#bob floyd x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scarletmika · 4 days ago

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Kismet : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: A chance encounter on a cross-country train ride might turn out to be the greatest happy-accident of your life, and Bob's too.

Warnings: SO MUCH fluff, meet-cute, strangers to lovers, language, female reader but no physical descriptions, possibly some incorrect descriptions of the Navy, possibly some inaccurate descriptions of a train (I have ridden Amtrak only twice lol), lightly edited, please bear with me

Word Count: 11,513 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

A/N: do I like this? kind of, idk, I can't tell lmao I feel like I spent so much time writing it I can't tell if I like it

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

There was something peaceful about train travel.

Sure, the trips always took longer than by car, and certainly longer than by plane, but it was almost…relaxing, in a way you couldn’t entirely describe. Plenty of leg room, peaceful, and full of beautiful sights to look at the entire trip–so long as you didn’t get a seat near the bathrooms, you learned that the hard way the first time you ever rode the train.

Thankfully, your group had been the first to board the train at the station just outside of Los Angeles, meaning you got prime pick on seats in your designated cars. Window seats were always your preference, they allowed you to truly admire the views while you were reading or writing. Tossing your luggage into the overhead compartment, you claimed your coveted window seat as the rest of the passengers filtered into the car to take their own seats. You didn’t hesitate to throw your backpack onto the seat directly next to you, hoping that it could live there for the entirety of your cross-country trip so that you didn’t have to share with someone you didn’t know.

“Good evening, passengers! We are expecting a sold-out train for this trip, so please ensure that you are not taking up any empty seats that you do not need. We will need every seat for the duration of our trip,”

Well…maybe you couldn’t have the seat to yourself, but maybe you could be selective on who you would be forced to sit with for the upcoming almost 45 hour train ride.

After the first round of passengers were seated, the next group boarded onto the train. Duos quickly grabbed up any empty seats that they could find next to each other, while larger groups tried to find seats that were all semi-close together (though, it usually didn’t work out in their favor). You watched each passenger filter through the car with a skeptical glance, one hand already on your backpack as you waited for just the right passenger to come past.

There was a young woman, maybe somewhere in her late teens to early twenties. You could hear her music blaring through her headphones from here: absolutely not. You didn’t want to be subjected to someone else’s music blaring next to you for a ride that would last almost two entire days.

The next passenger that was looking for a single seat was an older gentleman. You thought about moving your backpack for a moment, until you heard him grumbling about everything already. It wasn’t quiet grumbling, either, but loud complaints about everything on the train. The size of the aisle, how these seats were sure to be uncomfortable, how the food in the cafe car was never good enough for his taste.

Yeah, no. Next.

You were pretty sure your brain short-circuited when the next passenger entered the train.

He had to be somewhere around your age. Sandy blonde hair that was almost perfectly swooped back across his head. The shade complimented his sun-kissed skin perfectly. You watched as he pushed his aviator framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, and that’s when you got your first look at those bright blue eyes hiding behind the lenses.

Fuck. You didn’t think you’d be riding a cross-country train with a man who looked like that today.

He adjusted the straps of his backpack, hoisting his duffel bag over his shoulder. It pulled at the fabric of his sweatshirt that read “US NAVY” across the front. The handsome stranger glanced around the train, eyes wide, as he attempted to find himself a seat while more people piled into the car behind him.

The second his eyes happened to lock with yours, you were sure your heart skipped a beat, as you moved your backpack to the floor without hesitation. A hint of a smile stretched across his lips as he quickly made his way to your row of two seats, tossing his duffel into the overhead storage, before sliding into the seat beside you. His gaze locked with yours again as he shot you a sheepish grin, a faint hint of red dusting his cheeks.

“Thanks,”

Even his voice was pretty to listen to, the slight hint of some kind of southern twang accenting his words. You weren’t sure if you were going to survive this trip seated right beside him at this rate.

“N-No problem,”

It took everything in you to look away, knowing that a dusting of red was slowly crawling its way across your cheeks as well. Maybe letting this handsome stranger sit with you wasn’t the best of options for this trip, especially if you were going to get this flustered just by simply looking in his direction.

Neither of you spoke another word to one another as the rest of the passengers got seated within the train. Small conversations between family and friends could be heard as the train lurched slightly, pulling out of the station and beginning its journey across the United States.

43 hours you would now be stuck next to this handsome stranger before you hit Chicago, in small but spacious Coach seats where you couldn’t escape from the handsome man even if you wanted to. Yeah, maybe letting him sit next to you was a bad idea.

For the first half an hour or so of the trip, you did your best to ignore his presence. The most important thing to do first was take out your laptop to check through a few work emails. Even on vacation, it always sucked when you became ‘important at work’ and were the only one capable of doing your job at all times. They were surely already scrambling without you.

Opening your emails, it was true. You couldn’t help but laugh a little bit after scrolling through just two emails alone, both flagged important with questions about responding to inquiries that you had received. You easily directed them back to the document you had written up specifically for their trip with instructions on how to do every aspect of your job, hoping that would be enough to satisfy them and help them out for the next week or so.

With work taken care of, it was impossible not to let your eyes trail back to that random stranger beside you as you reached into your backpack to grab the latest Emily Henry book you had been reading through.

It was really unfair how pretty he was. As dorky as the glasses seemed at first glance, they suited him perfectly. His head was resting on one hand, perfectly framing that sharp jawline that you struggled not to stare at for a moment. In his other hand, resting against the fold down tray in front of him, sat the book he was currently reading: The President is Missing, a book by James Patterson.

Using every ounce of strength in you, you tore your gaze away, flipping your book back open to the page you had left off on the previous day, knowing you were saving the book for the train. There was no way you could spend this entire trip staring at this man, you would look like an absolute creep. The sun was setting over the horizon just outside the windows as night quickly crept in on your late evening train ride.

“Enjoying that book?”

Hearing his voice again startled you slightly. You had only heard him mumble that quick ‘thanks’ in your direction an hour ago, and other than that it had been silent. Glancing back up, your gaze met with his. He had turned just slightly, a tiny smile on his lips as he looked at you, pointing toward your book with a single finger still wrapped around his own book.

“Yeah, she’s one of my favorite authors,” you managed to respond after a moment, sighing as you glanced back down at the book in your hands. “I just wish Daphne and Miles would figure their shit out and get together already.”

Fuck, even his laugh was adorable you thought to yourself as he chuckled at the comment that poured from you without even really thinking. It took everything to keep the blush away from your cheeks once again.

“O-Oh yeah, they’re kind of oblivious to their own feelings. Makes sense, though, given what they’ve both been through,”

You quirked a brow at that, turning to look at him again with the hint of a smirk on your lips.

“Are you telling me that you have read Emily Henry books?”

His blush was back in full force immediately, crawling up his neck and peeking past the edge of his sweatshirt. The red hue crawled into his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he marked his place in his book, placing it down in front of him before rubbing at the back of his neck.

“W-Well, my sister is a big fan of hers, so she got me to read them too,” he tried to explain himself, looking back at you with that sheepish smile back on his lips. “I may…also j-just enjoy romance books.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you quickly reassured him, that teasing tone dropped from your voice. “A man who reads romance novels is kind of the dream for most women. Most real men could learn a thing or two from these fictional men.”

He laughed again, and this time you joined in, laughing at the absurdity that you just randomly started shit talking men and their romance skills to this complete stranger beside you.

The man didn’t seem to mind, though, just holding out his hand in your direction with a little grin of his own.

“I’m Bob, Bob Floyd,”

You took his hand without hesitation, trying to ignore the flutter of little butterflies deep within the pit of your stomach, and gave him your name in return. “What’s sending you across the country on a train, Bob?”

“On leave for a little bit, and decided to take a trip,” it took everything in you not to smile as he fully closed his book, giving you his full attention now. “I haven’t been to Washington D.C. since I was a kid, so I thought I’d take a little vacation for myself. The train seemed fun, too, plenty of scenery to look at along the way.”

With a bookmark back in place in your book, all thoughts of wanting to spend the next two days reading gone, you gave him your full attention too.

“Leave? So the sweatshirt is right, you’re in the Navy?”

“Yes ma’am,” he shot back easily.

Bob turned just slightly in the seat to face you more, and you followed his movements, allowing your back to rest against the window behind you. The train still thundered along down the tracks as your attention was fully taken up by Bob Floyd.

“So what is it you do in the Navy?”

“H-How about a trade?” Bob offered up with a smile. “I’ll tell you after you tell me what’s sending you across the country on a train.”

The conductor came by the seats then, calling out to everyone for their tickets. Both you and Bob were quick to flash him your cellphones, confirming that you did indeed have tickets, before he marked you both off and was on his way to the next set of seats behind you.

“Not going quite as far as you, I’ll be getting off in Chicago instead of switching over trains,” you explained. “I have family there I’m visiting for my little cousin’s birthday. Train has always been my preferred method of getting there, gives me time to usually relax, look at the scenery, and write or read.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Eh, kind of. I’ll tell you about that once you tell me more about the Navy,”

Bob laughed again, taking a swig from his water bottle sitting next to his now abandoned book on the tray table. You tried desperately not to stare directly at his neck, or the small line of water that managed to fall from his lips down his chin.

“I’m a WSO, a Weapons Systems Officer,”

“Wait, so you’re a Naval Aviator then?” that piqued your interest, sitting up just slightly with a wider grin on your lips.”My father was an air traffic controller in the Marines years ago!”

“Well, tell him thank you for his service,” Bob said sincerely. “And to the Naval Aviator part…sort of. I-I’m not the one flying the plane, my partner Phoenix is, and she’s a damn good pilot. I’m in charge of our communications systems and our weapons systems.”

You gave him a slight whack on the shoulder playfully with a bright smile.

“Don’t sell yourself short there, Bob. You might not be the one flying the plane, but you’re operating a crucial aspect of it,” he glanced away from you for a moment, but you could see that smile still on his lips even when he wasn’t looking directly at you. “I like writing on the side, but it’s not what pays the bills, though I hope that it does one day. No, I just work for a marketing firm outside of Los Angeles.”

“Not too far from me, then,” Bob threw in, still smiling down at his tray table. “I’m stationed in San Diego, at Miramar.”

“Let me take a shot in the dark then,” he glanced back at you then as you pretended to wave your fingers in his direction, drawing a laugh out of him. “Are you a Top Gun graduate?”

“Right again, ma’am,” Bob gave a little nod toward you. “Graduated the program a few years ago. I’m part of a special detachment, now we're permanently stationed in San Diego.”

The train rolled into a quick stop at one of your first stops along the trip, allowing another round of passengers onto the train. After just a few minutes, the train rolled off down the tracks once more, on pace for the next stop before you reached your end destination.

Bob had pulled out his phone, quickly checking something on it, and you found your teeth digging into your bottom lip for a moment. Cute, respectful, and so incredibly easy to talk to…you wouldn’t mind spending the entirety of the next two days talking this man’s ear off.

“I was thinking of stopping by the cafe car to grab some dinner,” he glanced back at you when you spoke again, quickly shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Want to join me?”

“Absolutely,”

Bob’s answer came quickly, and so did the smile on his face. Like the gentleman you were quickly realizing he was, Bob was up and out of his seat in seconds to stand in the aisle, holding out a hand to you to help you up as well.

You weren’t sure how this perfect, handsome gentleman fell into your life, but you were prepared to thank whatever God you needed to because of it.

Hand in his for the second time, you let him hoist you out of your seats and into the aisle. Turning to face him, you cocked your head, both of you just standing there for a quiet moment, before you pointed down the aisle behind him.

“Cafe car is that way,”

“Right!” Bob’s eyes shot wide, nodding his head as he started moving down the aisle in the direction you pointed. “Sorry, I-I’ve literally never been on a train before today.”

“Your first train trip and you’re heading across the country?” you commented as you both moved through the aisles, holding onto the heads of seats as you went as the train thundered down the tracks. “Bold of you, Floyd.”

He laughed again, before you both stopped in front of the door to the next car. Bob hesitated, just staring at the door for a moment, before you laughed and reached around him with your foot, kicking in the button at the bottom of the door to slide it open.

“I…feel stupid for not seeing that,”

Laughter flowed through you both easily again as you patted him lightly on the shoulder, showing him how to kick or push the next door open.

“It’s your first time on a train, don’t worry. I fucked it up the first time, too,”

“I swear, I’m not usually this useless,”

“You work weapons in fighter jets, Bob, I believe you. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you all you need to know about train travel,”

As usual, especially at this time for dinner, there was a long line for food leading into the snack car, but not many people were actually eating within the car itself.

You and Bob leaned against opposite sides of the car, placing yourself in line for food as other passengers moved about between you both.

“So, how often have you taken this trip before?” Bob asked, moving up another step in line as it slowly moved forward.

“I think about four other times,” you replied, trying to do the mental math in your head. “Cheaper than getting a plane ticket, most of the time. Living in Los Angeles is expensive enough, I can’t spend a fortune on a plane ticket.”

A few more passengers moved past you both, leaving you and Bob just barely at the entrance to the cafe car. The menu was hung on the wall before you, and you just watched Bob with a tiny smile as he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, leaning forward to read through the menu.

The worker in the cafe car called you both forward in the line, moving quickly in her spot in order to get through the line of guests as quickly as she could. Bob quickly gave his order to the woman, and you gave your typical order quickly after. Before your hand could even reach into your pocket to grab your wallet, Bob was already passing his card across the counter toward the worker.

“I’ve got her food, too,”

“Bob-” you tried to interject, but he only waved you off with a smile that sent that group of butterflies beating around your stomach again.

“Have to repay you somehow for sharing your seat with me,”

It had barely been an entire hour on the train, and even less time since you had started talking to Bob Floyd, the Navy WSO you chose to share your seat with…but you decided already that this man was too good to be real.

It didn’t help when he rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt as the cafe worker handed him the two cardboard trays of food. It was impossible for your eyes to not drop to his forearms, the flex in them and the prominent veins that ran down both arms. He was in the Navy, there was no way that he wasn’t a properly fit man, but even seeing a peak of it had a blush crawling into your cheeks once more.

Bob, like the gentleman he clearly was, carried both of your trays over to one of the little dining tables just outside of the cafe car. You thanked him, sliding into one side of the booth as he slid into the other, tossing his phone down beside his drink. His legs were long, given his height, stretching out to your side of the booth and essentially encasing you between them so that he could sit comfortably.

You tried not to think about that too much, or your mind was going to wander somewhere it did not need to be wandering right now.

“So, you said you write,” Bob threw in, taking a bite out of his sandwich while still maintaining eye contact with you. God, they were really a gorgeous shade of blue. “Novels, or something else?”

“Stories, just whatever I enjoy writing, really,” you answered easily, taking a bite out of your own sandwich. “Romance comes easily, given how many romance novels I read.”

“A-Any…real world influence on those stories?”

Now that wasn’t something you expected.

Judging by the way his gaze avoided yours and the blush that shone through his ears and cheeks, it was definitely a thinly veiled attempt at flirting–Bob’s attempt to test the waters. You weren’t complaining, even as it brought a matching red hue to your own skin.

With how much you were already blushing around this man, you weren’t sure you were going to make it to Chicago.

“Nope, just me and my endless love of fictional characters and fantasies to inspire me,”

It didn’t go unnoticed to you the quirk of a smile on his lips at your answer, right as he took a bite of his sandwich. A similar question was dancing on the edge of your lips, too–surely if he was interested in if you were single it was okay for you to be interested in the same thing.

Before you got the chance to broach the topic to him, his phone buzzed incessantly on the table top between you, the tell-tale sound of a phone call. Bob clumsily picked up his phone, dropping his sandwich down, and sighed the second he caught sight of the screen.

“It’s my squad, probably checking in…you don’t mind if I-?”

“By all means, go ahead,” you waved him off with a smile, one he reciprocated easily.

“Aye, guys! Baby-on-Board is alive!”

Bob left his phone on the table top, answering the FaceTime call. It gave you just enough space to see the screen, the tan man around your age calling out to who you could only assume was the rest of their squad around him. Your eyes locked with Bob’s a moment later as you mouthed a teasing question in his direction: Baby-on-Board?

He only shook his head, his response clear–please don’t ask.

“Holy shit, Floyd, thought you’d died on us,” a woman popped onto the screen with dark hair, one who you could only assume was the Phoenix he had spoken of just a bit ago. “We sent you, like, thirty texts and you stopped answering.”

“Didn’t know I-I had to report back where I was at all times, mom,” Bob shot back as you tried to conceal the laugh that tried to claw its way out of your throat.

Two more men popped into the background of the screen, both so tan you wondered if they were ever not in the sun. Even upside down and through a screen, you could tell the one with a mustache was a heartbreaker, and the blonde’s smile was one of those dangerous ones that definitely had gotten many women in trouble over the years.

“Hey, Bob! Nice to see the train ride is going well-”

“Still don’t get why you didn’t fly, Baby-on-Board,” the blonde chimed in, cutting off the one with the mustache beside him who could only roll his eyes in return. “So much easier, gets you there faster–ugh, I’m sure even the smell is different.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bagman,”

Now that nickname was enough to finally let you laughter escape past your lips. Bob’s head shot up to you, still grinning, as you covered your mouth to try and cover the sound.

Too late. Every single head crammed into the screen on Bob’s phone was suddenly locked in, trying to get a peak of whoever had just made that sound.

“Floyd, are you with someone right now?”

“Maybe Baby-on-Board has some game-”

“On a train? I don’t think so, it’s probably some little old grandma,”

“Oh my god, Bob, just turn the phone around!”

Even in the short amount of time you’d been talking to him, it was becoming increasingly easier to spot Bob’s emotions. He didn’t hide them well at all, or he at least wasn’t trying to. The nervousness that creeped into his features was clear as day right after they all realized he wasn’t sitting alone.

More passengers flitted by you to the cafe car to grab something to eat, but you paid them no mind. Bob glanced at you, biting his bottom lip with the question written clear across his face again–do you mind?

You simply shrugged, letting Bob pick his phone up and turn the camera so that it faced you. The second you were on screen, you gave his face a small wave.

“Well, hot damn,” that blonde man muttered, letting out a short whistle as he adjusted the collar of his uniform. “You’re no little old grandma, that’s for sure.”

“Wait,” the boy who had answered the phone cut in, snapping with a bright smile as he pointed toward the phone. “Are you the girl that he’s sitting with?”

You let your gaze drift back to Bob momentarily, eyebrow raised in a teasing question. He muttered something under his breath, shaking his head as his hand rubbed at the back of his neck. Sparing him, you simply laughed it off.

“That would be me, yes,”

The girl, the one you were pretty confident was Phoenix, grew a smirk as she silenced the boys, throwing you a wink through the camera before she spoke.

“Bob was right, you are definitely very, very cute-”

“A-Alright! I will let you guys know when I hit Chicago!” Bob stammered, spinning his phone around quickly as the collective laughter of the group rang out, his finger fumbling across the screen to end the call.

Silence hung between you both for a moment, before Bob finally managed to look up at you. He sighed, running a hand down his reddened face as he tried to hold in his laughter, dropping his phone back onto the table.

“Well, Bob-”

“Please don’t,” he quickly cut in as laughter spilled from you quietly, even as you held a hand to your mouth to try and conceal it the best that you could. “I-I already want to die of embarrassment."

“No need, it kind of helped me answer the question I hadn’t gotten to ask yet,” readjusting his glasses, Bob peaked at you just as you took a sip of your drink, grin spreading around the rim of the bottle. “I assume if you’re calling me very, very cute that means you are, also, single.”

The blush on his cheeks never calmed down, but you could almost see any last bits of tension in his shoulders roll off of him as he joined you in your laughter.

“Yes, very single,”

“Well, since we’ve gotten that out of the way,” leaning forward on the table, you rested your head against your hand, giving Bob your undivided attention. Though, from the moment he had stepped on the train, he had already held it. “Now, I’m dying to know more about Bob Floyd.”

And boy, was there a ton more to know about Bob Floyd.

Over the course of an hour and a half sitting at that little cafe car table, Bob had told you everything he could about himself, and you ate up every second of his words. He’d grown up in Montana, on his parent’s ranch, a thought you tried not to dwell on too hard because if you imagined this man in a cowboy hat you might combust. The military ran deep in his family, so he already knew he was going to join up when he was old enough, but he fell in love with planes as a young kid and his path was set from there, leading him to college close to home before off to Rhode Island for Officer Development Training.

In turn, you’d given him the same stories: you had grown up in a more Northern position of California, but moved to Los Angeles for college and then stayed permanently for work a few years ago. Chicago trips were a usual for you growing up and into adult hood, a large portion of your father’s side of the family residing there.

Somewhere in the midst of the easy stuff, the typical ‘get to know you’ questions and answers, you’d found your way into the deeper stories. The stories that you didn’t typically divulge to someone you had just met barely a few hours ago, much less on a moving train heading across the country.

Bob laughed through every wild story you had for each of the four Homecoming dances you attended in high school: from your friend almost getting thrown out by the metal detector because of how many bobby pins were holding her hair together, to senior year when your best friends’ had attempted to spike the punch bowl and then led security on a chase through the hotel ballroom.

Your smile never left your face with every story of Bob’s. He had participated in a science fair back in middle school where he blew every other student out of the water, creating his own wind turbine to demonstrate how efficient it could be at producing electricity. You weren’t shocked at all that he took home the top prize during that competition. The stories you really hung on were those of his squad, the people he stressed were his best friends, his family.

Natasha, who was on the call earlier and you were correct in naming as Phoenix, was like another sister to him, even though he already had two of his own. Strong, independent, and one hell of a pilot. Bradley, known as Rooster, and Mickey, known as Fanboy, were his best friends. They were always good at pulling him into social situations, helping him overcome those bouts of shyness that peaked through in crowded rooms, and making him feel included. Then there was Jake, who you were informed had the callsign of Hangman and not Bagman, who had a bit more of a complicated relationship with Bob. He could be a bit of a dick at times, even if everyone knew it wasn’t coming from an actual place of malice, but Bob still raved about him as someone he’d gladly lay down his life to protect.

When the announcement that the cafe car was closing for the night rang through the speakers, just as Bob was in the middle of telling you a story from one of their infamous nights out at the Hard Deck, you hadn’t realized how much time had actually passed.

Neither of you had run out of a single thing to talk about. Conversation was easy, in a way that you had never experienced before. And that group of butterflies, hammering away at the walls of your stomach and even against your ribcage, never stopped beating away. Drilling it into your body how much you enjoyed being in this man’s company, his presence, and how much you never wanted it to stop.

The few other people still sitting in the cafe car made their way back to their seats, leaving you both the last people left as the train roared down the tracks toward its next stop. You watched Bob, as he glanced out the window and smiled at the passing scenery as the sun just barely began to set on the day, before he looked back at you with that same little grin.

“T-This…this was nice,” he managed to find his words after a moment, his fingers interlaced together on the table top as his thumbs twirled around one another. “I…like talking to you. It’s easy–too easy, given that I barely know you.”

“I’ve told you so many embarrassing childhood stories at this point, Bob, that I think you can confidently say you do know me,” there was shared laughter once more between you both at your comment. You let your eyes drift to that setting sun, when an idea struck you. Bob’s eyes never left you as he rose to your feet, nodding your head toward the doorway behind you. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Bob followed you without hesitation.

Leading him through the cars, past loads of sleeping passengers and ones still engaged in conversation as the night quickly approached, it didn’t take long to arrive at your favorite part of the train.

“Whoa…”

A smile lit up your face at the little exclamation you could hear Bob let out behind you. The viewing car was your favorite part of train travel, especially when writing or reading. The large windows, the smaller ones right above you on the curve of the walls that allowed you to look straight up to the sky, and just the overall feel that came from the car. Somehow, not many people were in the car just as sunset was reaching its peak, most probably ready to get some sleep on the beginning stages of the journey.

“I know,” you called back to Bob, moved toward the further end of the car and plopping yourself down in one of the double seats furthest from others. You flashed your smile back at him as he quickly rounded the corner to sit with you. “Isn’t it pretty?”

The train was still somewhere in California, making its main stops along the beginning of the route to pick up passengers all over the lower portion of California. Come morning, you would probably be in Arizona, potentially New Mexico depending on delays, but the sight of the setting sun and the brilliant oranges and reds of the sunset painting the sky over the California skyline was still a beautiful sight to see.

“It really is,” Bob said after a moment, settling onto the opposite side of the double-seater seat you’d sat on. You found yourself watching him inside of the sunset, the way that the colors illuminated his face, the way the setting sun’s rays bounced off his glasses. Your stomach was, once again, doing somersaults you couldn’t stop. “You should see it from an F-18, the sunset is beautiful that high up.”

Tucking your legs up under you on the seat, fully facing Bob with your head resting on your arm, you gave him a soft smile as he turned to look at you once more.

“Tell me about it,”

“I-It’s…otherworldly,” Bob settled on explaining, smile warm as he pointed out the windows above your head toward the clouds. “You’re soaring just above the clouds, right within them, and you can see the colors reflecting off the clouds. Can see them blending in the sky, a full unobstructed view. The purples are really bright when you’re that high up, too, but really all the colors are brighter. Nothing for miles that could block the view. The first time I ever saw it, I-I’m pretty sure I cried.”

Low laughter left you then as Bob turned back to look at you, that grin still etched to his face, and you swore for a second your heart stopped.

The way the colors of the sunset fell across his face, that boyish smile that had nerves laced through it, the endearing awkwardness…Bob Floyd, this mere stranger that you let share your seat with you on the train, was gorgeous, both inside and out.

“No shame in that,” when you finally found the means to speak again, your voice was almost a whisper, your mind lost somewhere in those brilliant blue eyes hiding behind those glasses. “The first time I ever went truly stargazing while camping I cried, so I get it.”

He let out a little chuckle at that. At that moment, the air conditioning system in the train seemed to kick itself up just a notch, a shiver running straight down your spine. It was impossible not to shake slightly at the feeling as goosebumps rose up and down your arms. Bob’s head cocked just slightly to the side.

“Cold?”

“Yeah, but I’m used to it,” you shrugged it off with a wave of your hand. “It usually kicks up a little higher at night, it can get really cold at times. My sweatshirts are all buried somewhere in my suitcase.”

You were barely halfway through your sentence before Bob was tugging that US Navy sweatshirt up and over his head.

It was impossible not to let your eyes flicker to his arms, now exposed fully to you in that white t-shirt he wore under that sweatshirt. The subtle flex in his forearms, to his biceps, the vein that bulged just slightly in the toned muscle. It took everything in you to look away, just as Bob was holding out the bunch up fabric toward you.

“Bob-”

“I have another in my backpack, come on,”

It was something in the way he said it, so genuine, so sweet, with an undercurrent of nerves still present. Like he was scared he was stepping over a line. You took the warm fabric from him without hesitation then, tugging it down over your body.

The sweatshirt hung loose around your frame, baggier on you then it was on him. The warmth embedded into the fabric from his own body heat was a welcome feeling, but it was the smell that took over your senses: woodsy, but not overpowering, with an underlying hint of sweetness, almost a bit of a citrus scent. It was dizzying, how the smell invaded your senses and had your heartbeat stuttering.

“I m-might never give it back,” you managed to stumble your way through your words, as subtly as possible taking in another deep breath of the scent that clung to the fabric. “It’s comfortable, and warm.”

You didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed down your frame, now engulfed in the sweatshirt he’d been wearing just moments before. That flutter in your chest was back in full force as you watched the adam’s apple of his throat bob for a second, a red flush crawling up his neck once more. His teeth bit into his bottom lip as he forced himself to look away, peering back out the window at the moving landscape once more.

“T-That’s okay. It…it looks good on you. Really good…”

If there was one thing you were sure of, it was that you would never have another train ride like this one. Maybe you needed to call Emily Henry up, get her to turn this entire trip so far into another hit romance novel.

“You might regret giving this up once we get back to the seats,” you forced yourself to move on in the conversation, resting one hand tucked within the sleeves of the sweatshirt against your cheek to hopefully mask the blush the Navy man had brought about. “I wasn’t kidding about it getting cold at night.”

“Is it a bad thing that I…didn’t think to bring a blanket?”

Bob’s comment bubbled up another laugh from you. The goosebumps were already clear on the skin of his arms, now exposed to the cold.

“I brought quite a big one. I’d happily share since, you know, you let me borrow this hoodie,”

Even in the cold of the train car as night set in, Bob’s smile was still warm.

“I’ll take you up on that,”

Arriving back at your seats in the train car, Bob was subjected to the endless wait that was the line for the bathroom heading into the night, everyone trying to brush their teeth and get changed as quickly as possible without causing much of a fuss. Already having dressed in preparation to sleep on the train, a quick two minutes to brush your teeth was all you needed in the bathroom, holding it open for Bob as you settled back into your seats, pillow and blanket from your bag up top brought down with you.

It was hard not to stare at Bob when he arrived back at your seats: grey sweatpants that you were cursing the world for inventing because of how good men, particularly Bob, looked in them, and a long sleeve top that read ‘Coronado Volleyball’ across the front. Bob tucked his glasses into their case in his backpack at his feet, settling back into his seat beside you. You couldn’t help your smile at the small squint in his eyes without his glasses, your heart soaring once more with just how cute that simple action was on this man.

“Footrest is this button,” you showed him on your own seat, before pushing on the second button. “This one reclines the seat.”

Bob followed along with your instructions, accidently throwing the reclining function in his seat back so hard he flailed about for a second to catch himself. The snort that made its way out of you was impossible to stop as you covered your mouth with one hand, your other coming to rest on his bicep, gripping it to control yourself. The glance Bob threw your way screamed that he was begging you not to laugh, but his chest was clearly rumbling and his smile was faltering as he tried to keep from laughing and waking up the entire train car himself.

Phone plugged in and resting in the seat pocket beside you, pillows laid as comfortably as possible on the reclined seats, you threw out the other side of your blanket toward Bob before settling in.

There were quiet murmurs a few rows back from a group of teenagers, still awake, but the train car had gone mostly silent other than them. Turning just slightly to face Bob, buried under your blanket and taking in the warmth mixed with the lingering smell of cologne from Bob’s sweatshirt, you found him already looking at you. Smile soft, relaxed, and eyes still slightly squinted without those adorable glasses.

“T-Thanks…for letting me sit with you. You’ve made this trip better than I thought it would be, so far,”

You were thankful for the lack of light throughout the train car as night settled in, as it hid the flush in your cheeks for the nine thousandth time in the last few hours.

Closing your eyes and turning just slightly away from Bob, your own smile didn’t leave your lips.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Goodnight, Bob,”

❤︎

Waking up on an overnight, cross country train ride toward Chicago was always your least favorite part of these trips.

You always bought Coach seats, the cheapest you could, and never sprang for the slightly more comfortable bedrooms. That meant it always felt like you were waking up on a couch: neck slightly tweaked to the side, muscles sore, and overall feeling as if you’d just rolled out of the wrong side of your bed in the morning.

The conductor of the train made an announcement just then: you had just pulled into the station for Albuquerque, New Mexico. Your eyes shot wide: you had ridden this exact train enough in the past to know this route, the Albuquerque was usually around 11 in the morning. It was always impossible for you to sleep that long on these rides, given how uncomfortable you were in these seats.

But why, when you woke up this time, were you not uncomfortable? There was no weird tension in your neck, or your back. You weren’t freezing, as you typically were when waking up, but you were warm. That faint woodsy smell was still prevalent, and the pillow you were resting on felt odd compared to how your pillow usually felt–

Oh God.

That wasn’t a pillow your head was resting on, it was Bob’s shoulder.

Okay, if you weren’t awake fully before, now you were.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, your pillow had been shoved off to the side by the window, and your head had slotted itself into the open space of Bob’s shoulder. Worse? You had an arm wrapped around his arm, practically cradling it to your body like it was some childhood stuffed animal that you used to sleep with.

But in that moment, you also became hyper aware of the heated touch that rested against your thigh. By shifting your leg just slightly, it became clear that it was Bob’s large hand resting on top of your thigh, splayed out across the fabric covered skin, but the warmth that radiated off of him was ever present. His head, too, was laid right against the top of yours.

An intimate position to be in with the handsome gentleman you had just met hours prior and already, definitely, had a stupid school-girl crush on.

There was no time to dwell or panic over the situation, though, when you felt Bob stirring awake. The only logical decision you could come to was to lie as still as possible and pretend you were still asleep.

Bob shifted slightly, and you could feel him stretch himself out. In the midst of doing so, he froze, probably coming to the same realization that you had. And in that moment, neither of you moved, as if Bob was running through the exact same scenario that you had been. With you still ‘asleep’ though, it seemed he took the initiative to finally untangle yourselves from each other.

With absolute care, as if you were a fragile piece of China to be delicately handled, Bob slid out of his seat and took his body heat with him. It took every ounce of strength in you to hold your breath as that same large hand that had been splayed across your thigh, the heat of his touch still seared into the fabric like a memory, now cupped the back of your head as you ‘slept’. With the utmost care, Bob gently lifted your head from the seat, before a shuffle could be heard and your head was rested back against the pillow he’d placed behind your head again.

Your heart was already hammering out of your chest when he tucked the blankets back up around you, keeping you warm in the chilly morning.

Frozen in place, still pretending to sleep, was how you spent the next few minutes. You were too afraid to ‘wake up’ and have to look at him, sure you would melt in place given all that had occurred. You listened as he unzipped his duffle, disappeared no doubt to change, before you finally heard him leave your seats once more, only opening your eyes to the familiar sound of the train car door being kicked open down the aisle. Only, then, did you open your eyes.

Finally alone, or alone as you could be on a train car, you let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, even as your stomach did an entire gymnastics routine within your abdomen. Bob Floyd was going to be the damn death of you at this rate, and it simply wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair to feel this way about a man you barely knew, but felt like you’d known for years. No when he cared about you in ways like that, treated you so delicately, as if you were something precious to him.

Those thoughts never left your mind as you changed into a new set of clothes for the day, brushing your teeth and packing away your clothing into your own suitcase all while Bob was gone. You left his Navy sweatshirt on top of his duffel bag, even if part of you didn’t want to part with it at all.

Already reclined back in your chair, laptop plugged in and sitting on the fold out tray in front of you, Bob returned moments later. A smile lit up his face the second he locked eyes with you, sliding back into his seat beside you and passing over one of the little cardboard take-out trays from the cafe car.

“Was hoping you’d be up, I grabbed you breakfast. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I just got something basic…”

If Bob Floyd wasn’t careful, you were going to fall in love with him on this damn train.

“Lucky for you, I’m not picky with breakfast,” you shot back with a grin of your own, intrusive thoughts taking over as you reached over, lightly sliding his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, before tugging your hand back to you as if you had been scorched. “T-Thank you, though. This was really sweet.”

Wearing matching smiles, you ate your breakfast/lunch in mainly silence. Every now and then, he’d scroll through his texts with his squad, showing you a new video of Rooster singing drunkenly at their favorite bar, or Hangman striking out with a woman when they tried out a different bar in the city one night. You grinned and hung off every word of his stories, content to just listen to him talk for hours on end.

“So,” Bob began a bit later, already having thrown the remnants of food away in the train car’s trash can up ahead, settling back into his seat beside you. “How do you usually spend the longest day on these rides?”

After knowing him for the short time that you had, you could catch the underlying question in Bob’s voice. The hope that was laced in his words. His book was long forgotten, as was yours, and this was an open invitation: he wanted to know how you spent your time, because he wanted to spend it with you, talking to you, just being with you.

“Well” he watched and listened as you spoke, taking out your wireless earbuds and already offering one in his direction. “I have a ton of my favorite movies downloaded, that’s usually how I make the time go by faster. Care to watch along with me?”

If it was possible, Bob’s smile brightened at your clear acceptance of his underlying question, taking the headphone from you without hesitation as you navigated to your downloaded movies.

“Not sure what movies you’re a fan of, but please tell me you have Badlands in those downloads,”

It was your smile’s turn to brighten as you quickly found said movie from 1973, shooting Bob a look as you loaded the movie.

“Lucky for you, my dad was a big Martin Sheen fan, which in turn made me a Martin Sheen fan,”

“...not sure if I’ve mentioned this yet, b-but you’re more than very, very cute. I think you might be perfect,”

Yup, it was time to file that comment away to unpack at a later time. Maybe use it for fantasy fuel surrounding the absolute perfect man that was Bob Floyd sitting next to you.

The entire train car probably found you two obnoxious, they way you talked through every movie you watched for hours on end together. Badlands was almost entirely ignored, as you instead told Bob stories about every time you watched it growing up with your father, who then subjected you to various tidbits and facts surrounding every actor that appeared in the movie together.

Bob gave you the next pick of movies, saying Badlands was his suggestion and it was only fair that you got the next choice. It was no surprise to either of you that a romance movie was next on the list: 10 Things I Hate About You, a classic.

That brought about the hilarious story of Fanboy and Payback, who had chosen to subject Hangman to this movie one night after a bar trip (as he claimed to hate romance movies). Apparently, those two knew this movie by heart, and acted out every single scene by heart with voices and all. Bob promised to ask Phoenix for the video later, swearing that it was still one of the funniest nights he’d ever had with his friends.

It was right around the time when Patrick’s grand gesture happened: his dance across the stairs, his serenade to Kat with Can’t Take My Eyes Off You, when it happened.

Bob’s hand just barely brushed your thigh under the blanket. A simple movement that could’ve been ignored as nothing and just an accident. Except, his hand lingers, fingers tips lingering in the space between you and just barely brushing over the fabric of your pants. A shot of what felt like pure electricity shot up your body, fueling you to make a daring move. Your own hand, resting on that same thing, shifted just slightly, allowing your fingers to brush over his own.

Somewhere in those little movements, the ones that were clearly no longer accidental, if they ever were to begin with, Bob’s hand engulfed yours in a single, definitive move. Fingers intertwining, his thumb brushing just barely across the back of your hand, you swore your heart was going to soar straight from your chest.

You both locked eyes, wearing matching flushed cheeks and smiles, before you directed your attention back to the movie at hand. Neither of you brought it up, but your hand never left his, and Bob’s thumb never stopped tracing little shapes into the skin of your hand.

A comedy, an action/thriller, and a stop for dinner somewhere in the midst of it all, you knew your heart was surely fucked every second that you spent with Bob Floyd as the day turned into the night and the train continued on toward it’s final destination.

Every new little story had your heart fluttering: the comedy movie he’d picked was one that was actually Maverick’s favorite, and reminded him of the first few nights he’d spent after being relocated to San Diego, getting to know his new team. The action/thriller you had picked, your favorite one? It happened to be his dad’s favorite, too.

“He’d love you,” Bob had said in response to that. Such a simple thing to say, and yet it had your skin on fire and your head feeling like it was in a daze.

Or when the conversation surrounding action/thriller movies turned into the topic of current movies. Sitting in the cafe car once again, caged between his impossibly large legs, discussing the newest Marvel movie that was dropping soon and how excited you were for it, having been raised off of those movies.

He’d said it so casually, half taking a bite of his sandwich for dinner as he did. “You’ll have to get me caught up before we go see it.”

So definitive, leaving no room for questions. It was a statement, a promise that you were going together. That when this train ride was over, when you both made it back to California, this wasn’t the last he wanted to see of you. It felt like you were living your own personal romance novel every second you were around him.

And when you had stood, deciding after sitting in the cafe car together talking until the late hours of the night when it shut down until the morning, his hand had found yours again with a confidence you hadn’t seen him truly show yet.

Night had almost become morning, the train somewhere in the state of Kansas, as you and Bob walked hand in hand into the viewing car once more. There was a man in the furthest corner, sprawled out across two single seats to sleep–as uncomfortable as it looked–and a woman slumped over in her chair on the other end of the car asleep, too.

Besides the pair, the car was quiet. Dark, illuminated just by select lights at the ends of the car to indicate the doors, and the glow of the moon in the sky as it and the stars shone down through the windows.

In that same double seat you had been in just the night before, you and Bob found yourselves side by side once again, but closer than you had been just 24 hours before. His hand left yours, but it didn’t stray far, curling around the back of the chair behind your head. His fingertips just barely ghosted over your sweatshirt clad shoulder as you sat together, staring out the window at the passing night scenery.

“This…” Bob broke the silence after a moment, eyes trained on the scenery out the train window, voice low as to not wake the others sleeping around the car. “I-Is not what I expected from my first train trip.”

“What, how nice and peaceful it is?”

“That, but…I meant you,”

His words brought your gaze to him, his eyes already locked on you. You let out a short huff, glancing down at the floor beneath your feet for a second to escape the weightless feelings rising in your stomach.

“I’m nothing special. You’re the handsome, absolute gentleman who also happens to fly around in F-18s for the Navy. I’m still trying to decide if meeting you was a dream or not,”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Bob was quick to throw in, bringing your eyes back to his face, flashing you a sheepish smile. “It’s weird. I-I just feel so…comfortable with you. I’m not like this with people–easy going and comfortable with them so quickly. Even Phoenix would tell you, i-it took weeks of training with them before I was sassing Hangman back the way he deserved. You just make it easy. I…I like being around you, as insane as that sounds for how long I’ve known you.”

His words were melting you, inside and out. Shifting your body just the tiniest bit closer to his, your side pressed against his, you gave him a tiny smile of your own, trying to ignore the feelings clawing at your chest.

“You, sassing Hangman? I can’t picture you being sassy at all, I’d pay to see this,”

He laughed, trying to keep his voice low still in the quiet of the night.

“When you meet the others, trust me, you’ll see it. Especially if Jake decides to make any comments, which he always does,”

There it was again: that definitive. Not a question of whether or not you want to meet his friends, but a statement, a promise that you will meet them.

Bob seemed to sense it, too, the way he said his words. The way the air of tension hanging between you both shifted in that moment, with those words alone. Both wide eyed, stumbling, just staring at one another as you tried to assess where this whirlwind of a trip and a chance meeting would take you from here.

“Bob-”

“Can I do something k-kind of stupid?”

You cocked your head at his comment, lips quirking up again.

“Depends. Is it stupid, or is it brave?”

“...can it be both?”

Quirked lips turning into a full smile, you took the lead, resting one gentle hand on his chest as you looked up at him.

“If you’re going to ask to kiss me…it’s not stupid, not at all,”

That little bit of confirmation was all Bob needed.

His first kiss was gentle. Unsure, still testing the waters, scared that you’d back away and change your mind. His lips just barely brushed over yours, like a phantom in the night, before he pulled back, never truly leaving your personal space though. You caught it, the faint hint of mint still lingering in his breath, before you surged forward to steal a real kiss from him, the kiss you had been thinking of since he’d walked onto the train as if he’d stepped right out of a rom-com.

Bob’s hand didn’t hesitate then, curling around your neck to hold you to him. His head titled as if on instinct, lips slanting against yours as electricity seemed to shoot through your body from every point in which his skin touched yours. Your hand curled into his sweatshirt, holding him as if you were afraid letting go meant this all wouldn’t be real.

You sighed into the feel of his lips, the warmth that was present in his skin and transferred through yours. The feel of them, soft and yet slightly chapped against your own, but perfect in a way you couldn’t describe. Bob’s tongue just barely poked past his lips, grazing over your own on accident, but enough to fuel the fantasies in your head, to drive you to want–to need–more from this perfect man you still couldn’t believe wanted to kiss you.

He pulled away for just a moment, taking in a deep breath, and you followed suit. Eyes finally fluttering open, meeting with the dilated blue pupils behind those golden frames, you smiled giddily up at the man still cradling you in his hand so tenderly.

“Are you always this charming with the ladies? Do you go around kissing all the ladies you barely know?”

He let out a breathless laugh, fingers twitching against the back of your neck. “I’m hopeless with the women, just ask Rooster. So, no, I don’t go around kissing just anyone…j-just this really pretty girl I met on the train who I think might be on her way to ruining my life.”

You pulled him into the kiss this time. It was messy, uncoordinated, the smile unable to be wiped from either of your lips as you both smiled into the kiss, soft laughter flowing through both of you. Lost in your own little world as the train roared down the tracks in the night, lost in your own little cloud nine.

And when you fell asleep that night, curled up on those uncomfortable reclining chairs under your blanket, it was no accident this time when you slotted yourself into Bob’s side. When his arm wrapped around your shoulders, tugging you into his side and resting his head against your own, lulling you into the most comfortable sleep of your life.

But all good things must come to an end.

By the early afternoon the next day, the train had rolled into your destination: Chicago. Your part of the trip was over, and Bob was onto the next part of his own, your paths forging down two different roads.

Stopping at the bathroom one last time, you met Bob in the waiting area right outside the steps off the train. He stood, with both his bags and your own, smiling as he waited for you to join him.

“Thank you for grabbing these,” your voice was quiet as you approached, slinging your backpack up around your shoulders, before grabbing your suitcase with one hand. Bob only smiled, taking your free hand in his own, squeezing it just enough to send those butterflies on a mission in your chest.

“Of course…”

The intercom overhead went off, announcing that the connecting train to Washington D.C. was departing soon. Your phone went off at the same time, a text from your Aunt to say they had arrived to pick you up. Bob looked to you, as you looked to him, as it settled on both of you that the whirlwind that was the last 48 hours was coming to an end.

“When we both get back to California,” Bob started, eyes never leaving yours, even as people moved past him to board his next train, like he should’ve been doing. “I-I want to take you on a date.”

“Four meals together on a train doesn’t count?” you teased, even though your grin stretched from ear to ear.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Call it a trial run. I want to take you on a proper date…because I like you way too much for just having met you two days ago.”

You gave his hand a tight squeeze, laughing with him.

“Good, because I feel the same way and I thought I was going insane,”

With a boost of confidence, clearly spurred by your agreement to a date, Bob tugged you in, leaving one last kiss to your lips. And, god, were you seconds away from asking him to forgo the rest of his trip and just stay in Chicago with you, stay in this little bubble forever with you.

But his lips left yours after a moment, taking their warmth with them, as did his hand. All you could do was take a deep breath, nodding as Bob took a hesitant step away, as if he didn’t want to leave either.

“Have a safe trip,”

He gave you one last smile, nodding to you. “I’ll see you back in Cali.”

And for ten minutes, you couldn’t force yourself to leave that train platform. All you could do was stand there, soak in the last 48 hours that had occurred since the moments that Bob Floyd had walked onto that train, lost and clueless, until he’d stepped off right now and walked away from you.

This perfect gentleman had swooped in, dirty blonde hair, tanned skin, and the cutest glasses in the world and swept you off your feet and upended your expectations for love. And he had barely had to try in order to do it.

It wasn’t until the train to Washington D.C. finally pulled out of the station, barrelling down the tracks, that it hit you: you never got his phone number.

That revelation alone was like having the wind knocked out of you. Through everything that had occurred, that had been said, you had somehow let Prince Charming himself get onto a train and leave you there at the station without getting his damn phone number.

For seven days in Chicago, that oversight on your part haunted you. No amount of family, birthday parties, or anything else for seven days could possibly get Bob Floyd off your mind.

A Navy WSO, a Top Gun graduate, living in San Diego, and you had his full name–yet still–you couldn’t find a single thing about this man online. He didn’t have any social media by the looks of it, besides a Facebook that looked as if it hadn’t been updated since Middle School. You didn’t know any of his Squadmate’s last names, just their first names and their callsigns, so finding them was just as impossible.

Your fairytale, rom-com meet-cute on a train with the most perfect man was slowly turning into the one that got away. And you had no one to blame but yourself for overlooking something as stupid as a phone number.

It didn’t help that your first night in your aunt’s home, opening your duffel bag to change for the night, there was an unexpected surprise sitting on top of your luggage: Bob’s Navy sweatshirt. He must have tucked it away in there before you had gotten off the train, intent on giving it to you. This time, you shamelessly held it up to your nose, inhaling that familiar woodsy and sweet scent you’d come to know as his, already dreading the near future when that smell would fade away in the wash.

Bob Floyd was all you could think of when, a week later, you were dropped back off at that very same train station in the early hours of the afternoon, prepared to do your trip all over again. This time, without your handsome WSO at your side.

Clad in that Navy sweatshirt, unable to convince yourself not to wear it, you boarded the train just as you had done a thousand times before, familiar with the process. Unsurprisingly, the train was packed, and you recognized many of the faces that had gotten off in Chicago with you just a week ago.

The rowdy group of teenagers, already conversing across the aisle at a volume they shouldn’t be. The young woman with the music blaring through her headphones, and you still wondering how her hearing was intact. Even that elderly gentleman who complained about everything he could see and touch was seated.

Your breath caught, though, when you caught the briefest sight of those aviator frames you knew so well. Your feet were moving before your head had caught up with what you were seeing, hoping you were seeing things right.

There he sat: Bob Floyd, just as you’d left him a week ago. His backpack sat on the empty seat next to him, just as your’s had. He stared out the window, paying no attention to those who boarded the train. You couldn’t help the way your smile grew, just seeing him, or the way your heart hammered in your chest, as you cleared your throat.

“Excuse me…is this seat taken?”

A flurry of emotions passed over Bob’s face the second his head turned, those baby blue eyes locking with yours. Shock, morphed into happiness, soon mixed with what you could only call relief. His smile stretched from ear to ear as he shoved his backpack to the floor, opening up the empty seat beside him to you, just as you had for him.

Bags placed in the overhead bin, you took that seat beside him without hesitation, eyes never leaving him.

“H-Hi,”

“Hi,” you shot right back at him as he stumbled over the simple word. Digging into your pocket, you held your phone out in his direction with a teasing wink. “I think we forgot an important step last week.”

Bob laughed, a sound you had missed hearing desperately. He took your phone from your hand, but still cradled your hand in his palm. Bringing it to his lips, he left a kiss across your knuckles, and you could feel the smile on his face as his lips pressed to your skin.

“Better late than never,”

295 notes · View notes

hauntedhowlett-writes · 3 days ago

Text

SEEING YOU

PAIRING: bob floyd x female reader

RATING: mature

WORD COUNT: 4.4K

SUMMARY:

A follow-up to hearing you, where Bob and the air traffic controller have their first date.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

thank you so much for all the love on hearing you. all the feedback has inspired this second part (and likely a third since this ends on a bit of a cliffhanger sorry).

TAGS/WARNINGS:

post-top gun: maverick, beware of the liberties i’ve taken with bob’s character, not a stand alone fic, sexually suggestive language, no use of y/n, meddlesome jake “hangman” seresin and natasha “phoenix” trace, radio flirting, insecure bob floyd, relationship building, kissing, first date, fluff, not beta read

Bob is sitting in the mess hall after morning drills, smearing cream cheese on his bagel, when Natasha drops her tray on the table across from him and takes a seat. She’s got a shit eating grin on her face, looking very much like the cat that caught the canary.

“You look tired, Bob,” she says, pointedly raising her eyebrows. “Long night?”

“Don’t—“

“Tell me everything,” she interrupts, shoveling a forkful of eggs into her mouth. Some of it spills back onto her plate. Bob wrinkles his nose.

“All I did was drive her home. Nothing else happened,” he insists.

He swallows nervously. He’s never been a good liar.

“You got a little—,” he points to his chin. She doesn’t take the bait.

Natasha’s eyes narrow, assessing him. He remains strong, holding her gaze, refusing to look away. His palms start to sweat and he tries to surreptitiously wipe them on his flight suit.

“You’re a terrible liar, Floyd,” she finally says.

“I know.” He sighs, tipping his head back. “Okay, look. We kissed and some…other stuff…happened,” he looks down at the table, “Then she gave me her number and told me to call her today.”

“Some other—Robert Michael Floyd, you dirty dog.” She leans back, crossing her arms and shaking her head, an amused smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “Who would have thought you had it in you?”

“I’m not a monk, Nat,” he grumbles.

“Are you going to call her?” She asks, ignoring his irritation.

Warmth prickles Bob’s neck and he slides a finger beneath the collar of his shirt. “I don’t know. What if she was just saying that to be nice?”

“Baby on Board, tell me you’re not thinkin’ about lettin’ her get away,” Jake interrupts, straddling the bench beside Bob.

“Where did you even come from?” Bob asks, frowning at the man.

Jake waves his hand dismissively. “I’ve been around,” he replies. He grabs Bob by the shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Listen to me, Bobby. You gotta call her. Sooner rather than later. Otherwise, you’ll miss your chance.”

“I don’t—“

“Ah,” Jake holds up a hand, silencing Bob’s protests, “if you’re not goin’ to do it, then give me her number.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I’ll show her a good time.”

“Fuck no,” Bob snaps.

Natasha’s eyes widen and she shares a look with Jake. “Is he allowed to say that?” She asks. Bob narrows his eyes at her.

“See? That right there tells me you’re already in deep,” Jake says, poking Bob in the chest. Hard. Bob rubs the spot with his palm as Jake adds, “So man up and call her. Take her out. Practice making lots of little Bobs.”

Bob nearly chokes on his own spit. Natasha laughs so hard that she snorts. Jake, meanwhile, looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“Okay, fine, I’ll call her,” he says, batting Jake’s hand away from him. “Can we stop talking about this now?”

The conversation moves on, with Jake and Natasha discussing the flight maneuvers from the early morning drills they ran. Bob stays quiet, his mind drifting to thoughts of you.

Are you awake yet? Did you sleep well? Are you thinking about him as much as he’s been thinking about you?

He drops his head to the table with a groan. Natasha kicks him in the shin. And Jake—

Well, Jake just laughs like this is funniest goddamn thing he’s ever seen.

Your phone rings while you’re making lunch. The caller ID shows an unknown number and you mentally cross your fingers, hoping that it’s Bob.

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since last night. In fact, you spent a good ten minutes jumping around your living room and pumping your fists in excitement before finally collapsing in your bed without even bothering to wash your face.

Taking a deep breath, you swipe your thumb across the screen to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey—Hi. Uh, this is Bob?” His familiar voice says, more of a question than a statement. You hold back your giggle.

“You don’t sound so sure,” you tease. He chuckles and the sound makes your stomach flip.

“It’s Bob,” he says, a little more confidently. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Making some lunch. How about you?”

“Just finished a debrief. Had a few minutes to myself, figured I’d make good on my promise to call you.”

“I’m glad you did,” you tell him, voice soft. You bite your lip. “I’ve been thinking about last night.”

“Yeah?” He asks, voice dropping low. “Me, too.”

You press your lips together. A moment of silence stretches between you — not awkward, but heated, like you both know what the other is thinking about. It makes your face feel warm.

“I’d…like to see you again,” Bob says. Then, in a rush, “If—you know—if that’s something—“

“I’d like that,” you tell him. He lets out what sounds like a relieved sigh.

“Can I take you to dinner?”

You smile, giddiness bubbling in your chest. “Dinner sounds good.”

“Do you have any food allergies?”

Leave it to Bob Floyd to ask about food allergies when trying to secure a date.

It’s painfully endearing.

“I don’t,” you answer.

“Thoughts on seafood?”

“Positive.”

“Okay. I know a place,” he says.

“You take all your girls there?” You ask. He laughs.

“Just you,” he replies, voice full of sincerity that makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. “How about Friday night? I can pick you up at seven.”

“Friday sounds good. Pretty sure I’m working your squad’s drills that morning.”

“Guess that’ll be my lucky day. Hearing you in the morning and seeing you at night.”

“Bob Floyd,” you say slowly. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Depends,” he replies. You can hear the smile in his voice as he asks, “Is it working?”

“Guess you’ll find out on Friday, huh?”

He laughs, low and warm. “I guess I gotta be patient.”

“Exactly.”

Another silence, one that finds you smiling so wide your cheeks start to ache. Bob clears his throat.

“I better go,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, Bob.”

You hang up and gently set your phone down on the counter before walking through your kitchen to your living room. You snatch one of the throw pillows from your couch and bury your face in it, letting out a high pitched scream that’s muffled in the cotton and polyester filling.

It’s Friday morning and the sun is just starting to rise when members of the Dagger Squad exit the ready room, heading for the line of gleaming Super Hornets lined up on the tarmac. Bob falls into step with Natasha, helmet tucked under his arm. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye.

“You look happy this morning,” she says.

“Is that not allowed?” He asks.

“No, no, by all means.” She holds up her hands. “It’s a good look on you, Floyd.”

Bob climbs the ladder to the cockpit first, followed by Natasha. She powers up the main systems, screens flicking to life. While she runs through her scan, he checks the comms.

“Tower, Dagger Zero Three. Backseat radio check,” he says, keeping his tone professional. He holds his breath, waiting for a response.

Your voice comes through his headset a moment later, smooth and steady, that familiar early morning raspiness making his pulse spike. “Dagger Zero Three backseater, Tower. Loud and clear,” you tell him.

He smiles beneath the mask and begins powering up his displays with practiced ease. “Copy that, Tower.” He pauses and, unable to resist, adds a quiet, “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” you reply, your tone laced with a smile he wishes he could see.

“Tower, Dagger Zero Three. Radio check,” Natasha cuts in. Then, pointedly, “Stop distracting my WSO.”

“Dagger Zero Three, Tower. Loud and clear,” you reply with a hint of amusement.

“Dagger Zero Three, ready for start-up.”

“Dagger Zero Three, Tower. Cleared for engine start.”

The jet rumbles to life, a low whine building to a steady roar. Bob scans the backseat displays, making any necessary adjustments.

“All systems are green,” he says. Natasha gives a responding nod that he can’t see but knows she does out of habit.

“Dagger Zero Three, Tower. Taxi via Alpha two, hold short of runway two nine.”

“Wilco, Tower. Taxi via Alpha two,” Natasha responds, easing the throttle. The jet begins to move, rolling slowly. She switches to intercom.

“‘Hey’,” she says, deepening her voice in a poor impression of him. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, but there’s no heat to his words.

“You’ve got it bad,” she teases. She keys into the radio. “Tower, Dagger Zero Three. Holding short of runway two-nine, ready for departure.”

“Dagger Zero Three, Tower. Hold for landing traffic,” you reply, unaware of the conversation happening in the cockpit.

Thank god, Bob thinks.

“Copy, holding.” Natasha changes stations again. “So, where are you taking her?”

“None of your business,” Bob replies.

“Harsh,” she says.

“I’m not giving you the chance to crash my date.”

“I would never!”

“Dagger Zero Three, Tower. Winds 300 at 5. Cleared for take off, runway two-nine. Maintain runway heading. Departure on two-five-five decimal four,” you instruct. “And Bob?”

“Yeah?” He asks.

“See you tonight. Don’t be late.”

Bob pulls into a parking spot at your apartment complex and cuts the truck’s engine. He’s a little early by about ten minutes but if he spent any longer pacing the length of his room and debating whether to change his shirt for the third time he’s pretty sure he would have ended up being late.

Instead, he channeled his pre-date nervous energy into picking out a small bouquet of spray roses from the store, the stems wrapped in brown butcher paper tied with twine. He grabs the bouquet from the passenger seat before getting out and making his way up to your apartment.

He knocks twice on your door. He can hear your footsteps as you approach and the click of the lock being turned before the door opens and there you are, smile bright and real and just for him. You’re wearing a dress that hugs you in all the right places and his mouth goes dry, words sticking to his tongue.

“Wow,” he finally manages. “You look—I mean—“

“What’s the matter, lieutenant?” You ask, eyes sparkling. “Cat got your tongue?”

“No, that was last weekend,” he says without thinking. His eyes go wide. “Wait—“

You laugh, pulling him into your apartment by his shirt sleeve and closing the door behind him. Leaning in close enough that your chest brushes his, you kiss him on the cheek. The scent of you lingers, sweet and sugary.

“Careful, Bob. Keep talking like that and we won’t make it to dinner,” you say with a wink. His face grows hot and he swallows nervously. You glance down at the bouquet close to being crushed in his hand, your face lighting up. “Are those for me?”

“Oh, yeah.” He holds the flowers out for you to take, watches you bring them up to your face and inhale deeply, eyes fluttering shut. “I wasn’t sure what—what kind of flowers you might like. Figured roses might be safe.”

“They’re beautiful,” you assure him. “Thank you.”

He trails after you into the kitchen, hands in his pockets, unsure of what to do with them now that he’s not holding onto the flowers. You pull out a glass vase from a cabinet and set it in the sink to fill with water.

He leans against the counter, watching you unwrap the bouquet and reach for a set of kitchen shears from the knife block on the counter, using them to trim the stems over a trashcan tucked against the wall. You set the flowers into the vase, arranging them to your liking.

“Peonies,” you murmur, breaking the silence. You step back to admire your work.

Bob blinks. “What?”

“My favorite flower,” you explain, glancing at him. Your lips curl into a teasing smile. “For future reference.”

He straightens, nodding once; the picture of military precision. “Noted.”

You brush past him, close enough that he can feel your warmth where your shoulders almost touch, and head towards an open door at the start of the hallway.

“I’ll be ready in just a minute,” you say over your shoulder. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Bob lingers in the kitchen, looking around. There’s a few coffee cups drying on a mat by the sink and a wooden bowl of apples on the counter. A blue and white striped hand towel hangs from the oven door and a collection of magnets on the fridge that tell a story about places you’ve been.

He wanders toward the living room. Your leather couch is pushed up against the wall, opposite the television, and a low coffee table sits in between. A neat stack of magazines and a haphazard pile of mail take up most of the table, along with a half burned candle that smells like lemon and fresh laundry. The bookshelf in the corner is packed with books — mostly fiction with a few work-related tomes shoved onto the lower shelves. A framed photo catches his eye.

You’re standing on a flight deck at sunset in your work uniform, surrounded by a group of aviators still in their gear. He’s surprised when he realizes it’s Natasha in the photo beside you, her arm around your shoulders and your head tipped against her helmet, the word PHOENIX emblazoned over the visor.

“Find anything interesting?” You ask. He holds up the framed picture and a soft smile spreads across your face. “That’s from when we were both stationed in Norfolk.”

“I didn’t know you knew each other before our assignment,” he says.

“I got new orders to Pensacola a few months before she went to TOPGUN,” you explain. “We kept in touch.”

Bob looks at the photo again, studying the matching grins on your faces. “You two look like trouble,” he says with a small smile.

“I wouldn’t call us trouble,” you counter. “I’d call us fun.”

He sets the frame back on the shelf. “I’ll have to cross-examine Natasha about that,” he says.

“Go ahead,” you challenge him. “Our stories are air tight. She’ll never breathe a word about the midnight skinny dipping incident.”

Bob’s head snaps towards you. “The what?” He asks, but you’re already walking away, your laughter carrying across the room.

You grab your purse from the hook by the door and look at him expectantly. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he says. He catches up in a few long strides, reaching past you to open the door. “But don’t think you’re getting out of sharing that story that easily.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Floyd,” you sigh, a hint of mischief in your tone. “But that one is going with me to the grave.”

Bob’s restaurant choice is a little seafood place across the bridge that overlooks the Pacific, large windows thrown open to let in the salty ocean breeze. Each table is covered with a pristine white tablecloth and topped with bud vases filled with fresh cut flowers. Little votive candles flicker between the place settings.

The hostess shows you to a table near the windows and Bob steps ahead to pull your chair out for you, waiting patiently for you to get comfortable before taking his seat across from you.

He looks good in the low light, the candle’s flickering flame making shadows dance across his handsome face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw. His navy blue dress shirt is open at the collar, giving you a glimpse of the white t-shirt underneath, and the sleeves are neatly rolled up to his elbows. You can’t help but let your gaze linger on his forearms — strong, tan, and distracting.

“This place is nice,” you tell him, perusing the heavy cardstock menu. “Good choice, Floyd.”

You glance up at him just in time to catch the flush that creeps up his neck and colors his cheeks. He clears his throat, eyes darting to yours before dropping back to the menu as he says, “I wanted to pick something a little nicer. You deserve that.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off-guard, leaving you a little breathless. You lean back in your seat, studying him.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He looks up and his lips twitch in a shy smile. “Hopefully in a good way.”

“In a very good way,” you confirm.

A waiter comes by and takes your drink orders with a friendly smile before slipping away. A hush settles between you once you’re alone again. You study him over the rim of your glass as you take a sip.

“You know,” he says, breaking the silence, “we kind of have Jake to thank for this.”

You set your glass down, your brows pinching together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I uh…I was nervous. About calling you,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was talking about it with Nat and he just showed up out of nowhere. He told me if I didn’t call you, he’d ask for your number himself.”

“That sounds like Jake. The man doesn’t know when to quit,” you reply with a quiet laugh. You rest your elbows on the table, lacing your fingers together. “Why were you nervous?”

“I don’t—I’m not—,” he frowns, glancing out the window, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he searches for the words. “I guess I just have this fear of being…disappointing.”

You reach a hand across the table toward him, settling it over his. “Bob, I don’t think you could disappoint me even if you tried.”

He looks down at your joined hands and gives a quiet, almost self-deprecating laugh. “You don’t know that,” he murmurs. “I’m not like Jake or Rooster or—or Javy. I’m not the kind of guy that leaves an impression.”

“That’s not true,” you argue. “First of all, you got selected for TOPGUN. You don’t get to be the best the Navy has to offer by just…blending in.” You hold your hand up, ticking off your fingers as you make your points. “Second, Maverick chose you for the uranium mission. Do you understand how impressive that is?”

You pause, eyes softening as you look at him across the table. “And third…I’ll have you know that you left quite an impression on me.”

“Really?” He asks, eyes wide like he can’t believe what you’re saying.

“Mhm,” you hum, a small smile turning up the corners of your lips. “I’d known Natasha had been assigned a backseater, but I didn’t know who you were yet.” You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Your voice stood out. You’ve got a quiet confidence — none of that typical aviator ego or cockiness I’m used to hearing on my radio.” You give him an unimpressed look as you add, “And trust me, I’ve heard it all.”

He laughs, tension easing from his shoulders. “I bet.”

“I just remember thinking, ‘This guy knows what he’s doing’,” you continue, “and that Natasha was lucky to have you at her six.”

Bob looks like he’s about to say something when the waiter returns with your drinks and takes your orders. Rather than picking up where you left off, the conversation shifts instead to easier topics, like family and school.

You learn that Bob was raised on a ranch in Texas, the middle child and only son. He comes from a long line of servicemen but broke tradition by choosing the Navy over the Army. He’s closest with his younger sister, who lives in Washington with her husband and two kids and works for an architecture firm. His older sister by four years still lives in Texas and is a stay-at-home mom to three kids while her husband is an Army intelligence specialist.

He shows you a family photo on his phone, a line of adults smiling behind the five kids, all wearing matching flannels. There’s an older man standing beside Bob that you presume is his dad and you’re struck by how similar they look.

“‘The Fantastic Floyds’,” he says with a warm smile. “It’s what my sisters named the family group chat.”

“Looks pretty fantastic to me,” you reply.

You discuss your college years. You both earned bachelor’s degrees at traditional universities, though Bob joined the NROTC so that he could graduate as a commissioned officer and move on to flight school. You explain that while you knew you wanted to go into air traffic control, your parents insisted that you get a degree first.

“My dad is a big statistics guy,” you tell him, twirling your pasta onto your fork, “and air traffic control doesn’t have very good ones.”

“It seems stressful,” Bob comments, taking a bite of his salmon. You shrug.

“It can be. But I enjoy it.”

By the time dinner is over, there’s no way you have room for dessert but Bob convinces you to split an order of creme brûlée.

“I have a pretty big sweet tooth,” he confesses. “I keep a stash of candy in my locker at the hangar.”

“Does anyone ever try to steal it?” You ask.

He nods. “Mickey’s the worst. He and Jake will team up and one of them will distract me while the other steals the bag.”

Your objections to dessert disappear when the waiter brings the plate out and you see the perfectly carmelized top of the creme brûlée, the dollop of fresh whipped cream, and the artfully arranged raspberries that look like they belong in a magazine. Bob holds the spoon out to you.

“You do the honors.”

You gently tap the sugary top with the back of the spoon until it splinters into smaller pieces. You dig your spoon into one of the cracks, loading it up with some custard and a bit of topping before lifting it to your lips for a bite.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “That’s delicious.”

Bob clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “G-Glad you like it.”

“Here,” you gather another bite on the spoon, holding it out toward him, “you try it.”

He leans forward, lips wrapping around the spoon. His eyes meet yours in a look that’s brief but undeniably charged, your breath hitching.

“It’s good,” he says, sitting back. His eyes don’t leave yours. “Real good.”

When the plate is practically licked clean and Bob has settled the bill, the two of you begin to slowly make your way back to his truck.

The boardwalk outside the restaurant is bustling with activity and light from the businesses lining the strip illuminate the sidewalk. Couples and families and groups of friends pass by but it feels like you’re in your own little bubble, all your attention zeroed in on the man beside you. The walk is quiet but comfortable and when your hand brushes his, he laces his fingers with yours. His hand is warm, his grip steady.

You fit together, you think. It makes you smile and your stomach flutters.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, looking over at you. Your smile widens.

“Just about what a great time I had,” you reply honestly. That pretty blush you’ve come to love makes another appearance, coloring the high points of his cheeks as he returns your smile.

“I had a great time, too.”

You’ve reached the truck and he opens the passenger door for you but before you can get in, he tugs you gently back towards him. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close, and you rest your hands on his shoulders.

He lifts his head and his eyes meet yours, the look in them dark and heady. His thumb brushes along your waist and you feel like every one of your nerves lights up in response. For a moment, neither of you moves but then he leans in and kisses you.

The kiss is slow but charged, full of longing that’s been building steadily since he knocked on your door.

Hell, since the first time you heard him over the radio, if you’re being honest.

He lifts one of his hands and cradles your cheek, tipping your face, changing the angle. The kiss deepens, his tongue swiping across your lower lip and you open for him eagerly. It feels like everything fades away and you’re left with just the pounding of your heart, the rush of blood in your ears, and the heat of his mouth.

You pull away first, grinning like an idiot. Bob’s own smile mirrors yours, wide and bright. His lips are spit slick and kiss bitten; his glasses are a little foggy and oh there is a long list of things you want to do with — and for and to — this man that makes you squeeze your thighs together in anticipation.

“You wanna—should we—,” he starts, swallowing around the words, a little breathless. You kiss him again and he groans, hands squeezing your hips.

“Let’s get out of here,” you tell him. He nods his head quickly.

“Good—yeah—let’s do that.”

You get yourself situated in the passenger’s seat and he runs around to the driver’s side. The truck rumbles to life and he puts his arm on the back of your, turning to look over his shoulder as he backs out of the parking spot.

Jesus Christ, you think. That shouldn’t be so hot but the way he palms the steering wheel with one hand is making your brain feel fuzzy and stomach clench.

Bob reaches over and rests his hand just above your knee, fingers tapping against your bare skin to the beat of an old rock song playing quietly on the radio. You want nothing more than for him to slide his hand higher, dip beneath the hem of your dress and find the edge of your underwear and—

“Quit it,” he says, voice low and rough. He squeezes your thigh once. You tip your head against the headrest and turn to look at him.

“Hm?”

“I know what you’re thinkin’—“ the hint of a southern accent creeps out, making you feel even warmer — “but we’re doin’ it right this time.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that look like?” You ask.

“Somewhere that’s not the truck,” he explains, glancing over at you. The confidence in his voice falters as he adds, “If that’s—you know, if that’s something you—“

You lean over the console to nip at his ear.

“Trust me, Bob,” you murmur. “There’s nothing I want more.”

Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs greatly appreciated. If you enjoyed this part and want a third, let me know!

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#bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd smut #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd top gun #bob top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #bob top gun #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #x reader

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404rogers · 1 day ago

Text

I LOVE BOB SM

Summertime [B. F.]

Bob Floyd x fem!reader

wc: 1k

summary: Rooster and Hangman spot a mysterious woman… who turns out to be already taken.

“Hey, Rooster. Hottie at 12 o’clock.”

Jake's voice broke the euphoria of the moment. Bradley was energetically celebrating a perfect pass he'd just thrown to one of his teammates, capping off an intense round of the improvised beach game. The sun was blazing high, the clear sky seemed to melt onto the sand, and the waves crashed in a slow rhythm as the pilots—sweaty, wet, and covered in sand—ran back and forth amid shouts, laughter, and tanned bodies.

“That fatso?”

“On my 12, idiot,” Hangman replied in annoyance, rolling his eyes. “Turn to your left.”

Bradley obeyed, curious. And then he saw her: leaning elegantly against the railing of the beach cabin, a woman observing the scene. The wind gently ruffled her hair, and the sun cast golden glints on her exposed skin. She wore a simple bikini top, denim shorts, and a light white robe that barely covered her back. Hanging over her shoulder was a jute bag adorned with a colorful scarf tied to the handle.

“I think for the first time we agree, Hangman.”

They both stood motionless, watching her from a distance as if the world had slowed down. She seemed to be searching for something—or someone—in the crowd, her face turning intently while her sunglasses obscured her intentions.

“What do you think she's here for?” Rooster asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Maybe she just wanted to see a bunch of shirtless machos," Jake replied with a crooked smile. "I hope so, man. Because that doll looks like something out of a damn dream."

As if she'd heard them, the woman raised her hand in their direction, greeting them with a broad, bright smile. They looked at each other, puzzled.

“She’s waving at us. Wave back!” Brad ordered, nudging the blond.

They both raised their hands enthusiastically, thoughtlessly using that charming smile that had worked so often for them. But just when they thought they'd captured her attention, a third player entered the scene: someone was running from the side toward the woman, with determined steps.

“Bob? Does he know her?”

“So it seems”

Floyd approached her urgently, his smile widening with every stride. He didn't even let her descend the cabin steps: from his lower position, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground in a surprise hug. She let out a loud, genuine laugh that pierced even the sound of the waves.

“Maybe it's his sister or something,” Hangman suggested, still trying to grasp a reasonable idea.

But the illusion shattered in seconds. As soon as Bob placed her on the ground, he leaned down and kissed her with such confidence that it left no room for interpretation. She responded with the same intensity, wrapping her arms around him as if they'd been searching for each other for centuries.

“Well, unless incest is seen as a good thing in Lemoore…” the black-haired man began, “I don’t think she’s his sister.”

They both froze, watching the scene with a mixture of amazement and envy. Bob's arms settled naturally around the woman's waist, while she took off her sunglasses to get a better look at him.

She spoke animatedly, gesturing with her hands and smiling with every sentence. Although they couldn't hear the conversation, it was clear they were in their own world. When she wasn't speaking, she rested her hands on Bob's chest, with a familiarity that was impossible to fake.

When it was his turn to speak, she looked at him with such devotion that even from a distance, the intensity was palpable. Her eyes practically glowed, her expression screaming a deep crush. Just a few girls had ever looked at them like that in their lives.

Bob's index finger pointed in the direction of the beach, as if he were telling her about his crewmates, and she waved her hand in that direction again.

“I think she’s actually waving at us now.”

“I hope so. Say hi, idiot.”

The two of them repeated the gesture, this time with some nervousness. To their surprise, she waved again. She laughed at something Bob whispered to her and then turned her attention back to him, caressing his face before stealing another kiss. Small, soft, close together. He placed one more on her cheek before taking her hand and starting to walk toward the beach.

“Don’t run away, coward”

“I wasn’t planning to” Rooster replied, though he was lying. The step he took back had given him away.

They stayed where they were, waiting. Bob and the girl finally approached.

“Huh, have you seen Maverick? I need to talk to him.”

“I think he’s sitting in his lounge chair… or something,” Jake replied vaguely. Then he looked at her with interest “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

“Sure. Guys, this is my wife. Honey, this is Lieutenant Jake Seresin and Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw.”

They both stood with their mouths ajar, trying to process what he had said. They wondered if they had heard wrong, but sure they hadn't.

“Nice to meet you,” she said with a smile, extending her hand. “I’m sorry to burst in like this. I wanted to surprise Bob. I hope my arrival doesn’t interrupt anything important.”

“Not at all,” Rooster said quickly. “It’s a pleasure to meet Mrs. Floyd.”

The pilots glanced at each other and couldn't help but notice the slight blush they both—she and Bob—shared, as if the expression 'married couple' still sounded new and shiny to them.

“Let’s go find Mav. See you later,” Bob said, before leading her by the hand.

“Bye, Bobby”

“Nice to meet you,” Rooster added.

They waited until the couple had walked a few steps away before spilling their guts.

“His wife? Can you believe it?”

“Of course. The guy is a true gentleman. I'm sure he won her over on the first date.”

“The world is so unfair,” Jake hissed. His friend laughed, resigned.

“Or we are idiots”

“Rooster, I think, for the first time, I completely agree with you too.”

taglist: @littlemsbumblebee

#bob floyd x reader #bob x reader

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howtodisappear444 · 4 days ago

Text

𝐁𝐎𝐁 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒𓍢ִ໋ ༘࿐

-> always check any warnings before reading! I hope you enjoy and love these fanfics just as I do <3

much love, mari 🦢💋

divider by: @uzmacchiato <3

dog-fight: @the-shedevil-writes

summary: You thought it was just a party. But you soon find out that it was a 'Dogfight'-a cruel contest where the men compete to bring the "ugliest" date they can find. And you were part of the joke. Humiliated and blindsided, you walk out, finding yourself at The Hard Deck. But there you find Bob Floyd. Quiet, kind, and nothing like the man who brought you there.

keys and kisses: @pullmecloseman

summary: a warm summer night at the local city night market with the Dagger Squad. You and Bob are the only official couple in the group-quietly affectionate, teasing, and fully caught up in the glow of food, games, and late-night laughter. Flirty banter, close calls, and a stolen kiss in a photo booth make for a night neither of you will forget.

take the shot: @pullmecloseman

summary: a retro arcade night turns into something more when you're paired with Bob Floyd during a squad hangout. You start off teasing, competitive, and toeing the line-but every game, glance, and near-touch pulls you both closer to finally admitting what's been simmering for months. Sparks fly under neon lights, ending with a private moment that might just change everything.

you should see him in italy: @pullmecloseman

summary: a romantic destination wedding in the hills of Italy should've been a dream getaway-but sharing a luxury villa with your entire extended family and a boyfriend who looks unfairly good in linen? Yeah, it's a lot. Bob Floyd may have already met your family, but this time it's different. This time there's champagne, sun-soaked jealousy, and the weight of one too many stolen glances. Between flirty texts, strategic outfit choices, and a swim that reveals a lot more of Bob than anyone expected, the tension between you two hits its boiling point. Add in nosy cousins, teasing aunts, and one very smug grandma, and it's only a matter of time before Bob snaps in the best possible way.

by chance: @dazedantics

summary: You accidentally stumbled upon your perfect man and keep running into him all day.

hold me, carry me slowly: @withmyloveasyourgarden

summary: you and bob have been best friends through everything, so when you're a little too in your head over messing up, it makes sense that he would do anything you ask to get you back out of it. To make it better. It won't change anything, right? Only it does, and Bob realises at maybe the worst possible time, exactly why...

what happens in vegas stays in vegas: @bodhiscurls

summary: robert 'bob' floyd and you have always harboured feelings for each other, hidden in hotel rooms, stolen glances and secret kisses shared across the base. except one night in vegas celebrating the end of a gruelling mission finds you and bob waking up the next day unsure of how you made it to his room, the remenants of tequila pounding in your head and a rock the size of san diego on your ring finger. and what scares him the most is just how is he going to explain this to your brother.

hearing you: @hauntedhowlett-writes

summary: Bob Floyd has a crush on the air traffic controller with the pretty voice.

friendly fire: @pullmecloseman

summary: What starts as a casual Saturday paintball outing turns into utter chaos when the Dagger Squad-split into makeshift teams-goes head-to-head against a group of overconfident middle schoolers. With bruises, banter, and egos on the line, chaos ensues: Bob gets protective, Hangman gets hit in the worst possible place, and you take three paintballs to the ass. Somewhere between the flying paint, locker room teasing, and an impromptu post-game date night, you and Bob find yourselves in the kind of soft, domestic rhythm that feels like home.

winner takes it all: @totallynotashieldagent

summary: Reader is at the base to write an article, everyone's betting if Bob would get a kiss. The squad doesn't know they're already married.

worn soft: @violetrainbow412-blog

summary: Bob invites you to a charity event, but between cameras, persistent admirers, and the sweltering heat, he ends up seeking refuge in the only thing that keeps him calm: your presence.

good time: @hargreeves-duncan

summary: bob takes you line dancing

four eyes: @promisingyounglady

summary: asking bob to make a mess of himself on your face while you wear his glasses? absolutely.

don’t stop: @sebsxphia

summary: jake attempts to catch bob out, but bob has something to reveal.

cliche: @scarletmika

summary: There's always a joke surrounding weddings that the Maid of Honor and the Best Man will end up falling in love; it's one of the oldest clichés in the book. When you're the Maid of Honor, though, Bob Floyd wouldn't have it any other way.

callsign (heartbreaker): @violetrainbow412-blog

summary: Jake runs his mouth. You do something about it.

nettles: @hargreeves-duncan

summary: you're dying and bob isn't ready to say goodbye

hormones are high: @ilovebabyonboard

summary: You show up to the squad beach day in a bikini that has no business looking that good. Bob's mid-throw when he sees you and straight-up forgets how physics works. The football hits Hangman. Bob's glasses are askew. He spends the afternoon avoiding eye contact—until you ask him to help tie the strings on your top. He nearly combusts.

worst way: @geminiwritten

summary: being secretly fake-married to your sweet best friend, bob floyd, is almost perfect... until tensions rise, the secret is out, and you both struggle to keep your feelings (and your hands) to yourself

everytime i choose you: @ilovebabyonboard

summary: You've loved Bob Floyd since before either of you knew what love was. Now, with a toddler in your arms, a baby on the way, and a Navy career pulling you in opposite directions, you're learning what it really means to build a life across time zones-and hold on to each other through it all. Soft reunions, stolen moments, found family, and the quiet kind of love that stays.

heart glasses: @emeraldserenade

summary: You meet your husband's new squadron one by one, all without them knowing who you truly were

summertime: @violetrainbow412-blog

summary: Rooster and Hangman spot a mysterious woman... who turns out to be already taken.

a waiting game: @dearsnow

summary: coming from a broken family, you often had to wait for next time you would be loved. meeting your new neighbor changed that.

mistletoe: @buckysdingus

summary: the team decides to put up mistletoes around so you and bob can finally kiss.

crash and burn: @inlovewithquestionablecharacters

a night to remember: @the-shedevil-writes

summary: When Phoenix sets Bob up on a blind date with one of her closest friends, he's already nervous. So when he finds her to be the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, he's convinced he's out of his league. But as the night unfolds, he starts to realize they may work together better than he ever expected.

sunscreen hands: @vivianfiles

crash landing: @moonmaarii

summary: after a practice mission and emergency ejection, bob finds comfort and clarity in the arms of the one person who's always been his safe place-leading to a quiet confession that changes everything.

untouchable: @bodhiscurls

summary: bob returns home early from a deployment, and you're just finally happy to see your husband.

caught red handed: @layla4567

summary: Your father, Maverick, doesn't let you date any pilot, no matter what. But with such a sweet, aviation-geeky man, how can you follow that rule?

perilous skies: @shortnspidey

summary: Dating Bob Floyd had been nothing short of perfect. The sweet, ever-attentive WSO felt like he’d walked straight out of a rom-com. That’s why, when your scheduled date night arrives and he doesn’t show, your mind immediately begins to spiral. It’s so unlike him, so out of character, that you can’t stop replaying every possible reason in your head. As the hours stretch on, worry takes hold, deep down, you can feel something’s wrong.

bob’s lonely heart club: @mang0d0ll

summary: bob's all alone on valentines day. but not for much longer.

picture you: @geminiwritten

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

make me your masterpiece: @sometimesanalice

summary: Bob credits you for helping him to find his new hobby. And when he asks if he can you paint you, you find you quite like the idea of being his muse.

dumb and poetic: @pink-petal-horns

honor and duty: @pullmecloseman

summary: What was supposed to be a fun week in paradise quickly becomes something more when two quiet souls are thrown into close quarters. As the days unfold—from lazy mornings and town adventures to wedding prep and late-night confessions—tension simmers, walls begin to crack, and unexpected connections start to bloom. It’s just one week. But sometimes, that’s all it takes to change everything.

mickey and minnie: @pullmecloseman

summary: The Dagger Squad touches down in Orlando for a chaotic family trip to Disney World. With Bob, you, and the kids sharing a room, and the rest of the squad crammed into neighboring suites, the first day at Magic Kingdom is pure madness - from wild Space Mountain rides to parade stampedes, lunch disasters, and a nighttime group chat meltdown. Between sugar highs, bathroom wars, and stroller battles, it's clear: this isn't just a vacation... it's survival.

#⭑.ᐟ mari’s fanfic recs #x reader #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd top gun #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader #bob top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #fanfics #fanfiction #lewis pullman

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lemoniceteee · 7 days ago

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Im so glad we all collectively agree that Bob Floyd’s dick is huge

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

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hangmanwrites · 3 days ago

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shy guy finish first ━ bob floyd (part one)

dedicated to: @bodhiscurls because i love her to bits and she’s the best writing buddy and chaotic little cheerleader i could ever ask for♡ word count: 15,777 words pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader synopsis: you were just trying to blow off steam at the hard deck, maybe flirt your way out of a dry spell, but then quiet, polite bob floyd snapped, cornered you in the bathroom, and showed you exactly what eight months of pent-up want really looked like. content warnings: smut, mdni, blowjob in a bar bathroom, desperate tension, grinding, throatfucking, glasses staying on, possessive!bob (which is ooc, i'm sorry!), overstimulation, mutual begging, heavy petting, light choking, swearing, and two idiots who haven’t even fucked yet but are already acting like it’s the end of the world. also my first time writing smut ever so please bear with me!! author's note: you guys might want to know that i physically cannot write anything without overthinking every line which is probably why this turned into a whole spiral instead of something normal, like i swear i sat down with one idea and now i’m here wondering what just happened, so yeah, thank you for reading and letting me be feral in peace! kofi︱request︱masterlist

“Chug! Chug! Chug!”

The whole Hard Deck roared as you tipped your head back, beer sloshing down your throat with not a single pause, not even a flinch. You didn’t even blink. You were standing on top of the bench now, one foot on the table and the other on Fanboy’s thigh for balance because you had somehow convinced him to sit still long enough for you to climb up like a drunken goat.

The squad was losing their minds. Rooster was banging his fist on the table like he was summoning a demon, Phoenix had her phone out recording everything, and someone, probably Hangman, let out the loudest “WOOOOO!” known to mankind the second you slammed the empty glass down on the counter.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning like an absolute menace, your shirt slightly damp from the splashback, your hair a little messy, but your energy completely unbothered. You were glowing with the kind of chaotic pride only achievable through beer, adrenaline, and the undeniable high of being the most unhinged person in the room.

“Another!” you shouted, already reaching for someone else’s untouched pint.

The second your empty glass hit the wood, the whole place erupted. Cheering, whistles, someone slapped the bell behind the bar like it was a damn boxing match. Even Penny raised her eyebrows from across the counter, clearly impressed but already calculating how much trouble you'd cause in the next ten minutes.

You threw your arms up like you'd just won a championship, yelling out something unintelligible that made Fanboy yell back, “SHE’S UNSTOPPABLE!” and honestly, yeah. You kind of were.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve seen all week,” Jake said with a grin that could probably fry an egg on the nearest surface.

You turned, your head a little fuzzy, your lips still wet, and you locked eyes with him in that way the way that made people nervous, the way that made grown men second-guess all their choices. Jake was leaning back in his seat like he owned the damn place, legs spread, that lazy smirk tugging at his mouth, eyes doing things that should honestly be illegal.

You stepped down from the bench with the casual grace of someone who had no business still being upright, walked right up to him like you were in a slow-motion movie, and dropped your hands onto the back of his chair as you leaned in close. Close enough that your noses nearly brushed, your mouth just inches from his, and your breath tasted like beer and adrenaline and every terrible idea you had ever had.

Jake's lips parted, barely, like he was ready to close that gap, eyes flicking down to your mouth with all the grace of a man losing a game he thought he was winning.

And then, you laughed. You pulled back, slapped his cheek with exactly the kind of affection that made him blink in surprise, and said, “Nice try, Seresin,” before grabbing Phoenix’s drink and strutting away like you hadn't just short-circuited half the bar.

You didn’t look back, but you could feel the heat of Jake’s stunned stare drilling into the back of your head, and honestly? You were living for it.

───────

Not far from the noise and half the squad’s terrible chanting, Bob sat quietly at a small round table near the corner, shoulders a little hunched and nursing a cold glass of cola he hadn’t taken more than three sips from in the last hour.

The condensation had pooled under it, forming a perfect little ring, and he was absently tracing it with the tip of his finger, eyes flicking occasionally toward the bar but never staying there long enough to get caught staring.

Rooster slid into the seat beside him with a lopsided grin and two drinks in hand; one for himself, one that he placed in front of Bob with a hopeful raise of his brow.

“No, thank you,” Bob said instantly, as politely as ever, the corners of his mouth twitching up into the softest smile as he pushed the offered glass back with a gentle nudge. “Still got mine.”

Rooster chuckled and leaned his elbows onto the table, swirling his whiskey around as he gave Bob a pointed look. “You know, for someone who gets stared at like that every time she looks your way, you sure are committed to keeping your head down.”

Bob’s ears turned pink instantly. “She doesn’t—” he started, then stopped, then cleared his throat. “She’s just… being friendly.”

“Oh yeah,” Rooster said with a nod, full of playful sarcasm, “definitely the kind of friendly where she nearly kissed Hangman just now and then left him looking like a kicked puppy.”

Bob blinked, a little stunned, then took a very careful sip of his cola, mostly to buy time and to hide how fast his brain had started spinning.

Right on cue, Jake dropped himself into the third chair with a dramatic groan, throwing his head back like he’d been emotionally wounded by a Shakespearean tragedy. He reached across the table without even looking and grabbed Bob’s drink, taking a long sip before Bob could stop him.

“Hey—” Bob started, eyes wide, brows lifted in that quiet little protest that was never loud enough to actually work.

“She almost kissed me,” Jake said, voice filled with betrayal and beer. “She looked at me with those eyes, leaned in like she was gonna do it, and then she laughed. Laughed! Like I’m some kind of a joke. I’ve been emotionally dismantled, man. I’m not okay!”

Rooster snorted and tried to cover it with his glass, but Bob still heard it. He looked between the two of them, visibly confused and mildly horrified, and said softly, “You drank my cola…”

Jake waved a hand dismissively, still mid-rant. “I’ve been blue balled, Floyd. Absolutely slaughtered! Torn apart by her tease tactics. Do you know how many women have actually turned me down before the kiss? None. Zero. Zilch. This is uncharted territory. This is the end of an era. My era!”

Bob just stared at him, mouth parted, eyes wide, shoulders hunched like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to laugh or if this was somehow a moment that needed real sympathy.

Rooster let out a loud, careless laugh, the kind that made people at nearby tables glance over with raised eyebrows, and Jake immediately turned to him with a glare, sharp and squinting, like he couldn’t believe he was being laughed at during what was clearly a moment of personal crisis.

“What,” Jake snapped, dragging the word out like it was a threat, one hand flung toward Rooster in exasperation.

Rooster just leaned back into his chair like he had all the time in the world, nursing his drink with that usual smirk that made it impossible to tell if he was joking or being entirely serious. “You and Raven?” he said, voice casual, like he was just stating facts. “You two are too much alike. That’s your whole problem, dude.”

Jake furrowed his brows like he’d just been hit with a dictionary. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I mean you’re the same,” Rooster replied, gesturing lazily between him and the air, “like, exactly the same. You both walk into every room like it’s yours, you both flirt with anyone who gives you half a look, you both get bored unless something’s on fire, and honestly, you both kind of love causing chaos. You’re her with a bad haircut.”

Jake reeled like he’d been slapped with that one. “I am nothing like her,” he argued, his voice climbing a little, “she’s unpredictable, she’s loud, she does that thing where she flirts just to get people all hot and bothered and then walks away laughing like she didn’t just emotionally destroy someone—”

“Yeah,” Rooster said, looking directly at him now, “and who else does that, huh?”

Jake pointed at himself. “Not me.”

Rooster gave him a long, slow stare, clearly not convinced. “I know her type.”

Jake blinked and leaned forward now, like he was trying to get ahead of the thought before it landed. “I am her type.”

Rooster grinned. “Wrong, I know her type.”

Jake looked at him like he was waiting for the punchline, like maybe Rooster would laugh and say it was a joke, but he didn’t so Jake tilted his chin up, already defensive. “Who?”

Rooster didn’t say anything. He just turned his head slightly, just enough to glance past Jake’s shoulder.

And there, quietly wedged between them, like he had been the entire time, was Bob.

Still sitting perfectly still in his seat, both elbows on the table, his hands loosely holding the empty peanut box he had been reading for the past five minutes like it was the most riveting thing he’d ever seen.

His shoulders were drawn in just a little, his posture tight like he was trying not to take up space, and his lips were parted slightly like he was in the middle of mouthing a word printed on the back of the box.

The faintest blush still coloured his cheeks, and his glasses had slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose, but he hadn’t noticed or maybe just hadn’t bothered to fix them.

Jake followed Rooster’s gaze slowly, frowning, and when he finally landed on Bob, his eyes narrowed.

Rooster didn’t look away. He just kept his eyes on Bob and took a slow sip of his drink.

Jake turned to him again. “No.”

Rooster just raised a brow.

Jake turned back to Bob.

Bob, who now seemed to feel the weight of two stares drilling into him from both sides, slowly lifted his head, blinking like he had been deep underwater and was just coming up for air.

His eyes flicked to Rooster, then to Jake, then back to Rooster, then down at the peanut box like maybe it had answers, then back up again, and he looked completely overwhelmed.

“...Did I do something?” he asked softly, eyes wide, voice low and uncertain, like he was genuinely worried he’d somehow gotten himself involved in a conversation he hadn’t signed up for.

Jake blinked once, then sat up straighter like someone had just accused him of something criminal. “Hell no,” he said, scoffing, shaking his head so hard his hair bounced. “Come on, me I understand, but him?!”

Bob turned his head slowly, eyes still wide, clearly trying to keep up. “What’s going on?” he asked carefully, voice small, fingers curling tighter around the now slightly crumpled peanut box in his hands.

Rooster took a long, lazy sip from his drink, not looking at either of them, then shrugged like this whole thing wasn’t about to spiral into some kind of war. “I’m just saying,” he muttered, setting the glass back down, “every time Raven’s around, I catch her eye-fucking Bob like it’s her job.”

Bob choked instantly, eyes going comically wide as he nearly dropped the box and knocked his knee against the table. “What?” he said, voice cracking, the blush on his cheeks blooming into full-on panic as he looked between them. “I—I don’t think—I mean—I have no idea what you’re talking about—”

“She what?” Jake exploded, half standing, eyes wild as he stared at Bob like Bob had betrayed him without even knowing it. “There is no way. You’re messing with me. She flirts with me, man. I’m her type. This—this makes no sense.”

Rooster shrugged again, leaning his chin into his hand like this was all incredibly boring to him. “Nah. She flirts with you because she knows it gets a rise. It’s fun. You’re easy.”

Jake made a noise like he was being physically attacked. “Easy?!”

Rooster just kept going like he hadn’t said anything remotely controversial. “But every time Bob walks into a room, she looks at him like he’s a snack. And not like a chips-and-salsa kind of snack, but like a full-course, ruin-my-life, let-me-be-a-problem kind of snack.”

Bob made another squeaky little sound in his throat and turned fully toward the table, clutching the peanut box like it was a holy text, his ears now red, his voice barely above a whisper. “I—I think you’re mistaken,” he stammered, looking anywhere but at either of them, “I really don’t think she—I mean—she’s just friendly, I’m sure it’s not—”

“Oh come on!” Jake shouted, flinging his hands in the air like he couldn’t believe this was happening, like he had stepped into an alternate timeline where nothing made sense anymore. “This is actually insane. I flirt with her all the time, I wear nice cologne, I do the smirk thing, I lean against walls. What does he do? Sit there? Blink politely?! And that’s what gets her attention?!”

Bob looked absolutely horrified. He sat frozen for a moment, blinking rapidly, still clutching the peanut box like it was the last solid thing in his universe, and then, very quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the music and laughter around them, he snapped.

“What are you guys even talking about?” he asked, voice sharper than usual, not mean, just overwhelmed, confused, a little cracked at the edges like he’d been cornered in the middle of a game he didn’t know he was playing.

Jake pointed a dramatic finger at him, looking genuinely betrayed. “You stole my wife!”

Bob reeled back. “What?! No! I—I didn’t—what are you even saying?! I haven’t done anything! I haven’t said anything! She doesn’t even—she hasn’t—this is ridiculous, I’m not even—look, I’m just sitting here!”

His voice broke halfway through, hands flailing a little in panic, glasses slipping further down his nose, and Rooster actually had to lean forward and grab one of Bob’s wrists before he knocked over someone’s drink. Bob looked utterly flustered, already blushing so badly he could probably cook an egg on his cheeks, chest rising and falling like he’d just run laps.

Jake and Rooster exchanged a look. Then, they both moved at once.

Jake grabbed Bob by the shoulders and turned him gently but firmly in his chair, while Rooster reached over and tilted Bob’s chin toward the centre of the room, both of them crowding in on either side like conspirators in some ridiculous, unspoken plan.

“Look at her,” Rooster said quietly, leaning in, voice low in Bob’s ear.

“Really look,” Jake added, his tone weirdly soft, like all the loud theatrics had suddenly drained from him.

Bob frowned, still confused, still flushed, but he blinked once and followed their direction, slowly turning his head, eyes scanning the bar, until they landed on you.

You, who were still standing by the jukebox surrounded by the others, all of them laughing at something you had just shouted across the room, your head thrown back with your hands up like you were telling a story, your cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the crowd, your grin completely unbothered, unstoppable, radiant.

Bob’s breath caught a little.

You hadn’t even noticed him staring, you weren’t even facing him directly, but he was looking now, really looking, like the shape of you had just rearranged something in him. The way your eyes danced when you laughed, the way your hands moved when you talked, the way you carried yourself like the entire bar existed just for your amusement, like you belonged everywhere all at once.

Bob couldn’t look away now. He took you in like he’d been starving for weeks and didn’t know it until now, like someone had hit the lights and the music all at once and all he could see was you.

And then, maybe because the universe had a sense of humour, or maybe because you could feel eyes on you even from across a crowded bar, you turned.

Your gaze swept lazily over the room, still laughing at whatever Fanboy was saying, still cradling someone’s beer in your hand like it was your own, but then your eyes landed on him.

You felt as though someone was staring at you, and you wanted to see who dared to look at him. You turned your head slightly, and your eyes met his, sharp and clear like a spotlight piercing through the background.

You remained silent. You didn't turn your head away. Bob felt his breath catch in his chest so painfully because you did nothing but look, really look, as if he were something worth examining, something you had already decided to destroy.

There was something in your eyes that knocked the thoughts clean out of his head. Not soft, not friendly, not even teasing. It was intense, it was focused, it was heat without warning, and Bob swore his heart skipped at least three beats and maybe restarted in a completely new rhythm.

His brain was trying to do something, maybe form a sentence, maybe just function, but everything short-circuited at once and all he could do was sit there and take it, jaw slack, eyes wide, face on fire.

Because you were looking at him. Like that. And he was pretty sure that if that stare lasted one more second, he was going to do something stupid and permanent.

He was going to—

“Oh come on!” Jake groaned, loud and long and absolutely miserable as he threw his whole body back into his chair like the world had personally wronged him. “Did you see that?! That was—that was straight-up eye-fucking, man, with capital letters and a neon sign!”

Rooster took a sip from his drink and leaned back, his voice calm and unbothered as he said, “Told you, man,” like he hadn’t just watched Jake’s pride collapse in real time.

But Bob didn’t move.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe properly, just sat there completely stunned, eyes still locked in your direction even though you’d already turned away again, already laughing at something Phoenix and Fanboy had said, already pulling someone into a side hug like you hadn’t just dismantled him from across the bar.

He was still sitting there, still staring at the spot where you had been, still dazed out of his mind, hands resting in his lap like he’d forgotten he had fingers, and somewhere down by his chair, the crushed peanut box had fallen and landed sideways on the floor without him noticing.

“Bro,” Rooster said suddenly, leaning in and snapping his fingers right in front of Bob’s face, “hey, Earth to Floyd, are you—wait, are you getting hard right now?”

Bob physically jerked like someone had slapped him, eyes wide as he whipped his head toward Rooster, mouth opening and closing without anything actually coming out for a full two seconds.

“I—I’m not—what?! No! I’m not—I wouldn’t—I didn’t even—” Bob stammered, his voice climbing an octave with every syllable, hands coming up like he could defend himself from the sheer accusation of it. His ears had gone so red they practically glowed under the bar lights, and he looked horrified in the most painfully sincere way.

“I can’t believe this,” Jake groaned beside him, slumping into the table like he was being punished by the universe itself, face pressed to the wood like he couldn’t physically carry the weight of his own disappointment anymore. “I flirted for months, I put in effort, I smiled with my eyes, and all it takes is one soft-spoken stare from a guy who reads peanut boxes like poetry and she’s ready to pounce?!”

Bob let out the most distressed sound anyone had ever heard from him, something between a gasp and a whimper, and looked like he was seriously debating crawling under the table and just staying there forever.

“I was not—I didn’t—Rooster!” he half-yelled, voice cracking again, both hands running through his hair now like he was seconds away from full shutdown, “You can’t just ask someone that! That’s—that’s not even—how would you even know?!”

Rooster shrugged, cool as ever. “I mean, you kinda spaced out for a full minute and then started breathing like someone pressed the turbo button.”

Jake let out another wounded groan, dragging his forehead across the table like he was physically trying to melt into it. “This is my villain origin story,” he mumbled, “this is how I go rogue.”

───────

You had really only meant to sneak a glance.

Just something quick, nothing serious, just a casual little look to see if he was still being flustered and adorable or if Jake had calmed down even a little or if Bradley was still wearing that smug older-brother-who-knows-something-you-don’t expression.

But the moment your eyes landed on Bob, blushing like mad, eyes wide, hands frozen mid-air like he was trying to figure out where they were supposed to go, and his shirt all slightly wrinkled from the way he had been messing with it nervously, your entire body tensed.

And the groan that left you wasn’t soft.

It was long and low and full of frustration, the kind that came from months of silently suffering in your own personal hell, and it slipped out before you could stop it.

Phoenix tilted her head, brows already raised. “You alright or are you gonna combust in public?”

Halo followed the direction of your stare, barely hiding her smirk. “I swear, if this is still about Lieutenant Eye Contact over there—”

You groaned again, dragging your hands down your face like maybe, just maybe, if you covered your eyes, your feelings would evaporate. “I swear on my last brain cell, I’m gonna lose it. I’m gonna actually lose it and scream. He’s sitting there looking like he just learned what sex is and it’s my fault somehow.”

Halo leaned closer, her drink balanced casually in her hand, voice low and amused. “Are we talking about the man you’ve been eye-fucking since last Christmas?”

“That’s the one,” Phoenix said under her breath, tapping the edge of her glass against the bar like she was keeping score.

“I have tried,” you hissed, slumping sideways against the jukebox, “I have flirted, I have smiled, I have worn outfits that would put a saint in a chokehold, I almost kissed Hangman for the sole purpose of emotional terrorism and he” — you pointed in Bob’s direction like it hurt — “he still thinks I’m being friendly.”

Phoenix blinked slowly. “You’re telling me that look you just gave him wasn’t a threat and a promise all in one?”

“I want to bite him,” you snapped. “And not in a weird way. I mean in a feral, I-don’t-care-if-this-is-socially-acceptable kind of way. I want to pin him to the wall and say oops.”

Halo just nodded solemnly. “Respect.”

“He’s so soft,” you went on, practically vibrating now, “like actually soft, not just emotionally soft but like if I kissed his neck he’d probably short-circuit and make a noise I wouldn’t recover from, and you’re all acting like I’m the crazy one—”

“You are the crazy one,” Phoenix interrupted calmly, “but it’s fine, you wear it well.”

“I need to get laid,” you groaned, dragging the words out like they hurt, your head dropping back against the jukebox again with a dull thud that none of them even reacted to anymore. “Like seriously laid. Like knock-me-out-and-reset-my-central-nervous-system kind of laid. My fucking vibrator at home is this close to giving up on me, I swear I can hear it sigh when I pick it up.”

Halo snorted, sipping her drink without breaking eye contact. “Okay, but Seresin’s right there. You could literally just make eye contact and he’d throw himself at you like a cartoon character.”

You scrunched your nose so fast it looked like a reflex. “Don’t be disgusting.”

Phoenix let out a snort of laughter that turned into a cough, nearly spilling her drink. “Did you just gag at the thought of Jake Seresin?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, holding up a hand, “I respect him as a fellow menace but if I ever have to look at his smug face while he’s naked I think I might actually start crying. I’d rather stay abstinent.”

“Okay, but seriously,” Halo leaned in, squinting like she was studying you, “when was the last time you got laid?”

You stared at her.

She blinked.

Phoenix leaned forward.

You blinked.

“...Nine months ago?” you said finally, very slowly, like you were doing the math in real time and were also a little offended by the number.

There was a pause. A full-body, what-the-fuck-did-you-just-say pause.

“Nine?!” Phoenix shouted, eyes wide, jaw actually dropping.

Halo looked personally attacked. “How are you alive?!”

You just shrugged, taking a long sip of your drink like this was normal, like you weren’t actively dying inside. “I think it’s Bob. Like he’s been reversing the effects of my last hook-up through sheer wholesomeness or something. Like every time he looks at me and blushes I forget what sex even is. I think I’ve been... un-fucked. Spiritually.”

Phoenix covered her mouth with her hand, wheezing. “You’ve gone insane.”

“I know,” you said again, voice muffled through your fingers, “and I’m not even sorry. It’s his fault. He says please and thank you and I want to ruin him.”

Halo nodded slowly, like it all made sense now. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Do I?” you snapped. “Because I’ve spent the last eight months wanting to throw that man against a wall and every time I try to flirt with him, he tells me to have a nice day.”

Phoenix was already laughing, her head tilted back, one hand pressed to her chest like she couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. “Have a nice day,” she repeated, practically wheezing, “girl, he’s killing you.”

“He’s polite,” Halo added, eyes wide, voice dramatic like she was recounting a murder, “he calls people ma’am, he waits in lines, he probably says sorry when he bumps into furniture—”

“He does,” you cut in, voice sharp, pointing at her like that was the worst part. “He does say sorry when he runs into chairs. I’ve seen it. He bumped his knee on a coffee table in the rec room and he whispered sorry like it had feelings. It did something to me. I don’t want to be normal anymore.”

Halo covered her mouth and squeaked. “That’s adorable.”

“It’s lethal,” you said, arms crossed, foot tapping furiously against the floor. “I’m losing my mind. I’m walking around like I’m fine but inside it’s just Bob Bob Bob Bob Bob and then sometimes Bob in a towel because I saw that one time and it’s never left me.”

Phoenix spit her drink.

Halo grabbed your arm. “You saw Bob in a towel and you’ve been sitting on that information this whole time?!”

“It was months ago,” you hissed, glancing around like you were revealing top secret government intel, “I walked past the locker room and he had just come out of the showers and he had his little glasses on and a towel wrapped around his waist and wet hair and I genuinely almost fainted. Like black spots in my vision, I had to sit down.”

Phoenix looked devastated. “You sat on that. You kept that to yourself.”

“I tried to forget,” you said, pressing a hand to your chest like it still haunted you. “But it plays in my brain like a damn music video.”

Halo let out a long, low whistle. “You’ve got it so bad. You need to do something. You’re gonna combust.”

“Like what?” you asked, flailing your hands, fully spiralling now. “He probably thinks I’m just being nice! I wore a crop top last week and dropped my pen on purpose and bent over to pick it up and he said, “That's a safety hazard, ma’am.””

Phoenix wheezed again. “That man has no idea.”

“That man,” you said, staring at your drink like it had wronged you, “is my Roman Empire.”

Phoenix gave you a look. The kind that said she was about five seconds away from grabbing your shoulders and shaking the desperation out of you. “Okay then, if Bob’s gonna keep playing the oblivious virgin card, maybe it’s time to get some actual dick and stop hallucinating every time he says thank you.”

You opened your mouth to protest but she cut you off.

“No, don’t even argue,” she said, waving her drink around like a wand, “we’re surrounded by military-grade testosterone, someone in here has to be emotionally unavailable and hot enough to distract you for at least one night.”

Halo hummed and leaned forward, scanning the crowd like a hawk. “Alright then, let’s find her a rebound,” she said like it was a mission, eyes sharp, smile deadly.

You were about to tell them to chill, that you didn’t need a full-blown one-night-stand intervention, but then Halo suddenly pointed with her drink, her voice dropping into something lower, smugger.

“Okay, but like that guy,” she said, tilting her head slightly.

You followed her gaze, and your stomach flipped.

Across the room, leaning casually against the bar, was a man who honestly looked like he had walked straight out of a fantasy novel. Tall, dressed in a dark button-up with sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms, long fingers wrapped around a whiskey glass, head tilted slightly like he was thinking about something poetic. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, soft curls pushed back, and the kind of slow, easy smirk that said he had ruined people before and never lost sleep over it.

And his eyes? Locked directly on you.

You blinked.

He raised his glass.

You blinked again.

“Why does he look like he writes sad poems for a living?” you whispered.

Halo grinned. “He’s been staring at you for the last ten minutes. And not like a guy who wants to talk, but like a guy who already has your Spotify password memorised.”

Phoenix sipped her drink. “He looks like if British regret was a person. That man reads Virginia Woolf in bed and then ruins lives with his hands.”

You gawked. “I mean he’s hot but what if he’s a serial killer?”

“I mean,” Halo said, eyes twinkling, “worth the risk, no?”

You groaned, slumping forward like this whole night was being personally orchestrated by the universe to destroy you. “I can’t. What if I sleep with him and then Bob finds out and I have to live with the shame of being dickmatized by a man who looks like he cries during jazz?”

Phoenix raised a brow. “Or... you could just march across the bar, grab Bob by the collar, and solve your little nine-month crisis tonight.”

You stared down into your drink like it was going to give you a divine answer, swirled the liquid slowly, lips pressed together, heartbeat a little too fast and brain way too loud.

Because on one hand, no. You weren’t about to throw yourself at some British man with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and a possible emotional support book of poetry in his back pocket.

You didn’t even know his name. What if he turned out to be weird? What if he asked you to call him “my muse” mid-way through? What if he wore socks during sex?

But also…

It had been nine months.

Nine. Whole. Fucking (not literally). Months.

You hadn't even realised how long it had been until you said it out loud earlier, and now the number was sitting in your chest like a dead weight, echoing louder than the music, making your brain short-circuit with every shift of Bob's glasses and every accidental flex of his forearms and every goddamn “ma’am” that slipped out of his mouth like he wasn’t slowly ruining your life with the power of respectful vocabulary.

You shifted on your feet and tried to act normal, but you were practically vibrating.

Am I really about to fold?

Am I that down bad?

Would having sex with a random man just to quiet the Bob voices in my head be considered spiritual cheating?

Is it even cheating if Bob has no idea I’ve mentally married him three times already?

You sighed. “I don’t know,” you muttered, finally answering your friends, still not looking up. “The idea of having sex with a stranger just makes me tired. Like emotionally, physically, mentally tired. The prep, the fake laughing, the pretending to be surprised when they say something dumb, the awkward moment when they ask if I came and I have to lie—”

Halo was already laughing. “Okay, that’s fair.”

Phoenix leaned in, smirking. “But...?”

You groaned and let your head fall forward until it bumped the jukebox again. “But I also feel like if I don’t get railed soon I’m gonna start seeing God in traffic lights.”

Halo choked on her drink. “Sweetheart, you are in hell.”

“I know,” you whined, “and he’s over there drinking soda like a virgin prince who doesn’t know he could absolutely destroy me with one firm sentence.”

“Hello…”

───────

Bob’s soul just fucking left his body the moment he saw that guy, tall and sharp and walking like he owned the place, like he belonged in the frame with you, like he was about to say something smooth and actually pull it off, and Bob didn’t even notice how Jake had started rambling again about something gross, probably his top three sex positions or some shit about eye contact and rhythm and Bradley, for some reason, was agreeing with him, even adding details, even leaning forward like this was an actual conversation people were meant to hear.

But none of it mattered because Bob wasn’t listening, couldn’t listen, not when he was too busy watching that guy talk to you, like really talk to you, not just throw lines but say something that actually made you laugh, something that made you shift a little and glance down like you were trying not to smile too much, and Bob just sat there, eyes locked and hands clenched and head starting to ring, because since when did you smile like that for anyone else?

Since when did you get flustered?!

Because he had watched you flirt with people for months, had seen you blow kisses at Hangman just to mess with him, had heard you call a superior officer “handsome” with a wink and not even blink after it, had seen you push Coyote’s buttons and knock back tequila and laugh like nothing could get to you.

But now, now you were playing with your drink, looking down at your shoes, tucking your hair behind your ear like you didn’t even realise you were doing it, and Bob was going to explode, he was going to lose it completely, and Phoenix wasn’t helping, she was right there giving you the most encouraging look he’d ever seen, and Halo was leaning in like she was ready to start chanting “take him home” in your ear, and Bob—

Bob was fucking stuck. Just stuck there in the middle of whatever hell this was, feeling his heart crawl up his throat as he watched the guy lean in closer to you, and you didn’t even pull away.

Bob kept watching though, he couldn’t not watch, and he couldn’t even pretend to glance away or look casual or participate in whatever the hell Jake was saying now about how shower sex was overrated if the water pressure sucked, because all he could do was stare across the room like he’d just been hit with something heavy, because you were still talking to that guy, nodding along and laughing at whatever he was saying.

And Bob could tell it was smooth, could tell the guy knew what he was doing, the way he was leaning with just enough space to be respectful but still make it feel like it meant something, the way his hand casually brushed the bar top right next to yours, like it was nothing, like he hadn’t been staring at you all night like you were the goddamn sun.

And you were eating it up.

You were laughing, you were twirling your straw around your glass, you were shifting one foot like you were nervous or shy or maybe just excited, and Bob’s heart was climbing, actually climbing, like physically trying to escape through his throat and he didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore, didn’t know where to look or how to sit or how to breathe, because you tilted your head and leaned in closer and the guy said something that made you smile so wide Bob felt it in his chest.

He didn’t even know the guy, had no clue if he was Navy or civilian or just some random who strolled into the Hard Deck like it was fate, but he hated him already, hated the way he looked at you like he deserved your attention, hated the way you gave it to him, hated that you weren’t looking back at Bob like you usually did, hated that you weren’t tossing him a glance just to see if he was paying attention, hated that this time, maybe you didn’t care if he was.

And maybe he’d imagined it all

Maybe all those looks across the bar and all the half-smiles and lingering hands on his shoulder or his wrist or the way you called him sweetheart when you thought no one was listening, maybe it was just how you were, maybe you were like this with everyone, maybe he was stupid to think it ever meant anything more than your usual mess of charm and games and heat, because now, now you were leaning against the bar and actually blushing at something some stranger said, and Bob’s lungs felt too small for his chest.

And Bradley nudged him, said something about looking like he’d seen a ghost, and Bob tried to answer but it came out wrong, because what was he supposed to say, hey man I think I’m watching my entire life spiral out of my control because the girl I’ve been lowkey in love with for the last ten months might be about to give her number to a guy who looks like he journals with a quill pen and kisses with poetry, because even thinking that made Bob’s stomach flip.

And he was still staring, still holding on to the fading hope that maybe you’d look at him, even for just a second, like maybe you’d catch his eye and do that thing where you smirk like you know you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, but you weren’t looking, you were still talking, and Bob could feel something in him starting to spiral.

And he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

“Dude.”

Bob blinked once, just once, because he was still looking at you, still watching how your fingers curled around your glass and how your mouth moved when you laughed, and maybe he imagined it, maybe it wasn’t real, but he could’ve sworn your eyes flicked up like you were about to glance around the room, and he waited, he actually held his breath like a loser waiting for you to look his way, but it never happened.

And then came Bradley, because of course it was Bradley, leaning in close like he was about to deliver classified information, his voice low, his brows up, his tone doing that annoying thing where it sounded casual but also absolutely meant business, and Bob didn’t even look at him properly because Jake, Jake was suddenly there too, on the other side, like they’d planned this, like they’d coordinated their chaos just to crowd him, shoulder to shoulder, pressure from both sides like they were about to shake sense into him.

“Are you seriously just gonna sit here?” Bradley muttered, and it was that tone, the really? tone, the are-you-fucking-kidding-me tone, and Bob wanted to argue, really he did, except Jake spoke at the same time.

“She’s right there, man,” Jake hissed like they were in the middle of some covert operation, “and you’re just... sitting? What, you think she’s gonna walk over here and propose to you?”

Bob blinked again.

“She’s laughing,” Bradley said, like Bob couldn’t see it himself, like Bob hadn’t been watching it happen in real time, like he didn’t know every shift of your weight and every twitch of your smile and every little habit you had when someone managed to genuinely get your attention, “and she’s smiling at him like he’s charming and she doesn’t usually do that, man, you know that, you know that.”

And Bob tried, he really did, he opened his mouth to explain that he was frozen, that he wasn’t physically capable of standing up right now, that his hands were literally sweating and his legs felt like twigs and his brain was caught somewhere between heartbreak and cardiac arrest, but Jake cut him off again, too loud for his own good, because he was Hangman and subtlety was a concept he never quite absorbed.

“Even I’m rooting for you now, Baby on board,” he said, like this was some kind of painful underdog movie, “you’re the quiet guy, the respectful guy, the one with the slow stare and the soft little voice that probably ruins people behind closed doors—”

Bob choked.

“—don’t act like you don’t know it either,” Jake pushed on, like Bob hadn’t already been living in denial for the past year, “you’ve got that whole Clark Kent thing going on and she’s been eye-fucking you since Christmas, and now you’re just gonna let her walk off with the guy who probably starts sentences with ‘Actually, in the original French—’?”

And Bradley was nodding along like this was completely reasonable.

Bob made a noise, something halfway between a breath and a crisis, and tried to look anywhere but at you, but that made it worse, because when he looked at the bar again, you were still there, still smiling, still twirling your straw and tilting your head and doing that thing where your knee bounced slightly when you were into a conversation, and Bob could see Phoenix give you this look, this wide-eyed, giddy, you got this, babe look, and Halo practically beaming beside her like she was your personal hype squad, and suddenly it felt like the floor was shifting, like the air in the bar got too thin.

And then Bradley leaned in even closer, close enough that Bob actually flinched, and his voice dropped so low it was almost unfair.

“She likes you,” he said simply, not a tease, not a push, just a fact laid flat between them like Bob hadn’t already known it, like he hadn’t been clinging to the maybe of it for months, “you just never do anything about it, man, and she’s not gonna wait forever.”

Bob opened his mouth again, completely panicked, completely lost.

Jake smacked his shoulder hard enough to jolt him and muttered, “Do something, Floyd, for fuck’s sake, before she gives Tall British Tragedy her number and breaks your entire bloodline.”

And Bob, poor, frozen, flustered, too-in-love-to-function Bob, just stared back at you like this was all some kind of test he wasn’t ready for, like maybe he’d already failed and this was the part where he had to find out what it felt like to lose something that was never his.

Bob’s eyes twitched behind his glasses, just a little at first, like his body was trying to warn him before his brain caught up, but then it happened again, sharper this time, more obvious, and he knew it wasn’t just a tick, it was rage or panic or maybe both, bubbling in his skin as he watched Phoenix and Halo walk away from you with the smuggest looks on their faces, winking like traitors, like they hadn’t just abandoned you with a man who looked like he belonged in a goddamn fragrance ad.

And you, of course you, tried to shoot them a glare, really tried, but it was weak and late and you didn’t even commit to it, because the second the guy opened his mouth again, you were distracted all over again, smiling, laughing softly, turning back toward him like he’d said something worth hearing, and that was when Bob realised he was going to snap.

He didn’t know how much time passed after that, couldn’t remember how many seconds or minutes had bled into one another while he sat there, too stiff and too warm and way too close to spiralling, because you were clearly flirting now, not just smiling and nodding politely, not just entertaining the guy because you were too nice to walk away, but genuinely engaged, leaning in ever so slightly, talking low, brushing your fingers along the bar while he mirrored the motion on his side, and it didn’t matter that he wasn’t actually touching you, because it was close enough, because the tension was there and the space was shrinking and Bob could see it, could see both of you slowly undressing each other with your eyes like this was the beginning of something that wasn’t supposed to happen in front of him.

And then you stood up. You stood up, and he did too.

He didn’t even realise it, didn’t plan it, just suddenly found himself walking, legs moving without consent, heart in his throat, and then his voice followed, shaky but determined, louder than it should have been as he crossed the room with his chest tight and his jaw clenched and his hands curled too tightly at his sides.

“Raven.”

You turned immediately, eyes catching his, and you tilted your head the second you recognised him, something surprised and amused settling over your expression like you hadn’t expected him to be standing there looking like he was two seconds away from short-circuiting.

“Yes, Bob?” you asked, calm and curious, lips parted just enough to make his brain freeze for a second longer than it should’ve.

He opened his mouth, words half-formed in the back of his throat, but the man beside you was already turning toward him, already offering his hand like he was made of pure class and silk, smiling like this wasn’t the most stressful moment of Bob’s entire year.

“Tom,” he said, accent undeniably British, voice smooth and kind, too kind, like this was all incredibly polite and not at all threatening, like he wasn’t on the verge of taking you home, like he wasn’t already halfway through winning you over.

And you, oblivious or maybe just cruel, smiled and gestured between them both like this was all normal.

“Bob, this is Tom. Tom, Bob. He’s my teammate.”

And Bob just stood there, face warm, hands awkward at his sides, heart screaming, because he hadn’t even gotten to say what he came here to say, because now he was meeting the man who might walk out the door with you tonight, the man who was taller and prettier and had an accent, and Bob had no idea how to compete with that.

Bob’s hand was clammy. He felt it the moment Tom’s fingers wrapped around his, calm and confident, like he’d never known a hint of nervousness in his entire life, and Bob knew his own grip was off, too strong at first then awkwardly loose, and when he said hi, it came out quiet and weird and he immediately followed it up with a second “hello” like that would make it better, and then he cleared his throat like that would help too, like somehow he could reset this entire moment and start over as someone cooler.

He let go too fast. And then he turned to you.

“Could we—” he started, voice unsure again, too high, too soft, and he cleared his throat again because fuck, “could we talk for a second?”

And your face, God, your face looked like you genuinely weren’t expecting that at all, because your brows furrowed and your lips parted like you were trying to remember if you’d forgotten something important, and then you glanced at Tom, probably just instinct, probably just checking if this was weird, if you needed to be worried, but Tom didn’t even flinch.

He was just standing there beside you, all tall and calm and British and perfect, looking at you like he was listening but not interfering, like he didn’t mind being interrupted, like he was curious, and it made Bob’s skin itch.

“Talk?” you asked, slower this time, confused and cautious. “About what?”

Bob could feel his heart thumping in his throat again, loud and uneven, and Tom didn’t say a word, just kept watching you like none of this was strange, and Bob hated it, hated the way Tom was so composed and kind and patient, hated the way he kept looking at you like you were something soft.

“About work,” Bob said, way too fast, voice firmer than before but still not convincing enough, and you gave him a look, the kind that made it obvious you were two seconds away from making up some excuse and walking back into whatever moment Bob had just interrupted.

You let out a sigh. A big one. The kind that came from your chest.

And you gave him this soft, apologetic smile, like you were about to let him down easy, like you weren’t mad at all but you definitely didn’t want to follow him away from the very charming, very hot man currently standing by your side with that soft-eyed patience that was making Bob feel violently unwell.

But before you could say anything, before that smile could fully settle into its place, Bob leaned in just the tiniest bit and dropped his voice. “It’s serious,” he said, and it was gentler now, like all that panic and fire had drained into something quieter, something realer.

And your eyes flicked up to meet his, like you could feel it, like maybe you finally understood that this wasn’t about work at all. “Please?”

───────

Was he really doing this right now?

Like seriously, was Bob Floyd, sweet, gentle, painfully shy Bob who couldn’t even hold your gaze for longer than five seconds without looking like he’d combust, really asking to talk about work, right now, when you were finally, finally about to break your absolutely pathetic nine-month streak of not getting laid, which was, let’s be honest here, kind of his fault in the first place, because if he hadn’t been looking at you all the time like you hung stars and also like he was absolutely terrified of you, then maybe, maybe, you wouldn’t have been stuck in this strange limbo of flirting and tension and frustration and sleeping beside a vibrator that honestly deserved retirement benefits at this point.

So yeah. You blinked. You tried not to groan. You tried to remember your manners.

But then Tom, ever the gentleman, ever the calmly spoken and irritatingly attractive British man who looked like he recited poetry and smelled like wealth, had the audacity to offer with a polite smile, “Why don’t you two talk about it while I’m here?”

And he didn’t even get to finish.

Because Bob, Bob who had just a second ago looked like he was about to melt into the floor, suddenly snapped his attention toward Tom with this polite but firm tone and went, “I’d prefer it was private.”

And then, it happened. A goddamn pissing contest is what happened.

“Oh come on,” Tom said lightly, clearly amused and clearly not realising that he was about ten seconds from being tackled by a man who probably hadn’t said the word “fuck” out loud in years. “It’s a bar, mate. Not a debriefing room.”

“I still think it’d be better if we stepped away,” Bob answered, still nice, still polite, still impossibly soft-spoken, but you could hear it now, the sharpness beneath it, the quiet frustration, the fact that he’d finally reached a limit and was now, apparently, taking a stand right here next to the jukebox.

And you just stood there, caught in the middle of it, not even sure what the hell was happening anymore, because you were supposed to be the chaotic one, you were supposed to be the one who caused scenes, but now you were watching Bob bicker with a English man like the slowest, politest trainwreck of your life, and the worst part, the most disarming part, was that your eyes had drifted, totally without permission, back to Bob.

Because he looked serious. Serious and flushed and focused and every bit like someone who had made a decision and was finally following through with it, and god, that look, that look alone might’ve short-circuited whatever parts of your brain were still functioning.

So ,you did what any emotionally unstable, horny, overthinking, severely overstimulated woman would do.

You stepped in the middle.

Literally.

You put yourself between them, palms raised, body angled to stop them from leaning in any further, because this was ridiculous, this was too much, this was like stepping into a fanfiction you forgot you were starring in.

And then, Tom took your right hand, and Bob took your left.

At the same fucking time.

And for a moment, you genuinely forgot how to speak, because the both of them were still holding your hands like it meant something, still glaring at each other over your shoulders like you were a trophy and they were fighting to the death, and you just stood there, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, absolutely certain that you were being pranked by the universe, because what in the Wattpad hell was going on.

And then Tom tugged your hand.

It wasn’t hard, it wasn’t aggressive, just a gentle kind of pull like he was trying to guide you back to his side or maybe get your attention again, but your wrist twisted just a little weird and the second the pressure hit your thumb the wrong way, you let out a soft, annoyed, “Ouch—”

And that was it.

Bob stepped forward. Not with words, not with a warning, not with anything but a shift, a movement, a quiet decision to put himself right in front of you like some kind of flesh-and-bone wall, and suddenly you were looking at the back of his jacket and the slope of his neck and the way his shoulders looked too tense to be real, and then he was leaning in, just a few inches, just enough that the space between him and Tom felt like it was about to catch fire.

And Tom was taller, yeah, by maybe an inch or two, and he was still calm, still composed, still fucking unbearable with how gentle his expression was, but Bob didn’t even flinch, didn’t look away, didn’t hesitate, just stared up at him with that quiet fury that only existed in people who usually kept everything buried.

“I think you should back off,” Bob said, soft and polite but absolutely not playing anymore, and you could hear the shift in his voice, could feel the ripple in the air around him like a fuse had just been lit under the surface.

Tom blinked, eyebrows raised, still not moving, still not letting go of your hand. “Look, I think you’ve misunderstood—”

But Bob cut in, not loud, not rude, just firm. “I’m going to say this nicely, because I’m still trying to be respectful,” he said, and you watched the way his jaw clenched as he exhaled through his nose, watched the way his voice stayed perfectly measured like he’d rehearsed it in his head a hundred times.

“But this is a bar full of Navy officers,” Bob continued, tilting his chin just slightly, like he was reminding Tom of exactly where the hell he was standing, “and I promise you, it won’t end well for you if you give anyone a reason to think you’re not welcome here.”

Bob gave a smile. It wasn’t sweet, and it wasn’t fake either, it was the kind of smile that made you blink and stop breathing for a second, the kind that made your stomach flip because it wasn’t Bob’s usual shy little corner-of-the-mouth smile, it was firm and controlled and slightly dangerous, and it made your pulse trip over itself.

Because holy shit, Bob Floyd was not playing.

And for a second, you genuinely thought you misheard him, like maybe you imagined it, maybe Bob didn’t just say what he very clearly said, but then you blinked and he was still looking at Tom like that, like that calm quiet stare could say everything he wasn’t shouting, and you actually felt your lungs stutter because what the fuck just happened, what do you even do when Bob Floyd says something like that so casually, like it’s already true, like he didn’t just light a match and throw it directly at your sex drive.

Tom didn’t say anything at first, just narrowed his eyes slightly, just shifted his jaw like he was still trying to decide whether this was a joke or a misunderstanding or something he could smooth over with enough English charm, and then he turned to you again, slower this time, voice measured and almost stiff like he was trying to keep it light, like he didn’t just get completely shut down in one sentence, and he goes, “I hope I get to see you again—”

But Bob spoke right over him.

Not loud, not mean, not rude, just... final.

“No, you won’t,” he said, and it didn’t even sound like a threat, it sounded like a certainty, like he knew for a fact that this night was going to end one way and one way only and it wasn’t going to involve Tom and his polite accent and his goddamn cheekbones.

And then, because apparently you hadn’t suffered enough, because apparently Bob wanted to absolutely end your life in the middle of the Hard Deck with a sentence, he added, “She’ll be with me.”

And your brain just stopped. Like fully, completely shut off.

You stared at him because you didn’t know what else to do, because your mouth had gone dry and your stomach had flipped and your knees genuinely, actually wobbled a little and you were so glad you were standing still because you were dangerously close to collapsing from sheer what the fuck was that.

Because Bob Floyd had never said anything like that to you before.

Because Bob Floyd was shy and sweet and respectful and he never looked at you too long unless he thought you weren’t paying attention, and now he was standing in front of you like he’d just decided this was done, that the tension between you wasn’t going to stretch out a day longer, that you were his, and that was it.

And the worst part, or maybe the best part, or maybe just the most terrifying part, was that you wanted it.

You wanted it so bad you couldn’t breathe.

Because it wasn’t even what he said, it was how he said it, that quiet steel in his voice, the soft but unshakable way he stood between you and Tom, the way he didn’t even look back at the guy anymore because he knew you were watching him, and god, god, you couldn’t stop watching him, you couldn’t look away, you couldn’t think of a single word to say because every part of you had short-circuited.

And yeah.

You were speechless.

And you were horny.

So catastrophically, unreasonably horny you nearly whimpered, because Bob Floyd just claimed you in the most Bob Floyd way possible and you might never recover from this moment.

You didn’t say another word. You just grabbed his hand, tight and determined and maybe even shaking a little because your brain had finally caught up to the rest of you and decided, yes, this was happening, this was actually happening, and Bob, and Bob didn’t even resist, just blinked in stunned silence as you pulled him along like some kind of feral force of nature who’d decided that tonight was it, tonight was the end of the waiting game, tonight was the fucking finale.

You didn’t check who was watching, didn’t glance at Jake or Bradley or even the girls because the second you looked back you might lose your nerve, might forget how to walk straight, might start overthinking everything and accidentally ruin it, so instead you just walked, fast and angry and certain, dragging Bob through the Hard Deck like a woman possessed, like your heartbeat was louder than the music, like your hands were about to start shaking from how badly you needed to feel something more than just the heat under your skin.

And the second you reached the bathroom that was blessedly empty, clean, the faint scent of lemony disinfectant still lingering from the cleaner who’d left maybe five minutes ago, and you yanked open the door, shoved him in with you, and locked it behind you without even giving him time to speak.

You were panting. You were flushed. You were a goddamn storm system ready to tear through everything in your path.

And Bob? Bob looked like he had no idea what just happened.

He was still trying to catch up, still standing there like he couldn’t decide if he should apologise or fall to his knees, and you didn’t say anything either, didn’t ask him if this was okay, didn’t ask if he wanted it, because you didn’t have to; his eyes already told you everything, wide and glassy and hungry, his chest rising fast beneath that stupid flight tee he still hadn’t taken off, his hands curled at his sides like he didn’t know where to put them, like if he touched you now he might lose it completely.

And maybe that was what you wanted.

Maybe that was why your breath hitched and your knees almost buckled, because he was just standing there, looking at you like he couldn’t believe you were real, like he didn’t know where to look first, like he didn’t know how to start, and it was killing you, it was absolutely killing you, the tension thick enough to choke on and your skin already buzzing, already hot, already wet, fuck, you were wet, and you could feel it now, every step you’d taken to get here, every heartbeat pounding between your legs like a countdown, like a warning, like something was about to break.

You could feel your panties clinging uncomfortably to your skin and it didn’t even embarrass you, it didn’t make you hesitate, because the only thing you could think about was how badly you needed him to touch you, how much it was already driving you insane that he wasn’t, how completely fucking unhinged it made you that Bob, sweet, soft, shy Bob, was the reason your thighs were clenching and your fingers were twitching and your back was already pressing to the cold tile wall just to keep yourself steady.

And he still hadn’t moved.

He was breathing like you were taking all the air in the room with you, like he didn’t know what the hell he’d just gotten himself into, and you could feel it now, the way your body was starting to shake with it, with all of it, the heat and the tension and the months of wanting, and the fact that you were both locked in a bathroom with less than three feet between you and only one possible outcome left—

And your voice broke out before you could stop it. “Do you know what you do to me?”

And you said it like a confession, like a sin, like something cracked open in the middle of your chest and bled out into the air between you, and your voice was hoarse and shallow and dazed and your back stayed right against the door because you weren’t sure your knees could handle even a step forward, weren’t sure if your legs would even work anymore because you were barely breathing and your palms were sweating and you were dizzy, not drunk dizzy, not flustered dizzy, just desperate, just overwhelmed, just fucking done with pretending you didn’t feel everything at once when it came to him, and when you finally looked up, when you really looked at Bob—

He wasn’t nervous.

He wasn’t stammering.

He wasn’t doing that soft little head tilt he always did when he was confused or shy or trying to figure out what the hell was going on in front of him, because this wasn’t confusion anymore, this wasn’t hesitation, this was heat, this was hunger, this was something unspoken and dangerous and so sharp it made your whole body lock up, because Bob Floyd was looking at you like he had been holding back for too long and maybe tonight he wasn’t going to anymore.

And then he stepped forward.

And your breath caught so hard it felt like something slammed into your lungs, and you didn’t mean to but you took a half-step back, only your back was already against the door, so it just made you straighten a little, made you tilt your chin up as his body closed in on yours, not touching yet, not even brushing, just crowding, just pressuring, just standing there like he could trap you with nothing more than proximity and silence and the way his eyes burned right through your fucking skin.

“Do you know what you do to me?”

He said it like it hurt, said it like a warning, like something he’d been trying so hard not to say and then failed, and the sound of it sent a whole-body shiver down your spine because it didn’t sound like Bob anymore, it didn’t sound like the shy, quiet, soft-spoken man you’d been lowkey in love with since forever, it sounded like something deeper, something hungrier, something wrecked and tired of waiting, and you felt your mouth go dry.

“You think I don’t notice,” he murmured, closer now, voice almost too calm, too quiet, like he was afraid if he let it rise at all he’d lose control of it, “but you look at me like you want me to lose it.”

And your stomach dropped.

Your legs shook.

Your hands itched to grab something, anything, because he wasn’t done, because he wasn’t backing away, because Bob was still coming closer even though there was nowhere else for you to go, and he tilted his head and let his eyes flick down to your mouth and then back up, and that was when you knew, that was when you really knew, because there was no coming back from this now.

“You don’t even realise,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear him over the blood rushing in your ears, “what it’s like watching you walk around like that, talking to everyone, laughing like that, wearing that dress like you didn’t know I’d be losing my mind the second I saw you tonight.”

Your chest was rising way too fast.

You couldn’t stop staring at him.

You could feel the heat building and building and your breath was shallow and uneven and your thighs were pressed together and you could swear you felt your own heartbeat between your legs, because Bob Floyd, Bob fucking Floyd, had you caged in with nothing but words and distance and tension and suddenly you weren’t even sure who was in control anymore.

You didn’t move, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except stare at him because holy shit, holy actual fucking shit, you weren’t sure your body was yours anymore, weren’t sure your legs were holding you up or if it was just the door doing all the work, because Bob was still right in front of you, still not touching, still looking at you like he had months of frustration burning under his skin and he didn’t know where to put it anymore, and his voice, fuck, his voice was still low and tight and wrecked, and when he spoke again, it hit you straight in the spine.

“I’ve thought about what you’d look like,” he said, slowly, like every word was being dragged straight from his gut, “all fucked out and panting, still begging for more, still trying to say my name.”

Your breath caught so hard it hurt.

“I’ve thought about how wet you’d be,” he kept going, and your whole chest fluttered violently at that, “how you’d sound if I put my mouth on you, how long you’d last before you started begging me to let you come.”

And holy fucking hell, your knees buckled again, this time fully, but his hand shot out and caught your waist before you could even fall, and that was the first time he touched you, that was the first skin-on-skin contact you’d had all night and it was barely anything, just his fingers at your waist holding you steady, but your body reacted like he’d fucking thrown you onto the counter and split you open, because your lungs stuttered and your thighs squeezed tighter and your head was spinning and his hand just stayed there, firm and steady and grounding you like he knew he had to or else you were going to collapse completely.

“And I’ve touched myself to it,” he added, voice softer now but somehow more intense, like it was turning into something vulnerable, something real, “more times than I can count, but it’s never enough, it’s never enough, because it’s not you, and I can’t get you out of my head, and I swear to God, if you don’t kiss me soon I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

But he didn’t move. He stayed still, staring at you, breathing like he was barely holding himself together, waiting for you to close the distance, for you to make the first move, and your body was burning so hot it hurt, and the silence between you was so loud you thought it might break something in your chest, because holy fuck, this was happening, this was really happening, and all he’d done was speak.

“Bob,” you whispered, and your voice cracked a little, not from nerves, not from doubt, but from the sheer weight of how badly you needed him, how much it burned, how deep it sat in your chest, months and months of restraint clawing their way out of your throat in just one word, and you weren’t even sure if you could keep going but you had to, you had to, because if you didn’t say this now you were going to fucking explode. “Just kiss me, please.”

You barely had time to process the way your back hit the door, hard enough to make it rattle, before he was on you, really on you, his mouth hot and desperate and possessive against yours like he was trying to breathe you in and ruin you at the same time, like this had been killing him and he wasn’t going to wait another second, not even a heartbeat, and you kissed him back just as hard, your hands sliding into his hair, gripping like you needed to keep yourself grounded, like if you let go you might actually fall apart.

And Bob was groaning into your mouth now, low and helpless, the kind of sound that came straight from his chest and vibrated through yours, and it did something to you, something visceral, something that made your knees shake and your brain short-circuit and your fingers curl tighter in his hair just to feel him, just to know this was real, and he pressed his body closer, no hesitation, no question, just heat, just solid, overwhelming heat against every inch of you and you were melting into it, melting into him, gripping the back of his neck like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

And then he pulled back just barely, just far enough to breathe, just far enough for his eyes to crash into yours again, and his forehead dropped against yours and his hand was still on your jaw and the other still on your hip and his chest was heaving like he’d just run ten miles and he still wasn’t touching you enough, not even close.

“I’ve imagined this,” he whispered, voice all breath and wreckage, his lips brushing against yours even as he spoke, “I’ve imagined what you’d look like, pressed up against me, gasping, shaking, begging.”

You whimpered, actually whimpered, because you could feel your thighs pressing together now like they were trying to solve the problem on their own, and your head was swimming with it, dizzy and hot and aching, and Bob leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours, his hand sliding up your side until it was resting right beneath your ribs, holding you like you were breakable but his.

“Do you even know what you do to me?” he asked, and his voice was rougher now, low and shaken and dangerous, and it made your whole body clench, made your breath stutter out again as you stared up at him, completely gone.

You nodded, but it didn’t even matter, because he wasn’t done.

“How many times I’ve thought about this,” he said, and then he tilted his head, just slightly, just enough that his mouth brushed your jaw now instead of your lips, his breath hot against your skin, “how many times I’ve made myself come to the thought of you moaning my name, screaming for me, looking at me like you’re looking at me right now.”

You gasped, actually gasped, because you were looking at him like that, you were giving him every single unfiltered thought and ache and need in your body and he was eating it up like he’d been starving for it, like this was the only thing he’d ever wanted.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done to me,” he whispered, mouth still dragging along your jaw, and your fingers were digging into his shoulders now, your whole body trembling, your thighs pressed together and your hips tilted forward like your body was already moving without permission, like it was chasing the friction, and Bob didn’t stop, didn’t even pause, because he was too far gone now, his voice going darker and hungrier with every word.

“Months,” he breathed, “I’ve been dying for this for months, watching you flirt with every guy who’s not me, watching you laugh and tease and act like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about how you’d sound, how you’d taste, how you’d fall apart under me.”

You almost cried. You almost cried right then and there because it was too much, it was everything, and you hadn’t even touched skin yet, hadn’t even unzipped anything, and your whole body was already humming with it, already aching, already so wet it hurt.

And then his hand slid from your waist to your thigh, slowly, like he was making sure you felt every inch, and his forehead still pressed against yours as his other hand slid into your hair, and you didn’t even realise you were holding your breath until he spoke again.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “tell me you want this.”

You let out a sound, not even a word, not even close, it was more like a broken moan caught halfway in your throat and your knees nearly gave out when his hand slid up and wrapped around the base of your neck, not squeezing, not choking, just holding, just owning, just enough pressure to ground you exactly where he wanted you, and you were already gasping before he even moved, already falling apart just from the weight of his palm and the way his thumb brushed your pulse, slow and knowing and devastating.

And then he rolled his hips, grounded into you, slow and deliberate and hard, and you swore the air was sucked out of the room because you could feel it, could feel the size of him through his jeans, thick and aching and right there, pressing up against where you needed him most and your whole body buckled forward into him like you couldn’t take it anymore, like it had already been too long and too much and too everything.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and wrecked and almost gentle except it wasn’t, not really, because it was also dark and edged and dripping with heat, “I wanna hear you say it.”

And you could barely breathe now, could barely think, you could just feel, could feel the press of his thigh between yours and the way your hips had started moving without permission, grinding forward, chasing friction, chasing him, and your hands were on his chest and then his shoulders and then his neck and you were nodding and gasping and then finally it tumbled out, barely coherent.

“Yes,” you said, voice shaking and high and real, “Yes, yes, yes, I want this, I want you, I want you so bad, please—”

That was all it took.

He kissed you again like he was trying to consume you, like he was starved and you were the only thing in the world that could feed him, and this time it wasn’t slow, it wasn’t sweet, it was needy, it was all tongue and teeth and desperation, it was months of pent-up want coming out like a storm and you met him right there, kissed him back just as hard, grabbed the front of his shirt like you were about to tear it open just to get to more, because it wasn’t enough, you needed more.

And he was grinding into you again, harder now, rougher, like he couldn’t stop himself, like your body was pulling it out of him without even trying, and you could feel him now, full and heavy and aching through the denim, and you swore you were going to come from that alone, from the way his hips kept moving and the way your body kept chasing and the way you could already feel your panties sticking to you like second skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned into your mouth, voice barely there, all breath and grit and broken control, “You feel that? That’s what you do to me, that’s what months of you teasing me gets you.”

You whined against his lips and his hand was still on your throat and his thigh was still between yours and your hips were still rocking and you could feel him getting harder, could feel your own arousal making a mess of your underwear and he still hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“You gonna let me ruin you in here, sweetheart?” he whispered, hot and heavy and almost sweet if it weren’t for the way his voice dropped on that last word, the way it felt more like a promise than a question, “Right here, against this fucking door?”

“Yes,” you breathed, and you didn’t even hesitate, not for a second, because it was already too much, you were already too far gone, “Yes, Bob, please, yes.”

And your hands moved before your brain could even keep up, fingers fumbling at his belt like you’d lose your mind if you didn’t get it open, like something in you would actually break if you didn’t get to feel him, right now, right here, against this fucking door like he promised, because your entire body was on fire and your panties were sticking to you and your head was spinning and the only thing anchoring you to this goddamn planet was him, was Bob, and the way he was looking at you like he’d been starving for months and only just now got his first real meal.

But then he stopped you.

His hand closed over yours, warm and firm and gentle and Bob, and it wasn’t rejection, not really, it was something else entirely, something that made your breath catch and your heart twist, because he looked at you like he meant it, like he meant you, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice softer now, steadier, more grounded but still thick with that wrecked edge, still hungry, still barely hanging on, “I mean it, are you… are you okay? You’re not drunk or—”

You groaned, actually groaned, head hitting the bathroom door with a soft thud because this was just so Bob, of course he was going to make sure you weren’t tipsy even though you were stone-cold sober and vibrating out of your skin, of course he was going to check in with you first, even though you were seconds away from clawing his shirt off.

“Bob,” you said, and it came out more like a plea than a protest, your chest rising, your hands curling against his shoulders now instead of his belt, “I swear to God, I need you to ruin me.”

And you didn’t even mean to sound so desperate but that’s just what it was, that’s just what he did to you, that’s just where you were now, with him staring at you like he couldn’t believe you were real, like he wanted to wrap his hands around every part of you and keep it.

“I’ve gone nine months without getting laid,” you whispered, panting now, voice cracking like you were halfway to tears from the sheer intensity of it, “Nine months, Bob, and it’s literally your fault because no one’s ever been you and I didn’t even realise it until I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and now you’ve got me pinned against a fucking door and I’m shaking and I can’t feel my knees and if you don’t fuck me right now I swear I’ll—”

He kissed you again before you could finish.

His fingers slipped lower and you gasped, not even because he was touching you but because how he was touching you, slow and almost tender at first, just enough to make you shake with it, just enough to make you whine into his mouth like you were begging for more even though you hadn’t said a word yet, and that must’ve done something to him because suddenly he was groaning, deep in his throat, low and wrecked like he couldn’t help it, and his hips pressed against yours like instinct.

And that’s when you felt it the thick, hard press of him through his jeans, flush against your thigh, and holy shit, he was huge, bigger than you expected, and you let out a strangled breath that might’ve been a whimper if he hadn’t kissed it right out of you.

His fingers slid between your folds like he’d done it a hundred times, like he knew exactly where to find you, and when he brushed over your clit, soft but deliberate, your whole body arched, legs trembling, and he smiled, smiled, like he was proud of himself, like he’d just confirmed something he already suspected.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice hoarse now, darker, hungrier, “You’re soaking for me, baby.”

You nodded, desperate, mouth open like you couldn’t catch your breath, and when he circled your clit again, firmer this time, more focused, you let out a moan that echoed off the walls and made him growl, actually growl, his glasses fogging worse now, his other hand gripping your hip tight enough to leave marks.

“Tell me,” he whispered, right against your ear, lips brushing your skin, fingers still working you slow and lazy like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn’t one second away from snapping, “Tell me who did this to you?”

“You—” you choked out, barely able to speak through the heat curling up your spine, “You, Bob, fuck—”

“That’s damn right,” he muttered, dragging his fingers lower again, pressing two of them into you with a smooth, practiced motion that had you screaming, forehead against his shoulder, hands clawing at his shirt, “Only me.”

You were gripping his arms now, shaking, gasping, hips grinding down like you needed more, needed all of him, and he gave it to you, curling his fingers just right, just deep enough to make your legs shake, just rough enough to remind you that shy little Bob Floyd was gone, that this man touching you now had teeth and hunger and absolutely no patience left.

“Been thinking about this for months,” he said, voice low and filthy and way too fucking controlled for someone knuckle-deep in your pussy, “Thinking about getting you just like this, begging for me, dripping all over my hand.”

“Bob—” you gasped, eyes rolling back when he started moving faster, harder, hitting that spot so perfectly it almost hurt, and he groaned again, this deep, desperate sound that made your walls clench around his fingers, and he felt it.

“Oh, you like that?” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, jaw tight with restraint, “You like when I fuck you with my fingers, sweetheart? You gonna cum for me like this?”

You didn’t even answer, couldn’t, because your brain had already stopped functioning and your legs were shaking so bad you could barely keep yourself upright, and thank God for the door behind you because without it you would’ve collapsed, folded right there under the weight of his fingers, under the sound of his voice, under the fact that Bob Floyd was saying things to you that should be illegal with the way they made your stomach twist and your pussy clench and your whole body feel like it was about to fall apart.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, low and thick and reverent, like he was watching something sacred happen right there in his hand, like you were something he’d worshipped from afar for too long and now he finally got to touch it, ruin it, claim it, “So wet for me, you’re fucking dripping, sweetheart, I can feel you, shit, you’re gonna cum just from my fingers, aren’t you?”

You nodded so fast your head spun, chest heaving, your back arching off the door as he started pumping into you faster, rougher, more focused now, and every curl of his fingers hit that spot so perfectly your thighs kept twitching, your mouth falling open in shock every time he found it again and again and again like he wanted to watch you unravel, like he wanted to see how much you could take before you broke completely.

And then he leaned in close, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath on your neck, his glasses barely hanging on at this point, his body fully pressed to yours now, hard cock grinding up against your hip like he needed the friction, like it hurt not to be inside you, and when he whispered in your ear again, you almost sobbed.

“I touch myself to the thought of you,” he said, quietly, honestly, like he was confessing it right to your soul, “I fucking jerk off to the way you laugh, the way you walk around in those tight little shorts like you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

You moaned, no, cried something high and shameless, and your hand shot out, grabbing at his belt again because you needed him, needed him, because no one had ever made you feel like this, and you didn’t care how messy it was or where you were or how fucking loud you were getting, because he was still fucking you with his fingers like it was all he ever wanted to do.

“Every night,” he breathed, nipping your jaw, “Every fucking night I’d get off thinking about how you’d sound falling apart for me, how tight you’d be, how wet you’d be, how desperate—fuck—how desperate you’d get just to have me inside you.”

You were gone, completely gone, head thrown back, hands gripping his biceps like you’d die without something to hold on to, and your legs were trembling now, your orgasm building so fast it was almost overwhelming, and he felt it, he knew, because his voice dropped again, soft and serious this time, his hand curling under your chin to tilt your face to his.

“Cum for me, baby,” he said, breathless, commanding, devastating, “Cum on my fingers, let me feel you.”

And you did.

You didn’t even wait for him to catch his breath, didn’t even let him steady himself after making you fall apart on his fingers like you’d been doing it together for years, like he knew your body better than you did, because you were already reaching for his belt again, fumbling, feverish, undoing the buckle like your hands had a mind of their own, and he was just watching you now, chest rising and falling like he’d run a goddamn marathon, lips parted, face flushed and stunned and still so fucking wrecked from watching you cum for him, and the second you pushed him back and made him sit on the edge of that sink, he let out a breath like his soul just left his body.

You dropped to your knees without even thinking about it, hands already yanking his jeans down past his hips, underwear too, and Bob let out the loudest fucking groan the moment his cock sprang free, flushed and hard and thick and twitching, and it was almost too much, almost stupid how pretty he looked like this, glasses slightly fogged, hands gripping the edges of the sink, head tilted back like he couldn’t believe this was happening, like he wasn’t sure if he was about to wake up.

“Fuck,” you breathed, voice gone already, mouth hanging open because you were soaked again just from the sight of him, because of course Bob Floyd had a cock that matched the rest of him, long and heavy and so fucking hard it actually made your mouth water, and you looked up at him once, eyes wide, dazed, overwhelmed, and you swear his face almost broke.

“You don’t have to—” he choked out, voice strained, already unraveling even though you hadn’t touched him yet, but you just looked up at him with this fucking look, like are you seriously trying to stop me right now, and then you licked your lips, slow and deliberate, and wrapped one hand around the base of his cock.

His entire body shuddered.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, jaw clenched, eyes squeezing shut, one of his hands flying up to your hair like he was trying to anchor himself to the moment, trying not to lose his shit too fast, but then your mouth was on him wet and warm and so eager, lips stretching, tongue swirling, and Bob let out a broken sound that made your thighs clench all over again.

“Jesus—fuck, sweetheart—shit, that’s—” he gritted out, hands twitching like he wanted to grab your head, wanted to fuck your throat, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, because even now he was still trying to hold back, still trying to be gentle, and it was killing him, you could feel it, you could see it all over his face, the way he was fighting not to lose control when he was so close.

You moaned around him, just to fuck with him, just to feel the way his hips jerked and how his fingers tangled tighter in your hair, and when you took him deeper, relaxed your throat and let him slide all the way in until your nose brushed his pelvis and your eyes were starting to water from it, that was when he snapped.

“Holy fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me cum, shit, fuck, you feel so good, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, low and desperate, hips twitching, his other hand slamming against the wall like he needed something to break, and when you pulled back just enough to suck harder, bobbing your head, hand still working the base, mouth slick and messy and full of him, he looked down at you.

And the look on his face, flushed and sweating and wide-eyed and completely fucked-out it almost made you cum again.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice wrecked now, barely holding it together, “On your knees for me, so fucking perfect, so fucking filthy, you’re gonna make me cum down your throat, sweetheart, you want that?”

He then came with a sound you’d never forget, raw and strained and so fucking desperate, fingers tangled in your hair like he’d completely lost track of the world, like all that mattered now was the way your mouth was wrapped around him, the way you swallowed every last drop like you’d been starving for it, like this was something you needed, like it was just for you.

And when you finally pulled off him, lips swollen and jaw aching and spit clinging to your chin, you were both gasping for air, your knees burning from the floor and your body shaking from everything, from the rush and the power and the absolute chaos of what the two of you had just done.

But before you could speak, before you could even get your breath back properly, Bob reached down and pulled you up, hands firm but shaking a little, and he kissed you like he meant to never stop, like he wanted to taste himself on your tongue, like he couldn’t believe you’d just done that, and God, the way he kissed you, all heat and teeth and soft little sounds at the back of his throat, it knocked the air right back out of you.

You whimpered into it, weak and overwhelmed and still so fucking turned on you could barely stand straight, and he kissed you again, slower this time, his palm cupping the side of your face like you were something fragile now, like he didn’t want to let go.

And when he finally pulled back, when he finally let you breathe again, he was still flushed and ruined-looking, but his voice was steady, low, thick, serious in a way that made your stomach drop.

“I’m not done with you,” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip, and you swore your knees buckled, “Not here. Not in a bar bathroom. I’m gonna ruin you,” he said again, gentler now, firmer somehow, “But it’s gonna be in my bed.”

Then he kissed you again just once, slow and dizzying and so fucking full of promise and you knew, oh you fucking knew, you weren’t leaving his sheets in one piece.

#bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman #bob floyd smut #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #jake seresin #smut

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violetrainbow412-blog · 21 hours ago

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Last night I read this and it's so BEAUTIFUL! I loved how respectful Bob wants to be all the time and how he gets so jealous all the timeeeee.

Honestly, it's one of the best fics I've read about Bob, what a magnificent writing😭🩷

Winner Takes All

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd/Reader

Summary: Reader is at the base to write an article, everyone's betting if Bob would get a kiss. The squad doesn't know they're already married.

Author's Note: This is part of the Brain Itch Series. Where the fics are very broken and have no start or end but stories that I just wanted out of my system.

Bob didn’t wear his ring on his finger. He always worried that he might lose it. But it was always on a chain around his neck. It was long enough that no one could see it and he didn’t like sharing about it either. Because all things considered, Bob was a possessive motherfucker who didn’t like telling anyone about you. Because what if someone got nosy and wanted to know you more? He couldn't blame them, though. You were simply that amazing.

However, when the conversation came up that there was a possibility that the current Top Gun crew was to be interviewed and their very curated achievements were to be shared with the general public, he couldn’t help but mention you. The war correspondent who had won prizes and was in the running for a Pulitzer.

Of course, he didn’t tell how he knew you. Just that he thought you would do a good job.

And now here you were.

Sitting in The Hard Deck, scribbling notes, watching officers around.

The place was packed. It was bodies against bodies but no one was complaining. Everyone was dancing to a different rhythm but they all seemed to be enjoying it. You were taking in the atmosphere and writing it down in small bullets on your notepad.

. Continue Reading. . . . Fic Masterlist.

#fic recommendation #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #top gun maverick #bob floyd x reader

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deeninadream · 17 hours ago

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just found out some insanely devastating news in real life. so now i guess its time to read some x reader fics.

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layla4567 · 1 day ago

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Just a Slip

Bob!Floyd x Fem!reader

SUMMARY: This situation couldn't go on like this. How long would your relationship with Bob remain a secret? The walls of subtlety and discretion were crumbling like melting ice, while your father's shadow loomed over the two of you, revealing the final act.

WARNINGS: suggestive (actually bordering on smut, sorry lol), heavy making out, voyeurism, dry humping/sex with clothes(?, maybe ooc but i'm trying to be most accurate possible, English isn't my first language, probably incorrect military language, beta read, Maverick really freaks out here, no y/n use, very strong bound with Maverick, maybe a little rushed ending

A/N: This is a second part, folks! You can find the first part here.

WC: 3k

That other day, you two had been close to the line of fire. You'd slipped up, and your father had almost found out about both of you. You had to be careful; you couldn't afford for anyone to find out. But... secrets always come out eventually, right?

Bob was a reserved, quiet, and sometimes a bit mysterious person. He liked to keep his life private, and that included his partner. You shared the same view, not only because if your dad found out, he'd kill you both, but because you longed for a quiet life with the man you loved.

However, young love can be fiery, passionate, and unpredictable, like an anxious, impulsive beast. And somehow, members of the Top Gun crew had realized that shy Bob had caught a girl.

Your visits were still controlled and moderate, well thought out and executed so no one would suspect a thing, but...ah...sometimes you couldn't help passing dangerously close to Bob to brush a shoulder and exchange mischievous smiles, or brush your fingers against his as you walked through the corridors, even when saying goodbye to the pilots, accidentally holding your boyfriend's hand longer than you should with a dreamy look on your face.

And come on, little Bob's coworker weren't idiots; they clearly noticed his nervous or overly cheerful behavior. Always so quiet, when he saw you, he seemed to come to life like a wind-up doll pulled from an old shelf to be dusted off and started playing. His face lit up and his cheeks reddened slightly.

But the most obvious had been the time the day before when you'd kissed Bob's neck and accidentally left lipstick marks like hickeys. And the others had noticed. They'd gone outside to board the planes. Next to Bob were Rooster and Hangman. When your boyfriend looked up at the sky, squinting at the sun, he craned his neck, and the collar of his uniform fell down a little, revealing the kiss marks.

"Damn Bobby, who marked you like that?" Jake whistled

Bob turned quickly to look at him, confused. Hangman pointed at his neck, and the man with glasses touched it. As he did so, he looked at the red ink on his fingers, startled. He immediately turned as red as those stains.

"Looks like our Bob is someone's property," Rooster winked.

Bob, unable to look at anyone out of embarrassment, mumbled an apology and ran to the bathroom before practice started, while behind him he heard his teammates' laughter and amused shouts. Jogging down the hallway, Bob despaired at the thought that Maverick might find out. Although it's likely he won't delve too deeply into the matter and will simply mind his own business, unaware that his girlfriend was his daughter.

When he got to the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror, staring at the red marks with a worried grimace and pursed lips. He swore under his breath, turning on the faucet and taking out a handkerchief to wet it. But no matter how much he scrubbed his skin, the marks wouldn't go away. You'd used long-lasting lipstick that day, and the ink wouldn't disappear on its own for a couple of days. Frustrated by the fact that the stains, although diluted, were still there and that his skin was turning red from so much scrubbing, he decided to play dumb for the whole day when the subject came up. He'd turn up the collar of his uniform until he felt like he was strangling, all to avoid being caught.

But the damage was done. Now everyone knew you and Bob were dating, everyone except your dad. And the truth is, it hadn't been that hard to find out. They'd already suspected your closeness to the young pilot, but ever since they saw the marks on his neck, they had no doubts. And when you came to visit again that day, everyone looked at each other knowingly or winked at Bob, who blushed and frowned, tired of being the center of their teasing.

The pilots were getting out of the planes after a grueling practice. You stood next to your father, watching the men disembark, though you couldn't take your eyes off one pilot in particular. The others came closer to hear their captain.

"Good job guys, take a break of 20 minutes" Maverick said

Then he turned to look at you "So? What do you think, daughter?"

"That was awesome, Dad! Do you mind if I say hi and stay and chat with them?"

He frowned slightly, and his smile disappeared. He didn't like the idea of leaving you alone with them, and he still remembered the conversation you had weeks before. But he simply trusted you, thinking you wanted to learn more about TopGun.

"Alright, but don't linger too long" he smiled

You thanked him deeply and hugged him, kissing him on the cheek. When your dad left, you approached the group and greeted them with a cheerful smile. Then you glanced at Bob and exclaimed

"That was amazing. Don't you mind if I exchange a few words with him? I want to learn more about the WSO," you said, pointing at your boyfriend.

Bob opened his eyes staring at you and the others exchanged knowing glances, suppressing a smile.

"Sure! take all the time you need" said Hangman mischievously

Bob looked at him in horror and his mind clicked. Jake shrugged while you excused you politely, ignoring this exchange of glances. You took your boyfriend by the arm and walked slowly back into the military base. Once you were out of sight, you started to jog, dragging Bob along, who followed you clumsily, almost tripping.

"What are you-!?"

"Come on!!"

You led Bob to a quiet, empty, almost dark hallway near a storage room. You cornered him with his back against the wall.

"You don't know the torture I'm going through, I can't go on like this anymore"

Your boyfriend's eyebrows raised in an arch, visibly concerned, but then you crashed your lips against his in a voracious kiss that left him breathless. Your hands ran over his shoulders and face, unable to keep them in one place, wanting to embrace his entire body, to touch him, to feel him.

"I can't stand keeping you a secret anymore" you gasped between kisses

His hands dug into your hips as he sought your mouth with the same insistence. But he brought a hand to your cheek and gently pulled you away. You whined in response, frustrated.

"Wait, not here baby, they can see us and we don't want that, right?"

You nodded, whining like a puppy, but then realized what was happening and shook your head, correcting yourself. He laughed softly and looked around until he saw the closet. He looked back at you to confirm that you two were thinking the same thing. You nodded again and dragged him toward the space. It was dark, narrow and full of brooms and cleaning supplies, so you both had to squeeze in to fit. Of course, that wasn't a problem for you if it meant squeezing yourself against the well-trained body of your handsome boyfriend.

Your chest bumped against his, rising and falling as your nervous breaths tangled and your eyes adjusted to the darkness. You placed your hands on his torso and looked up at him. Bob was blushing despite the lack of light, but his pupils were dilating with lust. Above you was a small lamp. Your boyfriend reached up to turn it on, and when he pulled the small chain, everything was illuminated with a warm but dim light.

"Don't"

You stretched your arm as far as you could to reach the chain and turned off the light again.

"But-..."

You felt his face and when you found his mouth you placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "I won't take any more risks than necessary."

He was going to say something else but you didn't let him, in the darkness you brought your mouth closer to what you thought was his face and like a blind man you ran your lips over his skin until you crashed into his. He pressed you against the wall bringing his body even closer to yours than they already were in that small space and lifted your thighs until he could hook them on his hips. In the darkness both of your senses became more acute and you noticed how his groin twiching on your pelvis near your center. You brought your hands to his neck while you opened your mouth to slide your tongue in and he allowed it. You two didn't even give each other a moment to breathe until Bob separated from your mouth to suck on your neck leaving a thread of saliva hanging causing you to gasp and moan softly.

"Ah~... yes please"

Bob was very good with his mouth, kissing you and running his tongue over your pulse, almost biting you like an apple. You whimpered and squealed like a desperate mouse, begging for more.

"Be quiet, babe," he whispered against your skin.

You rolled your eyes and bit your lip to suppress your moans, trying to follow his sage advice. You tangled your fingers in the back of his hair, holding it hard with small tugs and making him grunt against your jaw. His fingers hooked into your pants, pulling them down slightly as your hips and almost your entire body rubbed up and down his groin like a bunny in heat craving more.

"Bob...please...it feels so good" you practically begged tearfully with your wet eyes

"I said quiet baby, don't make me cover your mouth with my hand" he growled softly near your mouth

you were actually thinking about him covering your mouth with something else...

Bob could tell how needy you were for him, so he decided to give you what you wanted. Well, almost. You were still in a public place, and even though your hormones were running high, he didn't want to get fired. He began to rock his pelvis, grinding his groin against you, feeling you getting wet as he felt himself getting hard. You chased the friction, following the motion as if you were one, as if imagining him inside you, filling you, would satisfy you. You panted like a dog, breathing heavily, broken moans splitting your throat.

"Omgomgomg!"

You were realizing that maybe you were making too much noise, not just because of the sounds coming out of your mouths, but because the space was so narrow and so full of things that the mops were starting to vibrate felling out and the sidewalks were clattering. Oblivious to everything that was happening outside and even to the notion of time, they didn't realize that Maverick had returned to where he had left you before, with the group of pilots that had now dissolved. He only found Phoenix, Fanboy, and Rooster.

The captain, not seeing you anywhere, frowned and approached them, confused and worried.

"Guys, have you seen my daughter anywhere?"

"Oh she went wit- OUCH!"

Before Mickey could finish his sentence, he received a strong elbow from Phoenix, who gave him a warning look. Maverick didn't miss that, and Rooster quickly tried to fix it.

"No sir, but she's probably touring the facilities before leaving"

The captain grunted softly and left, annoyed, to look for you. When he left, the others sighed in relief. But Fanboy, remembering the blow he received, glared angrily at Phoenix.

"Hey! Why did you hit me?"

"Idiot, don't you understand that he doesn't know she's dating Bob?"

"Oh..." in fact he didn't

Rooster tried not to laugh "That Bob is finished when he finds out."

"How much do you bet he survives the beating?"

Bradley looked mockingly at his partner "Really? C'mon is Bob, I don't think he'll get out of this unscathed"

"Female intuition never fails..." she said casually.

Rooster laughed and they both bet 100 dollars. Fanboy rolled his eyes but inside he was also amused. Meanwhile, Maverick was wandering the halls trying to appear calm but inside he was clearly feeling irritated, more so because he had lost sight of you; he felt stupid for that. As he was walking, he suddenly heard strange and suspicious noises to his left. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the storage room and as he got closer he heard... gasps? He wasn't sure because they sounded somewhat muffled. With a frown but a sure hand, he swung open the door, knocking out brooms and detergent bottles, but what really stopped him in his tracks was seeing those two people, the last ones he wanted to see there.

As the door opened, you both inside noticed how everything lit up. Seeing yourself trapped, you screamed in fear, covering your mouth, and noticing your father standing there in front of you with a sour face, your eyes widened, wishing the earth would swallow you up. Bob quickly turned his head to look at him, and you could tell he didn't look very presentable—neither of you, to be honest. His glasses were crooked and slightly fogged up, and his mouth was half-open in horror. Both of you looked so red-faced that you looked like two tomatoes at a grocery store.

"Lieutenant Floyd..." he chewed the words slowly, red with rage

Hearing his name, Bob pulled away from you and left the closet so fast he almost fell. He then stood up and saluted. You came out, trembling slightly and very embarrassed, unable to see your father. But he just stared at your boyfriend as if he wanted to bite his head off.

"Can you explain to me what the hell you were doing locked up in there on top of my daughter!?" He barked so loudly that he almost messed up Bob's hair.

You looked scared at your boyfriend who was trembling slightly with wide eyes "I, Uhm, I-I'm so sorry captain"

Your father came closer to Bob until he was almost a foot from his nose. "I didn't ask for your apologies, I asked you what the hell you were doing there with my daughter," he said in a tone as cold as ice.

"Dad please..." you begged worried about what he might do to him

He ignored you and waited for a response from Bob, but he didn't open his mouth. He pursed his lips and gulped, unable to give you away. Maverick almost bared his teeth in anger.

"You know what this means, don't you, Lieutenant?"

He nodded nervously, accepting his fate. He had already stained his honor and betrayed his captain's trust. You shook your head, unable to allow it. You stood between them, slightly pushing your father away, protecting Bob from him.

"Father, you can't kick him out of TopGun, please. It was my fault I dragged him here. Punish me, not him."

Your father looked at you confused, as if he were seeing you for the first time, and the worst part was that a slight suspicion began to sprout from him; he was beginning to understand everything, but you continued talking. You swallowed nervously.

"Bob and I have been dating for weeks, Dad. I'm sorry. I know you said I couldn't date pilots, but he's different, and I know you were afraid they'd hurt me, but he treats me better than anyone—"

You tried to explain everything quickly but you saw how his face was turning red and before you could finish he interrupted you.

"YOU WHAT!?"

Your father raises a finger pointing at you angrily and Bob behind you instinctively put his hands on your shoulders trying to protect you.

"YOU DISOBEYED ME, YOU JUST HAD ONE RULE AND YOU BROKE IT!"

Your body began to shake slightly. You hated being yelled at, especially when it came from your father. Bob, noticing this, tried to interrupt, "Captain, listen..."

Now the captain's finger was pointing at him "NO! Shut your mouth now Floyd, don't interfere"

He looked at you now "And you... I'm very disappointed in you..."

Your eyes filled with tears, trying not to let them roll down your cheeks. You didn't want any of this to happen, but you couldn't avoid it either. Love was unpredictable in itself. And was that a bad thing? Was love really bad? Your boyfriend, who hated to see you like this, gathered his courage and confronted your father.

"Please listen, she's too grown up to decide who to be with and who not to be with, and in this short time I've gotten to know her, and I know she doesn't wish you any harm. And believe me, I don't wish to hurt her either."

Maverick's knuckles were turning white from clenching his fist. What Bob was saying was reasonable, but now your father was too blinded by rage to think clearly. The worst part wasn't that you were dating a pilot, the worst part was that he was the last to find out, and he felt really stupid. Maverick sighed.

"All this time you were secretly seeing him... even in my own house?" your father said looking at you.

A single nod was enough to make him snort like a buffalo. "Floyd, start running..."

Your boyfriend felt his heart stop as his legs began to run almost by inertia. Behind him, your father began to follow, shouting that he would kill him. Scared, you followed them down the hallway. On another occasion the situation would even be funny, like an episode of Scooby-Doo

"NO PAPA WAIT!!!"

Your broken scream alerted the others. Maverick and Floyd arrived outside with the entire group that had gathered upon hearing your screams. Upon noticing what was happening, they all made a circle, covering their companion, Bob, while they separated the captain, who was attacking like a fighting dog. Your father was howling like a madman while Rooster restrained him as best he could.

You arrived sweaty and agitated by adrenaline and approached your father, pleading for him to stop. You managed to calm him down with difficulty.

"Dad, we need to talk please.."

Maverick's eyes were fixed on Bob, barely able to hear you. Fed up, you stood firm in front of him and snapped, "NOW"

Finally, he focused his gaze on you. You were his daughter for a reason; you knew how to stand your ground when necessary. You moved away from the group to a corner to speak alone with your father.

"Papa, I know you're mad... really mad, and I know I broke your rules, but I couldn't help it. When I met Bob, I fell madly in love with him. He's so sweet and attentive to me. And... whether you like it or not, I'm going to keep dating him.."

Your father was still frowning, but he watched and listened to you intently, and even though he found it hard to admit, you were right. Bob was one of the best pilots, responsible and dedicated to his job.

"I'm not a child anymore..."

Hearing that, Maverick's features softened. He could see your eyes shining with love. Maybe Floyd, if he treated you right. Maverick put his hands on his hips, ran a hand over his face, and sighed.

"I'm sorry. I know you're not a little girl anymore, you're absolutely right, but sometimes I can't help but see you as one. I only have you, you know? And it would break my heart to let you spread your wings and fly, but I know it's the right thing to do..."

"I think the reason I got so mad is... because I didn't realize your feelings sooner, I felt guilty for not even giving you proper advice... I just put obstacles and prohibitions in your way..."

Seeing your dad so devastated broke your heart. "Oh daddy..." You pouted sadly and hugged him, rubbing his back. "I'm not going anywhere. You'll always have me here."

"I know" He smiled with relief.

Once you'd made peace, you two returned to where the other pilots were, who were staring at their captain with tense bodies, but he was now calmer. The group fanned out like ants, revealing Floyd, who was in the center. He gulped. But Maverick simply said

"I'm sorry for the fuss, I know when I've made a mistake so I apologize to all of you" then he looked at Bob "Especially to you, I was unfairly harsh. If my daughter is happy with you then I have no objection.. oh and, you can keep your job, just because my daughter asked me to" you nudged him but he smiled

"Alrighr, alright. I admit you're a man of honor, Lieutenant. But if you get her pregnant, I'll kill you"

The other pilots laughed out loud as the two of you turned red and Bob nearly choked on his saliva. Then your father nodded toward your boyfriend, giving you permission to hug him like you were desperately wanting to do.

Bob exhaled the breath he'd been holding, visibly relieved. You smiled and trotted happily over to hug him by the neck, nearly knocking him to the ground. Bob smiled behind you, but seeing his captain's warning face, he turned serious. Everyone cheered happily for the happy couple, even Maverick clapped proudly.

Phoenix suddenly remembering the bet looked at Rooster smiling "pay me the 100 dollars"

He looked at her, confused and offended. "The bet, Bob doesn't have a scratch."

Rooster grunted softly and, taking out his wallet, paid Phoenix. Bob, who had been listening to the conversation, asked, "What bet, guys?"

"None" they said in unison.

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