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fireinmoonshot · 5 months ago

Note

if you're okay with the other dagger members, "memorizing their favourite things and treating them when they have a bad day" with mickey (fanboy) please? :')

A/N: Surprise! I rewatched Top Gun: Maverick tonight and since falling in love with Joaquin from Marvel, I have also now totally fallen in love with Fanboy. I've had this request in my inbox for a long time – like the last time I wrote for Top Gun which was... 2023 or early 2024? I cannot remember. Anyway, I'm so sorry this took me forever to get around to, anon! I hope that if you're still around on my blog, you'll enjoy this fic now that I've finally written it. I'm definitely gonna be writing more for Fanboy and for the rest of the Top Gun crew cause my inspiration for writing them again is so strong at the moment. Anyway, enjoy – and remember my requests are always open!

In hindsight, Mickey Garcia should have asked for help getting everything from his car to the Hard Deck. He’d put a few things in a bag, but it was still incredibly awkward to hold it all and he could only hope that someone would be kind enough to open the door with him. He’d already had to kick the door to his truck shut with his foot.

The whole team was meeting up at the bar tonight, celebrating a successful training day – though it hadn’t been super successful for all of you. You’d made a mistake and been absolutely reamed by Maverick and Cyclone. It’d almost made you decide not to come out tonight, but Natasha had convinced you to come along, saying it’d help to be around your team rather than be alone.

Mickey had made his decision pretty quickly and as soon as you’d all been dismissed, he’d hopped into his truck and spent his few spare hours driving around the city and collecting things for you.

He’d been keeping a list in the notes section of his phone about things you deem your ‘favourite things in life’ ever since he first started falling for you. Considering how long ago that was, he long since should have confessed but when it came to you, well… the poor aviator was tongue tied more often than not.

Chocolate (specifically anything with caramel)

Iced Coffee (but not too much ice)

Romance books.

Sunflowers.

He’d selected a handful of things off your list and done his best to track them all down – even going so far as to arrange them in a small hamper. Well… it had meant to be small. But things had gotten a little out of hand at the bookstore and instead of leaving with one book like he’d planned, he’d ended up asking for recommendations and had left with four. That, along with three blocks of chocolate, a bouquet of sunflowers and an extra large iced coffee (without too much ice), were what he was attempting to safely get inside.

You were none the wiser to Fanboy’s plans, sitting in the corner with the other members of the team. Nat was sat beside you, nursing her first beer of the night, and Jake and Javy were just starting a game of pool with the others. It was difficult for you to really focus on your friends rather than the words swimming in your mind, berating you for your mistake.

Everyone said it was an easy enough mistake to make – it could’ve been anyone – but in the real world, not in a training exercise, you know it could’ve cost you or someone else their life.

You’re just about to get up and head to the bar to get your first drink of the night in an attempt to numb the thoughts in your head when you spot Fanboy making his way through the room. It’s not busy yet, but with what the man is carrying, he knocks into several people on his way over towards you.

“What the hell is he doing?” Nat says from beside you, beer paused halfway to her mouth.

“Has he organised a date or something?” Bob asks, sitting across the table from you, his eyes also focused on Fanboy. He looks just as confused as the rest of you do – your whole team now staring at him.

He stops when he reaches your table, huffs out a breath and then grins. “Hey guys.”

“You good, Fanboy?” Nat questions, motioning to the flowers, coffee and the bag in his hands.

“Yeah, I’m good!” He seems chirpy, as usual. He puts the bag down on the table, it making a thudding noise as it hits the wood. Whatever is in there must be pretty heavy. Then, he surprises you by making his way around the table to where you’re sitting. “So, this is for you.” He hands you the iced coffee he’s holding, as well as the incredibly large bouquet of sunflowers – your favourite.

“For me?” Your eyebrows almost hit the roof.

You wouldn’t be lying if you said you thought Mickey was cute. You had done ever since you’d first met him a long time ago now. Part of you had always wondered ‘What if?’ but the reasonable part of you that refused to let yourself date co-workers or fellow aviators won out every time. But here he was… delivering you flowers and iced coffee?

“Yeah, the ice might be a bit melted by now – it’s like a hundred degrees out there – but I blasted my air con the whole way here so I could try and keep it cool,” he explains, so incredibly nonchalantly despite the fact that he’s clearly gone out of his way to do this. “And I know sunflowers are your favourites so…”

“How do you know that?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I just remember you mentioning it one time.”

He figures you don’t need to know about the note on his phone – not just yet, anyway. He could save that for if he ever actually gets the courage to ask you on a date and confess his feelings to you. Right now, that would likely come across as a little creepy.

Nat pipes up. “What’s in the bag, Fanboy?”

“Oh, that!” He says, hurrying back over to the bag as if he’s forgotten it existed – truly, he kind of did. He was so focused on the look of pure happiness on your face that he forgot half your present was still waiting. “So, this…” He continues, carefully pulling the hamper out of the bag, “is also for you! I found you some books, I hope you haven’t read them yet.”

Before Mickey can even take a step towards you to give the hamper to you, you’re off your seat, hurrying over to him. He barely even has time to put the hamper on the table before you’re flinging yourself into his arms. He swears his heart stops and then re-starts at the sudden contact, the feeling of your body pressed into his.

Well… this is new.

“What the hell, Mickey?” Your voice is soft in his ear as you hug him tightly.

“I know you had a tough day so…” He mutters in reply.

“People usually just buy me a beer if I’ve had a tough day, they don’t go out and buy me all of my favourite things,” you laugh a little, pulling away from the hug. Mickey already misses the contact as you step away from him. “And you bought me books?”

You lean down to inspect the hamper on the table.

“Have you read any of them?” Mickey asks, watching you carefully. “If you have, I think I can exchange them. I kinda befriended the girl that works at the bookstore. She helped me pick them out.” She also definitely thought Mickey was buying books for his partner, so that was probably why she was so helpful – he knows that.

“No, but I’ve heard good things about this one!” You point at one of them, then turn back around to look at him. “You really didn’t have to do this, you know? I really would’ve been okay with a free beer and some good company.”

Mickey shrugs, suddenly a little shy. “You deserve it.”

“Okay, this is sweet and all,” Nat starts, immediately reminding both you and Mickey that you’re in the middle of a bar surrounded by your team and it’s not just the two of you. “But this does not mean you get to sit in the corner and read all night, okay? And I want a piece of that chocolate – the caramel swirl one.”

You laugh at her, shaking your head at how blunt she is, and turn back to Mickey. You surprise him again by reaching out your hand, taking his and giving it a squeeze. It’s like an electric shock travelling up his arm.

“Will you come sit with me?” You ask him. “We can read the summaries of all of the books you got me and you can help me decide which one to read first. Obviously when I get home, since I’ve been banned from reading here tonight.”

Mickey nods, already loving the idea just because it means he gets to sit next to you and spend more time with you. You don’t let go of his hand as you move back to where you were sitting before, making Nat shuffle up a bit so that Mickey can fit beside you on the booth.

“You really made my day, you know that?” You squeeze his hand again before letting go so you can grab the hamper and start to get the books out.

He can’t help the smile that comes to his face. “I’m glad I could make you smile.”

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick x reader #fanboy #fanboy x reader #mickey garcia #mickey garcia x reader #mickey garcia x you #mickey fanboy garcia

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writesick-lover · 4 months ago

Note

Hiiii,,

Could you write something for bob? Anything. I really enjoyed ‘cry baby’ if that helps.

All the best

A/n: Hiii! I was waiting for the moment when I finally get the kick to write to Bob and this was it! I actually got a bunch of ideas, but in the end I settled for this! Hope it was worth the wait - I do plan to share other tropes for Bob as well... maybe in a Cry baby universe? ;) But for now, ENJOY!

That’s my wife

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x fem!reader

⤞ My masterlist ⤝

═══════☆♡☆═══════

It was crowded in Hard Deck, as it was every Friday night. Bob usually didn't mind, always staying close to his group by the pool, but today was different. All of a sudden, he felt annoyed by the pushing bodies, making it hard for him to see the entrance of the bar. Because today was not an ordinary night at the pub. Something special was happening for Robert Floyd, thanks to special someone about to make an appearance.

And just as he thought about her, he manifested her presence into the bar.

Bob would recognize his wife anywhere. Even in a totally packed Hard Deck, where he probably wouldn't be able to find his own mother. She made her way through those sweaty bodies, her 'excuse me's and 'thank you's flowing through his ears like a melody.

Bob started to look for a place to put his beer to for the time, ready to meet the girl of his dreams at the bar just like they agreed to. When he finally found a small space under the window, he heard a loud whistle. His head snapped.

"And who is this pretty lady," Hangman's voice made the whole company turn as he gazed towards the bar. "Ha, Hangman," Rooster joined him at the staring contest, nudging his ribs. "You can bet, she wouldn't go for a guy like you," he grinned, seeing Jack's shocked face. "A guy like me?" He repeated. "Then what are you? A trashcan?" He retorted, wiping the smile from Rooster's lips in a second.

Bob gulped. He followed the direction in which the two were looking.

His body froze on the spot, trying to figure out what to do. They were eyeing her. She was beautiful, as always. It was these moments, when Bob couldn't comprehend his own luck. His right hand traveled to his left, subconsciously playing with the ring on his finger. Well, shit.

"You're just worried she wouldn't go for a trashcan like you," Hangman provoked and everyone could only watch with a small smile how quickly Bradshaw took the bait. "We'll see about that," and with that, he was on his way to the center of the room, Jake Seresin right at his heels.

Bob was too stunned to do anything. Something in him started to burn, eating him from the inside, pinching every corner of his heart. But he just kept on twisting the golden ring, not noticing the questioning look Phoenix gave him. Her face twisted in surprise at first, connecting the dots pretty quick despite the silence from her best friend. But then she was right beside Bob, nudging his shoulder a little.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "She's got the same ring on her finger," Bob only managed to nod. Natasha's face brightened. "Congrats," she gave him a smile and Bob shared the enthusiasm with a small lift of the corners of his mouth. "Yeah," he said, finally picking up the courage to take a step forward. "I told her about you, although I wish this wasn't the way they meet for the first time," Natasha caught his arm in his motion.

"Hold on," she said, nodding towards the three at the bar. "I wanna see this,"

"Hey there," Rooster went all out. His huge frame surely made an entrance for him, but an additional smile and a confident greet couldn't hurt. And beside that, chicks are digging his deep voice.

Before you even got to turn around, another man was standing beside him, his smile brighter as ever. You eyed them both, with Hangman pushing Rooster to the side and stepping forward. "Is he annoying you? I can take care of him for you," Hangman cooed, not noticing your slight lean backwards, away from the two peacocks in front of you. It took you a while to recognize them, but after a few seconds, it was unmistakable who these two were. You knew them from a photo of the whole group Bob was showing you after he got back from his mission. You weren't sure if you were supposed to laugh or cry. Who would have thought you would meet like this?

☆ ☆ ☆

"That's Hangman" Bob pointed at a handsome pilot with a smile that shined with bright white teeth. "Avoid him at all cost," he looked at you, his eyes completely serious, which only made you burst into a fit of laughter. "I'm serious," he said, the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. "I can see that," you breathed, your hands travelling to his back and rubbing it reassuringly. "But noted," your kiss tickled Bob's cheek, spreading a tint of pink across his face.

"And this is?" you pointed to a tall man with a stache, his big arm hugging your husband around the shoulders. "Oh, that's Rooster," Bob's eyes softened. "And this is Nat, right?" you exclaimed, pointing at the woman hugged by Rooster from the other side. "Yeah, that's her," you two shared a smile as you watched Bob slide his fingers across the photo. "I can't wait to meet them," you said softly into the warm morning and Bob couldn't help but smile sweetly. "They mean a lot to me," he whispered back, gulping. "I know," you turned his face towards you before pecking his lips, both of you falling into a calm silence of comfort with each other.

☆ ☆ ☆

You slightley stretched upwards, trying to look past the men's broad shoulders that bumped to each other, trying to push the other out of the way. Your husband was nowhere to be seen and although you were quite enthusiastic to meet his crew, enthusiasim was pretty far from what you were feeling now. You watched the two glaring at each other and you bit back a smile. If only they knew.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Rooster pushed forward, making Hangman stumble back. "Get in line, chicken," Hangman grabbed his shoulder, forcing himself next to you instead of Rooster. "Boys, I hate to say this-" you began, your fingers falling on the ring on your left hand.

"Come on, sweetheart, let me get you something," before you could finish, you were blinded by Jake's perfect set of teeth, the photo from Bob apparently doing it injustice. "Guys-" you tried to speak up, but to no avail. "Penny, one more on me," Jake called to the woman behind the bar, who only nodded, preoccuppied with other customers. You sighed.

"Don't listen to him," Rooster touched your right hand gently, making you look at him. Ah, missed. The two completely ignored the shiny stone on your ring finger glistening in the dimmed lights of Hard Deck. You decided to let them go in this one, forcing on a straight face as they bickered with each other.

"They are all over her. Maybe I should-" Bob watched the bar, an anxiety creeping into his voice. Phoenix looked closer, noticing the crease forming between his eyebrows and the way he narrowed his eyes. His hands, unbeknownst to him, closed into fists. He was ready to shoot.

"Bob?" she grabbed him by his shoulder, grounding him. He looked at her, his brown eyes a little lost. "I've got your back," she tightened her squeez and that was all Bob needed. It was time to get his wife.

"And why shouldn't she listen to me? She obviously likes what she sees," Jake retorted, nudging you with a flirty smile. "Cause you're a casanova, Bagman," Rooster fought back. "You wouldn't smell love even if it was right under your nose," you had to pause at those words, yanking your hand from Rooster. This was going too far. Bradley looked at you in surprise, to which Hangman bursted out laughing. "You too, so it seems," he got out through heavy breaths, leaning on the bar for support. "Nice one sweetheart,"

"Speaking of love, gentlemen," a woman's voice came from behind the two competing mountains of men. They both turned to the lieutenant who grined at them. If she didn't have ears, she would be smiling all around. "Nat," you sighed in relief, recognising her immediately. "In the flesh," she grinned at you. "It's so nice finally meeting you," she said, Jake and Bradley exchanging confused looks. "Bob told me so much about you," you ignored the two, clinging to a conversation with Natasha like a tick. "Bob?!" the loud yell of both aviators brought you back to the reality. "Are you Bob's sister or some-"

"Yeah, no, I didn't have you for the types to go after married women," Nat giggled, cutting off Hangman as the two completely paled. They slowly turned towards you, their eyes falling on your left hand resting on the counter. A silence fell on the Hard Deck.

"Whose-" Rooster was the first to recover. "Mine," a bright smile blossomed on your face as you saw Bob walk from behind Natasha. "Sorry, looks like I got here first," he grinned as well before stepping in front of you. "Penny?" he called out, but he didn't have to say anything else.

That night, Hard Deck was filled with the dreading sound of a bell and if Rooster and Hangman could become more pale than they already were, they probably did. "Guys," Bob turned sround, his hand automatically traveling to your lower back. "This," he looked at you, his eyes twingkling in the warm light.

"Oh no," Hangman groaned, rubbing a hand through his face.

"Oh shit" Rooster let out.

"This is my wife,"

Your face brightened hearing the words as cheers errupted from around you - everyone ecstatic they will get a free round. And there was a lot of them. "Nice one, Bobby," Coyote and the rest joined the group, not even trying to hide their smiles. They mirrored Bob's contagious smile, the warm atmosphere spreading to everyone around. Well, to almost everyone.

"How do you want to pay?" Penny stopped by amidst pouring shots, smirking at Hangman and Rooster, both still in shock, grilled in their own embarrassment. "We-" the two looked at each other pleadingly for help from the other. "Shit," both said at the same time. "Well, lads," Payback and Fanboy patted their shoulders. "It was nice to know you," they pushed them lightly towards the door leading to the empty beach.

"I'm gonna kill you, Bagman," Rooster glared at his friend, Jake only laughing slightly. "Can you believe it? Our little Bobby found himself a wife! And I went after her!" he laughed at himself. "Yeah, cause you're a fucking idiot!" Roosters last words disappeared into the night, drowned in the laughter and chatter of the people around.

"Well, that was something," you giggled, looking back at the two men, now having it out with each other, their feet sinking in the cold sand. "You're okay? I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," Bob started to apologize but you knew how to shut him up.

"I'm okay. Better even, now that you're here," you pulled back. "And here I was, thinking that they wouldn't like me," you joked, making Bob snort as others joined you.

"Congrats, man," Fanboy hugged Bob around the shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. "You seem like a lot of fun," Coyote laughed, pointing at you. "I sure am. If only they listened," everyone followed your motion to the entrance, "they could have had some fun too,"

Everyone laughed as you looked at your ring one more time. "But honestly, Bob, where did you find her? She's hot! Do you have siblings?" Payback had to chime in, other boys only agreeing with his statement and awaiting your answer. You only shook your head, earning a few groans from the group. "No wonder she got those two out of their minds," Natasha smirked.

"Yeah," Robert's eyes fell to the floor, suddenly feeling overwhelmed from the compliments. A sheepish smile spread on his face.

That's my wife

═══════☆♡☆═══════

Let me know how you liked this story with a like, comment and repost!

Who should be next from the Dagger squad?

If you liked this story, you might like -> Cry-baby -> 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

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andy-15-07 · 4 days ago

Text

Callsign: Good Girl

PAIRING: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1285 ✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

REQUEST:https://www.tumblr.com/sssaravegas/786642877617963008/lift-your-hips-for-me-oh-ok-yeah-wanna-get

You shouldn’t be here. You know it. Mickey knows it too , but he’s never told you no when it’s you at his door, eyes wide under the flickering hallway light, flight suit half-unzipped like you couldn’t wait to get inside.

It’s not even that late, but the barracks are quiet , everyone else either in town blowing off steam or crashed out after drills. The second he let you in, the world went soft around the edges. Just him, warm and wide-eyed, whispering hey, sweetheart like he’d been waiting for this all week.

He has. He always does.

You’re straddling him now, thighs bracketing his hips on that narrow bunk, the squeak of the mattress lost under your breathy giggles when he leans in to kiss you again. He tastes like spearmint gum and the cheap beer he nursed back at the rec room with Rooster , nothing sweet about the way his tongue licks into your mouth, though. That’s all heat. All need.

“Shit,” he pants when you grind down on him , bare skin on cotton, the last scraps of your underwear hidden under the rumpled blanket. “You’re tryin’ to kill me, huh?”

“Me?” you laugh, voice catching when he slides his hands under your shirt, rough palms tracing the warm skin at your ribs. “You’re the one with your hand up my, oh,”

He pinches lightly at your side , playful, soft. “Up your what, baby? Use your words.”

“Mickey,” you whine, shifting your hips again until he groans, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. That’s all you wanted. To watch him break just a little.

But then he’s got you by the waist , flipping you gentle onto your back, pressing you down into the thin mattress like you’re something he needs to keep right here, under him, safe and sweet and his.

“Lift your hips for me,” he murmurs, voice gone low and sweet but edged with something rough that makes you shiver. He’s tugging at your panties now , thumbs hooked under the waistband. “C’mon, baby. Let me see you.”

You do it , you lift for him, thighs tensing under his palms as he peels the fabric down your legs, slow, eyes locked on yours the whole time like he can’t stand to look away.

“There she is,” he whispers when you’re bare, tossing the scrap of lace somewhere behind him. He drags his hands up the inside of your thighs, slow enough to make your toes curl into the sheet. “Goddamn, look at you.”

You squirm , half shy, half desperate. “Don’t look,”

“Don’t look?” He laughs , a soft, rough thing as he settles between your knees, shoulders braced against your thighs. “Sweetheart, I’m not just looking.”

You yelp when his mouth brushes your inner thigh , warm breath, soft lips, the scrape of his stubble where he kisses higher. Your hands fly to his hair , curls soft between your fingers when you tug just to anchor yourself.

“Mickey, please,”

“I know, baby.” He’s grinning now , all teeth and dimple and dark eyes blown wide when he licks a slow stripe up your center that makes your hips jerk. “Been thinkin’ about this all damn week. You’re not gettin’ away from me tonight.”

Your laugh breaks on a moan when he does it again , his tongue soft but sure, teasing at the edge of your clit before he sucks it between his lips, gentle at first but deeper when you whine for him.

“Oh, fuck, Mickey,”

“That’s it,” he hums against you, the vibrations shooting straight through your belly. “Use that pretty voice for me. Let the whole damn barracks know who’s got you like this.”

You arch your hips , he presses you down with a warm palm on your stomach, pinning you in place while he works you open with his mouth. Every flick of his tongue has you trembling, every hum and curse muffled against your skin when you moan his name again.

When you start to twist away , overwhelmed, too much, too good , he lifts his mouth just long enough to growl: “Uh-uh. Where you goin’, huh? Thought you wanted this.”

“I do,” you gasp, fingers tight in his hair. “I do, I, oh my god,”

He doesn’t stop. Not even when your thighs start to shake. Not when you clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the sharp cry that breaks free when you come apart under his tongue.

He keeps going , soft licks, sweet and slow, working you through it until your whole body goes boneless against the mattress.

“Good girl,” he murmurs when he finally pulls back, lips slick, grin smug and bright and so Mickey you could cry. “Look at you. So fuckin’ pretty for me.”

You’re still catching your breath when he moves up your body , pressing kisses to your stomach, your chest, your throat. He doesn’t stop until he’s hovering over you, forehead pressed to yours, his weight warm and heavy in the best way.

“You okay?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“Yeah,” you breathe, still half-dazed. “Better than okay.”

He huffs a soft laugh , nose brushing yours. “Good. ‘Cause we’re not done.”

Your eyes go wide , your giggle cut off by a sharp gasp when he rolls his hips down, the hard line of him pressing right where you’re still sensitive and aching.

“Mickey,”

“You want it?” he asks, voice rough, lips brushing your ear. “Want me inside you, baby?”

Your hips roll up before you can think , answer enough. He grins, kisses you deep, swallowing your soft whimper when you feel him line up, his hand slipping between you to guide himself just right.

“Lift your hips for me again,” he pants , same soft order, but this time it’s a promise, a prayer, something filthy and sweet in the dark. “Just like before. Lemme in, baby.”

You do , you lift for him, thighs wrapping around his waist as he sinks inside, slow, deeper, filling you so good you swear you see stars behind your eyes.

When he bottoms out, you’re both breathless , his forehead pressed to yours, your hands digging into his back, the only sound your shaky moans and the distant hum of night outside the barracks window.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “So fuckin’ perfect. Look at you takin’ me so good,”

You don’t have it in you to tease back. Not now. All you can do is pull him closer, mouth searching for his, sighing soft when he kisses you like he means it , deep and slow, hips rocking in a rhythm that feels more like a secret than a sin.

Every thrust pulls another sweet sound from you , every roll of his hips matched by his whispered praises: good girl, so tight, so pretty, mine, mine, mine.

When you break again , shuddering around him, gasping his name like a promise , he follows with a rough groan, burying his face in your neck, his warmth flooding you as his hips stutter to a stop.

Later , when the sweat cools and his heartbeat steadies against your chest , he kisses you again, soft and lazy. Just a boy in love with the trouble he finds in your mouth.

“You good?” he murmurs, grin curling at the edges.

You laugh , sleepy, sweet, sated. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good.” He nuzzles closer, grin hidden in your hair. “Next time, you lift those hips for me the second I say so, yeah?”

You flick his shoulder , but you’re already nodding, eyes drifting shut with him still inside you.

Anything for Fanboy.

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pullmecloseman · 1 month ago

Text

KEYS & KISSES

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.

Bob Floyd x reader

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: I went to a night market recently so i thought this would be cute lol also don’t be afraid to comment or send asks! i love talking to you guys. update: 300 LIKES OH MY G

Warnings: Light public affection, mild teasing, implied sexual tension, some suggestive language.

masterlist part of boyfriend!bob

The night market bloomed around you like a glowing, living thing—strands of fairy lights zigzagged between vendor tents, casting everything in a golden haze that felt more like a memory than a moment. Music drifted through the warm summer air in patches: a salsa beat from one booth, soft R\&B from another, then K-pop from the boba stand two tents down. The smells alone were dizzying—sweet fried dough, sharp grilled garlic, spiced meats, syrupy fruit.

Bob’s hand was wrapped around yours, thumb brushing gently over your knuckles as you walked slow, side by side. The chatter of families and couples blended with the occasional burst of laughter, but his quiet, steady presence grounded everything. He wasn’t the kind of guy to swing your arm or shout your name across a crowd—he didn’t need to. Just one touch and you knew where home was.

You glanced up at him, the soft tilt of his mouth giving away how much he was enjoying this already. “This is definitely better than base food,” you said, nudging his elbow.

Bob chuckled, low and warm. “You’re only saying that because you smelled dumplings four booths back.”

“And mochi waffles,” you corrected, already scanning for the pink sign you’d seen on the market’s Instagram story earlier. “And boba. And possibly the best deep-fried Oreo in the city.”

“Possibly?” he asked, raising a brow.

“I’m being humble.”

He laughed again, then leaned down just enough to murmur, “You’re cute when you’re on a mission.”

You smiled to yourself, cheeks warming, but before you could deliver a snappy comeback, you heard it

“There they are! The PDA dream team!” Hangman’s voice rang out like a siren, already full of mischief. “Took you two long enough.”

You turned just in time to see the rest of the Dagger Squad weaving through the crowd toward you. Phoenix was leading, her hair pulled back in a loose braid, grinning like she’d just caught you two mid-kiss. Rooster strolled beside her holding a paper tray of skewers, while Payback and Fanboy flanked Coyote, who was balancing two cups of slush in one hand like a circus act.

“Look at this,” Phoenix teased as they approached. “Did you guys stop to make out behind the food truck or something?”

“We were literally five minutes behind you,” Bob said, completely deadpan.

“Exactly,” Rooster smirked. “Long enough for at least three kisses and a suspicious hand placement.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned a little closer into Bob’s side anyway, just to prove a point. His hand slid around your lower back naturally, and you felt more than one dramatic groan ripple through the group.

“I swear to god,” Hangman muttered, already walking toward the nearest stall. “One of these days I’m gonna put you both in separate corners like misbehaving toddlers.”

“And I will misbehave again,” you called after him, catching the delighted laugh Phoenix let out.

Bob’s arm tightened around you for half a second before he leaned in to say, “I think you enjoy tormenting them.”

You grinned. “I know I do.”

With everyone finally gathered, the chaos really began. Phoenix dragged you and Bob to the dumpling stall she’d scoped out earlier while Rooster negotiated with a corn vendor over whether or not spicy mayo counted as “gilding the lily.” Payback and Fanboy went to war over toppings at a Korean corn dog truck, and Coyote somehow convinced all of you to split a massive tray of garlic skewers and grilled pineapple.

At some point, you found yourself holding a little paper cup of bubble tea while Bob tried to decide if he wanted the lychee one or the black sesame.

“You always get lychee,” you reminded him.

“That’s because it’s good,” he said, but still hesitated.

You reached up and popped the lid off yours. “Try mine,” you offered, straw pointed toward his mouth. His eyes flicked to yours—soft, focused, and just a little amused.

“You’re trying to distract me,” he said, but leaned down anyway.

You kept the cup steady as he wrapped his lips around the straw, and you absolutely did not let your brain short-circuit at how gentle he was about it. Or how long it took him to pull back.

“That’s really good,” he said, voice lower than usual.

You blinked once, twice. “Lychee it is, then.”

Behind you, someone let out a long-suffering sigh. “We’re gonna die of diabetes just watching you two,” Hangman complained. “I need something salty before I drown in your sugar.”

Bob didn’t say anything, but his fingers brushed along your wrist as he stepped closer to the drink stall. You followed, heart a little stupid in your chest, and let him buy you a second drink without even asking.

An hour passed in warm, flickering laughter. The squad weaved in and out of booths, trying samples, buying ridiculous snacks, competing over who could handle the spiciest sauce. Hangman made it three bites into a fire chicken skewer before tearing up dramatically and yelling at Rooster for “poisoning” him. You and Bob shared mochi waffles—he held the plate, you fed him bites. Phoenix pretended to vomit. Fanboy took a photo.

There was a claw machine near the middle of the market—a little corner set up with retro arcade games and a glowing pink “Couples Win Twice” banner over a row of plushie challenges. Coyote immediately declared war.

“This is my redemption,” he announced, already cracking his knuckles.

“You say that every time,” Payback said flatly.

“I mean it this time.”

The whole squad joined in—cheering, trash-talking, fake coaching each other through one-dollar attempts to win plushies shaped like sushi rolls and sea otters. You watched Bob feed a coin into the machine, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“You look very serious about this,” you whispered.

“I am,” he said.

“For what? The shrimp or the tiny bear?”

He pointed. “The sea otter.”

You grinned. “For me?”

He didn’t answer. Just kept guiding the claw forward until it dropped, clamped, wobbled, and miraculously held. The otter landed with a *thud* in the chute.

Bob reached down, plucked it out, and turned to hand it to you without fanfare.

“For you,” he said simply.

You took it, heart flipping in your chest. “You’re dangerously good at that.”

“I’ve had practice.”

“You’ve been training for this moment?”

“I like to be prepared.”

Somewhere behind you, Rooster groaned. “They’re making eye contact again.”

“Don’t look,” Hangman said dramatically. “It’ll blind you.”

You leaned your head against Bob’s shoulder and laughed, the otter plush tucked in the crook of your arm. His hand found your waist again, thumb rubbing absent circles at your side as if he didn’t even notice.

And then, you saw it—the photo booth tucked behind a cotton candy stand, its outside wrapped in string lights and glossy stickers. The sign above it blinked: “4 PICS, 1 STRIP, 30 SECONDS. CUTE AS HELL.”

“Oh, *absolutely*,” you said.

Phoenix followed your gaze. “We’re doing it.”

“All of us?” Rooster asked, brows raised.

Hangman laughed. “No way we’re fitting.”

“We’re making it work,” Phoenix said, grabbing his arm. “Let’s go, Romeo.”

There was some light chaos as everyone piled in. You squeezed between Bob and Phoenix while Rooster practically sat on Coyote’s knee. Fanboy and Payback argued over angles, and Hangman stuck his face directly into the camera for the first shot, grinning like a lunatic.

The four pictures came out ridiculous—someone blinking, someone sneezing, someone definitely giving bunny ears—but everyone was laughing too hard to care.

You tucked the photo strip into your bag and whispered to Bob, “Let’s come back later. Just us.”

He looked down at you, warm and steady. “Yeah. Let’s.”

The crowd had thinned a little, just enough to make walking easier, the voices and music now more of a gentle hum than a roar. You carried your sea otter plush under one arm and your latest prize—a mochi waffle with brown sugar drizzle—in the other. Bob still hadn’t let go of your hand.

The squad wandered ahead in pairs, all half-listening to each other’s conversations, full from too much food, still buzzing from the sugar and noise. Rooster and Coyote were locked in a heated debate about what counted as a “classic fair snack,” while Hangman was trying to bribe Fanboy into giving up the last bite of his Oreo. Phoenix, true to form, drifted between conversations with sharp comebacks and snarky commentary, but every so often you caught her eye and saw that same smirking approval—the look that said: *You’re good for him. He’s good for you.*

Your fingers brushed Bob’s as you walked, and he glanced down at you with a kind of softness that made your chest tighten. You leaned a little closer.

“Photo booth,” you reminded him in a whisper.

“I didn’t forget,” he said, already angling toward the corner where it waited—quiet now, unoccupied, lights still glowing like an invitation.

You paused just before the curtain, shooting a look back at the squad.

They were deep in some kind of fried-food-trading circle. Distracted.

“C’mon,” you murmured, tugging Bob’s hand as you stepped inside.

The curtain rustled shut behind you, and the sounds of the market muffled instantly. Inside, it was just the two of you in a narrow bench seat, lit softly by the camera’s faint glow. You could still hear the bass from one of the nearby food stands, but it was quieter now, like the world outside had gone temporarily still.

You dropped your plush in your lap and reached for the “start” button.

Bob’s arm slid along the back of the seat, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. “You want serious or silly?”

You smiled, already leaning in. “I want *us.*”

The first flash caught the two of you smiling at each other, eyes locked.

The second, your nose bumped his, laughter already in your throat.

The third, his hand cradled your jaw, and your mouth was brushing against his in that slow, familiar way that didn’t need permission anymore—it just happened.

The fourth—

You didn’t even register the flash.

Because by then, Bob was kissing you.

Slow, warm, a little hesitant at first, but then deeper—like the quiet fuse that had been burning all night had finally reached the end. His hand slipped to the side of your neck, fingers splayed. Yours curled into the front of his shirt as you kissed him back, mouth open, letting him taste sugar on your lips and press his body just a little closer than the tiny bench allowed.

You pulled back, breathless, and he was staring at you like you were the only thing that existed. Maybe you were.

“That counted as a serious one,” you said quietly.

Bob’s lips curved into a small, dangerous smile—the kind he usually reserved for when no one else was around.

“Let’s take another strip,” he said.

You reached for the button again.

Perfect. Let’s bring this home — one more round through the market’s magic glow, something small and sweet to remember the night, and the quiet, full kind of love you take with you even after the lights go out.

The second strip came out even better than the first.

The photos were a blur of closeness—his mouth on your cheek, your hand buried in his hair, both of you caught mid-laugh and mid-kiss, completely unaware of the camera’s timing. You looked at them in the soft glow of the booth light, your head resting on Bob’s shoulder as he gently ran his thumb down your arm.

“I like these better,” you whispered.

“Me too.”

You folded the strip and tucked it into your wallet like something sacred.

Outside, the market had softened. The loudest crowds were gone now, the music dimmed to a background murmur. The vendors were still glowing beneath the canopies, some packing up, others still flipping batter or handing out skewers to late-night stragglers.

The rest of the squad was easy to find—clustered near a little tent decorated with paper stars and a hanging sign that read **MATCHING KEYCHAINS — PICK YOUR PAIR.**

Phoenix spotted you first and grinned.

“Finally! The lovers return.”

“Did you guys *sneak off* to the booth again?” Rooster called out, fake-shocked.

“Disgusting,” Hangman added, tossing a skewer stick into a trash bin. “They probably took, like, fifteen pictures just making out.”

You shrugged, absolutely unbothered. “Six, actually.”

Bob, ever unflappable, said nothing—just kept his hand firmly at the small of your back, where it had been all night.

Fanboy was flipping through trays of tiny charms while Coyote held up two glow-in-the-dark rockets. “We’re getting matching ones,” Coyote said. “So you’ll all remember I’m the best pilot.”

“You *wish,*” Payback muttered, grabbing the other rocket and holding it up like a trophy.

Phoenix handed you a tray filled with tiny charms—mochi, dumplings, stars, planes, animals with cartoonishly big eyes. “Pick a couple set before they sell out,” she said, already knowing what you were going to choose.

You glanced at Bob, then back at the tray. Your hand hovered before landing on a small plushy dumpling with a sleepy smile.

You held it up to Bob. “You.”

He raised a brow. “And you?”

You lifted a tiny boba cup with blushing cheeks and sparkly eyes. “Obviously.”

A tiny smile curved on his lips. “Perfect.”

The keychain vendor attached each charm to its own silver clip. You hooked the dumpling onto Bob’s backpack, and he clipped the boba to your keys with quiet precision, as if it were something deeply serious.

The rest of the squad got their own too—matching chili peppers for Rooster and Phoenix (she picked it to annoy him), Hangman chose one half of a pink glitter heart while no one took the other (“Rude,” he muttered), and Coyote insisted on a set of matching eggplants just to make Payback regret standing next to him.

The vendor took a group photo before you left—everyone squinting in the soft light, plushies and keychains in hand, laughter caught in the middle of it all.

You didn’t want it to end. But the night eventually pulled you toward the edge of the market, where the sidewalk turned quiet and the air felt cooler.

Bob walked close, his fingers brushing against yours until you laced them together again.

You looked up at him, voice low. “I had fun tonight.”

He glanced down, eyes soft behind his glasses. “Me too.”

The sea otter plush was tucked under your arm again, the little boba keychain swinging off your bag.

You were both full from too much sugar, your lips still tingled faintly from the photo booth, and your heart felt like it had been gently, quietly filled with something golden all night long.

“Hey,” you said, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah?” “You’re still mine tomorrow, right?” He smiled, slow and sure. “Always.”

And you believed him.

Every word.

Every look.

Every touch.

Because Bob Floyd didn’t say things unless he meant them. And tonight? He hadn’t let go of you once.

taglist: @yagurlannastasia

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itwillbethescarletwitch · 1 month ago

Text

Split Second

Bob Floyd x fem!aviator!reader

call sign: Bolt

The squadroom buzzed with tired energy—helmets off, hair tousled from the Gs, and sweat slicking flight suits as bodies crashed into worn leather chairs.

Phoenix tossed her gloves on the table. “Hangman, if you’d flown any looser, you’d have circled the carrier.”

Hangman grinned, cocky as ever. “You’re just mad Bolt smoked you on that last vertical climb.”

“She smoked all of you,” Rooster said, voice dry. “Again.”

At the far end of the table, you sat with one leg crossed over the other, flight suit halfway unzipped, tank top soaked with sweat and salt and victory.

“Maybe if y’all spent less time talking and more time flying,” you said without looking up from your notepad,

“I wouldn’t keep embarrassing you in front of Maverick.”

Hangman pointed a finger at you. “Someday, Bolt, I’m gonna knock you out of the sky.”

You smiled—lazy, lethal.

“Then I’ll know I’m dreaming.”

Laughter rippled around the room.

Bob leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, smiling to himself. He hadn’t said a word since you landed. He never had to. The quiet way he watched you said more than anything else.

You didn’t see it—but he always saw you.

⸻

Maverick walked in, tossed his clipboard onto the table.

“Good work today. Debrief’s short—we’ll run again tomorrow at 0500.”

Everyone groaned.

“Unless Bolt gets bored and laps you again,” he added, without glancing up.

You saluted with two fingers and a wicked grin.

“I’ll try to keep it interesting.”

⸻

It happened in a blink.

Your phone buzzed.

You glanced down.

Stopped smiling.

One beat. Two.

Your hand tightened around the phone. Then you stood up—abrupt, stiff—and turned away from the table.

Phoenix noticed first. “Bolt?”

You didn’t answer.

You were already out the door.

Bob pushed off the wall.

When it lights up again—Incoming call – Mom—you don’t hesitate.

“Hey,” you say, voice flat. “What’s going on?”

And then you just… listen.

The room fades. So do the voices and the banter and the scrape of Phoenix’s helmet hitting the bench beside you.

Your fingers curl tight around the phone. Your throat goes dry.

“How long?” you whisper.

Your mother’s voice cracks.

“They’re waiting for you.”

You close your eyes.

“I’ll be on the next flight.”

———

The airport is loud in the way all airports are—metal chairs scraping the floor, heels clicking past, toddlers crying in spurts of exhaustion.

But around you, it’s muffled. Hollow. Like you’re hearing everything from underwater.

You sit by the window. Shoulders stiff. Hands in your lap. Your flight to Vegas boards in thirteen minutes.

You haven’t blinked in twice that.

Your duffel is under the chair. You packed it in six minutes flat. Just enough to get through the night and the next day.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t say goodbye to anyone.

You didn’t let Bob or Phoenix or anyone walk you out of the squadroom.

You just left.

Ordered an Uber. Didn’t speak to the driver. Watched the base fade behind you in the rearview mirror.

“We’re waiting for you,” your mom had said.

You can’t stop replaying it. The way her voice cracked around it. The way the silence afterward said what she couldn’t:

She’s not going to wake up.

⸻

You stare out at the tarmac. A jet lifts off somewhere across the field. You don’t follow it.

You’re not thinking about flying.

You’re thinking about the last text your sister ever sent.

Don’t die in a training accident before my wedding.

I still haven’t found another maid of honor.

You smile. Barely. It hurts.

She’ll never have a wedding now.

⸻

You rub your palms against your thighs. Hard. Like maybe if you move fast enough, think sharp enough, you can stay ahead of the grief crawling up your spine.

You’re the strong one.

The sharp one.

The bolt of lightning that everyone watches hit but no one dares to follow.

You’re not the one who breaks.

Not in public.

Not ever.

But your throat aches. Your chest is tight. And suddenly the thought of walking into that hospital room alone—seeing her face, hearing the machines—makes your stomach lurch.

“Just make it through the flight,” you whisper.

“Just make it to Vegas.”

You fold your arms. Press your chin to your knuckles. Close your eyes and pretend you’re somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

———

The lights in the hallway are too bright.

The nurse at the front desk knows your name when you give it. She doesn’t look surprised to see you. Just sad. Like she’s done this a hundred times.

“Room 614. Take the elevator on your left.”

“They’re all in there.”

Your feet move before your mind does.

The tile is cold. The elevator hums. And when the doors open, you have to make yourself step out.

It’s late, but the waiting room outside the ICU is still full. Your mom’s on the couch, her hands clenched in her lap. Her mascara’s been smudged down her cheeks for hours. You’ve never seen her cry before.

Your cousin looks up. Tries to smile. Doesn’t make it.

You stand there for one long moment, and no one says a word.

Because you’re here. And that means it’s time.

“They’ll let you have a few minutes,” someone says.

You nod. Walk past them.

Your mother reaches for your hand. You don’t stop walking.

⸻

ICU – Room 614

The first thing you notice is the sound.

Machines. Steady, rhythmic. One long exhale at a time.

Then her face.

Pale. Still. Too still.

Your sister lies in the bed like she’s asleep. But her chest doesn’t rise on its own.

A machine breathes for her.

Her fingers twitch slightly, but it’s not real. You know that.

You close the door behind you.

It clicks too loud.

Your knees almost give out.

You walk to the side of the bed and sit down. Her hand is small in yours. Cold from the IVs. From the stillness.

She used to be louder than you. Bigger than you, somehow, even though you shared everything—blood, bones, birthdays.

She used to say, “If I die before you, you better do something dramatic. Like start a war or name your kid after me or tattoo my face on your ass.”

You let out a sound—half laugh, half sob.

“Hey,” you whisper, brushing hair off her forehead.

“You can hear me, right?”

She doesn’t move.

“It’s me. Obviously. Who else would drive like a maniac through McCarran just to get here in time?”

Your voice breaks.

“You weren’t supposed to go first.”

You bend forward, forehead to hers.

“We were supposed to be old and wrinkled and yelling at people in a retirement home together. Remember that?”

A tear slips down your nose onto the blanket.

“I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“You’ve been here my whole life.”

You take a shaky breath.

“If you’re still in there… I need you to know I’m going to be okay.”

“I’ll fly. I’ll live. I’ll make you proud.”

You bite your lip so hard it bleeds.

“But it’s gonna hurt for a long time.”

You lean down and kiss her temple.

The machine sighs.

A nurse knocks gently. You only nod.

“We’re ready when you are,” she says.

You press your forehead to hers again. One last time.

“I love you.”

And then?

You let her go.

The air is dry and too warm.

You don’t remember taking the elevator back down. You don’t remember hugging your mom. You don’t remember walking out.

But you’re outside now.

Standing beneath a flickering streetlight, your duffel slung over one shoulder. There’s a vending machine humming nearby. A car alarm going off in the distance. And that smell—the city’s strange mix of heat, oil, and stale cigarettes.

You blink, and for one horrible second, you think,

I need to text her and let her know I made it in time.

But there’s no one to text.

You grip your phone anyway, knuckles white.

“She’s really gone,” you whisper.

Your voice doesn’t sound like yours.

You sit down on the curb because your legs won’t hold you anymore.

And you just sit there. Not crying. Not speaking. Just breathing through the throb in your chest and the silence she left behind.

People walk past. Cars roll by. Nobody stops.

The world keeps moving.

And you’re standing still.

⸻

Five Days Later – North Island Naval Base – Hangar 2

You walk back into base like nothing happened.

Aviators on. Hair pinned. Flight suit zipped to your collarbone. Clipboard in hand.

You nod at a few people in passing. Dodge Phoenix’s eyes. Pretend not to hear Hangman say “Glad you’re back.”

You don’t stop walking.

You head straight to the locker room. Your locker’s exactly how you left it. Helmet perched up top. Notes tucked into the door.

You sit down slowly. Flex your fingers once. Open your flight log.

And breathe.

Just like always.

⸻

The squad briefing room – 1345 hours

The room smells like sweat and old coffee. Everyone’s still in flight suits, sunburned and buzzing from adrenaline.

You sit at the far end of the long table, one leg crossed, hands folded neatly in your lap.

You haven’t taken off your gloves.

“Bolt was clean on that vertical loop,” Phoenix says, flipping through her notes. “Fastest response time I’ve seen in three weeks.”

“I told you,” Hangman mutters. “She flies like she’s got something to prove.”

You don’t react.

Rooster glances at you. His brows lift slightly. Not teasing—curious.

You keep your face still.

Your body moves automatically. You nod at the right beats. Tap your pen. Mark your page. You’re here. You’re sharp. You’re Bolt.

Just like always.

⸻

Maverick leans forward, elbows on the table.

“Clean drills. No gaps. Team cohesion is tight.”

He looks around the room.

Then his eyes land on you.

“Lieutenant Bolt,” he says, calm. Measured. “How are you holding up?”

You blink.

The room goes still.

You open your mouth.

“I’m good.”

A pause.

He doesn’t move.

“That wasn’t the question.”

It’s so quiet you can hear the AC kick on.

You shift in your chair. Glance at the notepad in front of you. Your hands suddenly feel too small. Your gloves too tight.

Everyone’s watching.

Phoenix. Rooster. Hangman.

And Bob—Bob is watching closer than anyone.

Your throat starts to close. Your chest tightens.

“I’m—”

But the words die in your mouth.

And then—

Your hand flies up to cover it.

Your shoulders jerk.

And the first sob rips out of you without permission.

Not graceful. Not quiet.

You break. Hard.

Your head bows down into your arms as everything crashes out of you—sobs so deep they shake your whole body, so loud they echo in the stunned silence.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t—

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, voice wrecked.

“I didn’t mean to—I can’t—”

A chair scrapes back.

You feel motion beside you.

Bob.

He doesn’t say a word.

He just kneels beside your chair, both hands steady on your arms, and says your name once—soft, like something holy.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re not alone.”

You turn into him without thinking.

Clutch his shoulders like you’re drowning. Let yourself cry into his neck. Shake and sob and break while the entire squad watches in stunned silence.

“She’s gone,” you sob.

“My twin. She’s gone. And I don’t know how to be here without her.”

Bob doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate.

He wraps his arms around you and holds on like he’ll never let go.

“Then don’t be here alone,” he whispers.

“Let me help carry it.”

And for the first time since Vegas…

You do.

———

North Island – Bob Floyd’s Apartment – 6:42 PM

You don’t remember agreeing to go home with him.

You just remember the feel of his hand on the small of your back—steady, warm, there—and the way he kept pace with your silence.

No one spoke as you walked off base. Not Phoenix. Not Rooster.

Not you.

You don’t remember how the car smelled. Or what song was playing. Or how long it took.

But now you’re sitting on his couch.

Still in your flight suit. Helmet on the floor. Back pressed into the corner of the cushion like you’re trying to disappear.

Bob’s in the kitchen.

You can hear him moving—quietly. A pan sizzling. The soft clink of silverware. A drawer closing.

He brings you a plate of food.

Sets it on the table without a word.

You don’t touch it.

You stare at the steam curling off the rice. The color of the sauce. The fork he’s already placed in your hand.

“You don’t have to eat,” he says, gently.

You set the fork down.

Then—

“It’s like… she took part of me with her,” you whisper.

Bob doesn’t answer right away.

He just lowers himself into the chair across from you. Elbows on his knees. Hands folded like he’s praying.

“Of course she did,” he says softly.

You look at him.

He meets your eyes.

“You were built together,” he says.

“You shared space before you even had names.”

Your chest tightens.

“How do you know that?” you rasp.

“I read,” he says with a small smile.

“And I watch people.”

He leans forward a little.

“And I’ve watched you long enough to know that losing her feels like losing gravity.”

You press your knuckles to your mouth.

Tears spring again. Not as sharp this time. Not as loud.

Just soft. Slow.

“I’m so tired, Bob.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“You don’t have to be.”

⸻

Later – 9:26 PM

You’re lying on your side in one of Bob’s T-shirts. He gave it to you without asking. Just handed it over and turned around while you changed in the bathroom.

You’re curled on his couch with a blanket pulled up to your chin.

He’s on the floor beside you—back resting against the cushions, long legs stretched out, one arm resting along the back of the couch where your shoulder touches.

You’re not speaking. You don’t have to.

Your fingers drift toward him slowly.

He doesn’t move.

Just lets you find him.

You end up tangled.

Your cheek pressed against his chest.

His hand in your hair.

And he doesn’t say a thing when your breathing gets shallow. Or when you whisper “Don’t go.”

He just nods.

“I won’t.”

———

Bob Floyd’s Apartment – 6:47 AM

You wake slowly.

The light through the blinds is soft—gold cutting across the sheets in warm stripes. The kind of light that makes the world feel distant. Weightless.

But you don’t feel weightless.

Your chest still hurts. That tight, aching sort of grief that lingers in your bones.

You shift.

You’re in a T-shirt that isn’t yours.

Your duffel is still zipped in the corner.

And this… this is Bob’s bed.

But Bob isn’t beside you.

You sit up slowly.

And that’s when you see it—

He’s on the floor.

Pillow tucked behind his head. Blanket kicked off. One arm flung across his chest. Still in yesterday’s clothes.

You stare.

Your heart twists.

He gave you the bed.

And never left the room.

⸻

You slide off the mattress, careful not to wake him, but the second your feet hit the ground—

“Mornin’.”

His voice is gravel and warmth and something too gentle to name.

You freeze.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He sits up slowly. Blinks at you. His hair’s a mess. His spine probably hates him.

But he smiles.

“Didn’t sleep too deep.”

You nod.

“Me neither.”

A beat.

He pushes himself to his feet.

“You want coffee?”

You should say no. You should say you need to go.

But—

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Please.”

———

The coffee’s gone cold in your mug.

You’ve barely touched it.

You’re just watching him.

The sunlight hits the side of his face, and for one second—one long, aching second—you want to tell him everything.

So you do.

“I have feelings for you.”

Bob stills.

His head turns slowly toward you.

“You’re exhausted,” he says gently. “You’ve been through hell.”

You don’t blink.

“That doesn’t make it untrue.”

He sets his cup down. Carefully.

“Y/N—”

“I’ve felt this way for a while,” you interrupt, voice cracking. “Before Vegas. Before the hospital. Before the flight drills. Before all of it.”

He goes still.

His throat moves, but no sound comes out.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought…”

“I thought someone like you could never love someone like me.”

That makes him flinch.

“What does that mean?”

You let out a breath, sharp and shaking.

“It means I’m loud. I’m fast. I don’t know how to slow down unless someone makes me. I don’t do quiet. I don’t do soft.”

“And you—you’re gentle. You’re… the safe thing. The thing I’ve never been allowed to want.”

Your eyes sting. You look down at the table.

“But I did. I do. I want you.”

A long silence.

Then—

“Y/N,” he says quietly. “You’re grieving. You just lost the most important person in your world. You don’t—”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t say I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

He presses his lips together.

Doesn’t speak.

So you do.

“I know what grief is,” you say. “I know how it twists things and makes you reach for the closest lifeline.”

“But that’s not what this is.”

You meet his eyes.

“I don’t need you to fix me, Bob.”

“I just want you to believe me.”

⸻

He looks wrecked.

More wrecked than you’ve ever seen him.

“I want to believe you,” he says. “God, I do.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because you’re everything I never let myself want. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

You stare at him.

And suddenly—there’s no anger. No panic. Just something heavy and aching in your chest.

You nod once.

“Okay.”

You push your chair back. Stand slowly.

“I’m gonna go.”

“Y/N—”

“It’s okay,” you say gently, even though it isn’t. “I just needed to say it out loud.”

You don’t slam the door.

You don’t cry until you’re already outside.

And you don’t look back.

———

The door doesn’t slam.

You just… leave.

And for a long time after, Bob doesn’t move.

He sits at the table, coffee cold in front of him, his hands gripping the edges like they’re the only thing keeping him tethered.

Your chair is still warm.

Your mug is still half-full.

And he’s still trying to breathe.

⸻

I’ve felt this way for a while.

The words echo in his head.

He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes.

Hard.

I want you.

He wants to believe it.

He wants to believe it so badly it physically hurts.

But all he can hear underneath it is that low, cruel voice he’s carried for years:

She’s lightning.

You’re not meant to catch lightning.

She’ll realize it was just the grief talking. Just the moment.

⸻

He stands up too fast. His chair scrapes the floor.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He walks into the bedroom.

Stops.

Stares.

Your duffel bag is gone.

But your flight patch—the spare one from your jacket—is still sitting on his nightstand.

Folded. Deliberate. Like you left it for him.

He walks over slowly.

Picks it up.

Just holds it in his hands.

The stitching is worn. The call sign BOLT stitched in faded silver thread.

He runs a thumb over it, and suddenly he can hear your laugh from a few weeks ago—sharp and bright and reckless as hell after a good landing.

“You’re too good for me, Bobby.”

He thought you were joking when you said it.

But maybe you meant it.

Maybe you’ve always meant it.

⸻

He sinks onto the edge of the bed.

Drops his head into his hands.

And whispers—

“Goddammit.”

Because the truth is?

You’re not just grief.

You’re not just lightning.

You’re the only thing that’s ever made him want more than quiet.

More than safety.

More than staying invisible.

And he let you walk away.

———

North Island – Five Days Later – 1440 Hours

You haven’t spoken to Bob since that morning in his kitchen.

You haven’t spoken to anyone, really.

You show up to drills early. You finish debrief late. You don’t joke. You don’t answer Phoenix’s texts. You don’t even glance at Hangman’s stupid grin.

You’re locked in.

Dead silent.

Untouchable.

Just the way they expect you to be.

Bolt, the unbreakable.

And that’s exactly what you give them.

⸻

In the air, you’re terrifying.

Faster than ever.

Sharp turns. No hesitation.

You take corners like you’re trying to rip yourself out of your own skin.

It earns you silence over the comms.

And then a single word from Maverick at the end of the flight:

“Dangerous.”

You don’t argue.

You land. Strip your helmet. Walk away.

⸻

Hangar 2 – 5:17 PM

You’re the last one inside.

Everyone else is gone.

You sit on the wing of your jet, wiping down the surface with a cloth you don’t need. Just an excuse to not go home.

You’re still in your flight suit. Your hair’s still tucked up tight. You haven’t eaten today.

You’re not sure you care.

The ache in your chest is quieter now.

Not gone. Just… dull. Numb.

Like scar tissue forming around something that used to be soft.

⸻

And then you hear the door open.

Footsteps.

You know who it is without turning.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say.

“Neither should you.”

You freeze.

Bob’s voice is low. Careful. Like he’s approaching something wounded.

You don’t move.

“Don’t worry,” you say flatly. “I’m not about to fall apart in front of you again.”

A pause.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

You turn around slowly.

Bob’s standing near the back of the hangar. Still in uniform. Still looking at you like he’s not sure you’ll let him close.

You stare.

Your voice is quiet when you speak.

“You made your choice.”

“No,” he says. “I made a mistake.”

⸻

Your hands curl tight around the rag in your fist.

“Don’t do that.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t come here and try to take it back because you feel guilty.”

“It’s not guilt,” he says, stepping forward. “It’s clarity.”

You shake your head.

“I don’t need clarity. I needed honesty.”

“Then here it is.”

He’s in front of you now. Not touching. But close.

“You scare the hell out of me,” he says quietly. “You’re everything I’ve ever told myself I couldn’t have.”

“And I didn’t believe you when you said you wanted me, because I’ve spent my whole life thinking someone like you would never choose someone like me.”

You look up at him.

Eyes sharp. Shoulders stiff.

“And now?”

He swallows hard.

“Now I don’t care how scared I am.”

“Because letting you walk away was worse.”

⸻

He reaches into his jacket.

Pulls something out.

Your patch.

“You left this.”

You stare at it. Frozen.

He holds it out.

“I’ve been carrying it every day.”

You don’t speak.

You take it from his hand slowly. Let your fingers graze his.

And finally—

Your voice cracks.

“You hurt me.”

“I know,” he whispers.

“And I’ll never stop being sorry for that.”

“You made me feel small.”

“You were never small,” he says. “You were never anything but lightning.”

“Then why couldn’t you believe I meant it?”

“Because I wanted it too much.”

⸻

Silence.

Then:

“Do you still want me?” you ask, barely audible.

His breath hitches.

“Every goddamn second.”

⸻

You fall into his arms like gravity wins.

And this time?

He doesn’t let go.

Your hands fist into the front of his flight suit and drag him forward like you’ve run out of time, like you’ve run out of air, like the only thing left that makes sense is his mouth on yours.

⸻

The kiss is hard.

Messy.

Hungry.

Your lips crash against his like a threat—like don’t ever leave me again, like you should’ve said this sooner, like you’re mine if you mean it.

And he answers every word of it.

His hands slide up your back. Slow at first. But once he feels you shake—once he hears the sound you make when he kisses you deeper—

He breaks.

“God, I missed you,” he breathes between kisses.

“I didn’t even have you, and I missed you.”

You shudder.

Your fingers slide up into his hair. Tug tight. You pull him closer.

“Tell me again,” you whisper against his mouth.

“What?”

“That you want me.”

He kisses you once. Then again.

Then says it between every single one—

“I want you.”

kiss

“I want you.”

kiss

“I want you, I want you, I want you.”

Like he’s trying to make up for every second you thought he didn’t.

⸻

Your back hits the side of the jet.

Your helmet falls from the wing and clatters on the floor.

You barely notice.

You’re breathless now. Both of you. Heat and sweat and grief and want tangled in every rough slide of lips and teeth and tongue.

But it’s not sex.

Not yet.

This is something deeper. Rawer.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper.

“Never.”

⸻

You slow down. Eventually. But your hands stay on his chest, and his forehead stays pressed to yours.

You’re not done. You’re just catching your breath.

And for the first time in weeks, you believe him.

He wants you.

He always did.

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realeyesblur · 17 days ago

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bob floyd having a huge dick and thinking it’s no big deal.

now this is a guy who wore a t-shirt at the beach, he doesn’t need to flaunt his strength or even his looks. he wears the same style of glasses he has for years, only now are they in the ‘slutty fashion’ category.

Bob liked to be tidy, he always wore slacks and a crisp button up to any outing requiring nice wear. he was a respectful guy though so when Hangman requested everybody come to his apartment in pajamas to celebrate his birthday, Bob had relented.

he usually slept in loose jersey shorts and nothing else, too hot for a t-shirt most times of the year. especially that horrible summer when he’d had to buy three fans because his ac broke.

he rocked up in these grey sweatpants that seemed to hang off him enough to fly under the radar for a good few hours. but then they’d all lay down to watch a movie and he’d turned onto his side, forgetting that his bottoms were less supportive of his member in his also fairly loose boxers.

it had been Fanboy who noticed first, he’d then smacked Payback who’d laughed a little too hard and Hangman was clapping his hands after a moment, “Dang, Bobby, you really do have a Baby On Board with that kind of weapon.” his snickering jab led to the rest of the room noticing.

a bulge was hanging over the very top of Bob’s boxers and he was a shower not a grower so he was quite easily showing all eight-point-something inches of him.

Bob had wanted to die. especially when Phoenix smirked. Natasha just fucking smirked, like she knew and she was impressed.

he’d rushed off to the bathroom so he could use his hand to politely reposition himself and maybe rescue his reputation but the damage had been done. everyone knew he had a massive dick now.

every time after that they visited the bar as a group, Bob would smile at a girl and somebody, anybody, would bring up that she could have the ride of her life if she wanted. everybody always scampered away until you. not you. you’d immediately glanced down to Bob’s crotch with zero shame and just shrugged, “I like a challenge.”

he’d never been happier to have such a big dick than when you struggled to ride him that night.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #hangman #top gun maverick #top gun #fanboy #payback #rooster #phoenix #hangman being a prick as usual #bob floyd has a massive cock truther #girl i just know it’s thick too #smut #top gun smut

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lives-in-midgard · 1 month ago

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Maverick: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture.

Dagger Squad: Awwww-

Maverick: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything."

Dagger Squad: Oh.

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to0omi · 3 months ago

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#danny ramirez #fanboy #top gun maverick

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sillygoose067 · 2 months ago

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Livestream Love

Danny Ramirez x Reader

The livestream had been going for 56 minutes and 12 seconds, but who was counting?

You were perched at your desk in one of Danny’s hoodies—oversized and soft and definitely not yours—legs tucked underneath you like you always sat, surrounded by a half-finished smoothie, a candle you forgot to light, and three separate mugs (two with tea, one with coffee—you couldn’t decide). The plan had been to go live for thirty minutes. Answer a few questions. Recommend some books. Maybe read a bit.

That had been almost an hour ago.

"And yes," you were saying, waving a well-loved paperback in one hand while the other hovered near the keyboard, "this one made me cry like four separate times and no, I’m not embarrassed about it—"

You didn’t hear the door open or hear the soft steps across the hardwood.

You were mid-laugh when a plate of food appeared beside you—neatly assembled, still warm, complete with a folded napkin and your favorite dipping sauce on the side.

And then, like it was just part of his programming, Danny leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

The kind he did when you were curled up with a book on the couch. Or when you were brushing your teeth and he walked by. Or when you were half-asleep on a Sunday morning and he brought you coffee before you even opened your eyes.

The camera, angled slightly up, caught it—just the lower half of his face, the gentle press of lips to skin, the soft breath he let out as he pulled away.

You blinked, surprised, a smile tugging at your lips as you tilted your head toward him.

“Oh,” you murmured. “Hi.”

He smiled—eyes crinkling just out of frame—and then disappeared again, slipping back out without a word like it was nothing.

The chat? Immediately feral.

“I SAW THAT. WE ALL SAW THAT.” “HE JUST DID THAT LIKE IT WAS A TUESDAY.” “I NEED A DANNY RAMIREZ TO BRING ME FOOD AND KISS MY HEAD 😭😭😭” “THE DOMESTICITY OF IT ALLLLLL” “NO SERIOUSLY I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE” “IS THAT HIS HOODIE TOO?? I’M CRYING”

You laughed—full and unfiltered—covering your face with your hands as your cheeks flushed a deep, unmistakable red.

“Okay,” you said between giggles, “so… apparently that was visible.”

From the living room, where you could hear the sound of him flopping down onto the couch and probably stealing a bite of your fries, Danny called out casually, “Only meant to be for you, cariño, but if the world’s gotta see, they better recognize the standard.”

“CARIÑO? I’M MELTING.” “THEY’RE TOGETHER??? THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE NOW” “I’D LET HIM RUIN MY LIFE IN THE SOFTEST WAY POSSIBLE”

You peeked at the chat again, still grinning, your voice going a little breathless as you read aloud: “‘Danny’s the blueprint. Everyone else take notes.’” You glanced toward the living room. “They’re not wrong.”

He didn’t miss a beat: “I just know how to take care of my girl.”

“HIS GIRL???? OKAY EVERYONE BREATHE” “I THOUGHT THIS WAS A BOOK STREAM, WHY AM I SOBBING OVER A RELATIONSHIP I’M NOT IN”

You tried to keep it together. You really did. But when you saw the next comment, you lost it.

“‘This livestream went from book recs to emotional damage real quick.’” You laughed so hard you had to lean away from the mic. “Okay. Okay, I need a second.”

From the living room, Danny called out again, voice softer now, mellow in that way he got when the day was winding down. “Eat first, amor. The books can wait.”

You looked down at the plate—your favorite kind of comfort meal, the one he always made when you forgot to take care of yourself—and smiled.

“Bossy,” you teased, but there was no real heat behind it.

He hummed. “Only ‘cause I love you.”

You cleared your throat, trying not to let your smile take over your whole face.

“Alright,” you said into the mic, glancing back at the camera, “brief intermission while I eat the food my sweet, meddling boyfriend just brought me.”

From the living room, almost muffled now: “You’re welcome, princesa.”

“I CAN’T TAKE THIS” “THIS IS TOO DOMESTIC I’M GONNA CRY” “he calls you princesa?? i’m unwell”

You laughed softly, head bowed as you reached for a fry and continued to chatter with your viewers on stream.

How on earth did you manage to bag a man like Danny Ramirez?

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kelltonic · 2 months ago

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Admiration☆彡

Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drunkenness/alcohol!! Other than that all fluff. Canon-typical asshole Hangman. established relationship and mentions of introverted girlfriend - no use of y/n

Description: While drinking at the Hard Deck with his fellow daggers, Fanboy finally gets to prove the origins of his callsigns through his drunken ramblings about his (civilian) girlfriend.

WC: 1,580

A/N: My first time posting fanfiction on this account!! Glad it’s dedicated to my underrated husband <33 - on that note, I did write this instead of studying (I’m mid exams) as a form of procrastination, and honestly a de-stressing exercise type thing lmao

“Earth to Garcia?” Mickey hears as he slowly raises his head from his phone, awaiting a text from his girlfriend after the string of ‘I miss you’ and ‘you won’t believe what Reuben just said’ messages.

“Huh? Did you say something?” Fanboy responds, unsure of who grabbed his attention.

“Man, what’s even so interesting on your phone? Come on! Live in the moment!” Javy disappointedly scolded him, gaining some nods and murmurs of agreement. Majority of the squadron were sitting in a spacious booth, various alcoholic drinks accompanying them. Fanboy was squished in between Payback and Hangman while sitting across from Phoenix, Bob and Coyote while Fritz and Rooster sat at the end in seperate chairs.

“Sorry I find my girlfriend more interesting than you guys.” Fanboy scoffed sarcastically.

“Really? Doesn’t seem like she’s responding anytime soon.” Hangman joked with that bothersome southern drawl, peering over to see Fanboy’s one sided conversation. He didn’t blame you, it was late. Really late. The daggers were given a day off and decided to celebrate, not having to worry about getting up early - despite the fact majority probably would anyways.

“She’s probably just asleep, she has exams.” Fanboy defended, he didn’t want the others to get the wrong idea, that he was needy or anything. Though, it didn’t really help. But he wasn’t lying, you were mid exam week in college and were conditioning yourself to a better sleep schedule, he would probably tell you to go to sleep if you did ever respond.

“Mhm… I’m starting to think she’s been made up.” Hangman mocked, no matter how much alcohol he has - he will always find a way to push someone’s buttons. If anything, the alcohol made him more irritating. But before Fanboy could interject, he was saved by his best friend.

“Trust me, she’s real.” Payback groaned. Fanboy wasn’t surprised that he backed him up, or that he seemed so annoyed about it. Reuben had nothing against you, to be honest, he hadn’t even met you in person. But, he did have the unfortunate role of being the closest to Mickey in every outburst he had when he was away from you for too long and needed to scroll through all your shared memories. Reuben had lost count of how many times Mickey showed him his favourite photo of you two right before he got called to Top Gun.

“Really? I need proof or I’m never believing you.” Hangman emphasised, more likely bored than actually unbelieving. Mickey was attractive, both physically and personality-wise, it’s no shocker he’s dating someone. But when your foundation is being a dickhead, and you add alcohol and boredom to the equation, you need someone to annoy. Fanboy was just the easiest target for Hangman given the situation.

“Haha, no chance.” Fanboy swiftly replied. He absolutely loved showing people photos of you. Displaying you with pride, like a toddler showing off their artwork. But when it came to people in the military, specifically other men in the military, he always felt icky. After hearing too much nasty locker room talk, he really only described you and your shared experiences, keeping away from physical depictions and photos. The only exceptions were guys he really trusted, like Reuben. And it’s not even that he doesn’t trust Jake, he just doesn’t want to risk you getting involved in his constant teasing.

“Come on, you always talk about her - just one photo!” Phoenix chimed in, genuinely curious. Fanboy took a second, he was always easy to persuade when he was drunk. But, he stuck to his values and faced his phone away from Jake while scrolling through his favourites album.

“Seriously?” Hangman bluntly groaned, shaking his head in disbelief. “I swear I wont actually say anything weird.” Hangman pleaded, that signature smile spread across his slightly flushed cheeks.

“No shot.” Mickey responded, clicking on one of his favourites of you. You were in a beautiful black dress with some light makeup, it was the one time he ever successfully persuaded you to go to a big party. You were smiling widely, holding onto Mickey while both of you were laughing your asses off. It was a candid one of your mutual friends took while you were both drunk out of your minds. Your hair was slightly tucked behind your ear, revealing an earplug. You were never good with loud noises or bustling groups, so Mickey bought you earplugs to colour match your jewellery. You seemed so happy, and Mickey couldn’t have been more relieved. He was terrified that he would finally get you to go out to a big party and you would hate it, so he sought to make you as comfortable as possible in the situation.

He proudly flipped his phone towards the other side of the booth, presenting you to Phoenix, Bob and Coyote while Rooster and Fritz peeked over. Just about everyone was curious at this point, they had always gotten bits and pieces of his ranting about you but never actually seen the face that matches the admiration.

“Aww!! She’s so pretty.” Bob reacted softly, trying not to overstep but also wanting to validate Fanboy.

“The dress is stunning on her.” Phoenix raved with an approving smile to Fanboy.

“I know, everything’s stunning on her.” He sighed thoughtfully. Despite the fact you were dating, he was still acting like a schoolgirl yearning over her celebrity crush. The others could only laugh at this, while Hangman just drank from his beer. He doesn’t usually feel left out due to his very extroverted and dominating personality, but this was an exception.

“Well that explains a lot.” Rooster chuckled.

“Huh?” Fanboy was seemingly brought out of his trance, tilting his head at Rooster’s comment.

“Your callsign, always wondered what warranted it.” Rooster elaborated, gaining a group-wide laugh. It was so true, he was full on fanboying over you.

His slight embarrassment to his exposure was quickly taken to a halt when his phone buzzed while Phoenix was holding his phone, admiring the photo.

“Mickey baby, you drinking responsibly or just drinking?” You texted. You couldn’t help but laugh at the seemingly millions of messages you had gotten while locked in studying - cramming - for your next exam in… about 7 hours.

Mickey chuckled at your message the moment he snatched his phone back. But, his remaining responsibility took control as he replied.

“You should be sleeping! I love youuuuuuuuuu1!1!1!! go to sleep!” He typed out, his heart sad that he knows he can’t keep you up. But, his last remaining brain cells were aware that you needed to sleep for your big exam in the morning.

“No fair, you texted me first.” You groaned, knowing he was right.

“Yeahhh but like…. I don’t have work in the morning.” He sighed, he was so excited for your exams to be over so he could endlessly bug you without feeling guilty about taking up your time.

“What’s going on now?” Hangman interjected, finally trying to weasel his way back into the conversation.

“I’m telling her to go to sleep, I wasn’t lying - she’s got exams.” Fanboy whined, he was desperate to talk to you - he was always extra clingy when drunk.

“Ooh that reminds me of this other photo.” He quickly switched up, you stopped replying so he could tell you got the message and (hopefully) went to sleep rather than uselessly cramming.

“Oh lord not again.” Reuben moaned, falling back into the seat while he had to sit through yet another rant about you.

“I took this one after the last one when we were in bed..” Mickey was swiftly cut off by some disapproving noises.

“No, no, not like that, it’s nothing sexual - it’s cute!” Mickey reassured, not surprised that his friends’ minds immediately went there.

He pulled up a photo of him lying on your chest while you were both pressed together on your sides, lipstick marks all over his face. He had about a dozen kisses on his face printed from your lipstick, and he couldn’t have been happier. He and you were both still clearly drunk - only the bottom half of your face in frame. Your hair was dangling onto Mickey while he was tucked just below your chin, leaning into your chest. Your smile was just in frame, while his was front and centre. He loved the photo not only for its contents, but also the fact that it was one of your favourites. Mickey explained to his friends the backstory, and how you never really liked seeing or taking photos of yourself. So the fact that you were only partially in frame yet your presence was one of the most significant aspects, it was perfect.

“Okay, okay, we get it - you’re an absolute fanboy. Can we talk about something else now?” Hangman complained, still excluded from the presentation.

“This is what you get for being such an asshole and taking advantage of any personal thing we tell you, Bagman.” Phoenix responded, utilising her daily humbling moment. With a few ‘karma’ and ‘deserved’ comments flying around alongside the comfortable laughter, Mickey couldn’t help but feel so at home. He missed you more than anything, and he couldn’t wait to introduce you to his friends.

“Good night baby ❤️ ❤️” you finally texted back.

“Were you studying just then??”

“I had to finish up!!”

“Yeah? Well good night sweetheart, sleep well ❤️” he replied, shaking his head with a small chuckle.

Began: 1:00am 21st of June

Finished: 2:30am 21st of June

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carmenell · 5 months ago

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Everyone needs to remember that Amelia is the only Gen Z in this movie. Dagger squad are all Millennials ...

Amelia to Bradley: wow you got unc status for sure

Bradley: ????

Amelia to Jake: you really thought you ate with this

Jake: I don't know what that means but I don't like it.

Amelia to Ice: Ok Boomer

Ice: *confused but lowkey offended*

Amelia watching Mav trying and failing to flirt with Penny: no rizz?

Mav:

Mav: what did you just say to me

Fanboy and Phoenix are the only ones who can keep up, Fanboy because he's constantly in fandom spaces and has to adapt and Phoenix because she thinks it's funny

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pullmecloseman · 1 month ago

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TAKE THE SHOT

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.

Bob Floyd x reader

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: Inspired by old-school arcades, mutual pining, and the idea that Bob Floyd would absolutely crush a basketball machine just to impress you. don’t be afraid to comment or send asks, i love talking!

Warnings: Mutual pining, slow burn, suggestive language, light dirty talk, heated make-out scene, squad teasing, light possessiveness, and a lot of tension.

masterlist

The buzz of neon and the familiar clack of arcade buttons hit before you even stepped inside.

It was humid outside, the warm night sticky against your skin, but the instant the door swung open, cool air and the smell of popcorn and cheap floor polish wrapped around you like something nostalgic. The Dagger Squad spilled into the arcade ahead of you—half talking over each other, half already darting toward whatever game caught their eye first.

Rooster whistled low. “They really went all out with the ‘80s vibe.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said, glancing around, unimpressed. “Even the carpet’s giving me vertigo.”

“It’s authentic,” Fanboy argued, already halfway to the skee-ball lanes. “You can practically smell the childhood trauma.”

Behind you, Bob’s shoulder brushed yours. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. You turned just enough to catch the way his mouth tilted—not a smile, not really. But close. Warm. Yours.

“Pick your poison,” he said, voice low enough that only you heard him. You tilted your head, scanning the rows of flashing machines. “Feeling brave?” Bob lifted a brow. “Always.” That earned him a grin. You didn’t say anything else—you just grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the basketball machine glowing near the corner.

Phoenix’s voice followed you. “Buddy system!” she called, loud and amused. “Use it wisely!” Hangman “Translation: try not to make out behind the pinball machine.” You flipped them both off over your shoulder.

Bob just kept walking, long strides easy to follow, that same unreadable look on his face. But you knew the truth. You’d learned how to read him. The way his fingers lingered just a second longer when you passed him a wrench during maintenance. The way he always stood close—close enough to feel, not enough to touch. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

You knew.

Tonight wasn’t going to end with just one game. Not a chance. The basketball hoop machine glowed in flickering amber, casting shadows on Bob's jaw as he leaned down to read the instructions even though both of you knew how it worked. His hand hovered near the coin slot while you dug into your back pocket and came out with two tokens. “Loser buys the next round,” you said, holding one out.

Bob took it without looking, slotting it into the machine with an audible click. “Define loser,” he murmured. You grinned. “The one with fewer points. Don’t think too hard about it.” You both took your spots, side by side. The countdown started.

3. 2. 1.

Then chaos. The orange foam balls rolled down in front of you, and your fingers flew. You sank the first. And the second. Missed the third. Bob didn’t miss. Not once. Calm, efficient, flicking the wrist like he’d been born for this. “Show off,” you muttered, sweat already beading at your temple. “What?” he asked, not breaking rhythm. “Nothing,” you said through gritted teeth, shooting again.

By the time the timer ran out, your score blinked up on the screen: 37. Bob’s: 38. You blinked. “You won by one?” He turned toward you slowly. His cheeks were flushed, chest rising with the effort, but his mouth pulled into something that made your stomach twist. “A win’s a win,” he said. You stared up at him, heart pounding too fast for the game. The air between you crackled. “So?” you asked, breath catching. “What does the winner get?”

Bob stepped closer. Not touching. Just enough for the energy between you to hum. “You said loser buys the next round,” he said. “That’s it?” He hesitated, then looked down at your mouth. “Not what I had in mind,” he murmured. Your pulse skittered. “Then what did you have in mind?” He didn’t answer. Just stepped even closer—until his chest almost brushed yours, until the noise of the arcade faded into a dull blur, until all you could see were the glint of his glasses and the heat in his eyes.

Then he leaned in and whispered, “You already know.” And then, without waiting, he turned back to the machine and grabbed another token. “One more game,” he said, voice maddeningly calm. “Unless you’re scared to lose again.”

You almost choked.

“Oh, it’s on.”And just like that, the air around you shifted. The game was on. But it wasn’t about basketball anymore. Not even close. This time, you didn’t bother with small talk. You launched the ball with focus sharpened by adrenaline and something far more dangerous—the heat still lingering on your lips from where his breath had brushed them. You missed the first two. Swore under your breath. Bob stayed silent beside you. Too composed. Too good. He was clearly letting it get to his head. You threw faster, harder.By the time the timer buzzed again, you were panting. The scores blinked.

You: 42. Bob: 42.

“Tie,” you said, chest rising. “What does that mean?” Bob just looked at you. Took his glasses off with one hand. Wiped them slowly on the hem of his shirt. His shirt which lifted just enough to reveal a sliver of his waist. Your mouth went dry. “Means we both win,” he said, voice lower than before. And this time, he stepped closer. You froze, breath catching, until the buzz of your name being called made you blink. You turned to find Phoenix waving dramatically from the claw machine across the room.

“Break it up, lovebirds! Come win me a plushie!” You groaned. Bob chuckled. And when you walked away, he kept his hand on the small of your back. Like he’d already won.

The claw machine was surrounded by your squad like it was a matter of national pride. “Coyote already wasted five bucks,” Hangman reported as you arrived, arms crossed. “That bear was rigged,” Coyote muttered. Rooster tossed a token your way. “Redemption round. Your turn.” You caught it and looked at Bob. “Your claws or mine?” “Together,” he said. You blinked. “What?” He reached for the joystick. “You aim. I drop.”

And just like that, it wasn’t a game anymore. It was a tactic. An alliance. Bob stood close enough that your shoulder brushed his chest, and his hand hovered over the button, waiting for your cue. “Left a little,” you murmured. “Now?” You stared at the plush shaped like a smiling plane. “Now.” He dropped it. The claw descended. Caught. And held. The plush thunked into the chute.

Your teammates lost it.

Fanboy yelled, Phoenix swore she was next, Rooster demanded a rematch. But you weren’t paying attention. Because Bob picked up the plush, held it out to you—and this time, he smiled. “For your collection,” he said. You tucked it under your arm, already glowing. “We make a good team,” you said softly. Bob glanced down at you. “We always have.” Phoenix elbowed you as the squad regrouped near a vintage pinball row lit up in reds and greens. “You guys sharing brainwaves now, too? That claw machine move was disgusting.”

“You’re just jealous we’ve got synergy,” you shot back, dodging the way she tried to flick your ear. Hangman leaned against the machine closest to Bob, narrowed his eyes, and drawled, “That synergy get steamy behind the basketball game, or you two just making intense eye contact again?” Bob, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He simply pressed the button on the pinball machine and said, “Your turn to lose.”

Hangman raised a brow. “To you?” “To both of us,” you clarified, slotting a token into the next machine and slapping your hand dramatically onto the flipper button. Rooster whistled low. “She’s getting competitive. We’re in trouble.” “Is this gonna end in another make-out?” Fanboy asked. “Only if you keep watching,” you said sweetly. That got a chorus of groans, scattered laughter, and a few half-hearted insults thrown your way. Bob didn’t say a word. But you could feel him behind you. Close. Calm. Watching.

You launched the ball and went for the flashing targets, your fingers fast, your focus sharper than it should’ve been. Half because you wanted to win. Half because you knew he was watching the way your body moved—arms, hips, every little twitch of tension. And you were doing the same to him when he took his turn. Bob leaned low over the machine, eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his mouth set just slightly. And when the ball came flying back at him, he reacted fast—shoulders flexing under his T-shirt, hands confident.

You might’ve stared a little too long. “Uh-huh,” Phoenix said behind you. “I knew she was watching the forearms.” “Can you blame her?” Fanboy added. “He’s got the arms of a man who builds airplanes and repressed feelings.” You snorted but didn’t deny it. Because yeah, you were watching.

When Bob finally lost the ball and the machine flashed GAME OVER, he stepped back and gave you a look. Not cocky. Not smug. Just… warm. Steady. Like he knew every single thought in your head—and agreed with most of them. You bit your lip and leaned in, voice low.

“Need a breather?” His eyes flicked to your mouth. “You offering?” You nodded toward the back hallway. “Let’s take five.” No one said anything when you slipped away. But you were sure Phoenix wiggled her eyebrows and Fanboy made kissy noises behind your back.

The back of the arcade smelled like grease and warm plastic and distant popcorn. A little quieter, lit mostly by neon reflecting off the black-and-blue tile floors. Bob followed without hesitation, hands in his pockets, steps just a half-second behind yours. You found the vending machine room—empty, quiet, cooler than the rest of the place—and slipped inside. Bob didn’t say anything. You didn’t, either.

Not until you turned to face him. “Hey,” you said, breath catching. He looked at you. “Tonight’s been…” you trailed off. You didn’t know how to finish it. He did. “Different,” he said, stepping closer. “But not unexpected.” Your brows lifted. “No?” Bob shook his head. “You think I haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“The way you look at me.”

You swallowed hard. “You’re the one who kissed me with your eyes back there.” His mouth curved. “You kissed me first—with that look.”Your back hit the vending machine behind you. Bob didn’t touch you. Not yet. “I’ve been patient,” he said, voice low. “For a long time.”“Why?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Because once I start, I’m not gonna want to stop.” And then he did touch you. His hand came up to cup your cheek, slow and careful, his thumb brushing over your skin like he was committing the texture to memory. You didn’t speak. You just leaned in. And he met you halfway.

The kiss was deep instantly—hot, sure, full of all the unsaid things between you. His body pressed against yours, not shy now, not hesitant. You felt the edge of the vending machine dig into your back as his hand slipped down to your waist, fingers gripping your hip like he didn’t plan to let go. Your arms wrapped around his neck, one hand slipping into the hair at the back of his head. He groaned—quiet and rough—right against your lips, and that was it.

Whatever line you’d been toeing? Gone. Bob pulled you even closer, hips pressing against yours. Your body fit against his like it had always meant to. Like it had been waiting.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured between kisses, mouth trailing down your jaw, then your neck. “You’ve got no idea.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I really do.” You barely noticed your hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin. He sucked in a breath. Then kissed you again—open-mouthed, hungry, needy in a way that made your legs tremble. “You gonna stop me?” he asked. “Not unless you want me to.” His teeth grazed your throat. “Not a chance.”

And just when it felt like the world might collapse around the heat between you—

You both heard it.

A loud, unmistakable honk from outside the room. Rooster’s voice yelling something about a photo booth and a timer running out. Bob exhaled against your neck. “Saved by the cock,” you muttered. He laughed. Deep and ragged. “I’ll kill him later.” You pulled back just enough to look up at him. Your lips were red, your chest was rising fast, your skin flushed.

Bob looked wrecked. In the best way. “Come on,” you said, brushing your fingers down his shirt. “Let’s go before the strip comes out with them all trying to kill each other.”

And maybe, if you had time after? Lose a few more games together. Or win. Hard to tell which mattered more anymore.

taglist: @yagurlannastasia

#bob floyd #lewis pullman #robert floyd #top gun maverick #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #lewis pullman x reader #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin #glenn powell #miles teller #lewis pullman smut #top gun hangman #bob floyd x you #bob fluff #fanboy #mickey garcia #payback

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writesick-lover · 1 month ago

Text

𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x fem!reader

⤞ My masterlist ⤝

summary: Even a regular evening at Hard Deck can change Bob’s world completely once he meets the oh-so familiar pair of eyes and the sweetest smile. The whole world sets into motion, love pulling him in like a force of nature - and physics.

a/n: Hi everyone! First and foremost, thank you so so much for the love and support you gave to the lastest fic, it was my biggest motivation to keep going! I’m finally pass the writer’s block I suffered due to a month full of studying and exams - but it was all worth the suffering in the end haha :D So here’s the winner of our poll! Hope you’ll enjoy this as much as I did, writing for our sweetheart Bob once again!!! Enjoy ;*

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"Earth to Bobbie," Jake's voice cut through the loud noise of Hard Deck, taking Bob out of his trance.

It was an evening like any other, Bob sipping his beer in the corner of Hard Deck, watching his friends play a round of pool before it was his turn. He let his eyes wander across the place, observing the bar ready to explode with people, who only kept coming in. There was music blasting from the nearby jukebox, the chatter falling into the perfect sync and although Bob liked his peace in quiet, after all these evenings, Hard Deck felt like home.

That was until a very loud group started cheering nearby, Bob's eyes suddenly getting stuck on the company of people near the darts. Some would say it is a coincidence, others that it is faith. But once Bob decided to watch those strangers, his evening was to change forever - he was to found out one wasn’t any stranger to him.

A familiar face appeared between the movement of the bodies, a face he didn't expect to see ever, and of all the places definitely not in Hard Deck.

His mouth went agape at first. It took him a few seconds to fully comprehend that you were real. Really there, standing just a few feet away from him. Then he dived into the chaos of questions popping up in his mind, the most important being - what should he do?

So Bob was determined to do what he knew the best. Observe.

He stole secret glances at you every now-and-then, stealthy, quickly looking away anytime you glanced his way. But then you got the darts into your hands and Bob found himself hypnotized, watching you giggle as you missed or hit the target, despite getting the smallest amount of points possible.

It was only Hangman's firm grip on his shoulder that brought him back to the reality he was in, staring too long at someone across the whole place.

"Bob, you with us, buddy?"

Bob shot his head towards Hangman, gulping. His face heated up immediately, suddenly becoming fully self-aware of what he was doing until now. He quickly looked away, plastering on a polite smile. He very much hoped Jake Seresin would leave it be. But then it wouldn't be Jake Seresin.

"Who is that girl you're so obviously checking out, huh?" Jake’s shit-eating grin glowed - with obviously no plan on leaving Robert alone. Bob let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head again.

"She's my friend from high school," he explained, falling silent again as he looked back at the group, proving to himself once more that you were real and not just his imagination playing tricks so far.

He hadn’t seen you in ages, but he would have recognized you anywhere. You didn't change at all, that bright smile of yours lighting up the room just like all those years ago. Your beauty forever unchanging.

Suddenly, Bob felt like that little kid sitting behind his desk, listening to the teacher in front of him faintly as his eyes were glued to the hair in front of him. He jumped slightly, trying not to seem caught red-handed, as the girl unexpectedly turned around, her eyes boring into his.

"Do you know the answer to the third question?" she whispered quietly, her gaze unwavering.

"Yeah, it's the third one. You just have to use Newton's first law of motion," Bob whispered back, earning a bright smile, from his classmate. "Thanks, B. You're a genius," she spoke softly before turning away.

Bob sighed, his heart finally slowing down before he was startled once more, again by the motion in front of him.

"Tutoring again at 4? In the library? I really need to get to know Newton or I won't get through this year,"

"Yeah," Bob broke a small smile, pushing his glasses up his nose. “We can get to know him,”

You laughed quietly before turning back, Bob unable to contain the smile on his lips until lunch.

"My man, you're out of it," Jake commented, letting go of Bob's shoulder. "If she's your friend, then you should go talk to her," he stated, crossing his arms.

"I couldn't possibly-" Bob snorted, "I haven't seen her in years!" He shook his head.

"I doubt she even remembers me," Bob looked towards the darts, his eyes landing on you again. But this time you were staring back, the intense look a little too familiar. And Bob's heart skipped a few more than just one beat.

He watched as you whispered something to your friends before leaving the spot, slowly making your way through the crowd. He gulped, looking away in search of something more interesting than you (which he found impossible) until you stood right in front of him, your presence now completely demanding his attention.

"Bob? Bob Floyd? Is that you?" you asked, your voice a little higher, curiosity crawling through it as your eyes widened.

"Hi, yeah, that's me," Bob smiled, his eyes still a little avoidant.

"I'm Y/n. Remember me? From high school?"

"How could I forget," he nodded with a small smile, pushing his glasses up once they slid on the tip of his nose.

"Oh my god, B, how are you?" you opened your arms, immediately pulling Bob into a tight hug.

"I'm good and you?" Bob chuckled into your hair, his arms slowly following your silhouette before finding their place on your back. You squeezed him slightly before a loud "ahem" came from the people next to you.

You both pulled back.

"Do you mind?" Hangman cleared his throat once more, his raised eyebrow directed at Bob.

"Oh," Bob grounded himself, clearing his throat before another bright smile painted his face. "Y/n, these are my friends," he pointed at the Dagger Squad, all letting out a ‘hello’ in unison.

"This is my friend Y/n, from high-school" he then pointed at you. "Nice to meet you all," you waved at them, earning a few smiles back.

You turned back to Bob, your eyes running from his matured face down to the laces of his large shoes. "You've grown so much," You checked him out, the muscles shaping his fabric also not escaping your attention, just as his height and the way his hair was now cut short. If it weren't for those warm brown eyes you knew so well, you probably wouldn't recognize him.

"I could say the same about you," Bob responded, his eyes finding the wooden floor as the well-known redness decorated his cheek.

A bunch of voices broke out, calling your name. You sighed.

"Guess that's my cue," your lips tightened into a line before you pulled Bob into one more hug.

"But it's so great to see you! I miss you a lot, B," you laughed into his shoulder, pulling back, your hand lingering on his arms. "Bet my semesters in uni would have been easier with you by my side," you confessed. “You were always the smartest,”

"No, no,” Bob blushed, scraching his temple.

”I'm sure you did just fine," his eyes found yours, "you always did,"

You could only sigh, not leaving his gaze. Your spark faltered for a second.

Until you heard another wave of shouts from behind you.

"See you around, okay?" was the last thing you said, pushing yourself on your toes and planting a quick peck on his cheek before you let go, briefly waving to his group and making your way towards the bar and to your friends.

"Okay," Bob repeated softly, turning to his friends and meeting their amused faces. "What?" he asked, clueless.

"You've grown so much, Bobbie," Hangman started, his voice climbing two octaves higher. "I miss you a lot, B," Rooster joined the mocking teasingly, Bob left only with a sigh of resignation.

"She's a friend," he explained again, but Phoenix chimed in, cutting him off before he could say any more nonsense.

"And friends hug each other like that - no judgment, I’m sure she knows how to hug a friend," the irony dripped from her tongue as a teasing smirk appeared on her face.

"I- We haven't seen each other for a while," Bob turned his head towards the bar longingly, falling silent.

"Bobbie, you're staring again," Jake teased. "It's like she hung your fucking galaxy,"

"Maybe you should go ask her on a date," Rooster tapped Bob's back in encouragement. "I mean, you both couldn't be more obvious,"

"On a-What?" Bob's head snapped towards him. "I don't think it's like that- I mean she-"

"Look man, if she isn't flirting with you, then I am an eight-eyed slug. Which I'm not," Jake crossed his arms.

"I-" Bob's words got stuck in his throat once he looked towards the bar again, meeting your gaze as you turned towards him, waving at him from the bar before you spun back to your friends with a sweet smile playing on your lips.

His heartbeat rose to the skies.

He was doomed.

"In human language, we call that a sign," Jake raised his chin, pointing towards the bar, "Go on, Bobbie, get her,"

"Okay," the squad observed Bob as he wandered towards the bar, carefully squeezing through the moving sea of bodies. "They grow up so fast," Hangman leaned towards Rooster, earning a loud chuckle.

"Hey, you," Bob tapped your shoulder lightly. "Hey, yourself," you said, your smile brightening. "I was thinking… Wouldn't you like to catch up? You know, about how you're doing and-"

"I would love to," you cut him off, standing up right when Bob extended his hand, accidentally brushing past your waist. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to," Bob started apologizing immediately but you hushed him. "That's okay, B. I don't mind," you smiled and Bob's breath hitched.

"Oh," was the only thing he could say when you took his hand, already dragging him towards the beach.

"How does it go in the navy?" you asked into the warm night, breaking the silence only followed by the sounds of the ocean. You were sitting on the deckchairs at the beach, the warm lights from Hard Deck falling on the backs of your heads as you watched the waves in the dark.

"Oh, you remember that?" Bob was taken aback by your question, correcting his glasses again.

"How could I not? You were such a nerd when it came to fighter planes," you sighed in content, glancing back at the porch of Hard Deck. "I bet that's your squad. I've never seen so many jacked people in one place," you giggled as Bob smiled sheepishly. "And besides, there's an airbase nearby," you shrugged.

"Wow," Bob bobbed his head in acknowledgement, "See? You're just fine on your own. Not everyone can connect the dots like that,"

"What do you mean?" you asked right away, noticing the widening smile on Robert's face. "This one time there was this group of people from out of town," he started and you leaned in, curious. "I was collecting empty cups from the squad, ready to go refill them, when this one man stopped me,"

"Oh god," you chimed in and Bob only gave you a validating look before continuing.

"And he stuffed my hands with another 7 cups, quickly let out a thank you and shoved 10 dollars into my pocket," Bob finished, proud once your laugh pierced the air. "You're kidding! What did you do?"

"I bought them beers - for those ten dollars," he only shrugged as if that wasn’t significant in the story. "Wow," now it was your turn to sigh. "You're still a walking angel, after all those years,"

"I guess anyone would do that," Bob only shook his head, taking a deep breath after another minute of silence. "Now it's my turn," You straightened as he looked up at you softly, lost in thought for a moment.

"Did you open the art gallery, like you always wanted?" he grinned when you chuckled, his heart skipping another pair of beats.

"Ah, I wish. I'm stuck in an office job right now," your posture faltered and so did Bob's lips. He couldn't believe it. "I still paint from time to time though, don't worry" you winked at him.

"It wouldn't be you if you didn't," Bob let out a breath of relief, his whole body relaxing in the moment and something in you moved.

"You know, I sometimes think about your physics tutoring," you confessed, shocking Bob once again. "Especially Newton's third law of motion,"

"You still remember that? You hated physics," Bob's eyes widened, shaking his head, unsure where all this was heading. "You even fell asleep during the tutoring. Twice,"

You laughed, the memory so vivid in your head.

"But now I know he was right," your soft voice made Bob freeze. "When one object exerts a force on another," you slowly leaned in, your eyes falling to his lips. "The other object should exert the same force back on the first object, right?"

"So you were listening after all," Bob spoke and for a moment you looked up, only to catch his gaze coming up to yours as well.

"So you know what I mean?" you asked, your voice slightly shaking.

Bob fell silent for a while, to the point where you thought he wouldn't say anything.

Then he cleared his throat.

"So can I… kiss you?" Bob rasped, his gaze now steady. Like you were the target.

The tips of your noses touched.

"I knew you were a genius, B," you whispered and with that, you closed the gap between your lips.

Your hand immediately went to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. His big hands completely covered your face, cupping it softly. Neither of you wanted to stop, diving into the sweet flavor of each other's lips until your breath ran out

A few cheers breaking out from behind you once you pulled away. You both snapped your heads towards the sound, finding your friends standing on the porch, clapping, their smiles so wide, it must’ve hurt them.

"That's my boy Bobbie," Hangman laughed out loud, grabbing Fanboy around the shoulder. "You rock, Bob," Rooster whooped, earning another wave of cheers. You hid in Bob's shoulder, trying to cool down the heat in your face, before looking up at him. "And no cheers for me?" you teased.

"I will cheer for you," Bob smiled slightly, unable to look away from your eyes. "I will tell them you're the best kisser,"

"I’m just finally making use of what I learned in school," you winked and Bob couldn't help himself but kiss you all over again.

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Please let me know how you liked this story with a like, comment or repost!

Who would you like me to write about next? -> requests open!

If you liked this story, you’ll enjoy -> Cry-baby -> That’s my wife

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