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shortnspidey · 6 days ago

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PERILOUS SKIES

Bob Floyd X Fem!Seresin!reader || WC: 6.9K

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

WARNINGS: Established relationship, cursing, talks of minor injuries, minor talks of violence, overall fluff, steamy kiss, slight angst, typical Hangman behavior, incorrect military details (sorry)!

A/N: Ugh! I need a man like Bob! 😫 I have been sucked back into my 2022 Top Gun era and Lewis Pullman has me in such a chokehold which is why this was written. Hope y’all enjoy! Divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ bob floyd masterlist

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d fall for a military man. Not because you didn’t respect them, you did. You’d seen what that kind of life demanded: the discipline, the bravery, the sacrifices. But you'd also seen the ego, the recklessness, and the emotional walls that seemed to come with the uniform. You knew their type, inside and out. Especially because you were raised right alongside one.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin wasn’t just your older brother. He was a force of nature, sharp smile, sharper jawline, and enough swagger to make heads turn before he even stepped foot in a room. He’d always been that way. The golden boy. The daredevil. The protector. And as his little sister, you were someone he guarded with his life. Especially, when it came to men.

Every birthday party, every school dance, every casual dinner date you attempted growing up had been intercepted by Jake. Sometimes he scared them off with a pointed glare. Sometimes it was a not-so-subtle, “I’m watching you.” And sometimes it was just his mere presence, standing a little too close, arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting for an excuse to break someone’s nose.

At first, it had almost been sweet, he was simply looking out for you. But as the years passed, it became suffocating. You weren’t fragile. You didn’t need saving. And yet, he treated you like some porcelain doll that might crack if someone so much as looked at you the wrong way. God forbid it was someone in the Navy. It was safe to say that you had grown so tired of flight suits.

That’s why you built a life as far away from that world as you could. Your work meant everything to you. You were a licensed therapist, specializing in trauma and stress-related disorders, an emotionally demanding job, but one that gave you purpose. You spent your days helping others unpack the things they carried, offering a safe space for people to speak their truth, even when it broke your heart.

You had your own small private practice just off base, tucked into a converted bungalow with soft lighting and calming artwork on the walls. It smelled faintly of lavender and worn paperbacks, and your bookshelf overflowed with psychology texts, handwritten notes, and dog-eared poetry collections. Your life was rooted in listening. In feeling. In forming connections.

And if, some nights, the weight of everyone else’s pain lingered in your chest, well, you’d made peace with that. You had your quiet apartment, your plants, your routines. You knew how to breathe through the noise. You were proud of what you’d built. Which made what happened next was all the more unexpected. You weren’t planning to go out that night.

It had been a long, exhausting week, three new clients, a crisis session, and a war veteran who hadn’t said a single word until your fifth session together. You were mentally and physically drained, emotionally raw. You had planned to stay in, maybe order Thai food and watch something mindless just to silence your thoughts. But your phone lit up with a message from Penny.

Swing by the Hard Deck tonight. First drink’s on me! 🍹

You almost said no.

But, surprisingly, something pushed you to say yes. So without thinking too much, you slipped into an orange sundress, threw on your favorite sandals, and drove the familiar road to the beach. As always, the Hard Deck buzzed with music, laughter, and the sound of boots hitting the wooden floors. The scent of sea salt and beer filled the air, and the jukebox was already playing something classic, probably something from Maverick’s rotation.

You knew half the faces there. A few pilots you’d grown up around. Some you had met through Jake. Speaking of Jake, of course he was already there, was holding court by the pool table, cue stick in hand, that ever-confident grin on his face. Same old scene. Same old bar. Penny spotted your first, waving you over as she started making your go-to drink. You smiled, walking over and giving her a hug behind the bar.

“Here, looks like you need it.” You smiled, accepting the fruity cocktail from her hands. As she attended to the other bar patrons, you sat in a nearby stool, fully intending to linger just long enough to be polite before heading back out so that you could crawl into bed by 10PM. Only, the universe seemed to have different plans, because that's when you saw him. He was tucked away in the corner of the bar, half-shadowed by the low glow of the neon beer signs above.

He sat with a bottle of beer in hand, long fingers loosely curled around the neck of it, his posture slightly hunched like he was doing his best not to take up too much space. His glasses were a little fogged from the humidity, slipping just slightly down the bridge of his nose. He reached up now and then to adjust them, eyes flicking around the bar like he was trying to blend into the furniture.

Not hiding, exactly, just keeping to himself. He wasn’t laughing with the others, wasn’t showing off at the dartboard, and he definitely wasn’t trying to flirt with anyone. In a room full of men with too much confidence and not enough subtlety, he was different. You couldn’t look away. There was something almost disarming about how awkward he looked. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands or where to rest his gaze.

But even in all that quiet discomfort, there was something gentle about him. You were too far in your head when he looked up, and caught you staring. Your breath hitched, just slightly. But instead of looking away like most people would, he offered a sheepish, crooked smile. And you smiled back, because how could you not? He dropped his gaze immediately, taking a sip of his beer like maybe he was embarrassed by the brief moment of eye contact.

It only made him even more endearing.

You turned back toward Penny behind the bar, trying to play it cool, but your voice betrayed your interest. “Hey Penny, who’s the guy in the corner?” Penny followed your gaze, then gave you a knowing little smile. “That’s Bob.” You hummed, faking interest, taking a sip of your drink. “Lieutenant Robert Floyd. WSO. Flies backseat for Phoenix.” She added casually, wiping down a glass. “One of the good ones. Real quiet, but sweet as hell. Kind of Jake’s opposite.”

That earned a short laugh out of you. “So, he's not a pilot?” You smiled behind the rim of your glass. “He is, technically. But he’s the kind that listens more than he talks.” Penny raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are you interested?” Instead of responding, you glance over your shoulder again. Bob was staring down at the condensation on his bottle, idly tracing circles with his fingertip like he’d rather be anywhere else, and yet, somehow, he didn’t look miserable.

Just… out of place.

“Maybe.” You murmured, trying to sound nonchalant, but the truth betrayed you in the form of heat creeping up the back of your neck. You lifted your drink to cover the slight twitch of a smile you couldn’t suppress. Penny leaned in with a smirk, wiping down the bar like she wasn’t studying your every move. “Then don’t wait too long,” She coaxed under her breath, voice teasing. “Use that Seresin charm. Guys like that don’t usually make the first move.”

You glanced back at him. He was still in the corner, tracing the rim of his bottle with his thumb, eyes low, posture slightly slouched like he was trying to shrink himself into the background. But something about him, it tugged at you. Maybe it was the way his eyes had flicked toward you moments ago, a little wide, like he couldn’t believe someone like you had noticed him. Like he wasn’t used to being seen.

Or maybe, just maybe, you were tired of playing it safe. Tired of living under your brother’s ever-watchful gaze. Tired of waiting for permission you never needed in the first place. Your fingers tightened around the glass as you made your decision. You slid off your stool, smoothing down your dress like it could steady your nerves, and crossed the bar, each step quickening your heartbeat. “Mind if I sit?” You asked, voice smooth, chin tilted ever so slightly in confidence, fake or not.

He looked up at you, caught off guard. His expression flickered,first surprise, then something gentler. He cleared his throat, straightening a little. “Uh—yeah. I mean, no. I don’t mind.” You smiled and took the seat beside him, the wood cool against your skin as you eased into it. “Thanks, I’m Y/N.” You extended your hand across the small gap between you. The contact was instant, his larger palm warm, slightly rough from flight gloves, his grip unsure but respectful nonetheless.

“B-Bob,” He mumbled out. “Well, Robert. But, um… everyone calls me Bob.” You smiled, loving how blush dusted his cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Bob,” You let his name linger, giving it weight as your gaze swept over his face, softer up close, his features earnest and boyish beneath his glasses which hid his captivating cerulean blue eyes. “So… you always hang out in dark corners, or is tonight a special occasion?” The edges of his mouth twitched with a quiet, amused smile.

“Just trying to stay out of the way.” You raised a brow, slightly leaning into him so your shoulders were touching. “Of who?” You teased, head tilting. “The loud ones? Or the terrifying older brothers?” That made his eyes widen slightly behind his lenses, and you didn’t miss the way he stiffened, the realization hitting like a gust of wind. He blinked once. Then again. “Y-You’re… Hangman’s sister?” You sipped your drink, nodding slowly. “Guilty as charged, Lieutenant.” You winked as Bob stared for a moment.

You could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes, fast, nervous, cautious. “You gonna run, Bob?” You asked, eyebrow lifting, lips curved just enough to keep it playful. You wouldn’t have blamed him. You were used to that look. You’d seen it before on a dozen other faces. Guys who decided no girl was worth catching hell from Jake Seresin. But Bob surprised you. He didn’t bolt. Didn’t stammer out a goodbye or glance over his shoulder like he was looking for an exit.

Instead, he just smiled, really smiled, and for the first time, something inside you fluttered. His whole face shifted when he did, gentle and sincere, like the smile had been waiting for the right moment to be let out. His shoulders dropped, and the tension in his spine eased as his nerves melted into quiet warmth. The corners of his eyes crinkled behind his glasses, and the golden bar light caught the faint dimple in his cheek, softening his whole demeanor.

Something about it, about him, felt honest. “Not unless you tell me to.” His voice was low, laced with a touch of humor, but no hint of fear whatsoever. And that was it. And you knew then… you were in trouble. Of course, right on cue, nothing good in your life ever slipped past Jake unnoticed. And the moment your brother spotted you talking to someone, especially someone in uniform, he made a beeline across the bar like a guided missile.

“Seriously?” He muttered under his breath, then louder. “She’s off-limits.” He slung an arm around your shoulder, the heavy weight of it both familiar and infuriating, while his eyes narrowed at Bob like he’d caught him trying to hack into the Pentagon. His voice was low and sharp. “I mean it, Floyd.” To Bob’s credit, he didn’t bristle or shrink away. He didn’t puff his chest or try to argue. He just gave a small, respectful nod, calm, measured. “Understood.” You expected him to walk away after that.

Hell, Jake even expected him to.

That was usually the part where most men retreated, tail between their legs, deciding no woman was worth facing down a protective older brother with a reputation like Hangman’s. But Bob surprised you. Later that night, long after the initial rush of aviators had moved on to games of pool and darts, and Jake had wandered off to trash-talk some poor soul at the dartboard, you found yourself by the jukebox, flipping through the cracked plastic covers of old CDs. Then, a quiet voice spoke up from behind you.

“I know your brother’s... protective,” Protective was one way to put it, you thought to yourself. You glanced up from flipping through the CD’s as Bob shifted his weight from one foot to another, hands in the pockets of his khakis, standing just far enough away to give you space, but close enough that you could feel the sincerity in his tone. “But I’d still like to buy you a drink and maybe talk some more. I-If that’s alright with you of course.” You looked up, surprised and maybe a little impressed.

It was more than alright.

You gave him a nod, and the two of you sat at the end of the bar, away from prying eyes and Jake’s over-the-top dramatics. Conversation flowed easier than you expected. Bob wasn’t flashy or performative, he was thoughtful. Funny in a dry, unexpected way. A little awkward, but charmingly so. That night turned into another. Then a real date. Then two. Then weeks of texts that made you smile at your phone like a teenager. Things didn’t move fast, they didn’t need to. With Bob, it was steady.

He remembered your favorite drink after the first time you ordered it. He walked you to your car every time, even if it meant doubling back on his own route. He asked about your day and actually listened, not just to respond, but to understand. He never interrupted. Never made you feel small. He laughed at your jokes, even the bad ones. He offered his hoodie on breezy beach nights without saying a word. And even had this quiet habit of checking on you.

Whether it was a text at the exact right time. A glance across a room that grounded you. And maybe most surprising of all, he made you feel safe. It didn’t matter that he flew backseat for one of the Navy’s best pilots. That he was part of a squad who took down a nearly impossible mission. That half the base jokingly called him “baby-on- board.” None of that defined him.

What mattered was that when you were with him, for the first time in years, you didn’t feel like someone’s little sister. You didn’t feel like someone to be guarded or shielded or spoken for. You just felt seen. Of course, that didn’t mean you were ready to throw it in Jake’s face. For a while, you and Bob kept things quiet. It wasn’t that you were ashamed, far from it. But you both agreed: Jake didn’t need to know just yet. You liked the way things were. Soft. Sacred. Yours.

Besides, the moment your brother found out you were seeing someone, especially someone on his squadron, he’d lose his mind. So you kept your dates discreet. Stolen kisses in parked cars. Quick coffee dates before his briefings. Whispered conversations during beach bonfires where no one was paying attention. And on one particularly slow afternoon, he stopped by your office. Your practice had just closed for the day. The soft hum of the white noise machine still filled the room, and the late sun poured through the windows.

Bob was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, pretending to read the spines of your books, psychology texts, self-help, a few novels tucked in like secrets. “I still can’t believe you keep a weighted blanket in your office.” He teased lightly, eyes glued to your legs as you reached for your laptop. “Trauma work, remember? Nervous systems love pressure. Plus, it’s cozy.” Bob stepped closer, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You’re cozy.” You mirrored his smile, letting out a lovesick giggle before you could stop it.

“Are you trying to flirt with me using therapeutic language?” His blue eyes twinkled with mischief stepping closer. “Is it working?” You laughed, and before you could answer, his lips were on yours. It was supposed to be just one kiss. A quick goodbye before he headed back to base, enough to hold you off until you could get your hands on him later that night. But then your back hit the wall, and his hands cupped your jaw like he was memorizing every curve of your face.

You instinctively melted into him, fingers curling into his fitted white t-shirt that had no business making his biceps look that good. His lips pressed to yours, slow at first, soft and searching, but it deepened quickly. His hands found your waist, sliding over the thin fabric of your blouse, fingers splaying wide as if to anchor himself in the feel of you. Bob groaned quietly into your mouth, the sound low, needy, almost reverent. His tongue slipped past your parted lips, tentative but eager, and you welcomed him in with a soft, breathy moan.

Your hands fumbled for his collar, pulling him closer, grounding yourself in the way he tasted. One of his hands slid up your side, fingers brushing under the hem of your shirt, calloused fingertips grazing the bare skin of your ribs. You shivered at the contact, arching into him instinctively. His other hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb stroking just below your ear as his mouth moved with yours, deeper, hungrier.

Your nails scraped lightly through his hair, mussing it from its neat comb, and that earned you another quiet groan that vibrated against your lips. The air between you felt heavy, time blurred. Nothing existed beyond the feel of his body against yours, the way he kissed you like he was starved for it, like he’d been holding back for weeks. Maybe he had. Your hips shifted, a little too eager, and you felt the subtle hitch of his breath as his hand gripped tighter at your waist, holding you there.

Which is how you didn’t hear the office door creak open until: “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You both froze. Your lips were still tangled. Bob’s hand was still under your shirt. And Jake Seresin was standing in the doorway of your office, expression stuck somewhere between outrage and horror. You sprang apart, your heartbeat plummeted. And Bob, poor Bob, froze in place like someone had pulled the eject handle. Jake stood in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw clenched, face unreadable.

A vein twitched in his temple. “Jake—” You started, breathless, smoothing down your blouse. “It’s not, well, it is what it looks like, but—" Busted. “Of all the people,” Jake let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh, dragging a hand down his face, then pinching the bridge of his nose like it physically pained him to witness what was happening. “Baby-on-board? Seriously, Y/N?!”

You instinctively stepped in front of Bob, shielding him with your body like your brother might actually tackle him through your office window. “Jake. Don’t.” Bob, didn’t move. His back was straight, blue eyes wide behind fogged-up glasses, lips parted as if mid-apology. His cheeks were flushed, his t-shirt slightly wrinkled from where your hands had just been. “I, uh… hi, Hangman." He offered awkwardly, pushing his glasses up with a shaky hand.

Jake stared at him, hard. Like he was cycling through a mental list of disciplinary actions and weighing the pros and cons of each one. “I told you once,” He growled slowly, voice like ice cracking. “My little sister is off-limits.” You stepped in again, squaring your shoulders, chin lifting. “And I told you I’m not twelve.” There was a beat of silence. Then Jake turned to you, jaw tight, mouth slightly open like he wanted to argue, but the fire behind his eyes dimmed.

You saw it, the shift. That split-second of hesitation. The realization. You weren’t his kid sister anymore, sneaking candy into movie theaters or crying over scraped knees. You weren’t some fragile thing he had to wrap in bubble wrap and keep hidden from the world. You were a grown woman. And you’d made your choice. “I’m your big brother,” He muttered voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “I’m supposed to look out for you.”

Your expression softened, shoulders dropping. “You always have. Better than anyone, but you don’t have to protect me from Bob. He'd never hurt me.” You glanced over your shoulder, eyes meeting Bob’s. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose and looked between the two of you. At Bob, still standing there like a soldier awaiting his court-martial. And at you, arms folded, gaze unwavering. After a pregnant pause, a long, reluctant sigh left his chest. “Are you really into him?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I am.” Jake stared at him for another long second, then finally, finally, cracked the smallest smirk. “Jesus Christ. If this is happening, I don’t want to hear about it and I definitely don’t want to see it.” He turned toward the door, muttering under his breath. “Shit, I need bleach for my poor eyes.” Then, he paused and glanced back “If you break her heart, Floyd, I don’t care how good of a WSO you are, I will make you wish you had ejected mid-flight.” Bob swallowed visibly and nodded.

“Understood.” You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth lifted. It wasn’t exactly a blessing. But from Jake Seresin? It sure as hell was close enough. You smiled at the memory, lips curling as your thoughts drifted back. Since then, Jake had slowly eased up, still overbearing at times, but less of an asshole, finally starting to accept the reality that you and Bob were together. It wasn’t instant, but it was progress.

Maybe it was the way Bob never rose to Jake’s bait, or maybe it was how he treated you, with a kind of quiet reverence that left little room for protest. Because Bob was nothing but attentive. The kind of man who remembered how you took your coffee, who sent midday check-in texts just to ask how your sessions had gone, who looked at you like you were his entire goddamn universe. He made you feel like the only girl in the world, seen, cherished.

Which is why, when your usual Thursday night rolled around, the one night you always carved out for each other, and Bob didn’t show… something inside you spiraled. You’d cleaned the apartment, lit one of your favorite candles, even queued up Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith knowing it was one of his favorites. His favorite hoodie was draped over the back of the couch, the one he always “forgot” to take home because he liked the way it smelled after you wore it.

The popcorn was in the bowl. The wine was chilling in the fridge. Take-out menus were on the coffee table. Everything was ready. Except him. You glanced at the clock. Once. Then again. Then again, your eyes flicking to the screen, then to the door, like maybe he’d appear if you wished hard enough. Each time, you brushed it off with a quiet, He’s probably still at the hangar. You knew the drill. Sometimes they got grounded late, schedules shifted.

But the minutes stretched into an hour. Then two. Still no text. No call. Just eerie silence. And Bob? When it came to date night, Bob was never late. When your phone finally rang, the shrill tone sliced through the stillness, making you jump. You scrambled for it, heartbeat thudding against your ribs as your thumb slid to answer without even checking the caller ID on the screen. “Hey, handsome,” You breathed out. “Are you on your way home yet?” Only, it wasn’t Bob’s voice that answered.

“Aww, Y/N,” Came the familiar, cocky drawl you had grown familiar with. “I knew you were lying to me all those times you called me ugly.” Your jaw clenched. Your eyes rolled before your brain could catch up. “Jake,” You snapped, already pacing. “What the hell, where’s Bob? Why are you calling me?” Your brother’s voice cut through the line, irritatingly casual. “Sorry for the late notice, but your beau isn’t making it to date night.” The floor practically dropped out from under you.

“What?! Why? Jake, what happened?” You barely heard yourself over the rush in your ears. Your pulse kicked up, adrenaline beginning to surge. He ignored the edge in your voice, brushing off your panic like it was nothing more than static. “Just come to base. I’ll be waiting at the gate to escort you inside.” Then the line went dead. You stared at your phone for a second, willing it to light up again, to clarify, to make sense. It didn’t.

Just the reflection of your stunned face in the dark screen. “God, I hate when he does that.” You muttered, voice low and sharp as you shoved the phone into your back pocket. Without wasting another breath, you yanked Bob’s hoodie over your head, feet shoving into the nearest pair of sneakers, fingers scrambling for your keys. Your heart thudded in your throat as you raced down the stairs, and out the door.

The base wasn’t far, thankfully. About a twenty-minute drive. You didn’t floor it, but your foot stayed heavy on the gas, knuckles white around the steering wheel. Your thoughts circled and twisted with every mile: Was he hurt? Why didn’t Bob call you himself? Was Jake just being dramatic, or worse, trying to protect you from something serious? By the time you reached the gate, your nerves were all over the place.

True to his word, Jake was waiting just past the security checkpoint, casual as ever, like this was a run-of-the-mill errand. You flashed your ID to the guard, who barely glanced at it before waving you through. You didn’t even bother straightening the car when you parked. The engine had barely cut before you threw the door open and leapt out. “Jake,” You barked, striding toward him with a glare. “You have one minute to explain yourself before I kick the shit out of you. Where’s Bob?”

Your brother slung an arm around your shoulder like this was all completely normal. The audacity of it made your teeth grit. “Relax, baby-on-board is fine.” He muttered, steering you forward. “Don’t call him that. How many times do I have to tell you before it sticks?” You snapped, elbowing him lightly. Jake lifted both hands in mock surrender, grinning like this was all part of a joke only he found funny. “Alright, alright fine. Just… follow me.” And without another word, he led you deeper into the base.

Your steps faltered, just slightly, as dread started to pool low in your stomach. Because something wasn’t right. You could feel it. Your suspicions were confirmed the moment Jake led you down the familiar corridor toward the medical bay. The sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of fluorescent lights filled the air, too clean, way too quiet. Your heart pounded harder with every step. Then you saw them, Maverick and Bradley, standing a few feet away near the nurses’ station, mid-conversation.

Or they had been. The second their eyes landed on you and Jake, their voices cut off like a switch had been flipped. “Mav,” You rasped, your voice laced with urgency as your eyes locked on his. They both turned fully now, posture straightening. Bradley offered a tense smile as he stepped forward to greet you, arms opening automatically. You didn’t hesitate, letting yourself fall into the hug, if only for the brief comfort of familiar arms and the steady heartbeat beneath his civilian clothes.

“Where’s Bob?” You asked again, for what felt like the hundredth time. The question burned now, raw and desperate, clawing up your throat. Maverick moved closer, his expression calm but lined with concern. “He’s alright,” He began, voice steady, measured, but the silence that followed said otherwise. The look, the flicker of shared worry between him, Bradley, and Jake did nothing to settle the growing storm in your chest. You could feel it building, pressure against your ribs.

Maverick exhaled slowly, like he didn’t want to alarm you but knew sugarcoating it wouldn’t help.“During today’s training, Phoenix and Bob suffered a bird strike. The impact triggered an engine fire, which spread fast and caused a total systems failure, both engines, and hydraulic controls.” Your breath hitched. “They had no choice but to eject,” He added, quieter now. “The medics brought them in immediately. They’re stable, conscious, and mostly okay. The doctors are keeping them overnight for observation.”

The words tumbled in slowly, too slow to process all at once. Bird strike. Engine fire. Ejection. The air felt thinner. The hallway longer. Your mouth moved before your brain could catch up. “C-Can I see him?” You asked, your voice barely more than a whisper. Maverick nodded, but you were already moving. Your sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as you bolted down the hallway, weaving past a nurse and ignoring the muted “Miss, wait—” that came from someone behind the desk.

When you spotted the door at the end of the corridor with Seresin scrawled hastily on the visitor clipboard and Floyd, R./Trace, N. listed beneath it, your chest constricted. You pushed the door open. You spotted Natasha first. She was reclined in the hospital cot closest to the door, propped up slightly by a pair of thin, starch-white pillows. Her skin looked pale under the sterile fluorescent lights, a stark contrast to the deep purpling bruise blooming along her cheekbone.

A butterfly bandage held a small cut together above her eyebrow, and her arm, though not in a cast, was wrapped in gauze from wrist to elbow. Still, she was awake. Alert. Breathing. “Nat,” You exhaled, already moving toward her. Her head turned at the sound of your voice. The split-second surprise in her expression melted into something warmer, despite the lingering pain behind her eyes. She pushed herself up with a small wince, the thin hospital blanket slipping off her shoulders.

“Y/N, hey,” She murmured, voice raspy but steady. Your arms were already wrapping around her before you could stop yourself. Your movements slowed as soon as you felt her body tense slightly, stiff from the impact, from the adrenaline still likely fading. She let out a breathy laugh against your shoulder, one arm curling weakly around you. “I’m glad you're here.” She murmured, voice muffled against your sweatshirt. You leaned back slightly to look at her, brushing a stray curl from her forehead, careful not to graze the fresh scrape on her temple.

It was safe to say that ever since you and Bob had started dating, you and Natasha had become inseparable. It started with casual conversations at the Hard Deck that turned into late-night wine nights, venting sessions, and a friendship built on fierce loyalty and shared eye-rolls at the men in your lives. Part of it, no doubt, came from the fact that she and Bob were more than just teammates, they were a crew. They trusted each other with their lives, and somewhere along the way, that trust naturally extended to you.

“I’m just glad you’re both okay.” You whispered. Natasha gave you a faint, lopsided smile, tired but genuine. “Yeah, well, Bob took the worst of it. I was lucky.” Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t even seen him yet. The cot next to hers was shielded slightly by a privacy curtain pulled partway across, and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe fast enough. Your eyes darted toward the edge of the curtain. “He’s awake. A little banged up. But, he’s been asking for you since we were brought in here.”

That was all it took. You gave her hand a gentle squeeze and whispered. “I’ll be right back.” Then, without hesitation, you stepped around the curtain, ready to face whatever was waiting on the other side. As soon as you rounded the curtain, your eyes found him. Bob was sitting upright, well, trying to. He winced slightly bracing himself on one elbow as he straightened in the cot, ignoring the tight pull of gauze around his ribs and the IV in his arm. Sensing the presence of someone in the room, he stopped fidgeting, blue eyes meeting yours.

You moved without thinking. The world blurred as you rushed across the room, the cool floor beneath your sneakers giving way to the warmth of his outstretched arms. He barely had time to brace himself before you collided with him, sinking into his chest, arms wrapping around his torso with desperate urgency. He winced, but his hands immediately came up, one cradling the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, the other wrapping tightly around your waist.

His grip was firm, steady, anchored, as if the contact itself might undo the fear that had rooted in both of you. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin beneath the sterile tang of antiseptic. His heart was pounding hard beneath your cheek, fast and erratic, matching your own. “Shit, Bobby,” You whispered, voice trembling. “I thought—” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. “I know,” He murmured into your hair, his voice cracking with emotion.

“I’m sorry I scared you, sweetheart.” Then, more softly, almost sheepishly, he mumbled into your shoulder. “I’m also sorry I missed date night.” You nearly scoffed, half a laugh, half a sob, as you pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers still tangled in the collar of his shirt. “Date night? Bob, I could care less about date night right now. I’m just glad you’re alive.” Bob’s selflessness never ceased to amaze you, how even through the haze of pain and adrenaline, his first thought had been about you, about letting you down.

As if your heart hadn’t broken in half the moment you realized he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. You clung to him tighter, your arms curling around his back, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt like letting go wasn’t an option. Bodies wound tightly around one another, like you were trying to climb inside his chest and stay there. Like the only way to be sure he was real was to feel every inch of him pressed to you. He exhaled shakily, lips brushing your temple.

“All I kept thinking was that I had to get back to you.”That made your throat tighten even more. Your hand moved instinctively to his face, cupping his cheek, thumb grazing over a scratch along his jawline. His glasses were still slightly askew, and he hadn’t even bothered to fix them, too focused on you. “I’m right here,” He reassured, almost as if sensing your inner turmoil. “I’m okay. We’re okay.” In that moment, he held tightly in his arms, everything faded away.

There was only the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm and the soft warmth of his breath against your skin. You didn’t want to pull away, but when you finally did, it was only to take in his face. You brushed a thumb gently beneath his eye, tracing the faint bruise that had bloomed along his cheekbone. He looked a little beat up, but to you? He was perfect. Alive. And most importantly, breathing. His eyes met yours, impossibly blue beneath the smudged lenses of his crooked glasses.

They searched your face like he couldn’t quite believe you were here either. Like he was afraid if he blinked, you’d vanish. You leaned in again, this time slower, gentler, your hand cradling the side of his face. His breath caught just before your lips met, as if even now he was asking for permission without words. The kiss that followed was soft. No heat. No urgency. Just a lingering press of your mouths. You could feel the tremble in his shoulders as his hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you there like he needed it as much as you did.

His lips parted slightly against yours, letting out the faintest sigh, and you melted into it, into him, feeling the world finally slow down. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. “I love you.” You whispered, the words weightless, certain. He smiled, eyes closed, breath warm against your cheek. “I love you more.” Just as you were about to lean in for another kiss, the door creaked open behind you. “Fucks sake, not this again.” Came the dry, unmistakable voice of your older brother.

You groaned softly, forehead dropping to Bob’s shoulder as he stifled a wince and a laugh at the same time. You were so close to murdering Jake and becoming an only child. “Do you have some kind of built-in radar for whenever we kiss?” You muttered into Bob’s shirt as his hand rubbed comforting circles on your back. “Apparently,” Jake scoffed, stepping fully into the room, arms crossed, brow raised in brotherly disapproval.

“I give it ten seconds and you look like you’re ready to climb the guy like a tree.” Bob straightened awkwardly, almost like a cadet caught doing something wildly against protocol. His cheeks flushed deep red, climbing all the way to the tips of his ears, and his hands instinctively loosened their hold on you. Before he could scoot even an inch away, your fingers curled gently but firmly around his bicep, grounding him right where he was as you shot Jake a glare. “What do you want now?”

Jake gestured vaguely at the two of you. “Don’t mind me. I’m just checking in on the critically injured WSO who, last I heard, had survived an emergency ejection, a bird strike, and now looks like he’s about two seconds away from a very different kind of cardiac episode, caused, I assume, by my little sister sticking her tongue down his throat.” Bob gave a tiny, nervous cough, his gaze flicking toward the heart monitor as if it might start blaring just to spite him. He wisely chose not to answer.

You smirked, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to Bob’s temple, just to be petty. You felt the way his breath hitched beneath you, the way his fingers curled gently at your waist despite himself. Jake rolled his eyes so hard you were genuinely concerned they might get stuck that way. “I figured you’d be staying the night, so, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. But don’t get any ideas. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early, and I better not walk in on a repeat performance, especially not with Phoenix two feet away.”

From the other side of the curtain, Natasha’s dry voice floated through like a dagger dipped in disinterest: “Fuck off.” You bit your lip to stifle the laugh that almost broke through. “There’s the door, Bagman.” You shot back, raising your middle finger without even looking at him. With one last grumble and an eye roll that nearly cracked his skull, Jake pulled back the curtain dramatically and disappeared down the hall, muttering something about needing a drink.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Bob let out a soft breath, his entire body seeming to relax now that Jake had exited the room. He didn’t even need to ask. With a quiet grunt, he shifted on the narrow hospital cot, careful but determined, wincing slightly as he adjusted his IV line and tugged back the scratchy blanket with his good hand. It wasn’t much, but he made space for you like it was second nature, like your place had always been beside him, no matter the circumstances.

Without a word, you discarded your shoes and climbed in next to him, moving slowly, mindful of the bruises you couldn’t see and the ones you knew would surface by morning. The cot creaked under the added weight, but neither of you cared. Your head nestled into the curve of his shoulder, your hand drifting under the soft fabric of his t-shirt, fingers resting on the soft skin of his abdomen, like you just needed to feel he was real.

His arm slid around your waist, drawing you in with a familiarity that made your heart flutter. The other hand found its way into your hair, combing through the strands slowly, rhythmically, like he was soothing both of you at once. His thumb brushed absently along your spine in lazy arcs, and he let out a content when your legs tangled with his beneath the thin blanket.

The room had gone quiet, the soft beeping of monitors fading into the background like a lullaby. Wrapped in his arms, you tilted your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Still worth it?” You whispered, the question edged with lingering fear. Bob didn’t miss a beat. His smile was the same one he’d worn eight months ago, the first time he saw you across the bar. He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“Every single second.”

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thewulf · 5 months ago

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When the Laughter Stops || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - I was wondering if you could do one with Jake Seresin where him and the reader are co workers (but they liked each other a lot and are idiots) and she flirts with him a lot, like constantly and he mostly just laughs it off but flirt back sometimes, but she suddenly stops one day and is very quiet and he's worried... Read Rest Here

A/N: Gosh I just love Jake. I really hope they make another TG movie with our boy in it <3 Thank you for the request @stuffingbuttsandshit

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.3k+

T/W : Violation (Not Jake), Talk of Weapons, Talk of break in

Mornings at North Island always started the same way.

Your headset was already on, comms running smooth as you relayed flight data to Mav and the rest of the squadron. You had everything under control because that’s what you did. You were the best at what you did. And you knew it. You didn’t spend years at the Academy and across the country to be mediocre at your job. You were good and you knew it.

Jake Seresin knew it too.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” came the familiar, honey-dipped drawl over your shoulder before he even stepped into the control room. You grinned into your headset. He was right on schedule as always.

You didn’t turn around immediately instead letting the anticipation hang for a second longer before glancing over your shoulder. He was leaning against your desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that insufferably handsome smirk that was as much a part of him as his damn callsign.

“Hangman,” you greeted, flashing him an easy smile. “Looking as sharp as ever. It must really be exhausting carrying around that much charm all the time.”

His smirk deepened as he took you in. “It is, actually darlin’. But I manage.”

You made a show of giving him a once-over. That green flight suit zipped halfway, dog tags resting against the fabric of his undershirt and that confidence oozing from every pore. Annoyingly attractive, you noted. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. But damn, the man was hot as hell.

“Good thing I’m here to keep you humble,” you teased while tapping your earpiece as the radio crackled.

Jake leaned in slightly, just enough that you caught the faint scent of his aftershave. The scent curled through the air: rich sandalwood, and cedar laced with smoky vetiver and that deep warmth of amber and musk. Dark, refined, and impossible to forget. Just like man who wore it. And who was currently staring a hole in the side of your head.

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t wanna do that. What would you flirt with if I wasn’t around?” He gave you a devious smirk as his eyes traced your face.

You arched a brow, lips curling. “Oh, I’d manage.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like you were something impossible. “Damn shame sweetheart.” This was the rhythm. The effortless push and pull. The game neither of you called by name but both played with unmatched skill.

“Seresin, you done harassing my officer?” Maverick’s voice cut in from across the room with nothing but amusement lacing in his tone.

Jake straightened slightly but didn’t look away from you. “Just making sure my sweetheart starts her day right, Mav.”

You shot Mav an eyeroll before turning back to Jake. “Aw, how sweet of you Jake.” You cooed at him.

Jake hummed, tilting his head. “Sweet’s not usually what they call me, darlin’.”

The way he said it, low and teasing, sent a thrill up your spine. But you didn’t let it show. Instead, you reached for the mission brief on your desk, casually brushing your fingers against his arm as you passed it to him.

“Guess I’m just special then,” you said with an easy grin.

His eyes flickered with something. Something unreadable. Something dangerous. But the moment passed as quickly as it had come.

“Guess you are,” he murmured. His voice softer this time.

And just like that, he was gone, heading out to brief with the others, leaving behind the faintest trace of his presence. You exhaled, shaking your head to yourself. Yeah. This was the rhythm. At least, it had been. Until everything changed.

Until last night.

Until you woke up to the sound of your front door creaking open.

Until you reached for the bedside drawer, heart pounding, breath shallow, fingers closing around the cold metal of the weapon you kept there. The weapon you dreaded ever having to use.

Until you saw him. A dark figure standing at the foot of your bed, a knife glinting faintly in the sliver of moonlight filtering through your curtains.

Your body had moved on instinct, years of training kicking in before fear could fully take hold. The moment you pointed your weapon at him, he hesitated just long enough for you to move. You sprang from the bed, voice sharp and unyielding, ordering him to back off. And then just as quickly as he had come he was gone. Like a wraith in the night.

The cops arrived minutes later but it didn’t matter. He was already long gone, leaving behind nothing but an overturned chair, a shattered sense of security, and the lingering imprint of fear in your bones.

You barely slept after that, sitting with your back to the wall, weapon still gripped tightly in your hands until the sun started to rise.

And now you were here, at work, trying to pretend like nothing had changed. But Jake knew you too well. So, when he walked into the control room, expecting your usual teasing grin, expecting the flirtation that had become second nature between you. He immediately noticed the difference. You were at your desk, headset on, posture stiff, eyes trained on the monitors like they held the secrets of the universe. No smirk, no playful roll of your eyes when he approached. No wink. No greeting.

And that was the first sign that something was very, very wrong.

Jake frowned, slowing his stride. He leaned against your desk, arms crossing over his chest in the same lazy way he always did, waiting for you to acknowledge him. Nothing.

He tilted his head. “Morning, sweetheart,” he drawled, watching for a reaction.

Your fingers stilled on the keyboard, just for a second, but then you resumed typing like you hadn’t heard him. His frown deepened. Okay. Maybe you were just busy. Maybe Mav had you swamped with flight schedules or logistics nightmares. Maybe.

But then he really looked at you.

Your usual fire, the effortless confidence that made your job look easy was gone. In its place was something tight, something controlled. He followed the subtle tension in your shoulders. The way your jaw stayed clenched even as you kept working. Something wasoff.

“You sick or somethin’?” Jake asked, lowering his voice, trying to meet your gaze.

You finally looked at him but the second your eyes met his you blinked quickly and dropped them again. “I’m fine,” you said too flatly. Too rehearsed. With no emotion in the usual boisterous voice of yours.

Jake’s stomach twisted. Bullshit. You weren’t fine. He knew fine, and this wasn’t it. But what he didn’t know was why. For the first time since meeting you, Jake felt the shift. The invisible wall you’d put up overnight, cutting him out without warning. And he hatedit. Where there should’ve been fire, there was only silence.

Jake tried to ignore it at first. Maybe you were just having an off day. Maybe you were tired. Maybe whatever had drained the light from your eyes would pass on its own.

But as the day dragged on, he knew that wasn’t the case. You barely spoke, sticking to clipped, professional responses when you had to interact with him or anyone else. You kept your head down, shoulders drawn in. It was so unlike you. It made his skin itch.

Then, when someone brushed past you in the hallway. Just a casual, harmless pass. You flinched. It was small, barely noticeable, but Jake saw it. And that was all it took. His blood ran cold. He knew that reaction. Had seen it before. And it sent every instinct he had into overdrive.

The rest of the day, he didn’t leave you alone. Not in a way that would spook you, but he made sure he was always nearby, always watching. You barely acknowledged him and that was the final crack in his patience. By the time your shift ended, he was donewaiting.

You had just stepped outside the hangar when he caught up to you. He moved fast enough that you had no choice but to stop. "Sweetheart," he said. And this time his voice wasn’t teasing, wasn’t lazy or smug. It was quiet. Steady. Serious.

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “Jake, I—”

“Something’s wrong,” he cut in. His green eyes searching your face. “And I need you to tell me what it is.”

Your breath faltered. You didn’t answer right away but the way your gaze darted away. The way your lips pressed together like you were afraid to speak made his stomach twist. He softened, stepping closer, his voice dropping even lower. “Hey. It’s me, alright? Just me. You can tell me.”

You swallowed hard. And then finally your walls started to crack. “I—” You exhaled shakily, like forcing the words out might break you. “Someone broke into my house last night.”

Jake went still.

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you continued. “I woke up and he was just there. He had a knife… I think he would have tried to grab me. But I fought back, I scared him off but…” You sucked in a breath. Shaking your head unbelieving that this had even happened to you. “He ran before the cops got there. They haven’t found him. They won’t find him most likely.”

Jake’s fists clenched. His entire body went rigid. His jaw locking so hard it ached. Jesus Christ. The thought of you alone, terrified, fighting off some bastard in the middle of the night made his vision go red. He wanted to break something. No, he wanted to findthe bastard who did this. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, you mattered.

Carefully he reached for you. His fingers grazing your wrist before he slid his hand fully over yours. His grip was firm, grounding. Warm.

“Jesus, darlin’,” he murmured. His voice tight, lethal with restrained fury but when he looked at you again all he let you see was the concern. The unwavering steadiness. “You’re safe now, okay? I promise you, you’re safe.” And for the first time all day, your body eased just a little. Just enough.

You weren’t sure who moved first. One second, you were standing there, raw and exposed with your confession hanging in the air between you. The next, Jake’s arms were around you, solid and steady, pulling you against his chest. And you let him. The moment his warmth surrounded you, the breath you had been holding all day broke free in a shaky exhale. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his flight suit, gripping tight, grounding yourself in him. Breathing in the woody scent that always seemed to coat him.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just held you. And God, you hadn’t realized how much you needed it until now. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. His voice a low, steady rumble against your ear. “You’re safe. No one’s scaring you again, I swear it.” You knew his words weren’t empty promises, weren’t meaningless reassurances. They were a vow.

Jake pulled back just enough to look at you, one hand lifting to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushing lightly along your cheek. “You’re not staying at your place alone tonight.” He said with such conviction.

You blinked up at him. “Jake—”

“Not a chance, sweetheart.” The smirk was there, but softer, missing its usual cocky edge. He tilted his head. “You really think I’m gonna walk away after what you just told me? Not a chance darlin’.” Your resolve wavered. You should tell him you’ll be fine. That you don’t need him hovering. But the idea of being alone in that house, of walking through those doors and feeling that fear claw at you again…

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I have a guest room,” you murmured. “You can take the guest room.”

Jake’s smirk deepened. “Whatever you say, darlin’. I’ll sleep on the porch if you want.” You smiled softly. Jake had a way of doing that for you. Charming bastard he was.

Jake didn’t waste a second when he got to your home. The second you stepped inside he was already moving. He checked the locks, testing the windows, making sure every single point of entry was secure. You stood off to the side watching as he knelt by your front door, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked to reinforce the deadbolt.

“You know,” you said while crossing your arms, “I could’ve called a locksmith for that.”

He glanced up, flashing you that signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to prove to you that I’m useful outside the cockpit.” You rolled your eyes but for the first time all day there was the tiniest tug of amusement behind it. And Jake saw it. Reveled in it.

After he was satisfied that your place was Fort Knox-level secure, he finally let you settle. The tension still lingered, though thin, stretched tight under your skin. He noticed it in the way your shoulders stayed rigid. In the way your fingers curled slightly like you were bracing yourself for something.

So, he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He made you laugh.

You weren’t sure when the tension finally started to ease but at some point you found yourself curled up on the couch half-listening as Jake recounted some absurd training exercise where Phoenix had absolutely wrecked him in a dogfight.

“—I swear to God, I had her, I had her, and then at the last second, she pulls this insane move out of nowhere. Next thing I know, she’s behind me, cackling like a damn supervillain and I’m dead in the water.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I bet she lovedthat.”

“Oh, she hasn’t shut up about it since,” Jake admitted, shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ll never live it down. Worst part is, Mav saw the whole thing. Didn’t even bother hiding the smug look.”

You let out a small laugh and Jake stilled. It was quiet, barely there, but it was real. His smirk softened, something shifting behind his eyes. For the first time ever, he really looked at you. Not just as the woman who sparred with him, who kept up with his banter, who never let him get the last word. But as you. The woman who had been terrified last night. The woman who had been shakentoday. The woman he never wanted to see rattled like that again.

You felt the shift too because your smile faded slightly. Your gaze flickering over his face like you were searching for something. Your voice was quiet when you spoke. “Thanks, Jake.”

His throat bobbed. The muscles in his jaw flexing like he was holding something back. He should’ve said something. Should’ve teased. Should’ve smirked and drawn out the moment. Should’ve eased you back into the comfort of your usual game. But he didn’t. Because this wasn’t the game anymore.

His hand lifted before he could stop himself. His fingers brushing along the side of your face. His thumb grazing your cheek so lightly, so gently, like he was afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

Your breath caught but you didn’t move away. Didn’t say a word. Couldn’t say a word. And then your eyes flicked down to his mouth just for a second, but long enough. Long enough for him to see it. To feelit.

His pulse kicked hard against his ribs, a slow, building pressure coiling in his chest, in his gut. Jesus. You wanted this. You wanted him. Just as much as he wanted you.

Something cracked wide open between you in that moment. Something unspoken but undeniable. Something that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long it was a wonder it hadn’t boiled over sooner.

Jake’s breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in, his nose barely brushing yours. Giving you the chance to back away if you wanted. He could feel the way you inhaled sharply. The way your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your hoodie like you were holding yourself back.

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw. His voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. “Don’t thank me, darlin’.”

And without thinking, without second-guessing, without giving either of you a chance to step back. He kissed you. It was slow, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way your lips felt against his. It was lingering, like he wasn’t sure if this was the first or the last time he’d get to do this. It wasn’t playful. Wasn’t teasing. It was real.

When he pulled back, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, wasn’t tense. It was heavy with something unspoken. With something waiting to be acknowledged. But instead of speaking Jake just gave you one last lingering look before pressing a softer barely-there kiss to your forehead. A silent promise. A quiet reassurance.

“Get some sleep sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The scent of fresh coffee pulled you from sleep. For a moment, you lay there, disoriented, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through your curtains. Your brain slowly caught up. You hadn’t made coffee. And there was only one other person in your house who would.

Jake.

You pushed back the covers and padded toward the kitchen. The wood floor cool against your bare feet. And there he was.

Jake Seresin stood at your stove pouring coffee into two mugs like he’d done it a hundred times before. His flight suit jacket was still draped over a chair, but he’d changed into the sweatpants you’d tossed at him last night. The fabric hanging low on his hips in a way that was far too distracting this early in the morning. His hair was still messy, slightly sleep-ruffled, and for some reason that made your stomach do something ridiculous.

He looked comfortable here. In your space. Like he belonged. And you liked it. Liked the way it looked. Liked the way he looked. God help you.

At the sound of your footsteps he turned, flashing you a grin. “Mornin’, sweetheart.” He held out a mug. “Figured you might need this.”

You crossed your arms but took it anyway, inhaling deeply before your first sip. Perfect. Of course, he makes perfect coffee, too. “Didn’t take you for a domestic type, Seresin,” you muttered, lifting an eyebrow. Trying your best to look annoyed but you were anything but that.

Jake smirked while leaning a hip against the counter. “You saying you expected me to sneak out before sunrise?”

You hummed, taking another sip. “Wouldn’t have been the first time a Navy pilot bailed on me.”

His smirk faltered just slightly. Just enough to make your lips twitch. “Not my style, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head. Then after a beat he nudged your elbow. “You slept okay?”

The teasing had softened and the warmth in his voice caught you off guard. You hesitated, fingers curling around your mug, but the truth easily came this time.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I did. I slept more than okay.” Because knowing he was just a room over made it easy to relax. Jake studied you for a second. His green eyes sharp, thoughtful, like he was making sure you meant it.

Satisfied, he clinked his mug against yours, smirk returning full force. “Good. ‘Cause I make a damn good bodyguard. But I make an even better breakfast. What’s it gonna be, sweetheart? Eggs or pancakes?”

You blinked. “You’re making breakfast too?”

Jake gave you a slow, lazy grin. “Oh, darlin’, you think I’m lettin’ you start your day without a full meal andmy charming company? Hate to break it to you, but you’re really bad at getting rid of me.”

You scoffed while shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“Charming,” he corrected, winking.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to fight, “Pancakes. I like my breakfasts sweet.”

He gave you that devilish grin, “Noted darlin’.”

And just like that. That something between you and Jake Seresin shifted. For good.

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itwillbethescarletwitch · 23 days ago

Text

Endgame

bob floyd x fem!reader

You noticed him right away.

It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon, just you and the soft hum of the AC, until the bell above the bookstore door chimed. You looked up from restocking the poetry shelf behind the counter and spotted him stepping inside—tall, broad-shouldered, golden hair a little tousled from the breeze outside.

But it was his glasses that caught your eye first.

Rounded wire frames, a little fogged from the humidity, which he gently wiped on the hem of his shirt before pushing them back up his nose. He didn’t look like the usual customer. Something about the neatness of him, the calm. Like he was always five seconds ahead of whatever was happening.

“Hi,” you offered with a smile. “Looking for anything in particular?”

He glanced up, eyes warm and a little shy behind the lenses. “Uh… not sure yet. Just browsing, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” you said. “Fiction’s on the right. Non-fiction’s on the left. And the hidden gems are back there,” you added, gesturing to the narrow room behind the register. “Used books. Chaos. Treasure.”

That got a small smile out of him—barely there, but enough to make you pause.

He wandered for a while. Quiet, thoughtful. Hands in his jacket pockets, his fingers brushing against spines like he was familiar with the texture of every title. You got distracted with a few customers, and by the time you looked back up, he was standing in front of the register again.

“Find something good?” you asked.

He held up a copy of Slaughterhouse-Five.

You grinned. “Classic. Solid choice.”

“Never read it,” he said, shifting his weight a little. “Felt like I should.”

“Well, you picked a good copy. That one’s survived three owners and one coffee spill.”

He let out a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling. “Perfect.”

You rang him up, slid the book into a paper bag, and handed it over. “Thanks for stopping in.”

He nodded. “Thanks… uh—” He glanced at your name tag. “Y/N.”

And then he left.

That was it. First day.

But then he came back.

Once, then twice, then regularly. Always soft-spoken. Always polite. You learned his name on his third visit—Bob Floyd.

“You military?” you asked one afternoon when he came in with a badge clipped to his waistband.

“Yeah,” he said. “Navy.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a WSO,” he said, shrugging slightly. “I fly in the backseat of jets. Kind of boring.”

You blinked. “You fly in a jet and you think I have the exciting job?”

He smiled—wide this time. A real one.

After that, the rhythm started. Every few days, he’d stop by. Sometimes he brought coffee. Once, when the place was slammed and you looked visibly overwhelmed, he walked in with a sandwich from the deli next door and just handed it to you without a word.

You looked at him, stunned. “Did you—?”

“Figured you hadn’t eaten,” he said. “The guy behind the counter said turkey’s your favorite.”

You stared. “You asked?”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Seemed important.”

Eventually, he started lingering longer. Sometimes he’d sit in the chair near the window and read while you worked. You got used to him being there. Looked forward to it, even.

And then, one day, with the rain tapping the windows and a stack of books half-sorted in your lap, you looked over and said, “I’ve never been on a base. You guys have tours?”

He looked up from his book. “I could… probably show you around. If you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’ve got a good recommendation record,” he said, holding up the book you’d handed him last week. “Figured I owe you.”

And just like that, something shifted.

———

You weren’t sure what you expected from a military base, but it wasn’t this much sun. The light bounced off the concrete as you stepped out of Bob’s truck, shielding your eyes and squinting up at the massive hangar doors ahead.

“Big, huh?” Bob asked, stepping around to your side with his hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn’t in uniform today — just a navy tee, jeans, and his glasses perched comfortably on his nose — but he still somehow looked more official here. Like this place belonged to him.

“Very big,” you echoed, still staring. “How do you not get lost?”

“Trial and error.” He smiled. “C’mon. I told Phoenix we’d stop by.”

He held the door open for you, and the second you stepped into the hangar, it was like walking into a different world — hot, alive, and buzzing. Jets lined up like sleeping giants, tools clanking in the distance, voices echoing off the walls. A few heads turned when you entered, but no one said anything right away. Just curious glances — flickers of recognition.

Bob didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t flinch.

You stayed close to his side, your eyes darting everywhere, soaking in the unfamiliar world with quiet awe.

“This is where I work,” he said simply. “Over here is the simulator room, but you’re not missing much. It’s just a dark box that makes you nauseous.”

“Sounds… thrilling.”

“You’d love it,” he said with a chuckle. “I threw up my first day.”

You laughed softly, and Bob glanced at you — and maybe it was just the hangar light, or the sound of your voice, but something in his face softened.

From across the floor, someone whistled. “Baby on board!”

Bob exhaled through his nose, already looking like he regretted everything.

You blinked. “Was that—?”

“That’s Hangman,” Bob muttered, under his breath. “Don’t… don’t ask.”

Jake Seresin was making his way over with that smug, golden-boy energy radiating off him like a second sun. But before he could get to you, Phoenix intercepted, striding up like she’d been waiting all morning.

“About time,” she called. “I’ve had three people ask if they’re allowed to stare.”

“Please tell me you said no,” Bob said.

“I said wait five minutes and act casual.” Phoenix grinned at you, warm and surprisingly relaxed. “You must be the bookstore girl.”

You nodded, shaking her hand. “That’s me.”

“C’mon,” she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “Bob’s going to get mobbed in about sixty seconds, and I’m not babysitting. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

You looked at Bob, a little hesitant, but he smiled.

“I’ll be right here,” he said, nudging his head toward a small crowd of pilots heading his way. “Don’t let Phoenix talk you into anything illegal.”

Phoenix snorted. “I only did that once.”

As she led you deeper into the hangar, you glanced back just once. Bob was already in conversation, but his eyes flicked to you briefly. Just a second — but long enough to say still here. I see you.

And somewhere near the back of the hangar, Hangman leaned in to Bob’s side.

“So,” Jake said, voice low and too casual. “Baby on board. That your girl?”

Bob didn’t look at him. Just stared at the hangar doors where you’d disappeared with Phoenix. His mouth tugged into a small, shy smile.

“Not yet,” he said. “But I’m manifesting it.”

Phoenix didn’t need to say she was giving you the VIP tour—you could feel it in the way she walked. Confident, steady, a little protective. You’d barely stepped onto the hangar floor before she’d whisked you off, casually tossing a “You’ll be fine, you’re with me,” over her shoulder like that was supposed to ease your nerves.

Spoiler: it kind of did.

You jogged a couple steps to catch up with her as she led you toward the fighter jets gleaming under the bright lights. She was already pointing out a few things—flight groups, gear lockers, a very expensive-looking toolbox someone definitely wasn’t using correctly.

“Okay, full disclosure,” she said, glancing at you with a little smirk. “I don’t usually do tours. But Bob asked if someone could show you around, and I figured—I fly with the guy every day. Might as well do him justice.”

You smiled. “I hope that’s a good thing?”

“Oh, it’s a great thing. You’re in the hands of the best pilot-WSO duo on base. He’s got my six every time we’re in the air.”

You followed her gaze to one of the jets. It was sleek and deadly, all power and precision. Your eyes widened a little.

“This is ours,” she said, hand resting lightly on the frame. “Well—ours in the sense that the Navy owns it, and we abuse the hell out of it on a daily basis. But she’s good to us. And Bob—he makes her better.”

You raised a brow. “How so?”

“He’s got the kind of instincts you can’t teach. Reads the radar like it’s a second language. Calls out threats before I even see them.” She shrugged. “We’ve flown through some crazy stuff together. Not once have I ever questioned if he’s got me.”

There was something honest in her voice—real trust, real admiration.

You looked back at the plane, trying to picture it: Bob, in a helmet, locked in, calm under pressure. You’d never seen that version of him. The Bob you knew wore soft flannels and brought you sandwiches on your busiest days. The Bob who always asked how your shift was and remembered which books made you cry.

Phoenix crossed her arms, glanced sideways at you. “And outside the cockpit? He’s the most grounded person I know. Loyal to a fault. Always thinks things through. And he’s the kind of guy who’d rather sit through a three-hour rom-com than make someone feel alone.”

That made you laugh.

“Let me guess—he’s done that for you?”

She grinned. “He once sat through The Notebook on a deployment. I cried harder than I care to admit, and the whole time, he just kept passing me tissues like it was nothing.”

You smiled down at your shoes, cheeks warm.

Phoenix nudged your shoulder gently. “Just saying—guys like that don’t come around often. And when they do? You hold onto them. Even if it starts with just… spending time.”

You looked back at the plane, then toward the far end of the hangar where you could just barely make out Bob’s figure, deep in conversation with someone.

“I didn’t think someone like him would even notice someone like me.”

Phoenix raised a brow. “Then clearly, you don’t know how often he talks about you.”

You blinked. “He talks about me?”

“Mmhm. Said you’ve got a laugh that could shake the dust off his worst days. And that no one’s ever looked at him like he mattered until you did.”

Your breath caught a little, heart tugging.

Phoenix gave you a warm, knowing smile. “Come on. Let’s get you back to your not-quite-boyfriend before Jake tries to convince him to go skydiving again.”

The second Bob spotted you across the hangar, something in his shoulders eased.

You were walking alongside Phoenix, chatting easily, your arms swaying at your sides. From where he stood—half-listening to Coyote explain something about flight telemetry—it was like time clicked into place. Like the sun came out just a little brighter.

You caught his gaze before he could look away, and your face lit up in that quiet, devastating way that always made his heart race a little faster. You gave him a little wave.

“Hey, there you are,” you called as you reached him, Phoenix peeling off with a smug smile and muttering something about giving you two a minute.

Bob cleared his throat, trying not to grin too hard. “Hey. You, uh—have fun?”

“I did,” you said, brushing a piece of hair from your face. “Phoenix gave me the rundown. Told me you’re basically her better half in the sky.”

His ears went a little pink. “She said that?”

“She also said you cried during The Notebook, but we can unpack that later.”

His smile cracked wide open. “She told you that?”

“Oh yeah,” you teased. “Said you passed her tissues and everything. Real stand-up guy behavior.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glasses slipping just a little. “Well… she was crying pretty hard.”

You tilted your head at him. “You’re kind of the whole package, huh?”

That caught him off guard. His lips parted slightly like he was going to say something, but all that came out was a soft, surprised laugh. “I—I try.”

“Trying’s working for you,” you said, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Everyone here kind of thinks we’re a thing, you know.”

He swallowed. “I know.”

You raised a brow, heart suddenly fluttering. “Does that bother you?”

Bob stepped a little closer, voice lowering just enough to make your stomach twist in that delicious, dangerous way.

“Not if it’s true.”

Your breath hitched.

Before you could say anything, Hangman’s voice cut through the moment: “Hey, Baby on Board! You bringing your girl to poker tonight, or are you too chicken to lose in front of her?”

“Tell him I’ll clean him out,” you said over your shoulder to Hangman, but your eyes never left Bob’s.

He chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

Neither of you said anything after that—not right away. But he didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said everything.

And when his hand brushed yours as you both started toward the others… you didn’t pull away.

———

The pool table had been pushed aside, replaced with a worn wooden table and a scattered deck of cards. Around it sat Hangman, Phoenix, Coyote, Payback, Bob — and you, somehow coaxed into joining despite claiming you hadn’t played poker since college.

Real cash was spread across the table in uneven little piles. Singles, fives, tens. Phoenix had set a buy-in cap — twenty bucks max — to keep things friendly. Still, competitive fire burned hot, especially in Jake Seresin’s eyes.

“You sure you wanna sit in?” Hangman grinned, tossing in his first five. “I play for blood.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally ten-dollar max bets.”

“Blood,” he repeated, grinning wide.

Bob sat beside you, shoulders slightly turned your way, quiet and observant. He hadn’t bought in tonight. “She’s playing for me,” he told the table earlier, soft and proud.

The first few hands? You folded quick. A couple clumsy raises. Easy bluffs. Hangman leaned back, smug, convinced you were just learning.

Then came a quiet hand.

Three players in.

The pot slowly growing.

And you cleaned them out.

“Full house,” you said, flipping your cards like it was no big deal.

Hangman blinked at his pair of aces. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” you said sweetly, dragging the pile of bills toward you.

After that, the game shifted.

Jake stopped talking. Coyote narrowed his eyes every time you lifted your cards. Phoenix just watched in growing amusement, sipping her beer like she knew.

And you?

You kept winning.

Not every hand — but enough that by the end of the hour, you had a neat stack of bills in front of you. Seventy dollars total. Most of it from Jake, who now had three singles and a crumpled five left to his name.

“This is highway robbery,” he muttered. “You played me.”

You smiled. “I didn’t do anything. You bet into it every time.”

“She’s terrifying,” Coyote whispered to Phoenix. “How is she so calm?”

Jake shook his head in defeat as you slowly counted your bills, pausing at the fifty mark. You picked up a crisp ten and a five, and held them out toward him.

He frowned. “What’re you doing?”

“Giving you back your dignity,” you teased. “Or at least fifteen bucks of it.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want it?”

“I want a free drink and maybe a soft pretzel,” you said. “Not a reputation.”

Jake huffed, but he took the money. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or impressed.”

Bob was definitely the latter.

He leaned toward you, voice low, grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You really only kept fifty?”

You nodded, slipping it into your jacket pocket. “That’s more than enough.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hangman lose that gracefully.”

You laughed under your breath. “I’m sure he’s just holding in the tantrum for later.”

Bob chuckled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“You’re fine,” you said, nudging him lightly. “You backed me up from the start.”

He gave you a look — one that held a quiet kind of admiration. Not loud, not flashy. Just a warmth that said he saw you.

And maybe, just maybe, his fingers brushed yours under the table. Not on purpose. Not at first.

But neither of you moved away.

———

(6 months later)

The hum of the overhead lights blended with the low clatter of forks against ceramic plates. It was nearing midnight, and the old 24-hour diner on the edge of town had mostly emptied out, save for a few regulars and the two of you tucked into a corner booth.

Bob stirred his coffee absently, eyes darting from his cup to the half-eaten slice of pie you were insisting he finish. You were grinning, warm and carefree, wearing one of his old academy hoodies over your dress from earlier in the night. And Bob, for once, looked a little uneasy.

You noticed.

“Alright, Lieutenant Floyd, what’s going on?” you asked gently, nudging his knee with yours under the table. “You’ve been chewing on that coffee stirrer like it personally wronged you.”

He smiled sheepishly, cheeks coloring. “I’ve just been thinkin’,” he said, eyes still not quite meeting yours.

You tilted your head, curious but patient.

He sighed and finally looked at you, the weight of something important softening his voice. “It’s been six months. Half a year. And I know we’ve said we’re taking things slow, and I love the pace we’re going, I really do. But I’ve been telling my family about you.”

Your eyes lit up just slightly. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A lot. I mean—Phoenix calls you my girl at work and I don’t even bother correcting her anymore. I don’t want to. And my mom, she… she keeps asking when she’ll get to meet the person who makes me sound this happy on the phone.”

You softened. “Bob…”

“I want you to meet them,” he said, finally. “I’m nervous, don’t get me wrong. I think I’m more nervous about this than I was flying solo the first time. But they’re important to me. And you’re… God, you’re everything. I want them to know you.”

There was a long pause before you leaned over the table and squeezed his hand. “I’d love to meet them,” you said, voice just above a whisper. “And for the record, I think your mom’s gonna love me.”

Bob let out a quiet, relieved laugh and shook his head. “Oh, sweetheart, she’s already halfway planning the guest room.”

You grinned. “Guest room, huh? So I’m staying over?”

He blushed. “I mean… if you want to.”

You kissed the back of his hand and whispered, “I want to.”

————

Bob pulled his truck up the long gravel drive, tires crunching beneath them as the familiar white farmhouse came into view. A breeze made the wind chimes on the porch sing, and the golden hour light turned the sky soft and hazy.

Y/N sat in the passenger seat, completely frozen.

Bob glanced over. “You good?”

“Nope,” she said too fast. “Definitely not.”

His brows creased, concern flashing in his eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I’m about to meet your family, Bob. Like—your actual family. Your mom, your siblings, people who knew you before you were Lieutenant Floyd. What if they don’t like me?”

He turned toward her, resting his forearm on the steering wheel. “They’re gonna love you.”

“You don’t know that,” she whispered, eyes wide. “I mean—I’m not from here. What if I say something dumb? What if I mess up a handshake or like… I don’t know, accidentally insult your mom’s green beans or something—”

Bob laughed softly. “You’re not gonna insult anybody’s green beans.”

“You don’t know that!” she half-whined, hands clutching the skirt of her sundress.

He reached across and took one of her hands gently, grounding her. “Y/N. They are going to love you. My momma’s been cleaning the house since I told her we were coming, and she already made sweet tea, pot roast, and probably more bread than either of us should legally be allowed to eat. She’s excited. I’m excited.”

Y/N looked at him for a long moment before nodding, even if it was hesitant. “Okay. I’m okay. I’m ready.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

He gave her a smile and hopped out, coming around to open her door like he always did. She let him help her down, her hand lingering in his as they walked up the porch steps. She could hear voices inside—faint laughter, a dog barking somewhere in the back.

Before they could knock, the front door swung wide open.

“Bobby Ray Floyd, you get yourself over here and hug your momma!”

Bob grinned. “Hey, Momma,” he said, pulling her into a tight hug. His mother was shorter than she sounded, but sturdy and warm like she’d spent her whole life feeding people and loving hard. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back in a soft braid, and her floral apron still had flour dust on it.

Then her eyes landed on Y/N.

“And you must be the sweet girl I’ve been hearin’ so much about,” she said, already reaching forward with open arms. “Come here, sugar!”

Y/N blinked but smiled, hugging her back. “Hi, Mrs. Floyd. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Oh, honey,” the woman said, pulling back and cupping her face in both hands, “Just call me Margaret. Mrs. Floyd makes me sound like I’m ninety and mean as hell.”

Y/N laughed nervously. “Okay. Margaret.”

“That’s better. And look at you—Lord have mercy, you’re even prettier than Bobby said you were.”

Bob blushed behind them.

Margaret waved them inside. “Come on in. Dinner’s almost done and everyone’s dyin’ to meet you.”

The house was warm and lived-in, smelling like roast chicken, biscuits, and cinnamon. Bob’s siblings were already coming out of the woodwork—two of his younger brothers giving him hell, his sweet younger sister introducing herself right away and pulling Y/N into conversation.

But not everyone was smiling.

From the hallway, a woman leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Her tone was flat as she said, “So. This her?”

Bob stiffened slightly. “Yeah. Hannah, this is Y/N.”

Y/N stepped forward and offered a polite smile. “Hi.”

Hannah gave her a once-over. “Hm.”

That was all.

Y/N’s smile dimmed for just a beat before Bob gently placed a hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the kitchen.

“Don’t you mind her,” Margaret said brightly. “She’s been in one of her moods. Been that way since she was old enough to steal Bobby’s toys.”

“Momma,” Bob mumbled under his breath, but Y/N squeezed his hand.

Dinner was loud and warm—Bob’s siblings trading stories and teasing him about everything from his slow drawl to the time he accidentally glued his own hand to a model plane in fourth grade. Margaret kept slipping more food onto Y/N’s plate. Bob just kept looking at her like he couldn’t believe she was really here, really sitting beside him.

And all through it, Hannah said almost nothing. When she did, it was pointed. Dry. Not loud enough to make a scene, but enough that Y/N felt it like a pebble in her shoe.

After dessert, when everyone wandered toward the porch, Bob stayed behind to help his momma with dishes. Y/N sat with his sister, watching the sun sink lower in the sky.

“She likes you,” Bob’s sister whispered, nudging her.

“She doesn’t act like it,” Y/N said softly.

“She’s just… guarded. Don’t let it get to you.”

“I’m trying,” Y/N admitted. “I just want to make a good impression.”

“You already have.”

Inside, Bob wiped his hands on a dishtowel and looked out the window—his girl, sitting on his momma’s porch, in his old rocking chair, like she belonged there.

And God help him, she did.

———

The sun had long set by the time everyone gathered around the big oak table in the Floyd family dining room. Someone had unearthed a battered Uno deck from the junk drawer, rubber-banded and worn, like it had lived through generations of Floyd family game nights.

Margaret poured everyone sweet tea in mismatched mason jars. “Uno always brings out the truth in people,” she warned playfully.

Y/N sat beside Bob, heart still fluttering from dinner and all the warm welcome she’d been shown—almost all of it. Hannah sat at the far end of the table, arms crossed tight and expression unreadable.

Will shuffled the deck dramatically. “Y’all ready to lose?”

“I don’t know,” Bob said, grinning at Y/N. “She’s got a good poker face.”

Hannah snorted. “Guess some people are just good at bluffing.”

Y/N blinked. She wasn’t even sure that one was meant to land—but it did.

The game began. Will talked the most trash, naturally. Margaret cheated a little, blatantly dropping extra cards and daring anyone to call her out. Bob sat close, letting his hand rest on the back of Y/N’s chair, his knee brushing hers now and then.

And Y/N? She was destroying them.

One by one, they folded, groaned, drew four. Y/N didn’t gloat. She just smiled, almost shyly, stacking up her winnings—a mix of fives, tens, and twenties everyone had tossed in to make the game interesting.

“Beginner’s luck,” Bob’s younger sister joked.

“I think it’s just quiet confidence,” Margaret chimed in warmly. “She’s got that strength in her. Like she’s used to holding her own.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Or maybe she’s just lucky enough to keep landing in the right places.”

Bob stilled.

Y/N’s smile faltered, just for a second, before she folded her hands in her lap and looked down.

Margaret frowned. “Hannah—”

“No, it’s fine,” Y/N said quickly. “Really. I’m just good at card games. I used to play a lot growing up.”

“You sure you weren’t playing people, too?” Hannah muttered under her breath.

That did it.

Bob sat up sharply. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Everyone went silent.

Hannah raised a brow, acting innocent. “What? I’m just making conversation.”

“No, you’re being mean,” Bob said, voice low but firm. “You’ve been like this since we walked in the door. She’s done nothing to you.”

“Maybe I’m just being cautious,” Hannah snapped. “You fall fast, Bobby. You always have. Someone needs to think straight when you can’t.”

“She’s not someone,” Bob said. “She’s Y/N. And she’s not like—”

He stopped himself. The room hung heavy with that pause.

“She’s not like her,” he said finally. “You know that.”

Margaret stood, her voice sharp. “That’s enough. We treat guests like family in this house, and we sure as hell don’t humiliate them at our table.”

Will muttered, “This is awkward,” trying to break the tension, but it didn’t land.

Bob’s younger sister gave Hannah a disgusted look. “What is your dealtonight?”

Y/N stayed quiet through all of it, eyes on the table, hands still neatly folded. Until Bob’s older sister—Sophie—stood up gently and nudged her arm.

“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Y/N glanced at Bob, who gave her a little nod. And then she followed Sophie out to the porch, where the summer air wrapped around them like a humid blanket.

⸻

They drove through the quiet country roads in Bob’s dad’s old pickup, windows rolled down. Neither spoke for the first few minutes. Then Sophie finally broke the silence.

“She’s not usually like that,” she said. “Hannah. She’s just scared.”

Y/N looked over, brows drawn. “Scared of what?”

“Of you,” Sophie said honestly. “Of how much Bob cares about you. Of what happened the last time he fell for someone.”

Y/N stayed silent, sensing more was coming.

“Six years ago,” Sophie went on, “he dated this girl. Real sweet. Beautiful. She came around once. We all liked her. But then she just… vanished. Called him from another state and ended it. Said she couldn’t do this kind of life. Couldn’t be second to the Navy.”

Y/N’s heart cracked.

“He didn’t cry,” Sophie said. “Didn’t yell. Just… shut down. For almost a year, it was like he disappeared, even when he was home. Hannah took it the hardest. She’d go sit in his room and just… watch him be quiet.”

Y/N bit her lip. “I didn’t know.”

“She’s being a brat. Don’t get me wrong,” Sophie said. “But she’s not trying to hurt you. She’s trying to protect him. Even if she’s doing a really shitty job of it.”

Y/N gave a tiny nod. “I’d never do that to him. I’d rather die than hurt him.”

She paused.

“…Though I guess that would also hurt him.”

Sophie let out a laugh. “Yep. That’s how we know you’re in it for real.”

Y/N smiled softly, watching the road roll out in front of them.

“Come on,” Sophie said. “Let’s get you back. He’s probably pacing the porch already.”

By the time Sophie’s truck pulled back up the long gravel driveway, the front porch light was glowing like a beacon, and there he was—Bob, standing on the steps in his hoodie and jeans, wringing his hands like he’d been waiting for hours instead of just thirty minutes.

Y/N barely had her door open before he was at her side, his voice low and anxious.

“You okay? I—I wanted to come with but I figured—”

“I’m okay,” she said, smiling softly, and reached out to brush her fingers against his. “Sophie filled me in.”

His jaw twitched, a million things on the tip of his tongue he wasn’t sure how to say.

“She told me everything,” Y/N added gently. “About her.”

Bob lowered his gaze. “I didn’t want that to be the first story they ever told you about me.”

“I’m glad I heard it,” she whispered. “I’m glad I know what you’ve been through.”

He looked up then, and there was something glassy in his eyes he tried to blink away.

Sophie gave them a moment, then cleared her throat. “I’m heading in. Try not to start another Uno war, alright?”

Y/N laughed softly as Bob guided her up the steps with a hand at her back. The house was quieter now. The tension from earlier still lingered, but it felt like the air had been cracked open, like maybe—just maybe—something had started to shift.

They sat on the back porch for a little while, shoulder to shoulder, Y/N’s head leaning against Bob’s arm, both of them watching the stars.

Then the screen door creaked open.

It was Hannah.

Bob immediately stiffened.

“Hey,” she said, not looking at him. Her gaze was locked on Y/N.

“Hey,” Y/N said back, not unkindly, just cautious.

Hannah took a few slow steps out, arms folded, like she wasn’t sure if she should even be standing there.

Bob stood. “If you’re gonna say anything else that—”

“No,” she cut in quickly. “I’m not.”

She looked between them, jaw clenched.

“I came out here to apologize,” she said finally. “To you.”

Y/N blinked. “Oh.”

“You didn’t deserve the way I treated you. Not at dinner. Not at game night. Not… at all.” Hannah shifted her weight. “I was being a bitch. And I knew it.”

Y/N opened her mouth, but Hannah raised a hand.

“I was scared. Not of you. Of what you could do to him. You don’t know what he was like after she left. He didn’t even come home for Christmas that year. Didn’t answer our calls for two months. I thought—I swore—he’d never come back from it.”

She swallowed hard.

“And then you showed up. And I saw the way he looked at you. Like his whole world just… lit up again. And I got scared all over again.”

Y/N stood slowly, walking a few steps toward her. “I understand,” she said quietly. “But I’m not her. I’m not gonna hurt him.”

“You say that now,” Hannah whispered.

“I mean it now,” Y/N replied.

A long silence.

And then—surprisingly—Hannah cracked a tiny smile. “You know… it pissed me off how good you were at Uno.”

Y/N grinned. “You should’ve seen me at poker night with the team. I made Jake Seresin hand over a hundred bucks.”

Bob let out a quiet, wheezing laugh. “You gave most of it back.”

“She kept the twenty with the barbecue sauce stain on it,” Bob added proudly.

Hannah blinked. “Wait, you’ve got the barbecue bill?”

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “Is that a thing?”

“It’s a Floyd family tradition. You win that, you run the table.”

Y/N bit back a laugh. “Well. Guess I’m part of the family now.”

Hannah looked at her for a long moment, then finally nodded.

“I still don’t trust easy,” she said. “But… I believe you love him.”

Y/N’s voice was soft. “I do.”

“And you hurt him…?”

“I’d never forgive myself.”

Hannah nodded once more, then gave Bob a very sisterly death stare. “You better not mess this up, Baby on Board.”

Bob groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. “Why did I ever tell you about that?”

Y/N was already giggling. “Wait, you told her?”

“I told everyone,” Hannah said. “He called you his endgame, Y/N. Don’t let that go.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed pink.

Then—tentatively—Hannah held out her hand. Not quite a hug. But a start.

Y/N took it, and it was enough.

522 notes · View notes

simpforrooster · 2 years ago

Text

actually, it’s captain.

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x f!reader

summary: request for @kpopgirlbtssvt. rooster’s girl is hit on by Top Gun students.

t/w: touch her, you d i e trope. cursing. mentions of alcohol.

Rooster leans against the bar, laughing at something Penny tells him. His jeans hang low on his hips, and he’s wearing the Hawaiian shirt you bought him for his birthday.

Rooster’s hand slaps the bar as he continues to howl. Penny and Mav exchange a look. Maverick murmurs something to Penny. Your guess would be “it wasn’t that funny.”

You throw back the rest of your drink. As your glass returns to the table, a group of men circle you, all clad in khaki. Must be new Top Gun recruits.

“What’s a pretty little gal like you sittin’ here alone for?” one of them asks you, his accent very similar to Hangman’s.

“Mind if we join ya?” the second asks. Before you can reply, two of the slide in across from you, while the one who spoke first sits next to you. His burly arm comes up around your shoulder. You stiffen under him, feeling small.

And not in the way you feel with Rooster. He makes you feel small, protected, but also empowered. This guy has a hold on you like he’s claiming you. Telling every other guy in the bar he plans on taking you home.

“This here’s Crane and Sorry,” he points to the two in front of you. “And you can call me Pleasure. As in, it’s a pleasure to meet you. As in, the way all ladies feel after a night with me.” He winks. He actually winks.

Your brain is so shocked, you can’t form words. You should take this guy’s arm and bend it behind your back, the way your dad taught you. You should give him on of your grade-a verbal lashings.

But you don’t. The sheer audacity of this man has you frozen.

You try to make eye contact with Rooster, but Pleasure’s frame blocks your view.

“Get your hands off my girlfriend, asshole.” Rooster’s voice makes a relieved breath come from your mouth. His tone of voice would make anyone run for the hills, but it leaves you full of wanting.

Pleasure chuckles, meeting Rooster’s gaze. “Actually, it’s Lieutenant.”

Crane and Sorry exchange an amused look. Rooster’s face is set in a hard line. He reaches for Pleasure’s bicep, ripping him from the booth.

“I said to get your hands off my girlfriend, asshole.” Rooster is a whole head taller than the aviator that just had himself draped on you.

“Shouldn’t leave your girl all alone, dick.” Pleasure tells him, bowing up. Rooster’s mouth pulls up on the left, giving him one of his infamous cocky smirks. Second only to Hangman’s.

“Actually, it’s Captain. And I hope to God you’re in one of my classes. Lieutenant.”

At this, you see Pleasure audibly gulp, knowing he’s fucked up. Rooster still has a death grip on his arm.

“Come on, man. Make my day,” the words come out laced with venom.

Before things can get out of hand, you hop out of the booth and high tail it to Penny. Quickly giving her a synopsis, she rings the bell, signaling these guys need to be thrown out. Hangman, Omaha, and Coyote each grab one of the guys and drag them to the exit.

Rooster joins you at the bar, taking your face in his hands. Those brown eyes roam over you, searching.

Your hands come up to cradle his face, “Roos, I’m fine.”

“When I saw him draped over you, I saw red. Nobody touches my girl.” He leans down to place a kiss against your temple. Rooster’s words have your toes curling in your shoes. You’ve never seen this side of him.

You lower your hands to his shoulders, threading one of them in his curly hair that’s definitely longer than Military regulation.

“You’re the only one I want touching me,” you murmur in his ear, your face flushing.

“Yeah?” he murmurs back.

Not trusting your voice to not come out completely needy, you nod.

“Come on, guys. Quit being disgusting,” Maverick says to the two of you, feigning gagging.

Penny pops his hand over the bar, eliciting a laugh from him.

Rooster ignores him, placing a deep kiss onto your mouth.

“Take me home, baby,” you say, taking in those brown eyes.

“I don’t know, pretty girl, I don’t think I can get further than the Bronco,” he winks.

masterlist.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x y/n #rooster x reader #rooster fluff #rooster imagine #rooster x oc #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw

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ailoda · 7 months ago

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updated: 17.01.25

ᯓ ✈︎ smut

It's That Simple (❤❅✘): praise kink. (@tropes-and-tales) (warning: self-doubt, panic attack)

Four Eyes (❤✘): asking bob to make a mess of himself on your face while you wear his glasses? absolutely. (@promisingyounglady)

Pretend (❤✘): you aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was. (@attapullman)

Bob From Stats (✘): college is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is. (@attapullman)

That's Mine (✘): Bob likes Rooster. He does. So why does he suddenly hate him when his childhood best friend agrees to go out on a date with the pilot? (@attapullman)

Ruin the Friendship (✘): the night before Bob leaves for Boot Camp, he's learned no one has gone down on his best friend. He's determined to fix that. (@withahappyrefrain)

I Need A Minute (✘): overstimulation. (@roosterforme)

I'm Not Sorry (✘): "i should be riding some nerd’s thigh while he gropes all over my body & tells me i’m the girl of his dreams." (@drabbles-mc)

Domesticated (❤✘): on a lazy Sunday morning with Robert Floyd and your twin girls, you're reminded exactly how well he takes care of your family. And you. (@attapullman)

Warmth (❤✘): you took care of Bob the night before, and he makes sure to return the favor in the morning. (@sugarcoated-lame)

new! Entertain Me (❅✘): after fighting, you make bob eat his words. (@peachystenbrough)

new! Deserve It (✘): after working hard, your boyfriend gives you several rewards. (@withahappyrefrain)

new! Explicitly Yours (❤❅✘): when Bob met you, he fell for you hard and fast. He thought you might be his perfect match, the one that would make his days feel full instead of lonely. He never would have dreamed you had a secret. But secrets are known to be revealed at the most inconvenient of times, and Bob's surprised hesitation could cost him the thing he wants most. (@roosterforme)

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mythropigman · 5 months ago

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My oc and a couple of other artists ones too!

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snacobie · 4 months ago

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Some oc portraits I’ve been doodling

#oc jem #oc maverick #oc zan #and also jorlan is here #jorlan duskryn #my art #dungeons and dragons #mav is a vtm character technically #oc art

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topgun-imagines · 2 years ago

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Say My Name

Requested: no

Summary: You find out just how big Bradley is. He really does live up to his call sign.

Word count: 3.4k

Note: banner by @lewmagoo

Warnings: smut, oral sex (f!recieving), fingering, anal fingering, size kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, cum play. Please let me know if I missed anything!

Pairings: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem!reader

The air in the bedroom was filled with tension. You were on your third glass of wine and Bradley had just begun pouring his second. Nerves surged through you. Tonight, you were planning on having your first time with Bradley. While the two of you had been dating for nearly seven months, you had yet to sleep together. The thought had you nervously fiddling with the hem of your short skirt.

Bradley had made the two of you a nice dinner before leading you to his bedroom. Despite how much you wanted this, you couldn’t settle the butterflies in your stomach. Sure, you had slept with others before Bradley. However, given the things that you had heard about him from his fellow pilots, you felt more nervous than usual as you stared at the gold chain he was wearing. You had done some sexual stuff with the pilot before, but you had yet to see what he was packing. Honestly, that was what had you the most nervous.

No matter how hard you tried to ignore the teasing from the rest of his squadron about his size, you simply couldn’t. Not when Jake kept making crude remarks about his callsign having some sort of double meaning and teasing you about what he saw in the locker rooms. You could never get away from it. Now, you couldn’t help but find yourself staring at the bulge straining in his jeans.

His deep chuckle was what broke you out of your trance. “See something you like, Princess?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice. You blushed deeply, sipping the last drop of wine from your glass. “C’mere.” He rasped. Instantly, you obeyed, crawling into his lap and straddling his thick thighs. His glass was set on the nightstand before his hands came to sit on the tops of your thighs.

The tickle of his mustache as he peppered kisses across your neck had you squirming in his lap. You clenched around nothing at the guttural groan he let out. From where you were sitting right now, you could tell he was big. Moaning quietly, you nearly melted when Bradley gripped your hips and pulled you down closer to his growing bulge.

“Bradley,” You moaned out with barely concealed need. Another grunt was released into your neck. “Fuck,” Panting with your head tossed back, the feeling of Bradley’s lips travelling down your chest had you shivering. “I need you. Please.” It was the neediest sound you had ever made in your life.

Time seemed to stand still as Bradley lifted you off his lap. You whined at the loss of warmth before laid you down on the bed and crawled on top of you. Cooing quietly at your pitiful whine, the pilot smirked at your frantic state. As Bradley continued to kiss down your neck, your chest was rising and falling quickly. “I’m gonna make you feel real good, baby girl.” His words were a promise; one that you knew he would make good on.

Your blouse was slowly unbuttoned as Bradley peppered kisses across your soft skin. When he finally reached the last button, you were out of breath, panting loudly. Now, you were left in nothing but your lacy bra and short skirt. Unbeknownst to Bradley, you had nothing on under that skirt. Feeling Braldey’s mustache tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach had you wanting to giggle. But the pleasurable warmth in your core had you moaning out instead.

Next, Bradley began massaging your thighs, shimmying further down the bed until he was level with your thighs. You breathed in deeply, nerves rearing their ugly head again. Ever so slowly, Bradley reached under you and pulled the zipper of your short skirt down. It took every fibre of your being to focus your breathing. Bradley had eaten you out before, but knowing what would be coming after had you shaking.

Your legs parted enough so that Bradley could slot in between them, knees bending and feet planted firmly on the cool sheets. Before you even realized what was happening, Bradley had your legs tossed over your shoulder and he was softly nipping the sensitive insides of your thighs. When Bradley lifted his head, he was met with the sight of your bare, puffy cunt. He groaned loudly, his cock managing to harden even more in his tight jeans.

Seconds later you were met with the feeling of Bradley’s tongue running over your slit delicately. Instantly, a sharp cry escaped you. Tangling your fingers in your boyfriend's curly hair, you tugged when his lips sealed around your clit. The feeling had you arching off the bed, your heels digging into the pilot’s back.

For the next few minutes, the only sounds that could be heard in the room were your loud, wanton moans and the lewd sounds coming from between your legs. Bradley’s tongue was now prodding against your entrance, teasing you relentlessly. You found it hard to breathe as cry after cry escaped you. Slowly, your high began building. When two of your boyfriend’s thick fingers pushed meticulously inside your weeping cunt, your back arched so hard off the bed, Bradley had to pause to make sure you were okay.

The grin on his face when he heard your needy whines was nothing short of devious. Without hesitation, he returned to sucking on your clit and working his fingers in and out of your slick entrance quickly. “Oh!” You cried out from the delicious

Bradley was relentless. His thick fingers stretched you open deliciously, making a scissoring motion as he licked around your greedy hole. Your moans slowly grew higher and higher in pitch. Outside of your field of vision, Bradley brought his other hand up and between your legs. The sudden press of his thumb against your tight, puckered hole had you nearly screaming. “Oh, my god.” The words were slurred together. That familiar coil in the pit of your stomach was almost ready to snap.

The tip of his thumb suddenly slipped into your tight hole, creating a delicious pressure. More slick leaked from your slit. As Bradley’s fingers kept up their pace inside of your puffy cunt, the squelching sound got louder the wetter you got. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your mind as Bradley’s thumb pushed further into your ass, his fingers stretched apart even further and his lips sealed around your clit. All at once, he sucked on your clit harshly, pressed his fingers into your sweet spot, and pressed his thumb in as far as possible.

You were so close. In a few seconds, you would be gushing around his fingers. “Bradley,” You panted, fingers gripping his brown locks like a lifeline. “Stop.” He froze instantly, eyes snapping up to meet yours. His fingers slowed until they stopped and his thumb moved to draw back. But when you whined at the sensation in your puckered hole, he stopped his movements altogether.

“Honey?” He started, rubbing your thigh softly and smearing your slick on your smooth skin in the process. “What’s wrong.?” It was whispered into the soft skin of your stomach The tickle of his mustache against your stomach had you giggling. Even though your core was clenching around nothing and you could still feel his finger moving slowly inside your ass. Regardless of the worry bubbling in his chest, Bradley smiled at the sound of your laughter.

You offered him a blissed-out smile, moaning softly at the movements of his thumb. “Nothin’,” At those words, Bradley slipped his fingers back inside of your dripping cunt. You were so wet that there was zero friction as he pushed them in until the second knuckle. You were instantly whiny again. “Wait,” You tried again. This time, Bradley only slowed his ministrations. “I wanna come on your cock.” The widest grin you had ever seen broke out on your boyfriend's face.

Teasingly, he leaned down and allowed his tongue to flick over your clit. A chuckle escaped him. You had no idea what you were in for. “Honey,” There was a teasing lilt to his voice. “You’re gonna need at least two before I even think about letting you cum on my cock.” His words caused you to let out a shuddering breath. Sure, you knew that he was big. After all, you couldn’t go anywhere without someone reminding you of that fact. But his words caused you to wonder just how big he was.

Before you could snark back, his thumb pushed in as far as it could and his lips sealed around your clit. Crying out again, your heels dug further into Bradley’s back and you pulled so hard on his curly locks you thought that some of the hair would come out. Instead, he groaned and began slurping harder. Within seconds, you were gushing around his fingers, cuming so hard you could have sworn you saw stars.

As you were coming down, Bradley drew his thumb from your ass and pulled his sticky fingers from your core. Your cum slowly dripped down your opening. Once you were coherent again, your eyes slowly looked down at Bradley. He was transfixed on the sight between your thighs. The tip of his index finger slowly began to swirl through the creamy mess between your thighs. It dipped shallowly into your opening and scooped out some more of your cum.

The overstimulation was almost becoming too much for you. Now, Bradley’s finger was swirling your cum around your sensitive clit. Your whines were breathly, so much so that Bradley could hardly hear them. Nevertheless, he continued, drawing moan after moan from your parted and chapped lips.

Within minutes, you were right on the brink again. Feeling that delicious pressure building faster than ever, you shifted your hips until Bradley’s face was, quite literally, buried in your slick cunt. As you tipped over the edge for the second time in a matter of minutes, Bradley stared at your expression in awe.

Your legs were shaking. So much so that Bradley was almost convinced he went too far. But when your eyes fluttered open, Bradley could see the pure pleasure swimming in your eyes. “How was that, Honey?” There was a low timbre to his voice as the coarse hairs of his mustache rubbed against your smooth thighs. Your breathing was heavy and your fingers couldn’t stop twitching, but you had never felt better. So that was exactly what you told him.

“That was amazing,” You sat up, half expecting Bradley to push you back down and pull another orgasm from you. Crawling up your body, one of your boyfriend’s large hands rubbed at your side before grabbing your tit. A soft moan escaped you before you grinned up at the pilot. “But, I think you know that I want something else.” Your words were punctuated with a soft squeeze of his rock-hard cock.

The groan that he released was nearly primal. With one last passionate kiss pressed to your lips, he slowly, almost teasingly, unbuttoned his jeans. Then, he peeled his black boxers off his toned and muscular thighs. Your eyes were fixed between his legs, not blinking as you came face to face with his sheer size. “B-Bradley,” You stuttered, beginning to shake slightly. Snapping your eyes up to meet his, your boyfriend had a smug grin on his face. “There’s no way that that’s going to fit.”

The chuckle that escaped him was nearly mocking. “Yes, it will.” Those were the last words he spoke before he was leaning over you again. His hard cock rubbed into your thigh while he was sucking dark marks that contrasted against your unblemished skin into the side of your neck.

After a few minutes of nothing more than kissing softly, Bradley finally pulled back. His hands were warm as they rubbed softly over your sides, an attempt to soothe you that didn't go unnoticed. “Are you ready, baby?” Regardless of the fact that you couldn’t tame the nerves fluttering in your stomach, you nodded. With a smile, he kissed your forehead. Against your skin, he whispered that he was going to get a condom and the lube.

You stopped him. For the first time tonight, you felt one hundred percent prepared for what was about to happen. “No,” Bradley looked at you confused, wondering why you had changed your mind. Kneeling next to him, you placed one hand on his bare chest, stroking the tanned skin softly. Seductively, you whispered in his ear. “No condom. I wanna feel you.” You were on the pill, and you knew that both Bradley and yourself were clean.

His breathing seemed to stop and then there was a wide smile on his face. You squealed when he kissed you passionately, laying you down on the bed and leaving you breathless as he disappeared in search of lube. The sight of his bare backside walking away had you giggling dreamily. When he returned from the bathroom, you were met with the sight of his shockingly large cock between his legs. At that sight, you didn’t laugh as much.

For the next few seconds, you and Bradley were quiet. Soft touches were shared between the two of you before your boyfriend pulled back once more. His fingers dipped between your legs, checking to see just how wet you were. A soft moan escaped you as he swirled your slick around your clit. The next thing you knew, you could hear the cap of the lube snapping open. Suddenly, you felt the cold drop running down your slit. A hiss escaped you before Bradley slipped his fingers into you once more.

The next few minutes were spent with Bradley opening you up even further than you already were. You could feel that familiar pressure building once more. But, instead of Bradley leading you over that delicious edge, he stopped right as you were about to tip over. You groaned.

With a chuckle, Bradley slowly crawled up your body. “You ready, baby?” You could only nod, wanting nothing more than for Bradley to be seated inside of you. As he poured some more lube onto his hand, you got a sinister idea. The thought had you smirking. However, you were stopped in your tracks as you watched Bradley wrap his hand around his thick cock. His fingers couldn’t even touch.

For the first time tonight, you found yourself focusing on his cock. It was long, longer than you had seen before and curved toward the end. His tip was an angry red colour and as he stroked himself, you could see the pre-cum leaking down his shaft. Your eyes traced the vein that ran up the bottom before your eyes snapped up to your boyfriend’s. He had caught you red-handed.

Now, you decided to act on your plan. Before Bradley could realize what was happening, you had flipped him over and were straddling his thick thighs. He looked up at you in shock. With one hand, you gripped his cock and with the other you stabilized yourself against his chest. Biting your lip, your eyes locked with his as you began to stroke him. After a few seconds of building up your courage, you slowly sank down on him. Your warm and slick cunt sunk down onto his fat, mushroom tip with hardly any resistance.

Within the first few seconds, you were a moaning mess. There was less than two inches inside of you and you were already losing your mind. You couldn’t even begin to fathom taking the rest of him. Bradley could sense that you were struggling, so, your boyfriend’s hands gripped your hips. Slowly, he helped you sink down onto him. The breath rushed from your lungs in a matter of seconds. Now, you were just over halfway down Bradley’s cock and you felt like you were being split in half.

“That’s it, Princess,” He encouraged you as your greedy cunt swallowed another inch of him. “Doing so good.” With careful movements, he pulled you down until your head was resting on his chest, the steady sound of his heartbeat under your ear. Ever so slowly, Bradley pulled down your hips until they were flush with his. The second he was fully seated inside of you, you let out the most pornographic moan Bradley had ever heard.

One of his hands grabbed your ass and the other cradled the back of your head. The next few minutes were spent with Bradley simply letting you adjust to his size. His sheer girth had you whining quietly against his skin, sticky with sweat. After about four minutes, Bradley planted his feet and shifted slightly. That caused the tip of his cock to press right against your sweet spot. Once again, you couldn’t help but moan loudly.

Ever so slowly, your boyfriend began rocking into you. With each thrust, Bradley would only pull himself out a little bit, leaving the rest of his pulsing cock stuffed inside of you. Then he would push back in, filling you to the brim once more. The feeling of his mushroom tip hitting your spot over and over again had you seeing stars. “Say my name.” It was more of a command than a request.

“Fuck, Bradley!” You cried out, hips beginning to raise and fall of their own accord. He grunted hips smacking into yours as he fucked you.

You grunted, feet planted firmly against the bed as he pistoned his weeping cock into you. “No,” He taunted, slowing his thrusts until he was hardly moving. “Not that one.” The realization of what he wanted you to do was almost enough to make you cum.

“Oh my god,” You rushed out, fist forming as you curled into his chest further. “Rooster!” It was almost a scream. The way the words rushed out of you so fast, Bradley was almost concerned. Almost. “Rooster, please. Please fuck me.” At that, Bradley moaned. He had never heard such a sweet sound as you begging for him to fuck you. It was music to his ears.

Loud moans and grunts filled the room as Bradley began to thrust harder and deeper. Now you were clinging to him, puffy cunt stretched out more than you ever would have thought possible. Your boyfriend gripped your hips harshly, raising you up on his thick cock before slamming you down onto him. That sent a sharp cry out of you, your face turning until it was buried against his chest.

Suddenly, your whole body tensed. Bradley, once again, had slipped his thumb into your tight ring of muscle. The moan that you let out was nearly a scream. Feeling his thick cock in your dripping core and his thumb pushing into your ass sent you reeling. “Imagine what my cock would feel like in this tight, little ass of yours.” He punctuated his words with a hard thrust. His thumb slipped out of your ass seconds later. The fucked-out look on your face wasn’t going away anytime soon.

This pattern continued for the next few minutes until Bradley's thrusts began growing erratic. You were so, so close. All you needed was a little bit more and you would be falling into blissful pleasure. Bradley gave you that little bit more in mere seconds.

His thumb pressed hard against your clit, rubbing the small pearl in circular motions. You found yourself clenching around him with your eyes rolling back. There was an obscene amount of your sweet release leaking out around your boyfriend’s thick cock. He held you carefully as you slowly came down from your high.

Before you had time to recover, however, your boyfriend was pumping his cum into you, thick, white ropes painting your walls. You shuddered at the foreign feeling. Regardless of the other guys you had been with before, you had never let any of them do what you and Bradley just did. His cock was still throbbing inside you. The feeling almost had you cumming again.

Ever so slowly, Bradley lifted you off his softening cock. It had you whining and whimpering. You clenched around nothing, his cum starting to leak out of you. It dripped onto his lap as he pulled your hips up. You were breathless as he set your hips down on his thigh, your cunt clenching desperately at the pressure suddenly placed on your clit. His arms wound around your stomach, holding you tightly against his sweaty chest.

In less than five minutes, you were drifting off against his chest, feeling his warm cum still dripping out of your puffy and abused cunt. Needless to say, the next day, you were walking with a limp.

a/n: Thank you for reading! Requests are open :)

Tagging: @topguncultleader @soulmates8 @t0kyoreveng3rs @there-goes-thefighter @blueoorchid @atarmychick007 @alexxavicry @bradleybeachbabe @chaoticassidy @nyx2021 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @aviatorobsessed @angelbabyange @oliviah-25 @cassiemitchell @classyunknownlover @shelbycillian @khaylin27 @bruher @sunsetsimpsblog @lovelywiseprincess @fandom-life-12 @emmza63 @cornishkat @iceman-kazansky @himbos-on-ice @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @wkndwlff @entertainmentgal8 @dakotakazansky @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @memoriesat30 @sarahjoestewy-blog @ducks118 @marvelouslyme96 @linkpk88 @xoxabs88xox @abbymwall @eternallyvenus @rey26 @lt-spork @callsign-ember @tim-thefrog @zombi3wh0r3 @cheyrenee @nyctophilic0vitnir @labellapeaky @skylineskyler

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rhettrosunsets · 12 days ago

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Dog Days Are Over? Bob Floyd X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Robert (Bob) Floyd X F! Reader, Natasha (Phoenix) Trace X OC!F

Category: Fluff! Yearning, Longing, Stolen Glances, Brushing Of Hands One Too Many Time To Be Platonic!

Masterlist

Summary: You didn’t expect the Navy to ever need a vet tech, but when they launched a new mental health initiative featuring therapy dogs you jumped at the chance to join. You liked animals more than people, and you always said the way someone treated a dog said everything you needed to know about them.

Which is why your eyes locked on him that first day.

And just like that, you knew you were gone.

Word count: 7,241

Warnings: Mentions of reader being socially awkward around people, inaccurate depictions of Vet-Techs, Their Jobs and therapy dog training. No description of reader outside of Bob brushing a piece of hair behind the readers ear, mention of reader having shitty-first dates (none are written out), readers overthinking and longing. No use of Y/N. Maya and Reader being chaotic with each other.

Notes: Omg, Omg, Omg! I’ve been so excited to get this one out, I’ve had the idea for this for a few days (before I decided to bite the bullet and create this blog) I hope you enjoy this and have as much fun reading it, as I did writing it!!

You never expected the Navy to need a vet tech.

But when they decided to announce a new mental health initiative, and a new training program for therapy dogs, you jumped at the chance to broaden your resume, always being one to try to get as much experience and interaction with animals as you could.

You weren’t military and you never had an interest in it, being a bookworm your entire childhood, and often declaring that you liked animals more than you could any human. You knew animals, you knew their signs, their tells, and you learned how to gain their trust and what a rewarding experience that could be as you bonded. Because of that, you also knew that the way someone treated a dog said a lot about them.

Which is why your eyes followed him that first morning.

Tall. Glasses. Fluffy Hair. Soft-spoken. All nerves, but never forgetting his manners, treating each of your staff members with respect, never letting his soft quirked smile drop. He stood apart from the other pilots, gently rubbing the small golden retriever’s head while the others jostled and joked. You caught the way he murmured, “Good girl” with a quiet reverence, and gentle tone, like the Golden Retriever was royalty. You wished someone would talk to you like that.

“That’s Bob Floyd,” your coworker, and best friend Maya says standing next to you, her gaze watching the way you’re looking at him so intently, like he’s holding the sun. “They call him ‘Bob’ and that’s his callsign as well. He’s like, super smart. A bit shy, but one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet. He's Phoenix's WSO.” She replies, nodding her head to the female aviator crouched beside a German Shepard, grinning as she held up a chew toy.

You nod, your gaze still focused on the shy aviator in front of you. “Uhuh.” You mumble out softly, still distracted, before snapping your focus back to Maya. “How do you know so much about them anyways?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, intrigue evident in your tone.

Maya stutters softly, “I-I just do my research before we come to these things.”

You didn’t press Maya for more. Not because you weren’t curious, you a hundred precent knew there was more behind her shitty reply, but because Bob was now looking in your direction, and even though you weren’t the one calling the orders, or running the show he smiled at you in a way that made you feel like you were the only one in the room.

Your heart did a little somersault, as you averted your gaze feeling the heat rise on your cheeks, before focusing back onto Bob and the Small golden retriever. Daisy, the golden retriever in question, nudged her head beneath Bob’s hand again, clearly as taken with him as you were. The little dog’s tail thumped against the tile floor with pure joy as she nipped at his hand softly, letting out happy barks. You couldn’t help smiling as you watched the gentle interaction. Bob’s smile widened slightly as Daisy jumped, trying to put her paws on his chest.. It was the kind of look that didn’t try too hard, it just was. And it made something twist quietly inside your chest.

“Looks like she chose him,” Maya murmured near your ear, folding her arms as she watched Daisy settle practically into Bob’s lap, like she belonged there.

You didn’t even argue.

By the end of the day, Daisy had refused to interact with anyone else, including a very, very, patient senior chief who tried to bribe her with treats, something the dog had never ignored before. Bob didn’t seem to know what to do with the attention, he kept glancing at the other handlers like someone was going to tell him he wasn’t allowed to be there, or that he needed to let Daisy interact with the others for this first day of the program. But when you came over with a clipboard and a shy, yet welcoming smile, he stood up so fast he startled Daisy, who peered up with him in confusion, and a bit of annoyance.

“Sorry” he said immediately. “Did I-? S-Should I move?”

You shook your head immediately. “Not at all. She likes you. That’s kind of the point of this whole thing.” you say with a shy chuckle, keeping your eyes firmly planted on Daisy, afraid to look in his eyes and say something embarrassing in front of the aviator.

He glanced down at Daisy, who flopped back down onto the grass, with a soft huff, her head resting on her paws, upset she’s no longer the focal point of his attention. Bob smiled again. “She’s very sweet.”

“She’s the sweetest one, I love getting to take her for walks,” you said, scribbling his name on the volunteer list. “She’s never been paired up with anyone before, she’s brand new to our program, only a year old, I've just been gettin to know her myself lately. You’re amazing with her, like truly, a natural.”

Bob’s ears turned a little pink at your soft praise. “Not really sure I’m right, for this whole thing.” He says waving his hands gently.

You looked up at him then, meeting his eyes properly for the first time, and you feel like you can see his entire soul being laid before you in that moment. His eyes are kind, thoughtful, like the color of lake water under morning sun, a soft blue that seems like it could solve any of your problems before you even knew what they were.

“You are,” you said in a firm voice, before you could think better of it.

His eyebrows lifted slightly, and then, he laughed. A low, warm sound that made your stomach flutter. And from that moment, you knew this was going to be a problem if your almost wobbling knees had anything to say about it.

The next few weeks passed in a rhythm you hadn’t realized you’d been missing in your life.

Every morning, the therapy dog teams gathered on the base's green patch. It was quiet enough there, with room to run or sit. Bob came to every session, always with Daisy, always on time, and always nothing but respectful. His first few days, he trailed behind a bit, fumbling with Daisy’s leash, or trying to make himself seem sparse. But by the second week, you noticed he walked with more purpose, he seemed to become more comfortable in the environment and Daisy trotted beside him, tail high and always wagging, like she was proud to be his.

You found yourself looking forward to those mornings more than anything else. The sun, the dogs, the sea breeze, and..well Bob. The man who always greeted you with a quiet “Morning” and a smile that made it feel like he meant it, like he actually cared.

He wasn’t loud like the others, Rooster who often cracked jokes with the handlers, Hangman flirted shamelessly with Maya (who, to her credit, usually shut it down with an eye roll and a snarky comment immediately, often stating the dogs are more well mannered than him, but never holding any real malice), and even Phoenix made herself known with casual charm and easy going confidence that made you intently listen to every word she speaks.

But Bob, well..Bob was soft. He listened, he always took his time, never rushing you when he needed to ask you a question, waiting to make sure you weren’t swamped with other people asking you things. He always remembered to ask about a dog’s progress or if one had been limping the day before, he read every handout you gave him, probably twice to his credit, and when he spoke, it was because he’d actually thought about what he wanted to say to you, not just talking mindlessly to fill the silence.

It made you feel seen in a way you weren’t used to.

One afternoon, after a long walk around the far end of the base trail you took with Bob and Daisy, Bob slowed beside you and cleared his throat, as his eyes gently traced your figure, taking in how you interact with Daisy.

“Hey, Is it okay if I ask you something kind of personal? Y-You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable” He rambles softly, not wanting you to feel any type of pressure. You paused, letting Daisy sniff at a bush before nodding. “Go for it, lieutenant” you say with a shy smile.

He hesitated a bit, but finally asked “Have you always worked with animals?”

You blinked, and then smiled wider, not used to people asking about your work much, oftentimes becoming bored when you ramble on excitedly about what you do. “Yep!, Pretty much since high school, I volunteered at a shelter the moment I turned sixteen. I just fell in love with the way I could understand the animals, how they made me feel..seen? With animals there’s no undertones, or missed signals that I think about when I can’t sleep and end up overthinking all night. They trust me, and I trust them, you just have this bond with them that's so special to me. I started vet school a few years ago, and have been working with therapy dogs ever since. I’ve always been more comfortable around animals than people.”

Bob gave you a small smile, his blue eyes softly running over your face, admiring the way you seemed to light up when you got to talk about your job. “I get that.”

“Yeah?” you ask looking up from where Daisy is trying to chase her own shadow, to meet his gentle eyes.

“I was, well I was pretty quiet growing up. Still am, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It took me a while to find people who didn’t try to change that fact about me.”

You watched the way he looked at Daisy when he was talking, and how his eyes protectively monitored to make sure she wasn’t near any danger, “Well, Daisy clearly thinks you’re perfect the way you are.” You reply in a soft tone.

Bob looked down at the golden retriever sprawled in the grass, tongue out, blissfully lounging in the soft rays of the sun. “Same can be said for you,” he replies quietly, his hand accidentally grazing yours as he reached for where Daisy’s leash layed. And your heart did another one of those flips, feeling like it was going to leap right out of your chest.

It was this day that you truly felt something change between you and Bob Floyd.

The longer the program went on, the more Daisy seemed to view her role less as “emotional support therapy dog” that she was supposed to be training for, and more like “matchmaker enthusiast.”

It wasn’t subtle, in the way she’d wedge herself between you and Bob just long enough to force you guys to accidentally nudge your hands together, or she’d refuse to sit unless you both gave her attention at the same time. Once, during a group walk, she sat down stubbornly and refused to move until Bob offered you his hand to help you step over a leftover puddle blocking your path from the storm that had happened the night before. She trotted off, pulling Bob along as he held her leash, her tail wagging after that, tongue out, as if she’d just conducted her plan seamlessly.

Bob didn’t seem to notice at first, at least not consciously. But you began to catch the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, and you definitely noticed the way his fingers brushed yours more and more when handing off the leashes or while reaching for the same toy, the way you’d both linger for a second too long to be considered platonic.

You found yourself beginning to linger after the dogs were back in their kennels for the day, helping Bob brush out Daisy’s gold coat, even though your shift technically ended fifteen minutes earlier, you never minded, in fact, it became one of the most cherished parts of your day. You liked hearing him talk, even when it was about the most random, and mundane things. You loved hearing about his favorite movies (mostly classics, some you hadn’t seen, to which he proclaimed that you had to watch). His weirdly detailed knowledge of birds and bird calls that he would show you, and even demonstrate for you, always making you laugh on the long walks you took, and how he was always, always the last to leave any room because he didn’t want to seem rude.

That last one made you smile, because of course he didn’t.

You only had a few more weeks left of the program, a fact that had been eating at you, the knowledge of the fact that you’d no longer be seeing the Naval Officer who weaved his way into your heart everyday, and that your routine that you’ve picked up and come to love, would soon be gone, left to just your memories.

While you were packing up your bag after a session one morning, Bob suddenly asked out of seemingly nowhere

“Do you want to get lunch?” Bob’s voice had been so casual, so soft, that you almost didn’t hear him, your brain seemingly short-circuiting at the question. You looked up, blinking a few times, before realizing you needed to respond, “Lunch?”

“Yeah. Like, at that little sandwich place near the beach. If you're not busy.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s okay if not. I just thought... We talk a lot here. Maybe we could talk somewhere that doesn’t smell like dog shampoo, get to know each other outside of this?”

You laughed softly, shyly averting your gaze, with a gentle shrug of your shoulders. “I like the smell of dog shampoo.”

He smiled, glancing down at Daisy, then back at you. “Me too now, But still.”

“Okay,” you said, responding, finding the courage as your heart flutters, feeling like it may leap out of your chest. “Lunch sounds great.”

The sandwich shop wasn’t anything fancy. A hole-in-the-wall spot with chipped yellowed counters, sun-faded menus, and an old vibe telling you it hadn’t been renovated in years. But the outdoor tables were shaded, the lemonade was fresh and had real lemon slices in it, and the sandwich was one of the best you’d ever had.

You talked for three hours.

About everything, about nothing. He told you about flight school, about growing up in Montanna as a kid and why he chose the Navy, he talked about getting picked on for his name, about the day he realized that being quiet didn’t mean being invisible, and about how the daggers had become like a family to him. You told him about your old rescue dog, the one that made you fall in love with veterinary work that you had convinced your parents to adopt when you turned seventeen, promising to pay for everything the dog could ever need, seeing the old dog and just wanting to give it somewhere where it could be loved and cherished. You talked about how shy you were growing up, always being told you needed to speak but, and how you were often described as ‘a delight to have in class, but needs to participate more.’ You told him about wanting to open your own practice someday, something small and cozy, where animals could be safe and taken care of, where each animal got the treatment they truly deserved, and felt like they were loved and cared for.

When the sun dipped low enough to cast a golden light hue across the tabletop, you realized you hadn’t stopped smiling the whole time, your cheeks hurting from how long your face had seemed locked into a smile. Time felt like it didn’t exist when you were together, and that was new to you, it scared you, but it intrigued you.

“I like talking to you,” Bob said as he walked you back to your car, “It’s easy.” He says softly before opening your car door after you unlock the car.

You peer up at him from your seat, heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah. It is.” you say with a soft smile.

You didn’t kiss that day. But when he touched your arm lightly and said, “See you tomorrow?” Before closing your car door, it felt like a promise.

The next morning Maya was waiting with a smirk so smug it would become permanent if she tried any harder. “Well?!” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“Well, what?” You ask softly as you two begin to walk towards the building.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know Bob asked you out yesterday! Phoenix told me he was going to. I think he practiced in the hangar for, like, three hours or something to get the courage to do it.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Oh yeah.” Maya grinned, striking a similar appearance to the cheshire cat. “Apparently Rooster walked in on him reciting how to ask you out to lunch.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That’s not true.”

“It’s absolutely true. And it’s adorable! You deserve someone like him. Your prior experience with men has just been depressing!” You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were warm. “We just got lunch.”

Maya’s eyes sparkled. “Mmhm. And I just ‘accidentally’ keep running into Phoenix every time she’s off-duty.” Your lips parted in realization. “Wait. You and Phoenix?”

“Working on it,” Maya said casually, like it wasn’t the most exciting thing you’d heard in weeks.

You grin as you slap her shoulder softly. “You absolute flirt! Why didn’t you tell me?” You exclaim in shock, walking after her.

She winks softly, as she turns back to you. “Takes one to know one. You should ask Bob to dinner, you deserve to be happy, and he would make you happy.”

You shrug softly as you open the door to walk into the make-shift kennel set up area that had been made for the program. “Maybe..”

A few hours later during a particularly long training session, Daisy decided she was done with subtlety, she was going to take action. Daisy sat obediently for about ten seconds, then stood up, turned around, and trotted straight over to Bob, who was standing beside you and flopped onto her side between your feet, rolled over, and let out a loud, dramatic whine, gently pushing her paw up in the air towards the two of you.

You both laughed at the small golden retrievers' antics “I swear she’s trying to get me fired,” you murmured, with a soft shake of your head.

“She’s very committed to her role,” Bob said solemnly

And then, without really thinking, you reached down to scratch behind her ears, except Bob’s hand was already there.

Your fingers touched, but neither of you moved, as time seemed to completely stop as his pinky brushed yours again, tentative. And when you didn’t pull away, he let his whole hand shift, warm against yours, as he intertwined your fingers softly, away from the peering glances of your co-workers.

Still bent over, the dog between you, both of you looking anywhere but at each other, you whispered, “You want to come over for dinner?” in a tone so quiet, Bob could’ve missed it, he looks up, startled at how bold you became in that moment, but his lips quickly quirking up into a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that.”

You spent most of the afternoon overthinking absolutely everything after you arrived home.

You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t a true date, just dinner, just a friend, just someone you worked with who had taken you out to lunch. But then you remembered the way his hand had felt brushing yours, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you always making sure his tone was gentle with you as if to not scare you off, The way you caught him looking at you sometimes, like he didn’t know if you were real or not, and like every moment he needed to soak you up, like you’d disappear.

So yeah. It was a date, it was a date you were freaking out, you didn’t do this. You didn’t do dates like this, you went on shitty first dates and then would go home and declare you were just going to live life happily with your animals, while drinking a glass of wine and watching reruns old of tv-shows while you called Maya, ranting about what went wrong this time. You were, to put it lightly, freaking out, and out of your element.

You vacuumed the floors, even though you knew Bob wouldn’t notice, you suddenly decided that you needed to change the throw pillows on your couch, deciding that the ones you’ve always had on the couch suddenly just weren't the right color anymore. You changed your outfit three times and ended up back in the first one, jeans and a soft sweater, cozy and low-pressure, declaring to yourself that if he can’t appreciate you in something simple, then he’s not the one. You tried to cook something simple. A simple spaghetti, with roasted vegetables and garlic bread. It turned into a full-scale operation when you realized you didn’t know if Bob liked mushrooms or not.

You were still hovering near the oven, trying to figure out what to order if dinner is an absolute disaster when he knocked, trying to calm yourself down and convince your nervous system that this wasn’t a life or death situation, you wiped your hands on a dish towel and opened the door to find him standing there with a bottle of wine in one hand, and a charming bouquet of grocery store flowers in the other. His hair was slightly windswept and his glasses a little fogged from the cooler night air, blowing from the beach just a few miles away

“Hey,” he said, smiling nervously, his soft lips curled up into a gentle expression “I wasn’t sure what wine to bring, so I called Phoenix, and she said, quote, ‘It’s not a test, Bob, just don’t bring boxed wine.’ So, this is what we ended up with.”

You laughed, a real laugh, not one of the fake laughs you oh-so often have to do on your dates. You take the bottle and the flowers with a warmth that rose all the way to your ears, “You passed with flying colors, Lieutenant.”

He exhaled softly, visibly relaxing as he stepped inside, seeing that you liked the flowers. “And, um, Daisy approved this shirt, had to ask her opinion before I left today, and she let out a happy bark. So I'm assuming that means she liked it.” He said as he gestured to his navy blue button down that was slightly wrinkled, in a charming way.

“She has excellent taste, but we already knew that.” You say with a widening smile. You placed the flowers in a jar on your windowsill and poured the wine, handing him a glass as he took in your kitchen like it was something sacred, He looked so at ease, yet like this moment meant something truly sincere to him. Getting to see all the parts of you that nobody else does, the knick-knacks you have set up around the kitchen, the themed salt and pepper shakers you have, the goofy photos you have of family and friends that line your walls. He was getting to see the parts of you that not many do, and that made his chest tighten with a feeling of want, to be able to see you like this everyday, and have it be photos of you two together lining the walls someday.

The food turned out surprisingly well. He took a second helping, complimented your garlic bread like it was gourmet and made from scratch, and insisted on helping clear the table afterward, before standing next to you, while you guys did the dishes, with him washing them, and you drying them, before he insisted he’d put them away, and that you should go sit on the couch and relax, as ‘payment for dinner.’ It was something so domestic, something that felt so right, that you couldn’t help but acknowledge butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

After finishing the dishes, you ended up next to each other on the couch, the wine glasses forgotten on the coffee table, some movie playing lowly in the background as you two talked, going on and on, before you reached the topic of beloved Daisy.

“Daisy seems happier when we all go on walks together, I try to take her myself, but she whines the whole time like something’s wrong, she never used to do that before.” You tell Bob softly.

He shrugs with a smile as he looks at you intently, “I just think she’s happier when we're together, like a little team.” He says

You giggle at him calling you guys a team, tucking your feet beneath you on the couch. “She’s pretty fond of you, it was like from the moment she first saw you she knew that she was gonna be yours for the program.”

He looked at you, and not just a glance, but the kind of look that tells you that he sees you, like he understands you and everything that you are.

“I’m pretty fond of you.” he says, his voice a little low, a bit uncertain, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, and it just blurted out without permission.

Your breath catches in your throat, a soft gasp escaping you, as you shift slightly closer, your knees brushing his, as you look up to meet his wide gaze, like he’s afraid of what you might say. “I’m really, really, glad you came tonight Bob.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted. “I sat in the car for, like, five minutes trying to talk myself out of being weird about it.”

You laughed quietly, the sound shaky in your chest as you feel your heart beating a million miles a minute. “And?”

“And, well, then I remembered how you look when you smile at Daisy, the way you sound when you’re talking about something you love, the way you light up when people ask you questions about the animals, the way your hand feels against mine when I brush against it, and how that makes me feel, so I figured I’d rather risk being weird and messing this up, than to not come at all.”

Your heart twists at his confession, pounding away in your chest, as you softly respond “You’re not weird, Bob, and you're not off putting, not to me.”

He looks at you, eyes searching yours like they hold all the answers he’ll ever need. “Not even a little?”

You shake your head desperately, trying to tell him how you feel, the way he makes your heart feel like it's going to leap out of your chest, the way that he takes care of you without even knowing it, the way he makes you..feel like you, and how you never have to fake being yourself around him, because he brings you the real you out, and doesn’t push it back in, like so many others have done to you before.

“You’re just..good.” You muster out softly, looking into his baby blue eyes, hoping you convey what needs to be said, when you can’t find the words.

He reaches up, slow and deliberate, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered a second longer than they needed to, your breath hitching in your throat at the action, and when he leaned in, it wasn’t hurried or unsure, It was gentle and soft, just like his soul.

The kiss was soft, warm, and a bit clumsy in the best way. It's like neither of you knew quite how to go slowly because you’d been waiting for this longer than you realized, the kiss felt special, it felt like you two, with no other way to describe it because simply, you.

When you finally pulled away, panting quietly as you smile against his lips, he whispered, “I really like you.”

You rest your forehead against his, before grabbing his hand, intertwining your fingers and responding, “I really like you too, Bob.”

The day after dinner felt different.

Not in a huge, fireworks, sparks flying, Nicholas Sparks romance kind of way. But in the way Bob smiled at you when you arrived at the base that morning, like he was carrying a little secret only the two of you knew about. And In the way Daisy practically dragged him toward you, running as fast as her paws could take her, like she’d been counting the minutes since you last saw her.

“Morning,” he said, voice low and full of something that made your stomach flutter, and your knees wobble. “Morning,” you echoed, biting back a grin, as you bent down to gently scratch Daisy behind the ears, laughing at her soft barks.

Maya clocked it instantly, She waited until Bob had walked away to go handle something Daisy along in tow, before sidling up next to you and whispering, “You’re glowing so much you’re practically radioactive! What happened?”

You tried to play it cool, but immediately failed, turning to look at Maya with a big dopey grin on your face, that couldn’t be wiped off even if you tried. “We had dinner.”

“Dinner,” she repeated, slowly, with a raised eyebrow, seeming like she was waiting for something far more dramatic than that. “And?”

“And.. and we kissed.” You gushed out softly, trying to keep your voice quiet. Maya squealed so loudly it came out like a squeak. Phoenix, from across the yard, looked over, a concerned look on her face as she looked at the two of you, before Maya gave her a thumbs-up so casually it was almost suspicious.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you two finally..? Ya know?”

Maya blinked. “What?”

You roll your eyes, “You know what Maya, You and Phoenix, are you dating yet?”

Maya stands up, turning to walk away, yelling. “I plead the fifth.” As you shake your head softly, hoping that they get together, knowing how much Maya truly likes phoenix, even if she hasn’t vocalized it yet.

Dating Bob was like learning a new language, it was quiet, intentional, and oh-so tender at all times. You texted more now, little things at first, things like a photo of Daisy with her nose buried in a tennis ball bin with a funny caption, or a link to a spotify playlist of your combined favorite songs to listen to when you walk daisy together that Bob had created for you two. Or one of your favorites, a picture of his hand brushing against yours during a walk that Maya took and sent him before you had started dating, that made you smile like an idiot in the middle of your shift.

He was thoughtful in ways you weren’t used to, he remembered that you liked your coffee with almond milk most days, and the exact order you get when you aren’t feeling your best and need that extra pick-me-up. He remembers that you hate when people wear cologne that smells like cleaning products and are so strong you can smell them from far away, as they give you a headache. He remembered your favorite restaurants and you order at each of them so he can go pick you up lunch and surprise you with it, and the way you would gush over what types of coffee he just had to try, and even if he didn’t like them, he never would tell you that, as just getting to spend time with you was enough, the coffee becoming irrelevant to if he had a good time or not.

Bob didn’t try to fill silences with mindless conversation, instead, he just existed beside you, solid and steady incase you needed him, always being there for you to lean on if things got hard. He was always reaching a hand out to open your door first before you could even think about touching the handle, and he would gently guide his hand to your low back to lead you in front of him when you entered a room, his touch always soft, delicate and warm. Then it was the way he always made sure you were on the inside of the sidewalk when you guys would walk Daisy never once breaking that rule, and always keeping his arm on either your low back or around your shoulders.

But then it was the way he always carried extra gum of the flavor you liked, and your favorite chapstick around with him at all times. And when he saw the wide smile on your face, and the brightening of your eyes when he first handed you that chapstick when you complained your lips were feeling chapped, he knew he was in deep.

But the night he knew you were absolutely the one was when you immediately moved into the middle seat of the bench seat in his truck to sit next to him, when he dropped you off after a date one night, claiming you wanted one last kiss for the evening, but really just wanting to spend more time with him, he vowed from that movement on that he knew you were the one for him, forever and always.

The first time you held his hand in public with everyone around was during a group dog walk, no one said anything. No one felt they had to. Maya gave you a quiet little nod across the trail, Phoenix smirked and pretended not to notice as she walked close to Maya, her own hand often grazing Maya’s as she blushed and answered phoenix’s questions, while Rooster high-fived Hangman, telling him he owed him $20, and that he knew it all along.

Bob looked at you in that moment like he was the luckiest man alive.

One Saturday, the week the program was meant to finish up, you spent the entire afternoon together off-base, you’d decided to make the most of it and you drove to a quiet coastal trail with Daisy in the back seat, her head sticking out the window, tongue flapping in the wind, pure joy evident as she lets out little barks of contentment.

Bob brought a backpack full of snacks, drinks, a blanket, and even a thermos of coffee he made just the way you liked it. You found a quiet bluff overlooking the ocean and laid in the sun while Daisy nosed around happily, sniffling the fresh ocean air, as you and Bob laid together, admiring the view.

“You ever think about the future?” you asked lazily, sunglasses slipping down your nose, as you peered up at your Boyfriend, seeing his hair get blown softly by the coastal breeze as you reach up with your hand and softly run your fingers through it. Bob shifted onto his elbow to look down at you, so he could see your face better. “Sometimes.”

“Does it scare you?” You ask softly. He thought about it, before shaking his head. “It used to. Not so much now.”

“Really?” You ask in a gentle questioning tone, “Why’s that?”

“I think it just depended who was in it, that’s what made me so nervous, but knowing what I have now, i’m not afraid anymore” He says so calmly like he didn’t just make your stomach burst into butterflies. Your heart squeezed tightly, as you leaned over and kissed him, slow and soft, wrapping your arms around his neck. When you pulled back, he looked dazed, with a soft smile on his face, like maybe he’d just fallen out of the sky and landed in a dream. “I’m in it,” you said quietly, making sure he understood how much you meant what you were saying. “If you want me to be, I'm here.”

He nodded, his throat closing softly, as his eyes fill with tears that he blinks away quickly, as he manages to say. “I really, really do. You and Daisy, I don’t know how, but you two are my family, it’s like we're meant to be one. I want both my girls in my life”

You didn’t have words for the warmth that bloomed in your chest at that, but the way you slid your hand into his said everything you needed it to in that moment, and the kiss he gave you next only solidified it, as you hear Daisy happily barking at a bird, and the waves crashing against the rocks in the background, nothing seeming to matter except you two in that moment.

The therapy dog program was wrapping up its first run, and it was sort of bittersweet. You'd come here to learn new things, to gain more real world experience, and to pad your resume up. But you’d also found something you didn’t know you were missing, A quiet man with careful hands and a heart that surprised you daily, a man who took care of you in ways you didn’t know you’d ever want or need, and a man who absolutely stole your heart, making it no good for anyone else ever again. And along with that man, you gained an energetic, golden retriever who acted like your lives revolved around her, and who maybe wasn’t wrong, as you and Bob doted on Daisy like she was your own child, after you got her adoption papers finalized, always letting her ride up in the front of the truck with you, and giving her one too many treats every so often.

A few weeks later, on a warm afternoon, you found yourself heading back to base for the first time since the program had officially ended. You'd accidentally kept Bob’s spare phone charger in your bag after a night at his place and figured it was a good excuse to see him, not that you ever needed one. Daisy sat in your passenger seat like she owned it, tail wagging every time you glanced her way, like she knew exactly where you two were heading.

“You miss him too, huh Daisy-Girl?” you said gently taking one hand off the steering wheel, and ruffling her fur, before focusing back on the road, and she woofed in agreement. Making you smile wide. “Yeah, me too Daisy, me too.”

You found Bob fairly quickly after you parked, a pencil tucked behind one ear as he talked to another pilot about something, knowing he was on his lunch break. He looked up when he saw you and broke into the kind of smile that made the thirty minute drive worth it. “Hey Baby, what are you doing here?” He asked, walking over with a wide surprised smile on his face, the sun reflecting off his baby blue eyes, giving them an extra glimmer.

“I brought your charger,” you said, holding it up. “And your dog.”

Daisy bolted to him instantly, circling his legs with delighted barks. Bob crouched to greet her, ruffling her fur, and letting her lick all over his face, as he laughed loudly at her antics, and when he stood, he pulled you in for a kiss that was warm and familiar and made everything around you seem to blur, as his kisses make you feel like time doesn’t matter, and anyone who may be watching is irrelevant.

As you pull away and look over, you notice on one of the benches shaded by the wide awning, sat Maya. Her head was tipped to the side slightly, her eyes crinkled in that soft way that said she wasn’t just laughing, but rather that she was truly happy, Her whole posture had changed from her normal sarcastic and confident demeanor she so often puts on as a show, but rather, she seemed relaxed, and content, And Phoenix, Natasha, was sitting beside her.

Close.

Their knees brushed, but neither of them moved away. Natasha was saying something in a low voice, something you couldn’t quite catch from where you were standing, but the smile on Maya’s face grew wider, shyer, and more bashful. Maya glanced down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and when Natasha reached out to take her hand, she let her.

Your heart swelled, feeling so insanely happy for your friend, who you know absolutely deserved this, and being glad that it was with someone like Phoenix. You didn’t want to interrupt their sweet moment, planning to tell Bob that you’d see him later tonight, and start making the drive back home and call Maya later to interrogate her, but Daisy had other plans. She let out a happy bark and ran straight up to them, tail sweeping the ground wildly like she knew exactly what she was doing, as she barked and licked at their hands, as they noticed her presence.

“Daisy!” You exclaim with an exasperated sigh, as you run over to where she’s whining, hearing Bob’s gentle laughter behind you as you run. Phoenix turned her attention toward you, immediately clocking your presence a few paces back, her expression not shifting much, and her hand still holding Maya’s. You offered them both a soft smile as you stepped forward to grab Daisy’s leash. “Hey Guys, m’sorry to ruin the moment, she seems to have forgotten how to act in public, apparently.”

Maya’s face went a little pink as she blinked up at you, words seemingly stuck in her throat, as you smile, glancing between them. The warmth in the air, the way neither of them had pulled away. The kind of silence that settles when something new is evident and no one’s quite sure how to say it out loud yet.

“You two look happy.” You say softly smiling at your best friend, and Phoenix.

Maya’s blush deepened as her gaze looked away softly, and Phoenix’s smile tugged higher as she looked at Maya.

“We are,” Maya said, voice a bit wobbly, as if, even she’s surprised at the situation. “We, were um, we’re kind of figuring things out.”

You crouched down to scratch Daisy’s ears, grinning. “I’m happy for you two, if anyone deserves this Maya, it’s you two. I guess Daisy just really knows when couples seem to work.” You say in a joking tone, looking at your best friend.

Phoenix chuckles, finally releasing Maya’s hand, but doing so to wrap her arm around her shoulder instead, tugging the girl close to her. “She’s got a perfect record so far.”

Maya glanced at you, eyes seemingly glowing in the joy she feels, as her cheeks heat up again. “Please don’t make it a thing.” she says with an eye roll, referring to Daisy being a matchmaker. “Oh, it’s a hundred percent, already a thing.” you say, standing up, and making sure you have Daisy’s leash in a much tighter hold this time.

You bid them a goodbye, as you head to say one last goodbye to Bob, leaving them curled into one another under the canopy of late morning sun, Maya giggling into Natasha’s shoulder as Daisy trots triumphantly next to you, like her job here was done.

And honestly?

You couldn’t argue with her.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #top gun x reader #top gun maverick #topgun #phoenix trace #OC!#ninismasterlist

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mao-evans · 25 days ago

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Blonde yandere gangs i love meet each other 👨‍🦽

#binary star hero #bsh ray #bshvn #chillingdevotion #sunlit grove #yandere vn #oc x character #chilling devotion Jim #sunlit grove maverick

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the-shedevil-writes · 1 month ago

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Bob Floyd (Top Gun Maverick)

ONE-SHOTS - Country Girl (Shake It For Me) After admitting that you wanted to learn to country line dance, Hangman helps teach you, and Bob watches.

- Drunk on You Bob rarely drinks. But after losing a bet, he ends up accidentally drinking too much. - Polaroids Bob keeps polaroids of you all over his workspace. But what happens when his favorite one goes missing? - Breathin' You do your best to keep your anxiety hidden from Bob. That is until it's Rooster's birthday.

- Basic Chemistry Going to Hangman’s lake house with your best friend you’re expecting summer fun. But it gets complicated. - B-A-B-Y Hangman and Rooster bring Bob to a diner, and he finds himself crushing on the cute singing waitress.

- Meet The Parents Bob is nervous to meet your parents. But you’re pretty confident he’ll be just fine. - An Attentive Man (Smut) After 4 months of dating and nothing more than a few make outs, it's time to bring out the little black dress. - A Night to Remember Bob is set up on a blind date with you. - Dog-Fight PART 2 You're tricked and fooled by a marine. Bob comforts you.

SERIES (AO3 links only) - Birds of a Feather Daphne Bow is the Dagger Squad's personal Hospital Corpsman. As she finds herself becoming part of the group, she also finds herself getting closer and closer to Bob- the quiet, well-mannered WSO.

#bob floyd #top gun maverick #top gun #robert floyd #lewis pullman #bob floyd fic #top gun fic #top gun maverick fic #robert floyd fic #fanfic #bob floyd x oc

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thewulf · 1 year ago

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Easy Skies || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - Feeling cuddly so you end up cuddling Jake for the first time in the early stages of your relationships. How this would lead to them napping together? Nothing but praises and love affirmations between them. Soft kisses. Readers first kiss with Jake.

A/N: Ahhh sorry I've been gone! Been enjoying summer :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.7k +

T/W : None just fluff

It’s been several weeks since you and Jake officially started seeing each other. You met at a community event honoring local heroes where Jake shared stories of his missions and the places his career had taken him. Your own interest in aerial photography sparked a quick and deep conversation between the two of you leading to an instant connection.

It was going really well. The two of you taking your time with everything. He shared stories of how we was reckless in the past and you were already very cautionary with types like his. So, you tested him a bit. Only kisses on the cheek, nothing more. And he did passed with flying colors. He never pressured you, never pushed for more. But now you were ready for something more. You're spending a lazy Sunday at Jake’s apartment for the first time. His place reflects his life as a pilot. It was decorated with navigational charts. With different models of aircraft he’s flown and photographs from around the world. The walls hold framed maps marked with the various places he's visited, each one holding a story he's eager to share with you.

As the afternoon fades into evening, you both settle into the comfortable couch in his living room. The soft music playing in the background mixes with the mellow golden light streaming through the windows creating a serene atmosphere. It's a rare and quiet moment for Jake who is usually caught up in the demanding schedule of a Navy pilot. You cherish the peaceful intimacy that has formed between you. Today’s simplicity is a precious contrast to the complexities of your usual routines.

As you both relax into the couch Jake recounts a comical error from his last training exercise. He'd accidentally swapped his day’s checklist with another pilot’s which led to some light-hearted confusion and teasing from his crew.

“You seriously went through half the pre-flight with the wrong list?” you laugh while shaking your head in amusement.

“Yep,” Jake admits with a grin. “It was only when I called out the wrong coordinates that someone caught on. We all had a good laugh about it later.” The conversation winds down as you both sink into the rhythm of each other’s presence, comfortable and at ease. There’s a genuine simplicity in the way you interact, no need for constant chatter. Jake’s job as a pilot often surrounds him with high stakes and rigor making these peaceful moments particularly valuable.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? Just being able to sit and talk without rushing anywhere,” Jake comments. His tone relaxed.

“It really is,” you agree as you smiled over at him. “Especially with good company.”

He returns your smile with a warm, appreciative one of his own. As the room fills with the soft hum of a new song the day closes around you both, cozy and familiar. Like a well-loved jacket that’s been washed a hundred times. It’s easy, it’s comfortable. And right now, it’s exactly what you both need.

As the afternoon shadows stretch across the room a yawn escapes you, shifting the comfortable silence. Jake catches it and chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Tired?” he teases before nudging you gently with his elbow.

“Maybe a little,” you admit while stretching your arms above your head. “It’s been a long week.”

Jake nods understandingly. His gaze softening. “How about we take a little nap then? Recharge a bit?”

You playfully raise an eyebrow. A smile tugging at your lips. “Only if you’re joining. I hear you’re the best pillow around here.”

Jake’s laughter fills the room, warm and infectious. “Is that so? Well, I can’t let you down then.” He shifts himself making room on the couch and pats the spot next to him "Come here," he says softly. His voice blending with the low melody. With a contented smile you slide closer until you're nestled against him. Your head resting comfortably on his broad chest. You can feel the steady beat of his heart through the soft fabric of his shirt. A reassuring rhythm that echoes quietly in your ear. Jake's arm wraps securely around you with his hand resting gently on your back. The warmth of his touch and the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes bring an overwhelming sense of peace and safety.

For a few moments you simply listen, taking in the sound of his heartbeat and the soft, steady breaths he draws. It's a new level of intimacy of sharing this quiet closeness without the need for words. Jake's hand moves in slow, soothing strokes across your back further relaxing you. With each passing second the world beyond the walls of Jake’s apartment seems to drift further away. You're drawn into this serene bubble where the only things that matter are the soft fabric of the couch, the gentle caress of Jake's hand, and the comforting rhythm of his heart.

Jake breaks the silence with a whisper that's barely audible over the music. "This is nice," he murmurs. His breath tickling your ear. You hum in agreement as you were too content and relaxed to form words. The trust and affection in this simple act of cuddling deepen, marking a beautiful, quiet milestone in your growing relationship.

As the soft jazz continues to play creating a soothing backdrop, the room grows quieter still. The comfort of Jake’s embrace coupled with the warm, gentle atmosphere lulls you deeper into relaxation. His breathing becomes slower, more rhythmic, signaling his own descent into sleep. You feel his grip tighten just a bit. A subconscious affirmation of his presence and protection. Gradually, the space between wakefulness and sleep blurs. Your thoughts drift away, anchored only by the steady heartbeat beneath your ear. In the safety of Jake’s arms sleep seems like the most natural progression. Without planning it you both drift off. The world narrowing down to the couch where you lie together.

The nap isn't long but it’s restorative. Exactly what you needed. As you both sleep there’s an unspoken exchange of trust and comfort. It’s one thing to share conversations and activities but another to share such vulnerability as sleep in each other’s presence. This mutual comfort speaks volumes about the trust and closeness developing between you.

Time slips by quietly and when you eventually stir it’s to the feeling of Jake’s fingers lightly brushing through your hair. His movements are soft and careful, designed not to wake you but to reassure himself you’re still there. You open your eyes slowly meeting his gaze which is filled with a quiet joy.

“Hey,” he whispers. As if speaking too loudly might break the spell of the peaceful moment you've shared.

“Hey,” you respond with your voice just as soft. The simple exchange feels like a gentle reconnection to the world affirming the comfort and affection that wrapped around you both as you slept. The nap together was simple yet intimate. It deepens the connection between you. Each quiet breath shared adding another layer to your growing relationship.

The afternoon light has softened into a cozy twilight by the time you both stir from your nap. You’re still wrapped in Jake’s arms and as your eyes meet there’s a playful spark between you that feels both exciting and comforting. “Welcome back,” Jake murmurs. His voice low and slightly husky from sleep. He leans forward pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Then one on the tip of your nose, which makes you giggle.

“Is that how you wake up all your guests?” you tease. Your voice light and tinged with laughter.

“Only the special ones,” he replies with a grin with his eyes crinkling at the corners. He doesn’t stop there though. His kisses wander from your cheek to your jawline, each peck light and teasing, drawing more giggles from you. The laughter that fills the room is warm, echoing the affectionate mood.

Jake’s playful kisses continue by tracing a path down the side of your neck, sending a shiver of delight through you. You can’t help but catch him by the collar before pulling him back up to meet your eyes. “You’re going to make it impossible to leave this couch,” you laugh while still holding onto his shirt.

“That’s the plan,” he whispers back. His voice playful yet sincere. Then in a swift, fluid motion he captures your lips with his in a kiss that’s deeper and more intentional than the playful ones before. This kiss feels like a culmination of all the gentle pecks, each one adding a layer to the profound connection you’re building together.

As you break away there’s a shared smile. A mutual understanding of the affection and joy weaving through each interaction, each touch, each kiss. The playfulness adds a lightness to your relationship. He made moments like these not just romantic but genuinely fun, enriching the bond you share with laughter and love. After the laughter subsides and the atmosphere settles into a comfortable quiet, Jake looks at you with a contented smile. His eyes reflecting a gentle appreciation. "These moments with you. They're the highlight of my week," he says quietly. His voice carrying a note of sincerity.

Feeling a warm glow from his words you nod and smile softly. Your response understated but genuine. "It always feels different when I'm with you. It's easy, you know?" Your words are simple, echoing the straightforwardness of your time together.

Jake's response is a nod, his smile lingering. "Let's keep it that way," he replies. His agreement simple yet full of promise. The conversation feels natural, reflecting the comfort and understated affection that characterizes your relationship. As twilight transitions into the deep blue of night neither of you feels ready to break the comfortable cocoon you've formed on the couch. Jake glances at the clock, then back at you with a playful challenge in his eyes.

"How about we order some dinner?" he suggests. His tone casual but hopeful. "I'm not quite ready for this day to end. But I don’t think I can get up quite yet."

You laugh while agreeing instantly. "Sounds perfect. What are you in the mood for?"

"Pizza okay with you?" Jake asks already reaching for his phone to place the order.

"Always a good choice," you reply settling back against his chest while feeling utterly at ease.

The wait for the food is filled with more soft conversations. Each shared thought strengthening the bond between you. As the evening unfolds it becomes clear that days like these are just the beginning of what you both hope will be many more shared experiences.

When the food arrives, you set up a makeshift dining area on the coffee table, continuing the easy flow of the day into the evening. Each slice of pizza comes with stories you share. Each laugh making the room warmer. As the evening winds down, you find yourselves eagerly talking about other things you could do together, from movie nights to hiking trips. The night ends not just with satisfied appetites but with the excitement of planning future outings. It's clear that your relationship is blossoming. Full of promise for more beautiful days and nights shared in each other’s company.

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itwillbethescarletwitch · 1 month ago

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All That Lingers

bob floyd x fem!reader

jake seresin x fem!reader

I’m not gonna lie, this one kinda hurts.

It’s not like she expected her whole life to change because of a coffee order.

The café sits just off the base—small, cozy, a little worn around the edges. The kind of place that smells like cinnamon and fresh bread, where the same old bell jingles every time the door opens. It’s early—too early for most people—but she’s already there, wiping down the counter and humming quietly to the radio.

The place is almost empty when the bell rings.

She glances up, her hair pulled into a messy bun, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. That’s when she sees him.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Crisp uniform. A little unsure, like he’s not quite sure where to stand.

He looks around, then steps up to the counter, shifting his weight like he’s debating whether to speak.

“Uh… morning.”

His voice is soft—gentle—with the faintest hint of a Southern drawl.

She smiles, just a little.

“Morning.”

He glances at the menu, but she can tell he’s not really reading it. His eyes keep drifting back to her, like maybe he’s not here just for the coffee.

“Black coffee, please. Nothing fancy.”

She raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Classic.”

His ears go a little pink, and he laughs softly, a sound that’s more breath than voice.

When she slides the cup across the counter, their fingers brush. Just a moment, but it makes her heart skip.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, and she has to bite back a grin at the way the word sounds on his tongue—soft, polite, sweet.

“You’re welcome… Lieutenant?” she guesses, eyeing his name tag, but he beats her to it.

“Bob. Just Bob.”

She tilts her head, studying him. “Alright, Bob. I’ll see you around.”

He nods, taking a cautious sip of the coffee like it might burn him—and maybe it does, a little. But he lingers by the door for a second longer, glancing back at her like he wants to say something else.

Then he’s gone.

And she’s left standing there, holding the rag she’d been wiping the counter with, feeling a little breathless.

Just coffee.

That’s how it starts.

——

The bell above the café door jingles again the next morning.

She’s in the middle of stacking plates behind the counter, half-humming to herself, not really expecting much. It’s early, the kind of sleepy morning where the air feels a little too heavy, and the sky’s still a soft, hazy pink.

When she glances up, her breath catches.

There he is.

Bob.

He stands a little awkwardly just inside the door, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to be there. Same uniform, same careful posture, but his eyes catch hers, and—God help her—he smiles.

It’s small, barely there, but it’s soft. Like the kind of smile a man saves for when he really means it.

“Morning,” he says, voice a little steadier today.

“Morning, Bob,” she answers, and the way the name sounds—his name—makes something warm bloom in her chest.

He steps up to the counter, glancing at the chalkboard menu like it might have changed overnight. It hasn’t.

“Same as yesterday?” she teases, already reaching for a cup.

Bob’s ears go a little pink. He scratches the back of his neck and ducks his head.

“Yeah. Unless you’ve got a recommendation?”

That stops her for a second.

Because she could tell him the best thing on the menu. The cinnamon latte. The blueberry scone. She could list off half a dozen things.

But what she wants to say is,

“Well, there’s a table by the window that gets the best light this time of day, and if you sit there long enough, you’ll see the way the world wakes up.”

She swallows it down. Instead, she says, “Black coffee, coming up.”

Bob watches her work. She feels it, the weight of his gaze—like he’s memorizing the way she moves, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way she wipes her hands on a towel before handing him his coffee.

When she slides the cup across the counter, their fingers brush again. A little longer this time.

Bob’s voice is quiet when he thanks her, and he doesn’t leave right away. He lingers, like he’s looking for an excuse to stay, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

“Busy day ahead?” she asks gently, hoping it gives him something to hold onto.

Bob shifts on his feet.

“Uh, yeah. Training runs. It’s… it’s a lot, but, y’know.” He trails off, and his gaze drifts down to the counter, then back up at her like he��s not sure if he’s allowed to keep talking.

She smiles—soft, inviting.

“Be careful up there, Bob.”

And God, the way his name sounds on her lips… it’s enough to make him swallow hard.

He nods, like he’s heard her, but also like he’s feeling it—every word.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, voice a little hopeful, like he’s testing the water.

She laughs quietly, a soft, breathy sound that feels so much bigger than it is.

“Yeah, Bob. I’ll be here.”

And she will be.

——

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks of Bob showing up at her café every morning.

Two weeks of her learning the little things—how he takes his coffee black but not too hot, how he likes his muffins warmed up, how he always glances at the door before he leaves, like he’s waiting for something.

And she’s not the only one who’s noticed.

⸻

“Alright, Floyd. Spill.”

They’re at the hangar—Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy, and Payback—all watching him.

Bob blinks, looking up from the checklist in his hands, and he’s already gone a little pink at the ears.

“Spill what?”

“Oh, come on,” Rooster groans, throwing an arm over Bob’s shoulder and practically shaking him. “You’ve been smiling like an idiot for two weeks, man. Who is she?”

Bob stammers. “I don’t—there’s no—”

Phoenix cackles. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen, Floyd.”

Bob looks down, shoulders tensing, but he’s smiling.

It’s small, barely there, but it is.

And Phoenix notices.

“Oh my God.” She grins like she’s just won the lottery. “It’s the café girl, isn’t it?”

Bob’s head snaps up, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, and that’s all the confirmation they need.

“I KNEW IT!” Fanboy yells, slapping Bob on the back so hard the checklist drops to the floor.

“Leave him alone,” Payback mutters, but he’s grinning too.

Bob mutters something under his breath, cheeks bright red, and he tries to focus on the checklist again—but Phoenix leans in, voice low.

“She’s cute, huh?”

Bob’s ears turn bright red. He won’t look up.

“She’s… sweet.” His voice is quiet, barely there, but it’s honest. “I just… I like talking to her.”

———

The café is quieter in the afternoons.

The morning rush fades, the lunch crowd thins, and there’s this warm, sleepy hush that settles over everything—like the world exhales for a minute.

She’s behind the counter, wiping down the tables when Bob walks in.

Again.

Second time today.

Same shy smile. Same careful posture. But there’s a new hesitation in the way he holds the door open, like maybe he’s thinking about leaving—but he doesn’t.

He steps inside.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey.” She smiles, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“Uh…” Bob looks down, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh… was wondering if you had a break coming up?”

Her brows lift, surprised—but in that good way.

“Actually, yeah. I do.”

Bob’s whole face lights up—just this quiet little grin, but it’s so Bob, and her stomach does that annoying little flip.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

They sit at the small table by the window—her table.

Bob looks… awkwardly big in the little chair, his knees bumping the table, his hands fidgeting with the napkin holder. But there’s something so soft about it—how he’s a little hunched, a little nervous, but trying.

She pulls her coffee toward her, fingers wrapped around the warm mug.

Bob glances at her—then quickly looks away. Then back again, like he can’t help it.

“So… uh… I just realized I never asked your name.”

She laughs, a quiet little sound, and tells him.

And when she does, Bob says it back.

Like he’s tasting it for the first time.

Her name.

Soft, careful. Like it’s important.

“Nice to finally meet you, Bob,” she says, and he smiles.

They talk—about small things. The weather. The base. Her favorite song on the radio.

And Bob… he listens.

Really listens.

He’s got this little tilt to his head, like he’s soaking in every word. Like she’s the only thing in the room.

And when she laughs—really laughs—at one of his awkward jokes about planes, Bob… looks at her.

Really looks.

Like maybe he wants to memorize her.

Like maybe he’s wondering how long he can stay in this moment before the world pulls him back.

————

“You’re seeing her again, aren’t you?” Phoenix asks, voice casual, but her grin is anything but.

Bob blinks. “What?”

“Café Girl,” Payback says.

Bob’s cheeks go red. “She—she has a name, you know.”

“Oh, we know,” Rooster says, leaning in. “We just want to hear you say it.”

Bob looks down at the table, shoulders hunched.

But there’s this little smile he can’t quite hide.

⸻

Two days later, it happens.

A group night out.

Rooster’s idea, apparently. A casual thing. Drinks at a bar near base, nothing fancy.

They invite her.

She says yes.

And Bob? He’s trying to act cool, like it’s no big deal, but the whole team can see the way he looks at her.

Like maybe she’s the only thing in the room.

Like maybe he’s already halfway in love with her and doesn’t even know it yet.

⸻

Halfway through the night, Phoenix nudges Bob hard under the table.

“You gonna ask her out or just stare at her all night, Floyd?” she whispers.

Bob goes bright red. “Shut up, Trace.”

Phoenix just grins.

The team starts peeling off, one by one, with weak excuses.

“Oh man, I forgot I have an early briefing tomorrow.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Oh no, we should really get going—”

And suddenly it’s just Bob and her.

Sitting side by side at the table.

Music humming in the background.

Her knee almost brushing his under the table.

Bob feels his heart pound.

His fingers twitch on the glass.

She looks at him, head tilted, eyes soft.

And Bob… he’s so close to saying something. So close.

But he just… smiles.

Soft. Shy.

And she smiles back.

Bob is frozen.

He’s sitting there, staring at her, his hands gripping his glass a little too tight, the condensation slipping under his fingers.

The rest of the team has cleared out.

It’s just the two of them.

The bar’s humming low, the lights soft, her perfume drifting across the table.

She watches him, eyes warm, her lip caught just barely in her teeth, like she’s thinking—really thinking.

And Bob… he feels his heart in his throat.

He’s about to say it.

The words are right there.

But he hesitates.

And in that tiny pause, she looks down—just for a second.

Then she lifts her gaze, soft and shy but bold, and she says it first.

“Bob… would you maybe want to go out sometime? Like… just us?”

Her voice wobbles, just a little.

And Bob—he can’t breathe.

He can’t move.

He’s just staring at her, like she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

Then, finally, his brain catches up to his heart, and he nods.

“Yes,” he says, a little breathless, a little stunned.

And then, stronger: “Yes. I’d really like that.”

⸻

The next morning, the team grills him.

Phoenix’s grin is feral.

Rooster leans in, arms crossed, and says, “So. When’s the date?”

Bob just smiles, soft and helpless.

He can’t stop smiling.

——

It’s simple, really.

A little diner not far from base.

Bob shows up early. Too early.

He’s standing by the door, shuffling his boots on the concrete, hands in his pockets.

And when she pulls up, stepping out in a soft sweater and jeans, hair pulled back loose, Bob thinks—

I’m in trouble.

Because she’s beautiful.

And he’s… just Bob.

But she smiles when she sees him, that wide, beaming smile, like she’s happy to be here with him.

————

After dinner, they walk outside.

It’s quiet, a little chilly.

Bob offers her his jacket—he doesn’t even think about it, just shrugs it off and holds it out.

She laughs, soft, and slides it on.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, wrapping it around herself.

Bob’s heart is pounding.

She looks up at him, all soft eyes and shy smile, and says, “I had a really nice time tonight, Bob.”

Bob feels like the world’s tilting under his feet.

“Me too,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

They hover, close but not quite touching.

Bob wants to kiss her.

God, he wants to kiss her.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He just smiles, soft and hopeful, and walks her to her car.

⸻

Bob’s running on fumes.

It’s been a brutal week. Long hours, endless drills, a last-minute flight that kept him at the hangar way past midnight.

He’s got that thousand-yard stare as he sits at the ready room table, eyes barely open, a coffee cup empty and sad in his hand.

Hangman’s talking way too loud. Phoenix is flipping through a manual.

And Bob’s head is nodding, the coffee not doing anything.

Then—

The door creaks open.

And it’s her.

Standing there, holding a white paper cup with Bob’s name on it.

She’s grinning, wearing that soft sweater he likes, hair pulled back in a messy clip, and there’s this little sparkle in her eyes.

“Hey, Bob.”

He blinks, slow, like he’s dreaming.

“Hey… you.” His voice is rough, like he forgot how to speak.

She walks in, hands him the coffee, and her fingers brush his.

It’s just a second.

But Bob’s wide awake now.

Hangman raises an eyebrow, leans back in his chair, and says, way too loud—

“Well, well. Look who’s got himself a coffee delivery.”

————

It happens late.

Bob’s parked his truck behind the café after closing.

The place is dark now, lights off, the last customer long gone.

She’s leaning against the bed of his truck, arms crossed, laughing softly at something Bob just mumbled about Texas storms and the way the thunder feels in your chest.

The air smells like coffee and summer night.

Bob’s standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, nervous as hell.

He’s been working up to this moment for weeks, and it feels like it’s right there, balanced on the edge of something huge.

She’s looking at him.

And it’s quiet.

Just the two of them, under a sky full of stars.

Bob swallows hard, shifts his weight.

“I, uh… I’ve been wanting to—”

She tilts her head, soft and curious, like she knows exactly where this is going but wants him to say it.

Bob’s heart is slamming in his chest.

“I’ve been wanting to do this,” he says, barely above a whisper.

And then he steps closer.

Slow. Careful. Like she’s something fragile.

She doesn’t move.

Just watches him.

Her breath catches, barely a sound, but Bob hears it.

His hand hesitates—a split second—then brushes her cheek, the pad of his thumb barely grazing her skin.

And then he kisses her.

It’s soft, almost tentative, like he’s afraid to break her.

But when she leans in, when her hand grips his shirt, when she melts into him—

Bob knows.

He’s gone.

⸻———

It’s hot as hell.

The sand burns underfoot, the sun blazing down, and there’s a light breeze that does absolutely nothing to stop Bob from sweating through his t-shirt.

The team’s sprawled out across the beach—towels and chairs and coolers full of drinks.

Phoenix has her sunglasses pushed up, grinning wide as she pelts Rooster with a water bottle.

Hangman’s already shirtless, showing off, tossing a football with Payback.

And Bob?

Bob’s standing a little off to the side, sunglasses low, watching her.

She’s laughing, sitting cross-legged on a beach towel, hair pulled back, wearing a simple tank top and shorts, her skin glowing in the sunlight.

And Bob is doomed.

He’s trying to play it cool, but every time she glances his way and smiles, Bob feels like his chest is too tight.

⸻

They end up sitting together under the umbrella.

Talking about nothing—the heat, the waves, her favorite movies, the best places to eat in San Diego.

Bob’s legs stretch out next to hers, and their knees bump.

Bob doesn’t move away.

Neither does she.

⸻

Later that afternoon, Bob’s standing by the water’s edge, sunglasses on, watching the waves.

She comes up beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touch.

“Texas has beaches, right?” she asks, looking up at him.

Bob smiles, soft.

“Yeah… but they don’t look like this.”

She nudges him, gentle, like she’s waiting for him to say more.

And Bob…

Bob wants to.

——

It’s late—really late.

The beach day is over, everyone’s gone home.

Bob’s sitting on the tailgate of his truck, quiet, looking up at the stars like they might give him an answer.

She’s there too, sitting close, legs dangling, a soft sweater pulled over her arms.

There’s a calm between them—just the sound of the night and the way the air feels cooler than the day.

Bob’s voice is low, almost like he’s afraid to break the spell.

“Back home… we used to sit outside at night, like this. The stars were so bright it felt like you could reach out and grab ‘em.”

She turns to him, her profile soft in the moonlight.

“Sounds beautiful.”

Bob nods, smiles a little, but it’s bittersweet.

“Yeah… My folks had a little ranch. Horses, some cattle. It wasn’t much, but it was ours. We’d sit on the porch… my mom would make tea, and we’d just listen to the crickets. Watch the lightning bugs. My dad would tell stories, or we’d just sit there… not say a word.”

She leans in a little, her hand brushing his on the tailgate, just barely.

“Maybe you could come with me. To Texas. If you wanted.”

—it hangs there. Heavy.

For a second, he’s sure he’s messed up.

His stomach knots, his hands twitch in his lap, and he can’t breathe.

But then—

She smiles.

Soft and warm.

And says, quiet, almost like it’s a secret:

“Yeah… I want to.”

Bob blinks.

Like he misheard.

“You—” His voice catches. “Really?”

She laughs, soft and a little shy, and nods.

“Yeah, Bob. I really do.”

——

It starts the night before.

Bob’s house feels small and quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep in your bones. She’s curled up on his couch in one of his sweatshirts, her bag already packed by the door, and the faint glow of the kitchen light spills into the room like a soft promise.

Bob’s in the kitchen, fussing with something—probably snacks—because he’s been nervous all day, rearranging things, checking and rechecking their itinerary. He’s trying to stay cool, but the way he keeps glancing at her, how his fingers keep tapping the counter like he’s playing a quiet rhythm only he can hear—it gives him away.

“Bob,” she calls softly, voice a little hoarse from the late hour.

He stops, looks at her over the top of the fridge, wide-eyed.

“Yeah?”

She smiles, small and tired, her hair falling into her face.

“Come sit down. It’s late.”

Bob hesitates, then nods—like he can’t help himself—and crosses the room to sit beside her, the couch dipping under his weight. She shifts, leans into him without thinking, her head resting on his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

For a while, they just sit there, quiet.

Her breathing is slow, and Bob swears he can feel her heartbeat through the fabric of his hoodie.

“You nervous?” she asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bob smiles, small, fond, like he doesn’t know how to answer.

“Not about going,” he says quietly. His thumb brushes along the seam of her sleeve, a soft, careful touch.

She lifts her head, eyebrows drawn together.

“Then what?”

Bob looks at her, really looks at her, like he’s trying to memorize everything—the shape of her lips, the curve of her nose, the way her eyes catch the dim light.

“Just… you. I mean, bringing you home.” His voice drops, soft as the night air. “You’re important to me.”

⸻

They’re up before dawn, the world still dark and sleepy.

Bob’s hair is a mess, his eyes soft with sleep, but he moves around the kitchen like he’s on a mission—making coffee, shoving granola bars into her tote bag, double-checking the flight info on his phone.

She leans against the counter, watching him with a tiny smile, sipping from the mug he handed her.

“You know I’m capable of packing snacks, right?” she teases, voice still raspy with sleep.

Bob glances over, grins, and shrugs.

“I know. I just—” He stops, looks at her like he’s trying to say everything with his eyes. “Just wanna make sure you’ve got what you need.”

Her chest tightens, and she sets the mug down, reaching out to grab his wrist, holding it like it’s fragile.

“Bob. I’m good.”

His eyes soften, and he nods, quiet, but his fingers still brush against hers like he needs the contact.

⸻

When they land, it’s hot—that kind of Texas heat that wraps around you like a weighted blanket.

Bob’s truck is waiting in the long-term parking lot, and she teases him about the messy backseat, but he just laughs, says he’ll clean it up “next time,” and starts the engine.

The drive is long, the highway stretching out like a quiet promise, fields and old farmhouses passing by in the late afternoon sun.

Bob points out little things along the way—that diner’s been there since I was a kid, we used to fish at that pond, the old drive-in is where I had my first date—and she listens, smiling, filing every little detail away.

When they finally pull up to his childhood home, it’s golden hour, the sky streaked with soft oranges and pinks.

His mom is waiting on the porch, hands on her hips, a knowing smile on her face.

And when Bob turns to her, voice barely a whisper, he says—

“Ready?”

She takes a breath, her heart thudding, and nods.

“Yeah. Ready.”

The porch creaks under their feet, and Bob’s mom—Margaret Floyd—is standing there, beaming, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She’s in a floral apron, her hair in soft curls, and when she sees Bob, she lets out a little gasp of joy.

“Oh, my stars—Robert, honey!”

Bob’s ears turn pink immediately, and he’s barely out of the truck before his mom is pulling him into a hug, swaying them side to side.

“Hi, Mama,” Bob mumbles into her shoulder, voice soft with affection.

And then—then—Margaret pulls back, eyes twinkling, and turns her attention to Y/N.

“And this must be her.”

Y/N feels her stomach flip—nervous, excited, breathless—and she glances at Bob, who’s already watching her, his expression somewhere between adoration and pure, stunned awe.

Margaret doesn’t wait. She sweeps Y/N into a hug like she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment.

“I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you,” she says, holding Y/N at arm’s length, her hands warm and gentle. “Bob talks about you all the time, bless his heart. You must be somethin’ special to make my boy grin like that.”

Bob groans, shoving his hands in his pockets, his ears bright red.

“Mama,” he mutters, half-mortified.

But Margaret just waves him off, all grinning and twinkling eyes, and she pulls Y/N inside, already talking a mile a minute.

⸻

The house smells like fresh cornbread and slow-cooked brisket, and Y/N feels like she’s stepped into a warm, safe bubble. There are family photos everywhere—Bob as a kid in a cowboy hat, Bob holding a fishing pole twice his size, Bob in an awkward high school portrait with braces—and she’s smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.

Margaret leads her into the kitchen, offering her sweet tea in a mason jar, and before Y/N can even sit down, Margaret is launching into stories.

“Oh, you should’ve seen him when he was little—bless his heart, Bob was the shyest thing you ever did see. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose. But he had the sweetest soul, always pickin’ dandelions for me, always tryin’ to fix things when they broke. Once, he got stuck in the dryer tryin’ to rescue a kitten—I’m tellin’ you, he’s been a hero since he was knee-high to a grasshopper!”

Y/N laughs so hard she snorts, and Bob—standing awkwardly in the doorway—groans again, dragging his hand down his face.

“Mama, please,” he mutters, face burning.

Margaret just winks at Y/N.

“Oh, honey, I’ve got plenty more stories. Like the time he tried to impress a girl in middle school by ridin’ a bull at the fair. Poor thing barely lasted two seconds before he went flyin’—oh, Bob, your ears were so red, I thought they’d catch fire!”

Y/N is gasping, laughing so hard she has to wipe her eyes, and Bob looks like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

But then—then—his dad walks in.

Robert Floyd Sr. is tall, with a kind face and weathered hands, wearing a baseball cap that says “World’s Okayest Dad.” He looks between Bob and Y/N, smiles, and offers a quiet, “So, you’re the girl my boy’s been talkin’ about.”

Y/N nods, cheeks flushed, and shakes his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Floyd.”

“Oh, call me Rob. And listen—if you can put up with this one”—he points a thumb at Bob, who looks like he’s about to melt—“then you’re a saint, sweetheart.”

Bob’s protesting, mumbling “Dad!” under his breath, but Y/N just laughs, and she feels the tension melt away, replaced by something warm and full and right.

⸻

The rest of the family starts to trickle in—Bob’s two sisters, a couple of nieces and nephews who run circles around the yard, and an uncle who brings a guitar.

Bob hovers close to Y/N the whole time, his hand occasionally brushing hers, his eyes soft and full of pride.

At one point, as the sun sets low and the fireflies start blinking in the yard, Margaret leans over to Y/N, her voice low and gentle.

“You know, sweetheart… he’s been different since he met you. Happier. Brighter. Like he’s got a light in him I ain’t seen since he was a kid. I think… I think you’re good for him. Real good.”

Y/N feels her heart ache in the best way, and she glances at Bob, who’s in the yard tossing a football with his nephew, laughing, cheeks flushed, hair a mess.

She thinks—Oh. I’m already in love with him.

And in that moment, she knows it.

The backyard smells like smoke and barbecue sauce, a little bit of fresh-cut grass, and something sweet baking in the oven. The kids—Bob’s nieces and nephews—are already running barefoot in the grass, shrieking with laughter. The grown-ups are clustered near the grill, nursing cold beers and iced tea, telling stories like it’s the only thing that matters.

Bob’s hovering. He keeps glancing at you, like he can’t quite believe you’re here. His hand rests lightly on your lower back as he guides you toward the lawn chairs, his thumb tracing absent little circles over the thin cotton of your shirt. Every now and then, you catch him staring, his cheeks pink, and he quickly looks away.

Margaret notices everything.

She slides into the seat next to you, holding a glass of sweet tea, her eyes sparkling like she knows every secret in the world.

“You know,” she says, her voice low enough that Bob can’t hear, “he never brought a girl home before.”

You freeze, your stomach flipping.

“Really?”

“Oh, really.” Margaret grins like a cat who caught the canary. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this, honey. And let me tell you—he’s been talking about you nonstop. You should hear the way he says your name.”

Your cheeks burn, and you glance over—Bob’s helping his dad stack firewood, sleeves rolled up, arms flexing just a little, and when he catches you looking, he gives you a soft, crooked smile.

Margaret keeps talking, voice full of fondness.

“He’s always been a quiet boy. Sweet, kind, but quiet. Always thinkin’, always dreamin’. And when he was little, he had this old blanket he wouldn’t let go of—called it Mr. Snuggles. Carried it everywhere. Wouldn’t even go fishin’ without it. Bob, the little boy who wanted to fix everything, always takin’ care of his sisters, always makin’ sure everyone else was okay.”

Bob’s dad, Rob Sr., chimes in from the grill.

“And don’t forget the time he tried to build a treehouse with duct tape and a butter knife. We found him halfway up the tree, legs dangling, lookin’ like a baby deer caught in the headlights.”

The whole family laughs, even Bob, though his face is bright red, and you’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe.

“Oh, and when he was seven,” Margaret adds, “he told us he was gonna grow up and be a cowboy-astronaut, and he’d lasso the moon and bring it home for me.”

Bob groans, burying his face in his hands.

“Mama, please.”

But it’s too late—you’re gasping, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes, and Bob is half-smiling, even as he shakes his head like he’s in mortal agony.

⸻

Later, after dinner, Margaret hands you an old photo album—Bob as a baby, Bob in kindergarten, Bob at his first day of flight school.

“Oh, look at this one,” she says, turning the page. It’s Bob in high school, gangly and sweet, standing in front of a beat-up old truck.

“That was his first car,” Margaret says, grinning. “Bought it with his own money. Spent every weekend fixin’ it up, tinkering with it ‘til it ran. And let me tell you, sweetheart—Bob’s got a good heart. A big heart. He loves deep, and when he gives it to you, it’s forever. You hold on tight to that boy.”

Your throat goes tight, and you blink hard, trying not to cry.

Across the yard, Bob is helping his nephew tie his shoes, his head bent low, his hands gentle. He glances up and catches your eye, and there’s a look on his face—soft, warm, a little shy.

You feel it like a punch to the chest.

⸻

Later, when you’re both curled up on the bed, the quilt pulled over your legs, you lie face to face, the lamp casting soft golden light across his features. He’s still in his t-shirt, hair a little messy, and he looks at you like he can’t believe you’re here.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep, “I used to dream about this.”

“About what?”

“Bringing someone home. Someone I…” He pauses, swallows hard, then reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “Someone I could see a future with.”

Your throat closes up.

You brush a thumb across his knuckles, voice barely a whisper. “What does that future look like?”

He smiles, a little sad, a little soft.

“Messy, probably. Loud. Full of love. Maybe a couple kids running around. A dog or two. Us, in a little house somewhere quiet.”

Your breath catches.

“You really want kids?”

His whole face softens.

“Yeah. Always have.”

He doesn’t say with you—he doesn’t have to. It’s there, clear as day, in the way his fingers tighten around yours, the way his voice breaks just a little.

You lie there quiet, the weight of it all settling heavy in your chest. The future he wants, the life he’s dreaming of—it’s right there, so close you can taste it.

And in that moment, you let yourself believe.

You let yourself want it too.

You press your forehead to his, breathe him in, and whisper into the dark:

“I want that too, Bob.”

And his breath shudders, his grip on you tightens, and for a little while, the world outside the four walls of his childhood room disappears.

———

The soft knock comes just as the first hints of sunlight spill across the quilt.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Robert?” Rob Sr.’s voice is gentle, muffled through the door. “Your momma’s got breakfast almost ready.”

Bob’s eyes crack open, still sleepy and warm, his hair mussed from the pillow, and his arm tight around your waist. His voice is rough, barely a murmur against your skin.

“Mm. Okay, Dad. We’ll be down in a minute.”

You hide your face against Bob’s chest, biting back a smile. The scent of coffee and bacon is already drifting up the stairs, mixing with the faint smell of cedar and laundry soap in Bob’s room.

Bob stretches—lazy, warm, his hand smoothing down your back—then presses a kiss to your hair, a soft, slow kiss that feels like more than a kiss.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, voice low, a little rough. “Let’s go before Mom starts sending search parties.”

You grin, heart fluttering, and he helps you up—both of you a little rumpled, a little glowy.

⸻

Downstairs, the kitchen is bright and busy. Margaret is by the stove, flipping pancakes, her apron a little flour-dusted. The table’s already half full—plates of bacon, biscuits, scrambled eggs, a big pot of coffee, and a pitcher of orange juice.

The kids are already up—barefoot, messy-haired, in pajamas. Bob’s sisters are sitting at the table, chatting and sipping coffee, and when you step into the room—Bob’s hand on the small of your back—everyone looks up.

And oh, the smile Margaret gives you is everything.

“Well, good morning! Hope you two slept alright.” Her eyes sparkle like she knows exactly what went on upstairs, and Bob’s face flushes pink.

“Y-yeah, morning, Mama.” He tugs you gently toward the table, his voice shy.

Margaret sets a plate in front of you, beaming. “Now, you just sit tight, sweetheart. Eat up. We’ve got plenty.”

And then, as everyone’s settling in, she leans over the table, resting her chin in her hand like she’s so ready for this moment, and smiles right at you.

“So,” she says, teasing, but kind, “tell us more about you, darlin’. I wanna see if Bob’s been telling us the whole story.”

Bob groans, hiding his face in his coffee cup, while his sisters giggle, and Rob Sr. just chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling.

You blush, heart racing, and Bob reaches under the table—lacing his fingers through yours, squeezing gently, like a little steadying anchor.

Margaret’s eyes are warm and curious.

“Where’re you from, honey? What’s your family like? What do you do? How’d Bob manage to charm someone like you?”

Bob mutters, deadpan, “I’m right here, Mama.”

The whole table laughs, and the moment is so sweet, so full, it makes your throat tighten.

You take a breath, squeeze Bob’s hand back, and start talking—about where you grew up, your job at the café, how you met Bob, the way he always ordered the same thing, how he’d linger just a little longer than necessary at the counter.

And Margaret is just beaming, nodding along like she already loves you, and Bob’s dad listens quietly, his eyes soft and thoughtful, and the kids keep sneaking glances at you, wide-eyed and curious.

Bob just watches you, a little in awe, his smile small and soft, like you’re the only person in the room.

—————

The sun’s already dipped low, casting a warm golden glow over the front porch. The air hums with the sound of crickets and the soft buzz of the porch light. It’s 8:00pm, just a couple hours before your flight back to San Diego, and the house is quieter now, the kids tucked into bed, the barbecue long cleaned up.

Bob’s mom, Margaret, stands in the doorway, her arms folded tight across her chest like she’s holding herself together. Her eyes are glassier than usual, and when you step forward to hug her, she wraps you up so tight it takes your breath away.

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs, her voice shaky, “you take care of my boy, okay? And yourself too, you hear?”

“I will, ma’am,” you whisper, your own throat tight with tears.

Margaret lets go reluctantly, smoothing a hand over your hair before turning to Bob.

“Robert Floyd, you come home soon, you hear me? Don’t stay away so long this time.”

Bob hugs her hard, burying his face in her shoulder, and for a moment, he’s just her boy, not the Naval Aviator, not the quiet, steady man you’ve come to love.

“Love you, Momma,” he says, voice rough.

“Love you more,” she whispers, sniffling into his shirt.

Rob Sr. claps Bob on the shoulder, gives him a quick, gruff hug, and says, “Y’all drive safe now.”

Then the rest of the family steps in—his sisters, one by one, tight hugs and whispered promises to visit soon. The kids wake up just enough to cling to Bob’s legs, their voices sleepy and soft as they say goodbye.

By the time you’re in the truck, the windows rolled down and the cicadas buzzing in the trees, it’s past eight-thirty.

Bob drives one-handed, the other resting on your thigh, fingers tapping a slow rhythm. Neither of you says much—the air feels thick with everything left unsaid, the kind of heavy quiet that wraps around you like a blanket.

You watch the Texas night roll by—the gas stations, the dark fields, the occasional headlights from another car. Bob’s profile in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, his jaw tense, his eyes on the road.

At one point, you reach over and lace your fingers with his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

He glances at you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes are shining.

“Hey,” you whisper, your voice barely there.

“Yeah?”

“I had a really good time here.”

Bob lets out a slow breath, like he’s trying to hold it together, and nods.

“Me too,” he says, voice gruff.

————

The apartment is dim and still, the air cool and familiar. Bob drops the bags by the door, kicks off his shoes, and pulls you in close, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You melt into him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the slow, steady thump of his heart under your palms.

“Missed this,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your hair.

“Me too,” you whisper, your voice catching a little.

He kisses you then—slow, unhurried, like there’s nowhere else to be. It’s the kind of kiss that unravels you, soft and deep, his hands cupping your face like you’re fragile and precious.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he whispers, “Come to bed, darlin’.”

You nod, exhausted, and let him lead you down the hall.

—————

“You know,” he says, voice low and careful, like it’s something he’s been carrying for a long time, “I used to think I’d never get to have this.”

You tilt your head, eyebrows furrowing.

“Have what?” you whisper.

He glances at you, and his smile is so soft, so achingly tender it hurts.

“This. You.” His voice hitches on the word. “A home. Someone to come home to. I thought maybe… maybe I’d just be that guy who loves flying, loves the team, but never has somethin’… more.”

Your breath catches.

Bob takes a step closer, like the words are pulling him toward you, like they’re too big to hold back anymore.

“I wanna build a life with you,” he says, quiet and earnest. “When this—the Navy, the missions, the call signs*—when all that’s done… I wanna go back home. To Texas. I wanna find a little house on some land. With a porch, maybe. Somewhere we can watch the stars.”

Your throat tightens, and his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs brushing gently under your eyes.

“I wanna have a family, too. If you’d want that.” His voice cracks a little, so hopeful, so soft.

Your eyes sting.

Bob’s whole body is radiating warmth, and it feels like he’s laying his heart in your hands.

“I’d want that,” you whisper, voice shaky. “I’d want that so much, Bob.”

And God—he melts.

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I love you,” he says, so quiet it’s almost a prayer.

Your hands grip his shirt, your heart racing.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, the words trembling against his mouth as he kisses you—slow and aching and full of promise.

For the first time in a long time, Bob Floyd lets himself dream.

And he dreams of you.

——

Bob’s house is quiet, the flicker of the TV painting soft light across the living room walls.

You’re tucked into his side on the couch, his arm around your shoulders, your head resting on his chest. The air smells like popcorn and Bob’s cologne, and the movie on the screen is half-forgotten—some old rom-com you both picked out without really paying attention.

Bob’s fingers are tracing slow circles on your arm, his touch absent, like he’s thinking about something.

You tilt your head up, just a little, to look at him—his jawline in the dim light, the soft curve of his mouth, the way his eyes are a little far away.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” you whisper, your voice gentle.

And Bob, God—he doesn’t even pause.

He just says it.

“You should move in.”

“Bob,” you breathe, your voice barely there.

“I want you here,” he says, quieter now, but steadier. His hand comes to rest on your thigh, gentle, warm. “Every day. I want to wake up with you. I want to cook you breakfast. I want you to have your toothbrush in the bathroom next to mine. I want you to leave your shoes by the door. I want to come home from base and know you’ll be here.”

Your heart aches, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“I want it,” you whisper, your voice muffled but fierce. “I want it so bad, Bob.”

——

It’s late afternoon, the golden light slanting across the hardwood floors in Bob’s living room. The day has been slow, quiet—a rare stretch of hours where it’s just you and Bob, tangled up on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background, your fingers tracing absentminded patterns on his chest.

You’re both in that warm, sleepy haze when Bob’s phone buzzes—once, then again, then three times in a row.

Bob tenses under your hand, his body going still, and you feel it before you even see it.

You sit up, watching as he reaches for the phone, unlocking it with a quick swipe.

His eyes scan the screen, and then he sits up, running a hand over his face.

“Bob?” you say, your voice small, a knot of dread already forming in your chest.

He doesn’t look at you right away. His eyes are glued to the screen, reading something over and over. Then, he sighs, a sound that feels like it punches the air out of the room.

“Mission came in,” he says, voice quiet.

You freeze.

“But it’s your day off,” you whisper, like saying it out loud might change something.

Bob finally looks at you, and his eyes are soft, but there’s a weight behind them.

“I know, darlin’,” he says, reaching for your hand, squeezing it tight. “But this one’s… important.”

You swallow hard, trying to breathe, trying to hold it together.

“How long?” you ask, voice tight.

Bob’s jaw flexes. “Two weeks.”

Two weeks.

It feels like the words crash into you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

You nod, because you know you can’t ask him not to go. You know this is his job, his duty.

But it still hurts.

Bob sees it—he always sees it—and he pulls you into his arms, holding you tight, so tight, like if he just holds you hard enough, it’ll make it okay.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he murmurs against your hair, voice rough.

You nod again, but it feels like your throat is closing.

“I love you,” you whisper, choking on the words.

Bob’s arms tighten, and he kisses your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“I love you too. So damn much.”

———

The sun is just starting to set when you pull up to the base—the sky a soft mix of pink and gold, the air cooler now, carrying that faint, salty breeze from the ocean.

Bob’s hand is warm on your thigh, his thumb rubbing slow, steady circles as you drive through the gates.

Neither of you has said much since you left the house—just quiet touches, the soft squeeze of his hand, the way he looked at you like he was trying to memorize you, every detail.

You park in the visitor’s lot, and Bob grabs his bag from the backseat.

The team is already there—Mav, Phoenix, Hangman, Fanboy, Payback—all of them waiting near the hangar, chatting quietly, a few of them glancing up when they see you.

Your heart is pounding.

You step out of the car, trying to breathe, trying to hold it together.

Bob turns to you, his expression soft, eyes warm.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, and you step into him, letting his arms wrap around you.

For a long moment, it’s just the two of you—his steady breathing, the way he holds you, like he needs to.

Then you pull back, just enough to look at him, your hands resting on his chest.

“Be safe,” you say, your voice low, wobbly.

Bob’s hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

“I will,” he promises. His voice is so sure, so steady.

You nod, forcing a smile, even though your eyes are burning.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words barely there.

“I love you too,” he says, soft, tender.

You hug each of them, trying to smile, trying to hold it together.

“Be safe out there, Hangman,” you say, voice tight.

Hangman gives you a little grin, but even he looks a little more serious than usual.

“Always,” he says, his voice low, and you nod, biting your lip.

“Phoenix—take care of him,” you say, and she nods, eyes gentle.

“You know I will.”

Bob lingers near the plane, his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Gotta go,” he says, his voice quiet.

You nod, blinking back tears, and Bob leans in one more time, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll see you soon, darlin’.”

———

The first few days after Bob leaves are quiet. Too quiet.

You keep busy—wiping down tables at the café, taking orders, smiling when you don’t feel like smiling. Every spare moment, you’re checking your phone, waiting for that buzz, that message.

And he texts you.

Tuesday, 2:17 PM

Hey darlin’, safe on base. Long days ahead, but I’ll text when I can. I love you.

You hold onto it like it’s a lifeline.

Then another, a few days later:

Friday, 10:39 PM

Missing you something fierce. Can’t wait to get home.

You reread that one a hundred times, smiling through the ache in your chest.

And the team checks in too.

Phoenix texts, brief and to the point:

Bob’s good. Holding up fine. We’ll keep you posted, okay?

You feel relieved every time you see their names pop up—until they don’t.

Then comes the silence.

The updates stop.

No messages. No calls.

Just silence.

———

It’s been ten days.

Ten days since the date Bob was supposed to come home.

No calls. No texts. No “I’m okay, sweetheart.” No “I miss you.” No nothing.

And every day that passes, the weight in your chest gets heavier.

You try to be rational.

You tell yourself that the Navy is slow. That there are debriefs, security protocols, a million reasons why he hasn’t called yet.

But you can feel it—deep in your gut, in the pit of your soul—that something is wrong.

So you tell yourself it’s fine.

He’s fine.

But you can’t breathe.

And tonight… tonight it feels like something inside you is splintering.

And then—

The doorbell rings.

You take a breath, your chest tight, your stomach in knots.

You open the door.

And there they are.

The whole team.

Maverick. Phoenix. Hangman. Fanboy. Payback.

Maverick’s holding the folded flag.

And your world stops.

You just stand there, frozen, the sound of your own heartbeat crashing in your ears.

No one says anything for a long, long, agonizing moment.

Then Maverick, voice low and rough, barely getting the words out—

“We figured… since you didn’t come to the funeral… you should have this.”

Your whole body jerks.

You stumble back, shaking your head in wild disbelief.

“Funeral?”

Your voice cracks, a broken whisper.

“What… what funeral?”

Phoenix’s breath shudders, her eyes filling with tears.

Hangman looks like he’s about to explode, jaw clenched so tight his teeth are grinding.

You stumble back again, your back hitting the wall.

Your hands go to your stomach, clutching at the fabric of your shirt like you can hold yourself together, but you can’t.

You can’t.

And the sound that rips out of you is animalistic, guttural, raw.

“No,” you sob, over and over, like if you just say it enough, it won’t be true.

“No, no, no, no—no—not my baby—no—”

Your legs give out, and you collapse onto the floor, sobbing so hard it feels like your ribs are going to shatter.

Phoenix is on the ground next to you, her arms wrapping around you, holding you as you scream.

Hangman paces, fists clenched, looking like he wants to punch the wall.

Maverick stands there, rigid, his face tight, his eyes haunted.

“They should’ve told her,” he mutters under his breath, furious. “She should’ve been told. Goddamn it.”

You barely hear him.

You’re curled up on the floor, sobbing, your hands gripping the floorboards like you’re afraid you’ll fall through the earth.

And the team… they stay.

They stay, because they loved him too.

Because you’re family.

Because you’re going to need them, more than ever.

And because they can’t leave you alone.

You stare at it until your vision blurred.

Bob’s name on the plaque.

The team stays for hours.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

And that breaks something in Phoenix. She sobs, holding you tighter.

“I know, I know,” she whispers, over and over, her tears mingling with yours.

Maverick comes back late, furious, pacing in the kitchen.

“They didn’t tell her. They didn’t fucking tell her.”

Phoenix swears under her breath, her hand on your shoulder.

Hangman mutters, dark and bitter, “Someone’s gonna pay for this.”

—————

A few days later.

You’re in the bathroom, brushing your teeth, barely functioning, just going through the motions.

And you feel it.

A wave of nausea, crashing over you so hard you stumble, gripping the counter.

No, no, no.

You scramble for your phone, your hands shaking.

You check the calendar.

And your knees buckle.

You sink to the floor, your hands shaking so hard you can barely dial the number.

You call Phoenix.

Your voice is broken, shaking.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

————

You don’t remember much of the days after.

You remember the team moving through your house like shadows, quiet and careful, like they’re afraid you’ll shatter if they breathe too loud.

Phoenix is always nearby, her hand on your shoulder, rubbing soft circles on your back when the tears start silently falling.

Hangman makes sure you eat, even when you don’t want to.

Fanboy and Payback come over with groceries, whispering softly that they’re here for you, always.

Maverick shows up with takeout, saying “I didn’t cook, but I’ll make sure you eat.” He hugs you tight when you break down in the doorway.

They all try.

But nothing helps.

Because you wake up and you expect to feel Bob’s arm draped over your waist.

You reach for him in the dark, and your hand finds nothing.

The bed is cold.

His side of the bathroom stays untouched. His coffee mug sits on the counter.

His laugh echoes in your mind, but the house is silent.

And it feels like you can’t breathe.

⸻

It’s two weeks later when Phoenix sits you down, gently, her voice soft but firm.

“Have you been to the doctor yet?” she asks, her hand warm on yours.

You blink at her, confused.

She hesitates, then says it—

“For the baby.”

The words crack the air around you, like a glass shattering.

The baby.

Your hand flies to your stomach.

The baby.

Bob’s baby.

You nod, barely.

Phoenix squeezes your hand.

“Let’s make an appointment, okay? I’ll go with you.”

⸻

The appointment is quiet.

Phoenix drives you there, holding your hand so tight in the waiting room that your fingers ache.

You fill out the forms with shaking hands, the pen slipping once, your handwriting barely legible.

You stare at the box that says Emergency Contact, and you can’t write Bob’s name.

Phoenix gently puts her hand over yours, and you write hers instead.

The ultrasound room is cold.

The paper crinkles under you.

You close your eyes as the tech starts, and then—

You hear it.

That tiny, racing heartbeat.

And you sob.

Phoenix is crying too, her hand gripping yours, whispering, “That’s your baby, honey. That’s your baby.”

You can’t stop crying.

Because Bob should be here.

Bob should be holding your hand, grinning at the screen, whispering I love you in your ear.

But he’s gone.

And it’s just you.

⸻

You tell the team that night.

You’re sitting on the couch, the folded flag still on the table, when you say it in a whisper, your voice barely a breath.

“I’m pregnant.”

The room goes silent.

Phoenix’s eyes fill.

Hangman curses under his breath, standing up and pacing, his hands on his hips.

Maverick looks away, blinking fast.

Fanboy rubs a hand over his face.

Payback nods, like he’s trying to hold it together.

No one says anything for a long time.

And then Phoenix leans forward, gripping your hands, tears streaming down her face.

“We’re going to get through this, okay? We’re going to take care of you, and that baby.”

Hangman nods, his voice tight.

“You’re not alone.”

You don’t believe them.

Not yet.

Not when the nights are so dark, and the bed feels so cold.

But the team stays.

They stay, because you’re family.

Because they loved him, too.

Because this baby—Bob’s baby—is a piece of him they can’t lose.

And slowly—so slowly—you start to breathe again.

——— (incredibly long timeskip)

It’s been eight months since Bob’s been gone.

Eight months of aching.

Eight months of trying to breathe through the pain, of forcing yourself out of bed every morning because you have someone else to live for now.

The baby’s due date is close—so close—and you’re terrified.

Hangman’s been hovering all day, driving you a little crazy but you love him for it. He showed up with a bag of tacos, acting like it was no big deal, but you could see it in his eyes—he’s worried about you.

He’s sitting on the floor in your living room, flipping through a baby name book you haven’t touched in weeks, while you sit on the couch with a blanket over your legs. The baby has been moving all day, little kicks and turns, and you have a hand resting on your belly like it’s second nature now.

You’re laughing—actually laughing—at something Hangman said when it happens.

That sharp, sudden pressure.

A pop.

And then the warm rush of liquid, soaking through your sweatpants, pooling on the floor.

Your eyes go wide.

Hangman freezes.

You stare at him.

“Jake—”

“Oh shit.”

“Oh my God, Jake, it’s happening.”

He’s already on his feet, frantic, like all his cocky swagger has been sucked out of him in an instant.

“Okay, okay—uh—uh—keys, where are my keys—”

“Jake!”

“I’m—okay! Okay! Get in the car!”

He scoops your hospital bag off the chair and practically shoves you out the door, one hand on the small of your back, trying to stay calm but his voice is panicked.

“Deep breaths, sweetheart, deep breaths—Jesus Christ, Bob’s gonna kill me if I screw this up.”

You want to laugh but you’re crying.

Because Bob’s not here.

Bob’s gone.

But you don’t have time to think about that because oh God the contractions hit—hard.

“Fuck!” you gasp, gripping the dashboard as Hangman peels out of the driveway.

He’s on the phone in an instant, dialing Rooster.

“Bradshaw—Bradshaw, listen, it’s happening. I’m driving her to the hospital right now—yeah, yeah, tell everyone—I’ll call when we get there.”

You can hear Rooster’s voice through the phone, sharp, focused, calming.

“Hangman, breathe. You’re okay. Get her there safe.”

“Yeah, yeah—I’m trying.”

You’re moaning in the seat, tears streaking down your cheeks, clutching at your belly.

“Jake, it hurts—”

“I know, honey, I know—shit, we’re almost there—”

He runs every red light, shouting apologies out the window, and when you get to the hospital, he leaves the car running in front of the ER doors, bolting around to your side, practically carrying you inside.

Nurses swarm you, a wheelchair appears, and Hangman’s shouting, “Her water broke! Contractions are close! She’s due—any day!”

And then they’re wheeling you away, and you’re crying, sobbing his name.

“Bob—Bob, I wish you were here. I wish you were here.”

Your heart is breaking.

Because Bob should be here, holding your hand, telling you everything’s going to be okay.

Hangman squeezes your shoulder, his voice rough, barely holding it together.

“We’re all here for you, sweetheart. We’re all here.”

———

The contractions are sharp, blinding, tearing through you like waves crashing on the shore, leaving you breathless and crying out.

You’re gripping the side of the bed so hard your knuckles are white, and there’s a panic in your chest that won’t leave, a terror that you can’t hold back anymore—

Because Bob’s not here.

And you don’t think you can do this without him.

Hangman is pacing the corner of the room, running his hands through his hair, trying to give you space but staying close, like he knows you’ll need him.

When the contraction lets go, you take a shaky breath, tears streaming down your face, and you whisper, voice cracking,

“Jake—”

He’s there in an instant, crouching by the bed, his hand wrapping around yours, warm and steady.

“Yeah? I’m here, honey, I’m here—what do you need?”

And then it breaks—the fear, the grief, the weight of everything, it crushes you.

“I can’t—” Your voice is so small, so shattered. “I can’t do this without Bob, Jake, I can’t. I need him. I need him here. He was supposed to be here—this was supposed to be us.”

Your breath is ragged, your body shaking, and the sobs come hard, from a place so deep inside it hurts.

Hangman’s voice is tight, his eyes red. He squeezes your hand, his voice cracking.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But you’re not alone, okay? I’m here. We’re all here. Bob would want me to stay with you. He’d want you to be safe, for that little guy to be safe.”

You let out a whimper, looking at him with so much pain in your eyes that it guts him.

“Stay with me,” you beg, barely able to get the words out. “Please, Jake. Don’t leave me. I can’t do this alone.”

He nods, immediately, not even a second of hesitation.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay? I swear to God, I’m staying right here. I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Your grip on his hand is desperate, like you’re clinging to a life raft, and he holds on just as tight.

The nurses move around you, and the doctor comes in, saying it’s almost time to push, but you don’t hear any of it—because all you can think is that Bob’s not here, and you don’t know how you’re going to survive this.

Hangman presses his forehead to yours, his voice low and urgent.

“Breathe with me, okay? You can do this. I know you can. You’re the strongest person I know. You’re his girl. And I swear, I’ll stay right here the whole time.”

You nod, tears still falling, and you whisper, so soft it’s barely there,

“I miss him so much, Jake.”

Hangman chokes on a breath, nodding, his voice shaking.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. We all do. But he’s here, okay? He’s here. And you’re gonna see him in that baby’s eyes.”

You sob, full-bodied, heart-shattering sobs, and he wraps an arm around you, holding you tight, anchoring you while the storm rages through you.

You cling to him like he’s the only thing holding you together.

And when the doctor says it’s time, you grip Hangman’s hand so tight he thinks it might break, but he just squeezes back, whispering over and over,

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

And when you push, when you scream with the effort, when you shatter with the pain, Jake holds you through every second, his voice in your ear, steady and strong, the voice you need when Bob’s is gone.

Because this baby is Bob’s.

And yours.

The moment the baby’s cry shatters the air, the whole room seems to pause.

The nurses move quickly, cleaning him off, but it’s all blurred for you—just a whirlwind of hands and voices—until they place him on your chest, tiny and warm, skin flushed and so small.

And then it hits you.

Because he’s not just any baby.

He’s Bob’s baby.

He’s your baby.

And when you look at him—really see him—you break.

Because he has Bob’s nose.

Bob’s cheeks.

Bob’s chin.

And when his little mouth opens in a wobbly cry, you hear Bob in it somehow, like his voice is echoing in this tiny, perfect person.

Your hands are shaking as you reach for him, cradling him close, your tears soaking his blanket, and you can’t stop sobbing, can’t stop whispering, over and over,

“Oh my God, you look just like him—just like him—my baby, my baby.”

Hangman’s standing by the bed, one hand over his mouth, eyes red-rimmed, staring at you like his heart is breaking.

He knows.

He sees it, too.

Sees Bob in this tiny baby’s face, in the curve of his lips, the shape of his eyes.

You’re sobbing so hard you can barely breathe, clutching your son to your chest like you’ll never let him go.

“I wish he was here,” you choke out, your voice cracking, barely a whisper. “He should be here. He should be here.”

Hangman’s voice is rough, thick with tears, as he steps closer, his hand on your shoulder, grounding you.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But you’ve got a piece of him, right here.”

You look down at the baby again, your heart splintering into a thousand pieces, and you press a kiss to his soft, downy head, sobbing.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “Hi, my little Robert.”

And when you say his name—Bob’s name—it’s like the air is sucked out of the room.

Hangman chokes on a breath, turning away, wiping his face, breaking.

Because this is Bob’s son.

Bob’s legacy.

And he’s perfect.

——

You’re still holding him—Robert Floyd Jr.—when the door bursts open.

They all come in.

Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback, Rooster, Maverick, even Hondo.

All of them, faces streaked with tears, red-eyed, quiet.

You barely have the strength to lift your head, but you do, and when they see him—this tiny, perfect boy, your Bob’s boy—

It’s like the air leaves the room.

No one speaks.

Hangman steps back, giving them space, but he stays close, like an anchor, his hand on the bed.

Phoenix is the first to move, stepping closer, her hands trembling. Her voice is shaky, small.

“Is that…?”

You nod, your eyes flooded with tears.

“This is Robert,” you whisper, your voice barely there. “Robert Floyd Jr.”

Phoenix gasps, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes fill with tears.

Maverick just stands there, frozen, staring at the baby like he’s seeing a ghost.

Rooster’s wiping his face, his breath shaky.

“Looks just like him,” Rooster whispers, voice cracking. “God, he looks just like Bob.”

You sobs, clutching Robert closer to your chest.

“I know. I know. He’s Bob’s baby. He’s all I have left of him.”

Phoenix’s tears spill over, and she reaches out, barely touching Robert’s tiny hand, her fingers shaking.

“He’s perfect,” she whispers.

Hangman’s voice is rough, choked with emotion.

“He’s got his daddy’s nose. And those ears, too.”

You laugh—a broken, raw sound that turns into another sob.

Maverick steps forward then, his hands trembling, eyes glossy, voice barely holding together.

“May I…?”

You nod, shifting slightly, letting him see.

He stares down at Robert for a long, aching moment.

“He would’ve been so proud,” Maverick whispers, voice thick. “Of you. Of him. Of everything.”

You break down, full, body-wracking sobs, clutching Robert tight, and Phoenix moves in, wrapping her arms around you from one side, Hangman on the other, Maverick’s hand on your shoulder.

The whole team is there, holding you while you cry, while you grieve, while you try to breathe through the heartbreak of Bob not being there to see his son.

You press your lips to Robert’s forehead, whispering, voice cracking,

“You’re so loved, baby boy. You’re so loved.”

And it hurts. God, it hurts.

But you survive it.

Because Robert is here.

And Bob’s in every part of him.

The nurse wheels you out slowly, baby Robert swaddled tightly in your arms, his head tucked beneath your chin. You’re still sore, still aching, still raw, inside and out.

Jake walks right beside you. He’s been there every minute since the delivery, never left your side, not even once. And he’s carrying the baby bag with one hand and your overnight bag slung over his shoulder, looking more like a big brother than a fighter pilot.

When the hospital doors slide open and that first cold breeze hits your cheeks, the tears come.

Not loud, not messy. Just soft. Quiet.

Because Bob was supposed to be here.

He was supposed to carry you to the car like an idiot, buckle in the car seat way too carefully, hold your hand all the way home while you both laughed at how insanely tiny Robert was.

Jake opens the car door gently. He buckles the carrier into the backseat with a soft little, “There you go, little guy. Ride’s not as smooth as your dad’s old Bronco, but I promise I’ll get you home safe.”

You slide into the passenger seat, cradling your arms over your stomach. The absence beside you is suffocating.

Jake doesn’t say anything. He just drives.

You watch the ocean blur by, street signs and palm trees, and with every passing block, your heart sinks deeper.

Because Bob isn’t waiting at home.

He’ll never be there again.

And you don’t know how to walk through that door.

⸻

Jake opens the front door of Bob’s house for you, pushes it open like it’s sacred.

You step inside, and it hits you like a punch.

His jacket is still hanging on the hook.

His boots are still by the door.

His stupid favorite throw blanket is still balled up on the couch.

Everything is exactly where he left it.

You don’t take two steps before your knees buckle.

Jake catches you before you hit the floor, wrapping his arms around you from behind, holding you up as you cry, loud and guttural now, the kind of cry that doesn’t care how anyone hears.

“I can’t do this,” you sob. “I can’t. He should be here. He should be here.”

Jake says nothing at first. He just holds you, one arm around your middle, the other rubbing your back.

And then, so soft you almost don’t hear it:

“You’re not doing it alone.”

He helps you to the couch. Gently takes Robert from the car seat and places him in your arms. Then he sinks to the floor at your feet and looks you right in the eye.

“I’m not leaving,” he says. “Not for a while. Not until you’re sleeping. Not until this little guy is on a schedule. Not until you tell me to go. I’m staying, okay? I promised Bob I’d take care of you both. I meant it.”

You’re crying again. But you nod. Because if anyone could keep a promise to Bob… it’s Jake.

Robert lets out a soft little whimper, like he knows the weight in the air. You press your lips to his forehead and whisper,

“It’s okay, baby. We’re home.”

It doesn’t feel like home anymore.

But maybe—just maybe—someday it will again.

———

It’s almost 2 a.m.

The house is dark, quiet in that way that only happens when a heart has stopped beating there.

You’re curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of Bob’s old hoodies, knees pulled to your chest. The baby monitor glows faint blue beside you, casting soft shadows on the floor.

Robert is asleep in the bassinet in the bedroom—his room now. Not the guest room anymore. Not the office.

Jake’s sitting in the armchair across from you, feet up on the ottoman, a soft baby blanket folded on his lap. He hasn’t left, like he promised.

He’s not sleeping either.

You’re both just… sitting. Listening.

Grieving.

Every so often, you look at each other but don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.

Not yet.

When Robert stirs—tiny, breathy sounds from the monitor—you both sit up. Jake’s already standing before you even move.

“I’ve got him,” he says softly. “You rest. Please.”

You nod, lips trembling. You don’t want to rest. You want Bob to walk through that door. You want this all to be a nightmare you can wake up from.

But you let Jake go.

He disappears down the hallway, and the baby monitor picks up the soft creak of the nursery door.

Then his voice.

Low. Cracked. Tired.

“Hey, little man,” Jake whispers, barely audible. “You got some lungs on you, huh?”

You hear the shuffle of fabric, the gentle bounce of arms rocking a baby, and then—softer than anything—

“I miss him too.”

Silence.

“I’m gonna try, okay? I’m gonna try to be good for you. I can’t be him, but I’ll be here. I’ll show you pictures. I’ll tell you everything he said about you. Everything he wanted.”

There’s a pause, and when Jake speaks again, his voice breaks completely.

“He should’ve been here. I wish it was me.”

You press your hand to your mouth, sobbing silently.

Not just for Bob.

But for Jake. For the weight he’s carrying now. For the love he’s trying to give this tiny boy that isn’t his.

Because it is love.

All of it.

When Jake comes back, Robert asleep on his shoulder, his eyes find yours. They’re wet. His jaw is tight. But he nods, like a promise.

You nod back.

Because this is the shape of your life now.

No Bob.

But so much love.

———

It’s not light that wakes you.

It’s the quiet.

That unfamiliar, heavy quiet that only comes after everything breaks—where the stillness isn’t peace, but the echo of what’s been lost.

Robert is nestled against your chest, impossibly small. His tiny fist grips your hoodie like instinct, like even he knows what the world has taken from him. His breath is warm through the fabric, and every few minutes, he makes this soft sound in his sleep—somewhere between a sigh and a whimper.

You stroke his back slowly.

You haven’t spoken out loud today. Haven’t moved much since Jake handed him to you hours ago.

There’s something terrifying about morning now. It used to be safe—coffee and Bob’s stupid jokes and sunlight on the kitchen counter. But now it means another day without him. Another reminder that you survived something you weren’t supposed to.

Across the room, Jake is slumped in the armchair. He’s too tall for it, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted to the side. He’s snoring softly.

He stayed all night again.

This is the fourth time in a row he’s fallen asleep sitting up.

He doesn’t complain. Doesn’t say anything when you cry while changing a diaper, or when you flinch hearing a sound that reminds you of Bob’s laugh.

He just stays.

And you’re not sure you could’ve made it through even this one night without him.

So you sit there—Robert pressed to your heart, the man who made a promise to his best friend asleep across from you—and you let the sun rise slowly.

You don’t move.

Not yet.

You don’t have to be strong yet.

———

You don’t answer the door at first. You just sit on the couch, still in the clothes you slept in, cradling Robert in one arm while Jake gets up to check.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Phoenix says gently from the hallway. “It’s just us.”

You nod when she enters, but your throat tightens too much to speak.

She brings food—warm and wrapped in foil, probably made by her mom, if you had to guess. She puts it on the counter without a word, washes her hands, and comes to kneel in front of you.

She doesn’t ask to hold him. She just waits.

You hand Robert over slowly, afraid that letting go even for a minute might unravel you.

But then you see her face.

And everything shatters again.

“Oh my god,” Phoenix whispers, voice trembling. “He looks just like Bob.”

She presses her lips to his forehead and lets the tears fall silently, rocking him gently like it’s second nature.

Fanboy and Payback show up together, arms full of grocery bags and boxes of baby wipes and formula. Rooster lingers in the doorway longer, unsure if he should even be there until Jake pulls him into a hug.

No one talks about Bob.

Not directly.

But his name floats between the pauses, heavy and quiet and undeniable.

Rooster finally takes Robert from Phoenix, cradling him in his big hands like he’s made of glass.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, soft and warm, eyes wet. “Your dad was the best man I ever knew.”

You feel your heart split open again.

No one moves to comfort you.

They just let you cry.

Let you feel it.

And somehow, that helps more than anything.

(Part 2 is already uo chat, I wrote TEW much)

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