic with the outbreak happening across the ocean, the 1985’s all took up camp in San Diego now that Bob had become an instructor with Phoenix at Top Gun. Thomas and his fiancé, who was an actress, didn’t mind moving, neither did Pepper and her girlfriend. The group were working on their sixth studio album and had celebrated 15 years as a group.

But they were starting to get burnt out, thinking it was time to go on hiatus.

Concerned with the virus and what it could have on her pregnancy, the two were very strict on keeping up with covid restriction. For at least three months Bob was working from home, the base shutting down with only certain personnel allowed on. Marcel was still too young to be in pre-school and daycare wasn’t needed since Y/n was home most days. And when she did have business meetings to attend or studio sessions he often traveled with her. Zoom became their best friend during the lockdown, with meetings happening frequently at the beginning to figure out what they were going to do going forward.

Y/n spent weeks going through what were the best records to put on the album. If this was going to be their last for a while then she wanted it to be their best. Two songs she knew she wanted were ‘Pompeii’ and ‘Little Black Dress’, while the other 13 were going to take time to decide. ‘Pompeii’ could definitely have people relate with how this lockdown was making them feel. On the other hand, ‘Little Black Dress’ was mostly for her, inspired by the time Bob went absolutely feral when she walked into the room wearing a little black dress.

It was one of her favorite memories.

And so the months went on and before they knew it they were welcoming a baby girl in July—right smack in the middle of a pandemic. The whole ordeal was unlike anything they ever imagined. Only Bob was allowed in the room, not even their son could come visit so little Marcel didn’t even get to meet his sister until days later. He was with Y/n’s mother who traveled down from L.A and quarantined in the weeks leading to her due date. Y/n hated hospitals, looking forward to bringing their daughter Brenda Rose home. Unfortunately no one else in their family or friends could meet the baby girl until spring of 2021 when things were starting to settle out.

That was also when The 1985s made the decision to go on hiatus, planning to release their album that summer before going on a final tour in 2022.

“This just in, pop rock group ,The 1985s, have announced a hiatus following the release of their upcoming album End of An Era set to drop at the end July. Frontwoman, Y/n L/n, posted on her Twitter a photo of the group in a sweet embrace with the caption, ‘when one chapter ends, another begins. Join us in 2022 as we say goodbye to the stage—thank you to everyone who has supported us since we were kids on MySpace. We hope to see you as we close this chapter in our lives, but don’t worry, the future can always surprise you. In the meantime, as Elvis would say, ‘The 1985s have left the building.’”

“It’s a sad day for fans of Grammy award winning rock band The 1985s. Earlier it was announced they are going on an indefinite hiatus once completing their impending world tour for their sixth studio album. Formed in 2003, the 1985s skyrocketed to the Billboard charts after debuting with their single ‘1985’ in 2005, going on to dominate the late 2000s and early 2010s with features on The Twilight Saga: Eclipse soundtrack, the 25th anniversary of We Are The World to raise charity for the Haiti earthquake, and accumulating a total of seven Grammys including taking home the big three: ‘Record of The Year,’ ‘Song of The Year,’ and ‘Album of The Year’ in 2008 for their second studio album Sugar, Spice, and A Little Bit of Rock ‘N’ Roll. The announcement of the hiatus has succeeded the news of bassist Thomas Quinn tying the knot with longtime girlfriend, Oscar Winner Amelia Bandera, who recently revealed she was pregnant with the couple’s first child. Last year frontwoman Y/n L/n welcomed a daughter with her husband—the couple’s second child since they wed in a private ceremony in 2017. And word on the street is keyboardist Pepper Renolyds is looking to adopt with partner Jenna Langdon. The married pair of the band, Xavier and Farrah Hernandez have had two children following their wedding in 2010 and have hinted at possibly wanting to have a third. It is unsure when the group is likely to regroup after 2022 comes to an end, but one thing is for sure: The 1985s have embedded their name as one of the bestselling groups of the 21st century. I’d say we could be looking at a possible induction to the Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame in the future, and a Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.”

Now here they were, November of 2022 at Madison Square Garden to take the stage one last time. Would they ever come back? Probably, but it would be some time before they did.

So they were gonna go out with a bang.

“I have twenty minutes until my ass needs to be on stage, Robby,” Y/n mumbled between kisses, back pressed against the door of her dressing room. His mouth went to her neck, roaming his hands all over her body that was covered in her usual leather, “That’s plenty of time.” The response had her giggle, moaning when he attacked her sweet spot making him smirk.

“Then you better do double time…we’re on the clock.”

Her glam team was going to be pissed when she came out with messy hair, glistening of sweat, and slightly smudged makeup, but she didn’t care. Not when her husband was rocking her world as he had her bent over the couch. His chest pressed to her back and hair in his fist, whispering absolute filth into her ear—saying he was going to have her on stage full of him and only he would know. But Bob also gave words of praise and love.

It wasn’t the first time he snuck backstage to rile her up before a concert. When they started the American leg of the tour in California he was at almost every show and would bring her flowers. Sometimes the kids came along, other times they stayed with Phoenix, but each time Bob would either get her pent up by teasing her as the minutes counted down…or would full on rail her. He'd be lying if he said he didn’t get off on the thrill of almost getting caught….or the fact anyone passing the dressing room could figure out what they were making their own music.

This time around in The Garden their kids were with Phoenix and Rooster, who were all waiting to get to their spots on the floor after wishing her and the band good luck. The others were already there, ready to have the time of their lives with the sold out arena. Bob needed to hurry because the stage manager was going to be knocking on her door any second.

They finished with minutes to spare, out of breath and panting with a light layer of sweat coating Y/n. Fuck she looked sexy in her leather and messed up hair, glistening as the light hit her. A smug look took over Bob, winking at his wife who just shook her head with a smile, “I’m gonna miss that now that the tour is over.”

“Don’t worry, baby. We still got after party.”

The rockstar ushered him out when the stage manager appeared, the aviator delivering a smack to her ass as he told her good luck. She smacked his in return causing him to yelp, “Naughty boy.”

Yeah he got some looks from his fellow officers when they got to the floor, Jake whistling under his breath as he went to check his watch. “Jesus Bob, you two were at it for a while. Were you trying to go for baby number three? I hope she’s able to walk on stage.” The comment had Phoenix slap his shoulder, “Can you not? We have kids with us,” she gestured to not only Bob’s children but also Payback's ten year old son and Hondo’s seven year old daughter. Then there was Mickey’s girlfriend carrying their toddler with baby earmuffs, the same Brenda and Marcel were wearing. “My bad,” Jake said, though the smirk remained on his face when Bob sent him a wink.

When the show started it was the most amazing thing any of the squad had witnessed. Some of them had seen the band in their college days, but it was obvious they were gonna top what they did ten years ago. There was a light rumble to Madison Square Garden with how loud it was. Flashing lights and smoke covered the stage, the countdown with a video montage hitting zero before The 1985’s opened with ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go,’ sending everyone who was still sitting on their feet. Bob put Brenda on his shoulders, Rooster doing the same with Marcel who were clapping and pointing to their mother, “Mommy!”

“Now, I’m searching every lonely place,” Y/n belted out the first line of the chorus, moving down the stage’s elongated platform that split the floor. “Every corner calling out your name. Tryna find you, but I just don’t know.” Xavier hit the drums with Farrah’s riff, Y/n holding a hand to chest, “Where do broken hearts go?”

“Are you sleeping, baby, by yourself? Or are you giving it to someone else? Tryna find you, but I just don’t know,” Pepper and Thomas joined the vocals, “Where do broken hearts go? Where do broken hearts go?”

When the song came to an end, Y/n let the audience scream for a moment before introducing the band. “Madison Square Garden!! New York City!!” The crowd screamed again, smiles on every member. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, theys and thems and anyone in between…. welcome to the ‘End of An Era’ world tour—our final show as we close out an actual end of an era,” Y/n moves closer to her friends with a sad laugh, hearing the sounds of protest from some fans.

“Let’s start off by introducing ourselves…..Mr. Thomas Quinn on the bass!” Tom hits some chords against the audience’s cheers, Y/n doing a little dance off to the side. “Miss. Pepper Reynolds on keys everyone!” The former pianist lets her fingers move along the keys, grinning wide and waving when she finishes. “Show me what you can do, Ms. Farrah Cortez,” the guitar solo sends the crowd into a frenzy, which only increases when Y/n introduces Xavier. “And last but not least, Mr. Farrah Cortez,” laughter rings out before she corrects herself, “I meant Mr. Xavier Hernandez,” the drums go crazy when his last name leaves her lips. She waits till he’s finished to do a bow.

“And I’m Y/n L/n,” she has to pull her mic away to hide her laugh, cheers ringing from every corner in the sold out stadium. “And we’re The 1985s.”

The energy throughout the concert was insane. Even during intermission and 5-minute breaks the audience was having a blast. The dagger squad, plus Hondo and even Maverick were dancing and singing along—the older man getting a literal PowerPoint lesson from his former students on everything there was to know about the group.

Y/n was very entertained when Bob told her that night, saying Maverick aced his test they’d given him. “You gave your old instructor, the famous Captain Mitchell….a test on our band and music? And he got a 100%?” His little nod and smile had Y/n jump in his arms, kissing all over his face, “You’re so fucking adorable, Robby. I love you so much.”

The first part of the show was mostly dedicated to songs on their most recent album, including ‘Pompeii’ and ‘Little Black Dress’. The latter had Bob blushing mad during the set, especially when Y/n came over to where they were at, eyes on him and curing a finger to get him to come to the edge of the floor. There the stadium exploded when she practically laid on the platform to lean over and kiss him, the cameras catching the scene to display on the giant screens.

Blowing kisses to her kids, she got back up and finished the song, smirking at how the dagger squad were whistling and howling in cheers. “Sorry I couldn’t help myself,” she giggled, moving back to her bandmates to prepare for the next set.

Though the tour mainly focused on their songs from their latest work, they called back to some old hits, including ‘Let’s Get Lost,’ which was written for the third Twilight movie soundtrack. “We got any Twilight fans here tonight?” Y/n chuckled at the screams, “I got one thing to ask then….Team Edward or Jacob?”

‘Some Nights’ was one of her favorites to perform, feeling a wave of nostalgia each time she did. It was a fan favorite as it was their second single ever released. The band harmonized on the track, all of them showing off their vocals with the ‘Oh come on,’ part of the song.

Y/n was hesitant to sing ‘Iris’ and ‘Payphone,’ considering they were about her husband, but he assured her when they were planning the tour set list that he wouldn’t be offended. They were some of her greatest works, the audience should hear them.

They even covered the iconic, ‘Don’t You Forget About Me,’ from the Simple Minds—most notably from the movie The Breakfast Club. “I hope you never forget about us, New York,” Y/n said when they finished, “Cause we’ll never forget you.”

Finally they were coming down to the final ten minutes and they had yet to play the song that started it all. “As we come to the end of tonight’s show, we just wanna thank each and every one of you for the support and love you have shown us tonight and through the years. None of this would’ve happened without you all—and we cannot thank you enough for sticking by us, you all play a giant role in what we do. And we’re going to miss you the most as we close this chapter in our lives,” Y/n pauses, feeling the tears prick her eyes. Glancing at her friends, she could see they were fighting back their own. They knew it would be an emotional night, and now they were minutes away from stepping off the stage for the final time.

“We started this journey when we were only seventeen and eighteen—and it’s been a hell of a ride since. Next year marks twenty years since we became The 1985s, seventeen since we made our radio debut, back when MySpace was still a thing,” she has to laugh at that, “What better way to end this tour—end this chapter, than by traveling back in time to the year that started it all.”

The reaction in the dome had little Brenda have to cover her hands over her muffs because it was so loud, Bob holding her on his hip and asking if she was alright. “Loud,” she said in her small voice, causing him to mentally awe.

“I know, baby, it’s loud. But the show is almost over and then mommy will be done, then we go home. Can you hold on for one more song? It’s your favorite one,” Brenda’s eyes brightened at the mention of her favorite song, nodding frantically making him laugh. “Okay munchkin, I expect to hear you sing along—except don’t say the bad word in it, understood?”

“Yes, dada.”

Phoenix was jumping up and down with Marcel in her arms, head banging with the little boy along with Rooster and Javy. Everyone was in delight, rockin out to the final number. Brenda sang along with Bob, the crowd harmonizing with them.

“She’s seen all the classics,” Y/n belted the second verse, hands moving on her guitar, “She knows every line. Breakfast Club, Pretty In Pink, even St. Elmo’s Fire.”

“She rocked out to Wham, not a big Limp Bizkit fan. Thought she’d get a hand on a member of Duran Duran.”

Her and Farrah were leaning their backs against one another, “Where’s the mini-skirt made of snakeskin? And who’s the other guy that’s singin’ in Van Halen? When did reality become TV? Whatever happened to,” she hit a riff, “sitcoms,” she hit another, “game shows? Sing it!”

The entire squad, the kids, and Madison Square Garden echoed, “ON THE RADIO!”

“Was Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana there was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. ‘Cause she’s still preoccupied with 19…19…1985!”

Her mini solo before the bridge had the crowd wild. Smiling the entire time, Y/n even went to the side where her friends and family were, making them all go crazy. “She hates time, make it stop. When did Motley Crue become classic rock?”

“Classic rock,” the band repeated.

“And when did Ozzy become an actor? Please make this stop,” Y/n hit a riff, “stop,” another, “stop!” Only the cheers could be heard during the slight pause before Y/n brought her hand back on the chords.

“And bring back Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana. There was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. ‘Cause she’s still preoccupied—sing it!”

“1985!!!”

“One last time Madison Square Garden!!” Not a single person in them dome didn’t sing along, everyone shouting the final chorus at the top of their lungs.

“Since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana. There was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. But she’s still preoccupied, with 19….19….1985!!!”

All the band members continued playing an extended outro, lights flashing all around as the crowd whistled and screamed. Y/n ran over to each side of the stage before coming to the middle, waving a hand to her band who were still going hard on the instruments before raising it and finally bowing.

On the floor, Brenda still in his arms, Bob wiped away the tears falling from his cheeks with his free hand. His friends were cheering, the entire scene overwhelming for the WSO as he stared at his true love as she took her final bow. Y/n was also crying, as were her friends when they finally closed the show shouting, “Madison Square Garden—New York City we love you! Thank you so much for being here with us and being the best crowd ever. Safe travels wherever you’re going and we hope all your dreams come true. Until we meet again….as Elvis would say, The 1985s have left the building!”

The crowd was still screaming, the five adults coming to the middle of the stage holding hands in the air before bowing. Then they all met in a tearful embrace, Y/n full on sobbing with Farrah and Pepper, overcome with emotion that it was all over. Waving to the crowd, they spotted dozens of fans in their line of vision crying, some even throwing flowers onto the stage. They all went to each side of the platform to blow kisses and wave, until finally walking off into the arms of their crew who’d been with them since 2005–where another heartfelt moment took place.

As soon as their families made it backstage, Y/n was dropping to her knees to allow Brenda and Marcel to run into her open arms. “My babies!!” Peppering kisses against their cheeks, Y/n held them tight as they said words of praise. “You were amazing, mommy!” “That was so fun!”

“Thank you, baby,” she kissed Marcel’s head, looking up to see Bob staring at her with absolute love and admiration. Gently moving him and Brenda to the side, Y/n stood up, only to squeal when Bob’s hands went to her thighs to lift her up, spinning them around.

“You were incredible!” He exclaims, stopping still but still holding her up. Their lips met in a searing kiss, “absolutely spectacular.” Her hands came up to cup his face, deepening the kiss as their children wrapped their arms around Bob’s legs. It was like they were in their own little world, oblivious to everyone celebrating around them. The band were with their kids and partners, the crew were popping off champagne.

“I love you so much, Robby,” she said against his lips, kissing him again when he said, “I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

When they pulled away, Y/n was a flustered mess, mirroring that of Bob who was looking at her like she was a goddess. “Don’t give me that look, Floyd. Not until we get to the hotel.”

“Can’t help myself, darlin’,” he chuckled, adjusting her in his arms before giving her another kiss.

“Eww,” Marcel groaned, making the couple laugh into the kiss. Bob set Y/n down, but pulled her close as Brenda and Marcel squeezed in between them.

“So what’s next then?” Bob whispered in her ear. “I know you can take the girl out of rock n roll…but she’ll always be a rockstar.” Y/n laughed, pulling away to gaze deeply in his beautiful blue eyes that she fell in love with as a teenager.

“Now, we live our lives. One day at a time. Together.”

Y/n really needed to thank her mom one day. It was because of her that the woman got to live her dream. After all, she was the one still preoccupied with 1985.

……….

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @poppyalice2001, @cutelittlepotatofry, @luckyladycreator2, @americaarse , @elenavampire21

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Love and War Masterlist

Synopsis: Bob Floyd never expected to fall in love during the war, especially not with a pretty, young nurse during basic training. But love works in funny ways and can their love stand the rest of time, the war and the distance that separates them. Warnings: mentions of graphic themes, war, injury, weapons, sexual images, language, 18+. Pairings: Robert Floyd x female!nurse reader Disclaimer: This series is a cross over of ideas from TGM and Band of Brothers, a WW2 series based on the real life events of the 101st Airborne Division. All characters are original characters (except for Bob Floyd) and they are not representations of the real, brave men who fought in WW2. I have tried to make all the events in this series as accurate as possible but please bare in mind this is fanfiction and i have added/ changed certain things to fit with this.

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Character Moodboards and OC profiles

Part 1 - Camp Toccoa, Georgia - 1942

Part 2 - Upottery Airfield, England - 1944

Part 3 - Operation Market Garden, Netherlands - 1944

Part 4 - Mourmelon-le-grand and Paris , France - 1944

Part 5 - Ardennes Offensive, Bastogne - 1944

Part 6 - Hagenau and Germany 1945

Part 7 - Austria - 1945

Part 8 - Home, Alabama - 1947

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If you’d like to be tagged in this series or some of my other fics please fill in the taglist form provided.

[enbylestat]

honey I love you

Chapters: 24/24 Fandom: Turn (TV 2014), The Lives of the Mayfair Witches - Anne Rice, Vampire Chronicles Series - Anne Rice Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anna Strong/Mary Woodhull Characters: Anna Strong, Mary Woodhull, Benjamin Tallmadge, Caleb Brewster, Abigail (Turn), Abraham Woodhull, Thomas "Sprout" Woodhull, Robert Townsend (1753-1838), Rowan Mayfair, Lestat de Lioncourt, Original Female Character(s) (Mentioned), audrey (oc) (mentioned), Mary Floyd Tallmadge Additional Tags: Sapphic September 2024, Sapphic September, Femslash, Witches, Gothic, Horror, Vampires, Bisexual Lestat de Lioncourt, Past Relationship(s), Werewolves, Angels, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Crossover, Bisexuality, Pansexual Character, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Teacher Benjamin Tallmadge, Minor Robert Townsend/Abraham Woodhull, Lesbian Sex, lestat is the worst (affectionate), Christianity, Protestantism, Religion, Witchcraft, Occult, Halloween, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Song: Ophelia (The Lumineers), Autumn, Slow Burn, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Canon Bisexual Character, Explicit Sexual Content, Song: Season of the Witch (Lana Del Rey) Summary: Gothic modern AU of TURN x Vampire Chronicles x Lives of the Mayfair Witches. Anna Strong/Mary Woodhull.

@sapphic-september

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 10 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Anna knew now. She knew all about Bob's poetry and how he thought about her when she wasn't even with him. Instead of it making her timid, she told him she wanted to go to his bedroom. Instead of taking it slow, he took it all the way.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, smut, oral, 18+

Length: 3200 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

Having Anna in his house again was an exercise in restraint for Bob. When he thought about tracing her freckles with his gaze, he stopped himself. When he wanted to kiss her neck while she stood in front of him while they built the bookshelf, he made sure he did nothing of the sort. It was time to organize his books now, and he had to keep himself focused. When she started to head upstairs toward the bedrooms, he tried his hardest to block out the idea of guiding her to the left and into his room instead of the spare room on the right.

The sway of her hips in her black leggings was so enticing as she climbed the stairs ahead of him. It was taking too much of his willpower to keep from reaching out to touch her, and that's how he responded poorly when she said, You have to tell me why you like poetry so much."

He barely considered his words before saying, "What's not to like? All of the emotions are there. You're allowed to write about any combination of emotions that you're feeling at any given time. And I think that's pretty cool."

Anna's steps slowed a little. "Write?" she asked, turning to look back at him as he made his way up behind her. "Did you say write?"

Oh. Oh no. Nobody knew he spent his free time tapping away at his keyboard, coming up with ideas and letting his brain run wild. And there was no way he wanted Anna to be the one to find out, especially since he'd taken to writing about her. 

"Uh. I did. Yeah," he admitted, trying to think of a way to change the subject.

But she was way ahead of him. "What's something you've written?"

Bob laughed and recited a random line that was ambiguous enough for his liking. "Just some amateur gibberish like, 'Devotion woven into every breath I take. Love that knows no boundaries, no end.' Nothing amazing."

Anna was nearly to the landing at the top of the stairs when she twisted awkwardly, turning to look back at him with something akin to panic on her face.

"Bob," she croaked, and he rushed toward her as she sat down hard. He reached out gently, trying to figure out if she was hurt.

"Are you okay? Did you twist it?"

"Bob," she gasped, reaching for the front of his undershirt and pulling him closer so he was focused on her pretty face. "You're Sky Writing."

He froze, vaguely terrified by the knowledge that she was calling him by his pen name. But there was also a small part of him that was thrilled that Anna was the one saying it. Somehow it felt right for a second before it felt very, very wrong. Anna knew what he wrote. Anna knew about his romantic desires. Anna knew about his depraved wants.

"Oh, shit," he whispered as her gaze grew even more surprised. 

"It's really you," she moaned softly, licking her lips and tugging him even closer. His knee came down gently on the step as he held onto her ankle, and even though the position had him covering most of her, she must have known she was in charge here. When he nodded, she started to close the distance between their lips as she whispered, "You're incredible."

Bob let his lips slam into hers as she tangled her fingers in his hair. She knew his words, and somehow she was kissing him anyway. In fact, she was wrapping her other ankle his around his waist and pulling him closer. He was certain he'd never kissed anyone on the stairs before. He was certain he'd never had an erection on the stairs before either. 

He was very aware of everything right now. The sound of the rain hitting the roof and the windows. The feel of Anna's fingers tugging on his hair. The vibration of her soft moans as she kissed him. The friction between his sweatpants and her leggings. 

"Anna," he gasped between kisses, but she was back on him immediately. There was no way she couldn't feel him getting hard. His gray boxer briefs could only do so much to conceal how badly he needed her, but every time he tried to ease his hips back away from her, she dug her heel in harder against his lower back.

When she released his lips, her nose glided along his until she was bumping his glasses. Her breath was soft on his face as she said, "Bob, I want you to show me the romance section in your bedroom. Please."

There was no way he could say no to her ever again.

--------------------------

Anna was shocked. Bob was Sky Writing. The poet of her wildest dreams. The man who wrote so beautifully, she could imagine herself being adored. The man who recently wrote about falling in love with a beautiful woman with intoxicating red hair. 

His body was warm and strong over hers, and she wanted him everywhere. Each kiss was more perfect than the last. He told her he kept his romance novels in his bedroom, and she wanted to be treated to the same fate. She wanted to go there. When she told him as much, he started to scoop her up to her feet. In the dim lighting, she could tell his cheeks were flushed pink, and she knew she did that to him.

Bob guided her backwards up to the top step, and she knew he wouldn't let her fall. A few more stumbling steps and they were standing in his bedroom doorway with her hands holding his face and his fingers digging into her hips. "Did you write about me?" she asked softly, afraid he wouldn't be able to hear her over the rain, but too scared to speak any louder. "The new poems about the redhead?"

"I did," he replied without hesitation. 

Two words and Anna's hands were trailing down the back of his neck, pulling him closer until they were kissing again. "I want you," she whimpered against his lips. "I've wanted you for months." She was weak. She was so weak for him and the way he smelled and all of his books. His hands tightened around her hips and slid down a few inches until he was holding her in place and slowly grinding his hard length against her.

"I can't stop thinking about you, Anna," he breathed as she kissed the side of his neck. "Since the first time I saw you in the bookstore."

She moaned and let him lift her up by the backs of her thighs and carry her to his bed with her arms tight around his neck. When he sat down, she was straddling his hips, and his sinful gray sweatpants did nothing to hide him from her at this point. He felt huge as she rubbed herself on his cock through all of their clothing. His big hands were up the back of her shirt, and his fingers felt rough on her skin while she licked and kissed her way to his ear.

"Show me the romance," she whispered with a smile. 

"Oh. Uh..." He shifted like he was going to move toward the books stacked on his dresser where the soft light from a lamp made the room glow warm. "I have-"

"That's not the romance I want right now," she told him, and in an instant, she was laying on her back with her hands on the waistband of his sweatpants. 

"Better?" he asked, running his hands up her sides where her shirt was hiked up, pressing soft kisses to her lips.

"Yes," she promised, spreading her legs wider so he could settle against her core while he pushed her shirt up over her bra. Her nipples were almost painfully hard, and then his fingers found them through the lace. "Bob," she groaned, earning herself his cock pressed to her clit. If he kept it up, she would soak her leggings. His handsome face was hovering above hers, cheeks tinted pink and lips parted, and she arched her back for him when he started to run his fingers to the back of her bra.

It had been so long since anyone touched her intimately, and here she was in a room that smelled delicious like Bob while he deftly unhooked her bra and guided it and her shirt away from her body in one smooth motion. Her body was okay; her boobs were too small, and her belly wasn't flat, but he was looking down at her and taking the time to memorize everything. Then he groaned her name before his lips found the valley between her breasts, and three seconds later she was panting.

She slowly peeled his white undershirt over his head as she could barely focus on anything except his mouth on her nipples. His glasses were crooked on his face when he looked up at her, and he sounded out of breath as she dropped his shirt to the floor. "Anna. What do you want from me?" She answered by rolling her hips up to meet his, and he squeezed his eyes closed as he said, "You want that? Because once I really get going with you, I'm not going to be able to stop."

God, that was the sexiest thing she'd ever heard. She reached down for the front of his pants and tugged at them, letting them slide down his narrow hips. He gasped a few obscenities under his breath, and goosebumps erupted on her skin. Then she slipped her fingers inside his underwear, and she was met with his thick cock.

"Yes, I want that," she promised, looking up at him and his messy hair and perfect face. "I want you."

She yelped as his big hands practically tore her leggings from her body, and then Bob settled in with his broad shoulders propping up her thighs and his mouth ghosting over her pussy. "I want you, too," he whispered before tasting her. One long swipe of his tongue turned into two and then three as she grabbed at his bedding and whined incoherently. "So fucking bad, Anna."

Had anything ever felt this good before? Bob's lips plucked at her clit as he whispered a line from his most recent poem, and she knew she was probably dripping on his bed. His hands were strong on her thighs, keeping her spread open. He buried his face in her pussy, fucking her with his tongue while she rode him. He was Sky Writing. He was Bob Floyd. He was the man her friends knew would be perfect for her from the very beginning. He was making her come.

"Fuck, fuck," she gasped as he sucked a little harder on her sensitive, swollen clit and plunged two fingers inside her. He was a bit rougher than she thought he would be, but somehow this was exactly what she needed. Her tits bounced as he finger fucked her until she got loud, and he circled her with his tongue before swiping it back and forth. He didn't rush it. He drew it slowly from her, just right. And then her orgasm left her with shaking legs and thrusting hips. 

The words that fell from her mouth were unintelligible, but she put them together a little bit better as the buzzing in her ears dulled to soft, muffled whir. "Fuck me, Bob."

When he kissed her, she could taste herself. He kept his mouth on hers while he wrestled himself the rest of the way out of his clothing, and then his fingers were stroking her slit, making her shake more. His wet fingers moved to her thigh where he traced a gentle pattern as he said, "All of these freckles. That's all I can think about. The shapes they make when you connect the pretty, little dots. How I could spell out my name with them."

"Oh my god," she moaned. "Oh!" His heavy cock came to rest on her pussy as he continued stroking her skin, and his lips found their way back along her breasts. 

"I wondered for months if your shirts were hiding more of them from me. Was dying to know if your tits were decorated as well." He ran his tongue in a lazy circle around one nipple as he grunted. "They are everywhere, and I want to taste all of them."

Anna was going to combust as Bob took a fistful of her red hair and slid himself down to her opening. He pushed himself in an inch, and she was already crying out for more. Another inch, and she was forcing her thighs open as far as they would go. He was licking and kissing her shoulders and collar bones while he slowly filled her until she hiccupped with need. He was so big, stretching her as her hands scrambled on his shoulders. And then he was fucking her, muttering like a mad man about freckles and the color red and how much he wanted her. His muscles rippled with intent beneath her fingers while he moved. This was already the best she'd ever had.

---------------------------

As the rain beat a rushed pattern on the bedroom windows, Bob moved at his own pace, needing this to last as long as possible. She was the woman of his dreams, panting and mewling beneath him as he fucked her. He couldn't keep his lips off of that one freckle next to her right nipple, and he didn't want to. Her skin felt like the smoothest silk, and she was beautiful when she was whining his name.

With a fistful of her red hair, he thrust harder, deeper, and his narrow hips pushed into those perfect thighs, already spread wide for him. She was soft everywhere as she took him, and the gentle bounce of her tits was mesmerizing.

Then he felt that first squeeze, and he shivered as Anna's fingers dug into the back of his neck. She looked surprised as he released her nipple in favor of her lips, licking at the pretty freckles on her cheek before he kissed her. He had her bottom lip tucked between his as she clenched his cock again and gasped his name. That's all he wanted to hear for the rest of his life.

"Say it again," he murmured, and when he bottomed out, he was treated to her gasping voice once more. He stroked her temple with his thumb, drawing his name out of her again and again as she looked up at him with wide, brown eyes. She knew exactly who was doing this to her, and Bob wanted to be sure she remembered how it felt when her pussy started to milk him. She had to be close, and he was too as he told her, "Say it one more time."

Her voice was soft and lighter than air. "Bob." Then her head tipped back as he fucked her with a dozen intentional strokes, pressing against her clit until she got loud. She was clenching him harder as her hips came up off of his bed, and she cried out as she clung to him. Her legs were shaking, and her fingers were tugging at his hair, and the next few strokes into her tight pussy were just for him.

"Anna," he gasped as his glasses slid down his nose. He felt the familiar pull at the base of his spine. It was a warning, and he knew it. "Do I need to pull out?" But she was just starting to come down from her second orgasm, and all she seemed to be able to do was look up at him with a dreamy expression that he didn't want to see vanish yet. He kissed her lips gently even as he thrusted deep and whispered, "Baby, do I need to pull out?"

She was shaking her head just slightly from side to side, and he was afraid to take that as the answer he was looking for, but he didn't want to pull out. He wanted to cum inside her. After he asked one more time, she finally whispered, "No." And then it was a done deal. He filled her up, practically shouting her name as she kissed along his jaw and chin, completely sated and soft underneath him. 

Bob smiled at Anna and buried his face against her neck and shoulder, fighting the urge to tell her exactly how much she meant to him. He was still deep inside her as he kissed her ear and whispered her name, and soft laughter bubbled from her lips. His fingers were still tangled in her hair, but his grasp was gentler now. He would get up and make dinner for her, and then maybe she would want to join him in the shower before snuggling in bed. If she wanted to go for round two, he wouldn't say no. Perhaps he could convince her to sleep over and let him drop her off at her place early on Monday morning. They could read some poetry together. Maybe he could even read what he'd written about her on PoetsAmongUs.

Feeling better than he had in months, he started to pull himself free from her inviting body. He let his soft cock slip free, watching as his thick cum dribbled out of her, and he moaned before she sat up slightly. He kissed her knee before he asked, "Want me to make you a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner? I usually burn them, but I'll make sure yours is perfect. And then maybe we can talk about us?" 

He was rubbing his fingers along her ankle where there was a particularly attractive cluster of freckles when she abruptly sat up. Her brown eyes were wild as she repeated, "Us?" Bob was nodding, his smile tentative now, but it faded into nothing as she yanked her ankle away and scrambled off of his bed. "Oh no," she whispered, and he watched in horror as tears filled her eyes as she pulled her clothing back on.

"Anna?" he asked softly, climbing out of bed next to her and reaching for his sweatpants. "What's.... did I do something wrong?"

"No," she sobbed, swiping at her tears while refusing to meet his eyes as she slipped her shirt over her bra and turned toward his bedroom door. "You always do everything right. That's why I couldn't help myself."

Now he found himself chasing her down the stairs. He watched her pick up her phone and shove her feet into her shoes. "I don't understand," he whispered, running his hands through his hair as he stood there and watched her wrench his front door open. 

The sound of the rain got louder as she pushed open the screen door, but he could still clearly hear every word she said to him with pure agony on her face. "I'm so sorry, Bob. I'm married."

And then she was gone, running out into the rainy night while his door swung closed with a loud bang.

-------------------------

He really rocked her world, too. Why is he so hot? Why is she such a mess? I love them so much. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 11

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