#soulmate bob floyd

[saltsicklover]

Title: Fated to Run - Fated to Fly ꨄ︎ Part Two

Read Part One

Part Three Coming Soon!

Prompt from THIS ASK

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader SOULMATE AU

Word Count: 4000+

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Lots of Crying, Parent Trouble and Reconciliation, Insecurity,

We don't get to meet Bobby yet, I'm sorry!

My father's office looks the same. Honesty it has looked the same for as long as I can remember, and it's not just this office either. Every single one of my father's offices has looked just this way. Tan walls, that sort of sad, off beige color that every military installation, from this side of the world to the next, think outfit them so well. There's always a strong oak desk, sometimes it's pine, but either way it's always a sturdy piece of furniture that has no business around the thrown together particle board of the neighboring pieces.

My father has always brought in his own chair. It's faded leather is always well conditioned and it's warn in. Warn in just the way that when you sit in it, you can almost feel the ever lasting presence of the many years my father has sat in that very seat. He has hauled it with him all around the country, always in unaccompanied baggage so it would be sitting in his office and ready for him upon his arrival. He used to joke that if he made it there before his beloved chair, his time stationed there would be hell in a handbasket.

The day he got stationed at Top Gun as the Air Boss, that chair took it's rightful place behind the new desk. The same desk with empty drawers and too many files preemptively stacked atop it. But that's just how it is, right? After all, it's been that way since my father made Commander and things don't look to be changing anytime soon.

The decanter on his book shelf has been wiped clean of dust and fingerprints. No doubt filled with any run of the mill whiskey that may find it's way into my father's hands. It's an office staple, that decanter's about as old as myself, but the crystal still shines after 25 years, especially after a good cleaning. There's a bottle of good whiskey in the bottom drawer of his desk, sat beside a bottle of the best vodka he could find. Always ready for the COMPACFLT to drop by on a moment's notice, though the Admiral has never made himself known long enough to break it out.

I sit and stare out the windows, the ones that make up the back wall of his office. There's always windows, but strangely the size seems to correlate with rank. One might think it would depend on the building, on the base, on the climate or area of the world, but what I've come to find out is the higher the number on your Pay Code, the bigger your fucking office widows.

That, and the less time you have for your family. It seems the higher that Pay Code number, the more time I've managed to spend with clerks and assistants. More visitation with office windows and the low reflection that stares back at me as I try to focus on the air field. Aircraft take off and land, the service men and women knocking out their required flight hours as the sun moves its way throughout the sky. But still, there are times I catch my own eyes in that low light reflection, but there are less tears now. Or there had been, until that fucking incident at the airport.

Truth be told, I haven't stopped shaking. In that damn reflection of my father's office window I can see both my tear stained cheeks and the confused looks on Rhett and Jake's faces. The images twist together. It's all hurt, every last piece.

I'm sure the three of us would be a sight if we were all standing in the same place, the boys with those same lost looks, hurt flashing through there eyes, and me, red rimmed irises and damp skin. Skin that is already threatening to chap over from the way it stings. I should have savored the way they so fiercely defended me. The way they folded me into themselves and kept me safe. Isn't that what home is, if only so briefly? A lifted wing to a chick in the same way their kind eyes were to me. It's a shame, the way it all came crashing down with those four little words.

There's not even a part of me that doesn't ache when the memory of only hours ago runs through my head. Their touch still ghosts over my shoulders. Phantom fingerprints left upon my upper arms, still smoldering, smoking as they cool.

Friendship has to be written into the strands of the universe, it just must be. Hidden deep within the stitching, taking a back seat to the drips of ink that are marred into skin, so easy to see. Because if it isn't, my soul shouldn't feel this heavy. It couldn't feel this heavy. So it must be. It must be.

There's mumbling coming from just beyond the fire door of the office, voices that I can't make out by ear but I know those tell tale footsteps that can't help but get closer. My heart pounds in the same way his footsteps all but reverberate through the floor. The voices get closer, and closer, but I can't seem to focus on anything but the air field- the vision of my own red rimmed irises in the glass of the O-9 sized window.

"Sir, I'm trying to tell you that-" The words come through muffled then clear as the door nearly squeaks open. A call to DPW and those hinges wouldn't grind, but I know door hinges aren't exactly on the high priority list for a Vice Admiral.

"Birdie?" That damn nickname's spoken by my father, in that surprised tone that is just a little too irregular completely flattens all my resolve. The floodgates open, or moreover, they break, just as I turn to meet his eye.

"Hi Dad," The words come out too wet and too close to a sob, but we both just stand there looking at one another. In the time we stare at each other, the Earth has rotated almost two hundred eighty miles around it's access. Four hundred fifty kilometers in roughly fifteen seconds. His hand is still curled around the doorknob, the brass of the handle turned down just so. A Lieutenant stands next to my father, an apologetic look hung upon her features. The tightness of her bun pulls her eyebrows up, barely noticeable, but it makes her look a little more surprised, a little bit more of herself that's usually hidden under the mask, just barely breaking through.

It's another two hundred eighty miles before my father makes a move. He enters further into the office while the Lieutenant slips the door shut. I can almost feel how the handle must be warm beneath her slender fingers. The same warmth is rolling off of my hands; all of the nervous energy having nowhere to go but cycle out to my fingertips only to crawl back up my arms once more.

"Hey, kid," My father speaks after another moment passes, another few miles, "I- uh,"

There is so much hanging between us. After spending so many years arguing, instead of words left unsaid between us they all seem to be hanging in the air. Stiff and starched like a uniform collar, textured underneath my fingertips. The way they brush against my skin makes me itch as I inch closer. I wish to choke on them; on the words, longing for a moment that I had something else to say. Some sort of words found stuck somewhere between the tightness of my throat and the stickiness of my gums, lips dry and cracking under the pressure. Instead, they all still hang between us, a rickety old rope bridge while the few feet between us is a canyon's expanse.

The average argument lasts ten minutes, and families tend to have around a hundred arguments a year. That's a thousands hours of disagreements that stand between us over the last year alone. A hundred and twenty five words per minute. That's one hundred twenty five thousand words and I can feel each and every letter that hangs between us in this moment, thick between us like a fog. I can't seem to breathe.

The only thing that seems real is the hot tears falling down my cheeks and the sight of my father's downturned smile. There is so much pity there, or maybe it's remorse in the way one is remorseful for not appreciating a song the first time it's played through. It's the missing of the baseline and the way the bridge carries through to the end of the score. His eyes are gentle, in the way roses are- pricking, piercing from just the right angle.

"It's been a long time, Dad, I've missed you," The words have been hidden in the spaces between my molars, stuck there so long I barely recognized their honesty as they fell from my tongue. My lips catch on their sharp edges and I swallow down the acrid taste of bile and copper. Wiping at the new found streaks of tears, smearing them across the heat of my cheeks, my fingers come back tinged with watery mascara smudges.

"It's been too long, Birdie, sweet pea, too long," There's a slight hesitation in his tone, but it's all too genuine, in a way that makes my stomach turn. The nausea isn't new, not today. "How was-" I know he's going to ask about the last year, about the travel and the time spent in-between our arguments but I can't keep the words from slipping off of my tongue.

"I need to know about your Aviators," He stops, the words hitting him straight in the face leaving mouth hanging open mid sentence. His eyebrows scrunch with the narrowing of his gaze, the confusion evident in the way his head cocks gently to one side before he straightens it right back again. Parts of my father are slipping past the Admiral, like sand through fingertips, but he does everything he can to hold onto his hardened exterior.

"My Aviators?" There is so much hidden in the way the syllables crackle from his throat. He looks as though he has words still stuck to the roof of his mouth, words he keeps tonguing at to keep them hidden behind his teeth.

"I- yes," My brain is spiraling just a little to fast for my mouth to keep up. I can almost feel the way my nervous system is spiking, my neurons firing as my tongue tries to say the words in the forefront of my mind. The deep breath I force into my lungs does nothing to slow my thoughts, but my father's shoulders relax at the sight of my own shoulders dropping slightly. It's a shallow effort but it helps, if only a little.

"I met one of your Aviators today, at the airport," He nods in understanding, "Blond, tall, from Texas. Super nice. Said his name was Jake,"

"Jake?" My father huffs out, scrubbing a hand over his face. "A Texan with one of those shit eating grins?"

"He had a nice smile, if that's what you mean," I reason. The feeling of an impending argument is like static in the air, the hair on my arms standing on end as gooseflesh breaks out over my bare skin. That feeling is acknowledged with a quick glance between us, a look that has him moving closer to his desk. He picks up a framed photograph from it's corner before holding it out to me. I finally move closer, separating some of the distance between us. It's strange, being so close together after spending so long apart. I often wonder if that's how all children's relationships with their parents are after they grow up, or if my father and I are stuck in a unique form of perpetual misunderstanding. I take the photograph from his hand.

"This him?" He points at a man in the back row of the photograph, big smile and kind eyes. It's definitely him, that much I am certain of. There is just something so recognizable about that smile of his, the way the lines on either side of his mouth bend with a dash of mirth, bracketing perfect teeth. It's sick, really, how nice his teeth are.

There are a handful of other people shoved into the photograph together. Jake has his arm thrown around another man who sports a mustache and messy hair. That man looks at Jake like he emits pure light. Eyes squinted slightly with a smile too big to be contained with a closed jaw. That's Rooster. That's Jake's soulmate. There's no other explanation as to why the blond would be holding the other man so incredibly close, with his hands gripping into the material of Rooster's flight suit.

To Jake's other side is a woman. Her smile is smaller, almost practiced, but true joy emits from her eyes. With slicked back hair and sharp brows, she looks all business, like a woman not to be fucked with. But a friend, maybe? Her nametape is too small to read, but as one of the only women in the squad, she won't be too hard to pick out of the crowd. It's the man standing next to her that throws me. Another familiar face stands to her side, Rhett, only with shorter hair and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. My eyebrows scrunch, mimicking my father's expression.

"Yeah, that's him," I confirm, my eyes still tracking over the faces in the photograph.

"Why do you ask, sweet pea?"

"I met a man on accident, really, his name is Rhett, and his friend was with him, this man here, Jake. We actually ended up on the same flight" I watch my father nod in understanding, one of his hands coming up to brush at his nonexistent five o'clock shadow. I huff, averting my eyes for the next part. "I might have had my soulmate sentence encounter earlier this afternoon," The confession is sheepish at best. I don't meet his eyes. There's no point. I know the expression he wears now and I know I can't handle it in this moment. There's already been enough crying.

"Was it with him? With Hangman?" I watch from the corner of my eye as my father's eyebrows knit together impossibly tighter. His voice is pinched at the callsign, lips tight around it.

"Yes, it was him, but that's not really the point, Dad," My eyes trail over him in the photograph again, but I'm pulled back to Rhett, confusion gnawing inside of my skull, just behind my eyes, "How old is this photograph, because this is Rhett right here, and he told me he wasn't military," I want to ask him if he really knows his aviators all that well, considering the lack of acknowledgement on his features.

"That photo was taken after their last mission, wasn't more than a few weeks ago, right after they all graduated their advanced training. It's recent, and there's nobody in that squad named Rhett,"

"There has to be! This is him, right here next to that woman. I swear it's him!" My fingernail, all chipped polish and sparkles, clinks against the glass, my father leaning closer to get a better look before plucking the frame from my gently shaking hands.

"Sweet pea, I think you're mistaken," His tone sounds like his words are treading a minefield somewhere deep in his throat. I can't help but cough at the thought. That tension bristles between us again, electric like a storm. My fingers knit through my hair to keep from chipping more of my nail polish from my already scraped up nails.

"That," My father taps the glass with his finger, "Is Lieutenant Floyd"

"Lieutenant Floyd?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Floyd," There's a faux confidence in his tone, the same one he used to use when he would call home to say he'd only be gone a little while longer.

"Dad," I raise my eyebrows as I finally swing my eyeline back up to meet his, "What is Lieutenant Floyd's first name?"

He sputters a bit, a hand rubbing at the lack of stubble on his chin. There's a sort of furrow to his brow, one I recognize, even if the rest of his features are laid out in a way I have never come to know. My father has always been a sure man, steadfast in his actions, information spread out in his brain easy to access. This grappling for an answer is unlike him, but it makes him seem impossibly more human. 

"Oh, Dad," The words are spoken with slight exasperation laced in the low chuckle that springs forth from deep within my chest. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. I'll just ask the very nice Lieutenant who let me in earlier, she seemed... knowledgeable," 

I am met with the deep roll of my father's eyes, his hands no longer scrubbing over his face, instead he rubs carefully at his temples. His reaction makes me grip a little harder at my hair. It's stupid, this battle between us. Something left over from the strife of my youth; what we clung to with white knuckles and bloody nail beds just to keep a semblance of a relationship. It's all adolescent animosity stripped to adulthood anonymity, achingly arduous. 

"Honestly, Birdie," The words travel on an exhale, "I don't know his first name. Hell, I don't know most of them, especially if they don't give me trouble. I've always called him Lieutenant, barely ever needed Floyd tacked on the end,"

My father shrugs his shoulders unceremoniously, plopping the photograph back down onto the corner of his desk. He leans back into the long line of his desk, his usually pristine tan uniform wrinkling with the way he almost folds in on himself. My tongue flicks over my teeth as I fight the grimace I can feel rising over my features. I try and school my face back into pleasant nonchalance, much like my father usually does, however I think it's a skill better mastered with each star pinned to his collar. 

"Can I say something?" There's too much honesty in the way the words crackle out. I nod; it's easier that way. My hands find home near my hips, my thumbs tucked into my belt loops in a shallow attempt to keep from continuing the pull on my roots. 

"For what feels like forever now, it's just been you, your brother and I against the world. Just the three of us, and I know not having your mother has been one of the most challenging things, for all of us. I know there has always been this bond that Arrow and I have had, and maybe it's because he is my son, or because he decided that the Navy was his calling too. Either way, I know that there's a foundation there, one that you and I just don't have," I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I do my best to blink them back. The more he speaks, the more the sight of him swims. 

"But, I want you to know that even though you and I have struggled," There's a little trace of humor there, but neither of us comment on it, "I love you so fucking much, kid. So much that my chest aches. And I knew this day was coming- your soulmate encounter. God, kid, I am so excited for you, but so fucking scared because you're my baby bird and I don't want anything bad to happen to you, I love you too much," 

There are tears steaking down his cheeks, a sight I haven't seen since my mother passed away. It makes my own chest ache in turn, seeing the strongest man I have ever known begin to crumble. With two quick steps, I am in my father's embrace. His arms are warm, cradling me into his chest, my face into the sandalwood scent of his collar. The stars pinned there less of an obstacle between us, now. He lets a land run over my spine, palm flat to my back, the warmth pooling through my top.

"I'll love you no matter what, kid, even if your soulmate is some military rat like me," He laughs,  low and rumbling, into my hair. 

"I love you, too, Dad, so much," I mumble into his collarbone, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. I can feel my tears sinking into the cotton of his shirt, the tan darkening with moisture. He doesn't seem to mind, or if he does, he doesn't say a thing. We stand there like that for a while, embracing. It's my father who breaks the silence. 

"So, kid," He clears his throat in an attempt to hide the mangled bit to tears that still sits on the back of his tongue, "Tell me, how did it all happen? What did Hangman say?" The distaste in my father's tone is evident. I pull away from the embrace with a rueful laugh, one that stirs around that anxious feeling that's been ever present since the airport. 

"Well," The word is all sigh, "Jake, Hangman or whatever you call him, was on the phone listening to his voicemail and Rhett had asked him who the message was from, you know? It was a pretty long message," I babble out the last sentence, trying to get to the point, but the words are stuck somewhere under my tongue. 

My father just nods at me, allowing me the space to continue. Instead, I plop down into one of the chairs that sits in front of his desk, ones that are meant for official meetings rather than anxiety soaked realizations. I scrub a hand over my face before winding my fingers through my hair again, gentler this time. He stares at me, patient eyes and expression neutral. It's practiced, but genuine. I stare at he ground in front of my shoes when I can no longer meet his gaze. 

"Rhett asked who it was," I begin again, back tracking a bit, "And Jake looked at him and said Oh, it's just Bob and that was it. I've had these words on my skin for so long that I thought hearing them would be so easy, but Dad, I panicked," 

"Oh Birdie, it's okay," My father hums, giving me a small grin on the side of reassurance, "It's not always like the stories, the fairytales are just to give us hope, but that's not how life is supposed to play out. It's alright," 

"It gets worse," My words are wet, "I ran, Dad, I ran. I heard him say that and I ran out of the airport and into the first cab I could find. I came straight here, I didn't know what else to do. I didn't even stick around to figure out exactly who Bob is to Jake. God, this whole situation gives me as much anxiety as a baby on board a pond jumper, look at me, I'm shaking like a fucking leaf." 

"What did you just say?" 

"I said I'm shaking like a leaf, look at me!" I laugh, but it catches in my throat and comes out all gargled. I hold my hands out, watching the way they tremor at the thought of it all. 

"No, not that," My father shakes his head, "The thing about the pond jumper," 

"I dunno, Dad, it was an analogy," I reply, it's all furrowed brows and tired voice. as if it could be anything else at this point. I watch my father's expression turn quizzical, his eyes tracking though the air as if he's watching a hop. His nose twitches for a second before he schools his expression back. His hands tighten a bit around the edge of his desk, then he's clicking his tongue to punctuate a sort of silent eureka moment. 

"Come with me, kid, I think there's someone we need to go talk to," Then he's pushing himself form the desk and heading towards the door with the same conviction the Admiral meets everything with.  

"What?" I push myself from my seat but can't keep my shoulders from sagging. He's stopped at the door, turning back to offer just a hint more. 

"I think you and I need to go see Captain Mitchell," There's distain in his voice at the name. I bite at my lower lip, tucking my hands back through my belt loops. 

"Why do we need to see Captain Michell? Isn't he the man you can't stand?" I ask, following after him. The whole thing seems futile but a curiosity thrums between my ribs. We pass the nice Lieutenant's desk, her seat vacant, before turning down the hall. It's not long before we are out on the air field and heading towards one of the large carriers.

[wildbornsiren]

Like Flying || Robert 'Bob' Floyd/Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Like Flying

Synopsis: Soulmates are connected by a red thread. Bob finds his when he least expects it.

Floydsin (1,596 words)

Warnings: None.

Notes: For the Top Gun Soulmate Month 2023 on AO3. Likes are welcomed, comments and shares are so loved. Thank you so very much for reading. I appreciate it so much, and it means the most. 

**Tag list is gone, please follow @wbslibrary **

His momma said there were three irrefutable truths to existence. Number one, death comes for everyone. Two, lying will only get you into trouble, and three, there’s someone out there for everyone. Soulmates were a concept that permeated every part of society. Songs, movies, books, people yelling into the void of the internet about how they had found their one and everything finally made sense. Everyone’s someone was connected to them by a string. Tied to their ring finger, binding the two pieces together, by a link.

In the right light, Bob could see the thread that connected his parents. It shimmered in candlelight, and seemed to flare when they were reunited after his father went on business trips. He had noticed the pressure around his finger his sophomore year of high school. A connection—his someone. It wasn’t connected to anyone in his small town, but that wasn’t disappointing.

In fact, he had hoped it would turn out this way. He loved home, he did, but he longed for something more. He wanted to see what lay beyond the borders of his sleepy town. The urge to get up and leave settled under his skin, like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch despite how he tried. Sometimes, late at night when he couldn’t sleep, he’d trace over the faint red mark, feeling the thread under his fingertips. And sometimes, it would dance and move as though someone were tugging on it, playing with it.

After high school, he enlisted. It was the next logical step—find a profession that allowed him to see the world, hopefully give him the chance to get out from small town life and find the excitement of something new.

Bob’s momma cried when he told her that he had enlisted. His father had clapped him on the back so hard his glasses flew off his face. His sisters worried, and his brothers puffed up with pride.

His momma cried when he shipped off to basic.

Again, when he came home.

A third time when he received his orders as to where he would be stationed.

Deployments were tough. He actually missed the quiet of middle of nowhere, more importantly, he missed Sunday dinners with his family. He had learned through calls and emails that his youngest sister had found her someone. The unasked question hovered behind the regular questions of ‘what are you up to?’, ‘are you getting enough to eat’, ‘make sure you get some sleep. You look pale.’

Bob saw the photo on Facebook, even before any of his family thought to message him. Ellie beaming happily, holding a sign that read ‘found him’ and a dopy grin on her face. Bob squinted at the photo—the guy looked nice enough, Ellie looked happy. That’s all that mattered.

He'd been in for nearly six years. Qualified and completed the elite training of Top Gun. He hadn’t gone home for Ellie’s wedding. Or Beth’s, Mark’s or Brian’s.

“Are you even looking Robbie?” Beth had asked him. They were sitting side by side on the porch steps. Mirror images of each other—Bob, the elder sibling only by fifteen minutes.

“I am.” It was then Bob realized he had broken one of his momma’s irrefutable truths. He lied. He wasn’t looking, he hadn’t been looking. Work, flying, the sky had taken all his attention. Being thousands of feet above the Earth, with its majesty spread out beneath him had replaced the swooping feeling in his gut whenever he looked at the red thread on his finger.

She looked at him, the way only a twin can and pursed her lips. “Don’t give up. Please. You deserve to be happy.” Beth patted his knee, and got up, disappearing into the house. Bob leaned back on the stairs looking up at the thousands of stars in the sky, his stomach soaring and dropping as it did when he was in the backseat of a jet.

“I am happy.”

Life went on, work went on. Occasionally he’d toy with the string, tug on it. Every now and again there would be tugs in return. Once, he sent a message in morse code. The response had made him laugh. And maybe in that clumsy patterned pulling there was a hint. Morse code, for the most part was obsolete. So whoever was on the other end of his thread had made the effort to learn it. Looks or gender never really mattered, Bob dated both. Loved both, had his heart broken by both. He just hoped that he could share in all the little pieces he’s stored away under his skin. The little parts that no one knew about, the parts of him that he kept secret.

Orders to return to Top Gun came through an official email. Bob packed up, shipped out and landed at North Island. It hadn’t changed much; military bases were all carbon copies of each other for the most part. He got his stuff settled in his quarters, reported in, and was given the day to reacquaint himself his surroundings.

There was a buzzing in his ears that he couldn’t quite shake. Bob didn’t want to bother with sick bay, he couldn’t risk being taken off the detail before he knew what it was. Unable to concentrate in the beige prison that was his dorm room he decided to go out. Bars weren’t really his scene, but it was a good chance to scope out the competition and focus on something other than the heartbeat in his ears, and the ache in his hand. The redness on his ring finger was deeper, he could almost feel the thread against his flesh.

Hope and curiosity unfurled in his chest, something anticipatory taking root.

He found a stool near the bar, requesting a water from the bartender, who flashed a dazzling smile at him, sliding him the plastic cup. Peanuts were a safer alternative to the popcorn in bowls—the nuts were at least in shell still.

Bob’s hand jerks when he’s bringing the cup to his lips to drink. Barely managing to not spill on himself, he glances around to see if someone had bumped him. He’s alone—as alone as he can be. There’s two men at the dartboard, talking in undertone, one of them crowing triumphantly when he hits a third bullseye. While his eyes were covered.

Bob blinks, feeling the press of skin against his own palm when the man high-fives his friend. He’s staring and can’t bring himself to care. The other man is bronze skin, and a perfect Hollywood smile. Blond hair, green eyes, built. He’s wearing the same khaki as Bob, and from here he can see the wings marking him as an aviator.

His left hand twitches, and he swallows hard, gripping the cup of peanuts tighter. He watches as the man walks past him, headed for a pool table. Bob’s words evaporate in his throat. The man’s voice washes over him, warm and rich a honeyed drawl, aiding the slide of pleasure down his back.

More patches show up, and Bob is pulled into the gathering group of pilots. His eyes keep returning to Hangman—Jake. Metaphorical dick measuring occurs, like every other time more than two military personnel gather in one place. Emboldened by the comradery already building, the good music, or the fact that his pilot is competent and sharp-witted, Bob studies his hand.

There’s a flash of red against his skin, and every single cell in his very being is calling out for the man across the room. He toys with the thread, and when his fingers catch it, his breath hitches. There’s a tone like a too-tight guitar string, a warmth spreading from the center of his chest to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his toes.

No one else seems to have heard it.

Almost no one. Bob lifts his gaze to see Jake’s brilliant green eyes focused on him. The other man tips his head toward the doors that lead out to the beach. Bob lets his gaze drop to his hand, and when he plucks the string again, Jake’s hand tightens on the pool cue. Bob gets off his stool suddenly, excusing himself when Phoenix looks up concerned.

It's cooler outside, a breeze coming off the Pacific Ocean. Bob finds it easier to breathe. That is, until Jake’s in his space. “You.”

“Me,” Bob says.

Jake’s hand is on his, thick fingers sliding between Bob’s, their palms pressing together. “Took you long enough.” Bob opens his mouth to apologize but stops. There’s a soft smile on Jake’s face, a flush dusting on high cheekbones. Instead, he squeezes Jake’s hand, glancing down to see the tangle of nearly invisible red thread smooth itself out. Normally his heart would be racing, nervous energy washing over him. But now? There’s nothing but calm. Calm, and warmth, especially when Jake’s thumb brushes over the back of Bob’s hand. “Maybe I was waiting for you to come find me.” “I’m stubborn.” Jake says. Bob’s not sure if he’s warning him away or stating the obvious. “I’m an introvert.” “Good,” Jake says and when that smile is flashed his way, Bob forgets how to breathe. “I like dad jokes.” His free hand reaches up, fingertips tracing along Bob’s neck, his jaw. Jake cups his cheek and urges him closer. Bob’s lips part when fingertips graze his lower lip. Jake exhales softly, “Oh.” Bob leans a little closer, the first brush of Jake’s mouth against his, felt like home. /End

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

In Another Life

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick, Bad Times at the El Royale, Robert "Bob" Floyd, Miles Miller, Soulmate AU

Summary: It's so hard to say goodbye to the one you love. But even at the end, you remind Miles that you'll see him again. Even if it isn't in this life....

Word Count: 1058

TW: Soulmate AU, Hurt/Comfort, Cancer, Reader Death/Rebirth, Happy Ending

Notes: Thank you to @slightly-psycho-multifan for sending the title for the made-up title game! I ended up running with it and I hope you like it! 💕

You were fading fast. They had told you there was a better chance of survival due to your young age but in the end, it didn’t matter. Between the multiple rounds of radiation and the war being raged within your body, you just didn’t have the strength to fight for much longer and you knew it. That’s why you were happy that you had been able to convince your husband to check you out of the hospital and bring you home to the hotel. The El Royale wasn’t much, but it was home. It was where you and Miles first met. And it was where you wanted to spend your final moments.

As another coughing fit hit you, Miles was suddenly at your side with a glass of water. Carefully, he helped you drink it then sat down in the chair next to your bed. Once you had caught your breath, you gave him a weak smile and whispered, “Thank you, baby.”

He nodded, then looked away but not before you saw the tears glistening in his eyes. You tried to reach out to take his hand, but he pulled it away. With a soft sob, he cried, “This is all my fault!”

“What?” you asked incredulously. “Miles Miller! How in the world did you come to that conclusion?”

“God’s punishing the woman I love for my sins. For all the horrible things I did during the war.” His shoulders began to shake as his sobs intensified. “It should be me laying in that bed, not you.”

“Miles, look at me.” This time, you didn’t take no for an answer. You grabbed his hand and held on as tightly as your frail body would allow. He stopped fighting you and slowly turned to face you. “This is not God trying to punish anyone. It’s just my time. I know it’s a lot shorter than either of us expected but we still had so many wonderful years together! Years I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

“But I can’t lose you, bumblebee!”

“You’re not. We’re just saying goodbye for now.” You reached up with the hand not holding his and wiped a tear off his face. “Do you remember what you told me the night we met? When you saw me in the lobby for the first time?”

Miles nodded, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “I said you looked awful familiar. Like someone from a dream I once had.”

“And what did I say?”

“You agreed and said it probably meant we were soulmates or something. That we must have met in another life before.”

You smiled at the memory. You had only meant to stop at the El Royale as you were passing through on the way to find yourself in California. However, you found everything you could ever want and more in Miles, so you never left. Now it seemed as if you never would. 

Trying to clear the lump in your throat, you said, “So if we met before in another life, I know we���ll meet again sometime in the future. Just please take your time coming for me, okay? I don’t mind waiting.”

Miles buried his face in the crook of your neck and you could feel his tears dampening your skin as you ran your hand over his curls trying to soothe him. Though it was muffled by your neck, you heard him cry, “I love you, my bumblebee. In this and every life.”

“I love you too, Miles. And I promise, I’ll see you in our next adventure.”

You were running late for the first briefing of this new Top Gun assignment. The irony that you– a pilot –were late because there was an emergency and they had to find someone else to fly your commercial plane from Nevada to California was not lost on you. Neither was the fact you would have gotten here sooner if you had just rented a car like your sister suggested. But you were here now, though you were disappointed you missed the gathering at the Hard Deck the night before. 

Just as you were about to fling open the doors to the hangar, you heard someone behind you shout, “Look who the cat dragged in!”

You whirled around with a wide grin and threw your arms around Phoenix. “Hey! You didn’t tell me you were going to be here!”

“Neither did you!” she said, hugging you back. “I thought you might be but when I didn’t see you last night, I figured they made a mistake in their selection process.”

“Nope, just a delayed flight.” You pulled back and for the first time noticed Phoenix wasn’t alone. “And who is this?”

“Oh, this is my new WSO, Bob. And before you ask, yes, that is his callsign.”

But you almost miss the last part that she said as the world around you seemed to fade slightly. You stared at the man, your head tilting slightly. There was something so familiar about him but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Maybe it was his sparkling blue eyes that radiated kindness. Or the timid way he held himself despite the strength you could see within him. Or the soft pout that pulled at his lips as he stared back at you with the same curious expression. The glasses and hair were throwing you off slightly, but you definitely knew this guy from somewhere. 

You stuck out your hand. “Have we met? You look awfully familiar.”

“I-I don’t think so. I don’t think I could ever forget someone like you.” His face grew red as he took your hand and gave it a surprisingly firm shake, his thumb grazing across the back of your hand. “But I don’t know. I-I feel….”

He trailed off but you knew exactly what he meant. It wasn’t something you could put into words. It was just a feeling deep in your chest unlike anything you had ever felt before. Like an ache that you hadn’t ever even realized was there suddenly fading away. You felt….. whole.

However, you weren’t going to tell this stranger that, so instead you said, “Yeah, it’s weird. But who knows? Maybe we knew each other in another life or something.” Still shaking his hand, you smiled. “Regardless, it’s nice to meet you, Bob. I’m Bumblebee.”

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @mayhem24-7forever, @tavners, @merlehs, @green-socks @sunshineflowerchild789, @shanimallina87, @topguncortez, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @hederasgarden, @callsign-phoenix, @wildbornsiren, @lt-natrace, @the-untamed-soul @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @callsign-fox, @imjess-themess, @joalsglasses, @curlyolly, @nobody7102, @footprintsinthesxnd, @thesewordsxlibrary, @double-j, @phoenix1389, @some-lovely-day

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

In Another Life

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick, Bad Times at the El Royale, Robert "Bob" Floyd, Miles Miller, f!reader, Soulmate AU

Summary: It's so hard to say goodbye to the one you love. But even at the end, you remind Miles that you'll see him again. Even if it isn't in this life….

Word Count: 1058

TW: Soulmate AU, Hurt/Comfort, Cancer, Reader Death/Rebirth, Happy Ending

Notes: Thank you to @slightly-psycho-multifan for sending the title for the made-up title game! I ended up running with it and I hope you like it!

You were fading fast. They had told you there was a better chance of survival due to your young age but in the end, it didn’t matter. Between the multiple rounds of radiation and the war being raged within your body, you just didn’t have the strength to fight for much longer and you knew it. That’s why you were happy that you had been able to convince your husband to check you out of the hospital and bring you home to the hotel. The El Royale wasn’t much, but it was home. It was where you and Miles first met. And it was where you wanted to spend your final moments.

As another coughing fit hit you, Miles was suddenly at your side with a glass of water. Carefully, he helped you drink it then sat down in the chair next to your bed. Once you had caught your breath, you gave him a weak smile and whispered, “Thank you, baby.”

He nodded, then looked away but not before you saw the tears glistening in his eyes. You tried to reach out to take his hand, but he pulled it away. With a soft sob, he cried, “This is all my fault!”

“What?” you asked incredulously. “Miles Miller! How in the world did you come to that conclusion?”

“God’s punishing the woman I love for my sins. For all the horrible things I did during the war.” His shoulders began to shake as his sobs intensified. “It should be me laying in that bed, not you.”

“Miles, look at me.” This time, you didn’t take no for an answer. You grabbed his hand and held on as tightly as your frail body would allow. He stopped fighting you and slowly turned to face you. “This is not God trying to punish anyone. It’s just my time. I know it’s a lot shorter than either of us expected but we still had so many wonderful years together! Years I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

“But I can’t lose you, bumblebee!”

“You’re not. We’re just saying goodbye for now.” You reached up with the hand not holding his and wiped a tear off his face. “Do you remember what you told me the night we met? When you saw me in the lobby for the first time?”

Miles nodded, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “I said you looked awful familiar. Like someone from a dream I once had.”

“And what did I say?”

“You agreed and said it probably meant we were soulmates or something. That we must have met in another life before.”

You smiled at the memory. You had only meant to stop at the El Royale as you were passing through on the way to find yourself in California. However, you found everything you could ever want and more in Miles, so you never left. Now it seemed as if you never would. 

Trying to clear the lump in your throat, you said, “So if we met before in another life, I know we’ll meet again sometime in the future. Just please take your time coming for me, okay? I don’t mind waiting.”

Miles buried his face in the crook of your neck and you could feel his tears dampening your skin as you ran your hand over his curls trying to soothe him. Though it was muffled by your neck, you heard him cry, “I love you, my bumblebee. In this and every life.”

“I love you too, Miles. And I promise, I’ll see you in our next adventure.”

You were running late for the first briefing of this new Top Gun assignment. The irony that you– a pilot –were late because there was an emergency and they had to find someone else to fly your commercial plane from Nevada to California was not lost on you. Neither was the fact you would have gotten here sooner if you had just rented a car like your sister suggested. But you were here now, though you were disappointed you missed the gathering at the Hard Deck the night before. 

Just as you were about to fling open the doors to the hangar, you heard someone behind you shout, “Look who the cat dragged in!”

You whirled around with a wide grin and threw your arms around Phoenix. “Hey! You didn’t tell me you were going to be here!”

“Neither did you!” she said, hugging you back. “I thought you might be but when I didn’t see you last night, I figured they made a mistake in their selection process.”

“Nope, just a delayed flight.” You pulled back and for the first time noticed Phoenix wasn’t alone. “And who is this?”

“Oh, this is my new WSO, Bob. And before you ask, yes, that is his callsign.”

But you almost miss the last part that she said as the world around you seemed to fade slightly. You stared at the man, your head tilting slightly. There was something so familiar about him but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Maybe it was his sparkling blue eyes that radiated kindness. Or the timid way he held himself despite the strength you could see within him. Or the soft pout that pulled at his lips as he stared back at you with the same curious expression. The glasses and hair were throwing you off slightly, but you definitely knew this guy from somewhere. 

You stuck out your hand. “Have we met? You look awfully familiar.”

“I-I don’t think so. I don’t think I could ever forget someone like you.” His face grew red as he took your hand and gave it a surprisingly firm shake, his thumb grazing across the back of your hand. “But I don’t know. I-I feel….”

He trailed off but you knew exactly what he meant. It wasn’t something you could put into words. It was just a feeling deep in your chest unlike anything you had ever felt before. Like an ache that you hadn’t ever even realized was there suddenly fading away. You felt….. whole.

However, you weren’t going to tell this stranger that, so instead you said, “Yeah, it’s weird. But who knows? Maybe we knew each other in another life or something.” Still shaking his hand, you smiled. “Regardless, it’s nice to meet you, Bob. I’m Bumblebee.”

Taglist:@nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996, @luckyladycreator2, @valoraxxx-blog @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog,  @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter , @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday, @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @blue-aconite, @thescarletknight2014, @jamesbuckyburns, @a-sweet-little-fangirl, @happyblogstuff, @randomlifeunit, @boringusername3, @lclove2012-blog, @3tabbiesandalab

[vivwritesfics]

SOFT SWEET LAZY SEXY TIMES WITH BOB I BEG (you don’t know who this is - it’s anonymous 👀😘)

Oh golly I wonder ( @nurse-floyd )

One thing that you have to understand about Bob Floyd is that he lives to please. When it comes to sex, his partner is the center of his universe.

When Bob had you on the bed, the outside world was shut out. There was just you. You, desperately grabbing the sheets to keep you grounded. You, moaning out his name like a prayer.

Bob had tunnel vision. And at the end of that tunnel was you.

He was the king of eating pussy, had had drunkenly declared to your friends during a drunken night in your first year together. Maybe you had divulged the details too much, but you stood by that fact.

He was the king of eating pussy.

Like the time when you climbed into his lap and told him that you were pregnant. He had spun you around and kissed you, yeah. But he had gotten you onto the bed, laid you back and ate you out until your legs were clamped around his head and you could see nothing but stars.

This time, it was morning. The kids were at grandma's, and Bob had gotten up an hour ago to let the dogs out for a wee and give them breakfast.

For once. The two of you had all the time in the world.

He dropped a kiss onto your shoulder. "Morning, Robby," you mumbled and rolled towards him.

Something he was grateful for, because he got a better look at your face. He took your chin between his fingers and tilted your face up towards his own slightly.

"Open those pretty eyes," he mumbled, his deep, gravelly and laced with sleep. You obeyed and he dipped down to kiss you. "The kids don't get back until this afternoon," he whispered, still against your lips. "Wanna make the most of alone time, Mrs Floyd?"

You kissed him again and Bob rolled on top of you, caging you between his arms. Running your hands through his hair, you fixed it from where it had been messed up from sleep.

Bob's hands were sweet and gentle as he slipped your pyjamas shorts down your legs. You did the same, hooking your toe around the waistband of his underwear and pulling them down.

He sucked in a breath when your cold feet touched his skin. "Okay," he said, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around him.

His lips were against your collarbone as he pushed into you. You released a groan, tightened your grip on his shoulders.

It was slow and sweet, the two of you just enjoying your morning alone. You held Bob's cheek as you kissed him.

His hips didn't snap against your own. He wasn't so rough that your body bounced, bed creaking. Bob took his time. He held you close, body pressed against your own, as he rolled his hips.

"Bobby," you whined and he pulled away from your collarbone. "I got you," he whispered and held your hand in his own.

He was your everything, your soulmate. He held you, took care of you as he made love to you. The aim wasn't just to finish, but Bob always got you there.

As always, Bob clenched his jaw, trying to stop himself from finishing before you. But as soon as you did, cried out, clenching around him, he let go. He let out a grunt, forehead against your own, as he spurted inside of you.

Bob fell down onto the bed beside you, his breathing heavy. You shuffled towards him and laid your head on his bicep.

"Gimme a minute," he said through breaths. "And then I'll clean us up."

You blinked up at him and danced your fingers across his chest. "Or we could take a bath together," you suggested and kissed his chest.

"That sounds wonderful, Mrs Floyd," he said and tipped your chin towards him.

You kissed him but quickly pulled away. Pushing yourself up on wobbly legs, you climbed off of the bed. "I'll get the water running, Mr Floyd."

[withahappyrefrain]

So I've thought a lot about how big an asshole jake would be if he introduced bob to his soulmate but I've only just considered how much would change if bob introduced jake to his... checkmate bagman

I love this idea so much. This can also be seen as a follow up to He's All That!

"All I'm saying, Baby on Board," Jake continued as he racked up the pool balls, "Is that it's the least you can do, considering that if it weren't for me, you'd still be single."

"And all I'm saying bagman is thanks again for your help and you'll get a shoutout in the ceremony," Bob sighed before taking another sip of his water. With the way Jake was bothering him, he was debating switching to beer.

"Jacob Floyd has a great ring to it and would be a wonderful way to honor the man responsible for your future children."

"All you did was tell her his name and that Bob was single," Mickey retorted, shaking his head as he grabbed a nearby pool stick.

"Summarizing what I did as merely telling her his name is insulting beyond belief. I sold Bob to Luna. Without me, she wouldn't have gone looking for him," Jake scoffed.

Unfortunately the woman of the hour was not here to confirm or deny if Jake was telling the truth or making up shit as he went along.

"And without us, he wouldn't have had those three shots to give him enough courage to continue talking to her," Bradley countered.

"Nor would I had bumped into her because you took my glasses," Bob muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Besides, Bradley Floyd sounds way better," He remarked, ignoring the scoff from Jake.

"Wait, why do you get a kid named after you?" Mickey chimed in.

"All I'm saying, is that you'd much rather start your kid off right by giving them my name than Bradshaw's."

"Why, you little-"

"Bob has to propose to her first before there are any kids to name!" Phoenix chimed in, pressing her beer bottle to her temple, hoping it would somehow take her away from all these idiots.

"He's working on it!" Bob had revealed earlier that he finally picked up the ring for her, which was what prompted this whole conversation.

"Working on what?" A sweet, lithe voice promptly caused everyone to shut up. Everyone, except Bob ironically.

"Hey darlin'! Where's your friend?" Bob asked before placing a kiss on his girlfriend's cheek.

"She's on her way! I was going to wait outside for her, but wanted to say hi first," She paused, a sweet smile overtaking her face, "Hi Robby."

"Hi Luna," Bob giggled before planting a kiss on her lips that was so sweet, the nearby squad groaned.

"They're so stupidly cute," Phoenix muttered.

"I'm going to go wait for her," Luna was about to turn when she stopped, her eyes meeting Jake's, "You ready Bagman?"

Jake scoffed to cover his confusion, "Ready for what?"

She giggled, the bridge of her nose creasing as she smiled, making it impossible to be annoyed with her, "To meet your future wife!"

And with that she left, practically skipping out of the bar.

"Floyd, what the hell is she talking about?" Jake asked, turning his full attention to the bespectacled WSO, one had an uncharacteristic smirk on his face.

"We're not going to name our kid after you. Instead, we're going to introduce you to your future wife." Bob was pretty confident for once, not at all shaken by having all eyes on him.

"I'm sorry?" was all Jake could find himself saying.

"Don't worry Bagman, you'll love her. She's perfect for you."

"Floyd, no offense-"

"Offense already taken."

"But your idea of the perfect woman is a bit different from mine."

It wasn't. In fact, it was pretty similar. But Bob knew Jake wasn't ready for that conversation yet.

"Yeah Bob, you sure this girl is right for Hangman?" Phoenix lowered her voice, "You really want to subject her to Bagman? How bad is she?"

"She's perfect for Bagman," Bob assured her, not that if convinced Nat-or anyone else. Certainly not Jake.

"Whatever baby on board," Jake scoffed, "Just know that when she comes crying to you, all heartbroken that she's not....."

His voice trailed off as his eyes fully took in the sight of the sun dress-clad figure that was now next to Luna at the bar.

"She's not the what?" Javy asked, nudging Jake.

Javy received no response, as Jake was too mesmerized by how fucking adorable you were when you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

He could see that you were listening to Luna intently as she pointed out people in the dagger squad.

When your eyes met his, Jake swore he could feel the Earth stop moving.

"The future Mrs. Seresin," He said with a dreamy sigh, causing Bradley and Natasha to wonder if somehow an alien had taken over his body. Because that would make more sense the other alternative.

Jake all but shoved the pool stick to Javy, his eyes focused on you. The smile and small wave you sent his way caused Jake to nearly trip over his feet.

"Where the hell are you going, the game isn't finished," Mickey called out to no avail.

"I'm going to meet my future wife," Jake said, annoyed that he even had to explain it because wasn't it obvious?

The squad watched in wonder (except for Bob, who still had a smug look on his face) as Jake made his way over to you and Luna.

"Bob, this girl seems sweet. You sure you want to subject her to Bagman?" Bradley asked, legitimate concern in his eyes.

Bob shrugged, "She teaches seventh grade. She'll be able to put Bagman in his place just fine. See?"

The group watched as you handed Jake several bottles of beer to hold. Jake was more than happy to oblige, staring at you with what could only be described as heart eyes.

Luna skipped ahead, giving the squad a thumbs up as she sat down next to Bob.

"How's it going darlin'?" Bob asked before pressing a light but sweet kiss to her cheek.

"Bagman tried to kiss her on the wrist and she lectured him about how it's not the 1950s," Luna giggled while everyone else stared at her in shock.

Everyone except for Bob.

"He apologized profusely. That's also why he offered to carry the drinks."

"Has he ever held anyone's drinks besides his own?" Mickey asked.

"Better question, has he ever apologized within five minutes of offending someone?" Bradley countered.

"He sure as fuck hasn't," Natasha's eyes widened at the sight of Jake fucking Seresin offering the crook of his arm to you. After staring at the gesture long enough to make him sweat, you hooked your arm around his, letting him lead you back to everyone.

"Bob, what the fuck did you do?" Reuben asked.

"He just needed someone to soften the edges!" Luna explained. Natasha was about to scoff at the mere idea of Hangman being soft.

But then she saw how gentle Jake was when he offered you his stool and handed you a beer. The smile he had on his face was just that, uncharacteristically soft.

Maybe Bob and his lady were onto something.

"Hey Bagman!" Bob called out.

"Yeah?" Jake turned around, trying his best hide his annoyance at Bob interrupting the conversation he was having with you.

"Robert Seresin has a great ring to it."

[lovelytsunoda]

love, actually | robert 'bob' floyd

summary: recently appointed admiral robert floyd feels overwhelmed in his new position, and unprepared to fill the shoes of the late admiral thomas kazansky. when he inherts the job, he also inherits tom's old secretary. cue the romance. inspired by hugh grant's storyline in love, actually

pairing: admiral!bob floyd x secretary!reader

warnings: mentions of death and greif was she secretly in love with that old man (because same) we may never know! mentions of addiction (but not with our two main characters!), can be considered to be a minor part of the heather and tommy universe (see 'tell me something girl (are you happy in this modern world)!) so many navy inaccuracies it would make a real admiral's head spin, professionalism simply does not exist in the pacific fleet

the office was barren, devoid of the remarkable life that had once occupied it. the large oak desk that had once held family photos and love notes from the admiral's wife was now empty, save for the top of the line desktop computer. admiral kazansky's wife and kids had been by earlier in the week to collect his things. bob hadn't been there, but he'd heard from natasha that it wasn't a pretty sight. she said that heather kazansky looked frail, and slightly lost without her husband of thirty years by her side. tom was her soulmate, and she'd gone through the pain of watching him die slowly.

cancer was a bitch.

this wasn't how he had wanted to come in to the job. although it was no doubt that he was the best man to lead the pacific fleet (and with an endorsement from maverick mitchell, nobody was going to question his appointment.), he was now wondering if he was really ready.

"admiral floyd?"

bob turned around. standing in the doorway in a skirt that was certainly not navy issued, was a tall young woman with round glasses and soft features. she wore no makeup save for the mascara on her eyelashes.

"hi, i'm y/n. i was admiral kazansky's secretary. and, i suppose, i'm now yours." her voice was soft and gentle, like music to bob's ears. "i brought your welcome packet and agenda for the day."

"admiral robert floyd." he stuck his hand out for her to shake, ignoring how clammy his palms suddenly seemed to feel. "but please, call me bob."

"that's your callsign, right? does it mean anything?"

bob rolled his eyes. "baby on board. they call me that because of my youthful appearance."

she laughed briefly, a cheerful and somewhat abrupt sound, before she looked at the empty office, her face falling again. "he was a good man."

"he was." bob agreed somberly.

"i loved that old man, i really did."

for a second, bob felt like something had tripped in his brain. she loved him? it seemed so cliche when he thought about it, but weren't cliches there for a reason? the pretty young secretary with the silver fox admiral. but what about heather? and his kids? he'd been married to heather since 1987, and from what bob knew of the admiral, he was an honorable man in all aspects of life.

this confusion must have shown on bob's face, because the secretary simply laughed, turning to face him with her arms crossed over her baby blue blouse.

"like a father, admiral. admiral kazansky and i were never involved. he was a family man. i'm the same age as his middle child." she didn't know why she was spitting out words like this. divulging too much information would be unprofessional and- "i actually used to go out with his eldest son when i first started working here. i was young and dumb and mitchell kazansky was a few years older and smooth talking. and then i broke up with him and he went to rehab. he's doing good now. he got married four years ago, i think. i've met his wife, she's a sweet girl." stop. fucking. talking. y/n.

in truth, bob only caught half of the word vomit. he was too preoccupied with the way her eyes sparkled behind her glasses, and the way her crossed arms accidentally pushed up her cleavage. she was totally wearing a push up bra. jake and bradley could probably even accurately guess her boob size. bob couldn't, but didn't need to to wonder what it would be like to rest his head against them, feeling her arms wrap around his tired frame.

"anyways." she exhaled, cheeks rosy with embarrassment. "i'll let you settle in. just so you know, your friday meeting with the commanders got moved up. it's nothing to worry about. come find me at lunch and i'll give you the brief. i used to make them for tom all the time, especially when he got sick."

"thank you." bob said graciously. "i really appreciate it. would you actually mind staying with me during the meeting? just to make sure i don't put my foot in my mouth."

she smiled, passing him a file folder. "of course, admiral. i'd love to."

the afternoon meeting came faster than bob would have wanted, and he was still struggling to make heads or tails of half the reports that his secretary had left on his desk. having a meeting this soon into his tenure seemed unusual, and for a moment he wondered about the severity of the content being discussed.

of course, he couldn't worry for long. through the panes of glass in the office doors, he could see y/n out at her desk, applying a thin layer of chapstick while she waited on hold with someone. her desk was filled with little baubles and a few small plants were on the filing cabinet behind her.

she looked calm and carefree, unbothered. and bob was smitten. completely and totally smitten. sure, it was a workplace harassment suit waiting to happen. and yes, it was never a good idea to get involved with people at work, especially when you outranked them.

but in that moment, bob floyd simply couldn't care less. especially when she gave him a flirty little wave from behind her desk, and even more so when the collar of her shirt dipped just enough that bob could see the edge of her lacy white bra.

this woman was going to be the death of him.

"bob?" she called out, poking her head through the doorway. "the commanders are here earlier than expected. have you had a chance to look over the notes?"

fuck. he couldn't admit that he was so distracted that he forgot to read the file. "uh, about half of it?" he explained sheepishly. "it's a lot."

she flashed him an understanding smile. "if you get lost in the meeting, i can take over. i used to do it for tom all the time."

"thank you. you're a lifesaver."

she winked, backing out of the room. "you owe me one, admiral."

the commanders filed into the meeting room, gathering around the round oak table like they were king arthur's knights. bob recognized a few of them, including jake seresin. he took a seat underneath the world map that was used to plot out missions, y/n taking a seat beside him.

and bob floyd wished he was a better man because as soon as he saw that skirt slip up her plush thigh, he was a goner. he forgot why he was even in that meeting in the first place. to his credit, he did fairly well, answering questions about the transition of power in the pacific fleet, and what was going on with some current matters that had gone unfinished when the previous admiral had passed. whenever bob seemed to stutter or falter in any way, y/n jumped in to rescue him, with a well-worded response delivered in such an effortless manner that he wondered why he was the admiral and not her.

jake caught him staring, a glean of admiration in his eyes as he watched the secretary (who was one of only two women in the room, by the way) outline a budget for the coming year. the commander kicked his former platoonmate under the table, holding back a laugh. bob shot him a dirty look before redirecting his attention to y/n.

after the meeting, and after shaking hands with what felt like every commander in san diego, jake stayed behind to chat with bob, eager to 'catch up' on everything the other had missed since their assignment with maverick. but really, jake just wanted to rib his coworker about the pretty secretary.

"dude, kazansky's secretary? come on."

"jake, shut up." bob could feel his face going pink. "it would be unprofessional at best, harassment at worst. her boss just died, for god's sake!"

jake laughed, hands tucked into the pockets of his dress whites. "i'm sure that they make porno's about this kind of thing. i say go for it. you only live once, admiral."

"hangman, go fuck yourself."

there was a knock on the office door, and y/n stuck her head inside the office. "admiral floyd, commander seresin. its five, so im on my way out. if you need anything, there's a post-it with my personal number on it in your welcome packet. don't stay too late, you'll make me look bad." she grinned at bob, waving at him before ducking back out of the office again.

bob shouted after her, something along the lines of 'see you in the morning', but he couldn't hear himself think over the sound of jake's laughter.

"what!"

"dude, look below your fucking belt. you're fucked."

_______

life went on, and bob found himself settling into his role as admiral nicely. of course, he wasn't doing it alone. y/n was a massive help in meetings, and they had started tag-teaming on important topics: putting together elaborate slide presentations, models and poster boards before every meeting with the fellow admirals or the commanders. there was a meeting with the president's aide scheduled for the new year, and surprisingly, bob wasn't worried about it. he had even gone as far as to help y/n decorate the office for christmas.

every day, she showed up in a trendy, fashionable and flattering outfit that definitely went against navy regulations, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. especially not when those leather slacks of hers made him so achingly hard that he spent half of his lunch break in the private bathroom jerking off. it wasn't the good admiral's fault that his secretary was so stunningly beautiful and sweet and kind and funny and so many other things that made him wonder if it was finally time to consider finding a life partner.

the pair had started sharing their lunch breaks, and bob was enjoying getting to know her outside of the office. she was easy to talk to, and he was convinced he had never laughed as much as he had when he was with her.

and that's why he was so worried when he saw that she had put in for a transfer request.

_____

they were one week out from christmas, and the base was getting ready to send all non-essential staff home. that meant that y/n was getting a much needed break, and while bob would be considered to be 'on-call', he got to go home as well. the last meeting of the year was finished, and y/n was cleaning up the round table in the conference room when she heard hushed voices from the cracked door in bob's office.

"robert, you understand what you're getting yourself into, right? the kind of trouble you'd be opening up for her?" natasha trace's voice was low and not quite venomous, but not calm either. "don't think that people haven't figured out why you hide in the bathroom over your lunch break, bradley told me about your little crush. you can't act on it, bob. i'm sorry, but you just can't. she's your subordinate. unless one of you transfers out. no matter how much you think you'd be able to make it work, it just not possible."

"i love her, phoenix. and i don't know what to do."

"you keep your mouth shut and your dick in your pants. that's what you do."

she felt her heart grow tight in her chest. bob was in love with someone? it was probably another soldier, or a pilot. or, and she hesitated at the thought, was bob floyd falling in love with her?

she didn't know if she wanted to find out. because if she was wrong, and bob didn't feel the same way about her that she felt about him, it was going to lead to a lot of heartbreak.

she put in for a transfer to another fleet later that week.

________

"what the fuck? how could this happen, phoenix? what did you say to her?"

natasha gaped at the frazzled admiral, who was pacing behind his desk. "what did i say to her? i didn't say shit, bob. she must have overheard us and gotten the wrong idea."

it was christmas eve, and bob didn't even know why he'd come into the office. he supposed it was because he wanted everything pressing to be done before the holidays, but seeing the neon blue transfer request paper on his desk had thrown him for a loop.

"i can't function without her. she keeps this office going." bob wailed, running his fingers through his hair. "i need her."

"yeah." jake snorted. "in more ways than one."

"can it, hangman." natasha scolded. "you'd have to find a really good, sound reason for denying the transfer, you know. keeping her here without one would be an abuse of power."

"you think i don't fucking know that?"

"there is another solution here." bradley bradshaw suggested, leaning against the side of the desk. "her address would be in her files, right? why don't you go and talk to her?"

actually.....that wasn't a terrible idea.

"no." natasha glared at him, almost as if she could read his mind. "that would be another glaring abuse of power. do none of you have functioning brain cells? this is psychotic."

"but it could work." bob mused, scrambling to boot up his computer. "what woman doesn't love a grand romantic gesture?"

"that's my boy." jake roared with laughter, clapping him in the shoulders. "let's make this christmas miracle happen."

bob scrambled to pull up her personnel file, scribbling a street address down in his messy cursive. "okay, okay. how do we know she's home? i mean, it's christmas eve. she could be with family, or with friends-"

"trust your gut, admiral." jake encouraged. "rooster, grab the keys to the bronco!"

"i'm surrounded by idiots!" natasha cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "why am i even here?"

there was a fleeting sense of nostalgia as the former dagger squad members piled into rooster's sleek black bronco. it was cold for california, albeit the lake of snow on the ground. a strong wind was coming in off the ocean, pushing the bronco closer to y/n's house. bob was jittery, working his way through everything he wanted to say.

because how did he tell a woman that he loved her without even having gone out with her yet?

"alright, take a left at this next set of lights, and then a left at the stop sign after that." jake instructed, reading directions off of his phone. rooster was going at least ten over the speed limit, and natasha was praying that there were no police officers around.

"that's her house!" bob shouted, jumping to attention in the backseat. "the one with the the three volkswagens in the driveway. she still lives with her parents, the whole family drives german cars. i remember her bringing it up over lunch one day."

the bronco skidded to a stop in the middle of the road, forced to slow abruptly when bob threw his door open. natasha chased him out of the car, followed up by jake while bradley worried about where to park on the unforgivingly small street.

bob ran up the driveway, in between an suv and a sport model jetta before practically launching himself at the doorbell.

"y/n?" he called, ringing the bell. "its admiral floyd! can we talk for a minute?"

"she cant hear you, dipshit." jake reminded gently. "just wait for her to answer the door."

the front door crept open, y/n standing nervously behind it in a christmas sweater and jeans. on her feet where two large slippers that looked like reindeer heads.

"admiral floyd? what are you doing here?"

"please don't transfer." bob pleaded, the words coming out in a single breath. "i don't know what i would do without you. you consume my every waking thought, every breath. these past few months working with you have been the most rewarding months of my career and i know how selfish it must sound of me to beg you not to go, but the truth is that i've fallen in love with you, y/n y/l/n. and i can't let you leave the fleet without making sure that you know that."

she stood frozen in the doorway for a minute before a wide smile broke out over her face. "come here you big doofus."

she stepped out onto the front porch, grabbing bob by the lapels of his tommy hilfiger trench coat and pulled him in for a kiss. his eyes widened in shock before he leaned into it, arms settling to hold her protectively.

"i put in the transfer request so you could ask me out, admiral." she whispered, giggling slightly. "i guess it worked."

"yeah." bob breathed, leaning in to kiss her again. "i guess it did."

"god damn it!" bradely shouted, out of breath and he came up the driveway. "don't tell me i missed everything trying to find somewhere to park my fucking car?"

y/n laughed, pulling away from bob. "do you guys want to come inside? i'd feel awful making you stand out here in the cold."

jake shrugged. "why the hell not."

"cassie's here, so behave yourself." y/n warned, referring to tom kazansky's youngest, whom jake had a history of hitting on.

jake perked up. "oh, cassandra!" he called, walking into the house

"not a chance, seresin. teddy and i are still very happily married!" a voice called from within the living room.

"god damn it!"

y/n turned to look at bob. "i made a massive mistake inviting them in, didn't i?"

bob chuckled, kissing her forehead. "yeah. but i wouldn't be here without them, so cut them some slack. come on, let's go celebrate christmas."

[bradshawsvinyl]

Bob Floyd SFW Headcannons

• Bob is definitely a hopeless romantic! He believes in soulmates, true love, meet cutes, etc. He is definitely the type of guy to binge watch romcoms with you and get you new flowers every week.

•That being said his favorite romantic movie is The Notebook.

•He’s the biggest sweetheart. He loves your birthday and any other chance he gets to celebrate you.

•Has a weekly date night with you. No matter what. Every Friday night, you guys will go on a date or just stay inside and spend time with each other.

•Bob loves planning dates. Past dates include star gazing, picnics, and home cooked meals.

•Speaking of home cooked meals, Bob knows how to cook and is surprisingly good at it.

•Bob loves reading classics and poetry.

•Bob is a cat person. I think after you move in together, you and Bob chose to adopt 2 kittens.

•He loves gardening. It’s a hobby he picked up from his grandmother when he was younger and it stuck.

•His love language is acts of service. He loves doing little things for you. He brews your coffee in the morning and packs lunch for you to take to work.

•He’s shy at first but once he warms up to you he is the best person to be around. You guys have so much fun together and you love being around him.

•Remembers every little detail you tell him.

•Uses said details to surprise you with little gifts.

•He’s a huge fan of the spiderman movies and makes you go see them with him. (lewis pullman looks sm like tom holland but that’s a different post for different day.)

•Will do anything you want to do without complaining. If you want to give him a facial, he’s sitting down in front of you. If you want to see the barbie movie in theatres for the fifth time, he’s right next to you with a bucket of popcorn holding your hand.

•If you choose to have kids, Bob will be the most doting father ever. He puts 1000% of his energy and effort into your child.

[tropes-and-tales]

For the inexperienced smut thing, can I request "“(If you like it), we can go all night.”" with our favorite guy, Bob Floyd?

AN: 18+ only for talk of sex (though nothing too explicit)

It’s not that Bob Floyd is a virgin, technically.  

Technically, the issue of his virginity was settled when he was nineteen.  For a paltry handful of minutes, he and his girlfriend fumbled their way through their respective first times.  Bob thought with that awkward first time out of the way, he and his girlfriend could practice, get better…but she dumped him the next morning.  Later on, Bob found out that she had been planning on breaking up anyway but had wanted to shed her pesky virginity before she did.

Bob, though?  Bob was heartbroken.  He spent his college years, his basic training celibate.  Why risk his heart again?

It was the right decision at the time.  Bob has never been a player.  He’s always craved what his parents have:  a stable, loving relationship.  Steady.  Full of love.  But even if it was the right decision, it puts him in a delicate situation now that he’s dating you.

Bob Floyd, dating the woman he is certain is his soulmate.  Bob Floyd who isn’t a virgin, technically, but who has so little experience he might as well be.

And you, who have no idea why, even months into dating, Bob refuses to do more than kiss you.

-----

It comes out because it must.  Bob knows he can’t fake his way into experience, and he knows he just has to come clean.  His stomach roils as he sits you down after dinner at his place, and you look at him warily.  When he reaches for your hand, you pull away, keep your hands folded in your lap.

“Just say it,” you tell him, and when he blurts out the truth, you laugh.

Then your hand flies to your mouth, clasps over your mouth.  “Oh!” you say, muffled.  “I’m sorry!  No, I’m not…shit, I’m not laughing at you—”

“No, it’s fine.”  He shakes his head, chuckles sadly.  “I should have more—”

“No, Bobby!”  You move your hand to his arm, grip him.  “God, I do this…this nervous laugh thing, and when you sat me down, you looked so serious.  I thought you wanted to break up—"

“Oh, no!  Not at all!”  He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly.  Steadies himself as if he were back-seating in a plane.  “I thought you might break up with me…”  He trails off, doesn’t finish the sentiment.  That he thought you’d dump him once he came clean about his pathetic lack of experience.

You shake your head.  “It’s not that big of a deal, you know.”

“It is.”  He doesn’t add that his angst around his lack of sexual prowess has only grown since he’s joined the Daggers—Rooster and Jake, Fanboy and Payback, Harvard and Yale…hell, even Nat joins in with the bawdy joking, the bragging about their past conquests and their posturing around future ones.  Then he met you, started dating you, and suddenly all he can think about is sex:  taking you to bed, giving you pleasure, finding pleasure with you.  

And once he starts to think about it, he starts to obsess about it…which is why months have passed with little more than a handful of spirited make-out sessions with you.

But he’s come clean now, and his face is flaming hot at the embarrassment of it, the shame of being his age and having a single encounter to his name…but you don’t seem mad or frustrated, and your bout of nervous laughter bleeds off some of the tension.  You sit beside him and gift him with a soft smile.

“It’s really not a big deal,” you repeat, and you reach out to take his hand finally.  You give him a reassuring squeeze.  “If you want to, we can take it however you want.  No pressure at all.  We can wait as long as you need.”

Bob is tired of waiting.  He’s tired of wanting you but being overruled by his anxious brain.  He’s tired of kissing you, of feeling your desire for more, of pushing down his own desire for more.  He’s tired of cold showers and confusing internet searches and worrying that he’s waited too long to tell you—

He leans forward and kisses you, breaks off his own busy thoughts by slotting his mouth over yours.  It’s an awkward angle at first, the two of you side by side on the couch, but you must feel the dam breaking in him because you twist towards him.  He reaches out a hand and lays it on your hip, and maybe he has little to no experience but it feels like second nature to guide you into his lap until you’re straddling him.

Perched above him, you cup his face between your hands, peer deep into his eyes like you’re trying to read his thoughts.  

“Is this okay, Bobby?” you whisper.  “I don’t want to push my luck, but I really, really, really want you.”

The weight of you in his lap, the swell of your breasts close to his face, the soft scent of your perfume…it’s better than okay.  It’s perfect.  He tells you so.

“I’m not gonna last, honey,” he adds in a whisper.  It’s his greatest fear—coming too soon, disappointing you—but he’s in too deep now.  There’s no turning back towards the shore.

“Hmmm.”  You dip your head and kiss him, and there’s so much promise in it.  You don’t rush it.  You let the moment stretch out, let the kiss linger.  You trace over his lower lip with the tip of your tongue, then nip at him lightly.  When he groans at the sensation, he feels the little huff of silent laughter—which he stops by sliding his tongue against yours, deepening the kiss.

You break away first, then lay a trail of soft kisses across his face and down the side of his neck.  You find the ticklish spot underneath his ear (you’d found it before and remembered where it was) and nip him there, making him squirm underneath you.  You must feel him—he’s already hard, has been perpetually hard since the first month of dating you.  You move in his lap, do a little swivel with your hips.  You grind against him, and it makes him squirm again.

“I’m not gonna…I won’t last,” he repeats, a little breathless, a little dizzy, and you hum again.  You reach up and cup his face again, and you peer into his eyes again with that same sincere expression as before.

“If you don’t last, we can go again.  Hell, Bobby…if you like it, we can go all night.  That’s the beautiful thing about sex.  You don’t last very long?  We wait and then go again.  Or I can show you other things we can do.”

He smooths his hands up your back, down your back, settles them on your waist.  You look so earnest, so eager.  He wonders if you love him.  Neither of you have said it yet, but Bob thinks perhaps you do.  

He knows he certainly loves you.  

“You sure?” he asks.  

“Of course!  It’s time spent together.”  Your earnest expression cedes to a sly smirk.  “You know, time spent together.  Naked.  In bed.  Sounds pretty good to me.”

He’s still anxious, but it’s less now.  It’s giving way to relief, to excitement.  The heavy stone of worry that had been sitting in his gut, in his chest seems to have been replaced by a sudden lightness.

Bob realizes that it’s hope.  This was the first real test of your relationship—him opening up about a painful part of who he is—and you both got through it.  

“Time together,” he murmurs in agreement.  He gets his hands under the heft of you, then stands up with you still in his lap.  You laugh, and you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist as he hoists you more securely.

“Let’s find a bed then,” he adds as he carries you towards his bedroom.  “And then we can see about the naked part.”

“I love a man with a plan,” you tease, and though you’ll share your first I love you’s in only a few short hours, this is what he will always count as the first time you say it to him.

[saltsicklover]

Title: Fated to Run - Fated to Fly ꨄ︎ Part Four (The final part!)

This is the final part of this little story! Thank you all so much for reading, and thank you for the request! I really enjoyed writing this one! Cheers to finally meeting Bob!

Read Part One and Two and Three

Prompt from THIS ASK

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader SOULMATE AU

Word Count: 9700+

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Crying, Gentle Jake, Mention of throwing up, mention of a rank kink, lots of apologies, Bob kinda ruining things at first but things get better I promise!!

---

I want to rip my arm away from Jake's gentle grasp. I hate how he still holds me so kindly after how I treated him. After I ran. Tolerant fingertips against stilted skin. The area feels exposed. I feel exposed, too. Jake's hand is still on my elbow, warmth trickling into streams of amenity. There is no nettle of anxiety and that fact makes me want to cry. Fuck. I don't really want to cry, not again. But the gentleness of this almost perfect stranger tempts the fate of my tear ducts. 

The breeze sends an achily dry feeling over my tear chapped skin. I grimace lightly at the feeling.  It's nothing but mere distraction. It's nature's own fingertips grazing against my skin.

"You ran," Jake starts, his eyes darting over my face but never settling exactly on my eyes. His tone holds no accusation, thought it should be dripping in it. Instead, Jake remains soft spoken. He drops his hold on my elbow. I miss it as soon as it's gone, worried that now, I may float into space with nothing to tether me down. Nothing to tether me to this: here and now. 

"I did," It's a confirmation that pains me as it leaves my lips. 

"I'm sorry I scared you," The apology catches me off guard. So does the way Jake looks broken up about it. God, that makes me feel worse. And then I'm surging forward to wrap my arms around him. For a moment, it's just like it was in the airport, awkward and clunky. Then he relaxes a bit, wrapping his arms loosely around my shoulders. 

Maybe this is what our relationship is bound to be, not written by the universe, but instead untangling from the bonds that came before. Maybe that's what friendship is. The unabated way we fold each other into embraces. My aplomb tendencies when it comes to the truth and the way it meets Jake's largess fits together like patchwork. Stitches made of brazen conversation hold us together, felicific. 

"It wasn't you that scared me, it was the fucking words!" I explain, though it comes out all mumbled, though urgent, into the fabric of his flight suit. I turn my head, pressing my ear into his chest.

His heart beats in my ears, off rhythm with my own. Thump, thump, thuthumpump, thumpthump. Thump thumpthump, thump, thump. 

"I have carried these words around for so long, and I've always hated what I thought they meant. I always understood it as a negative, and I never understood that it could be so gentle. And I know that you didn't pick them out to mean more than just simply what they do. But, Oh, it's just Bob, seriously?" I'm somewhere between laughing and crying by the end. Jake rubs a hand up and down the length of my back, right over my spine. It's warm and comforting. 

"Still, I'm sorry," Jake mumble, his chin resting atop my head. 

"Well, even though you don't need to apologize, apology accepted," I squeeze him around the middle, punctuating my words. Thump thumpthump thump.

"Thanks, Birdie," Jake hums, his hand never stilling. We stand like that for a few moments, the wind blowing past us. It's barely lukewarm and cooling under the slow dying sun. Jake's hands are torrid in their place around my body, an even heat exchange. 

"I wanted to punch you," I admit, not even feigning sympathy. "Not today- but, a long time ago... Somewhere around fourteen I got fed up with the way people reacted to the "just " in my sentence. Everyone always saw it in a bad light, and it made me want to punch whoever said it, or would say it."

"Do you still want to punch me?" Jake's laugher rumbles over the beat of his heart. 

My laugh rumbles over mine too. "No. I just... I decided that Bob is my everything so long ago, and so at the time it felt right to throw hands over him."

Jake's laughter doesn't stop, instead the rumbling in my ear gets louder and louder. He mumbles something about how Bob would turn bright red if he'd heard that but I think it was meant more for himself than for me. Silence overtakes us, save for the usual bustle of the airfield and the ever present sound of our heartbeats. Thump, thump, thump. Still, Jake keeps up his ministrations against my spine. 

"What's he like?" The question breaks the silence. A jet takes off somewhere in the distance, neither of us comment on it. 

"Bob?" Jake inquires, his hand stilling. 

"No, Jay Leno," I gaze up at him with one of those seriously looks on my face, the best one I can muster, "Yes, Bob," 

"Well..." Jake takes a deep breath in, swishing his words around in his mouth like a sip of expensive wine, "You've got a good one, Birdie, truly. He's one of the best men I know. Smart as a whip, quiet, observant to the point where never misses a damn thing, it drives us all nuts," 

Jake's laughter thunders. 

My heart stutters, still I'm quick to quip back a response. 

"Everyone or just you?" 

"Oh, shut it," The words are all playful. 

"He looks just like Rhett," I mumble. I take my bottom lip between my teeth, rolling over the fullness of it. Jake erupts in heavier laugher. 

"Yeah, twins usually do," 

"Shut up," I retaliate quickly, releasing my lip to make sure he hears me. "How is Rhett? I feel so bad for running. Fuck, I haven't even apologized to you. I am sorry, Jake, I really am," 

"You don't have to apologize. I was there, remember? I know how it went down. I probably would've run too," Jake admits, resuming his motions up and down my spine. 

"I don't think that makes me feel any better," I hide my laugher in his chest, my barely wet skin almost squeaking against the material of his flight suit. "But thanks anyway," 

"You bet," Jake hums, "Rhett is alright, worried. We... We didn't really get a chance to talk about the airport thing because Bob picked us up. I think Rhett was avoiding saying anything so he didn't say the wrong thing," 

"I don't think you can say the wrong thing," I pull away from the warmth of his embrace to look up at him, "It's all predestined, you know. And if they are close, wouldn't Rhett know what Bob's sentence is anyway?" 

"You would think," Jake chuckles. 

"Do you know what his says?" My voice wavers at the question. I probably shouldn't have asked. Fuck my curiosity for getting the better of me. Another jet takes off, loud and unbothered by our conversation. 

"I do," 

"And?" 

"I'm not going to say as it's not mine to share... But..." A few beats pass between us, a jet soaring overhead. It buys Jake nothing more than a few seconds.  "I think I'm the one who's supposed to say it," There's only a sliver of apprehension in his tone. 

"How do you figure?" 

"Because I know the words, and I know that we are standing here right now having this conversation and by now I'm sure everyone else is in that hanger waiting on me to show up to start the hop," Jake brings his hands up to my shoulders, pushing me back far enough to look at me without having to crane his neck. "And I know that we could wrap this up right now and walk back to the hanger and I could say those words and everything would go from there, just as it should."

"Right now?" 

"Right now," I can barely hear him over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. I swear, if it wasn't for his hands on my shoulders, I would be vibrating away from how hard my heart is hitting my ribcage. 

"It's not too fast?" I ask, finally deciding on some sort of sentence that doesn't really capture what I'm trying to say. 

"Bridie, people wait their whole lives for this. They fight wars and move across the world for this. They take the same bus to work everyday. They run for political offices. They develop apps and services for this sort of thing and right now, Bob is sitting in that hanger right there," Jake thrusts a pointed finger towards the hanger, his tone getting a bit louder with each sentence, "And you are standing here asking me if it's too soon?" 

"I guess I just-"

"Bob already talks about you," Jake interjects, not caring for my excuses. 

"He doesn't even know me," I retort, once again defensive. There is a part of me that wishes I'd stayed hidden away in my father's office, staring out his too big windows and allowing myself to bargain over the importance of this situation. Instead, Jake is like a reflector for excuses and bullshit, cutting through all of the excess and highlighting the point with less than eloquence.  My heart still pounds, I can feel it in my fingertips as they graze over my thighs. I try and push the incessant thumping sound out of my ears in a better attempt to hear what Jake is saying. 

"It doesn't matter. Bob's a quiet guy, but when he is talking, it's often about his soulmate. He wonders, usually out loud, about what you will be like. He worries too, about if you'll care he's in the Navy, or that he's a Wizzo. He worries that you'll hate moving all the time, or won't want to be with him because there's the risk of deployments and all the other bullshit we go through. At the bar, he wonders about what your signature drink is, and if you like to play pool or if you prefer darts, or dancing. He hopes that you'll be beautiful, but not in the face or body, but in the soul. I'm telling you Birdie, he wants to know everything, and he's not very good at waiting for it," 

I can only stand there, still as stone with Jake's hands cupped over the caps of my shoulders. I can't even flounder over words. There are none stuck in my throat, in fact, for the first time in a long time I am speechless. 

So Jake continues, "Birdie, Robert Floyd is head over heels for you already. My Mama always used to say that there is no difference between a wise man and a fool when it comes to love, and looking at Baby on Board I can say that, and I mean this as kindly as I can, there is no telling if he's wise," There is a chuckle stirring somewhere deep in his chest at the notion. 

"That's a lot to live up to," I mumble, hoping Jake misses the words over the jets racing over us. He doesn't. Of course he doesn't. 

"You're not living up to anything, Birdie, that's the thing. Bob hasn't even met you yet and you're everything. I already know it," Jake's admission is brazenly honest in a way that has me teetering over the precipice of my own self conscious mind. "And think about it this way, with as much time as he spends talking about ya, think about how much time he spends thinking aboutcha,"

Jake has a point, as hard as it is to admit. 

"Can I be honest about something?" Jake's shoes are the most interesting thing in the world, with the way my eyes are locked onto the dark leather. I trace the eyelets with my eyes, up the wrapping of the laces to where the legs of his flight suit are bloused into his boots. 

Jake's hands slide from my shoulders, hitting his thighs with a low smack. "Have we not been?" 

Glancing up, I take in the sight of Jake's crimped expression, how his eyes glint in the lowness of the sun. His shoulders dip. A deep sigh escapes from the prison of his chest, edged with more concern than hostility. It's met with my own, the lukewarm air swirling in my lungs only to mingle with the wind again, now a few degrees hotter. Everything feels hotter now. 

"Brutally," The word is overwhelmingly correct, cutting the tip of my tongue as it passes. "But I think I have more to say before I reach a consensus or a breakdown."

 I chuckle out a dry laugh. Jake nods, squaring his shoulders just a little bit. It's an urge to continue, not that I needed one at this point. 

"Up until this point, I don't think I ever thought past wanting Bob. I decided that Bob was it for me so long ago that I never found a need to think past it," I shove my hands as deep into my pockets as they will go to keep myself from picking at my nails. 

"I've never been focused on finding him. Never focused on if he would like me, or if I would like him because I knew that it was in the hands of the universe, you know? And maybe if I believed in a God or something it would be in their handsand then I really wouldn't have to think about it. I mean, the universe picked me for Bob and him for me, so why would there be anything to worry about? But..."

My gaze finds itself just over Jake's shoulder, fixated on the hanger. The hanger that Bob is probably standing in waiting for the hop to start. Maybe he's cursing out Jake for being late. Or sitting next to that beautiful brunette laughing like there isn't a care in the world. Perhaps he's worried about being late, the hop in the forefront of his mind. It could be what he's going home to after work. Maybe he has a cat, an entire collection of Lego flowers, or an alcoholic roommate. 

Standing here for just a few moments longer keeps that information at bay, along with all the questions I'm too afraid to ask myself. 

And even though Jake swears six ways to Sunday that Bob wants me, maybe it's just because he thinks he has to. What if Bob only likes me because the universe told him to? Or what if he doesn't like me at all- the whole thing just an overexaggerated front to keep those he's closest to from asking questions. 

There are so many questions. 

Jake sways into the forefront of my now glassy vision, his face just a little out of focus. His brows are furrowed, tightening as I blink a few times to refocus everything. 

"But what? What is it?" Concern. There is so much concern in the gravel of his voice. 

"I... I think..." Another deep, slow breathe of air that smells thick of jet fuel. It burns my lungs as it passes, more now than it has before. Everything burns more now. I can feel my skin glazing at the heat, like I'm more glass than paint. More sugar than starch. More myself than destiny. 

"No, I know," I meet Jake's eyes, ignoring how they burn too, "I don't want Bob to like me out of obligation. I don't want a relationship born out of a feeling of moral imperative, or because he's being backed into it. I don't want him to fall in love with me, I-"

Jake looks addled, and maybe...  marred? There is something unreadable in his expression, his eyes ever fixated. I only stutter for a second, over my words, over that look, over the glazing of my own flesh. 

"I want Bob to walk into love with me," There's a scuff of realization the moment the words are said, something akin to a record scratch. I am more than a predestined prediction, a proportional kind of perfect. "I can't have the same retronym love story of duty with no real choice. Soulmates or not, Bob needs to choose me or I'm not the one for him."

The conclusion is finite and final. That's all it needs to be.

Jake is all slack jaw and flashbulb eyes.  His hand make's it's way slowly through the air until it's stoking back his hair. He follows around the top of his head until he's at the nape. Scratching at the back of his neck, Jake still looks my way. I can't see anything in his face other than astonishment bordering on incredulous. A small part of myself, a part that I didn't know existed past the pedant preteen years that bled into formalist youth, begs for a sort of validation. But I stay quiet. I don't need Jake to dignify this. Not when I know in my bones that it's true. 

We stand just like this for a few minutes. I count the number of deep, slow breaths he takes. Three thousand three hundred sixty miles the Earth has rotated in the time it took Jake to take just under forty five deep breathes. 

My heart beats hard against my ribs, and for the first time today I spend a moment calculating my heart beat. It's more than thumps thrown against the backside of my ribs. In times like this I break the world down into numbers, into something tangible and bite sized- easily digested. Somewhere around beat eighty five a jet pulls my attention away. 

Jake's eyes are locked on the ground in front of his toes. I can just barely see the way his eyes trace the hairline fractures of the concrete. They mirror the fractures of this conversation, though words go unsaid the concrete beneath out feet seems more like ice. We are drifting. 

"You've made me reevaluate this entire thing," The words are a mess of mumbled whispers feathering off his tongue. Then he laughs, one of those thick honeyed laughs that rattles your entire being. I didn't bring this point up to have Jake question his entire reality and from the sound of his laugh all slick and marred he may be doing just that. 

"Let me ask you something," My words are somewhere between a peace offering and a threat of war. An olive branch paired with cocklebur and thistle; a fucked up bouquet. "Do you love Bradley?"

"Of course I do," There is no hesitation, just conviction, "He's my everything," 

"Are you in love with him?" The words are like chem trails hanging visible between us. Jake's tongue laves over the corner of his mouth for a second. Our eyes meet and he cocks a small smile. 

"Honestly, he's the only person I've ever been in love with. I think I was in love with him before we even got together. Somewhere between butting heads over work shit to the time we hauled each other into that filthy bathroom stall while on shore leave, I fell for him. We uhh..." There's another moment of hesitation, heavier than the one before, "Rooster wasn't looking for his soulmate. Too much tragedy and loss when he was growin' up. He didn't want to lose anyone else. I on the other hand have one of those sentences,"  

Jake fumbles with the zipper on his flight suit, his fingers shaking just a tad. The zipper pulls with a metallic buzz all the way down to his waist, far enough for Jake to pull his left arm free of the fabric. With a twist of his arm, I can read the fragile script inked into the soft underside of his bicep, I just hope he's okay.

Two beats and a breath. 

"Is he?"

"Not all the time, but, things with Mav are getting better everyday. He still struggles but that's life," It's all warmly honest and sweet coming off of Jake's tongue. I share a smile with him. Jake traces over the words with his thumb, pulling gently at the skin. The air between us is lighter now. I am no longer counting heart beats. Instead, I let them pass through my chest without a second thought. The seconds pass, the Earth rotates and I breathe without fraction.

"But enough about us," Jake waves his hand in dismissal, "Are you ready?" He pulls his flight suit back over his shoulder, threading his arm though. The zipper hums that metallic zip again as I chew on the inside of my cheek. Am I ready? I don't know, but standing here under the slow setting sun makes me feel like I could be.

"How long does the beginning last?" I meet his eyes with question. His jaw ticks but the corner of his smile ticks up too. There is so much knowing in that look. 

I've always been more at home in endings. With autumn, dying flowers in vases, and sunsets. Last words, whispered goodbyes, and the feeling of fingertips grazing palms after handshakes; those make sense to me. 

Beginnings and I are strangers sharing fleeting glances. We are curtesy smiles across crowded rooms when our eyes meet on accident. Business cards and for sale posters pinned to public bulletin boards and the passing of cigarettes at concerts. Beginnings haze past me and if I don't move, don't breathe, don't blink, I can coast into the now, the middle of moments, what's left between the beginning and the end.   

"Only a second," 

Jake takes my hand in his own. He rubs his thumb reassuringly over the joint of my thumb, our palms pressed together. Gently, he's guiding me back to the hanger. The whole ordeal is regulated by his kind touches. My skin burns under his hands, but it's not that romantic kind of burning. Instead, Jake's fingertips pressing into my skin are a smoke signal; I follow it diligently. 

The walk to the hanger is quiet. No words spoken between us. The only sounds come from the base itself and the way our shoes hit the pavement. I wish there was a sort of de rigueur for situations like this. A handbook outlining exactly what you're supposed to say in the limbo moment between past and future. It's that moment where the word present doesn't quite fit. It's too liminal, a sort of aberration. Jake's soothing touch is pithy in the same way it is integral. 

The sound of our shoes against the pavement changes as we pass through the threshold. It's far less crunch and a bit more scuff, now. Jake's boots are louder than the soft rubber of my sneakers. They give me a little bit more height, in turn I feel harder to miss. As if the only civilian in a hanger full of flight suit clad aviators would be difficult to miss in the first place.

We only make it about half way into the hanger, just about the point where the chilled breeze warms over when Jake stops me. I go to take another step but his hand tightening around my own. It's a quiet plea to stay put. There's more to unfold, and for a moment I wonder if the beginning has past yet or if I'm on the cusp of it. Jake separates his hand from mine, the warmth of his palm sticking for a few fleeting seconds. 

Maybe that's how much time the universe spent connecting souls together in friendship. The few fleeting moments in the flick of a pen, ink still drying on the parchment of the universe. 

The aviators all sit facing the board at the front, a couple to a table. There's only six aviators sitting, but that accounts for the main team, save for Hangman walking up the aisle. My father, Tom and Pete are at the front of the room, similar to the way I left them. Now, though, Pete is leaning against the table with his husband rather than taking up residence on the floor. My father is still sat in a chair at the front, but he's now facing the group of young aviators. His eyes catch mine from across the room, a small reassuring grin taking it's place on his lips. It keeps me from wavering, then it disappears as fast as it came. 

I catch Tom's eyes next. From this far away, the usual stark blue of his eyes are less icy. Now, they're more soft, welcoming like a clear sky. He places a hand on Pete's knee, the younger man agog with excitement to the point where he's almost buzzing. He must've spotted Jake and I when we walked in, but the famous Maverick is good at keeping people's attention where he wants it. Everyone's eyes are still focused forward on him as he natters on.  I will my ears to hear over the newfound sound of blood thrashing through my ears. 

But it's not Pete's voice I catch, instead it belongs to a woman.

"Why are you two sharing this story now? I know that Payback and Coyote have been asking about this for months and you're finally talking? Something doesn't add up, if you ask me," 

Pete goes to open his mouth again, but Tom squeezes his knee again. His grip looks a little too hard. Mav doesn't seem to acknowledge the uniform wrinkling grip his husband has on his knee, but he keeps his mouth shut. 

"I was thinking the same thing," Bradley pipes up, his chin resting against his closed fist, elbow propped up on the table in front of him. "Even though I've heard this story about a thousand times, I know Jake wanted to hear it-" 

"Where is Bagman? I thought he came in with you, Bradshaw," The woman counters back. 

"I'm right here, Phoenix," Jake pipes up, his tone more smug than I've ever heard it, as he's walking right past the empty seats to stand next to my father. "I was working on something for the Air Boss, is that alright with you lot?" 

There are murmurs, nothing intelligible. The usual glower on my father's features when he's in front of his subordinates is no where to be seen. Instead, his features are schooled into neutral disinterest. Jake leans towards him to whisper into his ear- my father's expression remains still. Then Jake is moving towards Pete. He leans in between Mav and his husband, letting them both listen to what he has to say. With a clap of his hands, Pete is interrupting whatever Jake is telling him. I am a bit taken aback by Pete's sudden command but it seems no one else is surprised. Tom shakes his head a bit but does nothing to hold back his husband. 

"Alright team, change of plans!" The words are met with a groan. "Our lovely COMPACFLT is going to take you guys for a little trip across the air field, I'll be there to join you shortly. Lt. Floyd, could you hang back for a moment, Admiral Simpson and I would like to have a word with you. Same goes for you as well, Lt. Seresin," 

"That's a lot of formality there, old man," Jake jests over the sound of scooching chairs and boots against the cement. I watch as the small group files out of a door at the back of the hanger, diligently following after Tom. 

It's only then that it really hits me. 

The only people left standing in this hanger with me are my father, Pete, Jake and Robert Floyd. My Robert Floyd, the man I have spent so long imagining. When I was a child, I used to talk to the moon about him. The habit started after my teacher told us the story about the man in the moon. He served as my confidant, my secret keeper, and my light for the future. It wasn't uncommon to commune with the milky light of the moon as it shown through the sheer curtains of my childhood bedroom.  

I suppose it's fitting that my soulmate, too, has a love for the sky. I wonder if he's friends with the moon in that same way. Childlike innocence held over with white knuckles while tucked under blankets, anything to fend off the monsters turned Sunday scaries. 

I let my eyes trail over his frame, though I can't make out much. Only the back of his head, with his clean, Navy regulation hair cut. He is that dishwater blond that Rhett is, hair shining with a slick coat of gel to keep his bangs out of his eyes. Bob wears his flight suit, which gives me absolutely no clue into his world of personal style. But, I like the way it stretches over the expanse of his shoulders and down the broadness of his back. The slick-ish green material pulling taught over the the caps of his shoulders as he slumps forward a bit. 

Sitting alone like he is almost makes him look like a little kid who got into trouble at recess. He keeps his hands tucked in front of him, the picture of polite as he waits for his next instruction. Maybe it's instinct, maybe it's Navy issued, either way he's all patience and clean corners tucked into a military grade flight suit. 

The sight of my father leaning down in front of Bob pulls me back to reality. He wears a kind smile, that same one he used to wear at father-daughter dances and parent-teacher conferences. That smile belongs wholly to my father- Cyclone: the Admiral is no where to be seen. It's strange, for a moment he almost looks out of place in his uniform, but I don't have time to dwell on that fact. 

Pete is pulling Jake towards me, a hand on his collar. 

"I'm telling you right now, Jake," Maverick punctuates his seriousness with the use of Jake's first name, "You are going to go easy on Bob, alright?" 

"I think he's a lot stronger than you give him credit for," Jake shoots back, nudging Pete in the ribs with his elbow. "I know we all joke around and treat Bob like he's the kid of the group, but he's worked just as hard as the rest of the team to be here. He deserves it. There's no doubt in my mind that he won't take this in stride," 

"This isn't like you, Hangman," Pete chuckles, punching him playfully in the chest, "If I didn't know any better I'd think there's a heart in there somewhere," 

"You're forgetting I'm practically engaged to your son, you know," Jake is all jest and shinning eyes as he looks down at the shorter man. 

"The word practically gives me pause," 

The moment between the men is as sweet as it is endearing, but my heartbeat threatens to take over my senses again. Anxiety swirls like thick smoke, overtaking my lungs and burning my eyes. I can feel myself tearing up. 

"I can appreciate the father-in-law son-in-law bonding that's happening right now, but in case you two have forgotten I am this fucking close to losing it," I hold my fingers up for emphasis, my pointer dangerously close to my thumb, "Watching y'all, I feel like the lunatics are running the asylum," 

"Dangerously accurate," Pete laughs, earning a scowl from me. I turn to Jake for some sort of help. Standing here, the seconds ticking down, I feel myself wavering. 

"So, this is it?" 

"This is it," Pete echoes, unhelpfully, "You've got this, Little Bird," 

Pete uses that as his exit, patting Jake on the arm as he leaves. I don't turn to watch him walk away. My eyes are somewhere on the center of Jake's chest, but the images are all muddled and glassy. He takes my hand in his own, thumbing over the ridges of my fingers. 

"Walking into love, eyes wide open, I promise," Jake's susurrus voice barely audible over the blood rushing through my ears. Gently, he guides me down the aisle between the tables. It seems a million miles from here to there, a sentiment I've only ever heard brides use. Then, he's stopping me a row back from where Bob is seated, still talking to my father. Jake himself does not stop, instead going to stand next to my father. 

"You got it from here, Lieutenant?" My father asks, turning his quirked eyebrow Jake's direction. 

"I do," Jake confirms confidently, his hands coming down to rest palm down on the tabletop in front of Bob. 

"Alright then," My father straightens up, "I'll see you in a few minutes, Lt. Seresin. Have a good night, Lt. Floyd," 

From my new vantage point, I can see a sliver of Bob's side profile. A clean shaven jaw gives way to a long, pale neck. He wears glasses, that little fact feels more concrete than anything else up unto this moment. Robert Floyd wears glasses- those Navy issued, Birth Control Goggles that I've always had an affinity for.  

Once when I was a kid, I had asked my father why the Navy glasses were hated. I liked them, truly. They reminded me of the vintage models in my mother's old magazines- and that look was the height of fashion circa 1976. My mother had a love for all things vintage fashion, and I developed a love for a well dressed man whilst looking over her shoulder. My father's response to the question was nothing that made sense until I understood exactly how cruel people could be. 

"What's going on, Hangman?" There's a round quality to Bob's accent, though it is decidedly more formal than Rhett's. 

"I'm getting to that, Baby on Board," Jake chuckles, leaning closer to Bob effectively keeping the other man's eyes on him, "Close your eyes," 

"Close my eyes? Yeah, right," Bob scoffs, "I think I learned better when it comes to you, all the way back when we were kids. Nice try. Now, tell me, what's goin' on?" 

I watch Jake's smile bloom larger on his face, but he doesn't spare a glance my direction. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, nervous energy threatening to boil over. Even though energy buzzes under my skin, I want nothing more than to hear Bob speak again. 

"Seriously Robby," The nickname makes me almost laugh. It's said with just a dash of sweetness, something closer to fond. Bob lets out a slightly exasperated sigh. "Close'em up,"

"I swear to god, Seresin, if this is some sort of overdue hazing or some other bullshit I am going to kick your ass," Bob grumbles, but must closes his eyes by the pleased look reflecting on Jake's features. 

"It's not, honest," Jake swears, a hand placed over his heart. I watch the pair as I rock back and fourth. It's a gentle movement, anything to keep myself from crawling out of my skin. "And you and I both know that you couldn't kick my ass if you tried," Bob looks like he's going to retort, but instead he sinks down a little further in his seat with a roll of his eyes. 

"Well, get on with it," Bob mumbles, his shoulders dipping a bit. 

"Will you take this seriously, please, Robby," There's that nickname again. Jake's words are met with a low grumble about how he really is taking something absolutely ridiculous as seriously as he can. "Let me ask you somethin'"

"Alright," Bob shrugs his shoulders, his uniform wrinkling under his movement. Bob is so apprehensive, rightfully so. Jake is still looking down at him, hands pressed to the table. The look Jake has painted across his face is nothing short of mischievous, a look that I would not want to be on the receiving end of, for fear of trouble. 

"Now, no matter what I ask, you've gotta keep your eyes closed, alright?" 

"Okay, alright, Jake. I get it, eyes are to remain closed," 

Then Jake is waving me over with a flick of his wrist. There is still a wide smile across his cheeks which makes it a fraction harder to say no. Still, I shake my head, eyes wide, trying to deny his request. He huffs out a sigh when I manage to scoot myself less than two steps closer. A second later he is crossing over to me, taking my hand in his again. He guides me back to where he was standing before, in front of Bob. 

I can see his whole face now.

From the tender slope of his nose to his dusty brown lashes, the first thing that strikes me is just how kind he looks. I take in the gentle wave of his hair and the way it's pushed back from his eyes. I wonder what is would look like without all the product. Would it slope down onto his forehead, the obvious wave more prominent? From here, though his features are so similar to Rhett's, he looks so incredibly different. There is a softness to Bob that I wouldn't have expected. The points where Rhett is hard lines and calloused skin, Bob is undisturbed water, crystal clear and inviting. 

Robert Floyd looks nothing like the idea of men I have come to picture in my head: the ideal man outlined for me since childhood. Those men were all beefy hands and square jaws, sharp lines that lead to a commanding presence. Instead, Bob is lean muscle and something so unbelievably oneiric. He is soft in the way the best things are, seafoam and clouds, the feeling of coming home. It's strange, really, the settled feeling that makes a home near my diaphragm. It's all delicate revelation.

The anxiety still lingers in my extremities, dancing through my thighs and down to my toes just to accompany the pulsing feeling in my fingertips. 

And suddenly, I want to know everything. The dam breaks, cracks running through the concrete that held back my terse reaction and adjunct feeling of crumbling resolve.  

The tears come fast and unexpected, the only thing keeping in a surprised gasp is my hands cupped over my mouth. Get it together, get it together, get it together! Those are the only words going through my head, accompanied by the sound of blood rushing though my ears.  Jake grazes his knuckles over the exposed skin of my arm, his expression still as kind as ever. He doesn't take his eyes off me when he addresses Bob again. 

"I had a point brought up to me today, about the whole soulmate thing," It's a start. Jake looks like he's hunting for the words, "And I'm embarrassed about it. I mean, it makes so much sense and I can't have you looking at me when I admit this," 

Jake is really hamming it up, leaning into this whole bit. I'm not sure if it's to ease my anxiety or if it's to mess with Bob, but either way I don't care. I am stuck standing here, in front of my person and will listen to every word that leaves Jake's lips if it means I get to look at Bob unbothered for a few more moments. 

God, he's pretty. His lips look soft, even though they are lightly sun kissed. Or maybe that's just their natural color. His cheeks match, though. A stained sort of blush that looks like crushed berries. I want to trace the ridge of his cupids bow with the tip of my nose, a precursor to a kiss that is a long time coming. I want to wear that raspberry stain on my skin, too. 

"Okay..." Bob's tone is nothing short of patient. "My eyes are still closed, I promise. Go on when you're ready," 

"The thought is this: people begin a life with their soulmate with their eyes closed, blinders on. They jump into something purely because something in the universe deemed it that way. I wonder what would happen if we walked into the whole thing with our eyes open instead of falling blindly, or out of obligation," Jake is summing up the sentiment well. He hits each detail in a way that threatens to make my head spin to hear them out in the open like that. It's one thing to admit those things out loud, but hearing them fall from someone else's lips is dizzying. 

"That's the thing, Jake, I don't think it's all out of obligation," I suck in a deep breath at those words, holding it hard within my lungs. Jake looks at me with a knowing sort of look that doesn't make holding in this breath any less of a necessity. It's a few more seconds before I finally let go, the breath escaping my lungs slowly. 

"What do you mean?" Jake probes further, doing his best to hide the joy in his tone. If Bob notices, he doesn't say anything. 

"Just because we've got these words doesn't mean it dictates our future. Anyone who tells you different is drinking the Kool-Aid. I mean, I hope more than anything that my person wants me just as much as I want them, but the words don't make it so. It also doesn't mean shit the other way. Things can work out even if your words don't match up, because that's not what love is, Jake," Bob's tone has turned soft now, a care laced into his words. He takes his glasses from his face, setting them down onto the tabletop so he can rub at his still closed eyes. His expression is still soft, though he moves to rub his temples. 

"Love is a choice. Plain and simple. I mean, look at my parents. You know they don't have each other's words, but they are the most in-love people I've ever seen. The universe didn't do that, they did. It was a choice they made every single day, to wake up and love each other and build that life together. And so, if you're worried about everything with Rooster, you don't have to be. Not as long as you wake up every day, love each other and build a life together, whatever that looks like for you," 

"So," Jake's words are interrupted by the smile growing on his face. His cheeks are red from the force it takes to smile so big, but he doesn't seem to mind. "Great love is walking in to it with eyes wide open?" 

"That's exactly what it means," Bob confirms, bringing his hands back to his lap. At his confirmation, the world seems to slow. Each second lasts longer than the previous, the beating of my heart the only thing out of sync now. Tick, tick, ti-thump thump tick. Jake squeezes my shoulder, keeping his eyes firmly on me once again. 

"There's something else I have to tell you, Robby," The joy in Jake's voice is palpable, warm like sunshine on skin. The ever-present burning feeling mellows to this. That static burn of the sun shinning from high in the sky, enough to turn skin hot with blush. "Birdie's here," 

The room goes almost silent, save for the sounds of Bob's deep, uncertain breathes. A moment passes. Then another. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. For the first moment I consider my attire, a white t-shirt and jeans. Could've been worse. At least it's something else to think about other than counting moments, minutes, heartbeats or breathes. 

"Excuse me?" The words are taught, leaving an equally tight throat. Bob sounds almost pained, somewhere in the rigidness of his tone. Bob cracks his eyes open, reaching for his glasses. He slots them back into place on his nose, adjusting them with his long fingers. 

That's something else concrete; the cleanliness of Bob's nails. I bite my lip to keep from laughing at the thought, after all, I'm taking comfort in something so silly. Anything to distract from the pulsing of anxiety. 

Bob looks up, his pupils dilating as he refocuses to the light of the hanger. His eyes focus on Jake first, his expression something I can't quite read. Then his eyes flick to me. The best thing I can offer him is a sheepish smile but it makes Bob cock is head to the side like a confused animal. Like things will make more sense at forty-five degrees. 

"Robert Floyd, Birdie Simpson," Jake introduces us as easy as if he were introducing two friends. "Birdie, this is Just Bob," That part is accompanied by wink and a hint of a chuckle. 

"I shoulda hit you," I grumble, dashing a glace over to Jake. His laughter fills the room, bastard. Bob doesn't move, his head still cocked to the side as if he's trying to make sense of it all, dot the I's, cross the T's, but his mental pen's out of ink. I watch his gaze bounce between Jake and I a couple times as he flounders. His eyes are a notch wider than what I would consider normal, the delicate blue of them shining like ocean baubles under the florescence of the hanger. 

"Well, say somethin' to 'er Robby!" Jake's drawl sneaks out with his desperation. He holds his hands out, almost like he's trying to display me to Bob, the only thing that's missing is the jazz hands. I am clutching the material of my jeans in tight, sweaty fists. This whole thing is going somehow worse than I had anticipated, even through Jake's good natured exchange and I can't help feeling exposed. 

Jake mumbles out a "See, no tellin' if he's wise," just barely loud enough for me to hear. It's supposed to be a comfort, I suppose, but the limbo look I find myself locked in keeps my nerves from settling. 

A sound akin to scrambled vowels escapes Bob's lips. His eyes widen impossibly further, his cheeks going crimson . That same color accompanies the skin around his collar. It would be an endearing sight if he didn't look so totally mortified. His expression isn't at all comfortable, mirroring the exact feeling zinging underneath my skin. This wasn't how this was supposed to go... God, this is so much worse. 

The universe could have delt us better cards. All happy smiles and those movie reel, airport hugs that knock the wind out of you. Those Hollywood kisses with hands cupping faces accompanied by breathless words. I've been waiting for you. You look beautiful. I can't believe you're finally here in my arms. But that's not this. After all, the only hand the universe has wields a pen. The moment the words are wrote, we are on our own, ink stained and pleading. 

"I don't think you were ready for this- either of us," I correct myself, "So, I uh... I think I'm just going to go," I start backing up slowly, heading for the back door of the hanger. I can't place the look Bob gives me, but it makes my stomach twist. "I'm sorry, again. To all three of you," 

"Birdie, please don't-" The door slams behind me, cutting Jake's words off. The chill of the outside air rapidly cools my heated skin. It's still California, but with the sun barely visible over the horizon, the air is cool. 

Tears are rapidly forming in my eyes, though I don't exactly feel like crying. Instead, its the feeling of insurmountable stress weighing on my nervous system. Out of everything I am feeling, I can only name the things I don't want to experience because of the emotions wrecking through my body. 

Though I don't want to cry, my body doesn't seem to be getting the message as fat tears dribble onto my cheeks. I don't feel like running, which in itself makes me chuckle. Usually, when things get hard I want to disappear, take time to figure out exactly what's going on. It's why I've been away from my father for so long to begin with, and why I ran from Rhett and Jake at the airport. What has always taken me distance to see is coming through remarkable clear this close up. 

Maybe I should be broken hearted, or maybe I already am and whatever this fucking feeling buzzing in my chest is only serves as temporary cover. I can't hold back the laughter that vibrates through me. After all of the stock I put into meeting my soulmate, my person, and it having gone down just like a sinking ship only serves to make one thing so perfectly crystal clear. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. It has me turning on my heel and headed right back through that door. 

Jake and Rhett haven't moved too far in the minute or so I've been gone. Jake is still standing in front of the table, looking down at Bob who now has his head buried in his hands. His glasses are pushed up his face, balancing oddly over his forehead. 

"Birdie?" Jake questions, voice louder than necessary. Bob lifts his face from his hands, his glasses falling back crookedly over his nose. I ignore Jake's question along with his gaze, my sights firmly squared on Bob.

"Could that have gone worse?" 

Bob still wears that deer in the headlights look, eyes like flashbulbs, but he finds his voice. "Statistically? Yes," 

Jake mumbles an oh, for Christ's sake to himself but doesn't say anything forthcoming. My hands cup my own face, palms cool against my still hot skin as I cross the concrete to stand in front of the table. Bob watches my each and every move until he is looking up at me from his seat wearing a mimic furrowed brow. My hands make homes of my jean pockets once more. 

"For us I mean," I offer more criteria, "I mean, we really didn't say much to each other, so it's not like we could have said something to offend one another. There hasn't been time to make an impression besides the minute or so of blatant staring. No body threw up, or fainted, or cried. I didn't dump a cup of hot coffee on your lap or anything. Hell, I even had a friend meet her soulmate after they got into a car accident. So really, Bobby, could this have gone worse? 

There's a sort of dry chuckle to my words, a humor that's been left out in the wind too long. We've officially made it past the beginning now, that much I know to be true, and there is already so much comfort in that fact.  

Bob looks to be pondering over my words for a moment before a small, cheeky smirk makes a home on his lips. I can't help but mirror that smile. 

"Well, when you put it that way," Bob places his hands on the tabletop, pushing himself to his feet, "I think that was probably the worst we could have managed. Considering the circumstances, what do you think?" 

"I think we faired alright," I offer, "Could have been better, but life's good at hitting you right in the kneecaps," 

Bob smiles widely at me, and this time it's me who's looking up. Bob is tall, just like Rhett, but looking up at the man in front of me is so much sweeter. He thrusts his hand out, offering it to me, "Robert Floyd," 

I wrap my hand around his, squeezing, "Birdie Simpson," 

"You two do know that I did this already, right?" Jake interjects. Neither Bob nor I turn to look at the blond, his presence all but forgotten. 

"It's wonderful to finally meet you, Birdie," Bob's voice is smooth, anxiety hidden in the upturn of his smile. God, he's got a nice smile. 

"Likewise, Lieutenant," I stick my tongue out at him playfully, nose scrunched. 

"No, absolutely not," Bob still holds my hand in his, "If this is going to be anything other than friendly acquaintances, you don't get to call me that here," 

"Here?"  The question belongs solely to Jake. 

"Then what can I call you?" It's all mischief. 

"Let's start with Bobby, I quite liked that," He admits, his cheeks flushing again, this time it's gentle. The blush that overtakes his skin isn't out of embarrassment, instead it's out of a new found fondness. I can feel it creeping up on my own skin. 

"Alright, Bobby," 

"It's Robby..." Jake interjects once more, this time earning a glance from Bob.

"Maybe to you and the family, but to Birdie here, it's Bobby," Bob explains, as if he hasn't just decided that fact for himself. "Don't you have to go meet up with the squad and Admiral Kazansky?" 

Its more of a get out of here than it is an actual question. Jake seems to miss the scram message hidden in the kindness of Bob's tone. 

"Uh... Not technically. Everyone is actually going to the Hard Deck. Pops called off the hop. Figured you wouldn't want to be flyin' after this and we couldn't let Phoenix without her back seater," 

At the explanation, I finally pull my eyes from Bob to look at Jake with an unimpressed expression. "What I think Bob's trying to say is get lost," 

"Well, yes. But nicer than that," Bob tries to offer at Jake's open mouthed surprise. 

"I know he talked me down today," I gesture to Jake, "But, I don't think he deserves nice. Have you ever sat next to that man on a plane? God, he bounced his leg the whole time! I thought he was going to buzz right out of his skin," 

"You should hear him over coms while he's actually the only piloting," Bob laughs under his breath, "He's sort of insufferable,"

 "That's not a surprise, but at least Rhett's not up there with you. I was stuck in between the of of 'em the whole damn trip," 

"Oh god, both of them?" Bob asks, his thumb stroking over my own. He still holds my hand, slightly awkwardly over the table but I don't care. In fact, he is so warm and I want him to hold me closer. 

"Both of them," I confirm with a wry smile. 

"In that case, scram Bagman," Bob laughs, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. 

He holds his hands up in defense, "You don't have to tell me twice. I know when I'm not wanted," We watch Jake walk away for a moment before turning back to look at each other once again. 

"I can't believe you grew up with him," I laugh. Bob laughs too, almost like he's in agreement. After the laughter dies down, we stand there in silence for a few moments. In times like this I would usually be counting down the tick of the clock but for once I am totally wrapped up in the present. That's when Bob clears his throat. 

"I owe you an apology," Bob leaves no room for me to brush off his words, "I'm sorry I handled that as poorly as I did. I was caught off guard and then made a fool of myself. I'm not trying to make excuses, I really am sorry, Birdie," At the end of his apology, Bob's eyes slip from my face, a blush taking over his own. 

"Oh Bobby," I squeeze his hand, pulling his gaze back to my own. "You don't need to apologize. That's not how I was expecting things to happen. Jake make the choice and I just let it happen. I think I should be apologizing to you. So, I'm sorry,"

"Apology accepted," Bob smiles.

"Apology accepted," I return. In that moment we settle into the quiet again, but it doesn't last very long. 

"So," Bob starts again, a bit unsure of his words. 

"So?" 

"Do you think we've got a chance at this? The crash and burn beginning behind us?" Bob looks so damn hopeful. I can't help but swoon the second that look it turned down to meet my eyes.

"Let's look at the facts. You're a WSO, so you're already trusting, brilliant, a hard worker. I grew up a Navy brat, so I know what this life looks like. I'm not a stranger to the deployments or the work that has to happen for something like this to work out. I've got no where I have to be, nothing committed to. Hell, I was coming home, technically, the home being where your family is or whatever. And you already know my father, so there's no awkward introduction there. I already know Rhett, and Jake, not to mention I'm just a few members short of having met your whole team. I live out of a fucking duffle bag of fucks sake," The words spill from my mouth with no abandon. Bob just listens, a dopey smile drawn over his lips. "All things considered, I think we've got a good chance. I hear it's all about making the choice to make it all work,"

Its not totally clear if Bob picks up the little joke because the smile on his face hasn't faltered. Neither has his hand, still holding my own, even through my little speech. Carefully, Bob uses his free hand to adjust his frames over his nose so they sit a little bit straighter. 

"What do you say we get out of here? Dinner maybe?" He offers, eyebrows raised. He looks a little nervous. I offer him my nicest smile. "And then we can talk more about all this," 

"That depends, Lieutenant, are you going to wear the flight suit?" I flirt shamelessly. It's met with that confused look that I've already come to recognize, though his head only tilts about fifteen degrees this time. 

"Uh, no? I was going to change before we left," Oh sweet, sweet Bobby. 

"I know," I giggle, "I was flirting with you,"

"Oh," The blush crawls across his skin again. I want to kiss every bit it colors. 

"I can't believe you outed the fact that you have a rank kink in front of your friend and wingman, but you can't pick up when I'm flirting with you," I pull my hand from his, only to hit him playfully in the chest. 

Bob's eyes go wide again, "Oh my god, did I?" 

"You did," I confirm through laughter, watching Bob go from pink to red. "Now go get changed, I've gotta hear more about that," 

"Okay, okay," Bob holds his hands up in defense, walking himself out into the aisle between the tables. "One thing, first," 

"What's that?" Bob just holds his hand out to me, beckoning me into the aisle with him. I take it, rounding around the table to stand in front of him. He is taller now, this close. He looks down at me over the bottom wire of his glasses, a cheeky smile on his features. 

"I'd like to kiss you first, if that's alright," He leans closer and closer with each whispered word. The last thing I see before my eyes slip closed is the still pink tint to Bob's cheeks, the same tint that matches the gentle blush of his sun kissed lips. 

"You better," I mumble, our lips meeting a moment after. Bob's hands snake around my body, fingers threading through the beltloops at the the back of my hips. I wrap my fingers around his collar, clutching onto the fabric, holding him close. The kiss is all gentle, though there is so much warmth taking over my skin from his touch. It burns like new flame, the kind that gives light to the future. To our future, together, tangled in each other's embrace. 

That first kiss is a brand new beginning taking flight. The first beginning I don't want to end. 

TAGLIST

@kmc1989 @inky-sun @harperdoodle @possiblyexisting @eloquentdreamer @ravenwtfbro @jessicab1991 @muddwheelz123

[mads-nixon]

hi everyone! welcome to my band of brothers & the pacific side-blog! my messages and ask box are always open, so shoot me a message anytime you feel like it. also, requests are now CLOSED for the pacific and bob!! you can find the request guidelines below!

request guidelines | gifsets/icons

xoxo,

mads :)

Band of Brothers

italics - wips

Eugene “Doc” Roe

- At Last

- Break the Distance

- C'est Toi (Soulmate!AU)

Joe Liebgott

- Of Course It’s You

- Liebling

Floyd Talbert

- “The Night of the Bayonet”

- I’m Here (oc)

George Luz

- Home

- Old Friends

Dick Winters

- Winter at the Winters'

- Meine Liebe

Ron Speirs

- Keeping You Safe

- For Me

- Knight in Dirty ODs

Lewis Nixon

- Here With You

- The Vow

- Timeless

- Epiphany Series Masterlist

Johnny Martin

- Follow You Anywhere

Headcannons

- Nix When He's Sick

- Dating Eugene Roe

- Post-War Harry Welsh

The Pacific

Robert Leckie

- Crazy

Bill "Hoosier" Smith

- You Before Me

Eugene Sledge

- See the Good

Headcanons

- Hoosier Dating an Extrovert

- Chuckler Dating an Artist

- Chuckler Dating a Medic

Masters of the Air:

You can find things from gifs to fics, and posts about the flyers and ground crews in Masters of the Air on my sideblog, @major-mads!!

comment or message me if you want to be tagged in anything!!

[jungle-angel]

And Kitty Makes Ten (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob take in a stray just a few nights before Halloween and it ends up being the best thing ever

Warnings: Pregnancy, cuteness overload as usual

You and Bob were all snuggled under the blankets on the sofa, completely engrossed in Tim Burton's "Corpse Bride" with two steaming mugs of cinnamon hazelnut coffee sitting on the endtable near the sofa.

You melted into Bob's touch as he caressed your belly under your shirt, his warm hands on your skin as he felt the growing life inside kicking against his palms.

"Calm down, princess," he cooed to the baby. "You're acting like you've never had coffee before."

You laughed a little bit as you held your hand over his, completely relaxed and in utter heaven as Bob pressed his warm lips against your forehead.

"You hear that?" Bob said suddenly.

You shook your head.

Bob turned the volume down on the tv, the two of you listening intently when you heard scritching at the front door. Bob helped you up before you both found your way to the front door.

"Oh hello," Bob said upon seeing a pair of glowing green eyes in the dark.

You gasped when you heard the frightened meowing coming from the black cat that hid a little around the corner of the threshold. Bob held out his hand for the cat to come and sniff, the scraggly little form curling her tail around him.

"We might wanna shut the door, it's getting cold out," you told him, shuddering as goosebumps formed on your arms.

Bob coaxed the cat inside, her slinky black form noticeable on the beige carpet in the entryway and the living room. She meowed like crazy, even as Bob had gone to the kitchen to get her something to eat, returning a moment later with a bowl full of milk.

"I don't see a chip or a collar," he said, gently poking through her fur a little bit. "If anything she must've come from some hoarder den somewhere and run away."

"Think we need to comb for fleas?"

"Better to just be on the safe side."

You and Bob were surprised that the cat willingly let you wash her off in the small downstairs bathroom with the special flea and tick shampoo, drying her with a warm towel before she crept back into the kitchen to finish off her milk.

No sooner was she back in the kitchen than Salem, the male black cat, came creeping up from the basement, often hiding in the little apartment you had holed out for Bob's parents. He purred and rubbed against the female and she against him, as though they had known each other all their lives.

"You see this?" Bob chuckled.

You laughed yourself as they skittered away into the living room, curling up together on the blankets, their tails twitching happily.

"I think she's here to stay," you told him, smiling broadly.

"If that's the case, she's gonna need a name."

"Well," you mused. "Seeing as it's almost Halloween......Pumpkin?"

Bob kissed your lips. "That sounds perfect."

And so it was, that Pumpkin had come to stay. Very quickly, she and Salem had become inseparable, in a way, feline soulmates that seemed to mirror you and Bob. You can't help but see that she's the sweetest little kitty, especially with Auggie and Patrick, never using her claws on them and keeping it to the scratching post. By December, two weeks before Christmas, you and Bob welcome your little princess, Diedre Brigit who has a new crib-mate in Pumpkin. Yet your biggest surprise comes Christmas morning when you find Pumpkin and Salem under the tree in their sleeping basket with a new litter of kittens, happy and warm with each other, just like you and Bob.

[metalheads-trash-bin]

!! MORE NOTES FOR TROLLS FANFIC WRITERS!!

These consist of observations, facts, and headcanons :)

Volcano Rock City

Riff & rock trolls:

Breathy giggle, shy almost

At college for musical theory/art

Immune to lava - see it like hot water

Change in music doesnt change where they were raised w - (Pink heart, but diff style)

Volcano rock city arenas lava is now rainbow to show all genres

High fives show harmony and connection

Daycare in pop village - poppy teaches them the history of the whole world tour situation w barb as a guest

Riff uses air drums w drumsticks to dance w head bobbing when just chill dancing

Hard dancing is ofc what you think it is

Riff has three siblings, hes the favorite sibling since hes the baby. He spends time with his mom. He has two sisters and one brother. The brother is the eldest.

Food item: Fiber energy juice boxes

Barbs full name is Barbara

Creek notes:

Creek being creek “a little positivity would go well with that vest.”

Gets grabbed by chef

Chef forces creek into king gristles mouth

Creek figures out how to prevent himself being killed, calling out and gristle spitting him out. Creek begs for his life.

He strikes up a deal with chef. Through that hes taken out of the amulet for good.

Chef catches the snack pack, putting them back into the cage.

Chef pulls out creek, and they have the whole strangle moment.

Creek tells them he sold out everyone, showing no remorse so they dont try rescuing him. He even says to her theres no other “not him getting eaten” way, and chef agrees.

Instead of poppy focusing on the kingdom she becomes empathetic towards Bridget, turning back after being let go and helping her out. Poppy explains to the bergens that theres other ways to be happy. Then demonstrates that.

The bergens believe her, having a happy ending where they realize they dont need to eat trolls.

Chef gets rocketed out on a grill, creek in her fanny pack. She tries to eat him, the creature below them waking up. They get eaten by said monster.

“If poppy had only listened to you, if she took you seriously..if we all did. This would’ve never happened. If she just focused on the kingdom and not saving me, you all could’ve escaped and ran off. Finding a new haven. I know in the end it was a good plan..and lead to good things. But..she didn’t know that, no one did. You all almost died.”

“I’m sorry I never took you seriously, I’m..so sorry branch.”

Mount Rageous- rage dome

Bruce canonically listens to true crime podcasts

Jds canon in the sad book club

Floyd had a canon solo career

Mount rageous has an adult area called “the bowl” under the clouds

Floyd worked there doing modeling, playboy esque. Alongside singing solos in bdsm clubs

Teens found out eventually as gossip is.

Scarring under JDs gloved hand

Branch cracks under pressure after introducing floyd to creek, spiraling in front of poppy and sobbing to her about his feelings on everything. She panics and tries problem solving, branch snapping and then them walking away. They came back to eachother the next day, talking it out and deciding health wise its best to just be friends. They became platonic soulmates to eachother like riff and barb, the separation and experience of being together bringing them closer anyhow. Being in different levels of life just, cant work long term.

Creek says things like “Mother Destiny” or “Mother” as his connection to the earth.

John Dorys first thing when the gang separated was neverglade trail

Johns killed someone, he followed them on a hike and tried bashing their head with a rock. The person had a self defense pocket knife because of the wild animals. They slashed his left hand, john trying to push them off a cliff (waterfall cliff). Person grips onto his jacket, pleading for their life and how they dont understand what they did to deserve this, hanging off the cliff only not falling because hes gripping onto johns jacket. Johns gripping the ground, reaching for a rock and smashing their eye until they let go. Person falls, not dying because the water wasnt shallow enough. He runs down with a hunting knife, stabbing the guy to death. This was his first kill, only doing it so he could eat as he was struggling.

Edit: BY EAT I MEAN GETTING MONEY AS HE WAS A HITMAN NOT A CANNIBAL AAAAGHHHHH

Doug is the lawyer jd’s acquainted with at the bowl since hes the only lawyer that handles other species disputes.

Jd loves fish, especially fish sandwiches.

Notes on trolls three and poppy:

poppy seems super pushy and non empathetic to branch, literally appearing as if she cant put herself in someone else’s shoes.

2. She consistently tests his comfort and boundaries. Even being manipulative in some instances to get him to do what she wants.

3: it seems like she was more interested in investing in JD and the mission because they’re BroZone, not because she cared about branch or his trauma.

4. Yes at sometimes she comforted him and convinced him to continue with the mission, but that doesn’t make up for her lack of empathy simply because she shows sympathy.

5. I understand being a huge fan of BroZone, but some of her behaviors absolutely cross the comfort of the members. JD kept the funderwears for memorabilia, not because of some scent thing. Yet poppy’s borderline lustful reaction implies she would’ve kept them for that reason.

6. Sometimes she still struggles to listen to him, projecting her familial issues onto him and saying how grateful he should be. She was so fixated on the facf she craves more from her family, that she couldn’t even fathom the fact someone wouldn’t like their family members or have a more complicated relationship.

These are all of course little things, but they can build up and they can cause long term built up issues. It’s saddening to see that even if they sorted out her not listening to him, she still has a lot she needs to fix. And Branch, especially after all of his trauma being forcibly resurfaced, most likely can’t handle all of her flaws she needs to work on.

These all were brought up to her when they separated, she didn’t react the best initially until a few days later when she finally gained some sort of empathy and guilt for her neglect towards my brother.

[attapullman]

Poll Without Plot

[themorriganwitch]

Top Gun: Maverick Kink Headcanons

Summary: Headcanons for 5 kinks 5 particular Daggers have

Words: 1k 

Characters: Bradley Bradshaw, Natasha Trace, Jake Seresin, Bob Floyd, Pete Mitchell, also includes some IceMav

A/N: Includes NSFW Content, 18+ only MDNI!!, English is not my first language, so there will be mistakes. 

Masterlist 

_______________________________________________________________________

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw 

-   Choke kink – on the few occasions where he let you take the lead and let you bounce on top of him, he wants nothing more than your tiny fingers wrapped around his throat. And when you squeeze him just right – he could come in that exact moment.

-       Daddy Kink – I don’t know why, maybe it’s just the vibe he gives or maybe it’s me wanting to call him Daddy, he definitely has one. Amen.

-       Overstimulation – God, how he loves seeing you completely messed up, tears straining your cheeks after he gave it to you so good again and again and again.

-       Impact Play – How he loves watching your ass jiggle, your flesh red and hot from where he put his hands.

-       Breeding Kink – Nothing he would ever think about during his frat boy years but after finding his soulmate he cannot imagine something sweeter that seeing you pregnant with his child.

______________________________________

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin

-  Breeding kink – that man wants to see your belly round and your tits swollen. Could be the southern boy from a huge family in him or just him in general. No matter what – that man wants to see you pregnant with his child.

-       Cockwarming – Jake being the touchiest human on planet earth loves nothing more than feeling your walls hugging him perfectly close, especially after coming right back from a long deployment.

-       Edging – He’s a teasing piece of shit. Nothing gets him more going than hearing you beg for his cock.

-       Exhibitionism – slipping his hand between your thighs while sitting at dinner with Rooster and his girlfriend knowing only, he can feel the wet patch on your panties even though you are in a room full of people, that’s probably the best dinner he ever had.

-       Brat Taming – Mouth ‘Make me’ at him, after he admonished you several times for you teasing him on a navy ball and will fully loose his shit as soon as you come home.

_________________________________________

Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell  (Most of these involve IceMav)

- Rank Kink – oh how Mav adores when you call him Captain. But he adores it way much more calling Ice by his rank when the admiral rewards him for not annoying the shit out of Cyclone.

-       Spit Kink- That man likes to get messy in the sheets, add some dominance vibes to it and he is a happy man.

-       Threesomes – Not with everyone of course but he would lie if says that he never thought about you, Ice and him getting messy in the sheets.

-       Switch: With everyone but Ice, Mav is probably the dominant part. But as soon as him and Ice are alone, he fully submits to his Admiral, knowing he would never regret it.

-   Brat Taming: Ice taming Mav after he spend another day driving Cyclone and the whole Navy insane – it’s not a headcanon but universal.

__________________________________________--

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd 

- Dom / Sub dynamic – being always underestimated by his co-workers and superiors Bob loves nothing more to come home after a rough day and reward someone for doing exactly what he tells them to do. And he will always take such good care of you.

-       Bondage: he might look innocent with his birth control glasses and everything, but he goes absolutely feral seeing you tied up and helpless (fully consensual of course) in front of him

-       Voyeurism – you, laying spread wide open on your shared king size bed while he sits on a chair across the room, watching you touch yourself and moaning his name – that’s how images heaven

-       Brat Taming – Polite and kind bobby loves nothing more than showing his brat of a girlfriend how to behave correctly when escorting him to a navy ball.

-       Aftercare – it’s not really a kink but since our beloved backseater is someone (honestly unsurprising) who likes it wild in the sheets, he knows how important it is to take good care of you after you’re done. He always has some water and snacks stock in his drawer next to the bed and he always cleans you up softly before he cuddles you until you fall asleep in his arms.  

______________________________________________

Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace

-  Choke Kink – the thought of you pressed under her, her hands lightly squeezing your throat while she rides you with her favorite strap on – that’s what helps her to keep going through a tough workday.

- Rank Kink – kinda similar to Bobs Dom/Sub thing – being one of the few female aviators who graduated top gun Nat had always to keep up with her co-workers not taking her serious and making fun of her (*Cough*Hangman) she absolutely goes feral if you call her “Lieutenant”, while she serves you.

-   Edging – She’s incredibly similar to Jake when it comes to this (not that this is something she would like to hear)

-       Sensory Deprivation – After a long day of flying and always being ultra-focused on watching the environment up in the air, Nat highly appreciates to be blindfolded and just let her other senses work while you make her feel good.

-       Switch: Phoenix is a classic Switch – on somedays when she had to boss new Top Gun students around, she needs to submit to you and fully let go of all the responsibility. While on other days after being screamed at by her superiors she needs to feel a sense of control.

————

Additional Headcanon for Phoenix and Hangman: Both probably would never really consider having a threesome unless it is with each other and a third person. And the whole thing would evolve from the competition who can make the third person come the most.

(Probably going to work on this for an upcoming One-shot now)

_____________________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed this, comments and prompt ideas are always highly appreciated 

[bellaireland1981]

Bellaireland's Winter RomCom Writing Challenge!

Details:

 I’ve hit 800 followers!!! First and foremost…THANK YOU! I am floored by that. To celebrate, I’ve decided to host a Winter RomCom writing challenge! I don’t know about you, but I am a sucker for RomComs, all the cheesy wintery/holiday Hallmarky movies, cliche tropes…. Love it all! What’s better than combining all of that with all of the TGM characters we love?! To sign up, comment or DM me with your Trope choice and character you’re writing for! 

Rules:

You can sign up for as many tropes as you’d like! 

18+ Only! Minors DNI

You can submit for a series, one shots, mood boards, drabbles, etc… The point is to HAVE FUN!

Must be appropriately labeled (Smut, Angst, warnings, Fluff….etc)

HAS to include  WINTER! RomCom genre and include the TROPE  you sign up for! Go crazy! 

General:

Your creations are due by January 1, 2024! Tag me @bellaireland1981 and #WinterRomComChallenge in your work so that I add your link to the Challenge Page! 

Tropes:

Meet Cute

Enemies to Lovers

Forced Proximity

Destiny/Soulmate

Childhood Sweethearts

Forbidden Love

Second Chance Love

Impossible Love

I have a Secret

The Bet

Fake Relationship

Love Triangle

Opposites Attract

Amnesia/Mistaken Identity 

Instalove

Just Friends

Stuck Together/Snowed in/Stranded

Rags to Riches

Marriage Pact

Best Friend’s Brother

Country Inn

Home for the Holidays 

Bachelor Auction (charity?)

Boy/Girl next door

Nanny

Completed Works!

9, 16, (not listed- friends to lovers)- All I Want For Christmas Is...You by @bellaireland1981 (Bradley x Female! Reader)

15,21 - Christmas on Mistletoe Mountain By @bellaireland1981 (Bradley x Female! Reader)

20 - Brighter Than a Supernova By @roosterforme (Bob x Phoenix's lil sister OC)

16- Home For Christmas by @seresinsbrat (Jake x Female! OC)

9- Merry Christmas Mishaps by @beyondthesefourwalls (Javy x Reader)

17- What Happens Now by @mikpieboo (Bradley x OC)

22- (Holi)Day by Day-1940's Historical AU by @desert-fern (Bradley x Fem!Reader)

1,4,9- Pink Christmas Part 1 by @roosterforme (Rooster x Reader)

Part 2

17- 'Tis the Damn Season by @startrekfangirl2233-writes (Javy x Reader)

Part 2 A Hazy Shade of Winter

22 Home for the Holidays Moodboard by @ryebecca (Bob Floyd)

22- Something Worth Remembering by @beyondthesefourwalls (Bradley x Reader)

@roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @waywardodysseys @milesdickpic Tagged people I thought/Knew would be interested but ANYONE that wants to participate! Let's have some fun!