#bob floyd x bartender!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

authorchariot · 27 days ago

Text

> ENTRY: ITS_ALWAYS_THE_QUIET_ONES

RATING: explicit

CATEGORY: top gun: maverick (2022)

PAIRING: bob floyd x afab!reader (mc's call sign is 'pez'.)

EST. READING TIME: 37m 0s

INDEX TAGS: (not actually) unrequited love, cock-warming, friends to lovers, love confessions, masturbation, not beta read, oral sex, pov second person, size difference, size kink, vaginal sex

ACCESS MATERIAL ON AO3 OR BELOW

The Hard Deck is louder than it's been in weeks. Rooster and Hangman are fighting over the jukebox. Payback's halfway into a dramatic retelling of the mission to a captivated circle of admirers, punctuated with exaggerated hand gestures and Maverick's quiet chuckling. Fanboy's mixing questionable liquors together like he's auditioning for a bartending job no one asked for. It's celebration in full swing. The mission's done. Everyone's alive. Everyone made it home.

And Bob — quiet, dependable, sweet, baby-faced Bob Floyd — is drunk.

He doesn't look it at first. But you can see it in the tilt of his shoulders, the soft pink in his cheeks, the vague squint he gives the bottles behind the counter like he's trying to read through a fog.

You spot it from across the room. You've been watching him on and off all night. Not in a creepy way— At least, you hope not. Just in a way that's...careful. Curious. Quiet. Like you always are with Bob. Because if you let yourself feel it too hard — the pull, the fondness, the way he talks with his hands when he's excited — you might never stop.

You've had a drink; just the one. You're a designated driver tonight. That and watching Bob lose his balance trying to sit on a barstool has very effectively sobered you up. You finish your water, nod to Phoenix and move across the bar like the world isn't tilting just a little because he's looking at you now.

Why?

Because you've had a thing for Bob Floyd since the first day you saw him fiddling with the collar of his flight suit, too quiet for the room but, damn, if he didn't hold his own in the air. Because he always remembers how you like your coffee. Because he asked how your dog was doing after his surgery, even two weeks later. Because he makes you feel seen.

"Hey." You say gently, sliding into the space next to him. "You good?" He blinks at you. Then his face lights up; not like a flash but a slow dawn that warms everything it touches.

"Pez." He says, soft and too fond for how casual he tries to sound. "You're here." You smile.

"Been here the whole time, Bob." He looks at his drink like it's betrayed him.

"Oh. Yeah. Right."

You glance him over. His collar is a little crooked and his glasses are ever-so-slightly askew. His usually neat hair is slightly mussed and there's a half-moon mark on his palm where he's been gripping his glass too hard. He's not swaying. But he's definitely drifting. You rest a hand lightly on the edge of the bar.

"How many have you had?" He frowns.

"Three. No— Wait. Hangman said the one he gave me didn't count 'cause it was pink."

"That doesn't sound right." Bob leans closer and squints at you.

"You smell like mint."

"That'd be the gum I've been chewing instead of drinking." You reply, amused. "Come on. Let's get you out of here." He straightens. Sort of.

"I'm fine."

"You're adorable." You correct. "But also definitely tipsy and I'd rather you didn't fall asleep like last time."

"I didn't fall asleep, I—"

"You nodded off against the jukebox for twenty-three minutes." He considers this.

"It was playing Fleetwood Mac." You arch a brow.

"That's your excuse?" He almost looks offended.

"I like Fleetwood Mac." He mumbles. You can't help it; you laugh. And, across the bar, the other Dagger Squad pilots exhale in collective relief like finally. It goes unnoticed by you.

You help Bob off his stool, a drink forgotten in his hand, and he goes to steady himself on the edge of the bar but misjudges the distance. In trying to recover, the remnants of his last beer spill all over his uniform shirt, making it cling to him like a second skin.

"Woah!" You grab onto his shoulders. "You okay?" He stumbles slightly as he tries to catch himself, hands reflexively reaching out to hold onto your arms for support. His cheeks turn a bright shade of pink as he feels the cold beer seeping into his shirt, looking down at the mess with embarrassment.

"Sorry..." He murmurs and you haul him upright.

"Don't apologise." You glance across to see Phoenix chuckling and shaking her head. "I think I need to take you home though." He laughs nervously, pushes his hair out of his eyes and tries to straighten his glasses.

"Yeah... Yeah, that might be a good idea." He leans against you for support as you start helping him to the door. You yell over your shoulder that you're taking him home, wishing the rest of them a good night. Some of the Dagger Squad murmur something you don't quite hear as you reach the door, pushing it open and stepping out into the cool sea breeze.

He takes a deep breath, trying to clear his head, as you help him out to the parking lot. You open the passenger-side door for him and he near-collapses onto the car seat. "Thanks for doing this." He says softly, looking up at you with those sweet, grateful eyes. You watch him fumble with his hands as he tries to buckle himself in.

"Stop being so damn polite." You smile, shutting the door and rounding the hood to get in the driver's seat.

The drive to his is short but pleasant. Well, if it wasn't for the scent of beer slowly sinking into his shirt and your car seat. The windows are rolled down and you can feel the wind on your face. Neither of you talk but it's a nice silence, like the two of you are just content in each other's company. You like it that way. Like you don't have to fill the silence to be comfortable; you can just co-exist.

You like the relationship you have with Bob; it's easy and natural. You just feel...at home with him, like you don't have to pretend to be social or talkative. But there's always that warmth that buzzes just below the surface when he catches your eye or when he smiles. Or when he laughs. Or when he fiddles with his glasses. Or when he does literally anything.

Safe to say, you like him a whole lot; pretty much since you were brought on board for the Dagger Squad.

But you don't want to say anything because what if it makes things weird between you? What if he's not into it and everything just gets awkward? What if you accidentally gush about how gorgeous he looks in his uniform and he thinks you're an absolute creep for admiring the way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and the way his pants hug his ass perfectly? He probably already knows and just pretends not to for exactly the same reasons. He probably knows and has also made up his mind that you're not really the one for him. He would've said something by now if he was into you but he hasn't so he probably isn't. It's not something you like thinking about.

Finally, you pull up to his house and park outside. You get out, open his door and stand there, just in case he needs the support again.

"I'm fine. I'm good." He starts to protest before immediately losing his balance and grabbing onto your arm. "Actually..." Rolling your eyes, you hang onto him and close the door.

"C'mon, let's get you inside, mister." He leans against you as you walk up to his house. He's so warm and he smells good, despite the spilt beer. He's wearing that aftershave his mom got him for Christmas again. It's citrusy and sweet but still masculine and fresh. He smells amazing.

When you haul him up the short flight of stairs and reach the front door, he digs his hand into his pocket and struggles to get his keys out for a moment. He must try to insert the key into the lock a good three times, each time stabbing the door just shy of the lock.

"Can't seem to..." He mumbles and you gently place your hand over his, guiding the key into the lock with a satisfying click, turning it and opening the door.

"There we go." You smile warmly and he stares at you for a moment, swallowing hard, before grabbing onto the door frame and stepping inside.

Once inside, you turn the light on and close the door behind you. He kicks off his shoes and pats down his chest. His uniform shirt is still clinging to him, now sticky from the spilt beer. His nose crinkles as you unlace your shoes and place them on the rack.

"Gotta shower..." He slurs softly. By the time you stand up to look at him, he's already halfway done unbuttoning his shirt. Your eyes flick down over the angles of his collarbone and, before you can look further, you avert your eyes.

"Okay, which way's the bathroom?" You ask a little too quickly.

"Upstairs, first door on the left." He points vaguely towards the stairs before continuing to unbutton his shirt, shrugging it off and pulling off his undershirt. He's always so conservative with his clothes; never wearing anything too revealing. Hell, even at the beach, he wears a shirt when the rest of the squad is more than happy to run around half-naked. You look back from the stairs to find him shirtless and it's almost impossible to look away.

God, he's gorgeous, almost to the point where it's at odds with his sweet, boyish smile. Strong shoulders, perfect biceps, broad chest, narrow hips; he could be carved out of granite and you wouldn't even be able to tell the difference— You shake the thought from your head before it can take root.

He tosses his shirt on the floor and yawns. "You don't have to wait for me or anything." He says and you bring yourself back to the present, your eyes flicking back up to his face. You just pray, in his inebriated state, that he didn't just catch you eyeballing his bare chest.

"No, I don't need to go to the bathroom, Bob. I'm taking you up because I don't trust you on the stairs." You tell him and he protests weakly but you help him up anyway.

When you reach the bathroom, he leans against the sink for support and you have to look away as you notice the veins in his arms and hands become more pronounced from the pressure. Maybe that one drink you had was a little stronger than you thought. God, what would those fingers feel like in your mouth? Or in your— "You gonna be okay in the shower?" You ask him and he runs a hand through his hair.

"Mhm. I'm not that drunk." He assures you. "You can go watch TV or something." He reaches down to unbuckle his belt and you pin your gaze to the floor.

"I-I'll stand outside the door just in case, alright?" You manage and he gives you that wonderful, lopsided smile that makes the tips of your fingers tingle.

"Alright." He reaches down for his belt and you almost slam the door shut, stepping back to lean against the opposite wall. You let out a slow exhale. You're heart's going a mile a minute.

Distraction. You need a distraction; something — anything — to get your mind off what it would feel like to have your lips on his or your tongue on his neck or your hands on his chest... Heat pools in the pit of your stomach; a desperate, deep-seated ache. You pull out your phone and start flicking through your socials, trying to find something else to focus on but it's no use.

You hear the shower hiss to life and you can't help but think about what he'd look like if you poked your head in for just a moment; shiny from the water, dripping with soap suds and wreathed in steam. Goddamn... But you couldn't breach his privacy, betray his trust, like that, especially while he's drunk and vulnerable. Even thinking about it feels like a betrayal but you can't get the thought out of your head and the aching between your legs only grows stronger.

Maybe you should've let someone else bring him home.

Eventually, the shower turns off and the bathroom door opens, letting out a cloud of steam as Bob steps out, a towel wrapped around his waist as he uses another to dry his hair. His skin gleams in the low light of the hallway, flushed pink from the hot water, damp hair falling in front of his face. He's being unknowingly, impossibly cruel.

"Better?" You manage, somewhat breathless.

"Yeah. So much better." Thankfully, he doesn't seem capable of noticing your — very obvious — attraction to him right now. He positions his glasses back on the bridge of his nose as you push off the wall and onto your feet, your own knees slightly weak.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed, yeah?"

"You don't have to baby me, Pez. I'm sobering up now." He responds softly but lets you guide him anyway, his hand dwarfing your own. He's still a little unsteady on his feet as you reach his bedroom.

You stand by the door, leaning against the doorframe, looking over his bedroom. There are certificates lining the walls and pictures of him and his parents at birthdays and holidays. It makes your chest feel tight. He walks over to the dresser and pulls open a drawer, rifling through to pick out a pair of loose sweatpants. As he pulls out a pair, the towel comes undone from around his waist and pools on the floor. Your eyes go wide and you jerk your head away but not before getting a perfect view of his round, peachy ass. This is cruel and unusual punishment but you're too weak to complain.

Once he's pulled on the sweatpants and slid into bed, his hair still damp against the pillow, he takes off his glasses, folds them up and places them on the nightstand before looking at you as you linger in the doorway, looking awkward and out-of-place. "C'mon." He mumbles sleepily. "It's late and you're tired too." He weakly pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed; a silent invitation. One you want to jump at. But you can't.

He's drunk and not thinking straight and you don't trust yourself. Not that you'd touch him; never that. But you're devastatingly wet and you already know you need to take care of that and you can't do it next to him. To take your mind off that thought, you grab a glass and fill it with water from the bathroom sink before placing it on the nightstand.

"I'll sleep downstairs. Just yell if you need anything, okay?" You tell him and he nods, a flicker of disappointment flashing across his face.

"Okay... Thanks for taking care of me." A smile curves at your lips as you brush a couple of damp locks out of his face. It brings you some modicum of relief, just that little bit of tender skin-to-skin contact.

"No problem." You sigh longingly, almost ruefully. "Night, Bob." You turn on your heel to leave the room and he catches your wrist with a hand, making you stop in your tracks.

"Hey, could you stay?" He asks, voice small. You turn back to look at him over your shoulder. "Just until I fall asleep?" Your heart melts in your chest as you turn back toward him.

"Sure." You sit on the edge of the bed, holding his hand and brushing your thumb over his knuckles. He looks up at you, eyes lidded with exhaustion. His fingers tighten around yours slightly and you feel your pulse racing.

Finally, his fingers loosen on yours as his eyes drop shut. You let out a soft sigh, releasing his hand and rising from the bed. You watch him for a moment, considering, before leaning down to brush a kiss to his forehead. "Sleep tight, Bobby."

You turn off all the lights and head back downstairs. You set up a little bed for yourself on the couch and slip out of your uniform, laying back against the couch cushions in your t-shirt and underwear.

After a moment, you find your hand drifting down between your thighs, pressing your fingertips against the gusset of your panties. It's absolutely sodden. You sigh in defeat, sling one leg over the back of the sofa and push the gusset of your panties to one side, sliding your fingers inside yourself with a sigh, pressing your thumb to the hood of your clit and working in slow circles. With your free hand, you grab a pillow and press it over your mouth to muffle the soft moans that fall from your lips despite knowing that Bob is probably dead to the world right now.

You finish yourself off quickly; imagining it's his fingers buried inside you, his tongue drawing slow, languid circles around your clit. The only sound is the buzzing of the fridge in the kitchen and the soft whines you try to drown out behind the pillow pressed against your face.

As soon as you're done, you pull your underwear back on properly and collapse onto your side, huddling into the blankets, cheeks flaming with heat. You're a mess for him but he can't know that, even if the rest of the Dagger Squad does.

Finally, the sun rises and you pack up the blankets and pillows you'd used before pulling on your pants from the day before. You yawn and stretch before heading into the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot. Your stomach rumbles. After all, you haven't eaten since before the party last night.

Looking up, you check the clock above the fridge. About 10 am. Not too bad.

While rummaging around for the creamer, you stumble across a carton of eggs and a packet of bacon about to go out of date. Pulling them out, you grab a skillet from a nearby rack and set out to make some breakfast.

Upstairs, Bob rubs the sleep from his eyes and replaces his glasses, the glass of water from the night before thoroughly drained throughout the night. He pulls back the covers, swings his legs over the side and pulls on a t-shirt before heading to the bathroom. When he comes back out, he pads down the stairs, drawn toward the scent of bacon and eggs wafting from the kitchen.

You hum to yourself as you flip the bacon over, the eggs growing crispy around the edges but the centre staying soft and jammy. You notice Bob leaning against the doorframe out of the corner of your eye, staying quiet as he watches you work. It's domestic, comforting and you find yourself wishing you could do this for him every morning. Finally, you turn to face him and he smiles warmly. Thankfully, he doesn't seem hungover.

"Morning." He says softly, voice a little lower and scratchier from sleep.

"Morning. How'd you sleep?"

"Like a brick." He responds with a small smile, pushing away from the doorframe and walking further into the small kitchen. His voice drops to a more serious tone "Thanks for taking care of me last night. And for making breakfast." He pauses by the counter, looking at you appreciatively. "You didn't have to do all this."

"I know." You reply simply. He pauses before he quickly looks away, grabbing some plates and cutlery from the cupboards and drawers.

"Need any help?" He asks gruffly, setting the plates next to the stove.

"No, I'm nearly finished here." You turn off the heat and plate up the bacon and eggs before setting the empty skillet on the cool side of the stove. "Order up."

You carry the plates over to the small table in the corner of the kitchen. Bob digs in eagerly, making appreciative noises between bites. The food is simple but perfect; exactly what he needs after shifting a good amount of alcohol the night prior. You set a couple of mugs down on the table and pour the coffee before sitting down to tuck into your own breakfast, humming in satisfaction.

You eat in relative silence, stealing glances at each other over the rims of your coffee cups and between forkfuls of bacon and eggs. The morning light filtering through the window casts a warm glow over his features. He looks peaceful — content, even — sitting across from you, like this is something you do on the regular. You wish it was regular. You want these quiet mornings with him; sharing coffee in comforting silence, surrounded by the scent of fried eggs, the silence only broken by the soft chirping of birds outside.

"Thanks." He says again. "For everything."

"Really, it's fine." You laugh softly, clearing your plate and setting it to one side with your cutlery. He does the same, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip of coffee.

"Y'know, you're really good at this." He murmurs, the words half-muffled by his coffee cup. "Taking care of people, I mean."

"I try my best. Especially when I know it's someone who deserves it." You reply easily as if it's just common knowledge. Perhaps you said too much but it's early and the atmosphere is cloying; peaceful and almost romantic as it is. He stares at you for a moment before taking another sip of his coffee and sliding his plate under yours, putting his cutlery on top. "Bobby, you're a really good guy." You say, staring down into your coffee.

"You think so?" He asks and you nod. There's a pause before he clears his throat. "Would you— Can I— Can I tell you something?" You nod again, lifting your gaze to meet his as he mutters something under his breath. "Okay..." He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "I think you're amazing. And not just because of how you were on the mission or taking care of me last night or making breakfast..." He sets his coffee cup down, hands tapping restlessly on the side of the table. "I just think you're amazing. Just...as a person." You just stare at him for a moment before heat creeps along your cheeks and you smile widely.

"I think you're amazing too." He relaxes slightly, scrubbing a hand along his face, as you get up to take the dishes to the sink. When you cross the kitchen again, he's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"So... Hypothetically..." He starts, not daring to look up at you as he picks at a loose thread on his t-shirt. "If a guy hypothetically really liked you — like really, really liked you — what would he need to do?" You turn around to lean against the table, looking pensive.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "If he wanted to be with you, like, properly. Not just friends or whatever... What would he need to do to make you notice him? To make you...want him?" He asks, voice wavering slightly. There's a flutter in your chest as you stiffen slightly. Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Don't fumble this—

"Well, he'd have to be smart and kind and compassionate and have a good sense of humour." You press your lips into a thin line as you think. "He'd have to be...a little awkward and be kind of bad at dancing but great at literally everything else." You pause and he moves forward slightly.

"And...what else?" He asks and you turn your head to look at him. He looks so open and vulnerable but not in the way he was last night. This is open and honest and completely aware. Suddenly, it dawns on you; he wants this just as much as you do.

"He'd have to be a WSO, he'd have to wear the dorkiest glasses I've ever seen in my life and...he'd have to be called Bob Floyd." His breath catches. "And if he wanted me to notice him, to want him, he'd just have to be himself and I'd be all his." He just stares at you owlishly as if he's finally come to the same realisation that you did just a few seconds before. You reach out to brush a couple of stray hairs out of his face. When he doesn't pull away you turn to face him fully before leaning down to press your lips to his in a gentle kiss.

The second you kiss him, he's done. Finished. Over. His heart is completely yours and he never wants it back. Your lips are soft and warm, just like your smile, and he parts his lips slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You take it; slowly inching your tongue into his mouth and tasting the bitterness of the coffee, moaning softly. God. You can't make that sound. His brain short-circuits. That one small, needy sound from you against his mouth has blood rushing south and he stands up, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

He lifts you onto the dining table and you loop your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Bobby..."

"Shh..." He whispers against your mouth, warm hands roaming your body, touching you like he's dreamed of doing a million times. He pulls back just long enough to take off his glasses and set them aside. Then he's kissing you again, deeper this time. It takes you by surprise. You never thought he could be this...passionate. You always figured, if you ever got this far, you'd be coaxing it out of him, bit by bit, encouraging him with little kisses and your fingers in his hair.

Instead, his hands are firm on your waist, tugging up your shirt just a little to feel the warmth and softness of your skin, as he kisses you like it's all he's ever wanted to do. It steals the breath from your lungs and it has confessions falling from your lips between deep, hungry kisses.

"You don't know...what last night...did to me..." You murmur breathlessly against his mouth and he groans, hands sliding under your shirt.

"Tell me." He's pushing your shirt up further and further, exposing more and more of your body to the golden sunlight gliding in through the open blinds.

"When you took off your shirt and...when you cam out of the shower and... And I saw so much of you... And I wanted all of it..." You manage. He's panting hard and you swear you can hear his heart hammering against his ribs.

"You wanted me?" He asks and you nod, running your hand down the centre of his chest, feeling the quick rise and fall of his breath.

"Mhmm... Once you fell asleep I had to... Had to come downstairs and...take care of myself..." You admit, heat rushing up your neck to spread across your cheeks. He stops for a moment before tugging your shirt off completely and sliding a hand into your hair, kissing you fiercely. You mirror the movement, clinging to him, as you kiss him back with a familiar hunger that roots itself between your legs.

He's losing his mind, control slipping. He steps between your legs, pressing closer, and you can feel him through his sweatpants. He feels perfect; pressing against your thigh desperately. "Bobby..." You move to whisper in his ear. "I need my mouth on you."

"Jesus." It comes out as a soft hiss. "You want to..."

"Please."

You— You don't have to..." He breathes but he's already reaching for the tie of his sweatpants. He wants you to. He wants you to want to.

You push him back gently so you can push off the table, guiding him back into his chair.

"I know I don't have to." You kneel on the worn linoleum between his feet, rubbing your hands along his thighs. He's straining desperately against the front of his sweatpants. "I want to." You tug at the tie of his sweatpants before curling your fingers into the waistband and tugging them down. He lifts his hips and you pull them down and off but, when you sit back to look at him—

Holy Mother of God.

"Wh-What...?" You just stare at him owlishly because, God, if that isn't the biggest cock you've ever seen in your life. Thick, throbbing, leaking... And you thought his body was slightly at odds with the personality of sweet, shy, wallflower Bob Floyd but this? This takes the cake.

"You never told me you had a..." You trail off, reaching up, struggling to wrap your fingers around the girth of the thing. It twitches, precum beading at the slit at even the slightest touch and rolling down the shaft.

"A what?" He asks hoarsely. He looks self-conscious but he has no reason to be. Your mouth waters as you feel him pulsing against your palm.

"Just...big..." Words fail you. His cheeks heat up and he swallows hard.

"You like it?" He asks tentatively and you nod slowly before rising higher on your knees.

"God, yes." No more words. You need to taste him.

You run the flat of your tongue from root to tip and a sharp intake of breath stutters in his throat.

"Ohh, my God..." His hands instinctively grab onto your hair but he doesn't pull, just resting there, as you lick along the underside of his shaft. When you reach the top, you swirl your tongue languidly around the head before taking it into your mouth. "Sh-Shit..." His head falls back against the chair with a soft thud.

He can't believe this is happening. He's jerked off a hundred times to the thought of you doing this but the reality is so much better; you, knelt between his legs, in his kitchen, sucking him off like you were born to do it.

You take more of him into your mouth, tentatively testing how much you can take. He groans lowly at the sensation of your tongue sliding along the underside, watching you with lidded eyes as his thick cock disappears between your lips. You press your head down until you feel the tip touch the back of your throat and you gag slightly before pulling away. You're panting, lips wet with saliva, and just watching you sends a shiver down his spine, toes curling against the lino. "Do that again... Please..." It's almost a beg and you can't deny him or yourself.

You lean back in, sliding down until it hits the back of your throat. Now you know how far you can take him, you cover the rest of his shaft with your hand, easing the slide with more spit as you work him over. His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, only to keep him tethered to the moment. He can feel every inch being worshipped by your greedy mouth and talented hands and his hips start to thrust upward involuntarily. "God, just like that..."

You fall into a steady rhythm, peering up at him through your lashes, and you feel another spurt of pre hit your tongue as he meets your gaze, completely mesmerised. It's almost embarrassingly clear how much you love having him in your mouth; his cock hot and thick and pulsing on your tongue. The wet sounds of your mouth and the sight of his cock sliding between your lips are driving him wild and he can feel that familiar feeling deep in his core. He gives your hair a gentle tug. "Hey..." You pull away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Mhm?"

"I'm...getting real close." He warns you, his voice strained with effort. "If you don't want me to...finish in your mouth, you should probably stop now." Still, his hips are flexing, desperately trying to fuck your hand. You take a moment to decide before flicking your tongue over the head and his hands fly to curl around the seat of his chair, nails digging into the wood. "God...! I mean it... I'm...really close..." He gives you one last warning.

"Do it." You tell him, dragging your tongue along the cleft at the underside of the head, still stroking along his shaft, your fingers slick and shining with a mix of precum and saliva.

That's all it takes.

With a deep groan that rumbles from deep in his diaphragm, he cums hard, his hips jerking uncontrollably as his eyes roll. You lean back to watch with satisfaction as thick shots of white spurt from his cock, making your hand slicker as you stroke him through his climax. "That's it, Bobby." You encourage him softly as he unloads onto your hands and his stomach. He's panting heavily, his body shaking, as the last few shots of cum ooze down his shaft. Your gentle praise and the feeling of your spit-slick hand only intensify the pleasure.

When he opens his eyes, he sees your face pressed against his inner thigh as you gently squeeze the base of his cock, gazing up at him adoringly. He runs a shaky hand through your hair, still trying to blink away the white spots dancing in front of his eyes. "That was... Holy shit... I..." You smile and press a kiss to his hipbone, nuzzling his thigh, as he tries to find words in the jumbled mess of his orgasm-addled brain. "You... Bedroom... Yes, bedroom." He manages breathily and you nod, getting up from the floor and letting him tug on his sweatpants again before you eagerly pull him upstairs.

On the way up to his bedroom, you pull off your jeans and underwear before collapsing onto his bed with an excited giggle. Bob quickly joins you; pulling off his shirt and stained sweatpants, his body hovering over yours. You bite your lip, running your hands appreciatively over his body as you sit up slightly to kiss him, finding warm, firm muscle under your palms. He deepens the kiss, parting your lips with his tongue and exploring your mouth hungrily. But, before he can get too lost in the moment, he pulls back, heavy breaths making his chest heave.

"Wait—"

"Mhm...?" He looks sheepish.

"I don't do this often so I— I-I don't really have condoms?" Your heart melts. "Do you still want me to..."

"I still want you to." You glance down to find him already hard again, running a fingertip down his abdomen and watching his cock throb eagerly. "I trust you to pull out." You tell him and he nods quickly.

"I'll pull out." He tells you, kissing you again before leaning back on his toes. "I promise, I'll pull out."

Large hands find your thighs, lifting them until your toes touch the headboard, essentially folding you in half and leaving you completely exposed to him. "God, you're so perfect..." He whispers under his breath, holding you in place as he lines himself up, his cock sliding deliciously against your aching, swollen pussy. "Look at me. Look at me." He urges and you lay your head back against the pillows as he slowly pushes in. He feels absolutely massive but it's not painful; just this pleasant, warm ache that seeps through your body as you stretch around him. You grab onto his biceps for support as his fingers wrap around your ankles, holding your legs up. You're so tight around him, it's almost unbearable. He can feel every swell and curve of your inner walls squeezing around him. Your brows knit as he sinks in deeper, your fingers squeezing his arms.

"B-Bobby!"

"God, it's so good..." His eyes drift shut as he tosses his head back, starting to move slowly, deliberately rocking his hips against yours. The position is just perfect; hitting all the right spots all at once with every deep, purposeful stroke.

Strong fingers dig into your ankles as he slowly starts to pick up the pace. "You like this?" He asks, sweat beading on his brow as he looks down at you. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out is a breathless whine. "Fuck, you're so tight..." He huffs through his nose as he targets that sweet spot inside you over and over, drawing these adorable, breathy whimpers from you. Your back arches, hands moving to claw at his broad shoulders.

"Please... Feel good... Feels so fucking good..." You pant out and he nods, his hips snapping forward. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as he pounds into you, rutting against you desperately.

"I... I didn't know you'd be into..." He murmurs.

"Wh-What...?" "I didn't know you'd...like my... My dick so much..." He leans down, spreading your legs a little wider, as he kisses along your neck. His skin is warm and damp with sweat as he presses against you., his breath hot on your skin. You grin lopsidedly as tears of pleasure prick the corners of your eyes.

"I-I like them big..." You manage and that draws a low, near-animalistic sound from him as he drives into you with renewed vigour. The headboard bangs against the wall with each thrust.

"You like them big..." He repeats and you nod, whining as he hammers your sweet spot with pinpoint accuracy.

"Mmhmmm... I didn't...think you'd be so...big... O-Ohhh... It's so fucking good, Bobby..." You manage and he wraps your legs around his waist, coiling his arms under the small of your back, hugging you against him. His thrusts turn shallow but stay deep, your bodies pushed together from shoulder to hip. You hook your arms over his shoulders, nails raking red lines up his back.

Who would've thought that Bob Floyd — sweet, kind, nerdy, adorable Bobby Floyd — would fuck like an animal? You never expected it but, Christ, does it feel right.

You nuzzle his hair, breathing in the scent of him; yesterday's aftershave lingering on his skin, sweat breaking out all across his body. "Love having you like this..." You murmur in his ear and he nods.

"Mhmm... I love it too..." His thrusts grow slower but no less deep; each movement designed to draw out the pleasure, make it last. He stretches you out and fills you up perfectly, holding you through all of it, eagerly soaking up every moan, plea and whimper you give him. He's rubbing up against the deepest part of you now, the crown of his cock sliding perfectly against the swell of your cervix.

"B-Bobby... You can't...cum inside... You'll...knock me up..." You remind him and his arms tighten around you but he doesn't stop.

"I know... I'll pull out, promise..." But, even as he says it, he feels the heat mounting and he desperately wants to finish inside you. His hips keep rolling against yours in a deep, steady rhythm. You drag your nails across his shoulder blades, your body clenching down around him, throbbing around him rhythmically because, deep down, you'd love if he could cum inside you, leave his mark. But you can't take that risk.

He gives you a few more slow deep thrusts before pulling back to look at you. His hair is plastered to his forehead, face flushed. "Gonna pull out now, okay?" He pants out and you nod as he pulls out just in time, sandwiching his cock into the crook of your thigh and grinding against it until he cums, decorating your body with slick, white ribbons that ooze across your skin. You run your fingers through his hair as his orgasm hits, his arms clenching around you, hanging onto you for dear life.

Finally, his body goes slack. He's panting heavily, tilting his head up to claim your lips again in a soft, slow, lazy kiss. He rolls over onto his back, pulling you with him so you're lying on top of him. He's still semi-hard against your thigh but he's given you all he can for now so you sit up and sink back down onto him before curling up on top of him, enjoying the feeling of having his huge, softening cock nestled inside you. He lets out a low groan, gathering you up in his arms, fingers drawing idle patterns along the small of your back. "Gonna keep it in?" He asks softly and you look up at him.

"Is that okay?"

"More than okay." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Makes me feel close to you... Comfortable?" You nod and rub your nose against his.

"Mhm. You?"

"Perfect."

A soft silence settles over the room, almost jarring after the slamming and slapping and moaning from just a few moments ago. But you aren't complaining.

You card your fingers through his sweat-damp hair, pushing it away from his face.

"You wanna talk about what just happened?" You laugh softly before sobering. "And where we go from here?"

"Mhm." He hums thoughtfully. "You mean like the 'was this a one-time thing' talk? Or the 'do you regret it' talk?" His thumbs rub the small of your back soothingly.

"Both." He takes a breath and you feel his chest rise beneath you.

"It wasn't just a one-time thing for me." He says softly, his eyes searching yours. "I don't do this kind of thing lightly, y'know? I wanted you and I still want you. But, if you're not on the same page, that okay too. We can still just be...friends, if you want." God, he's too sweet for his own good sometimes.

"And you don't regret it?"

"God, no." He answers, arms tightening around you possessively. "Best sex of my life. No regrets here." He lifts a hand to play with your hair nervously. "Can I be honest?" You nod and he sighs heavily. "I think about you a lot. More than I should. Like you're in my head, under my skin. And I... I want to do this again. With you. Only you." He swallows hard, finally meeting your eyes again. "So where does that leave us?"

"Like friends with benefits or...?" You trail off and he makes a noncommittal sound.

"I mean, we could do that." He says slowly. "But, if I'm being completely honest, I don't want it to be just that? Friends with benefits implies casual and what we just did? It didn't feel casual to me." You cup his face and run your thumb along his cheekbone. "I like you. A lot." He turns his head to press a kiss to your palm. "But if that scares you off, I understand." Without a word, you lean forward, licking your way into his mouth, kissing him slow and lazy. When you break apart, you're both breathless.

"Honey, I've been wanting to ask you out for months. I just didn't know where to start." You admit and his eyes widen.

"Really?" A huge grin spreads across his face. "Why didn't you?" He laughs softly, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. You find yourself laughing with him.

"According to the rest of the squad, I've been dropping hints left, right and centre and not even subtle ones at that!"

"In my defence, I thought you were just being friendly." He replies and you laugh softly against his lips. "So... Can we date? Please say yes."

"I'd like that a lot."

"Thank God." His arms squeeze tight around you. "Should I take you out properly sometime? Coffee, dinner, all that stuff?" He traces your bottom lip with his thumb.

"It'd be nice, yeah." You reply and he gives you that sweet, beaming, boyish grin.

"Then it's a date. How about tomorrow night? We can grab some dinner and maybe catch a movie if you're up for it?" You nod and ruffle his hair lightly.

"That sounds perfect. But first..." You roll your hips against his, a gentle reminder that he's been inside you for the better half of ten minutes. "Can we do that again?" He wets his lips and rolls you back over onto your back, leaning down to press kisses to your neck.

"Mhm. As many times as you want."

Bob's call sign may be just 'Bob' but, in your head, it's 'Tripod'. Sweet, shy Bobby 'Tripod' Floyd.

TAGLIST: @ingoldthewizard @judeval @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @starwarskawaii

#lewis pullman #afab!reader #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick

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callsigns-haze · 9 months ago

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The quiet ones

Summary: You surprise the Dagger Squad by revealing your secret to Bob, who shyly but lovingly melts into your kiss as the others watch in shock, as shy guys are your type.

Chapter Warning: Secret relationship reveal, unexpected PDA, and flustered teammates, drinking.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x reader

The sun is barely up, casting a soft glow over the empty beach outside The Hard Deck as you pull open the doors and step into the familiar dimness of the bar.

You've been doing this for years—unlocking before the heat of the day sets in, setting up stools, and sliding glasses onto the shelves with the smooth rhythm you've perfected. Today feels the same, but something in the air hints it won't be an ordinary shift. There's a buzz, the sort that comes with Navy missions brewing, whispered over drinks in tones low enough that only bartenders know how to hear.

You're wiping down the bar when the door creaks open. You look up and spot a guy with dark-rimmed glasses, a touch of shyness evident in the way he stands at the door, scanning the place like he’s about to get reprimanded just for being here early. He's tall but sort of unassuming, a guy who'd rather fade into the background. He's a contrast to the pilots who usually come in loud, all bravado and swagger. You recognize him instantly: Bob, the quiet one who stands at the edges of the Dagger Squad.

As he approaches, you give him a slow, easy smile and cross your arms, leaning back. "Hey there. Early start for you guys?"

He swallows hard, adjusting his glasses. “Uh…yeah. Just…getting a round for the squad.” His voice is barely audible, like he’s half-hoping you’ll mishear and let him walk away without much fuss.

Your eyes flick over him, taking in his nervous fidgeting. It’s endearing, really, the way he seems like he'd rather be anywhere but standing across from you. And maybe it’s because he's the polar opposite of the loud types, but you can’t help teasing him a little.

“So…who’s in charge of this little mission?” you ask, setting down a few glasses with a subtle clink.

He hesitates, caught off guard by the question. “Uh…Admiral Simpson.”

You chuckle. “Beau? That's my uncle."

Bob's eyes widen, his mouth hanging open for a moment before he stammers out a response. "Oh. Uh, wow. I… I didn’t know." The faintest blush creeps up his cheeks, and he looks down, almost embarrassed to be caught off guard like that.

You can’t resist needling him just a bit more, leaning in just close enough to watch him fluster. You know the effect you have—the low neckline of your top, the tattoos trailing down your arm, the glint of your piercings just visible through the thin fabric. He’s doing his best not to stare, but his eyes flick down for a split second before he yanks his gaze back up, his face turning redder by the second.

“Don’t worry,” you say with a smirk, letting your fingers trace the rim of a glass, “your secret’s safe with me.”

“Uh…thanks. I just—um, I’ll take…uh, the round,” he manages, his voice catching as you pour the drinks.

You can see his struggle—the way he wants to say something, but every time he opens his mouth, he clams up. He's never met anyone like you before, that’s obvious. The confidence, the tattoos, the piercings peeking through the fabric—it all ties together into something that leaves him completely off balance. And he’s… well, adorable.

As you slide the last glass across the bar to him, you give him a wink. “See you around, Bob. Bring your friends by sometime.”

He mutters a quiet “thank you” and shuffles out, beers in hand and cheeks flushed. And as he heads out the door, you can't help but grin to yourself, wondering if he’ll find the nerve to say more next time.

---

It’s a typical night at The Hard Deck, the bar buzzing with energy, filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and rock music blaring from the jukebox. The place is packed with Navy types, just as it always is when there’s no active mission holding them back. You’re behind the bar, quick on your feet, sliding drinks to customers and catching up with the regulars. Then, through the crowd, you spot him.

Hangman strides up to the bar with that cocky swagger he’s famous for. Tall, blond, and all confidence, he’s got a grin that could charm the devil himself. And he knows it. Tonight, he’s dressed in his usual off-duty look—just tight enough T-shirt and a leather jacket slung over his shoulder, looking every bit the guy who doesn’t take “no” for an answer. But that’s the game he plays, and tonight you’re ready for him.

“Evening, sweetheart,” he drawls, leaning across the bar just a little too close. “Thought you’d be closed by now.”

You raise an eyebrow, resting your hands on the bar and meeting his gaze without flinching. “Well, I thought you’d be up in the air by now,” you shoot back, your tone teasing. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

He chuckles, clearly delighted by the challenge. “All right, you got me there,” he says, glancing around. “But I’ve got a list for you. The squad’s thirsty tonight.”

“Let’s hear it, then,” you say, pulling out a row of glasses, ready to work but giving him your full attention.

He leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial tone. “Well, let’s start with two beers for Phoenix and Bob. Can’t have ‘em dehydrating, right?” There’s a slight pause, and he gives you a smirk, his gaze lingering a bit longer than necessary. “Make sure Bob’s is extra cold—he’s, uh, still cooling off after the last time you talked to him.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you start on the beers. “Don’t tell me he’s still flustered from that., it's been years.”

“Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance with you around, no matter the time,” Hangman says with a wink. “But hey, he’ll survive. Next up, Coyote wants a whiskey—neat. You know how he is. And Rooster…” He pauses, rolling his eyes in that way he does whenever he brings up Rooster. “Rooster’s a beer guy, as usual. But let’s give him the lighter stuff. Don’t want him trying to prove anything tonight.”

You slide the beers across to him, already pouring the whiskey as he keeps going. “And what about you, Hangman?” you ask, tossing him a smirk. “Anything special, or do you just want a mirror to stare into?”

He laughs, clearly enjoying this back-and-forth. “Ouch, darlin’. That one stings.” He places a hand over his heart, feigning offense before letting his gaze flick down to the line of tattoos trailing up your arm, then back to meet your eyes with a mischievous glint. “But as long as you’re the one serving, I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

You pour him a whiskey, sliding it over the bar with a raised brow. “Think you can handle it?”

He picks up the glass, holding it up to you with that easy, confident grin. “Oh, I can handle a lot more than that. But I like a bartender who can keep me on my toes.” He takes a sip, never breaking eye contact, letting the moment hang in the air.

The bar is still loud around you, but there’s a beat where it’s just you and him, his gaze heavy and flirtatious, yours daring him to keep going. He leans in a little closer, his voice a quiet murmur. “You know, we should get a drink somewhere else sometime. Just you and me.”

You lean back, letting a slow smile spread across your face, but truly this guy is not for you. “Oh, is that an invitation?”

“Consider it an open one,” he replies, giving you a wink before stepping back to gather up the drinks. “But hey, don’t take too long thinking it over. I don’t like waiting.”

It’s been a busy night, the bar still packed as the crowd buzzes with the kind of energy that only comes when there’s no telling when the next mission will roll around. You’re behind the bar, catching your breath after that last round, when you catch sight of Rooster winding his way through the crowd, headed straight for you.

He’s wearing his usual laid-back style—well-worn jeans, a vintage band T-shirt, and that aviator jacket slung over his shoulders. He looks like something out of a different time, especially with those sunglasses perched up in his curls, even though it’s night. Rooster always has this quiet, steady confidence, like he knows he doesn’t need to announce himself. And there’s something a little different in his step as he approaches you, maybe a touch of playfulness in the way he’s looking at you, a half-smile already curving on his lips.

“Hey, bartender,” he says, leaning onto the bar with an easy grin. “I’m back for the squad’s refills, but this time I think we’re changing things up.”

“Oh yeah?” You give him an amused look, resting your hands on the bar and leaning in just enough to close the space between you. “Guessing Hangman finally realized he can order something other than whiskey?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, Hangman’s hard to change. But the rest of us? We’re open to suggestions. Figured you might know what we need better than we do.”

You raise a brow, sensing the tease in his tone. “Oh, so now I’m in charge of drinks? Guess I must be moving up in the world.”

“Better believe it.” He flashes you a quick grin. “But you still gotta keep me entertained while you’re at it.”

You laugh, reaching for a row of glasses. “Let me see… Something tells me you could handle a little extra kick tonight.” You pour a round of tequila for Phoenix and Coyote, grabbing lime wedges and a sprinkle of salt for the rims.

“Tequila for Phoenix and Coyote,” you announce, lining them up. “And… let’s do something different for Bob. A Moscow Mule might be more his speed—something smooth but not too strong, I know he likes it.”

“Perfect,” Rooster nods, his eyes catching on the way your hands move as you pour, clearly fascinated. “And what do you recommend for me?”

“Hmm,” you say, pretending to consider as you tilt your head, catching his gaze. “Something with a bit of bite, I think. Something… classic.”

You reach for the whiskey, but instead of neat, you add a twist of orange, pouring a well-balanced Old Fashioned. You slide it over to him, catching his eye with a smirk. “Think you’re ready for that?”

He picks up the glass, turning it slowly in his hand, that same lazy smile lingering on his face. “Only if you’re ready to join me for one sometime,” he says, his voice low enough to make sure you catch the hint. He takes a sip, and his gaze stays fixed on you, watching your reaction, clearly testing the waters.

You raise an eyebrow, not about to let him off easy. “And what makes you think I’d go for a guy who takes drink recommendations from the bartender?”

He chuckles, not missing a beat. “Because I don’t think you’d waste your time with just any guy.” He holds your gaze, letting the words hang in the air, something challenging in his smile. “You seem a little… particular.”

“And you think you’re up to the standards?” You tilt your head, leaning on the bar just close enough that he has to take in every word.

His eyes flick down to your arm, where your tattoos catch the light, and then back up to meet yours, a flicker of mischief in his gaze. “I think I’d be willing to try,” he says, his voice smooth, steady. “But I’ll leave it up to you if I get the chance.”

You shake your head, suppressing a grin, and reach for another glass, pouring yourself a splash of soda as you lean back. “How about you focus on delivering those drinks first, hotshot?”

Rooster raises his glass in a mock salute, his eyes never leaving yours. “Alright, boss,” he says, clearly amused. “But don’t think I’m letting this go that easily.”

He picks up the tray, balancing it with practiced ease as he throws one last look over his shoulder before heading back to the squad. You’re left behind the bar, catching your breath with a smile as you watch him go, knowing full well he’ll be back for another round—and maybe another shot at breaking through.

The Dagger Squad is clustered around a corner table, the drinks you just served scattered across the tabletop. Conversation and laughter flow easily, but the energy shifts the second Hangman and Rooster start eyeing each other, sizing each other up with cocky grins and sidelong glances. Bob, meanwhile, is trying his best to blend into the background, clutching his Moscow Mule and looking more than a little flustered as he watches his teammates' latest standoff unfold.

“You know, Rooster,” Jake drawls, leaning back in his chair and raising his whiskey with an infuriatingly smug smile, “you’re wasting your time here. She’s clearly more into a guy with… confidence.” He emphasizes the last word, smirking as he takes a slow sip, his eyes flicking over to the bar where you’re serving another customer.

Rooster snorts, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Confidence? Is that what you call whatever it is you do?” He shakes his head, trying to keep his voice casual, but the competitive gleam in his eyes betrays him. “Trust me, Bagman, she’s not going for the guy who struts around like a damn peacock.”

Phoenix snickers, sipping her tequila and watching the scene unfold like it’s her favourite soap opera. “This is priceless,” she mutters to Coyote, who nods, clearly entertained.

“Oh, please,” Jake fires back, unfazed. “You think that ‘slow burn’ routine of yours is going to win her over? Women don’t want to wait around forever. They like a guy who knows what he wants.” He casts another confident glance toward the bar, and Rooster follows his gaze, jaw tightening just slightly.

Bob, meanwhile, is turning a shade of red that nearly matches his squadmate’s call sign. He keeps his eyes firmly on his drink, but Phoenix catches the flush creeping up his neck and nudges him with her elbow.

“Hey, Bob,” she says with a mischievous grin, “you’re awfully quiet over there. What do you think? Who’s got the better shot?”

Bob’s eyes widen as every head at the table turns to look at him. He stammers, his grip tightening on his glass. “I—I don’t know,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. “I, uh… I think she’d go for someone… respectful. Kind of… uh…”

Rooster grins, reaching over to pat Bob’s shoulder, his tone almost affectionate. “See, Bob gets it. A guy who’s not all in her face about it.”

Jake rolls his eyes, scoffing as he leans back. “Right. Because nothing says ‘charming’ like shyly staring into your drink.”

Bob just blushes harder, sinking a little lower in his seat as Phoenix pats his back in a show of support. “Ignore them, Bob. They’re just scared you’re the dark horse here,” she teases, sending Jake and Bradley a challenging look.

“Oh, is that it?” Hangman laughs, tipping his glass toward Bob in mock salute. “Tell you what, Bob—if she turns me down, I’ll let you take a shot.”

Rooster shakes his head, chuckling. “Sure, Bob. If Jake somehow fails—and trust me, he will—you’ve got my blessing.”

Bob’s face is now a deep shade of crimson, and he lets out a nervous laugh, clearly mortified. But he can’t resist glancing over toward the bar, where you’re moving easily between customers, completely unaware of the mini-drama playing out across the room.

“You know what?” Rooster says, straightening up and giving Jake a look that’s half-challenge, half-smirk. “Why don’t we let her decide who’s worth her time?”

Jake’s eyes narrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Fine by me, Rooster. May the best man win.”

Bob practically melts into his seat, but despite his obvious embarrassment, there’s the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glances at you.

You’ve been keeping an eye on the Dagger Squad from behind the bar, and you’ve caught enough of the banter to know they’re up to something. You can feel the weight of their stares now, so you decide to put them out of their misery. With a knowing smile, you grab a couple of fresh napkins and make your way over to the table, letting your gaze linger on one person in particular.

Bob’s leaning on the railing, doing his best to stay out of the spotlight as Jake and Bradley bicker, each too wrapped up in their little rivalry to notice you coming. Only Phoenix catches your approach, her eyes widening in excitement as she realizes what’s about to happen. She’s the only one who knows, after all.

“Hey, Bobby,” you say with a playful lilt, giving him a warm smile. His head snaps up, his cheeks turning an immediate shade of pink.

You can tell he’s trying to play it cool, but there’s a flicker of pure adoration in his eyes as he takes you in. Without a word, he leans in, brushing his lips softly against yours, his hand finding your waist as he pulls you in. His usual shyness fades as he melts into the kiss, his touch growing just a little bolder, like he’s letting himself savour every second.

Around you, the entire squad has gone silent. Rooster, Hangman, and Coyote are all staring, mouths slightly open in complete disbelief. But it’s not the kiss that has them in shock. It’s the glint of your engagement ring—hanging on a delicate chain around your neck, tucked just under the collar of your shirt. The light catches it as you pull back from Bob, and you see the realization dawn on each of their faces.

“Oh, my god,” Phoenix gasps, covering her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter as she watches Jake and Bradley try to process what they’re seeing. “No way. All this time, and she’s been with… Bobby?” Her eyes sparkle with pure delight as she glances back at you, unable to contain her excitement.

Bob, still flushed from the kiss, shifts awkwardly as he catches sight of his teammates’ stunned expressions. He ducks his head, clearly overwhelmed by all the attention, but there’s a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close.

“Wait…you’re with Bob?” Hangman says, still sounding completely baffled. He shakes his head, his usual confidence gone. “And you’re engaged?”

“Guess we kept it under wraps a little too well,” you say with a smirk, running a hand affectionately through Bob’s hair, watching as he blushes even deeper but relaxes into your touch. He looks at you with such genuine, quiet adoration that it’s impossible not to smile.

Rooster, still processing, lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Wow. And here I was thinking shy guys didn’t stand a chance.”

Phoenix is practically beside herself with joy, and she can’t help but gloat just a little. “Well, guess what, boys?” You grin, crossing your arms. “Turns out all I wanted was the quiet one.”

#robert floyd x reader #top gun fanfiction #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #bob top gun

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avengxrz · 8 days ago

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some people are soft only for you ⁃ robert "bob" floyd

pairings: robert "bob" floyd x bartender!reader word count: 12.7k words synopsis: he’s always been the quiet one. the one who stayed in the background, who never asked for more. but what happens when you realize the one person who’s always been there... is the one you’ve been waiting for? warnings: angst, slow burn, mutual pining, emotional repression, hurt/comfort, rainy confessions, a slap (but it’s earned), crying, kissing in the rain, bob floyd being soft, robert floyd rights. flight log: since the bob floyd fic won in the poll (because you all have incredible taste), this is for the quiet love enjoyers, the slow burn believers, and everyone who’s ever yelled at a fictional man for not speaking up sooner. this fic is full of rain, longing, and everything i think bob floyd deserves. thank you for waiting. i hope it hugs your heart a little. disclaimer: my works are not made using ai. every word comes from me, my thoughts, my hands, my time. do not steal, copy, or feed my fics into ai for any reason. fuck ai and what it’s doing to creative spaces. support real writers. ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ masterlist

Bob remembered the first time he saw you like it was branded somewhere behind his ribs.

It had been a regular Friday at the Hard Deck, the kind where the sun dipped just right over the water, warm enough to blur the windows and paint the inside gold. He was sitting at his usual table in the corner, a few chairs down from Hangman who was busy retelling a story no one had asked to hear again.

Phoenix had already rolled her eyes twice while Bob had his drink in hand, half-listening, half-wishing he had stayed home when the door opened and Penny stepped through with someone trailing behind her.

You.

She had one hand on your shoulder, ushering you in like someone showing off a prized secret, and that was when everything stopped for him. Bob didn’t know if it was the way you tilted your head when Penny said something under her breath, or the fact that you smiled like you weren’t quite used to smiling in public.

You were trying, and he could see that. How? Well, you looked like someone trying not to look nervous, someone trying to belong. He swore, just for a second, his heart forgot what it was supposed to do.

Meanwhile, everyone else had started noticing, too. Bradley leaned forward against the bar, Jake straightened up in that too-obvious way he did when he wanted to be looked at, and Coyote muttered something under his breath that made Payback laugh.

The squad was buzzing in a way they hadn’t in weeks, and Bob just sat there with his drink, watching you smile at Penny like she was your only anchor in the room.

Penny introduced you like it was nothing, just her niece, newly in town, helping out behind the bar for a while. You were taking a break from your old job as Penny said. Needed a change of scenery.

She said it like it was temporary, like you were just passing through, but Bob felt something else settle in his chest, like he already knew you were going to be here a while. Long enough to change things.

He remembered how you looked at each of them, Bradley first. You laughed at something he said and tilted your head a little, fingers brushing your necklace as if you were already a little charmed. It wasn't your fault.

Rooster could make most people smile, but Bob saw the way your eyes lingered a bit longer than they did with the others. The way your shoulders loosened near him, and the way you leaned in.

Too bad for Bob, he thought. Even then.

But he stayed quiet, like he always did. Just watched, then helped you carry a crate of soda to the backroom when Penny got busy. You smiled at him and said thanks like it actually meant something. And that, God, that was enough to get him through the rest of the week.

Over the next few months, he watched the way you folded into the rhythm of the place. You learned everyone’s drinks, picked up on who tipped and who didn’t, and started finishing Penny’s sentences before she could.

You were quick, you were sharp, but you were never cruel. Bob saw the way you looked when you thought no one was paying attention, those small, tired moments when the bar was loud but you looked somewhere far away. He wanted to ask. He never did.

Then, came the Rooster thing. It wasn’t a thing, not really, at least (and hopefully) not yet, but Bob knew what it looked like to hope. He recognized it in himself first, every time you looked up when Rooster walked in, every time your laugh came a little easier with him.

Rooster was kind to you. He flirted without meaning to. Sometimes he meant to. You flirted back. You wore that same necklace every time he was scheduled to drop in after a flight.

Bob just watched, quiet as ever.

As time went on, he kept finding reasons to linger near the bar after the rest of the squad left. Just to make sure you locked the doors safely, just to offer to walk you to your car. Sometimes, you talked. Not about much, like the weather, and how loud the jukebox was that night.

Once, you asked him if he ever got tired of being the responsible one. He didn’t know how to answer.

He had started to think he would be okay with this, just being around. Being the guy who stayed, who didn’t push, who was always polite and careful and useful. It was enough. Until it started to hurt. Until he realized that every time he saw you with Rooster, something in him flickered in a way he didn’t know how to control.

And still, he said nothing, because it wasn’t his place, and because he wasn’t the kind of man who made grand gestures. He was the kind of man who waited, who hoped quietly, and who stayed.

But lately, he had started wondering; how long could someone wait before they started to break a little?

It was a Friday night when it happened, one of those rare evenings where the entire Dagger Squad managed to show up at the same time, no drills the next morning and nothing but hours ahead to kill.

The Hard Deck was busier than usual, the kind of full that meant Penny had music playing just a little too loud and the laughter at the pool table spilled all the way to the back booths.

Bob had arrived early, the way he usually did, already nursing something mild as the others filtered in. He didn’t expect you to join them.

You normally stayed behind the bar, that was your world. You floated through it like someone who belonged to it, moving with purpose and comfort, like the chaos never touched you. So, when you slid into the booth beside him, smiling as you bumped your knee gently against his, Bob almost dropped his glass.

“Hope this seat’s not taken,” you said, already settling in.

Bob blinked, then smiled, the quiet kind that reached his eyes before it reached his mouth. “Nope, it’s yours.”

Meanwhile, Rooster dropped into the space on Bob’s other side, his laugh already halfway through some joke Phoenix had muttered earlier.

Fanboy was busy chatting up someone near the bar, Payback and Coyote deep in some debate about the rules of darts, and for a moment, Bob sat there with you to his left and Rooster to his right, wondering how he had become the center of gravity in a scene that made his chest tighten just a little.

You turned toward Rooster almost immediately, picking up where you’d left off earlier at the bar when you had been talking about music. “So, you’re telling me you still don’t know who Joni Mitchell is?” you asked, eyebrows lifted.

Rooster raised his hands in mock surrender as he leaned forward slightly, glancing past Bob to meet your eyes. “Look, I’ve heard the name. That counts for something, right?”

You scoffed as you grabbed a fry from the basket in front of you. “Barely, ‘cause that’s like saying you’ve heard of air.”

Bob watched you as you laughed, watched Rooster roll his eyes and reach for his drink, and as the two of you kept trading playful jabs, he stayed quiet, sipping slowly.

He wasn’t left out, not really, but he nodded when you said something funny, smiled when Rooster responded, but no one was talking to him directly. He didn’t mind, not really.

Then you turned toward him, nudging his arm lightly with your elbow. “Bob, please tell me you have decent taste in music. Help me out here.”

He set down his glass as he met your gaze. “I, uh, I like Joni Mitchell,” he said, voice steady but soft.

You grinned, leaning a little closer. “See? I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Bob blinked again, heart thudding once in his chest like it had just remembered it had a job to do. He smiled as he looked down, trying not to read too far into it, trying not to catalog the way you had said it.

You turned back to Rooster almost immediately, still half-laughing as you grabbed another fry and tossed it onto his plate like a challenge.

As the conversation moved on, the rest of the squad trickled closer, Jake finally giving up on his conquest at the bar and dropping into the seat beside Phoenix.

The table filled with the usual rhythm, jokes and teasing and interrupted stories, but Bob couldn’t shake the way you kept leaning slightly toward Rooster as you talked.

He couldn’t help noticing how Rooster’s shoulder brushed his own whenever he turned to respond to you, how Bob was caught in the middle of something he wasn’t part of.

He laughed when they laughed, nodded when someone addressed him, answered questions when they came his way, but he felt it. That quiet weight of watching something unfold next to him, knowing he was only a bystander. He didn’t resent it, and he didn’t resent you.

He just wished, for one brief, selfish moment, that you would lean his way again.

Across the table, Phoenix caught Bob’s eye as Rooster launched into some story about flying low over the mountains in Nevada. She raised one eyebrow and tilted her head slightly toward you, her meaning loud and clear.

Beside her, Hangman smirked as he sipped from his beer, then shot Bob a look so exaggerated it almost tipped into performance, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, a slow shake of his head that said, Seriously, Floyd?

Bob didn’t react. He kept his gaze fixed on the half-empty fry basket and picked at the edge of his napkin like there was something fascinating about the texture.

He could feel their eyes though, the silent conversation that he knew was happening in looks and subtle nudges. He knew what they were thinking, and he refused, absolutely refused, to let it show on his face.

Because you were still sitting beside him, warm and easy and relaxed, legs crossed in his direction, and he wasn’t about to mess that up by getting caught staring or doing something stupid like hoping.

So, he kept his voice casual when he joined the conversation, offering a quiet “Sounds intense,” after Rooster finished his story, even though he’d barely heard a word of it.

Phoenix didn’t drop it. She leaned forward on her elbows as she looked at him again, this time mouthing a word Bob didn’t want to see but definitely understood.

Talk.

He took a long sip of his drink instead.

Meanwhile, you laughed at something Rooster said, and Bob felt your hand brush his arm briefly as you leaned into the table to grab a napkin. It wasn’t anything. Not really, but his breath still caught for a second before he swallowed it down.

Then Hangman leaned in, voice low but pointed. “So, Floyd,” he said with an easy smile that always meant trouble, “any updates in your love life? Anyone we should know about?”

Phoenix didn’t even try to be subtle. She turned her head and looked directly at you, then back to Bob.

Bob didn’t flinch. He took another bite of his burger as if Hangman had just asked him about the weather. “Nothing new,” he said simply.

“Tragedy,” Hangman muttered, shaking his head with a grin.

Beside him, Phoenix rolled her eyes and sat back as she sipped from her straw, but not before muttering under her breath, just loud enough for Bob to hear, “Coward.”

Bob didn’t respond. Instead, he kept his expression even as he folded his napkin in half again, smoothing the crease with his thumb. If he answered now, it would only draw more attention.

If he said anything, you might notice, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you were a spectacle in someone else’s drama.

You deserved better than that, and he didn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable, even accidentally.

So he sat there, listening to the noise of the table rise around him, with your shoulder brushing his again as you turned back to ask Rooster a question about call signs.

He told himself it was enough, that this was fine, because you were beside him. You had chosen that seat. Maybe not for the reason he wanted, but you were there.

And that was more than he’d ever expected. Right?

Bob had just managed to pull himself back into the rhythm of the table, laughing politely, nodding at the right moments, forcing his attention onto Coyote’s rant about someone double-parking their Bronco again, when Jake looked at him.

Not a glance, not a passing look. A full, deliberate pause. Mischief flickered behind Hangman’s eyes like a match just waiting to be lit. His expression was easy, casual even, but Bob knew him too well by now. That look always meant something was about to go sideways.

Bob met his gaze briefly, brows furrowing. Jake tilted his head slightly and raised his glass in a mock toast. Then he shifted in his seat, leaned forward on his elbows, and with surgical precision, turned toward you.

“Hey,” Jake started, voice pitched just right to cut through the noise, “how are you settling in? Penny’s got you working double shifts lately, huh?”

You smiled as you wiped a bit of salt off your fingers. “Yeah, she’s been trusting me with more lately. Not sure if that’s a compliment or if she’s just trying to avoid the late-night crowd.”

Jake chuckled. “Well, if it’s a compliment, you’ve earned it. You handle this place better than half the guys I’ve flown with.”

You laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That is not a high bar, Bagman.”

“True,” Jake grinned, tapping his glass lightly against the table. “But still, you’ve got something the rest of us don’t.”

Bob tried not to react. He stared down at the condensation ring forming around his glass and took a breath.

Jake continued, voice smooth, casual, laced with something just clever enough to be dangerous. “You’ve got the whole ‘people actually like talking to you’ thing, and I mean that. I’ve seen the way folks stay longer when you’re behind the bar.”

You shrugged modestly, eyes warm. “Well, I listen, so I think that helps.”

Jake smiled, then glanced, briefly but intentionally, at Bob. “Yeah, listening’s a skill, but not everyone’s good at it.”

Bob didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but his fingers curled just slightly around his glass.

Then Jake leaned back and turned toward you again. “You ever get bored of it, though? Listening to people talk about themselves all night?”

You laughed under your breath as you picked up your drink. “Sometimes. Depends on the person, but I don’t mind hearing people’s stories.”

Jake nodded slowly. “What about yours? Who listens to you?”

Bob’s eyes lifted before he could stop them.

You blinked, like you hadn’t been expecting the question to come from him, and there was a beat of silence. Then, you smiled, softer this time. “I don’t know. I guess… not many people ask.”

“Maybe they should,” Jake said, tone light, almost teasing. “Bet it’d surprise a few of us.”

You laughed again, brushing it off as you reached for another fry. “You trying to psychoanalyze me now?”

Jake shrugged. “Nah, just think good people deserve someone who listens back.”

Bob looked down again, heat crawling behind his ears.

Then, Jake turned toward him, casual as ever, and nudged his shoulder once with the back of his knuckles. “Right, Floyd?”

Bob blinked, glancing up, catching the quick glint in Jake’s eye and the faint curve of a grin playing on his lips.

“Y-yeah,” Bob said, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I think so.”

He didn’t dare look at you then. He just reached for his glass again, swallowing the thought before it could become a word.

Jake sat back, satisfied, sipping his drink like nothing had happened, but Bob could feel it. The shift, the air had changed, and even if you didn’t notice yet, even if you still leaned toward Rooster when you laughed, there was something unspoken now settling between you and Bob.

Something Jake had poked loose just enough to rattle, and Bob wasn’t sure if he wanted to thank him or strangle him for it.

A few hours later, the bar was mostly empty, and the energy had dimmed into something quieter, more settled. The jukebox had long since shut off, the chairs were stacked, and Phoenix had waved a lazy goodnight as she ducked out with Coyote and Payback trailing behind her.

Bradley had left earlier, slipping out with a promise to come by for coffee sometime this week. Jake lingered just long enough to shoot Bob another smug glance before tipping his hat and disappearing into the parking lot.

Bob stayed.

He sat at the corner of the bar, sipping the last of something watered down, watching you move through the final closing routine with practiced ease.

You didn’t notice him at first, too focused on wiping down the counter and counting the register, but when you turned to grab your keys, you paused, just slightly, like you had sensed something.

"Bob!" Your brows lifted. “You’re still here?”

Bob straightened a little as he stood, quickly clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah. I—I mean, I figured you might need, well, I remembered earlier you said your car’s still not fixed, and I didn’t want you walking home or calling a ride this late.”

You blinked at him for a moment, then smiled. “Bob.”

His name sounded different coming from you, like you actually meant it.

He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flicking somewhere near your shoulder. “I just thought… maybe I could drive you? If that’s okay. I mean, if you’re not already set.”

There was a small pause before you nodded once, keys still in hand.

“That’s really sweet, but—” you glanced out the front window toward the beach, where the tide was low and the moon was soft, casting everything in blue and silver. “Can I walk the beach first? Just for a few minutes. I usually do that after closing, and it helps me clear my head.”

Bob blinked, surprised by the question, then nodded quickly. “Yeah, sure, of course.”

You smiled again, smaller this time, and pushed through the door with a soft jingle of keys. He followed at a quiet distance, careful not to hover too close.

The night air was cooler than earlier, carrying the sharp, familiar scent of salt and old wood. The sand crunched lightly beneath your shoes as you stepped off the boardwalk and started down the beach, slow and quiet.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

The ocean moved in the background, steady and gentle, waves lapping at the shore like they had all the time in the world. You walked with your arms loosely folded, head tilted toward the water, and Bob kept a respectful step behind, not quite beside you but not far either.

Eventually, you looked over your shoulder and nodded toward the waterline. “You can walk next to me, you know. I don’t bite.”

Bob smiled softly, catching up. “I know.”

You didn’t speak again for a bit, just let the sand and the sound of the tide fill the silence. He could see the tension easing from your shoulders as you walked, your steps slowing like you didn’t want to go home just yet, and honestly, he didn’t want to drive you there just yet either. He was content just being here.

Then, you glanced at him again, eyes curious. “You always stay this late?”

Bob shook his head. “Only tonight.”

“Because of my car?”

He hesitated for a beat, then answered truthfully. “Because of you.”

You didn’t say anything at first, and he didn’t expect you to, but he felt the shift again, small and quiet, like maybe you were seeing him, really seeing him, for the first time in a while. And for once, he didn’t look away.

After a few more minutes of walking, you drifted closer to where the water met the shore, the waves just brushing past your shoes. Bob followed carefully, keeping the rhythm, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. The silence wasn’t awkward. It felt like it belonged there, like it was allowed to stretch without needing to be filled.

Then, you glanced over at him, your voice cutting through the quiet in a thoughtful tone. “You’re really quiet around me, you know.”

Bob looked over, a little startled. “What?”

“You barely talk,” you said, not unkindly, just honest. “I mean, I’ve known you for a few months now and I think I know more about Payback’s dog than I do about you.”

He let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“So?” you prompted, a little amused. “What’s your deal, Floyd? You always this mysterious or is it just around me?”

Bob looked down for a second, as if considering how much to give. Then, he smiled, faint but genuine. “It’s not just you. I’ve always been like this.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s not a bad thing. Just means I’ve got to ask more questions.”

Bob chuckled under his breath, then glanced sideways. “You really want to know?”

“Sure,” you said, looking out toward the dark water. “If you don’t mind.”

He was quiet again for a beat, then offered, “I grew up in Kentucky. Small town. Lots of farms, lots of quiet. My parents still live there.”

You glanced back at him. “That tracks.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“You’ve got that whole, dependable small-town guy energy,” you said, smiling a little. “Like you know how to fix fences and drive stick.”

Bob gave a modest shrug. “I do.”

You laughed lightly, then looked ahead again. “I didn’t grow up anywhere near that quiet. My parents moved around a lot, military family and stuff. I barely unpacked before we’d be gone again. Think we lived in seven states before I turned ten.”

Bob glanced at you, his expression softening. “That sounds tough.”

“It was,” you admitted, not quite looking at him. “You get good at starting over, but not at staying. Penny was always the one stable person in my life. She’d send postcards wherever we were. Always signed them with something dumb like ‘Don’t forget who makes the best cheese cake.’”

Bob smiled at that. “She still say that?”

“She texted me that two weeks ago when I didn’t answer her call. I was sleeping!”

He chuckled again, a quiet sound in the open air. “She really loves you.”

“I know,” you said softly, then paused. “I think that’s why I came out here. Just needed something steady for once.”

Bob was quiet for a moment, walking beside you with the surf lapping softly just ahead. Then he asked, “Do you feel like you found that?”

You looked at him for a long second, then smiled—not wide, not dramatic, just enough to reach your eyes.

“I think I might,” you said.

Bob nodded once, eyes on the sand as he kept walking beside you.

By the time the two of you looped back near the edge of the boardwalk, the night had settled into something heavier, quieter. The kind of stillness that came when the world was finally tired enough to rest.

The ocean whispered nearby, all foam and pull, and the wind tugged gently at the hem of your jacket. You were walking closer now, shoulder just brushing his every few steps, not quite touching but near enough to notice when he shifted, near enough to feel the warmth coming off his sleeve.

You stopped walking first, and Bob paused beside you without question, turning toward the water as you looked out at it like it had something to say.

“I was kind of a mess when I got here,” you said, voice soft but deliberate. The words came out like something you’d carried for too long.

Bob turned slightly, watching your profile in the dim light, the way your gaze drifted to the horizon like it hurt to look back at the shore.

“I didn’t really say that to anyone, not even Penny. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, let alone out loud, but I was.” You exhaled, quiet and tired. “I was… really low. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t feel muchand I kept thinking maybe that was just how life was supposed to be.”

Bob didn’t interrupt. He stood there with you, steady, like an anchor just close enough to hold.

“Then Penny offered me the guest room,” you said. “Told me to stop pretending I was okay. Told me to come out here, take a break, just… breathe.”

You looked over at him slowly, your eyes searching his face like you were trying to see if he could hold what you were about to say next. “I didn’t think I’d stay. I figured I’d be gone in a few days.”

Bob swallowed, watching you now, completely still.

“But something about this place felt different,” you continued, eyes soft but steady. “The people. The ocean. The quiet. It was the first time in a long time that I didn’t feel like I had to earn my spot just to exist. And I think—” your voice dipped slightly, careful now “—I think I found someone worth staying for.”

Bob’s breath caught, subtle but real. His fingers curled slightly in the pockets of his jacket. His heart made that same familiar leap, too hopeful, too fast. Then, he forced himself to slow it down, to be rational, to not assume.

He looked down briefly, then back up, eyes skimming your face. “Bradley’s… a good guy.”

You blinked. “What?”

Bob gave a small nod, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach all the way. “He’s got a good heart. People like him. He’s easy to talk to, and I know he likes you.”

There was a pause, and then you turned to face him fully, the line of your shoulders shifting toward him like something inside you had snapped tight.

“It’s not Rooster.”

Bob blinked, startled. “It’s not?”

You took a slow step closer, not too close, but enough that the space between you suddenly felt deliberate. “It’s not. I meant someone else.”

His eyes searched yours, uncertain. You weren’t smiling anymore, not the playful, teasing grin you wore behind the bar. This was something rawer, something truer, and it pulled the breath from his lungs in a quiet wave. Your expression was open in a way he hadn’t seen before, like you were letting him see behind a curtain you normally kept closed.

There was something in your eyes now, too, like something deeper than curiosity, warmer than casual affection. A look that didn’t hide how long you’d been watching him the way he’d been watching you.

“I’m talking about someone who stays behind without being asked. Someone who waits for me after closing, who always listens even when I have nothing worth saying,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. “Someone who never tries to take up all the space in the room, but somehow makes it feel safer just by being there.”

Bob looked away for a second, then back at you. He was trying not to fall headfirst into the thing you were offering. He was trying to protect himself, because he couldn’t quite believe it, not yet. “He sounds… lucky,” he said, careful not to let his voice shake.

You watched him, your brow furrowing just slightly. “Yeah,” you said. “I think he is, or he would be. If he felt the same.”

Your eyes didn’t leave his. They stayed right there, open, waiting, soft in the edges but bright with something that looked like hope, or maybe just the kind of yearning that lived in quiet places. The kind that never demanded anything, just wanted to be seen.

Bob stood there with his breath held like he might drop something if he exhaled. And still, he said nothing.

Because the part of him that loved you the most was the same part that was terrified to believe this was real.

- You -

After you bared your soul to Bob Floyd, nothing dramatic happened. The sky didn’t fall. The earth didn’t tilt. You didn’t wake up the next day wrapped in some cinematic resolution.

What came instead was quieter. He hadn’t said anything that night, and in the days that followed, his silence stretched long enough to feel like an answer you didn’t want to hear.

At first, you tried to give him space. Maybe he needed time. You told yourself that, over and over, like a mantra you didn’t quite believe. He was thoughtful, cautious by nature.

Maybe he just didn’t know what to do with a moment like that, with someone standing in front of him asking him to be sure about something he had never dared to want out loud.

You excused his distance the first few days, chalked it up to nerves or work or some internal battle he hadn’t figured out how to name yet.

Then a week passed. Then two.

Meanwhile, life kept moving around you. Penny teased you about always being lost in your head. The Dagger Squad still came in for drinks and darts and nights that ended in someone losing a bet. Rooster flirted with a girl from town. Phoenix rolled her eyes at every single one of Jake’s one-liners.

And Bob? Bob was there, technically. He came in with the group, always on time, always polite. He nodded when you greeted him, smiled when the moment called for it, but the quiet between you was different now. Measured. Careful.

He didn’t stay behind after closing anymore. He didn’t sit at the bar with his hands folded while you cleaned up. He didn’t offer to walk you out to your car or wait by the door pretending he just happened to be there.

You noticed every time he left before the music ended. You noticed when he talked more to Phoenix, when he stared harder at his drink. You noticed when he didn’t look at you unless you spoke directly to him.

Then, came the creeping thoughts, the ones that curled around your ribs at night when you tried to sleep. Had you misread it all? The glances, the soft silences, the way he always stayed just a little longer than he needed to.

You wondered if he regretted letting you say it. If he wished you hadn’t. If your honesty had ruined something that wasn’t even fully alive to begin with.

You started second-guessing your words. You replayed that night in your head so many times it felt like a memory pressed under glass.

And still, Bob said nothing.

You didn’t want to chase him. You didn’t want to make him feel cornered or forced, but the hurt settled in slowly, like the way ocean salt clings to your skin long after you’ve dried off.

You missed him.

Missed him in the kind of way that snuck up on you during the little moments, the quiet in between shifts, the way you’d glance up out of habit and expect to see him leaning against the wall, waiting.

But he was gone, not completely, but just enough to make you feel the difference. And you were starting to wonder if he had ever really been yours to begin with.

You remember having a joke before about having a thing for Rooster. He was easy to like. Loud in a charming way, confident without being cruel, handsome in that classic, all-American way that turned heads when he walked into the bar. He made people laugh. He made you laugh.

For a while, it was enough to have him flirt with you across the counter, toss you a wink after landing a bullseye at the dartboard, tease you about your drink preferences like it was some shared secret. It was simple, and safe in its own shallow way.

But somewhere along the line, somewhere between closing shifts and long glances and the sound of Bob’s voice saying your name just once in a quiet room, you realized it had never really been about Rooster.

Because while everyone else was turning up the volume, Bob was steady. He didn’t try to impress anyone, didn’t spin stories or flash that practiced grin. He was just there. Patient, observant, always listening, and always waiting.

And now, without meaning to, your thoughts kept looping back to him. You saw him in the quiet moments, where nothing loud or clever could fill the space. The ones where presence mattered more than words.

And maybe that was why it hurt more than you expected, because you hadn’t just liked Bob. You’d started seeing him.

He wasn’t loud or traditionally flashy, but he had that kind of presence you didn’t fully appreciate until it was missing. He was tall, sure, but never made himself bigger than the room. His movements were careful, efficient, like someone who knew how to blend in but never truly disappear.

There was a softness to the way he carried himself, thoughtful and precise, like everything he did had purpose. His sandy hair always looked like it needed a few more minutes in the mirror, but it somehow worked on him, just slightly ruffled, like he’d been running his hand through it all day.

And his eyes, behind those glasses, were the kind you didn’t notice until you really looked. Clear blue, a little shy, always gentle, but there were moments when they caught the light just right and made your breath catch.

You remembered that night on the beach. The way he’d looked at you when you said it, really said it, and how something in his face had almost cracked. You thought he might say something then. Anything, but he hadn’t. He’d just looked at you with those quiet, stunned eyes and let the moment pass.

Now, two weeks later, it was all still sitting with you.

And no amount of Rooster’s charm or Jake’s jokes or Phoenix’s sideways glances could fill the space Bob had left behind.

Because it wasn’t just a crush anymore. It wasn’t something light or flirty or fun. It was something that had snuck up on you when you weren’t watching. And it was wearing glasses and a quiet smile and a name that was starting to taste like longing every time you said it.

The worst part was that he hadn’t said anything.

Not that he’d rejected you outright, and certianly not that he’d laughed or pulled away or looked horrified. He just... hadn’t said anything. And that silence? It was louder than any no you’d ever heard.

As the days stretched on, you started wondering if you’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe you’d read too far into a kind gesture, misinterpreted a kind man. Maybe he had never looked at you that way.

Maybe he had been kind because that’s just who he was, and you’d gone and ruined everything by making it more than that. It would’ve been easier if he’d told you you were wrong. If he’d said he didn’t see you like that.

At least then you could’ve buried it properly, but this? This careful avoidance, this half-hearted politeness when you passed behind the bar, this space he put between you every time you were in the same room, it just felt worse.

Meanwhile, your thoughts kept looping in circles, dragging you into places you didn’t want to go. Was he ashamed of you? Had your honesty made him uncomfortable? Had he gone home that night and replayed it all with a wince, wondering why someone like you would even think he could feel the same?

You didn’t want to believe that. Not from Bob, but your brain didn’t care. It was like it made its own monsters in the dark.

Maybe he’d been disgusted, maybe he thought you were too much, too forward, and too broken. You’d been vulnerable in a way you hadn’t been in a long time. You’d said things you didn’t even mean to say until they were already out of your mouth.

What if he had seen you differently after that? What if he pitied you?

Then, there was the deeper, more painful thought; the one that caught in your throat every time it surfaced. What if he had wanted to say something, but decided not to because he didn’t want you like that? What if the reason he didn’t speak was because it was easier to walk away than to face the disappointment in your eyes?

You started pulling back, even when you didn’t mean to. You smiled less, you lingered at the bar a little longer to avoid walking past him, you laughed at Hangman’s stupid jokes just to fill the silence.

You pretended Rooster still made your heart skip, even though he never had, but not in the way Bob did, at least. You tried to pretend it didn’t matter, that you hadn’t stood in front of him, heart open and hands shaking, asking for something small and simple.

You weren’t asking him to love you. You’d only wanted to know if he could. And now? Now you didn’t even know if he’d ever really seen you at all.

Eventually, you started blaming yourself.

Not just for saying too much, but for believing in the first place that you ever had a chance. The more time passed, the more it sunk in; how foolish you must have looked, how naive you must have sounded, standing there that night like some starry-eyed fool thinking that your feelings meant something.

You played it back in your head, the way his eyes had gone wide, the way his mouth opened and closed, the way the silence stretched just long enough to hurt. And still, you told yourself he needed time. That he was shy, or overwhelmed, or maybe just stunned by the idea that anyone could want him like that.

But now, after two weeks of polite distance and half-smiles that felt like placeholders, you saw the truth for what it was. You’d read too far into everything. You’d taken his kindness and mistook it for something more. You’d turned his gentle nature into something romantic because it was easier to believe he could love you than it was to admit how lonely you were.

Meanwhile, every moment you’d clung to before started crumbling under closer inspection.

That time he stayed late to walk you to your car? He probably just didn’t want you walking alone. The way he listened when you talked about your childhood? Maybe he was just being polite. Maybe he wasn’t holding on to your words the way you were holding on to his silence. Maybe he never looked at you the way you looked at him. Maybe he never even saw you that way.

Then, came the part that stung worst of all. You had told him. You had shown him. And still, he hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t come back with an apology or a gentle letdown. He hadn’t asked if you were okay or said he needed time or even offered you a friend’s honesty. He had just... faded.

And that left you with only one conclusion. You must have imagined it all.

You must have taken every quiet moment and twisted it into a fairytale. You must have seen something in him that was never really there. And how embarrassing was that?

How delusional had you been to think someone like Bob Floyd, kind and steady and good in a way you hadn’t known people could be, could ever look at someone like you and feel the same?

The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. You weren’t subtle. You had laid everything out for him, eyes wide, voice shaking, heart damn near bleeding at his feet. And he hadn’t even had to say no.

His silence had done the job for him. It was almost worse this way, the slow drip of rejection hidden under the surface of normalcy. At least if he’d said he didn’t feel the same, you could’ve begun to heal. Now all you had were the pieces of something you had built alone. And the painful knowledge that none of it, not a single part, had ever belonged to you.

“Hey,” Bradley said gently, his voice low and a little rough around the edges. “Hey, look at me.”

The sound of your name broke through the haze, pulling you back to yourself just enough to flinch. You hadn’t realized anyone had come outside.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been sitting there, knees tucked up slightly, arms loose at your sides, eyes fixed on some blurred spot in the distance where the sky met the sea. You jumped when you felt the hand on your shoulder, then turned quickly, heart skipping.

Bradley stood just behind you, looking more serious than you were used to seeing him. He held a bottle in one hand and worry in his eyes, the kind that didn’t need explaining.

Without saying much else, he moved around and sat beside you on the porch swing, the old chains creaking softly under the added weight. He handed you the beer without ceremony and leaned back, one arm resting along the back of the swing, close but not quite touching.

Penny had all but pushed you out here fifteen minutes ago, and she told you she didn’t care how many glasses needed washing or how many people still needed tabs, then she said you were zoning out again, and it was starting to scare her.

You hadn’t argued, so you’d come out and settled on the swing you’d talked her into buying last spring, swearing it would bring in more customers, give the place a softer edge. Now, it just felt like a place to fall apart quietly.

“I’d be stupid to ask if you’re okay,” Bradley said after a moment, cracking the cap off his own bottle and taking a small sip.

You forced a small, shaky laugh. “I’m fine.”

But he turned his head toward you, sharp and certain, before you could even blink. “Do not lie to me, sweetheart.”

The words landed heavy, not cruel, but weighted in the way that told you he wasn’t going to let it slide this time. He knew, maybe not everything, and maybe not the full mess of what you were holding, but enough, enough to call it what it was.

You didn’t speak at first. The beer sat cold in your hand, untouched, forgotten. The swing moved just slightly beneath you both, the creak of the chain giving your silence rhythm.

You felt the wind slip through your hair, and you stared straight ahead, trying to find something steady in the blur of night lights reflecting off parked cars and distant waves.

It felt like something in you had cracked open, not loudly, but slowly, and all the thoughts you’d tried to keep buried had begun to spill into everything, every glance, every breath, every reminder of what you’d said and what he hadn’t.

And now Bradley was here, waiting quietly beside you, like he’d seen the whole thing unravel without ever needing you to say a word.

You didn’t answer him right away, and Bradley didn’t push. He just let the silence settle between you again, steady as the tide. His fingers tapped once, twice, against the glass of his beer bottle before he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

The porch light buzzed faintly above, casting a soft glow over the railing, and the hum of conversation from inside the Hard Deck faded into the background.

“I won’t ask,” he said eventually, eyes fixed ahead. “But I’ll tell you something, and you don’t have to say a word back. Just... let me talk, alright?”

You nodded once, barely more than a tilt of your head. It was all the permission he needed.

“When I was a kid, my mom used to tell me this story about how she met my dad,” he began, voice easy and even, like he wasn’t trying to make it serious, just keep it honest.

“She said he used to come into this greasy little diner she worked at every Sunday, like clockwork. Sat at the same booth, ordered the same thing, barely said more than a few words to her the first month. She thought he was sweet, kind of quiet, kind of awkward.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, but he wasn’t looking at you. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, somewhere far away from the parking lot and the bar and whatever weight you were both carrying.

“She swore she caught him staring sometimes, but he always looked away too fast. She used to joke that he looked like he was trying to memorize her but didn’t want her to notice. Said he always left good tips, always thanked her, but never flirted. Not once, but for weeks.”

There was a softness to Bradley’s voice now, one that only came when he talked about his mother. You’d heard it before, usually in quieter moments, and it always held a kind of reverence that made you ache.

“Then one night,” he continued, “she was working a late shift, and rain was coming down hard, place was almost empty. She was wiping down the counter when he came in soaking wet, no umbrella, no coat, just dripping all over the floor. She asked what the hell he was doing out in that weather, and he said he forgot his wallet the last time he came in. Handed it over like he’d come all that way for something that dumb.”

He paused for a beat, then smiled faintly. “But she swore he didn’t forget anything. He just needed an excuse to come back. That was the night he asked if he could walk her home.”

The wind rustled gently through the nearby trees, and for a moment it felt like you could almost see it, that little diner, the rain on the windows, the quiet rhythm of something small beginning.

“She said she knew then,” Bradley said, finally glancing over at you. “Said she knew that someone who came back just to give her a reason to see him again was someone who’d stay.”

You looked away quickly, eyes burning with something you didn’t want to explain. He didn’t mention Bob. He didn’t have to, and you could hear it in the way he told the story. Y

ou could feel the shape of it beneath every word. And still, he didn’t push. He just leaned back again, letting the swing move with the wind, like time could slow down if he just let it.

For a while, you didn’t say anything. You just sat there, eyes fixed on the space between your shoes and the wooden porch floor, your fingers tracing the rim of the bottle without really noticing, but something about Bradley’s voice, about the softness in that story, had carved out enough silence inside you that the words finally had somewhere to land.

“I really thought he felt the same,” you said quietly, barely more than a breath.

Bradley didn’t react right away. He stayed still, just listening, not pushing you to keep going, not rushing to fill the quiet. So, you kept talking, because now that it had started spilling, you didn’t know how to stop.

“I told myself not to hope. I mean... I’ve done this before. I’ve fallen for people who were never mine to begin with, but this time it felt different, slower, softer. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, it just… built. And I thought maybe he was just waiting, maybe he was scared, but it’s been two weeks and he’s barely even looked at me.”

Bradley let out a quiet breath through his nose, nodding once like he understood more than you realized. You glanced at him, and he didn’t look smug or surprised, just calm, like someone you could lean on without asking.

“I keep thinking,” you said, your voice cracking just a little, “how stupid I must’ve been to think he actually wanted me. Like I made it all up in my head, every little look, every quiet moment. Maybe I’m just… too much.”

Bradley turned to you then, his eyes steady as they met yours. He didn’t speak right away. He just reached out and gently placed his hand over yours, grounding you.

“You’re not too much,” he said, firm but quiet. “Don’t ever think that, and you weren’t stupid. Anyone who made you feel like you were? That’s on them, not you.”

Your chest tightened. The tears you’d been holding back all day finally started pushing at the edges. You didn’t even try to stop them this time. You looked away, blinking hard, and then Bradley shifted beside you, opening his arms just a little like he wasn’t sure you’d take the offer.

You didn’t even hesitate.

You leaned into him, your forehead pressing to his shoulder as his arms came around you in a firm, steady hug. Not romantic. Not complicated. Just warm and solid and safe. You let yourself breathe for the first time in days.

And then, the door creaked open behind you. You froze.

Bradley tensed slightly beneath you, then turned his head toward the door. You didn’t move right away, but your heart sank before you even heard the voice.

“Oh,” Bob said, voice clipped and uncertain. “Sorry, uh...I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You pulled back slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs as you turned your head just enough to see him standing there in the open doorway, his hand still on the handle like he hadn’t fully stepped out. His eyes flicked from you to Bradley and back, unreadable in the low porch light.

Before you could say a word, he nodded once, quick, awkward, and stepped back inside, letting the door close behind him with a soft, final click. The silence that followed was heavier than before.

And this time, it wasn’t just yours. Was it really?

Bradley exhaled slowly, leaning back on the swing as you pulled away. His arm dropped to his side, but his eyes stayed on you, studying the way your posture had changed. You were still sitting, but something in you had shifted, gone taut like a wire pulled too tight. He saw it before you even stood.

“He saw something that wasn’t what it looked like,” he said quietly. “If it matters that much to you, go tell him.”

You looked at him then, heart already rising into your throat. “What if it’s too late?”

Bradley gave a small smile, nothing showy, just enough to feel real. “Then at least you’ll know you tried.”

You were already on your feet before he finished speaking.

Your boots hit the wooden porch hard as you turned toward the Hard Deck and pushed the door open, the warm noise of the bar spilling out into the night.

Inside, everything looked the same as it always did, Jake and Natasha nursing drinks at the high-top, Javy half-asleep on the couch by the jukebox, Mickey talking to a girl at the bar, but Bob wasn’t there.

Panic flared up as your eyes scanned the room again, faster this time. You moved toward the others, voice already raised a little louder than you meant it to be.

“Where’s Bob?”

Jake looked up from his drink, raising one brow with a smirk already forming. “Left a minute ago,” he said, drawing the words out with that usual drawl. “Looked like he had something on his mind.”

Phoenix gave him a side-glare, but Jake only grinned, tilting his beer bottle toward you. “Might wanna hurry, darlin’. Pretty sure he’s heading for the parking lot.”

Then, he winked.

You didn’t wait for the rest. You were already turning, already pushing through the door again before Phoenix could finish rolling her eyes. The night air hit you fast as you broke into a run, boots hitting pavement, heart racing, breath uneven as your eyes searched the parking lot for any sign of him.

But he was nowhere to be found. Not near the cars, not by the road, not leaning against the building like he sometimes did when he needed air.

You turned in a slow circle, breath catching, chest tightening, and for a moment you thought maybe, just maybe, you’d already lost him.

The first rumble of thunder rolled across the sky like a warning, low and distant, but enough to make you glance upward. The clouds had thickened without you noticing, dark smudges swallowing the stars you’d barely registered when you ran out here.

You kept walking anyway, your breath catching somewhere between hope and regret, your boots pounding across the vast stretch of asphalt that seemed to go on forever.

The Hard Deck’s parking lot felt impossibly big now, like it had swallowed him whole. You turned one way, then another, looking past the cars and over the fence toward the road, hoping to catch a glimpse of his figure in the dark. Nothing. No movement, no headlights, just the hum of silence.

And then, the sky split open.

The thunder cracked louder this time, and a second later the rain came down hard and fast, no preamble, no gentle drizzle. Just a sudden downpour, sharp and cold and unrelenting.

It soaked you instantly, plastering your shirt to your skin and pushing your hair down over your forehead. You stopped in the middle of the lot, blinking against the water, teeth clenched as you spun in one last desperate circle.

“Shit,” you breathed out, voice swallowed by the storm. “Shit!”

You kicked at a puddle with the side of your foot, frustration rising until it choked you. Then, slowly, without really thinking about it, you turned away from the cars and walked across the lot toward the dunes.

The sand felt cold under your boots as you stepped over the edge of the boardwalk, then softer as it gave under your feet. The tide was coming in slow and steady, the ocean dark and wild beneath the storm, but you didn’t stop. You moved closer until the wind off the water hit your skin like a slap.

The rain kept falling, heavier now, washing over your arms and shoulders and cheeks, mixing with the tears you didn’t even realize had started until your vision blurred.

You stopped walking, right where the wet sand met the dry, and you let your knees give a little, sinking down just enough to wrap your arms around yourself. The tears came harder now, not the quiet kind, but the full-body kind. The kind you only let loose when there’s no one around to see it.

Because what was wrong with you?

Why did you always love the wrong people, or love the right ones at the wrong time?

Why did your heart have to choose the person who couldn’t say anything back?

Why did you open yourself up at all, when it only ever ended like this, alone, soaked to the bone, watching the world pretend not to notice?

You pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it didn’t matter. The wind carried it away.

And then, so softly you almost didn’t feel it, something touched your shoulder.

You looked up, eyes stinging.

An umbrella had been tilted over you, its wide canopy blocking the worst of the rain. The water still dripped off the edges, pooling around you in the sand, but suddenly the sound wasn’t so loud. The sky felt a little less heavy.

Someone had come back.

- Bob -

It was the way your head rested against Bradley’s shoulder that did it. Not the hug itself. Not even the rainclouds already threatening the sky. It was the intimacy of it. The ease.

The way you leaned into him like you belonged there. Bob had seen plenty of hugs before. He’d even been on the receiving end of one or two from you. But this was different.

This looked like something he wasn’t supposed to see.

“Oh,” Bob said quietly, voice tight in his throat. “Sorry, uh...I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You turned toward him, startled, but he didn’t wait for you to explain. He just nodded once and backed into the doorway before the swing could creak again, before you or Bradley could say anything that might make it worse. The sound of the door clicking shut behind him felt final, like the end of a page he hadn’t meant to write.

He moved quickly across the bar, making his way to where the squad was still lounging. He didn’t say much. Just a quiet “Night,” as he passed Phoenix, who raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask, and then Coyote, who was halfway through a drink.

He didn’t even glance at Jake, who was mid-laugh over something Mickey said. Bob didn’t want to hear the jokes. He didn’t want a conversation. He just wanted to leave before whatever was knotted in his chest made its way to his face.

Outside again, the air felt heavier. Humid and tense. He inhaled slowly as he walked across the lot, weaving between cars toward the overflow patch of gravel on the far end of the property where he had parked earlier.

The bar had been packed when he arrived. He hadn’t minded the extra walk then. Now, he was grateful for it. Maybe the distance would help clear his head.

He reached for his door handle, only to pause. His keys were not in his pocket.

He checked again. Patting down the front, the side. Even crouched to peek under the car in case he’d dropped them on the walk out. Nothing.

Bob closed his eyes, jaw tightening as the first flicker of lightning cracked across the clouds. A second later, thunder rolled in low and slow behind it. Of course. Of course. He exhaled sharply, eyes stinging more than he wanted to admit, and turned on his heel.

The back door was closer than the front, so he made his way around the building and slipped in through the rear entrance near the storage room. Inside, the music was muffled and the lights were dimmer, but the voices of his squad were unmistakable.

Jake looked up first, brows lifted in surprise. “What the hell, man? I thought you just left.”

Bob didn’t slow his pace. “I forgot my keys,” he muttered, stepping toward their table with zero interest in lingering.

Jake blinked at him, then grinned slowly. “And you came all the way back for that? You sure it’s not because your one true love is still in the vicinity?”

Bob rolled his eyes, hand outstretched. “Give me the keys, Seresin.”

Bradley, who had just come back inside from the porch, walked past Jake and dropped into the seat beside Mickey with a dramatic sigh. Then he looked up at Bob, eyes calm, and said, “Go get your girl.”

Bob froze, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”

Bradley just gave him a pat on the shoulder and leaned back, tossing an arm over the back of the booth like he hadn’t just dropped something massive into the middle of the room. “You’ll figure it out.”

Jake chuckled, pulling Bob’s keys from his jacket pocket and tossing them with a lazy underhand. “Godspeed, lover boy,” he said with a wink.

Bob caught them with a half-hearted glare, then turned to leave again, shoulders tight. The rain had started properly by the time he stepped back outside.

Not just a drizzle, but a full downpour, wind kicking up droplets sideways as he squinted against the water. He didn’t have a jacket, of course not, but he did spot a forgotten umbrella resting in the metal stand by the exit door, probably something Penny kept for guests who never remembered the forecast.

He grabbed it without hesitation.

As he started toward his car again, umbrella tilted forward to block the worst of the storm, he squinted toward the shoreline. The wind had shifted, making it harder to see, but something near the dunes caught his eye.

A figure, small and still with knees drawn in, head down, hunched against the rain.

His chest tightened instantly, because he knew exactly who it was.

You.

Bob’s breath caught as soon as he saw you.

You were there, just beyond the edge of the dunes, curled in on yourself, knees drawn up, the sand clinging to your boots and the hem of your jeans. Rain poured down over you like the sky itself was mourning something, but you weren’t moving. You just sat there like you had nowhere else to go.

For a second, he didn’t know what to do.

He stood frozen, umbrella in one hand, heart in his throat, soaked already from the walk and not caring in the slightest. The wind tugged at his sleeves, the cold crawling under the collar of his shirt, but his eyes didn’t leave you.

Not when the waves crashed, and certainly not when thunder growled low in the clouds.

Then, before he could lose his nerve again, he moved.

Each step down the beach felt like something deliberate, something that might rewrite everything or wreck it entirely. By the time he reached you, your shoulders were shaking. He didn’t know if it was from the cold or the crying, and the thought of either made something tighten behind his ribs.

He tilted the umbrella gently over your head, angling it to cover as much of you as he could. The rain pinged off the canopy, water spilling down the sides and pooling into the sand. He didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t have to.

You turned slowly, blinking up at him with eyes red from tears, your face half-shielded by your hand.

When you spoke, it was soft, hoarse. “Bob?”

He swallowed hard. “What are you doing out here?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just stared at him like you couldn’t believe he was real. Then, pushing up off the sand, you stood slowly. You were already soaked through, hair clinging to your cheeks, your clothes heavy with rain.

The umbrella barely covered you both, so Bob tilted it even further toward your side, letting the drops hit the back of his neck, soak his shoulders. It didn’t matter.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” you said, wiping your face roughly with the back of your hand. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I—” Bob scoffed, quiet but incredulous. “What are you doing here? It’s pouring. You’re out in the middle of the beach, alone. You—you’re crying.”

“And?”

The word hit him like a slap, not because of what you said, but how. Defensive. Deflecting. Just like you always were when something hurt and you didn’t want to admit it.

He stepped back just slightly, shifting his weight. “You shouldn’t be out here. You could get sick.”

“I can handle a little rain, Bob.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

The frustration in your voice made something snap in him. Not anger. Just the helpless ache of wanting to understand and getting nothing but walls.

“You’re out here like the world’s ending,” he said, not harsh, but loud enough to cut through the sound of the ocean. “And I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what I walked in on earlier, but whatever it is, it clearly messed you up. So why won’t you just say it?”

Your jaw tightened. Bob’s eyes searched yours, and he hated how wet your lashes were, how you kept blinking like it might stop the tears from falling again.

“You left,” you said, barely louder than the waves. “You saw me and Bradley and you just left. You didn’t ask. You didn’t say anything. You just walked away.”

“Because I thought—” Bob started, then stopped, mouth opening again before the words would come. “Because I thought maybe I’d finally misread everything. That maybe I really was just the guy who stood beside you while you reached for someone else.”

You went still.

Bob felt the rain trickling down his collar, the weight of it sinking into his clothes, but none of it mattered. Not when he could see the tremble in your chin.

Not when his hands were gripping the handle of the umbrella too tightly, like it was the only thing keeping him from breaking open completely.

“I came out here to go home,” he said, voice raw now. “I wasn’t trying to chase you. I wasn’t trying to win anything. I just… saw you and knew I couldn’t leave like that. Not when you looked like—”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Like someone who’s miserable because the person she cares about doesn’t even see her?”

Bob stared.

The umbrella slipped in his hand slightly as his grip faltered. Your chest was rising and falling fast now, tears sliding down your cheeks again even as the rain tried to wash them away.

“You don’t get to be the only one hurt here,” you whispered, and Bob’s breath hitched at the sound.

Bob’s hands were trembling now, just barely, but he didn’t care if you noticed. The umbrella had shifted again, tilted awkwardly between you as the wind pushed it sideways, the handle slipping under his palm.

You stood there in front of him, soaked, furious, breaking right in front of him, and still so beautiful it physically hurt.

He reached out with his free hand, curling his fingers around your wrist gently, almost pleading. “Can we just—can we please go somewhere dry? Please? You’re shaking. I’m shaking. This is…”

“No.”

You didn’t yell it. You didn’t need to. You said it with steel in your voice, steady and clear, enough to stop him cold. His hand dropped back to his side, and the umbrella dipped lower, forgotten.

“You don’t get to do that,” you continued, eyes shining with something deeper than just tears. “You don’t get to show up and look at me like that and then leave. For two weeks, Bob. I bared my soul to you and then you disappeared. You looked at me like I meant something, like maybe I wasn’t alone in feeling this—and then you vanished.”

The words were falling faster now, unfiltered, raw. Your chest heaved as you stood your ground, unmoving, hair plastered to your face, water running down your neck.

“I spent the last two weeks thinking I imagined everything. That I was delusional. That maybe I was just another sad story in your life you didn’t want to deal with. I thought, hell, I thought maybe you were ashamed of me. That I’d embarrassed you somehow. Because how else do you explain silence like that, Bob? After everything—”

“I never—”

“No. Let me finish,” you snapped, voice cracking slightly. “You don’t get to shut me out and then show up and pretend like I’m the one who needs fixing. I was hurting, and you walked away. And I tried to pretend it didn’t break me but it did, Bob. It really did. And you know what’s worse? I would’ve forgiven you. I still—”

He dropped the umbrella.

It fell between you with a quiet thud, folding uselessly into the sand as the wind dragged it sideways. Then, in a single, swift step, he closed the distance between you, and his hands came up to your face, framing it with a tenderness that contradicted the desperate pull in his breath.

And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t shy. It was soaked and shaking and aching from two weeks of silence, from a year of almosts, from the weight of everything left unsaid.

His lips pressed to yours like he needed to be sure this was real, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he waited one second longer. You felt the way his chest rose against yours, the way his hands curled into your damp hair like he was anchoring himself.

He kissed you like someone drowning, and you kissed him back like you’d been waiting your whole damn life.

The moment their lips parted, Bob felt it like an ache. Not just in his chest, but in every part of him that had been holding back for too long. His breath came ragged, wet hair dripping into his eyes, and he let out a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looked at you.

There was a smile on his face now, gentle and quiet, like the storm had finally stilled, like maybe, just maybe, everything had been worth it.

Then, your hand hit his cheek with a sharp crack.

Bob reeled, not backward, just enough to blink the rain from his lashes and stare at you, stunned. His hand went instinctively to his cheek, now stinging from the slap, and he stood there completely still as you looked back at him with tears pouring down your face.

“What the hell was that?” you cried out, voice wobbling with more than just anger. “Why did you kiss me?! I—I had a whole speech, Bob! I practiced! I spent days trying to figure out how to say this to you and you—you just—”

“I—”

“I wasn’t done!” you snapped, both hands now clenched at your sides, your chest rising fast. “I had this whole damn thing ready and I was gonna look you in the eye and tell you that you make me feel like I’m not broken, that I feel safe with you and myself with you and God, Bob, you kissed me in the middle of it! What kind of timing, I mean, who does that?!”

He should’ve said something, but the lump in his throat was too thick, his heart too full. So instead, he stepped closer. One hand came up, trembling slightly as he touched your chin with the softest tip of his finger, lifting your face until your eyes met his again.

You looked furious, you looked wrecked, and you looked like you had waited for someone to choose you for far too long. And he did.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words catching like gravel in his throat.

His hand slid from your chin to your jaw, fingers brushing your cheekbone gently, the same one you had just slapped. His other hand found your lower back, firm and steady as he pulled you closer, pressing you carefully against him, like he was holding something fragile.

The rain was still pouring around you, but Bob didn’t feel it anymore. Not when you were this close.

His voice cracked on the first words.

“I didn’t mean to run,” he said, voice hoarse, barely audible over the storm. “I—I didn’t know what to do. I thought you were with Rooster. I saw you with him and it—it hurt so much I thought maybe I’d made the whole thing up in my head. That I was just… the background guy. Again. And I couldn’t stand it.”

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head quickly, eyes glassy. “Please, just… let me say this?”

You nodded.

“I love you.”

The words hit like a punch, and Bob had to blink fast as tears mixed with the rain on his face.

“I don’t know when it started,” he continued, stumbling slightly as the words finally spilled out, “but I think it was that first night at the bar when Penny introduced you to us. You were laughing at something Jake said, and I thought, God, I’m in trouble, because you looked at everyone like they were familiar, but when you looked at me, it felt like, like I mattered. And I never feel like that, not really.”

You were staring at him now, lips parted, rain dripping off your chin.

“And every time you talked to me, I couldn’t think straight. I’d remember later what I should have said, but in the moment, all I could do was hope you’d say something else just so I could keep hearing your voice. And then I saw you crushing on Rooster and I thought, Of course. Why wouldn’t you fall for the guy who’s everything I’m not?”

His thumb traced a gentle line under your eye, where a tear had carved a path.

“But then you looked at me that night on the beach. And I thought, maybe, Maybe I wasn’t just imagining it. Maybe I wasn’t being delusional.”

He took a breath, shaking.

“I love the way you talk when you’re too tired to filter yourself. I love how you take care of everyone, even when you’re falling apart. I love how stubborn you are. I love your damn porch swing, and the way you light up when you talk about stupid things like sandwich order preferences. I love every single part of you.”

His voice cracked again, eyes locked to yours.

“And I swear I would’ve said it sooner, if I wasn’t so afraid of losing the only thing in my life that felt good and real.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You didn’t have to. Bob could see it, your eyes glassy, your lips parted, your chest trembling from holding back too much for too long. You were crying, full and silent, the kind that made his chest twist because it meant you were really feeling it now.

And maybe he was too, because he didn’t even bother wiping at the tears running down his own cheeks.

What was the point? The rain was doing a damn good job of hiding them, but the heat in his throat said they were there anyway.

You reached up slowly, fingers brushing along the side of his neck, uncertain at first. Bob leaned into the touch like it was gravity, like the choice had already been made for him.

Your hand slid higher, into the mess of his damp hair, curling gently like it was something sacred.

He closed his eyes at that, just for a second. He didn’t need to look to feel it. He already knew that you were choosing him.

So, he kissed you.

And this time, it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed or chaotic or driven by panic. It was slow. It was soft.

It was the kind of kiss that unfolded instead of exploded, that whispered you’re safe here instead of screaming don’t leave me.

His hands stayed steady, one resting gently at the small of your back, the other brushing your jaw with the kind of care he always used when he handled delicate things.

Your fingers curled tighter in his hair, pulling him closer, and he went willingly, without hesitation. The rain kept falling, soaking through every layer of clothing, dripping down your joined hands, your cheeks, your chins. You were soaked, cold, and probably going to get sick after this.

And neither of you cared, because something in the world had finally shifted into place.

When you finally pulled apart, it was only by a breath. Just far enough for your foreheads to touch, noses brushing, tears still clinging to both of your faces.

“I love you too, Robert Floyd,” you whispered, voice cracking on his name like it was the only truth that ever mattered.

Bob laughed, quiet and hoarse, and leaned into you again, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face as he looked at you, really looked.

“Say it again,” he said, not because he didn’t believe it, but because he needed to hear it. Like a balm. Like a song.

You smiled, still crying. “I love you, Bob.”

And so, he kissed you again.

This time slower.

This time longer.

And this time like he’d never let you forget it.

#bob floyd x reader #bob x reader #bob floyd #top gun x reader #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake seresin #natasha trace #top gun fandom #avengxrz

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pagesfromthevoid · 2 months ago

Note

Begging for more future fest bob amd reader

Future Fest | b. f. | 3

Bob Floyd x teacher!reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Making out in public, Hangman is an asshole, suggestive content and allusions to sex

Author’s Note: Only because you asked so nicely, anon. Here’s another dream I had about Bob and his teacher, meeting the squad officially. GIF from @tomundsen

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | Coffee?

After the second date, there’s a third. Then a fourth. Even a fifth. And by the end of the month, she and Bob are full blown dating. Not that it came as a surprise, given after the first date he’d asked her to be his girl.

She likes that –being his girl.

She has never considered herself someone who dates a military man. Truthfully, the idea scares her –even now, a month and half into the relationship. Thoughts of long distance over deployments or uprooting her life sit in the back of her head. Is she willing to relocate if he asks? Is she okay with him being gone for weeks, months, even years at a time if she can’t join him?

She doesn’t know.

Of course, these are thoughts she keeps to herself. It’s too early in the relationship to even think about those things, let alone ask Bob. She thinks this might be it for her –and she told him she’s not dating just to date; he agreed –but she doesn’t know what Bob is thinking. She can assume but she doesn’t want to scare him off if she’s wrong.

Tonight, however, they’re taking a step forward. She’s going to the Hard Deck to meet his squad. Bob seemed reluctant at first, warning her that they can be kind of rowdy. But she reminded him she spends most of her time with high schoolers —nothing a few Navy pilots can do will bother her.

She’s already met Natasha, outside of the recruitment event. Bob insisted they meet pretty soon after their third date, wanting to make sure she knew Natasha was his partner and their jobs relied on trusting one another. She wondered at the time if he was worried she’d be jealous or something –but she was secure in herself and her relationship.

Natasha also pulled her aside at one point and reassured her that there was nothing there except familial love.

The Hard Deck is loud when she walks in. She’s been here once before, during a teacher appreciation event where they served teachers a free round. It isn’t exactly her kind of place; not anymore, at least. Ask her 21 year old self and this place would have been tame for her.

She’s looking around for Bob, holding her purse strap a bit tighter than usual. She’s not sure why she’s nervous to meet his friends; she’s already met Jake, and Bob promised he’s the worst of them. But she is, and she slips up to the bar to find something solid to lean on for a second.

“Need a drink?” The bartender asks, and she’s smiling at her.

“Uh, yeah. Cranberry and vodka? Probably make it a double.”

“Can do.”

“You wouldn’t by chance know where Lieutenant Floyd is, would you?” She asks, leaning against the bar as her drink is slid in front of her.

The bartender practically beams at her, pointing at her. “Oh, you’re the teacher. Bob mentioned you’d be coming by —I’m Penny. Your drinks on his tab, then.” Penny points over towards the back of the bar, grinning at her. “He’s back playing pool with the rest of the squad.”

She blushes at the idea that he’s talked about her to the bartender of their favorite bar. But she thanks Penny, taking her drink and taking a long drag of the cocktail. Then she weaves through the crowd, only stopping when she comes to the top of the short steps.

Bob is leaning over the table, stretching out to make a shot. She leans against the banister, unable to help herself as her eyes trail over his arms down to his hands. He's lean, but there’s a strength under that uniform that can’t be seen. And she loves how he feels against her. They’ve gotten pretty handsy in the last month and half, but they’re taking their time. Enjoying learning how the other ticks.

But that certainly doesn’t mean she doesn’t like to stare a little. Or imagine those hands on her thighs or in her hair when she’s dropped off at home and alone in her bed.

“You gonna stand there and eye fuck Baby on Board or you gonna go introduce yourself?” Hangman asks, loud enough to announce her presence, and puts a hand on her shoulder. She feels heat rising to her ears as she looks up at the pilot in disgust.

Bob finally looks up though, eyes falling on her. He’s smiling at her brightly, handing his pool stick off to Natasha, whose glaring daggers at Hangman. As he approaches, Bob turns to Jake, and his smile fades to be a little more dark.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to my girl like that,” he states, voice low. He puts his hand on Hangman’s shoulder, and she watches as his knuckles turn a little whiter as he squeezes. That motion –this side of him that she’s not seen yet –does something to her. Feels it in her stomach, between her thighs.

Hangman, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised by this reaction. He just pulls away and puts his hands up. “Apologies, Bobby.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Bob counters, nodding to her.

The pilot turns to her, nodding. “Apologies, ma’am. Wasn’t trying to offend.”

“Yet you always manage,” Bob says, dropping his hand from Jake’s shoulder and taking her hand. He pulls her over towards the rest of the team, his usual demeanor returning as he introduces her to everyone.

“You’ve met Nat and Bagman,” he continues without missing a beat. Then he motions to everyone else –and she’s taking mental notes as he does. Rooster, Coyote, Fanboy, Payback. All call signs, all names she’ll easily remember on top of their actual names.

Rooster –Bradley –extends his hand and smiles at her politely. “Pleasure to meet you finally.”

“Finally being the key word,” Fanboy –Mickey –teases, taking her hand once Bradley lets her go. “He’s always on his phone when he’s not workin’ now –definitely can see why though.”

She laughs as Bob pulls up a chair for her, his hand never leaving her lower back. He’s always been a perfect gentleman with her; but now he’s…well, she doesn’t want to think possessive but that’s certainly how she feels. And she would be lying if she said she isn’t kind of into it. Or a lot into it.

Crossing one leg under her as she sits down, she takes in the faces of the people that seem to mean a lot to her boyfriend. They’re all grinning, teasing one another like they’re a family. And maybe they are, she thinks. They have to rely on one another like a family –probably even more so, honestly.

“You play, miss teacher?” Rooster asks, holding the pool stick to her.

“Oh, uh,” she pauses, then nods, setting her drink down and taking the stick. Bob immediately picks up her glass, holding it close –protecting it. “I do. Not well –it’s been a while.”

“Well rack’em up. Let’s go.”

“Bobby can show you if you need him to,” Hangman teases, though she shoots him a warning look with a smirk on her face.

There’s two options now.

One, she can put in the actual effort it takes to be decent at pool –and she is pretty good at it, really. Knock these Navy boys down a few pegs.

Or two, she can feign ignorance and have Bob “teach” her to play pool. Let him lean over her and put his hands on her.

The only downside –the only one –is the teasing she absolutely knows will come from option two. She doesn’t mind the teasing, but she knows Bob gets a bit riled up from it. He’s mentioned it before, how sometimes it goes a little too far.

She decides that option two is far more fun, and she can make it up to him later.

“It’s been a hot minute,” she admits, looking at Bob with a flirty grin. “I could do with a reminder.”

“Oh, uh,” He hesitates, just a second, before handing Natasha her drink and standing up. “Yeah, of course.”

She suddenly regrets wearing jeans as he stands behind her, taking the pool stick to help her line up the shot. He’s explaining what to do –actually explaining it, bless his heart –before leaning her over the table. One of his hands is guiding down hers, holding the pool stick carefully. The other is on her lower back.

Someone wolf whistles. She has no idea who. She doesn’t even care, honestly. Because even though her shot is bad, she’s pressed back into Bob when she stands up and his hand moves to rest on her hip, right where her shirt rides up.

“Woops,” she sighs, looking up at him from over her shoulder. She stands on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Guess you’ll have to give me some more lessons.”

He’s blushing brightly, nodding some as he sits back down. She wants to take a picture so bad. He’s cute like this; even cuter when she considers how he was acting just barely half an hour ago.

The teasing came just soon after she “tries” again, but she passes the game off to Natasha in exchange for her drink. Feeling bold still, she moves to sit on Bob’s lap, perched on his knee. He immediately pulls her against him, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Having fun yet?” She asks, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh yeah,” he grins, wrapping his arm around her waist. “I think you’re having more fun than I am, though.”

“I might be,” she admits, setting her glass on the counter behind them. Then she shifts some, draping her arms around his neck and sits sideways in his lap. “Is that okay?”

“I like that you’re flirting with me,” he confesses, his hand finding itself resting on the top of her thighs. His thumb rubs circles dangerously close to the inside. “Didn’t do a lot of that before you agreed to be my girl.”

“I can flirt more, if you’d like,” she offers, running her fingers over the hair at the nape of his neck. “Could go to the bar, you can pick me up.”

He chuckles at that, squeezing her thigh gently. “No, no –I am perfectly fine with this.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” she teases, guiding his face to look at her so she can kiss him softly.

His grip on her thighs tightens as he returns the kiss, unable to help himself. He doesn’t seem to care that anyone else is around, especially as his hand slides further up her thigh. Her hand is tugging at his hair and he holds back a sound that she can feel in his chest. Someone clears their throat, and they pull away from each other, both a little out of breath but grinning.

Reluctantly, she pulls away from him and stands. But she extends her hand to him, nodding towards the door. There’s no hesitation as he takes her hand and follows her lead –with his squad hollering and whistling after him. Risking a peek over her shoulder, she sees the flush on his cheeks but he’s smiling as they slip out the back door of the bar.

She’s about to ask him where he wants to go but he’s on her before any word can get out, pressing her up against the wall outside. There’s no helping the moan that escapes her lips as she grabs at his belt to pull him flush against her. His hands are on her jaw, holding her in place as he parts her lips with his tongue, slipping it in without argument from her.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he breathes, lips brushing over hers as he pulls away just enough to press his forehead against hers. His glasses are fogged over, and he’s trying to catch his breath. “But I think you know that.”

“I do,” she grins, one of her hands reaching up to hold the back of his head so he can’t get away. “Couldn’t help it. Between the uniform and how you stood up for me earlier…honestly, it was hot.”

“Oh yeah?” His hands find her hips, pulling her against him –a knee pressing between her legs. She gasps at the friction it causes, unable to control it. “I wasn’t doing anything but stickin’ up for my girl.”

“Still the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” she sighs, hips bucking involuntarily against his thigh.

“Think you can wait ‘til we’re back at your place?” He asks, voice low in her ear as he holds her still. “I’d rather our first time not be against the wall of the Hard Deck. Was kinda hoping to make it special.”

“I think this is very special,” she teases, a breathy laugh escaping her lips. “But I can wait, I promise.”

He grins himself, pulling away from her entirely. Though he keeps one hand on her hips as he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Should we say goodbye?” She asks, looking up at him as she smooths out her shirt. She’s certain she knows the answer though.

“Absolutely not.”

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd #robert floyd #robert floyd x reader #top gun #top gun maverick #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader

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itwillbethescarletwitch · 1 month ago

Text

Under Neon Lights

bob floyd x fem!aviator!reader

call sign: Whiskey

The bass was already hitting before they even got out of the Uber.

It thumped through the pavement, up their legs, like a second heartbeat under the streetlights. The whole squad piled out of the SUV, laughter spilling into the night. It was hot, humid, coastal air clinging to their skin, the kind that stuck to your clothes in all the right (and wrong) places.

Phoenix was the first out, pulling the door open with a grin. “If anyone leaves sober, I’m disowning you.”

Fanboy climbed out after her with a snort. “If I go missing, check the DJ booth.”

Payback pointed at him. “No, check the bar. That’s where your heart lives.”

Then came Bob—tall, quiet, awkward as hell in his fitted navy button-down and clean jeans, adjusting his glasses and scanning the building like he was about to walk into a mission briefing.

And then there was you—Whiskey—last one out.

You swung your legs out slow, like you knew every single person was already watching. Hair down. Lip gloss shimmering. Tight black dress that hugged your hips and stopped mid-thigh. Heels loud on the concrete as you stepped forward, eyes gleaming under the city lights.

Bob looked up at the sound of your heels and nearly forgot how to breathe.

Cyclone had approved a rare Friday night leave for all of you after a brutal round of training simulations, and you’d picked the club—a slightly off-the-radar, neon-lit spot downtown with just enough grime to feel cool and just enough glitter to feel dangerous.

The bouncer looked you all over—first with suspicion, then with a grin.

“Y’all Navy?” he asked, cocking his head.

Hangman clapped a hand to Bob’s shoulder and smirked. “You could say that.”

The velvet rope dropped.

Inside, the club pulsed—dim lights flickering pink, purple, gold. The bar to the left glowed like a spaceship, rows of bottles catching light as the bartenders moved like magicians. The dance floor was packed, hips grinding, drinks spilling, music vibrating through every surface. A full sensual hum of bass and breath and heat.

Phoenix whistled low. “Okay, okay. She doesn’t look like much outside, but she’s a whole mood in here.”

“Right?” you smirked, tugging her hand. “Come on. First round’s on me.”

Hangman muttered under his breath, “If this ends in a conga line, I’m out.”

The crew split naturally—Fanboy and Payback made a beeline for the bar to order drinks with way too much liquor and way too little class. Phoenix leaned into you, the two of you laughing as you started naming songs you wanted to hear. Your hips were already swaying before you made it to the bar. Music was your oxygen tonight.

Bob hovered by the edge of the group, a quiet current in a storm, eyes locked on you—how easily you moved, how alive you looked under colored lights, like you belonged in a music video or a fever dream.

“Whatcha drinkin’, Whiskey?” Phoenix yelled over the bass.

“Tequila and trouble,” you shot back with a wink.

Bob nearly choked on his own breath.

You turned toward him, as if you’d felt his eyes on you, and smiled softly. “You gonna stand there all night, Floyd, or are you gonna come get corrupted?”

His mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again.

“I—I’m coming,” he stammered.

Hangman barked a laugh. “Not yet, I hope.”

You tossed your head back laughing. “Down, cowboy.”

Everyone grabbed drinks, shots, cocktails, beers. Toasts clinked. Someone shouted something about “to bad decisions” and Fanboy tried to start a chant that flopped so hard you all had to pretend it never happened.

Then—the DJ shifted tracks.

You knew it within five seconds.

You shrieked, “PHOENIX—IT’S PINK PONY CLUB!”

“Oh shit!” Phoenix screamed, slamming her shot glass down.

And like that, you were gone. Glasses abandoned, drinks forgotten, you both grabbed each other’s hands and hit the dance floor. You were singing every word at full volume, twirling under the strobes, laughing so hard you nearly fell.

Phoenix shouted to Hangman as she danced past, “Try to keep up, Texas!”

“Not with you two!” he shouted back. “You’ve got main character syndrome!”

Back at the table, Bob watched it all unfold like a man possessed.

You in that dress. You lit up. You singing every line to a glitter-pop anthem like you wrote it yourself. You locking eyes with him mid-chorus, tongue poking out between your teeth, daring him without a word.

He took a long sip of his drink and thought, Heaven help me.

You were just getting started.

———

The lights dimmed just a little deeper.

The beat slowed down.

That soft, sensual guitar riff slid through the speakers like honey. The kind of sound that curled low in your spine and made you sway before you even realized you were moving. And when Romeo Santos whispered the first line, you turned around slowly like you already knew the next chapter of your night had just arrived.

Hangman clocked it instantly. “Oh no.”

You grinned, stalking toward him with the dangerous confidence of a woman who knew what she was doing.

“Oh yes,” you purred.

“Whiskey,” he warned. “I don’t know how to dance to this. This is like… forbidden fruit music.”

“Then consider this your crash course,” you said, grabbing him by the hand. “C’mon, cowboy. I’ll lead.”

“You always do,” he muttered under his breath.

You dragged him onto the dance floor just as Usher’s verse slid in, and he stood there stiffly for a second like he was preparing for a goddamn duel.

“Relax,” you said, stepping in close—closer than close. Your palm landed gently on his shoulder, guiding him. “It’s just three steps. And hips. Always the hips.”

“I have hips,” he said, sounding personally offended.

“Prove it.”

You swayed.

He followed, stiff as a board, and you burst into laughter. “Oh my God, you move like a tax form.”

“Ma’am, this is harassment.”

“This is bachata,” you said, “and you’re doing it with me, so shut up and move your hips.”

Slowly, painfully, he started to get it. You led with subtle, practiced rhythm, rolling your hips just enough to make it dangerous. The beat was slow, romantic, every movement a suggestion instead of a shout. Your hands moved—up his arm, across his shoulder, back down again, always in time with the music.

And then you flipped it—your back to him, his hand on your hip.

He audibly swallowed.

“This feels illegal,” he whispered into your ear.

“Only if you’re doing it right,” you murmured, rocking your hips back into him.

Hangman froze. Fully froze.

You laughed and reached back to grab his hand. “Don’t lock up on me, Texas. Move with me.”

By the time the chorus hit, he’d stopped thinking. You had him—completely in your rhythm, moving like his bones belonged to you. A hand on your hip, the other brushing your arm, breath hot at your neck. He kept messing up the steps, but you didn’t care. He was trying. And he was sweating.

You leaned in and whispered, “You’re a little heavy on the lead, Lieutenant.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m not used to dancing like this.”

“No one is. That’s why it works.”

And God, it worked.

By the time the song faded out, Hangman looked like he’d just run a marathon. His hair was sticking to his forehead. His eyes were wide. You turned around slowly, chest to chest, face inches from his, and grinned.

“Well?”

Hangman didn’t answer right away.

He just staggered off the dance floor, shoulders loose, lips parted, breathing like he needed a defibrillator. He got halfway back to the table where Bob, Payback, and Fanboy were watching with drinks in hand before he turned back and said—

“What the fuck? I’m never dancing bachata again. It was too much.”

Fanboy spit beer.

Payback howled.

Bob? Bob looked like he was experiencing a medical event.

Because the whole time Hangman had been struggling through that dance, Bob had been picturing himself in his place—your hips, your hands, your laugh, all pressed against someone else. And now that image was seared into his skull.

And the worst part? You looked even hotter walking off that dance floor, flushed and smiling, dress clinging to every curve like it had something to say.

Bob downed half his drink and prayed.

Hangman had barely recovered from his bachata-induced near-death experience when the speakers shifted again—this time, snapping into a sharp, punchy beat that practically demanded a comeback.

Phoenix grinned.

You turned to her like you were psychic.

“Oh hell yes,” you both said at the same time.

“New Rules.”

“I’ll get us shots,” Payback offered quickly, fully aware of what was about to happen.

Fanboy was already screaming. “OH THEY’RE ABOUT TO GET STUPID WITH IT—SOMEBODY GET A CAMERA.”

You didn’t even look back. You and Phoenix locked eyes, nodded like it was a military maneuver, and hit the floor hard—boots stomping, hips snapping, hair flying. It wasn’t sexy the way Promise had been. This was commanding. Sharp. Confident. Bitchy in the best way.

You knew every lyric.

So did she.

And together? Y’all were untouchable.

“I got new rules, I count ‘em—

One, don’t pick up the phone—”

You pointed at each other like backup dancers in formation. Phoenix spun, hair whipping around her shoulders as she mouthed every word. You dropped into a low shimmy, one hand dragging slowly down your body like a slow clap for your own damn self. The people around you started cheering.

Even the DJ hyped it.

Bob watched with his jaw slack, eyes laser-focused on you like you were some kind of divine punishment sent from heaven to wreck his life in real time.

Because God help him, when you danced like this—with that much joy, that much power, like the entire damn club was your personal runway—he couldn’t even breathe.

Fanboy leaned over. “She’s doing that on purpose.”

“I know,” Bob said quietly.

“She’s killing you.”

“I know.”

Payback slid in next to him. “This is like watching someone flirt by stepping on your throat.”

“I KNOW.”

You grabbed Phoenix’s hand and spun her under your arm like y’all were in a music video, then bumped hips dramatically as you shouted the chorus together—

“I gotta tell them to myself—

DON’T GET UNDER HIM!!”

You were laughing, singing, stomping, alive, and it was contagious. A group of girls joined you on the floor. Even a couple of guys followed your lead. It was a damn movement. You and Phoenix were at the center of it—two fighter pilots fully locked into your off-duty, out-of-uniform, hot girl night out energy.

The song ended in chaos.

Screaming. Clapping. One random girl hugged you and Phoenix like y’all had just saved her from her ex.

You stumbled back to the table, glowing and breathless, and collapsed onto the seat next to Bob.

“You good?” you asked, winking.

He didn’t answer at first. Just blinked slowly like someone rebooting after a blackout.

“…Fine.”

Your smirk turned dangerous.

“You sure? You look a little flushed.”

He was going to combust.

But before he could answer, the DJ clicked something low and filthy into the speakers.

The lights in the club shifted.

Dimmed low.

Tinted red.

Velvet and sin.

And then—

“You make it look like it’s magic…”

You froze mid-laugh.

Phoenix clutched your forearm with a gasp. “Oh my god.”

You looked at her.

She looked at you.

Fanboy looked between you both and whispered, “Uh oh.”

“Cause I see nobody, nobody but you…”

Phoenix started shaking your arm. “Please.”

“No.”

“Please, I’m begging.”

You were already smiling. “Phoenix—”

“Whiskey,” she said in full government tone. “Give me this.”

Bob’s mouth was dry.

Payback was suddenly on the edge of his seat. “Wait, wait, wait, is this happening—”

Phoenix stood and shouted, hands cupped around her mouth:

“ONE SOLO. THAT’S ALL I’M ASKING.”

People nearby turned. The group of girls who danced with you earlier screamed like they’d been waiting for this exact moment their whole lives.

You sipped your drink with faux innocence and turned toward Bob, voice sweet:

“You mind?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Phoenix wants a show.”

Bob opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Swallowed hard.

Phoenix shoved your drink out of your hand and dragged you to your feet before you could change your mind.

“You’re a menace,” you hissed at her as she pulled you to the middle of the floor.

“And you’re the main character,” she said proudly. “Go ruin someone’s life.”

“Girl you’re perfect… you’re always worth it…”

You started slow.

Hips swaying, back turned to the table. Hands sliding down the curves of your body like you were setting a fire only you could survive. You danced like honey off the comb—sweet, sensual, dangerous if taken too fast.

Bob was not breathing.

You turned your head just enough to catch him watching.

Frozen. Blushing. Swallowing hard.

“You earned it…”

Your hands lifted above your head. Eyes half-lidded, a little smile playing at your lips. You moved like the song had seeped under your skin—like temptation given form. Your fingers traced a lazy line down your neck, chest, hips. Every movement deliberate. Languid. Intimate.

The room around you blurred.

It wasn’t about the crowd.

It was about him.

And he knew it.

“On that lonely night…”

You turned toward him fully. Walked.

The crowd parted instinctively. Even Phoenix stepped back like she knew something sacred was about to go down.

Bob’s eyes widened as you sauntered closer.

You stopped right in front of him.

Bent just enough to whisper in his ear—

“I like when you look at me like that.”

He made a quiet, strangled sound that did things to your spine.

You pulled back, smirking.

Straightened.

Walked away before you could see his soul leave his body.

Phoenix screamed, “WHISKEY!!” and collapsed into the booth like she’d been tackled.

Payback stood up and fanned himself with a napkin.

Fanboy fell off the couch.

Bob hadn’t blinked in two full minutes.

You slid back into your seat like nothing happened.

Picked up your drink.

Took a sip.

Bob still hadn’t moved.

You leaned toward him and purred, “You doing okay, Lieutenant?”

His hand gripped the edge of the table like he was trying not to levitate.

“…Fine.”

———

The DJ fades into the next track — Neighbors Know My Name — and the booth erupts.

Phoenix throws her head back laughing. “Oh hell yes!” she yells, pounding the table like a judge handing down a sentence. “WHISKEY, PERFORMANCE. NOW.”

Fanboy nearly chokes on his drink. “This is not a drill—this is the horny Hunger Games!”

You stand without a word, just smirking, already moving toward Bob with purpose.

He’s stiff in the booth, hands gripping the edge like he’s bracing for impact.

You straddle him.

Dead silence at the table. Payback whispers, “He’s not surviving this.”

The first lyric hits:

“Soon as we get started making love, goin’ hard I hear a…

(Knock knock) knock knock, knock on the wall.”

Your hips roll against him, slow and controlled, dragging your hands up his chest like you’re carving your name into him.

Bob’s head drops back, a sharp exhale punching out of him.

“And as soon as I go deep, gettin’ it in then again

There goes the (knock knock) knock knock, knock on the wall.”

You mouth the words right in his ear, breath hot, your fingers threading through his hair while your hips grind a slow, relentless rhythm against him.

Bob groans — loud.

The table reacts like a sports bar watching a Hail Mary pass.

Fanboy stands and shouts, “REF! I’M CALLING A TIMEOUT! SHE’S KILLING HIM!”

Phoenix is doubled over, pounding the table again. “SHE’S LITERALLY ENDING HIS BLOODLINE.”

“Bet the neighbors know my name, They be stressin’ while we sexin’”

You whisper the line, and Bob shudders.

You lean back, still on him, your hands on your thighs now, chest heaving as you move to the music like you were born for this exact moment.

“Girl the love we make, gone keep banging on the wall”

Phoenix throws a fry at Fanboy. “Put your tongue back in your mouth.”

“I CAN’T,” Fanboy yells. “I THINK I SAW HEAVEN.”

Bob grabs your waist now — tightly — and for a second, his lips almost crash into yours.

But you pull back, teasing, smirking. “You haven’t earned that yet.”

The table groans in sync.

Payback: “Okay but like… I’m a little in love with her too now.”

———

You hear the beat first — a deep dembow, hips-first kind of rhythm — and immediately your whole posture changes. The sway in your walk turns hypnotic. You’re not teasing anymore.

You’re showing off now.

Fanboy sees your face and literally gasps. “Oh no. Oh no. I know that look. That’s a heritage unlock.”

Payback holds up a napkin like a white flag. “I surrender. I can’t handle what’s coming.”

Phoenix leans back like she’s watching the climax of a telenovela. “Y’all. Watch this.”

You turn to Bob, lifting a single brow. “Can you keep up?”

He swallows. “I can try.”

You pull him to his feet like he’s being summoned by a goddess. The music crashes in fully — the percussion pounding, the lyrics fast, raw, spicy. You don’t just dance to this.

You embody it.

You roll your hips, fast and tight, your hands sliding along your waist as you move like you were born in the music. Bob’s behind you now — both of you dancing together, the heat between your bodies blazing.

The lyrics fly:

“Tú me pones mal, baby, con ese cuerpo criminal…”

You drop it low. He stutters. You throw your arm back and wrap it around his neck, winding your hips against him.

Bob’s jaw is clenched, knuckles white on your waist.

Fanboy is straight-up praying at the table. “Santa María, Madre de Dios—”

Phoenix smacks him. “SHUT UP AND LET HER COOK.”

You spin in Bob’s arms and let the beat take you — chest to chest, lips inches apart, and then…

You mouth the next lyric right at his lips, eyes dark, heat dripping from every syllable:

“Tú y yo no somos santos… pero eso es lo que me encanta.”

The tension’s nuclear now. His hands are everywhere — waist, hips, back — like he doesn’t know where to touch first, but he knows he can’t stop.

You’re a whole storm in a black dress.

And he’s drowning beautifully.

———

The lights dim just slightly. A familiar guitar riff slides into the speakers.

The gasps are immediate.

The beginning of “Ella y Yo” echoes through the club.

Phoenix goes, “No—NO. Don’t even think about it.”

You and Fanboy rise in sync from your chairs like you’ve rehearsed this for Broadway.

Whiskey’s jaw is tight, eyes narrowed.

Fanboy’s shaking his head, already pacing in a circle like he’s about to defend himself in court.

The squad? Losing it. Payback has tears forming already.

WHISKEY (storming forward, intense):

“Y te repito, lucha por amor…”

FANBOY (pointing a finger, defensive):

“No me aconsejes en tu posición.”

WHISKEY (mocking):

“Quizás su marido no mande en su corazón.”

FANBOY (louder now):

“No sabes quién es víctima en esta confusión!”

WHISKEY (arms flung wide, voice breaking):

“¡No seas tan tonto, lucha por amor!”

FANBOY (pacing in a full circle):

“No, no me aconsejes en tu posición.”

WHISKEY:

“Quizás ese tipo no mande en su corazón.”

FANBOY (stepping in close):

“Tú no sabes quién es víctima en esta confusión.”

You both pause.

The beat swells.

And then—

⸻

FANBOY (quiet, almost regretful):

“Amigo pido perdón, yo nunca te fallé…”

He grips an imaginary rosary as he continues:

“Me traicionaron las ganas de volverla a ver…”

WHISKEY is glaring, pacing behind him like a betrayed lover.

FANBOY (emotional):

“Y aunque todavía no puedo creer… lo que este amargo encuentro me hizo comprender…”

He turns to you with raw pain in his voice:

“Pues tú también llegaste a ese lugar…”

“Donde tantas veces yo la fui a buscar…”

Phoenix screams, “OH MY GODDDD!”

FANBOY (fully yelling now):

“Y aunque no es fácil lo que voy a hacer…”

“Admitiré que salí con tu mujer.”

⸻

WHISKEY (eyes wide):

“…¿QUÉ?!”

TOGETHER:

“Salí con tu mujer!

Salí con tu mujer!

Salí con tu mujer!”

The dance floor erupts. People are clapping, hooting, and a couple of strangers even join the dramatics like it’s a flash mob.

WHISKEY (gritted teeth, biting out every word):

“Que te perdone Dios, yo no lo voy a hacer…”

“Los perdí a los dos y a la misma vez…”

She spins, grabbing a beer bottle off the table like it’s a fake Oscar trophy.

“Ya veo que todo era mentira cuando ella me decía…”

“Que se iba pa’ Puerto Rico a vacaciones con su amiga…”

Fanboy winces.

Payback is curled in a ball, laughing.

“Me mintió, tú y ella en una cama, allá en Bayamón…”

“Quizás en Isla Verde o Carolina, ¡cuántos hoteles ensució!”

WHISKEY (pointing directly in Fanboy’s face):

“TÚ TAMBIÉN. LOS ODIO A LOS DOS!”

⸻

FANBOY (suddenly soft):

“(No me entiendes…)”

He clutches his chest.

“Que yo, soy quien más sufro con todo esto…”

“Me mata el dolor…”

“Fue una traición…”

“Perdí un amigo por la tentación…”

“…Perdón.”

He lowers his eyes and breathes the last word like a dagger:

“…Adiós.”

⸻

Silence.

Phoenix chokes on her drink.

The table is dead quiet.

The lights pulse purple, pink, and gold. The air’s thick with sweat, laughter, and the scent of overpriced tequila. Phones are still out, people still hollering from the last performance—“¡Eso fue una novela, carajo!”

But the DJ—cheeky bastard that he is—knows exactly what to do next.

The club falls silent for half a beat.

Then:

🎶 “Si te invito a una copa y me acerco a tu boca…” 🎶

The first strum of Romeo Santos’ “Propuesta Indecente” slides over the speakers like silk.

Whiskey gasps. Fanboy’s already backing up, laughing.

“No. Nooo. We just got out of a scandal—”

Too late. She grabs his wrist and drags him back to the floor, hips already rolling with the beat, that devilish grin on her lips.

WHISKEY (singing, seductive, almost whispering):

“Si te invito a una copa y me acerco a tu boca…”

“Si te robo un besito, a ver, ¿te enojas conmigo?”

Fanboy groans—playfully tortured. “You’re going to get me killed.”

FANBOY (singing, overly dramatic):

“¿Qué dirías si esta noche te seduzco en mi coche…”

“Que se empañen los vidrios y la regla es que goces?”

Their hips are already locked. Whiskey’s hands slide slowly up Fanboy’s chest. She spins, her back to him again, grinding low—

WHISKEY (teasing, turning her head over her shoulder):

“Si te falto el respeto y luego culpo al alcohol…”

“Si levanto tu falda, ¿me darías el derecho…”

FANBOY:

“…A medir tu sensatez?”

“Poner en juego tu cuerpo…”

“Si te parece prudente…”

BOTH (in sync, sultry as hell):

“Esta propuesta indecente…”

Phoenix SCREAMS and nearly knocks over her drink. Payback falls out of his seat. Even Bob chokes, eyes locked on Whiskey as her body moves like the music is built into her bones.

🎶 “Permíteme apreciar tu desnudez… (take it off)”

“Relájate…”

“Que este Martini calmará tu timidez…” (don’t be shy) 🎶

Whiskey whispers the words as she drapes herself over Fanboy, her hands slipping into his hair. He plays along, leaning into it—committed to the bit like a true drama kid.

WHISKEY (in his ear, breath hot):

“Y una aventura es más divertida…”

“Si huele a peligro…”

FANBOY (responding, grinning wide):

“Si te invito a una copa y me acerco a tu boca…”

“Si te robo un besito, a ver, ¿te enojas conmigo?”

WHISKEY (face inches from his):

“¿Qué dirías si esta noche te seduzco en mi coche?”

“Que se empañen los vidrios y la regla es que goces…”

They sway. They grind. They turn the dance floor into satin sin. People are filming. Couples are making out in the shadows. The vibe is unholy and unstoppable.

🎶 “I’m back…”

“It feels good to be king…”

“Gostoso…”

“Hey…”

“Listen, I know what you like…” 🎶

Fanboy raises a brow. “This you?”

WHISKEY (mock-serious, with a wink):

“How ‘bout if you and I, me and you—bailamos bachata…”

She pulls him into another spin, now dragging the front of his shirt toward her.

WHISKEY (singing):

“¿Terminamo’ en la cama?”

(She grins, mouthing: “que rico.”)

FANBOY:

“How ‘bout if you and I, me and you…”

“¿Bailamos bachata?”

She lets him spin her out, then drags herself back into him, hips never stopping.

BOTH (loud, laughing, drenched in sweat):

“¿Terminamos en la cama?”

And they do it again. And again. And again. Until the whole club is either chanting along or begging them to get a room.

———

The bass drops like a body in the dark.

Whiskey turns slowly on her heel, drink in hand. the second she hears the track change—

She grins.

🎶 “Come and ride on me like the waves…”

Bob looks up from the table. She’s already walking toward him.

🎶 “I flip the pages ’cause I wrote the book on the way…”

“Whiskey,” he starts—warning? prayer? plea?—but she’s climbing right into his lap before he can finish the word.

One knee on each side. Body flush against his. Hands resting on his shoulders like she owns the air around him.

🎶 “How to sex you up, sex you up…”

She rolls her hips once, slow enough to be dangerous. His hands fly to her waist like instinct.

🎶 “We can do it like I’m on the stage, we’ll have an audience…”

He’s not breathing.

She mouths it against his ear—

“Baby, I’ll show you the way that I sex you up…”

He groans so softly it’s almost a whimper.

She leans in, soft and close enough to kiss—but doesn’t.

Instead, she whispers, “I’m not done with you yet.”

🎶 “Baby, just stay comfortable / I want you as you are…”

Bob swallows hard. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

🎶 “Let’s not get emotional / Let’s be who we are…”

She smiles sweetly. “Then don’t.”

🎶 “Keep your eyes closed ’til I roll through…”

Her hips roll again—lazy, slow, torturous.

🎶 “Somebody splittin’ your knees / Don’t worry, that’s me…”

Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback—they’re all frozen, pretending to drink or talk, pretending not to watch a public meltdown happen in real time.

Bob’s flushed. Breathing hard. Wholly undone.

🎶 “Baby, you ain’t gotta tell me what you want…”

———

The song winds down—

Usher’s last moaned lyric disappearing into the thud of the next beat. Bob looks wrecked. Flushed. Eyes heavy. Still gripping the edge of his seat like it’s the only thing tethering him to the floor.

Whiskey leans in one last time, her nose brushing his jaw, lips warm with tequila and trouble.

“Be right back,” she hums.

And just like that, she’s sliding off his lap—slowly, cruelly, like she knows exactly what kind of hell she’s leaving him in—and saunters off toward the bar.

Phoenix exhales hard. Fanboy whispers, “She did all that on a remix. God help us if the DJ ever plays ‘Wicked Games.’”

Bob’s hands are still in his lap. Fists clenched. He watches Whiskey disappear into the crowd, hips swaying with the same rhythm she used to ruin him.

He stands up.

The bartender is wiping down the counter when Whiskey slides into the empty space. She taps twice on the counter. “One more of whatever that cherry cinnamon thing was—”

“Whiskey.”

She turns.

Bob’s behind her. Eyes still dark, voice rougher than she’s ever heard it. He steps close—too close. One arm on the bar next to her, the other on her waist like he can’t stop himself anymore.

“Uh… you kinda need to stop,” Bob says, voice a little breathless, like he’s trying to keep it together but failing.

Whiskey blinks, surprised. “Wait. Did I just embarrass you?”

He scrambles for words, cheeks burning hotter. “Yeah. Kind of. But… not exactly the way you’d expect.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Whiskey says softly, the teasing edge melting away as guilt colors her tone. She bites her lip, suddenly aware of the heat radiating between them.

Then, almost without thinking, Bob reaches out, capturing her hand and sliding it down—right to where his body tells a very different story than his shy words.

Whiskey freezes, wide-eyed. Her breath catches, heart skipping. “Oh. OH!” she says, voice hushed but daring. “Well… do you want to go home and fix that?”

Bob’s eyes darken with something playful and a little dangerous. “Nope,” he says, lips curling into a smirk. “I think I wanna suffer a little more.”

Whiskey grins, the kind of wicked smile that promises trouble. “Kinky,” she purrs.

The bar noise melts away around them. For a moment, it’s just the two of them—caught between fire and ice, and neither willing to back down.

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rhettrosunsets · 28 days ago

Text

Basking In Your Light - Bob Floyd X Fem! Reader

Pairing: Bob Floyd X Fem!Bartender Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Love Confession.

Summary: You've always been the one who tried to make peoples days brighter, make people know that someone cared. But when someone say's you're too much, Bob notices, and he's quick to tell you, you're anything but too much.

Masterlist

Word Count: 1,931

Warnings: Men in the bar being complete assholes and making a somewhat sexual comments!! Self deprecating thoughts from reader, readers over thinking. No use of Y/N, no description of what reader looks like. Reader is often described to light up a room and is very outgoing.

Edited ✅

You'd always liked being a bit loud, a bit chaotic, and you just always liked making people smile.

Not in a flashy kind of way but the sort of way people would recognize you for your quick wit, remembering your distinct laugh that always broke through quiet moments, the way you were always cracking a joke to make someone smile if you noticed they were having a bad day, the way you could light up a whole room without trying too hard.

The Hard Deck was often like your home most nights, and you wore your charm and heart on your sleeve. Always available for everyone around to see. You’d mastered the quick banter, the soft yet flirty teasing that pilots would often do with you, the flipping off bottle caps into the trash can behind your back when you handed someone a beer. You just loved making people smile, you liked being the reason they felt at ease, like they could breathe a bit easier, like they had someone to confide in, even if they didn’t know anyone in the room.

But tonight, you just felt deflated. You’d had a shit-show of a day so far. You overslept entirely, making your day much shorter than intended, your errands got pushed off to tomorrow for the sake of trying to get through your day, and your check engine light in the car came on again, something you knew you couldn’t afford to have breakdown right now.

You’d barely gotten through the first hour of your shift when you'd overheard it, some smug voice from the back of the bar, his voice low and sharp like it was meant to slip under your skin and sting as hard as it could with the amount of venom in the man's voice.

“She’s a bit much huh? Doesn’t know when to fucking shut up and quit that polite act of hers. Girls like that always need the attention, if you know what I mean.”

You didn’t even see who said it, and to be frank you didn’t want to as you heard the mens howling laughter in the background. You’ve dealt with your fair share of things as a bartender, from creepy men who won’t leave you alone, to drunk backhanded comments that would be enough to make a grown man weep. These comments typically never bothered you, always deeming yourself an eternal optimist, always seeing the good in people. But this, this one stung away more.

You felt it sting hot and sharp in your throat, your eyes trying to not tear up as you quickly blinked them away. And you’d brushed it off, at least on the surface level. But little by little you started unwinding your well presented cover as your shoulders curled in, your smile dulled and the sparkle normally always present in your eyes dimmed as you moved through your shift like you were on autopilot, not wanting to cause anything as you knew there was a whole squad of naval aviators just mere feet away that would go to war for you if they noticed something was wrong, much less if they had heard what the drunk bolstering men had said about you.

But Bob noticed, Bob always noticed. He hadn’t said anything yet, he was sitting in his usual corner near the pool table with the rest of the Daggers, a ginger ale in hand, watching you with those soft baby blue eyes you tried not to think about too often. He hadn't seen or heard what caused you to become a shell of yourself, but he noticed one minute you were cracking jokes with some regulars and the next your shoulders were hunched and your face read of hurt.

You liked Bob Floyd, a lot. Maybe too much, considering how little you actually knew him, only having the shared conversations, lingering glances, and the way his ears flushed pink when you made a joke that landed right, to go off of. But you knew he was different from the others, especially in the way he treated you. He was quiet, and so kind to you, always offering you the sweetest of smiles, or asking if you wanted him to walk you back to your car on nights when the bar would get especially rowdy. He was easy to be around, And for some reason he made your heart race in a way that no one else ever could.

When your break finally rolled around, you told Penny you were taking your fifteen and all but slipped out the back door into the warm night air. The ocean breeze was warm, brushing past your arms as you leaned on the railing and stared out at the distant horizon, letting out a long sigh. You were so tired of pretending things didn’t get to you, like the things people said to you just because you were so joyful and optimistic didn’t hurt you.

The door creaked behind you a few minutes later and you didn’t need to look, you could just feel the energy, and you already knew it was him.

“Hey” Bob said gently, not in a questioning manner like he was going to interrogate you, but rather like he was asking for permission to come be with you. You didn’t speak at first, you just let him come stand beside you, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans as you both stared out at the moon glistening on the ocean waves.

“You okay?” he asked after a moment. You gave him a half hearted shrug, your body deflated as you muttered a soft “M’fine, you should go back into the bar, i’m sure the Daggers miss you.”

He huffed a quiet laugh shaking his head “You’re a terrible liar” That earned a ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes from you “So I’ve been told” You muttered softly. He leaned forward on the railing, arms folded as his gaze is still set on the ocean “You’re not like yourself tonight, everything okay?”

You swallowed harshly, that hitch in your throat looming near, trying to blink away the tears that have reappeared as you look down at your shoes. “M’just tired.”

Bob turned his head to glance at you. “You sure?” You exhaled slowly. “Someone made a comment earlier, about how I’m too much, that I don’t know when to shut up, that I'm just asking for a certain type of attention” You laughed out as you did quotation marks with your fingers, but it wasn’t an amused sound. “Guess it got stuck in my head.”

Bob was silent for a second, and then, quietly asked “Do you know who said it?” You shook your head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me” he said the firmest you’ve ever heard his voice., a clear difference from how he normally talks to you “Because whoever said that clearly doesn’t know what the hell they’re talking about, and needs to be taken down a few pegs.” You turned to look at him, your eyes glancing over his face, there was a fierceness in the way his jaw clenched, a quiet tension in the lines of his brow, as his baby blues seemed darkened, the moon seemingly reflecting out of them.

“I just” you started, then stopped, not wanting to break down on the man you have the world's biggest crush on, but then you see the way he’s looking at you, like he’s encouraging you to talk and open yourself back up, not wanting you to become a shell of yourself again. “I’ve always been this way, you know?” You continued “Loud. I like to talk a lot, I laugh a lot, I always try to fill the space, and I've always typically liked that about myself. I thought it meant I was doing something right, trying to make people happy, feel better. But when someone calls it too much it makes me wonder if I should just shut up sometimes, just be a bit quieter, more reserved. Maybe I’d be an easier pill to swallow if I was like that.” You say looking down and picking at your nail beds.

Bob’s head tilted slightly, his gaze locking with yours looking almost offended by your words “You shouldn’t have to shrink yourself to make other people comfortable” he said firmly “You hear me?” he asked again, softer this time. “You don’t have to dim yourself just because some people can’t handle your light.”

It hit you harder than you expected, when you looked at him, like really looked, and your chest ached. Because here was this man, the man who has always been nothing but kind to you, always gentle, always observant, and he was standing beside you and seeing you exactly as you were. He didn’t see you as too much, he didn’t see you as too loud, he saw you as you, and he didn’t want to change that.

“I love that about you” he added, and your breath caught in your throat, as your eyes winded. “Love what?” You asked in a confused tone, wondering how this man in front of you was real.

“The way that you fill a room, the way your voice carries over the music, the way you laugh without holding back and sometimes you snort and immediately try to cover your mouth.” He smiled a little shy at what he seemed to be admitting to you. “ But what I really love about you is the way you make everyone feel like they belong.”

You felt something crumble in your chest, it felt like your defensive walls were being brought down in front of you. The words settled between you like a secret, warm and glowing. You couldn’t help the way your breath hitched again, before softly muttering a quiet “Really?”

He nodded, his voice matching yours as he whispers. “Yeah.” The silence stretched, but it wasn’t awkward or felt like you needed to fill it. It was filled with something heavier than words could convey. And when he stepped closer, you didn’t pull away. His hand brushed yours on the railing, fingers hesitating slightly. You turned to face him, your heart pounding so loud you were convinced he could hear it, your throat dry as you whispered “Bob?”

He looked at you like you were something incredible, like your presence was enough for him to get lost in. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now” he said, “But you’re you, you light up every room you’re in, and that whole team in there adores you almost as much as I do, and I didn’t want to make things weird if you didn’t feel the same.” A small laugh bubbled in your throat caught somewhere between disbelief and relief at his admission “Bob Floyd,” you gasped “Do you have a crush on me?”

He grinned that soft smile of his that made butterflies appear in your stomach, his cheeks a soft shade of pink as he responded “Yeah. I do.” You blinked at him, stunned for a moment, and then you stepped forward, and when you leaned up and moved in, he met you halfway.

It was gentle, warm and steady, just like him. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your cheek softly as he kissed you like he saw who you were, It wasn’t rushed like most kisses felt, It felt like something new entirely, it made your whole body feel like it was glowing. And when you pulled back, you were smiling for the first time that night. “Me too,” you whispered, as you were catching your breath.

He blinked, before grinning wide. “Yeah?” He asked with that smile stuck on his face. “Yeah” You let your forehead rest against his, “I always thought you were too good to be real.” you muttered softly, eyes meeting his. “You’re the one who lights up rooms, remember. I think you're the one who’s too good to be real.” he murmured, still so close.

“Well” you said as your brushed your nose against his “maybe now I’ll let you light up a few of mine, Bob Floyd.” and that made him laugh, as he kissed your temple like it was instinct to him.

And as the two of you stood outside beneath the warm string lights with the waves crashing softly in the background, a gentle sea-breeze engulfing you, and your fingers entwined you realized something.

You never had needed to dim your light for other people,

not when Bob Floyd had been waiting all along to bask in it.

#bob floyd x reader #Bob floyd imagine #bob floyd one shot #top gun x reader #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #Bob top gun #robert floyd #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #x reader #reader insert #bob floyd x you #fem!reader #love confession

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sargebarnesx · 1 month ago

Text

Red Hot 🍒

Pairing: Bob Floyd x female reader

Rating: 18+ ONLY

Warnings: Smut with some plot. Two horny humans with crushes that take over their entire existence. Bob Floyd is lowkey obsessed but so is she.

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: Bob Floyd can’t stop thinking about the bartender with the cherry red nails. Little does he know, she can’t stop thinking about him either.

Author’s Note: I’ve been in love with Lewis Pullman since 2022 and have been watching/rewatching his entire filmography after seeing Thunderbolts* last month. However, this is my first time writing Bob Floyd so hopefully it’s not too ooc. I wrote him as I interpreted him, so probably a mix of canon and headcanon. Also, I wrote this on my phone and proofread it like 5 times but I wouldn’t be surprised if there are still some mistakes. Hope y’all enjoy! (Banner photos are from Pinterest)

Bob Floyd was usually very level-headed. He didn’t get hung up on trivial things. He was by the book - a master of military precision. But Bob Floyd was also very observant. And right now, he was quietly observing the bartender from across the room at The Hard Deck.

Her nails were painted a bright cherry red, and they flashed through a sea of beige, green, and navy blue every time she poured a drink or grabbed a beer. Hell, he kept replaying the image of her fingers curled around the neck of the beer bottle she’d handed him twenty minutes ago. She had some length to them, and he wondered how they’d feel running over his scalp - or down his chest.

Bob was a respectful man, but God, did he want to do disrespectful things with her. Honestly, he’d been spending time daydreaming about how that cherry red nail polish would look wrapped around his cock.

He’d met her on his first night in San Diego. She was a vision behind the bar - constantly moving, talking, laughing. He was amazed at how personable she was. And when she leaned over the bar and gazed at him with her beautiful eyes, he nearly fell to his knees right then and there.

“What can I getcha?” she’d asked in an easy tone, a smile playing on her lips as she took in his appearance. He blended in, the same beige uniform as his squadmates, but she looked at him like he was the only person in the bar.

He’d dreamt of her that night.

In the weeks following, she’d gotten to know him in ways that surprised him. Bob would mention a flight objective in passing one night, and the next time he walked into The Hard Deck, she’d ask how it went. She remembered his favorite beer and always made sure he had peanuts to snack on. She saw things in him he hadn’t realized he let show - and it made him feel things.

Now, he was staring. She was working, and he was just sitting there, staring.

“God, Floyd. Such a creep,” he muttered. “Get ahold of yourself.”

She looked at him then, with that same heart-stopping smile she’d given him the first night. He smiled back, feeling like his heart might flutter out of his chest.

Could he ask her out? Would she feel backed into a corner? He thought they’d grown close, and she knew him well enough to know he wasn’t trying to make her uncomfortable. But he’d hate for her to feel taken advantage of.

“You gonna come say hi, or just keep staring?”

Suddenly, she was right in front of him - looking particularly delectable in a pair of tight jeans and a black tee. His eyes dropped to his lap, and he chuckled.

“Sorry, I-I was just lost in thought,” he explained, looking up at her. He propped his leg up on the bottom rung of his stool to keep from bouncing it nervously.

“Thinking?” she asked. “Do tell, Lieutenant Floyd. You know I love hearing about the inner workings of your mind.”

She was smirking, and Bob could feel his skin heating under his collar. He just needed to be honest, be bold. And hope he didn’t ruin everything before it had even really started.

“I was actually wondering if maybe… maybe you’d want to get dinner sometime?” He rushed through the last few words, pushing them out in one breath, afraid he’d chicken out if he didn’t.

She looked at him for a moment, then cocked her hip.

“Bobby… you wanna take me to dinner?” she asked, tone light and borderline flirtatious.

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” he said coolly, popping a peanut in his mouth as he watched her.

“How about Friday?” she suggested, flipping her hair to one side.

He watched it fall in a sheet over her chest. She was actually saying yes?

“Friday. Um-Friday actually sounds perfect.”

She smiled again. God, she was going to kill him.

She pulled a pen from her back pocket and leaned toward him, scrawling a number onto the napkin under his beer. Up close, he could smell her perfume - light, airy, an absolutely intoxicating vanilla.

“Text me for my address. Seven p.m. alright?”

Bob nodded, eyes following her as she took the napkin, folded it in half, and slid it into his breast pocket. He shivered as her nails lightly traced over his chest, trying not to let her see the tiny cartoon hearts no doubt bursting out of his pupils.

She gave his shoulder a light squeeze and turned to walk away.

“Alright, Bobby,” she called over her shoulder. “See you Friday.”

Bob raised his hand in goodbye, then pressed it over his heart. He had her number on a bar napkin in his pocket. He was taking her out on Friday.

Life was good.

**********

Friday came quickly - much to Bob’s delight.

His week on base had been a slow one, giving him plenty of time to imagine how the dinner date would go. What she was going to wear. What he was going to wear. Should he bring her flowers?

His grandpa once told him he brought his grandma a bouquet every time they went out. Bob made a mental note to stop by the florist on the way to her apartment that evening.

He’d landed on a simple button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of khaki pants. Instead of the fully gelled hair he wore to work every day, he let his natural curl come through. She’d noticed it once when he stopped in the bar on a day off and called him “cute” - which just about made him combust on the spot. He wasn’t sure he’d ever blushed so hard in his life.

Bob thought about that moment on the way to her apartment, a bouquet of daisies wrapped in kraft paper crinkling beside him. He had a lot of specific memories that made their rounds in his daydreams - when she called him cute, when she came to work with her hair piled on top of her head and no makeup on, when she leaned over the bar in a little black tank top and he caught a glimpse of the most perfect skin he’d ever seen.

He knew the moments he’d have with her tonight, especially with those red nails, would be added to the rotation soon enough.

He pulled up outside her apartment at exactly 6:56 and flipped down his visor. He cleaned his glasses, brushed a rogue curl off his forehead, and checked his teeth before grabbing the flowers and heading to her door. By 6:59 he was ringing the bell, and by 7:00, when the door swung open, he was pretty sure his heart stopped beating momentarily.

She was standing there in a white linen dress decorated with little red flowers. It hugged her figure perfectly, showing off the swell of her breasts, the slope of her waist, and the curve of her hips before stopping mid-thigh. Her legs looked soft and smooth, and she wore a pair of white sandals to complete the look.

Bob had never seen anyone look more beautiful in his life.

“Hi,” she said softly, a smile gracing her features. “Those pretty flowers for me?”

Bob opened and closed his mouth twice before finally speaking. “Um, yes. I got them for you.” He held them out, and she took them. “You look-I mean, damn, you look beautiful.”

“You look pretty damn good yourself, Bobby. Thank you for the flowers,” she said, pushing the door open a bit more and gesturing for him to come in. “Let me just put these in some water, and we can get out of here.”

Bob watched her as she filled an old spaghetti sauce jar and gave the stems a quick trim. She placed them on her kitchen island.

“There,” she said. “Gorgeous.”

“Yeah,” Bob whispered. “Gorgeous.”

**********

Dinner was going so well that Bob thought he might propose by the end of the night.

He already knew from their conversations at The Hard Deck that she was intelligent, funny, and flirtatious. But tonight, she was all that and more. They had deep conversations, ones that almost felt too meaningful for a first date.

She wanted Bob to describe the feeling of flying, since she’d never been on a plane. She watched with wide eyes as he waxed poetic about being in a jet, describing the feeling of weightlessness he experienced every time he was among the clouds.

He asked about her dreams and aspirations. She told him her biggest dream was simply to live comfortably, surrounded by the love of a family she could call her own. She wanted to travel eventually, but admitted she was too scared to get on a plane, so she’d need a willing road trip buddy.

He’d given her a look then, as if to say you’re lookin’ at him. She laughed, and he smiled. He realized in that moment he never wanted to stop making her laugh.

Her delicate fingers traced the rim of her wine glass, practically putting a spell on him as he watched the cherry red tips circle.

“Pretty nails,” he murmured after a sip of his own wine.

She lifted her hand. “Oh, thank you. Red is my favorite color.”

Bob gently placed his glass down. “Noted,” he said, tapping his temple.

She giggled.

“Filing it away for later?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bob said with a laugh. “Adding it to your file as we speak. Hoping you’ll also mention your favorite flower and favorite candy while we’re at it.”

She smirked. The alcohol had him feeling bolder than usual, clearly. She knew he was on the shy side, and she didn’t mind, but she had always been curious about the Bob she saw around his squad: laughing, cracking jokes, sometimes sitting on the outskirts, but never an outsider.

“Daisies,” she replied. “And Reese’s Cups.”

Bob nodded twice. “Good to know, good to know,” he chuckled.

She looked at him then - truly studied him, from the slight curl of his hair to the pure blue of his eyes behind the wire frames of his glasses, to his strong jawline, broad shoulders, the expanse of his chest. She wondered if he had any idea how gone she was for him, how much she always looked forward to seeing him at the bar.

“So, when do I get to learn all of your deep, dark secrets?” she teased, finishing her glass of wine. Bob was placing his credit card on the table, and the waitress grabbed it as she skirted by.

“I think… maybe our second date?” Bob suggested.

She reached for his hand across the table and wrapped her fingers around it.

“A second date sounds perfect.”

**********

She kept her hand in his the entire ride back to her apartment.

Bob was, honestly, sweating. He wanted to kiss her. God, he wanted that more than anything. He didn’t want to be presumptuous, but the way she’d looked at him across the table had him thinking that maybe she wanted it too.

“I had a really great time tonight,” she said from the passenger seat, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Oh, me too. A great time,” Bob replied, giving her a quick glance before training his eyes back on the road. When they pulled into her apartment complex, he threw the car in park. He jogged around to her side to help her out, and she took his hand.

“You know, Bobby, you’re kinda full of surprises,” she said once they reached her door.

Bob chuckled, knitting his eyebrows together. “Really? I feel like I’m pretty black and white.”

She faced him, clasping her hands behind his neck. Bob’s heart was beating like he’d just finished running a marathon.

“I think you’re the whole package. Smart, hilarious, hardworking…” She traced a finger down his chest. “And sexy as hell.”

Bob gulped as she looked up at him.

“You think so?” he asked, his voice thick with anticipation.

She nodded. “I’ve thought that ever since the first day we met.”

Bob let out a deep breath. “Wow, I-“

She cut him off with a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. Before he could speak, before he could even breathe, she pressed her lips to his, and he was sure his knees were about to give out.

When she pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I’ve been thinking about that for months,” he murmured.

She didn’t answer - just nodded.

Then she said something that rocked his entire world:

“Wanna come in?”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands finding her hips and pulling her flush against him. She let out a surprised sound, low in her throat. Her hands tightened around his neck, playing with his hair.

“Is that a yes?” she asked against his lips.

Bob chuckled. “It’s a resounding yes.”

She fidgeted with her keys then, struggling to get one into the lock. She took a deep breath, and Bob smirked behind her. She was slightly nervous, maybe even flustered, just like him.

“You got it?” he asked, glancing over her shoulder as the key slid into the hole and she pushed the door open.

She turned back to him, fisting the front of his shirt and pulling him over the threshold. His hands found her hips again, but he noticed a slight shift in her expression.

“Hey, hey, is everything alright?” he asked softly, his hands moving from her hips to her waist.

She pressed her hands against his chest, her nails lightly biting into him.

“I just don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to move too fast, you know?” she said. “I’ve liked you for so long, and I’m afraid I’ll mess it up.”

Bob couldn’t help but smile at her. The corners of her mouth twitched up in her own smile after that.

“You could never ruin this for me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her mouth before moving his lips to her jaw. He kissed up her jawline to her ear. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he admitted.

Her cheeks burned pink under the low light. She dug her nails deeper into his chest before moving her hands to the buttons on his shirt. She started to pop them open, one by one, with those cherry red nails. Bob slid his hands down her hips, his fingertips skimming her thighs.

“God, this dress…” he groaned, looking down at her.

“You like it?” she asked as she reached the final button and pushed his shirt off his shoulders.

The thin tank top he wore underneath hugged his body in a way that made her breath catch. She could see the lines of his muscles through it and couldn’t wait to touch him.

“I love it,” he said, gripping the fabric at her hips and exposing the bottom of her ass. He slid his hands underneath, cupping her cheeks and giving them a squeeze. “The red matches your nails.”

He begrudgingly moved his hands to pull his shirt off the rest of the way. She watched him, her eyes trained on his biceps. She then traced the veins on his forearms.

“This…” she murmured, not meeting his eye. “This is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” he asked, flexing his hands.

She nodded, gripping the bottom of his tank top. He sucked in a breath when he finally felt her fingertips against his bare skin.

“Do you know how sexy you are, Bobby?”

She pulled his tank top off, immediately attaching her lips to his collarbone. Bob couldn’t help but moan - this was something he’d played over and over in his mind while fisting his hard cock in the shower. And now that it was actually happening? He felt like his body was on fire.

Before he knew it, her hands were popping open the button on his khakis and pulling the zipper down. When she squeezed him, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. He sank his teeth into her bottom lip, and the whimper she let out went straight to his dick.

“Baby, that feels so good,” he whined, his hips bucking into her hand. “I want you naked. I’ve been dreaming about it… about you.”

She laughed then - not at him, but at the sheer fact that they’d both wanted each other so badly for so long, yet continued to dance around it like it could never happen.

“Take me to bed, Lieutenant Floyd.”

They stumbled through her apartment until she took him by the arm and pulled him into her bedroom. The smell of her perfume was overwhelming by that point, and her room felt warm, like her.

His pants hit the floor, and his hand found the zipper on the back of her dress, pressed against her spine. As he pulled it down, she kissed his chest and dragged her nails over his nipples. Goosebumps rose across his skin, and his cock jerked when her dress joined his pants on the carpet.

She wasn’t wearing lingerie, but the soft cotton panties and matching bra were doing things to him he couldn’t describe.

“I wasn’t expecting this. You, wanting me,” he admitted, his knuckles skimming over her breasts. Her chest heaved as she pulled him closer.

“Why not? I thought I made my interest very clear,” she said, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Maybe you did,” Bob replied, looking down at her. “But I didn’t pick up on it at all.”

“Well,” she said, smirking, “now you know.”

She dropped to her knees. Her nose brushed against the bulge in his boxer briefs, her red nails popping against the black fabric as she peeled them down his thighs. And then it happened.

Those fingers, fingers he hadn’t been able to get out of his head for the last two weeks, wrapped around the base of his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, and he saw her head snap up at him in surprise. She gave a small smile as she twisted her fist around him, dragging it from base to tip. When she took him in her mouth, he was sure he’d ascended to heaven.

His hand flew to the back of her head, fisting in her hair. His hips snapped forward, and his cock brushed the back of her throat. She watched him, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill every time she took him deeper.

“You can fuck my mouth, Bobby,” she said. “If you want to.”

He looked down at her - mascara running, lips glistening, his cock rock-hard between them.

“I wanna fuck you,” he murmured. “Wanna see that body.”

She stood up, her arms twisting behind her back to unhook her bra. Her panties hit the floor next, leaving her fully bare in front of him. She reached for him, taking his wrists and guiding them - placing one of his hands on her waist and the other on her breast, silently pleading for him to touch her. He leaned down and placed wet, open-mouthed kisses across her chest. Her head fell back, and she moaned softly.

“More,” she whimpered. “Please.”

Bob licked one nipple, teasing the other with his fingers. He sucked the peak into his mouth, and she arched into him. Every sound that fell from her lips made his cock ache. He craved being inside her, craved feeling just how wet he’d made her.

She pulled away from him abruptly and moved to her nightstand. He watched as she dug through the drawer and fished out a little foil packet. She handed him the condom, and he took it without taking his eyes off her.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

She smiled. “Very sure.”

She climbed onto the bed, her eyes falling to his dick as he rolled the condom on. He crawled toward her, settling between her thighs.

“I-I don’t know if I’ll last long,” he admitted sheepishly, tracing his fingers down her stomach. He dipped them into her pussy, reveling in the feel of her heat wrapped around him. She squirmed beneath him as he slowly pulled his fingers in and out, pressing his thumb to her clit.

“You keep doing that,” she said, breathless, “and I won’t either.”

He circled her clit twice more before pushing his length into her. He kissed her as he did, moaning into her mouth as he bottomed out.

“God, baby…” His voice came out in a strangled whine as he fucked her. “You feel so good. So damn good, baby.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, pressing her lips to his neck as she moaned. “I like it when you call me that,” she drawled, her eyes half-open. She was tight around him, her climax building with every drag of his cock.

He lifted his head from her shoulder, and she cupped his jaw. Her thumb ran across his bottom lip, and he kissed it softly.

“So sweet,” she whispered, staring into his eyes. She used her pointer finger to gently push his glasses back up his nose.

Bob smiled. She… God, she was good. So good. Too good.

“Baby, I’m close.”

His hands gripped her thighs, and his hips snapped into her, his movements ragged.

“Keep going, Bobby. Please.”

She watched him - the way he bit his lip, the way he concentrated so hard on her pleasure before his own. She almost couldn’t believe this was her life. Lieutenant Robert Floyd, who came into The Hard Deck multiple times a week with his squad, who watched her from across the bar, who was so damn cute she practically fell in love with him over beer and peanuts, was fucking her senseless.

And then he pushed her over the edge. Her back arched off the mattress, her climax overtaking every sense. She was moaning so loudly she was sure her neighbors would file a noise complaint. But she didn’t care. All she cared about was Bob Floyd.

Once her body stopped trembling, she pushed herself up. “Wanna get on top,” she said simply. “Please.”

Bob moved immediately, rolling them over with his cock still buried inside her. She settled onto him, her hands pressed to his chest—those damn nails on display just for him.

“Gonna make you come like this, Bobby,” she whispered in his ear, gently biting his lobe. “I can’t wait to feel you come apart inside me.”

Bob squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted it to last longer, wanted her to ride him into oblivion, but he was so close. She bounced on him, and the noises that erupted from his chest surprised him. It was animalistic. It was hot. It was heavy.

He was done for.

“Baby, I’m gonna-”

He gripped her hips tightly, holding her against him as he came, his hips jutting up into her. Bob saw stars behind his eyelids; he was pretty sure his soul had just left his body.

She collapsed onto his chest, her hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his skin. She laughed.

“Bobby, that was-”

He chuckled too, taking a deep breath. “I know, I know.”

They lay next to each other on her bed, not touching, reveling in the air circulating from the ceiling fan.

“Bob?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I’m really glad you asked me out.”

Bob turned his head to look at her. She was on her side facing him, curled up against her pillow. He smiled.

“Me too.”

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd #robert floyd x reader #top gun x reader #lewis pullman #robert bob floyd #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction

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jacksabbotts · 10 days ago

Text

·˚ ༘ ┊͙ ˊˎ - QUIRK AND STEALTH ( part three )

main masterlist || series masterlist || inbox || join the taglist || dividers by @cafekitsune

. ᵒ . ➛ PAIR . robert floyd x bartender!reader

. ᵒ . ➛ SUMMARY . in which you ( the reader ) agree to bartend for one night, the dagger squad walks in with sunburned smiles and no idea who you are, bob floyd drinks ginger ale and watches you like you’re something holy, everyone assumes you and bradley are together ( gross ), your father shows up just to kiss your mother, and the only thing stopping you from falling apart is the boy with the quiet eyes and the soft hands who kisses like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense.

. ᵒ . ➛ TRIGGER WARNINGS . lowercase intended!!! parental abandonment / estranged parent , emotional neglect , emotional hurt / familial tension , mentions of therapy and identity crisis , alcohol use ( implied ) , mild profanity , post topgun : maverick events , kissing ( this is not a drill, bobby's got some moves lmao )

. ᵒ . ➛ AUTHORS NOTES . i Hate ( with a capital H ) making mav and penny the bad guys but all in due time lmao. there is a happy ending in store for these three. reminder!!!! i am not responsible for your media consumption. read at your own discretion.

. ᵒ . ➛ WORD COUNT . ~ 3.0k

the hard deck smelled like citrus cleaner, lime wedges, and salt—like someone had wiped up last night’s chaos and lit a matchstick under the remnants.

the floor was still sticky in places. the jukebox was humming to itself in the corner, not yet playing, like it was warming up for a show. and the air had that thick, coastal heat to it—something that clung to your skin and made your hair feel heavier than it should.

you checked the clock on the wall.

5:57 pm

three minutes to open. you were behind the bar already, hands moving on autopilot as you sliced fruit, stacked glassware, double-checked your garnishes. it was the kind of busy work you could do with your eyes closed—and right now, that suited you fine. you didn’t want to think. thinking led to feeling, and you were already hanging on by a thread.

your hands stilled just long enough to pull your hair up and off your neck, tying it with a thin elastic band from your wrist. you could still hear your mothers voice in your head from earlier, trying too hard to act like everything was fine. 'just tonight.'

as if she hadn’t some how planned for this. as if she hadn’t known that asking you to step behind this bar again would make you feel something you weren’t ready to name.

at exactly 6:00 pm, you flipped the open sign on the front door. it clanged slightly against the glass, a sound that felt too loud in the empty space.

you exhaled. rolled your shoulders. braced yourself.

the first hour passed slow and quiet. a few locals drifted in. regulars who knew better than to flirt with the girl behind the bar when she had that look on her face. you poured beers. you wiped counters. you didn’t smile, but you were polite.

it wasn’t until nearly 7:15 that the shift started to change.

you clocked them before the door even finished swinging open. the kind of group you could spot from a mile away : loud, golden, sun-drenched energy wrapped in aviator shades and cocky grins. dagger squad.

you’d been briefed. your mother told you they might show. 'be nice,' she’d said. 'they’re good people.' she'd said.

you didn’t trust good people.

jake seresin, better known as hangman, walked in first, like he owned the air. sunglasses pushed up into his hair, smile already dialed to lethal. 'well, well, well,' he drawled as he slid up to the bar. 'you must be new.'

you raised a brow without looking up from your bar mat. 'or you’re just not very observant.'

jake laughed, unbothered. 'feisty. i like that.'

you handed him a coaster. 'good for you. what’ll it be?'

'whiskey sour. make it two—my friend’ll have something boring. ginger ale, probably.'

'you say that like it’s a bad thing,' a quieter voice said.

you looked up and there he was.

soft blue eyes, kind smile. something gentle in the way he held himself, like he knew how to take up space without demanding it. his hair was slightly mussed from the wind, and he wore his uniform like it didn’t quite belong to him.

'ginger ale?' you asked.

he nodded. 'yes, ma'am, please.' you poured both drinks, slid them across the bar. bob gave you a polite nod. jake winked. 'you always this charming, or is this just for me?' jake asked.

you didn’t miss a beat. 'this is me being nice. don’t ruin it.'

jake howled with laughter, turned to the others now pouring in behind him. 'god, i love this place.'

bob stayed quiet but he didn’t take his eyes off you.

you noticed. you pretended you didn’t.

seven-thirty turned to eight. eight to eight-forty-five.

the golden streaks of sunset dimmed into the blue-black of a navy evening, and the jukebox began its slow crawl through classic rock. the bar glowed low and amber beneath the bulbs strung across the ceiling, each one humming with life.

pool balls clicked in the back corner. laughter rolled like ocean waves. penny’s place—always alive at night—felt like it pulsed with something bigger than sound.

you kept moving.

you didn’t have time to think. that had been the plan. your hands flew through orders, your smile sharp-edged and practiced. you poured beers, wiped down counters, shook cocktails you didn’t care to name.

you laughed when someone told a joke. you winked when someone flirted. you checked ids and scanned crowds and kept your heart two steps behind your body.

because if you let yourself pause, you might think about the fact that your father was still texting you and asking you to reconsider staying.

and you couldn’t think about that. not right now. not when you were trying so fucking hard to hold it together. not when every single shift in the corner of your eye made you flinch.

'can i get two whiskey sours? please ma'am.” said a voice to your right. you turned, pen ready—and found yourself staring the same soft blue eyed aviator from earlier.

and now without hangman's incessant flirting you were able to actually take him in. he was tall. blonde hair in a tousled cut. clean-shaven. blue eyes clear as day behind wire-rimmed glasses.

'uh, hi,' you said before you could stop yourself.

he blinked. 'hi.'

you nodded toward the end of the bar. paused forgetting for a moment that he had asked for something. 'two whiskey sours?'

he glanced briefly, then back at you and nodded. 'for you?' it was really none of your business but you just had to ask because the other aviator had mentioned that his friend was boring and drank ginger ale. 'no, for, uh, my friend, hangman.'

you blinked, of course you knew of callsigns, you grew up right next to base and your father was an actually legend in the field of naval aviators, but you had never heard of one quite so ridiculous as hangman. 'hangman?'

'it’s a callsign. i’m bob.' you stared. then snorted. you took it back, that was the most ridiculous callsign of all time. he raised a brow. 'something funny?'

'no, no,' you said, grinning despite yourself. 'it’s just… i thought callsigns were more unique.'

'what do i look like?'

you squinted at him, sizing him up. 'i dunno, quirk or maybe stealth.'

'quirk?'

you shrugged. 'you seem kinda quirky. no offense. to be honest, i dont know much about how callsigns work. my dads in the navy but we're not really close.'

'none taken,' he said, straight-faced. 'i’ve been told i give strong ‘baby chick who volunteers at the library’ energy.'

you laughed. genuinely. he smiled, wide and toothy. 'so whats your real name. i'm getting a clark vibe. maybe peter.' he flushed instantly, his cheeks beet red and he looks down embarrassed. 'its, uh, my real names bob, too.'

'you're kidding?' you ask.

he shakes his head. 'unfortunately not. technically robert, but everyone calls me bob.'

you laugh again, and it is infectious. bob can't but join but not without a little quip of his own. 'you gonna make me those whiskey sours, or keep roasting my government name?'

you raised your brows. 'don’t tempt me, robert.' ( and damn him if his khakis didn't tighten at the sound of his full name coming from your lips. ) bob’s smile widened—just slightly—and something inside your chest shifted. it was quiet, small, but there. a warmth. a pulse.

you turned to grab the shaker. 'one sec.'

as you worked, bob didn’t try to fill the silence. he didn’t lean over the bar or try to impress you with some recycled pick-up line. he just stood quietly, watched you with gentle interest, and—when you slid the drinks in front of him—he said a soft, 'thanks.'

you hesitated. then carefully you asked. 'another ginger ale?'

it was almost as if you were quite ready for him to leave your little bubble you had created. he shook his head, lifted his glass, still half full. 'i think i'm good, but thank you.'

'you dont drink?' now you were prying.

'don’t really do alcohol.'

you tilted your head. 'religious?'

'nope.'

'bad history?'

'nope.'

'just don’t like it?'

'pretty much.'

you blinked. 'huh.'

'what?'

you shrugged, glancing around. 'nothing. just… this place isn’t exactly packed with restraint.'

bob chuckled. 'i’ve noticed.'

you hesitated, fingers tapping the counter. 'so you're a pilot?'

he shook his head and that made you pause. you look down at the uniform he was wearing, you'd see it a dozen times and always worn by pilots. 'weapons systems officer, actually.'

'oh,' you said. noncommittal. neutral. the last thing you wanted was another reminder of your father. bob didn’t seem to notice. he sipped his drink.

you looked at him. really looked at him.

he wasn’t like the others. he was observant without being invasive. present without being too close. and maybe—just maybe—that was why your guard slipped. even for just a second.

before you could say anything else, a sharp voice broke the moment.

'hey, bartender!' you turned—only to find a tall, golden-haired man, hangman you now know, leaning against the other end of the bar like he owned the damn place.

you knew the type. smirk too smug. smile too shiny. eyes that scanned you like a game to win.

he winked. 'that my whiskey sour. you know, i'd love your number, if it’s on the menu.'

bob cleared his throat. 'jake—'

hangman grinned. 'what? can’t a guy appreciate a beautiful bartender?' you rolled your eyes and pushed the drink away from bob and towards hangman. 'appreciate with your eyes, not your mouth.'

'ouch,' hangman said, clearly unbothered. bob muttered something under his breath. from behind you, another voice chimed in. 'bagman, knock it the fuck off.'

you didn’t need to turn to recognize it. bradley.

hangman lifted his hands in mock surrender. 'easy, rooster.'

'hey, brad.' you mumbled as he walked by you and towards hangman. he gave you a smile and nod. hangman had backed off, and bob offered a subtle, apologetic glance.

you nodded once. then turned back to your station. your heart thudded dully in your chest.

hangmans eyebrows jumped, hands lifting in surrender. 'whoa, okay,' he muttered. 'didn’t realize it was like that.'

you turned away before you could register the look on Bob’s face. or the thousand wrong conclusions leaping into place behind his eyes.

you didn’t see the way bob’s fingers tightened around his glass.

didn’t see the hurt flicker across his face, fast and quiet and politely tucked away. didn’t see bradley glance sideways at him, jaw clenched. but you did feel the heat rise in your chest.

and you did pour the next drink harder than necessary. you were used to being misunderstood. but this time?

this time it stung.

especially when bob didn’t say anything at all.

it was just past ten when the door swung open.

you were wiping down the bar, arms aching but brain finally, finally still. for the first time in days—maybe weeks—you felt like you could breathe.

bob had stayed near the counter, nursing his ginger ale and offering occasional, quiet conversation that didn’t make your skin crawl or your heart spike. he was sweet. smart. Kind in a way that didn’t make you flinch.

you were mid-laugh—something small and private and real—when the wind shifted. the door creaked open and pete mitchell stepped into the bar. he didn’t look toward you.

didn’t scan the crowd.

didn’t check the corners.

he just beelined for penny.

your body stiffened. you stopped mid-wipe, rag clutched in your hand like a rope.

he smiled at her. warm and familiar. your mothers face lit up. not cautiously. not hesitantly.lLike it was normal. like it was easy. like he hadn’t been a ghost for two decades.

he leaned in and kissed her cheek. she laughed at something he said. and that was it. no glance at the bar. no glance at you. you stared down at the rag in your hand. something cracked—deep and invisible and ancient.

you gave a single, tiny nod to yourself. like a game piece being taken off the board.

of course

of course.

everyone chooses him.

penny, who once told you he wasn’t worth your time.

bradley, who used to rage at him with you on the phone like he was the world’s biggest disappointment.

even pete himself—who couldn’t look at you for five fucking minutes without folding, who always took the easy road, who got to walk in here like nothing had happened.

you blinked. swallowed. let the rag drop to the counter.

you felt like a ghost behind the bar—present, but not seen. you could’ve screamed and no one would have noticed. except bob. because he saw absolutely everything. 'something wrong?' bob asked gently.

you forced a smile. 'yeah. peachy.'

but he didn’t look convinced. his eyes flicked past you toward the far end of the bar, then back again—like he’d just caught the last few seconds of a movie he didn’t understand.

your hands shook as you turned away. and you didn’t look at the door again for the rest of the night.

the hard deck had thinned out, significantly.

most of the dagger squad had migrated to the beach or piled into ubers, laughing too loud and smelling like salt and bourbon. bradley was already gone—dragged out by fanboy and payback, who insisted on one last late-night taco run.

nat had winked at you on her way out, mouthing, 'call me later,' and you hadn’t had the heart to tell her you probably wouldn’t. and your mother, she'd disappeared after you saw pete kiss your mom.

everyone was gone except bob stayed.

and of course he did.

he was at the far end of the bar, nursing his second ginger ale like it was a glass of whiskey, watching you stack empty pint glasses with practiced precision. you weren’t looking at him—but you could feel him.

when you yanked the register drawer open a little too hard, a cascade of coins spilled onto the floor. you swore under your breath, crouched to pick them up.

'need a hand?' came that soft southern lilt.

you looked up. bob floyd was already off his stool, setting his glass down carefully before moving to help you gather the scattered change.

'i’ve got it,' you muttered.

'i know,' he said, crouching anyway. 'but i’ve been told i’m helpful. it’s my one flaw.'

you huffed a small laugh. he grinned at the sound of it. a beat passed. just the clink of quarters in a jar and the quiet static of the jukebox winding down.

then he said, 'you okay?'

You blinked. The question shouldn’t have surprised you. But it did.

'no one’s asked me that tonight, besides you.' you admitted. 'not really.'

he tilted his head. 'i'm sorry.'

you stared at him. bob, who had been polite, lowkey, golden-retriever-level respectful all night—who gave you space without being distant. who didn’t flirt, didn’t leer, didn’t interrupt, just… watched.

'you’re too nice,' you said, softer now.

bob stood, brushing his hands off on his jeans. 'that’s a new one.'

'i mean it.'

'i believe you.'

the silence stretched, electric and unresolved. your pulse skittered. you stepped closer. he blinked once, but didn’t back away. 'i want to kiss you,' you said plainly. he froze.

'…I don’t think you should do that,' he said gently.

you stared at him. stung. 'wow. okay. that’s…'

'wait—no, not like that.' he looked pained. 'it’s just—i thought you and brad—bradshaw, i mean—'

you squinted. 'me and bradley?'

'i just—' bob scratched the back of his neck, flustered. 'i don't want to make assumptions but you two seemed close. and he told Hangman to back off you, and i figured—'

you burst out laughing. not unkind, just stunned.

“oh my god,” you wheezed. 'i'm not laughing at you, i swear. just the thought of bradley and i, ugh.' bob was turning pinker by the second. 'he’s very protective.aAnd you guys—'

'i've known him since i was literally in diapers. he's like my actual brother.' you explaied ( conveniently leaving out the fact that bradley was technically your god brother ). bob blinked. '…oh.'

'yeah.'

a pause. you turned back to him and this time you didn't ask.

it wasn’t explosive. it wasn’t messy. ot wasn’t rushed, desperate, or fast.

it was sweet.

bob kissed you like he wasn’t sure he deserved to. like he was memorizing your mouth one gentle pass at a time, like the moment might slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful.

you kissed him like you were starving.

his hand came up, cautious, settling at your jaw, thumb brushing under your ear. you grabbed his shirt with both hands and pulled him in harder.

his breath hitched. 'god,' he whispered. 'you’re not making this easy.'

'good,' you murmured against his lips. 'i don’t want easy.'

his forehead rested against yours. 'when i thought you and bradley were a thing, god, i felt so stupid.'

'we are hundred percent not a thing.'

'are you sure?'

'i’m so sure,' you said, fisting the fabric at his chest. 'please shut the fuck up and keep kissing me.' he blushed at your vulgarity but there was nothing that was gonna stop him from kissing you in this moment.

it hit you later.

not in the moment—when his hands slid to your hips, when you tangled your fingers in his hair, when your back bumped against the bar and you thought god, finally, something that feels good.

it hit you after.

after bob helped you close out the till. after he'd kissed your cheek like a goddamn gentleman. then your mouth, then your forehead, and said, 'i’ll call you tomorrow, if that’s okay.'

you said yes. of course you did. then leaned against, hands shaking, heart racing, wondering what the hell you just did. you didn't have the heart to tell him you were leaving the state in the morning.

and yet here you were—grinning like an idiot into a dirty bar rag, cheeks flushed.

🔖 . @princesssunderworld @qtmoonies @spooky-librarian-ghost @Soupie_MeowMeow @gardeniarose13 @flyinglama @kmc1989 @letstryagaintomorrow @madzleigh01 @qardasngan @sweetdayme4427

#bob floyd x bartender!reader #bob floyd x mitchell!reader #bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x reader #topgun #top gun x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick

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roosterforme · 1 year ago

Text

This blurb is based on an anonymous request for a birthday treat for @phoenix-rising-starbird-one Happy birthday, Vonny!

Designated Driver (Bob Floyd x Reader)

contains fluff, mentions of drinking, and Bob shooting his shot

The best thing about the Hard Deck was that Bob could walk there from his place. It gave him a few minutes to himself on the way there and on the way home to clear his head. He loved his friends, he really did, but they could be a handful when they had too much to drink. They liked to get a little rowdy, while he rarely drank alcohol at all. At least they never assumed he would drive them home, and they usually just called for an Uber instead while he walked back along the peaceful streets alone.

But the Hard Deck was closed for an extended refurbishment, and everyone insisted on trying a new bar on the other side of Coronado on Friday night. Bob knew what that meant. One look at his new SUV with the extra row of seats, and they would all be bugging him to drive them home. In fact, it started while he was still at work on Friday afternoon.

"Hey, Baby on Board," Jake called when Bob tried to sneak out of the locker room unnoticed. "You mind giving me a ride to and from the bar tonight?"

"Oh!" Javy chimed in. "Me too."

"I'm like two streets away from Javy," Bradley interjected. "Mind getting me on the way?"

Bob sighed but ultimately shook his head. "No, I don't mind. I'll pick you all up."

Three hours later, he was pulling away from the curb in front of Mickey's apartment with all of his friends in tow. Nat was in the front seat navigating for him while Reuben selected which song he wanted for the ten minute drive, and Bob was already looking forward to dropping them all back off and going home later.

The bar left a lot to be desired, especially compared to the Hard Deck, and he immediately felt out of place. He was about to go sit outside when Nat rubbed his arm and said, "Why don't you go grab that empty bar stool? Next to the cute girl?"

He turned to look where his friend was pointing, and a second later, his mouth was hanging open. "She's beautiful," he whispered, and soon his friend was guiding him in your direction where you were perched on a bar stool, reading a book.

"She looks exactly like your type," Nat mused. "She's drinking a bottle of Coke and reading a novel at a bar."

Bob was busy taking in every inch of your pretty face, and the closer he got, the faster his heart pounded. Without another word, Nat shoved him so he bumped into the empty stool next to yours, and you looked up in surprise.

"Sorry," he muttered as his friend vanished. "I didn't mean to startle you."

He was sure his face was bright red, flushed with embarrassment as you saved your spot with your bookmark and smiled at him. "It's okay."

Bob cleared his throat. "Would you mind if I sit here?"

Your smile grew as you shook your head. "Not at all. Maybe if my friends see me talking to you, they'll get off my back about being antisocial. It's not my fault I prefer books over playing darts."

As he slid into the seat next to yours, he said, "Books are way better than darts. I read that one last month."

"Really?" you asked with excitement as he pointed to the spine. "I love this author."

"Me too," he replied, still in awe over you. Then he decided he really had nothing to lose. "If I would have known the most beautiful woman at the bar was bringing a book with her tonight, I'd have brought one, too."

You made a cute little noise ducked your head away from him, and he hoped he hadn't embarrassed you too much. A few seconds later, you looked up at him with a grin and said, "Well, since you didn't, maybe we can just talk instead?"

"I would love that," Bob promised. "Will you let me buy you another drink?"

"Okay, but just a Coke. I'm the designated driver tonight, and I'm not much of a drinker anyway."

Bob laughed as he waved down the bartender and said, "Two Cokes for the designated drivers, please."

"You, too?" you asked him, your smile bright again.

When he nodded in response, he held out his right hand. "I'm Bob, by the way."

Your fingers glided along his, and you told him your name as you shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Bob. I must admit, the last thing I anticipated was meeting a man with good taste in books tonight."

He laughed softly as the bartender dropped off two cold bottles of Coke. "I would have never guessed that the coolest woman here would let me buy her a drink."

You looked very pleased with yourself, and a beat later, you held your hand out again. "Why don't you just go ahead and give me your phone so I can save my number for you?" Bob scrambled to pull it out of his pocket as you added, "Maybe next time we can ditch our friends and the bar and talk about books somewhere quieter?"

"Absolutely," he said with a smile as you saved the number he already couldn't wait to text later.

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

Happy birthday, Vonny! I hope you enjoyed the actual story of how my parents met lol

#if you ask emily #bob floyd #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fluff #top gun fanfiction #roosterforme

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ahotmesswithprivilege · 6 months ago

Text

Ocean Eyes

paring: Bob Floyd x female!bartender!reader

wordcount: 2642 (scandalously short for me, I know)

prompt: “It’s like you never really see me. I’m standing right in front of you and you don’t see me!” requested by @gretagerwigsmuse (I am sorry this took so long. I hope it was worth the wait)

note: I couldn't write so I started cleaning up my WIP folder and I found this. I forgot that it was practically done and so I thought, let's share my Bob debut with the world. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Trigger Warning(If I forgot something or you want me to add to the list, my inbox is wide open. You are responsible for your media consumption, so proceed with caution, you know the drill): none, I think. Unless you consider canon Hangster one. Also idiots in love.

|| Masterlist ||

divider by @sweetmelodygraphics banner by @firefly-graphics

Reblogs, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome

!!!Minors do not interact; empty/ageless/minors will get blocked!!!

You love Bob Floyd. It’s pretty obvious to anyone who has eyes. At least that’s what you always hear from your best friend and yet he showed never any interest in you at all. There is a part of you that realises that this could only mean one thing but acknowledging the hard truth would hurt more than anything. So you ignore it and keep living in the blissful illusion that maybe one day Lieutenant Robert Floyd will wake up and finally see you.

That is until tonight when that hope should be shattered for good. The night at the Hard Deck when you are dealt the final blow.

“Is that Baby on Board in that booth? Flirting with a woman?”, Hangman is leaning against the bar waiting for you to get a fresh round of drinks ready. The question is directed at Rooster to his right and your gaze follows his and you see Bob sitting in a booth with an absolutely gorgeous redhead.

“Yeah. Phoenix set him up with her old college friend”, Rooster answers, giving you that kind of cautious look that he always sent your way whenever he thought you were in a fragile state and could implode any second. And as if to justify his worries you slam their beers down a little harder than intended and when your gaze meets his, all you see is pity in his pretty brown eyes.

“Rooster”, your voice is barely there, more a growl rumbling in your chest than anything else. It's a warning for your best friend to keep his fucking mouth shut and leave you be.

Not that it would help.

It's something you both love and hate about Bradley Bradshaw. He was not someone who gave up on people. No, he stayed even when shit got hard and you knew he'd be right there by your side through it all, holding your hand and keeping you close because that's just who he is.

And considering the look you get from his worse half, you know the same is true for him. The irony that fucking Jake Seresin would one day be one of your best friends was not lost on you. Especially considering how the two of you started off, but having Hangman cover your back was apparently a perk that came with being Rooster's best friend.

"Don't"

But Brad just lifts his hands in surrender and then they head over to the pool tables where the others are already waiting for them, leaving you behind the bar with the feeling that the shards of your shattered heart were just digging deeper into your flesh with every breath.

“Hey, sunshine”, your head snaps to the side and there you see him sitting at the end of the bar smiling at you the way he always did. The way that made your heart skip a beat and you hated that fucking traitor of an organ. And then your brain intercepts and reminds you of the images of last night. The way she had her hands all over him, turning him into a blushing mess as they stumbled out of the bar.

You have to shake your head or you'd lose focus and you cannot afford that. Not on a Saturday night.

It's not like you need to wait for him to order something, you know it all by heart, so you set his usual virgin drink in front of him and put some nuts in a bowl. Both containers are hitting the bartop a tad bit harder than necessary and before he could get another word in you were already gone.

Your behaviour took him off guard. His eyes are still following you when you already busied yourself with the order of another patron at the other end of the bar as if you wanted to get as much space between you and him as you physically could and he couldn't help the unsettling feeling that crept up on him.

This was so not you. There's a reason why they call you sunshine and that's not just because Rooster introduced you like that. You were always sweet and kind and won over the position of the patron’s favourite from Penny within the first week. You always had a lovely smile on your lips and a nice comment for everyone.

But the thing he had always liked most about you was how protective you were, looking out for the people around you. You were just the kind of person who truly cared and didn't just turn it into a performance.

The longer you are lingering on the other end of the bar without giving him even as much of a glace the more uneasy he becomes ultimately deciding to pick up his things and make his way over to the quiet corner by the pool tables that had been dubbed his even back during his Top Gun time. And from over there he has the perfect view of the bar without the hustle and bustle that would only distract from his actual mission. Figure out what was wrong with you.

You seemed tense and your interactions were colder than usual even with people that he knew you loved to bits.

Dave, one of the veterans who frequented the bar had made it a habit to propose to you whenever he saw you. It was a running gag between the two of you but even he couldn't bring an honest smile to your face.

That sure as hell was a first.

Maybe something happened?

Had someone hurt you?

Or did something happen with your family?

The best way to find out was to talk to Rooster.

He was your best friend after all and if someone knew what was going on, then it would be him.

So, Bob waited patiently until he took a break from the pool game before approaching him.

“Is something wrong with sunshine?”

Rooster arches his brow at the question, stops drinking mid-swig and puts his bottle back down.

“What should be wrong with her?”

Bob tilts his head while he studies the other's features.

He couldn't be serious about that question. Rooster always claimed to know you best of them all and he honest-to-goodness wanted to tell Bob he didn't see what was going on.

“She’s curt and tense. She didn’t even smile at Dave's proposal”

Rooster’s brow arched even more.

God for someone as observant as Robert fucking Floyd he was pretty goddamn blind when it came to you.

“Even if there was something it wouldn't be my story to tell”, he raises his bottle back up and takes a sip of his beer, watching Bob’s mind running 100 miles an hour while he tried to figure out how to proceed.

“If you wanna know what’s going on there is a simple solution”, he prompts him. He had sworn to keep his mouth shut about your feelings for Bob but helping him figure it out on his own was not breaking that promise.

At least not in his book.

“And that would be?”

“Fucking ask her, Baby on board”

Jake groaned over from the pool table and rolled his eyes.

He was so done with this kindergarten bullshit. Watching you and Bob was worse than his dance with Rooster pre-uranium mission and he knew they had been unbearable to watch.

His boyfriend shoots Hangman an angry look as if to remind him of their promise but he just rolls his eyes and sighs.

Hangman likes you, a lot. Some might even go so far as to say he loves you. Very much platonic but it's love nonetheless.

You were a major part of Rooster’s life and therefore you became a fixture in his and if he had to listen to you crying yourself to sleep one more goddamn night over fucking Baby on Board then he’d be the one going on a bloody rampage.

So Jake stalked over to Bob and stared him right in his blue eyes, his green gaze cutting like a knife.

“That wasn’t a suggestion Floyd”, he growled, nodding over to where you handed out drinks at the bar, doing everything within your power to not look their way.

Bob had no idea why the other ganged up on him like that but he couldn’t remember the last time Hangman had been this mad. With his gaze flittering between the two men and you at the bar he decided it was indeed probably smartest to talk to you as soon as possible.

“Can you please get a box of whiskey from storage?”, you barely hear Penny’s voice over the constant chatter of the bar and the music coming from the jukebox when she hands you the key.

You had tried to keep your brain busy all night and lucky for you, the Saturday had provided you with enough to do to grant yourself a small reprieve from the pain that had settled in what was left of your heart after last night.

You nod at Penny and weave through the crowd in front of the bar, attempting to smile at the patrons that greeted you but you knew that this was just a facade and considering the many concerned looks, they knew too.

When you finally got to unlock the door of the storage closet stepping inside and pulling the door closed behind you as you were heaving a sigh the muffled sounds of the bar were still echoing in your ear. You loved this place and the Hard Deck had always felt more like home than the house you shared with Rooster and Hangman. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. The air was stuffy and full of dust but it was the closest to a break you could get just about now.

That was until the sudden creaking of the door made your heart rate pick up.

"This is for staff only", your eyes are wandering around to find something to use as a makeshift weapon just in case one of the guys got so drunk he forgot his manners and basic human decency. You find a large vodka bottle, pick it up from the shelf as you turn around, almost dropping it when you are met with blue eyes.

"Fuck Bob, you scared me", you place your free hand over your heart, putting the Vodka bottle on a small table.

"I'm sorry, sunshine", your eyes wander over him and it's only then that you see how he's not really daring to look into your eyes and he's fidgeting with his hands.

"What are you doing back here Bob?", you are crossing your arms over your chest and take another step back from him, almost making you hit the shelves full of liquor behind you.

He had never seen you so distanced and borderline standoffish around any of the daggers. You were someone who needed to be close, someone who thrived on touch and physical forms of affection, but you were fleeing from him and he couldn't have imagined something as simple as a step back to hurt that bad.

"I... I was wondering...", he started and then you were the third person today looking at him with an arched eyebrow and he felt like a first grader who's supposed to take his SAT.

"What were you wondering?", you said, the tense edge still audible in your voice sent a shiver down his spine.

Bob had never met this cold version of you and he hated every second of it. He loved your warmth, the way you were lighting up even the darkest room. You were the embodiment of a sweet summer day, full of sunshine and blooming flowers with enough of a breeze to make it perfect but right now you rivalled the worst arctic winter.

"Why are you so cold with everyone?"

"I am not"

"Of course you are. You didn't even smile at Dave's proposal", he sees the way your eyes get wider for only a moment before you put that facade back in place. So the real you was hiding somewhere behind that mask you put on.

"Yes I did"

"No, you didn't. Not for real"

The fact he had actually noticed took you by surprise, but the dull ache in your chest reminded you that just because he happened to notice one thing today it didn't mean that anything changed.

The silence hanging between the two of you was deafening and the longer it lasted the more nervous Bob got.

You two had never had an issue with talking. You were probably the one person he always felt like he could talk to even if he didn't feel like interacting with anyone else. But now it felt like you were two ships in the night, drifting farther and farther away apart.

"Please. I just want to...", his voice sounds pleading and the way he reaches his hand out for you prompts you to take another step back. You cannot handle his touch, that much you know but in your desperate attempt to keep the tears from running down your cheeks you forget that you have a mouth too.

“It’s like you never really see me", the words are spilling from your lips before you even realise it, hands flying to your mouth to stop yourself. The tears that were pricking at your lashline before began to run down your cheek when you see the way his eyes widen mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice again.

"There hasn't been a single day when I didn't"

You force your eyes shut to stop the tears from running, shaking your head as you hear him take step after step closer into your space and crowd you against the shelves.

"I don't think I couldn't"

"Then why does it feel like I’m standing right in front of you. and you don’t see me?”, your voice is small and quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled sounds from the bar but once they sink in, Bob's eyes are darting all over your face, trying to figure out what you truly meant.

You open your eyes, tears still glittering as you look up at him. He sees so many emotions swirl in them ranging from pain and fear to something softer. Something he never dared to dream of finding in your eyes when you looked at him. And then he caught your eyes wandering from his to his lips and back up.

It was not much more than a flicker, something easily missed if he had blinked at the wrong moment.

"I always see you, sunshine", his voice is soft as he takes another step closer and leans down, slow and cautious as if he's trying to gauge if he had gotten what you implied right, but you stayed frozen in your place, closing your eyes again until you feel his nose brushing against yours and your foreheads touching.

"And what about last night?", you feel like you are caught up in a dream, fearing the moment your alarm would go off and you'd have to get up and back to a reality where Bob dated someone else and you were damned to only stand there and watch.

"Jolene is nice but all she's ever seen is the uniform and the glasses. She never bothered to really look at me. She didn't see me", he lifts his hands and rests them on your cheeks, thumbs gently caressing your skin as his eyes search yours for any sign that you do not want this.

"Not the way you did when we first met", you feel like you are getting lost in the endless blue of his ocean eyes, warm breath fanning over your face as you lean in to kiss him.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated as always

If you want to read more you can find my masterlist here

#robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x you #bob floyd fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #my writing

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fan-a-saurus-rex · 5 days ago

Note

Hi! Can I request a Joaquin or a Bob Floyd (if you’re writing for him) fic with prompt #8 with either situation #12 or #17? Angsty angst with a HEA if you so choose? I’m in the mood to get my heart ripped open over and over apparently.

I’ve been meaning to write a story for Bob Floyd and I love your idea. It’s gonna be a bit smutty cause I can’t help myself 😂 Hope you enjoy this!

Friends to Lovers

Plot: You go out one night with the Dagger Squad and have way too much to drink. Being your best friend, Bob offers to take care of you and you end up spilling a load of truthful emotional baggage.

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader

Requested: Yes! My requests are always open 🖤

Warnings: drinking alcohol, being drunk, drunk confessions, smut (heavy flirting, a bit of making out, implied sex, nothing too bad)

Masterlist

It was a normal Friday night at the bar with your friends. You had drank way too much and it was very apparent that you simply didn’t care.

Your friends had noticed just how far gone you were when you jumped up on the pool table and started dancing to a rock song playing through the speakers.

Out of all of your friends, Bob was definitely the most protective of you.

“Come on Python, time to get down” he said walking over, calling you by your callsign.

You got your callsign when the squad found out that you owned a pet snake, a Ball Python named Nelson.

“Come up here with me Floyd” you said, pulling him towards you, too drunk to care.

“Come on {y/n}, you’re gonna get hurt” he said pulling holding both your hands and pulling you closer.

You rolled your eyes and laughed “fine” you said, letting him help you down. You wobbled on your feet a bit but he held you up.

When you finally got your balance you walked back over to the bar to order another drink.

“Tequila please!” You said in a sing song voice.

“Sorry kid, your friend said you’ve been cut off” the bartender said pointing towards Bob “No more alcohol. How about a water or a Gatorade”

“Fine” you mumbled, scowling at Bob.

The bartender brought you over a blue Gatorade and a straw.

You dipped at it unenthusiastically as you watched your friends play pool.

After a while you started to feel a bit sick and be-lined outside, puking in the bushes. When you finally got back up, Bob was standing behind you.

“I think it’s time to go home” he said, helping you up off the ground. He signaled to the squad inside that he was escorting you home. Phoenix ran out handing him your bag so you wouldn’t forget it.

He practically carried you to his car and helped you buckle in. He drove you back to your apartment, figuring you’d be more comfortable in your own bed.

When you arrived he helped you out and walked you to the front door. You fumbled around looking for your keys. You were way too drunk to find them in your messy bag. Bob had a spare set that you’d given him years ago when you first became best friends so he took it upon himself to unlock the door and help you inside. He flicked on the lights as you flopped onto the couch.

“Go home Bobby…I’m fine” you slurred in a soft tone.

“I’m not leaving you like this, you’re a mess” he said as he sat beside you and pulled off your boots. “Come on, upstairs, you need to shower, get sober” he said softly

You groaned “carry me?”

He chuckled and got up, picking you up off the couch and carrying you upstairs to the bathroom. He set you down on the floor and grabbed you a towel before turning on the water.

You looked over at him and smirked “wanna join me?”

He blushed. If you hadn’t been so drunk he would have. He’d do anything to get his hands on you like that. You may have been his best friend but he’d started to develop stronger feelings for you in the past year or so.

Of course he was too shy to say anything.

“Um, no. I’ll be waiting outside the door. Yell if you need anything” he said trying to remain calm.

“You’re no fun” you said smirking as you started to strip out of your clothes.

Bob rushed out of the bathroom and closed the door, leaning against the wall. He let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

You were always flirty when you were drunk, but never like this.

This was torture.

He sat outside in the hallway until he heard the water shut off. He stood up and waited for you to come out of the bathroom. When you did, he had to ignore the fact that you were wrapped up in only a towel, droplets of water still running down your skin from your wet hair.

He helped you to your bedroom and started getting out some clothes for you to wear. He grabbed an oversized t-shirt, that he was pretty sure was one you had stolen from him months earlier, a pair of cotton shorts, and your boy short underwear.

He was too terrified to give you any other panties, or even look to see what else might be hiding in that drawer.

“I’m gonna step outside while you get dressed” he said

“What if I need help” you said smirking

“I’m sure you’ll be alright” he said, getting nervous.

“Just turn around Bobby” you said softly.

He did as he was told and waited for what felt like forever.

“Okay, I’m covered…” you said.

He turned around to see you sitting on your bed. He grabbed your hair brush off the dresser and helped you brush out all the tangles. He even put your hair in a loose braid to protect it from damage while it was still wet.

“Bobby”You said softly

“Yeah?” He asked, setting your brush back in its place on the dresser.

“Sometimes…I wish we’d never met”

He froze. He felt like his heart had just been ripped out. He knew it was just the alcohol talking, but drunk words are actually sober thoughts. “Why?” He asked quietly.

“Because…you don’t feel the way I do” you mumbled

“What do you mean?”

“I think I’m in love with you…and you only see me as a friend. A reckless one who needs to be taken care of” you said, lying down under your blankets. “But I wanna be more than that…”

He sighed and walked back over to you, lying beside you so he was facing you “How do you know I don’t love you back?”

“You’ve never said you do, you don’t even show it”

“{y/n}, you know as well as anyone that I’m not good at expressing emotions” he said

“Yeah, you suck at it” you said giggling.

“But I do…I do love you”

“Really?” You said smiling

“Yeah, but I thought you just saw me as a friend. Thought you liked gouts like Hangman”

“Ew, no” you said laughing “I like shy, nerdy guys who don’t realize how cute they are” you said placing your hand on his cheek.

He melted into your touch “well that works out perfectly for you cause I like girls with a wild side who don’t play by the rules”

You smiled at that “will you stay?” You whispered.

“Of course”

“I still have spare clothes for you in the bottom drawer”

He nodded and got up to change into the t-shirt and basketball shorts that he knew you always kept at your place. After changing he climbed back into bed beside you.

You leaned over, like you were going to kiss him, but he pulled back.

“Not right now, you’re still drunk. Want you to remember it” he whispered.

You nodded and cuddled into his side instead, falling asleep quickly.

* * * * *

You woke up the next morning against something warm. You opened your eyes to realize you were in your bedroom, lying against Bob’s chest with his arm around you.

You had been so drunk that you didn’t even remember him bringing you home. You rubbed his chest with your hand and he stirred awake.

“Oh, hey” he said in a raspy voice that sent chills down your spine “you okay?” He asked

“You brought me home?” You asked

“You were really drunk Python, you danced on the pool table and I had to ask the bartender to cut you off” he said

“Why are you….sleeping in my bed?”

“You don’t remember anything do you?” He asked

“No”

He sighed “you told me last night that you wished we’d never met because you love me and thought I don’t like you back” he said “but I do, I love you too. And then you asked me to stay and tried to kiss me”

“Did you kiss me back?”

“No, you were still hammered and I wanted you to remember it and give me your full consent”

Jesus, this man was way too sweet.

You blushed “well I do love you, and I really wanna kiss you….if you’ll let me”

He smiled and nodded, pulling you close, but letting you make the first move.

You pressed your lips to his softly. It was a sweet, passionate kiss.

You didn’t pull away immediately, you wanted this to last as long as he’d let it. When you eventually did pull away, you looked up at him. “Anything else happen last night?” You asked

He chuckled “you tried convincing me to take a shower with you”

You giggled “I believe it. Do you know how many times I’ve imagined you climbing into that shower with me and doing unholy things to my body?”

He blushed “how many?”

“Too many” you said giggling as you got closer to him.

“I always think about what your bare skin would feel like against mine, what you’d sound like if I touched you” he said, his breath hitching a bit.

“Wanna find out?”

“You still drunk?” He asked chuckling.

“Nope, completely sober” you said smirking “but I’d love to be drunk off you”

Something in him snapped. He pulled you onto him and kissed you hard as you straddled his waist. His tongue found its way into your mouth and both of you moaned softly.

He flipped you over so you were on your back, never once breaking his lips away from yours. You could feel how hard he was getting and you knew you were about to have a really good time.

“God, I’ve wanted to do this for so long” he groaned.

“Give me everything you’ve got” you said smirking.

“You sure?” He asked, kissing your neck.

You moaned “I want it all, all you have to give”

“Fuck I love you”

“I love you too”

And with that, you crossed a line you never thought you’d cross.

There was no going back now.

#fanfiction #fanfic #blurb #bob floyd #robert floyd #lewis pullman #bob floyd smut #robert floyd smut #lewis pullman smut

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10ava01 · 2 months ago

Text

The rules we break

Bob Floyd x F!reader

MASTERLIST

Summary: It was supposed to be just physical—no feelings, no complications. You and Bob knew the rules, and breaking them wasn’t part of the plan. But secrets have a way of slipping through the cracks, and so do feelings. Now the quiet glances linger too long, the touches mean too much, and pretending it’s nothing is getting harder by the day. Bob’s falling. You’re falling. But you’re also hiding something. And when the truth finally comes out, it might not just break the rules—it might break him.

Tropes: Age gap · Forbidden desire · Addiction · Slow burn yearning · Smut

Author’s Note: Top Gun owns a piece of my soul—I’ve watched it more times than I can admit without blushing. And Bob? Bob is everything. I needed to write something messy and soft, just like him. Let me know if you want Part 2.

You arrived ahead of time.

Of fucking course you are.

You only agreed to come to the party because of the open bar, but you couldn’t tell your dad that. He would be so disappointed if he found out about your so called ‘needs’ and disappointing him would be the last thing you can do. He deserved better and if pretending to be the perfect daughter he raised you to be, then you have to keep forcing yourself to do that. Not only that, but he raised you all by himself when your mother took off. She didn’t glance back or intend to include you. Selfish. That’s the extent of your understanding of her; therefore, as you developed, you aspired to be anything but self-centered. If she wanted nothing to do with you, then so be it. She made her choice, and you made yours, even when it sometimes kills you. Not telling is sometimes better.

Your dad is a man of military. Order, structure and discipline, and you can’t bear to be seen as a failure, especially with his reputation. You already make yourself feel bad for what you desire, but your only loving parent looking at you in disgust makes you want to burn yourself alive. So you do anything that rescues him that you’re a well-behaved girl. More like women, but in his eyes you’re always going to say the little girl. Only if he knew how much you’ve grown. If only.

But here you are in a mini cocktail dress that shows a little too much skin for your own good. The fabric is cool, smooth and clings to your body just like you want it to be. Every inch of your curve is an on display that makes you feel sexier. The hem brushes mid-thigh, short enough to expose yourself, but long enough to leave little room for imagination. High heels match your outfit and make your legs look longer. Your hair is perfectly styled, which flows with every step you take, and your makeup looks exactly how you wanted it to be. Clean and glowing. And you know you look good. You got the confident part from your father and also the cocky side, which only adds to your charm.

Apparently, everyone other than your father knows that showing up to the party early is a Disaster. To make the most of it, you go up to the bartender. “What can I get you started with, Miss?” The bartender asks. “Vodka martini,” you say hesitantly. You probably should get something less heavy than a vodka martini, and god knows it’s effective as hell. The only thing in that drink is vodka and dry vermouth, but it’s your go-to drink for the past few years. For the price of it you can get easily tipsy with a few of them, and overall that is the whole point of drinking, right? As the bartender prepares your drink, you look around the beach house.

It’s large and not only does it look expressive but also is. Jake Seresin bragged about it on one night in the hard deck while you only half listened to him because your system was full of gin and tonic, but apparently you didn’t have any signs of being drunk that Jake gave you the honor to listen to him about his new living investment.

You must give Hangman credits because he may be an asshole, but his taste is marvelous. The beach house looks out of a lifestyle magazine, all glass walls and clean angels. The salt air clings to everything and reminds you of the ocean. The massive bar caught your eyes when you walked in, and you made it your destination. There are stocks with every kind of liquor you could imagine, and the thought of getting yourself one drink after another makes your heart race with excitement.

While looking at this place, you can easily imagine yourself living here. All quiet and utterly beautiful and a drink in your hand as you make your way through the jacuzzi. Wearing nothing under your rope. The water on your bare skin relaxes your muscles as you watch the sunset.

Before you can have any sexual thoughts about how you would like to have sex in the large bedrooms with the wide windows and an open view to the ocean, you are pulled back to reality. Your drink is freshly done.

The first sip of the cold vodka martini tastes like heaven. You only admire the first few sips because after that you gulp everything down just to order one after another till you start feeling something. It didn’t take you more than five minutes to finish it, and you’re already on your third drink.

Board of your mind, you text Bobby to see how long it will take for him to be here. At least you would have company while drinking, and there is no harm in being admired by him. You know the shy, sweet and innocent persona he puts on is only a disguise. Underneath all that, there is a man no one knows about but you. “Almost there, lovely, are you not having fun?” You know he is genuinely asking but no one in their right mind should leave you alone near Alcohol, but he doesn’t know, so you cannot blame him for that. “No one is here, and I just want to have a little fun with you,” you probably sound like needy, but what is a girl to do in this situation? There is no answer from Bob which frustrates you more. Is it so hard to text back?

The drink in your hand is gone. If you go up to the bar and get another one, that will be your fifth or sixth drink by now and surely even the bartender will look suspicious by a twenty-year-old drinking like a frat guy. Truth to be told, you can handle liquor very well and that might be a negative aspect to your situation, but before you can make yourself go and get another drink you feel hands around your waist.

You know these hands. Your body memorized these hands and the slightest feeling reacts towards them like a firework. You don’t need to turn around to know who these long, vein, smooth- but rough on the edges hands belong to. “Finally you’re here,” you try to sound annoyed but know that when you look at his face any feeling other than admiring, caring feeling of warmth just withers away before it ever fully forms. “I’m sorry, baby, let me make it up to you in any way you want.” You turn around at the sound of that. A smirk forms on your face. It’s only been over a day since you saw Bob in his apartment, covered in sweat and pleasure from the mind-blowing sex you had, but a tiny part of you missed his presence. “Any way I want, huh?” You ask curiosity because once a promise has been made you tend to not forget about it. Bob knows he is in for it. An adorable smile forms his face and nods softly to your teasing. Sometimes you believe that he cannot do anything but admire you, and somehow that makes you feel guilty.

While you did agree to concentrate on your ‘needs’ only, which means sleeping together. The situation between you is complicated enough since you’re way younger than him and to top that off, your dad aka Maverick is Bob’s mentor. Sure the thought of being caught creeps from time to time in your head but at least you choose Bob and not Hangman or others from the group which would probably make your dad more furious. There is a tiny hope inside of you that he would be approved by Mav, but you’re not near dating and the situation you are in is far from acceptable.

So there are clear rules to this ‘fuck buddy situation’, no sleepovers, not going on dates, no relationship and no falling in love. A few of these rules have been broken a little over the time. You could scratch the sleepover part because it was more like no sleepover at your house rather than his and technically hanging out in the hard deck can’t be called a date, so you were safe. No strings attached, just how you want it. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself over and over again.

His hands squeeze your waist softly to pull your attention back to him. Bob notices often that you zone out, and a sad look comes on your face. His eyes wander around your body shamelessly, practically addressing you with his eyes. You don’t know if behind those blue ocean eyes you get lost of yourself are admiration or lust, maybe a little bit of both. “I can’t wait to rip this dress off of you,” he whispers into your ear so casually that if anyone heard him they would probably have to double check if it’s this sweet, innocent Bob talking. You know that man is long gone now. You smirk as you look up at him, obviously you know the moment you put on this so-called ‘dress’ was only to make him feral. “How about you put some action to your words.” You say in a low voice. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. You know that but the head filled with Alcohol just gives you ideas that will definitely get you two caught. Before Bob can make a sneaky comment about it, no other than your dad walks up to you.

He immediately puts his hands away from you and a tiny part of you is hurt that it’s so easy to let go of you. Logically, you know why he did it, but you can’t help but feel the aching in your heart. In those moments you try to remember that there is no you and him, no relationship, no romantically involved in emotions running through his veins, no part of him that wants you to be his. You swallow hard. Pushing down your emotions to not let the urge to cry out and beg him to love you, want you, see you, be with you, but you do neither of these.

“You made it, Bob.” Mav greets him by petting his shoulder. There’s no hint of suspiciousness, no hint of awkwardness, nothing at all. There is no surprise when Bob puts his act back on, as if you weren’t about to take you right here in front of all people. To make you his to show you that you’re the only one that exists in his eyes to show you that every part of you so body and mind belongs to him to make you understand that the need of you is bigger than anything, but none of that is there.

With every single day, Bob surprises you, and you cannot help but be amused by this situation. If only your dad knew how unreal that act is, and underneath his cover is a man that takes everything like he owns it. Only if he knew. Maybe a part of him owns you as well.

While they chat, you sneak a champagne glass from the waiter. If you want to make it through this, you need more than champagne or maybe pure vodka will do at some point. “Bob keep an eye on her for me,” your dad says jokingly as you look annoyed at him. Now it’s time for you to act. The tables have turned. You're annoyed at his teasing because you’re not some bratty little girl that needs babysitting, even if your dad shouldn’t let him babysit you from all the people. Mav laughs at your huff and makes his way to Bradly. Thanks to their father son relationship bond, you can enjoy living in your life in secret.

While looking around, you see no one paying attention to you two, you pull Bobby towards the house. You need some action, and looking at him in a casual button-down outfit fills your head with images that you tend to experience in real life. The blue shirt he is wearing clings to his body perfectly, and you know the perfect abs that are hidden underneath it. Waiting to be touched by you. Bob’s sleeves are rolled up to the arms, with every move his muscles flex, and you want to lick every vein. Put one finger after another in your mouth and lick them clean, have his fingers inside of you or tease you with little touches. Bob Floyd could do anything to you. His pants hug his slutty waist, you’re mine makes up fantasies where you rub your legs around him and pull him close to you and at the same time make him dive his dick inside of you. This is getting way out of your hand. But you don’t care as the adrenaline flows through your veins and your mind is clouded with dirty thoughts.

If you don’t get fucked in a matter of seconds, you’re gonna lose your mind, that’s for sure. You pull Bob to the farthest room you can find. No one would be looking for you, and you can moan as loud as you want since the music outside is so loud. Probably Jake's doing you think. Your mind has only one goal, and that is getting your Bain fucked out by this man.

You lock the door from the inside and look up to him. He is hovering over you, and the desperate look on your face tells him everything he needs to know. You want him, and it needs to be rough and dirty.

Within seconds, he puts his mouth onto yours. Nothing about this is romantic, and you both know it. He pushes your body to the door and deepens the kiss. All tongue and teeth. Devouring you like a starved man.

His large hands sneak onto your waist as you moan into his mouth. He takes this chance and pushes his tongue. Tongues dancing for dominance.

Bob is a very good kisser and with your experience you know it. The hungry kiss turns into a full make out scene. You pull him by his collar as if you can’t have even the tiniest space between you two. You need him. Not only that, but you need every part of him. You need him like you need air.

He pulls away from you to take a breath. You feel his warm breath on your face, and he looks stunning lips swollen cheeks burning, desperate look on his face, all in all the look is your guilty pleasure.

You’re both heavy on breath. He kisses you again from the corner of your mouth down to your neck. Biting, nipping and leaving little bruises as a reminder. It doesn’t take him long to find your sweet spot. He knows you from the inside and out. He took his sweet time over the past months to get to know you, and he would call himself an expert by now. Bob knows where to touch you to get a shaky breath out of you, where to kiss you to make you feel breathless, how to look at you to make you feel seen and how to treat you just the way you deserve.

You moan as he sucks on your neck. Attacking your soft spot. The love bites make you permanently his. And his only. “B-Bobby pleasee,” you try to form a sentence but your thoughts are mushed by him. His scent, his hands, his body, his mouth. All you can fell is him. “Tell me what you want, sweet girl,” he demands, and he still nips at your neck. “Fuck, please please fuck me sir,” you blurt out anything that comes to your mind. “Hmm, you want my cock inside of you, honey?” You know that he teases you, but you cannot help but nod dumbly at him.

You know that you sound desperate, but you don’t care as long as he gives you mind-blowing orgasms. You are willing to beg for him. “P-please I-i ugh please Bobby I need you.” He didn’t even touch you, and you turned into a mess, but the Alcohol in your system is making you more desperate than usual.

“Alight my sweet girl.” He pulls away from your neck to lay you down on the bed. His gaze in burning your skin and lustful eyes of his tell you that he wants you as much as you want him. The difference is that you need this. The sex. Him as well but getting fucked out more. But that’s a topic you don’t want to think about right now. Not while having the time of your life.

Bobby presses a little kiss on the corner of your mouth before he starts to take your shoes off. One foot after the other. Bob leaves trails of kisses on your tights and his hands wander to your dress. You gulp in excitement, but he flips you over to your stomach.

You’re weightless to him, and he almost treats you like a rag doll. You feel him unzipping your dress slowly to a point that it pains you that he is taking his sweet time while you’re suffering. “STOP squirming, or I will leave you like this.” You know he means it. The use of harsh tone makes you stay still. Your dress falls off your body so easily, and you look behind to see what’s going to happen next.

Your patience is running out, but you cannot do anything but wait. “Ass up baby,” he says in a deep raspy tone as you command. Ass up and face down. Probably one of your favorite positions and Bob knows how much you enjoy it.

The noise of his belt picks up your heart rate. This isn’t your first time, obviously, but every time it feels like that.

You see that he is fully dressed while you are laying naked, in front of him. Bare and ready to be taken however he pleases. You feel like a present of his that he gets to unwrap and can play with.

Bobby pulls his pants and underwear down but not completely off and pumps his dick a few times in his hands. His eyes are on you. “I’m begging you pleaseee just fuck m-.” You are cut off by him pushing his dick inside of you. Your eyes roll back. He does not stop to give you time to adjust. Manhandling by pumping his dick into you. Hard.

The room fills with the sound of skin slapping, grunts, means and hard breaths.

You moan at the feeling of being full. All you can feel is him. Every vein, length, thickness.

There is a guarantee that your waist will get bruised by the tight grip he has on you.

“T-thank fuck, thank you, ahh.” Bob only thrust faster as the sound of your fucked up voice. * thrust * “can” *thrust* “you” *thrust* “feel” *thrust* “my” *thrust* “cock” *thrust* “inside” *thrust* “your stomach baby?”

Every thrust is so forceful that at this point you don’t even know your name. You weakly node. Mind blurred out. A hand sneaks around your neck and pulls you hard towards his body. “I asked you a question, brat,” he tightens his hand around your neck.

He doesn’t stop abusing his dick inside of you. “Ye-yess lieutenant.” He groans. You know it drives him insane when you call him that’s especially in bed.

As a reward, he puts his other hand to your clit and makes a figure eight motion. “Hmm fuck fu-uck yes, yes pleasee don’t sto-op,” you whisper.

The pleasure is building up, and you’re about to burst. He doesn’t stop him, only speeds up his peace and puts sloppy kisses on your jaw.

You know he’s almost there as you are not far away from cum so hard. “SIR, I-I NEED TO CUM,” you scream in overstimulation. “Need huh angel?”

You can’t hold it any longer, and your moans are only getting louder with every figure eight on your clit and the sloppy thrust. “Cum for me, baby.” With that, you let go. Your insides are burning and the pleasure that had built up has finally been released.

With a low groan and few thrusts, he cums inside of you. A chill goes down your neck as you feel his warm breath.

You’re both out of breath, and Bob slowly pulls out of you as you collapse into the bed. Your limbs are numb. Your heart is beating so fast.

Bob puts his pants on as you lay down. The adrenaline that had formed inside of you is finally gone now. Your energy is gone.

This is exactly what you needed, and he provided you exactly what you asked for. You close your eyes for a second, enjoying the peace that comes after sex. At least with Bob, there is calm and quiet after your daily routines. You’re so glad he isn’t one of those guys that feel the need to say something after sex. It annoys you to death.

You hear footsteps and moving, and you don’t even need to open your eyes to know that after-care is essential to him. Maybe not for most guys, but Bob isn’t one of them.

He cleans you up with a soft rug so gentle that you can already imagine what it would be like being with him. Sharing a life. The simplest tasks could become the easiest. There would be nothing like your parents’ relationship, but you cannot let yourself think that way. There are situations where after sleeping together you get yourself home just so you can lie down and feel empty, broken and helpless. You cry yourself to sleep because of huge reasons you cannot have him. Not romantically, not as a friend, not even as a partner. You do this to yourself over and over again. While it’s convenient for a time. But the illusion wears off, and you build yourself up over and over again. Sure, it can be easy if you only tell him about it. But every time you try to bring yourself to do that, you just stop.

“Do you wane go back downstairs?” His soft voice pulls you out of your depressive thoughts. You open your eyes to see him staring down at you with those puppy dog eyes. You feel him stare at your face, almost admiring you in the most innocent way possible. Only if he knew that your face is a disguise for the odd habits, and desires you have. Just like they say, ‘the devil makes itself look beautiful to decide humans’. You’re sure he could accept you the way you are. You know it.

“Yeah, sure before they notice we’re gone too long,” you say jokingly, the meaning behind your words are far from it. You know it and he knows it. “Y/N you know that not I mean.” oh sweet Bob. He believes in good, even though there’s a dark part inside of them. So you smile softly up at him. Kiss his mouth softly. Just a light touch nothing more, nothing less. It shows him you understand what he means.

Ever the gentleman he is, he helps you put on your dress. Put your shoes onto your feet and kisses the soft part of your inner thigh. He admires you from the kneeling position. You look like a goddess to him. A beautiful creature that is destined for more. Your eternal beauty takes the breath away every time he looks like you. With the simplest look on your face, you take his breath away. Quite literally. Your mouth on his makes him drunk on you. No liquor could do that for him, but you do to him. The feeling of your touch on a skin awakens a part of himself that he never lets anyone see. The sound of your angelic voice could wake him from a coma. He is certain of it. Clearly he’s in love with you and anyone can see that by looking at his face.

Everyone might be blinded by your beauty to see that you hold back yourself. That you don’t let anyone come near you. And Bob desperately wants to know why that is. Why do you pull away from him? Why do you run off after sleeping with him? Why do you hide yourself? Why can’t you face the fact that he loves you? Just why?

#bob floyd #bob thunderbolts #bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #coyote #fanboy #pete maverick mitchell

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