iyearn4thebeach

[iyearn4thebeach]

Eight seconds

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x fem!reader

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: You, ever the best friend, had always gone to Rhett's rodeo competitions with him, saving costs by sharing rooms etc. but tonight, things were different.

Warnings: maybe a little angsty, just Rhett doubting things and both of them being scared of their feelings.

Author's note: so, I loved the prompt so much :) this one’s for you guys, hope you enjoy! Divider by: @thecutestgrotto

The motel room smelled faintly of dust and old cedar, just like most of the places they ended up. Cheap, worn carpet. Floral bedspreads. A loud, buzzing neon light outside the thin curtains.

You were cross-legged on the bed nearest the window, your hair still damp from your shower. You were scrolling through your phone, absently chewing on the inside of your cheek, while Rhett came out of the bathroom. Steam followed him, curling into the room like it wanted to linger, and his hair—dark and already curling a little from the damp—clung to his forehead.

He tossed his towel over the chair by the door and reached for his duffle, the cotton of his shirt tugging over the lines of his shoulders. The sound of his boots knocking together on the floor was as familiar as the sound of your own breath.

“You’re up early tomorrow,” you said without looking up, but you could feel his presence fill the room.

“Yeah.” He dug out a clean pair of jeans. “Draw any good bulls?” you added.

He shrugged. “Black Jack.”

Your head snapped up. “You serious?”

He gave a little grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Mean as sin. Spun three guys off in under four seconds this week.”

You snorted. “And you’re smiling about that?”

“Guess I like a challenge.”

It was easy to pretend this was just another night, another stop on another rodeo circuit. They’d been doing this since you were nineteen and he was twenty-one—you tagging along between classes, him chasing points and prize money. You split fuel, food, and motel rooms because it was practical. Rhett never made it weird. Neither did you.

But there was something about tonight.

He moved around the room with that restless energy he always had the night before a ride—half adrenaline, half nerves. You pretended to check your messages, but your eyes kept drifting towards him. His hair was still dripping at the ends, the faint smell of his soap—cedar and something warmer—mixing with the motel’s musty air.

When he finally settled on the bed beside you, the springs squeaked under his weight. “You good?” he asked.

You nodded. “You?”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug, eyes fixed on the TV though it wasn’t even on. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

You knew better than to push. Rhett liked to keep his cards close until he didn’t. And when he finally laid one down, it was never small.

Eventually, you fell into a familiar pattern: Rhett tossed you one of the extra pillows, you set it lengthwise down the middle of the bed you were sharing tonight, and lay back-to-back.

Except… it didn’t feel like it usually did.

The mattress seemed smaller, the air heavier. You could feel the heat of him just inches away, each shift of his body pulling your awareness tighter. You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the air conditioner and his breathing.

After a long minute, you whispered, “Can’t sleep?”

There was a pause. Then the rustle of sheets to face you. “Nope.”

You turned your head. Even in the low light, you could make out the lines of his face—the strong set of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. His eyes, dark in the shadows, were on you.

“Tomorrow’s a big ride,” you said softly.

He nodded, but there was something in his expression that didn’t match the casual way he’d said it earlier.

“That’s not what’s keepin’ me up,” he murmured.

Your brows pulled together. “Then what is?”

For a second, he just looked at you, his eyes moving like he was memorizing your face. Then his hand came across the pillow line, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Darlin’,” he said, voice low and rough, “I think I’ve been ridin’ with the wrong kind of fear all these years. Thought I was afraid of fallin’. Turns out I’ve been more afraid of what would happen if I ever told you I—”

Your breath hitched before you could stop it. “You’re saying this now? The night before you ride Black Jack?”

His mouth curved, but it was the shadow of a smile. “Guess I like a challenge.”

Your pulse was a wild, unsteady thing in your throat. “Rhett…”

He shifted closer, the pillow line a meaningless scrap of fabric between them. In the low light, his eyes looked darker, like the words he wanted to say were burning him up from the inside. “Don’t have to say anythin’,” he said. “Just… needed you to know. In case tomorrow—”

You cut him off with a sharp shake of your head. “Don’t. Don’t you finish that sentence.”

His gaze searched yours, something raw and unflinching there—like he’d already accepted that tomorrow might take something from them, and he was choosing to risk it anyway.

“Promise me something,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best effort. “Make sure you’re healthy, that you’re not harmed—make sure you win… so you can tell me those words yourself tomorrow. Not… now.”

His lips twitched into a small smile, but his eyes softened. “Alright. Tomorrow.”

But in the silence that followed, it was impossible not to hear all the things you still hadn’t said.

You woke up to the soft gray light of dawn and the sound of Rhett moving quietly around the room. Your first thought was of last night—the way his voice had gone rough when he’d almost said it, and the way you’d begged him to wait until tomorrow to tell you.

Well, tomorrow had arrived.

But there wasn’t time. You had to get on the road early for the rodeo grounds, and between Rhett’s usual pre-competition focus and the rush of packing up, there was no quiet moment to pull him aside. He gave you a half-smile when your eyes met across the room, but it was brief, a flicker you carried with you in your truck the whole way there.

The promise you’d wrung out of him last night sat heavy in your chest: Make sure your healthy, that you’re not harmed—make sure you win… so you can tell me those words yourself tomorrow.

The air was thick with dust and noise—the metallic clack of gates, the low rumble of bulls in the chutes, the announcer’s voice already through the speakers. You stood near the rail, the badge around your neck granting you a little extra access, but not the peace you wanted.

Rhett didn’t see you right away, too caught up in gearing up—pulling on his chaps, settling his rope bag at his feet, adjusting his vest. He was all business now, jaw tight, eyes sharp, handsome. But when he glanced your way, there it was again—that quick, almost imperceptible curve of his mouth, just for you.

And maybe you’d imagined it, but you thought you saw the sentence he hadn’t been allowed to finish last night flicker in his gaze.

You’d found him just before his ride, crouched low, wrapping his bull rope in slow, deliberate pulls. Black Jack’s massive shoulders shifted restlessly in the chute, the bull’s dark hide rippling like coiled muscle ready to strike.

“You ready?” you asked.

He looked up at you, and the noise of the crowd seemed to fade for a moment. “I’ve been ready since last night.”’

The words made your chest tighten. You opened your mouth, but the announcer’s call to the next rider cut her off. He just gave you a small nod, the brim of his hat tilting towards you and climbed the rails to settle on the bull’s back.

You had just made it to the front of the arena when the gates slammed open and Black Jack exploded out, twisting and kicking like a force of nature. Rhett’s body moved in perfect rhythm, every muscle holding tight against the bone-jarring jolts. Your hands gripped the railing so hard your knuckles ached.

Four seconds. The bull spun so hard your stomach dropped.

Six seconds. Rhett’s hat flew off, and for a terrifying heartbeat you thought he’d lose his seat.

Eight seconds. The buzzer blared, and he let go, hitting the dirt and rolling away just before Black Jack’s hooves came down.

The crowd roared—an eruption of cheers and stomping feet. Rhett was on his feet in an instant, adrenaline lighting him up, dust clinging to his sweat-damp shirt. He waved to the stands, but his eyes found yours first, locking like a magnet.

You were waiting by the gear truck when he strode over, still breathing hard, the adrenaline in his veins practically radiating off him. His hat was tipped back, his blonde hair damp with sweat, and de grin on his face—God, it was big enough to swallow the sun.

“Eight seconds, darlin’,” he said, voice low and rich, thick with triumph… and something else—something hotter, sharper, which coiled straight in her chest.

“You made it,” you breathed, the relief hitting you so hard your knees threatened to buckle.

“Yeah,” he rasped, stepping into your space like he couldn’t stand even an inch between you. His shadow fell over you, his body still humming with the danger he’d just ridden through. “Now I can tell you myself.”

Before your mind could catch up, his hands were on you—rough palms framing your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones, grounding you and undoing you all at once. And then, his mouth was on yours.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was years of swallowed words and stolen glances breaking loose all at once. It was the fear you’d carried every time he climbed onto a bull, the ache of wanting him for longer than you could remember, the wild relief of having him here, alive, whole.

You gasped against his lips, and he took it, groaning low in his throat, deepening the kiss, tasting you like he’d been starving for it—because maybe you both had. Your hands fisted into his dusty shirt, dragging him closer until his chest was flush with yours, until you could feel every hard breath he took. One of his hands slid back into your hair, gripping just enough to send a shiver down your spine, his tongue sweeping over yours with a heat that made your toes curl in your boots.

Every movement was desperate, reverent—like he’d been holding himself back for years and was finally letting go.

You could taste the heat of his victory, the grit of the arena still clinging to him, the faint bite of leather and sweat and danger.

When you finally tore apart, neither of you went far—just enough to rest your foreheads together, his breath still ragged, your heart beating so fast it hurt. His voice came low, certain, like he’d been carrying the words his whole life just to hand them to you now and sent another shiver straight through you.

“I love you, darlin’.”

Your breath shuddered out, and a slow, fierce smile curled through the tears burning in your eyes. “Took you long enough.”

He huffed out a laugh that ghosted over your lips, but you didn’t give him time to say anything more. You kissed him again, slower this time but no less consuming, because eight seconds might win a rodeo—

—but this? This was the best thing you were never letting go of.

[iyearn4thebeach]

┈┈ glasses off ✮⋆˙

Pairing — Bob Floyd x fem!reader

Warnings — SFW, kissing, teasing, comfort, soft intimacy.

Author’s Note: I was supposed to write this a while ago and completely forgot, but I hope you guys enjoy this one! Love ya’ll lots 𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

⤷ ゛Based on this ˎˊ˗

The knock at your apartment door was soft, almost silent, but you’d know it anywhere. You tugged it open just to find Bob standing there, his glasses slightly fogged from the night air, his shoulders still hunched with the weight of a long day.

“Hey,” he says quietly, almost like he’s afraid to disturb you.

You smile, stepping aside to let him in. “Hey yourself. Come on, get in here before you catch a cold.”

Bob slips past you, carefully putting his bag by the couch. When you turn back, his smile is small but real, the kind of smile that feels like it’s just for you.

“Long day?” you ask, tilting your head.

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… I kinda wanted to see you.”

Your chest warms at that. “Good thing you know where I live,” you tease lightly, wrapping your arms around his neck before pulling him toward you.

He lets you, like he always does, and when you lean up to kiss him, there’s no hesitation left in him.

Even after months of dating and too many shared kisses to count, he still kissed you like he was learning, still nervously trying to figure it out every time, but God, does it make your heart race.

His lips were soft and gentle at first, almost testing the waters. You sigh against him, tugging him closer by the collar of his jacket, and it coaxes him to deepen the kiss.

You feel the faint brush of his glasses against your cheek. It’s not uncomfortable, not really, but it was clumsy and sweet, and you couldn’t help the little laugh that slipped out between kisses.

Bob immediately pulls back, concern written across his face. “What? Did I—did I do something wrong?”

You shake your head quickly, smiling up at him. “No. Just… don’t overthink it. Keep kissing me.”

His blush creeps all the way to his ears, but he leans in again, his arms winding more securely around your waist this time. You press your lips to his, and the world narrows to nothing but his warmth, his steady hands, and the way his breath catches when you sigh into him.

And then, there it is again. That little bump of his frames against your skin.

This time, Bob pulls back with a soft huff, his lips twitching like he’s embarrassed. “Hold on.”

Before you can tease him, he carefully slips his glasses off, folding them with neat precision and setting them down on the coffee table. He lingers for a second, almost like he’s making sure they’re safe, and then turns back to you. His eyes, unshielded, impossibly gentle, find yours.

“Better,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You smirk, tugging him down by the front of his shirt. “Much better.”

He chuckles softly, but the sound dies into a breathless hum when you kiss him again. Without his glasses between you, it’s different, closer, warmer. His hands cradle your face now, thumbs brushing your jaw as though you might slip away if he doesn’t hold you steady.

When he pulls back just far enough to breathe, his forehead rests against yours, his voice low and a little unsteady. “Yeah. Definitely better.”

You grin, lips still brushing his. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

Bob’s laugh rumbles against your chest, and when he kisses you again, there’s nothing hesitant about it.

When the kiss softens and you both finally part, he collapses onto your couch with you half in his lap, his arm tucked securely around you. His glasses remain abandoned on the table, forgotten in the glow of the moment.

“You know”, you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder, “I think I like you better without them.”

Bob snorts quietly. “Yeah? You sure about that? You’ve seen me squint at a stop sign from ten feet away.”

You giggle, curling closer into him. “Doesn’t matter. I like seeing your eyes. They’re pretty.”

His chest rises with a deep, contented breath, and he presses a kiss to your hair. “You’re too good to me, y’know that?”

You tilt your head up, grinning lazily. “Someone’s gotta be.”

That earns you another chuckle, low and warm, and then silence falls, comfortable, easy. The kind where you don’t need to fill it with anything because being in each other’s arms is enough.

Bob tightens his hold around you, his cheek resting against the top of your head. His voice is already growing drowsy when he says, “Next time, I’m taking the glasses off first.”

You smile against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. “Good. Saves us both the trouble.”

And there, in the quiet glow of the evening, you fall asleep together, his glasses forgotten, his arms anything but.

╭ ⋮ Join my тαgℓιѕт╰

[iyearn4thebeach]

Nowhere else to go

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x fem!reader

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: on a stormy night, Rhett opens his door to find you—soaked, injured, and exhausted—standing on his porch with nowhere else to go.

Warnings: sorta!oldfriends/fallenoutfriends to lovers, mentions of an abusive partner, coercive control/isolation (i’m sorry). Rhett's heart was broken and patched up by the same person, reader. happy and satisfying ending.

Author's note: guys, i hope you like it :) Divider by: @olenvasynyt

The rain had been coming down for hours, the kind of relentless, wind-driven storm that made streetlamps look like ghosts through the downpour. Rhett was half-dozing on the couch, the flicker of an old movie playing across the darkened living room. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep out here, but lately sleep had been restless no matter where he tried to find it.

The knock was sudden. Sharp. Urgent.

It pulled him up so fast he almost tripped over the blanket tangled around his legs. Nobody came here at this hour—not anymore.

He crossed the living room in three strides and opened the door.

And froze.

You were standing there.

Rain pouring off of you in streams, soaking through your coat, your hair plastered to your face. A deep fatigue was etched into your expression, your eyes ringed with shadows that had nothing to do with the storm outside. There was a thin cut on your temple, blood diluted and running into the water on your cheek. You shivered so hard it looked painful.

“Of all the people you could’ve come to—” he began, his voice caught somewhere between disbelief and the weight of old memories.

You looked up at him, eyes dull but steady. “I had nowhere else to go.”

The words cut somewhere deep inside him.

Dor a heartbeat, neither of you moved. He could almost hear the sound of the rain hitting your skin. Then he stepped aside.

“Come in.”

You crossed the threshold on unsteady legs. The entryway light caught the wet sheen of your coat, the droplets rolling off onto the hardwood. You didn’t move further in, just stood there, your shoulders curled inward like you were trying to disappear.

“You’re hurt,” Rhett said, noticing the blood more clearly now. He moved toward the bathroom without waiting for your answer, pulling the battered first-aid kit from the cabinet and snagging a clean, dry towel on his way back.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, your voice quiet, frayed at the edged, missing the bite it usually wore.

He ignored that, swallowing a scoff. Setting the kit on the small table by the door, he crouched in front of you and pressed the towel gently into your hands. “Dry off, you’re freezing.”

You took it without looking at him.

“You should get out of those clothes before you get sick,” he added, his tone firm but without bite. “Shower’s down the hall. I’ll uh… I’ll leave something dry outside the door.”

You hesitate, eyes flicking to his face for the briefest moment—something unreadable passing between them—before you nodded.

While you disappeared down the hall, he went to his bedroom and dug through the dresser for something that might fit you. He settled on a soft, worn sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring that could be tightened. They smelled faintly of the cedar and laundry soap from his drawer.

He placed the folded clothes outside the bathroom door, knocked gently, and walked away before she could say anything.

In the kitchen, he filled the kettle, setting it on the stove. The small, familiar clink of the lid felt grounding. He reached for the tin of chamomile tea, the one he kept for nights when his own thoughts were too loud.

The sound of the shower running was steady, the faint hiss of water a counterpoint to the storm outside.

He leaned against the counter, staring at the steam rising from the kettle, trying not to imagine you standing under that water—head bowed, shoulders still trembling—not form cold anymore, but from whatever had driven you here.

When the kettle whistled, Rhett poured the watered over the tea bag and let it steep. He found a mug he thought you might like—blue ceramic, a chip in the rim that never seemed to matter.

By the time you padded back into the living room, wrapped in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, damp hair curling against your face but the color back in your cheeks, the tea was ready. You looked… smaller somehow. Like the fight washed out of you along with the rain.

He handed you the mug. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Your fingers brushed his as you took it, lingering for a fraction too long. “Thank you,” you murmured quietly, as though the words might crumble if you spoke them louder.

You sat opposite of each other—he in the armchair, you curled up in the corner of the couch. The only light came from the small lamp by the window, throwing soft gold across the room. The storm outside still raged, rattling the glass, but inside, the air was warm, faintly scented with tea and cedar.

For a long while, the only sound between you was this rattling of rain against the window and the slow clink of your spoon against the mug.

You sat curled up into yourself, both hands wrapped around the tea, letting the steam drift up into your face. Rhett couldn’t stop glancing at you—not because you looked the same as you used to, but because you didn’t. The edges had dulled, the light in your eyes dimmed, but there was something there… something that hadn’t been completely snuffed out.

“I didn’t think you’d open the door,” you murmured at last.

His brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, though it was tired, humorless. “Because you hate me.”

He blinked, the words catching him off guard. “What?”

“You do,” you said, still not looking at him. “After what I said, that night… I figured it was over.”

“What night?”

Your gaze dropped to your lap. “The bar—our bar. You were at the table with Perry—laughing about something—and I was at the bar with…” You stopped, your throat suddenly tightening. “With him. Ben—my ex. He caught me staring at you, and—”

Your voice cracked.

He leaned forward in the armchair, elbows on knees, willing you to continue.

“He—um, didn’t like the way I looked at you,” you whispered. “Didn’t like how often I noticed you. We’d actually fought about it before, but that night…” Your fingers tightened around the mug. “He’d gotten loud,. Grabbed my arm. And when he asked me what you were to me, I panicked. I told him you were nothing. Said it loud enough for you to hear.”

The memory slid into place in his mind—the sharpness of your voice, the words he’d pretended not to hear, the way you hadn’t looked at him once after that.

“I thought you meant it,” he admitted.

You finally looked up, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I didn’t. God, I didn’t. I just… needed him to stop.”

His chest felt tight, a low heat burning behind his ribs. “So, you disappeared.”

You nodded, staring into your tea. “Ben didn’t want me around you. Around any of my friends, really. Said I couldn’t be trusted not to… not to make a fool of him again.”

He sat back, the anger in him cold and steady. “That’s not your fault.”

Your lips pressed together, like you didn’t quite believe him.

“What happened tonight?” he asked softy, looking at the bruise already forming

Your hand touched the cut on your temple, as if checking if it was really there. “He found me.”

That was enough. He didn’t need details—he could fill in the rest himself. The rain outside suddenly felt louder, heavier.

He got up without thinking, walked to the couch and sat beside you. The couch dipped under his weight, your knees brushing beneath the blanket.

“I never hated you,” he said, his voice low but sure. “Not for a second. I just thought you didn’t want me in your life.”

“I did,” you said, the words slipping out in a rush. “Even when I couldn’t have you there.”

When he reached up to brush a strand of hair from your check, you didn’t flinch. His palm lingered against your skin, the heat of his hand sinking into you.

The kiss came slowly, a question asked in the space between heartbeats. Not fast, not desperate—just soft, tentative, the kind of kiss that feels like testing a bridge to see if it will hold. Your fingers curled into the shirt he wore, the fabric warm from his skin.

When you parted, you didn’t pull back far. Your forehead resting in an easy position on his shoulder, a content smile on your face.

The rain had softened to a quiet murmur outside, the storm retreating into the distance. Inside, the lamplight painted the room in warm gold, catching on the damp strands of your hair and the faint sheen of moisture still.

You hadn’t moved far since the kiss—still on the couch, still close enough for his knee to brush yours—but something in the air shifted. Your breathing was slower now, steadier, like his presence was pulling you back from whatever dark place you’d been trapped in.

Rhett stood first, offering his hand. “C’mon,” he said quietly.

Your fingers slid into his, tentative but trusting. He led you down the short hall to his bedroom, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath his steps grounding you.

The room was dim, lit only by the glow from the hallway. The bed looked impossibly inviting, layered with soft blankets and pillows—far cozier than you’d ever imagined he would keep it.

And not so surprisingly, they also smelled faintly of cedar and laundry soap.

He didn’t let go of your hand until you were standing beside the bed. “Lie down, darlin’,” he murmured.

You hesitated only for a moment before sinking onto the mattress, curling on your side, your heart stuttered at the pet name. He sat beside you, brushing his fingers through your hair, tucking the damp strands back behind your ear. The touch was gentle, unhurried—like he was reacquainting himself with the shape of your face.

“You’ve been carrying too much tonight,” he said, his voice low. “Let me take some of it.”

Your lips parted but before you could answer, he leaned down and kissed you again—slower this time, deeper. His mouth moved over yours with a patience that made you melt into the mattress.

He shifted beside you, stretching out so you lay face to face. One hand cupped your cheek, the other resting at your hip, anchoring you to him. He kissed you like there was no one else in the world, like nothing outside this room mattered.

Every brush of his lips seemed to erase another piece of the evening—the rain, the cold, the sharp words you’d told yourself over and over.

When his fingers slid into your hair, you sighed against his mouth, your hand finding the back of his neck. He pulled you closer, your bodies aligning, warmth spreading between the two of you.

“Forget it,” he whispered against your lips. “Forget all of it. Just be here, with me.”

You exhaled shakily, letting him draw you into the cocoon of heat and safety you were building together. His hand skimmed the length of your back, memorizing every curve, every tremor in your breath.

By the time you broke apart, you weren’t thinking about the storm, or the cut on your temple, or the ghosts of old mistakes. You were thinking about his heartbeat under your palm, steady and real.

He pulled the blanket over the two of you, tucking you into his chest.

“Sleep,” he murmured into your hair.

And for the fist time in a long time, you did—safe, warm, and with no room left in your mind for anything but Rhett Abbott.

The next time Rhett Abbott saw that scumbag of a Ben Johnson, he made sure the whole bar knew exactly what kind of man he was.

“Who do we have here,” Ben drawled, squaring his shoulders and puffing himself up like a barnyard rooster. He stepped into Rhett’s space, trying to make himself look bigger, tougher.

Rhett almost laughed at the attempt.

Instead, he leaned in, voice low enough to make Ben’s smirk twitch. “We have a wife beater,” Rhett said, the words sharp enough to cut through the music and chatter. A hush rolled through the bar, heads turning. “A coward who thinks hittin' a woman makes him a man.”

Ben’s face flushed dark. “You’re asking for—”

“Oh, I’m not done,” Rhett cut in, stepping closer, making Ben back up a fraction. “We also have the same piece of trash who dragged her out of … by the arm two winters ago. The same one who broke a bottle because she was lookin' at someone else—” Rhett’s smile turned knife-sharp, “—at me.”

Ben’s face went even more red, jaw clenching. “Watch your mouth, Abbott—”

The punch landed before he could finish. A hard, clean right hook that cracked loud in the quiet, the kind of sound that made every man in the room wince in sympathy. Ben stumbled back, clutching his jaw, eyes wide with shock.

“This is me watchin’ my mouth,” Rhett said evenly, shaking out his hand. “Now get the hell out before I help you remember every bad night you ever gave her.”

No one moved to stop him as Ben slunk towards the door, the stares following him out like a parade of disgust, neon light spilling over his walk of shame.

The door swung shut behind Ben, the room still thick with the echo of what just happened. Rhett turned, scanning until his eyes found her—half-hidden at a table near the back, hand curled around her glass like it might anchor her.

He crossed the room in a few strides, the tension in his shoulders easing only when she looked up at him. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in until her cheek was pressed to his chest.

“I don’t condone violence,” she murmured into his chest, her voice quiet, steady. When he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, he noticed the small smile on her face. “But… he deserved it.”

He chuckled, something unspoken passing between them—relief, gratitude, maybe a little awe. He didn’t argue. She let herself lean into him again, meeting his lips in a gentle kiss and for once, she didn’t pull back first.

[iyearn4thebeach]

I NEED Bob Reynolds to YERN, to freak out when he makes eye contact with reader, they brush hands, and he's planning the wedding, reader kisses his cheek he goes into cardiac arrest I NEED I NEED

[iyearn4thebeach]

LEWIS PULLMAN AS ROBERT "BOB" FLOYD

TOP GUN: MAVERICK (2022) DIR. JOSEPH KOSINSKI

[iyearn4thebeach]

pb&jj roommates au: the one with the love letters

Summary: you blame your best friend for suggesting that you write your feelings down, and now the love letters are missing. the pb&jj boys find them, and they try to figure out who you're crushing on. little do they know it's one of them.

Pairings: pb&jj x fem!reader/platonic!reader and fem!reader x ??

Warnings: living with four guys, fem!reader is crushing on one of the pbjj guys, pbjj are a bit oblivious, johnny thinks fem!reader is crushing on him, pbjj trying to play wingman for reader, thor and loki make a cameo, open ended ending, fem!reader with vague descriptions, little to no use of y/n, and proofreadish.

WC: 3.5K

Author's Note: yeah this is totally inspired about tatbilb. hope you guys like it, and feedback is always appreciated (: you can find my masterlist here

💌 REQUESTS ARE OPEN 💌 💫please check my rules before requesting

Tagging: @wetspaghetti3

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

You're frantically banging on Gwen Stacy's apartment door at an ungodly hour, well, for Gwen it was, but this was an emergency. You can hear Gwen cursing out whoever is bothering her beauty sleep.

"What the hell do you want?" She spits out, her eyes are still closed, hair curlers in a disarray.

"They're gone!" You're practically yelling her face, but in your frantic state, you don't care.

She opens her eyes and squints at you. "What's gone?"

"The love letters."

WEEKS AGO

Gwen is looking over your shoulder and giggling as you're writing your second love letter to X.

"Okay, I didn't know you were seriously down bad for this guy," Gwen remarks as you continue to pour your heart out in written prose.

"Trust me, it wasn't planned at all."

"Wait, how long have you been crushing on him?"

Crushing on was putting it lightly. You were 100% certain it was borderline in love with him.

Your life was over if he ever found out, because, of course, you would end up falling for one of your roommates. You're smart enough to not put a name in these letters, and even Gwen doesn't know who you're crushing on.

For some reason, she thinks it's Eddie Brock, one of her co-workers. She could be further from the truth. The one-minute interaction with him didn't put him in a good light for you.

At first, you were hesitant about even writing letters. Living with four guys leaves hardly any room for privacy. The bare minimum they'll do is knock, but not wait for you to answer before barging in.

It was like Gwen had a sixth sense when it came to you and your love life. After pestering you about what you were hiding from her, you finally admitted having a crush... on someone. Gwen knew not to push you too far and let you have your crush remain anonymous from her.

"Too long," you finally reply after staring at the letter before you.

"Doesn't it feel better writing it out?"

No.

"Mhh.. kinda I guess."

"Just make sure to hide them."

"Duh, I'm not stupid."

Famous last words.

A FEW DAYS AGO PB&JJ POV

"Yo, Peter, do you have anything you need dropped off at the post office?" Johnny asks and finds Peter walking out of your room holding some letters. "Perfect," Johnny says, and snatches them from Peter.

"Wait, I don't think-"

Johnny's looking them over. He recognizes your handwriting immediately.

He waves them at Peter. "The silly girl forgot to stamp these. Do you think Bob has any stamps?"

Johnny doesn't wait for an answer and is already yelling for Bob.

"What do you want?" Bob calls from the living room.

Peter and Johnny find both Bob and Joaquin there.

"I said. Do you have any stamps?" Johnny asks Bob and waves the letters in the air.

Joaquin eyes the letters and says. "I didn't know you could write."

"Haha, hilarious, Torres. They're not mine."

Peter grabs the letters from Johnny and says they're yours. "But I don't think they're regular letters."

Johnny laughs at Peter's remark. "Of course they're letters, what else would they be?"

Bob has gotten up and politely asked to see one of the letters. "Let's add not being able to read to the list of things Johnny can't do."

"Hey! What is this? Roasting Johnny hours?"

Bob shoves a letter right in Johnny's face. "See, there's no address or name. Just X."

He squints at the writing. Johnny may also need glasses.

"Huh, that's weird."

Joaquin is the only one who hasn't said anything, but it's evident to him that they are.

"It's clear you guys didn't get any love letters in high school," he pipes up.

"I got plenty."

Everyone ignores Johnny.

"What makes you think it's love letters?" Bob asks

"Uh... well, it says 'To My Dear X'." Peter answers, and his ears start to turn a bit red.

"Ha, Bob can't read either," Johnny replies, grabs the letter, and starts opening it, ignoring the yells of 'stop' and 'invasion of privacy'.

Johnny can't help it... he's nosey.

Peter tries his best to stop Johnny, but Johnny has a slight height advantage.

"Where did you find these?" Bob asks Peter as he takes another from him.

"Uh... well, I was looking for some cool stationery, and I know she has some. Aunt May's birthday is coming up, and I wanted to write her a letter."

Johnny has remained oddly quiet as his eyes skim over the letter. After a moment, he quickly looks up and sees the other three staring at him.

"Maybe Peter was right." At least he sounds a bit ashamed.

Well, now Joaquin is curious. He stands next to Johnny and reads over his shoulder.

"Dear. X, you don't even know, do you? That anytime we spend time together, I feel like my heart is going to-"

Johnny slaps a hand over Joaquin's mouth. "Shh. Don't read it out loud."

Joaquin gives him an annoyed look while shoving his hand away. "It's not like she's here."

"Guys, stop. This is an invasion of her privacy," Peter cuts in. He's trying his best to get the letter back, since Bob is sneakily trying to take another letter from Peter.

"Oh, yeah? Same, as when you were doing her laundry last week, and took it upon yourself to wash her delicates."

Joaquin and Bob both stop their reading and give Peter a teasing look.

"We-well, the moment she moved in with us, she said, treat her like one of the guys. I was only doing a roommatey thing. Besides, it was laundry day," Peter pitifully says.

"Yeah, sure, okay."

As Johnny and Peter continue to bicker back and forth, Joaquin turns to Bob.

"I didn't even know she had a crush. We're best friends, we tell each other everything."

Bob shrugs. "Do you honestly think she would go to you for boy advice?"

"Mhh, I guess not. But still, I wonder who she's writing about?"

"Okay, that's enough!" Peter shouts over Johnny's raised voice. "I'm putting the letters back, and we're never going to speak of this again."

Just as Peter is about to grab the letters back, the sound of the front door opening makes them freeze.

"Uh...hi?" You say as you see your four roommates all standing in a huddle. Peter barely had time to find the letters behind his back.

"You're back, again?" Johnny blurts out, and you give him a weird look.

"You say that as if I don't live here," you tease back.

"What he means to say is, how was work?" Peter tries to diffuse the slight awkwardness.

Something was definitely up with them, but you couldn't figure out what it was.

"I was grocery shopping. Seriously, what is going on?"

"Nothing, nothing. Here, let me help you with those," Bob says, and takes the bags from your hands. As your back is turned, he mouths at Peter to 'put them back'.

---

If only Peter could put them back, but for some reason, Johnny was holding a few of the letters hostage.

"Dude, seriously, where did you put the rest of them? We need to put them back before she notices," Peter tells Johnny.

Peter is currently ransacking Johnny's room, as Johnny watches him, without a care in the world.

"You know, I think an opportunity has fallen into our laps."

Peter loudly groans. "Please, don't involve us in one of your schemes...again."

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who found them."

"Yeah, by accident!"

Johnny sits up in his chair. "I think we should play cupid."

Peter furiously shakes his head no.

"Ah, c'mon. It's clear that our friend and roommate has been bottling up her feelings. That's not good."

"Just because your love life is stagnant. It doesn't mean you should mess around with someone else's."

"Peter, why do you have to be so dull? Even Bob is down."

Peter gives Johnny a suspicious look. "Really, Bob?"

Johnny rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine, he only said yes because Joaquin said yes."

"I don't think I have a choice, but just know I'm taking a backseat in this."

Johnny jumps up. "That's the spirit! And I think I know who she's crushing on."

Johnny smirks to himself.

"If you say yourself. I'm throwing myself off the roof."

"Johnny's roasting hours are over. Anyways, I know it's me since she mentioned blue eyes in one of her letters."

"There's no way," Peter scoffs out.

"Look for yourself." Johnny reaches under his mattress and pulls out one of the love letters.

"Wow, what a creative hiding place."

Peter feels slightly guilty for reading your letter, but he didn't believe a word Johnny was saying.

Peter looks up at Johnny's pleased face. "Blue eyes could mean anyone."

"Nah, call it a gut feeling. Joaquin's best friend has a massive crush on Johnny Storm."

"I thought she would have better taste," Peter jokingly says.

PRESENT

The letters are gone. There's no going back. You just don't understand where they went. You're just hoping none of your roommates has found them.

Although you have a sneaking suspicion that one of them might know something about the love letters. Peter and Bob are horrible at lying. You've been friends with Joaquin since you were kids, so you know when he's hiding something, even though he claims otherwise, and Johnny...well, Johnny has been extra to say the least.

You're just glad you've never put a name in those letters, and at the end of the day, they are guys. Who are a bit dense.

Or so you think.

Johnny slides up next to you on the couch. You're trying to finish a crossword puzzle, but Johnny has other ideas.

He casually takes the pen from your hand and starts twirling it between his fingers.

"Did you need something?"

"Why would you think I need something? Can't we two roommates casually chat?"

You internally sigh and put down your puzzle. "Knowing you, nothing is casual."

"Speaking of casual, what are you doing Friday night?" He asks, shooting his dazzling smile. You have to admit, he looks pretty adorable.

"Nothing, why?"

"Wanna go bowling?"

It was so random, and yet so Johnny.

You indulge him, thinking nothing of it. "Sure, why not?" You snatch the pen back and go back to your crossword. Johnny is mentally patting himself on the back.

Who knew asking you out on a date would be this easy?

---

Johnny is pouting on the bench as he watches Bob try to help 'improve' your bowling form.

But so far, all Bob's done is somehow manage to get the bowling ball stuck on his thumb, and the two of you are laughing. Peter is taking the whole situation more seriously than you and Bob, as he anxiously tries to help get Bob's thumb unstuck.

"Why so glum, sugarplum?" Joaquin gloats as he watches Johnny eye you and Bob with disdain.

"Maybe I should have been more straightforward."

"Or maybe it's not you who she's crushing on."

Johnny groans. "Well, who else could it be? Blue eyes, remember? So it's not you or Peter. But one of the letters did say something about how her crush makes her laugh in a quiet way. What does that even mean?"

"Well, if it involves being quiet, she definitely wasn't talking about you."

Johnny shoves Joaquin just as you're walking up to them.

"Okay, it's your turn," you say and thrust a ball into Joaquin's chest.

Joaquin gives Johnny a secretive glance before getting up and joining Bob and Peter.

"You've been awfully quiet this evening," you casually remark and glance over at Johnny.

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting the extra company," he mumbles under his breath, but you catch his words.

"Oh," you say, a little embarrassed. You honestly didn't think Johnny was seriously asking you out on a real date. So you didn't see the harm in extending the invitation to the other three as well.

Johnny leans closer to you and quietly says. "Look, I kinda know about the love letters."

Your eyes widen. Out of all the guys, it would be him to find your love letters. You quickly look at the other three.

"Don't worry, the others don't know," Johnny reassures you while also covering for the other three.

Something just occurs to you, and you narrow your eyes at him. "Wait, how many did you read?"

It's the first time you've seen Johnny look embarrassed. "Just a few," he sheepishly replies, and you groan.

"Oh my god, did you think I was crushing on you?"

"Hey, why are you saying it like that?" He sounds offended and a bit hurt.

You soften your gaze at him. "You're a great guy-"

"Are you seriously giving me the 'it's not you, it's me speech,' and we're not even dating?" Johnny asks with a grin, and it makes you feel a little better.

"Johnny, as I was saying, you're a great guy, but I don't see you like that."

Never in your life would you think you would be turning down Johnny Storm. Maybe in another circumstance, things would have been different with him.

He playfully glares at you. "Well, if it's not me you're crushing on. He must be one hell of a guy."

Your eyes quickly dart to Peter, Bob, and Joaquin. "Yeah, he is."

Johnny doesn't miss your glance.

---

"Okay, how about him?" Joaquin asks and shoves his phone in Bob's face.

"What am I looking at?"

Joaquin impatiently waits for Bob to recognize the guy on his phone. Bob's silence answers his question.

"Ugh, don't you remember him? It's Thor, my gym buddy. Remember him from the house party he threw, and you, me, and y/n went."

"Oh," Bob replies slowly and furrows his eyebrows. "Why are you showing me Thor's picture?"

"Dude, because I remember overhearing her saying how he has gorgeous blue eyes. Plus, she acted a little shy around him and giggled a lot. That means my best friend is crushing."

"Okay, if you say so," Bob says uninterested and goes back to reading his book.

Joaquin continues on, even if Bob is partially listening. "Okay, so do you think it's Thor she's crushing on?"

It sounds a bit far-fetched to Bob. From the letter, he read, it sounded like your crush was someone who is very close to you.

Who knows you and sees you.

Thor's party was 5 months ago, and it's not like you're a gym rat. So, he highly doubts you've seen Thor since then.

"Who knows," Bob replies.

Joaquin rolls his eyes. "Bob, please sound a little more enthusiastic."

Bob glances up at Joaquin. "About invading our friend's privacy? And now we're, what? Playing matchmaker? I'm with Peter on this one. Backseat and all that, just don't do something stupid."

Joaquin scoffs at Bob's comment. "I would never. I'm her best friend."

---

"Absolutely not, no," you say and try to shoo Joaquin from behind the counter.

Joaquin has come into your workplace and decided it was the perfect time to say that he's setting you up on a blind date.

"Aw, come on, why not? Thor's a great guy," Joaquin whines and dramatically droops over the counter.

"Thor, as in Loki's brother?"

Loki is one of your co-workers here at the book shop.

"Oh, right. I forgot they're related."

You laugh. "Loki likes to say they're adopted. I mean, they could be, they're polar opposites."

Joaquin gives you a puppy dog look. "So, it's a yes?"

You shake your head in disbelief. "Where is this coming from? Since when are you interested in my love life?"

"Since always. We're besties."

"You're insufferable."

"You know you love me," he says with a grin. "So, yes or yes to a date with a tall blonde with long golden locks and gorgeous blue eyes?"

You snort. "Maybe you should go out with him."

"Nah, he's not my type."

"And you think he's my type?"

Joaquin stands up and stares you down. "I saw the way you were shyly flirting with him at his party."

That makes you laugh. "If you think that's how I flirt. Think again."

"For me, please? You'll have so much fun with him, and he thinks you're pretty."

That's a stroke to your ego coming from a guy who looks like a Greek god.

"Okay, fine."

The date with Thor went well, but there wasn't any romantic chemistry. Thor's fun, loud, and attentive, but it's not the type of guy you're into. Thor had taken you to Coney Island, where he proceeded to win you multiple large stuffed animals.

All in all, the date was a 10/10, but as friends. Most of the time, Thor shared childhood stories of himself and Loki. That had you in tears from laughing so much. You, in turn, shared a few embarrassing moments Loki had when he first started working for you.

Thor picked up on the way you talked about his brother, and that's why he sent a text to Joaquin later that night.

Thor: I'm not the brother she likes. It's definitely Loki.

"Figures, she goes for the tall and brooding brother," Joaquin mutters to himself.

It's a rainy Thursday afternoon when Bob finds himself outside the cozy bookstore you work at.

Bob glances in the front window as he passes and sees you're behind the counter.

He takes a minute to admire your appearance. You have your hair partly up, a pencil is tucked behind your ear, and he's pretty sure you're wearing one of his oversized sweaters.

His heart skips a beat at the sight of you wearing his sweater. Do you know it's his? Maybe you thought it was Joaquin's.

He’s about to enter the store when your co-worker rounds the corner holding a high pile of books. He watches as you laugh and say something to Loki, before taking some of the books. 

Loki says something, probably something sarcastic, that has you giggling. Bob feels his heart drop a little as he watches the two of you interact. Before he can turn away, you look up, and you catch his eye. 

With a bright smile and a wave, Bob finds himself entering the store. 

“Were you planning on standing there all day?” Loki asks with a glint in his eye. You lightly nudge Loki to tell him to knock it off. 

“Oh-uh, well, I was just admiring the display you have out front.” 

You’re rounding the counter and take hold of Bob’s arm. “C’mon, we can talk in the back.”

Bob watches as you start putting books away. The book in your hand catches his eye.

“Here I love you,” Bob suddenly says, and you almost drop the book you’re holding. 

“Wh-what?” You ask, trying to hide your shocked expression. 

Bob laughs lightly and takes the book from your hand. “Here I love you by Pablo Neruda. Didn’t you say that was one of your favorite poems?”

You blink rapidly, realizing he’s referring to the book he’s holding. “Uh… yeah, one of them.” 

“It’s a bit sad, don’t you think?”

“I disagree, it’s more bittersweet.”

Bob smirks slightly. “You’re familiar with unrequited love?” 

You turn your attention back to the books. “More than you could know,” you mutter, and Bob hears you.

“You’d be surprised,” Bob replies, and his response catches you off guard. 

“Oh, does Bob have a secret crush?” You try to sound casual, but your heart is racing. 

“Well I-”

“If you two are done making out. I need your help up front.” Loki’s dry tone startles both of you.

Your shift is almost over, and Bob decides to wait around for you. He can’t help but notice how you and Loki interact with each other. How you two almost move in synch, the small, casual touches Loki gives you as he passes behind you. The way Loki’s gaze lingers on your face whenever he makes a sarcastic remark or dry joke, and it never fails to make you smile or laugh. 

Maybe you were crushing on Loki after all. 

“You know he keeps looking over at you,” Loki murmurs to you as he finishes ringing up a customer. 

“Who?”

Loki gives you a look that says ‘humor me’. “That slightly awkward fellow camped out on the couch, who else?”

“Bob, isn’t awkward.” 

Loki smirks. “I never said anything about Bob. Besides, he’s not even on the couch.” 

You glance over and see it’s an older man on the couch. Turning back, you see that Loki is holding back a smile.

"You two are not subtle at all."

You ignore Loki's job, because it can't be true.

"You know someone has to make the first move, right?" Loki's final comment sticks with you.

---

Back in your room, you sit at your desk and pull out another stationery paper.

Your pen hovers for a moment, and then it starts flowing along the blank page.

You're halfway through writing when there's a knock on your door. You quickly hide the letter while saying. "Come in."

Of course it's Bob.

"Hey, we're starting the movie if you want to join us."

"Yeah, just give me a minute and I'll be right out."

Bob notices that you're still holding your fountain pen. Bob gives you a slight nod and retreats from your room.

Once he's gone, you quickly finish the letter and tuck it into an envelope. This time, you address it.

You manage to sneak into Bob's room without being noticed and leave the letter on his desk.

[iyearn4thebeach]

what do you mean i go back to college soon and won’t have all day to sit around reading top gun fanfics

[iyearn4thebeach]

Chatter box

Summary: Bradley's girlfriend is a yapper and he's a listener. Word count: 900

The only words Bradley knew ever said to his chatty girlfriend were:

“I’m listening.” 

“Let it out.”

“I’m all ears.”

Based on the way she would eagerly say his name, it was almost instinct for Bradley to say, “Talk to me, baby.” 

She just loved talking about anything and everything. She had something to say about every topic Bradley could think of. He never found his girlfriend's constant talking annoying, only endearing. Over time it just made him become a better listener. Bradley talked too, but not as much as his girlfriend.

He contributed when needed or if he had an opinion, other than that Bradley shut his mouth to listen to her. Bradley didn’t listen because he had to or loved her- he listened to her rant because he genuinely wanted to. Every time she started speaking Bradley's ears and eyes were on her like she was the only person in the room. 

Being a chatterbox did catch up on his girlfriend at times. Like during Bradley’s lunch break when he left base to go eat with his girlfriend. It took her an hour and forty-five minutes to finish her food because she talked so much. Bradley would always finish his meal before her, and he would have to remind her to eat her untouched food. 

“Baby eat.” Bradley cut her off mid-explanation of the song Springs by Fleetwood Mac with a laugh. He had 5 minutes left to get back to base and his girl had only managed to take one bite out of the two pizzas she had. 

“Okay.” She frowned while picking up her pizza off the paper plate. Hearing her sighed, Bradley knew she was feeling insecure about how much had been talking. He couldn’t stand to see her upset for a second. It would be the third time this week that Cyclone threatened to shove a clock up Bradley’s ass so he would get to work on time. Despite the embarrassing scolding he would receive from his superior in the presence of his squadron, it would be worth it since his girlfriend had enjoyed her lunch. 

“What happens after Fleetwood Mac reunites for The Dance?” Bradley watched the spark come back to his girlfriend's eyes since her topic of conversation hadn’t been forgotten. She eagerly set her pizza slice back down, gearing up to talk her ass off again. Eventually, Bradley got tired of reminding her to eat so he ended up feeding his girlfriend her pizza slice while she continued to talk. 

Bradley turned up at base thirty-five minutes late humming the song Silver Springs, knowing he was about to get chewed up so hard for being tardy yet again because he let his girlfriend keep talking.

While deployed the guys would tease Bradley because he had the thickest envelope from his girlfriend that had the density of a small paperback novel. The envelope was only made up of pages and pages of his girlfriend's handwriting. She wrote a lot, so Bradley was severely spoiled with entertainment from her. He wouldn’t even go hit the town with his friends, too busy rereading the 20 pages his girlfriend had written. 

If she rambled through every meal she ate, Bradley couldn’t even imagine how much yapping she was saving for him to hear these past two weeks. When Bradley was able to make a Face time call home, his girlfriend was so excited to hear from him because she missed him so much. Bradley appreciated the concern and her question on how he was doing, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He already had to survive it, he didn’t wanna retell it. All he wanted to hear was hear her sweet voice he’d been missing for 2 weeks. 

“Enough about me, I’m sick of me,” Bradley smirked at her, getting comfortable in the chair in the lounge room. “Baby you better give me an earful, I’ve been missing my chatterbox.” The screen glitched from the horrible wifi on base, so he heard her wonderful laugh before he saw her reaction. 

“Bradley, don't get me started.” She covered her smile with her mouth while shaking her head. 

“I know you're itching to talk motormouth.” Bradley couldn’t resist teasing his girlfriend. “Baby, you got 8 minutes, can you work with that?” It she certainly couldn't considering she could talk so much to the point she made it till the closing hour at restaurants. 

“I’ll try.” She giggled. 

When Bradley got home the only thing he wanted to do was sleep, eat, and have sex with his girlfriend. On the second day of being home, Bradley and his girlfriend went out to eat lunch and hit the beach. After showering and spending the afternoon at the beach, Bradley wanted to end the day fucking his girlfriend and eating dinner. 

But as Bradley was making out with her on the bed and slipping his hands under her shirt her mind seemed to be completely elsewhere. 

“I used to hate my high school chem teacher with a burning passion but when I saw that bald guy at the supermarket yesterday, I just felt pity because he could probably have a heart of gold but in that classroom, he was such an uptight little-”

“Shh honey.” Bradley laughed against her lips, realizing her mind was elsewhere.

“I’m sorry.” She sheepishly took her bottom lip between her teeth. 

“It’s okay baby. You can tell me about that bald guy after.” Bradley smiled against her mouth. 

Despite her chatter entertaining and distracting herself, Bradley still loved to hear her rant and talk for hours. He couldn’t imagine having a dull girlfriend who hummed and nodded at replies. Bradley preferred his girls chatty, who got upset when they weren’t cut off.

This took me too fucking long to write! Writers, Ladies it's the third top gun summer. Don't start disappearing on us :/

[iyearn4thebeach]

this simple gif makes me so infuriatingly feral

[iyearn4thebeach]

LEWIS PULLMAN as Rhett Abbott

OUTER RANGE 1.03 — "The Time"

[iyearn4thebeach]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙖𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙧𝙮 𝙈𝙞𝙭𝙪𝙥

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧 :

𝘈𝘴 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥, 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦. 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦. 𝘈 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘍𝘦𝘮! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳.

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 :

𝘉𝘰𝘣, 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘹-𝘶𝘱 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴.

Another trip to the laundromat. 

It’s not like Bob didn’t enjoy Coyote and Hangman living with him. It was just a little louder than he was used to. And much messier. And much more crowded.

Okay, no, he really didn’t enjoy it. But he endured it. Because he was sweet and he couldn’t say no when they came knocking on his door under the excuse of ‘our apartment is old as shit so nothing works and everything might as well be on fire.’ 

So of course Bob let them stay for a little while, just until their place was fixed and ready to go. 

The first week was coming to an end and apparently electricity was fixed, but plumbing was a prominent issue. So the guys were still tearing Bob’s place apart and he was cleaning like a desperate housewife. 

While Jake and Reuben were out on a run, something they did every Sunday afternoon before hitting the gym, Bob gathered all the laundry. His own washing machine has been down for months, so he’s been going to a nearby Laundromat. 

His clothes usually fit in one load in the smallest machine, the pilot simply didn’t own much. But now his load tripled and the trips became more frequent. Frequent enough for him to notice a girl who usually came on Wednesdays and sometimes Saturdays. Bob never talked to her, of course, because why would he ever approach a random girl he doesn’t know? 

Maybe because he thought she was insanely cute and sometimes he would get a whiff of her detergent and melt on the inside because he knew exactly what she smelled like? No. Definitely not. That’s weird. 

Gathering the last of the dirty laundry and packing it into a large basket. Bob throws on a well-loved gray Navy hoodie, a nice way of saying old and worn out, over his broad frame and some dark sweatpants before slipping out and making his way down to his car. 

The drive is barely five minutes and when he parks he subconsciously searches the parking for your car, coming short he exhales. What did you expect, he thinks, today’s a Sunday. 

Loading the machine, throwing in two detergent pods and paying with some change, Bob leaned back against the shaking metal box. With free time to spare he clicked on the teams group chat titled ‘Flyass’ something Javy came up with and everyone just accepted it. Surprisingly. 

There was some argument going on between Bradley and Jake, per usual, and the accompanying comments of emojis and ‘damn’s were coming from Natasha and Mickey. 

In the time it took to wash, relocate, and dry the clothes, Bob managed to pick up some groceries, which were left to wait in the car. With the basket in hand, arm flexing slightly to hold up the weight of all the clothes, Bob brushes past you, a little too close. He doesn’t realize at first, muttering his usual “I’m sorry.” He looked over his shoulder to offer a polite smile but came in short when he realized just who he almost pushed off their feet. 

You smiled and said it was fine, quickly moving to the back wall where the dryers lined up in multiple rows. Was he insane for wanting to go back inside and rewash all the clothes just so he can glance over at you once in a while? Definitely. 

The smell of your perfume lingering in his nose as he made his way back to his car. Something floral but with a citrusy snap to it. 

The drive home lasted less than one song on the radio and Bob still kept thinking of the missed opportunity. But asking someone out in a room full of stranger’s dirty clothes and rags didn’t seem romantic whatsoever. 

-

You weren’t supposed to be doing laundry today, but you were going away for a couple of days for your sisters wedding. 

You had to rush because you had plans later that evening—some date with a friend of a friend that you didn’t want to go to but felt bad refusing the guy—which resulted in you bumping into the cute military guy you’ve seen around. 

He was tall, like towering over you kind of tall. But not the scary kind. He had the sweetest eyes you have ever seen. Can that man pick you up and throw you across the room? Most definitely. Does he look like he saves kittens from trees on his free time and helps grandmas cross streets? Also yes. 

Quickly walking around you settled your basket on the floor by the dryer #7. Quickly picking up and dumping all of your clothes into the basket until you pick up a shirt that’s not yours. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you turn it around in your hands ‘maybe someone forgot it’. But as you move to place it in your basket you realize the entire load is not yours. Those large Top Gun Academy shirts? Not yours. Those sweatpants that went up to your chest? Not yours. You were so in your own head about the upcoming events you didn’t notice you were taking someones clothes. Usually you would check the dryer for any articles of clothes that might have been left behind, but not today. And anyway, you were certain that was the right dryer, because glancing around, all the other ones were empty. 

That’s when it hits you, the only other person you saw in here was the cute pilot. Did you ever get his name? Nope and now you had no chance of ever getting your clothes back! You had some clothes in there, and now you’re not getting laid on the trip because they’re all gone!

By the time you finished your—or not exactly your—load and packed it in the car, the space filling with the smell of his fabric softener—something clean but with an undertone of warmth—you speed off to get home. 

The date ends around 10, and you are far too exhausted to sort through your new found laundry, but you have to in case there’s a name tag or a path or something. With a groan you dump everything out on your bed and begin making piles, shirts go with shirts, pants with pants and etc. 

As you’re folding a large, faded shirt, you realize there’s some marking on it. You stop for a second and hold it up, it looked like some military academy T-shirt. Your eyebrows furrowed in contemplation and you turn it inside out, hoping to find something and to your luck there was a name and a phone number. You almost laughed because it reminded you of kids in elementary school who would put all of their information on their jacket in case it got lost.

Sadly you don’t get to keep the cute shirt. But on the other hand you now have the name and number of the cute pilot man and you might be able to get your things back!

You opted for texting rather than calling the stranger really late at night. The name on the inside of the shirt was ‘Jake’, you made sure to store that away in your mind. 

> Hey, this is random but somehow I accidentally picked up your load of laundry and I think you might have picked up mine. 

> I found your name and number written on one of the shirts.

> Could I come tomorrow morning to exchange?

Setting the phone down, you continued folding and packing whatever you could for your trip. 

With everything done and the lights off, you settle into your bed and prepare for a good sleep because you are far beyond drained. But the universe won’t let you relax as you hear a string of ding’s coming from your phone. 

> Hey

> That’s an original way to hit on me

> Kidding, you could be an old man

> Ill send you the address you can just hand it to who ever is there

You almost throw your phone across the room because 1) this guy already seems annoying and 2) he could have sent one message instead of four. So now you have to stop by there tomorrow morning before leaving for your sister’s. 

-

Bob was in enormous trouble. Not only did he lose his friends clothes to a stranger at the laundromat but he also was pretty sure he picked up your clothes. And now his entire room smelled like toasted vanilla. Bob noticed the second he dumped all of the clothes out on his bed—great now his bed smells like you too—and he couldn’t move. Bob just stared at the pile as if it might grow a mouth and tell him where to take it all. 

He might as well fold it and put it in a bag or something, in case he catches you next Wednesday. This definitely wasn’t an excuse to see what you wear outside of the laundromat. No, that’s creepy. 

But as Bob began folding and noticing things he became increasingly flustered. Bob had borderline lingerie—your lingerie— sprawled on his bed, and god did his mind go to town with that. Because you were cute and polite and goddamn gorgeous. And because every time he sees you you look up and smile at him like he hung the stars, because you pout softly in concentration, and your eyes twinkle when you’re on the phone with someone and laughing loud enough for the whole place to hear. 

Bob’s fingers flexed, hands halfway in the air, as if he was unsure if touching it would strike him with lightning or not. He ended up compromising, closing his eyes and gently picking it up. Feeling the lace bunch up between his fingers, Bob clenched his jaw to keep himself in control and dropped the lacy pair into the bag. 

Once they slipped through his fingers he both felt the odd loss of the material and regained self control. But that’s until he picked up your shirt. It was a thin white shirt, the material so soft it might have been 101% cotton. Fuck, Bob muttered, he couldn’t stop imagining the way the material would spill around you, creasing and bending at every curve. Bob lifts the shirt up to his nose, taking a whiff of your detergent and biting his lip to hold back a groan. He imagine how you drown in that scent, how it surrounds and clings to you. 

He almost buries his face in it before a sharp knock comes from the other side of his bedroom door. With a small startled yelp Bob throws the shirt down as if it burned his hand, taking a few steps back, wiping his palms down the pant of his sweats. “Y-yes?” 

“You’re getting dinner tonight!” Called Jake. 

“Yeah,” Bob said a little too quickly, still flustered. “Got it!” 

-

Bob just came out of the shower, hair damp and sticking in multiple directions, glasses sliding down his slick nose and a towel wrapped around his hips. Maverick moved the briefing to later that day so Bob didn’t have to rush out at 6 A.M. 

Lazily walking towards the kitchen with a phone in his hand Bob is trying to talk Natasha out of ripping Jakes head off. He stops short as he hears the door ring. Who’s coming this early?

Jake was out getting some protein powder and Coyote was out washing his car and Bob wasn’t expecting anyone. With a confused look he moved towards the door and unlocked it, pulling it open he froze. Eyes wide and blue as the ocean behind his glasses which he quickly pushed up, a nervous habit, because there you are, standing at his doorstep. The girl who’s name he doesn’t even know and only seen handling her dirty laundry. 

Bob almost forgets all he’s wearing is a towel and he quickly grips it a little tighter. “Uh- Hi, hello.” He stammers out, “can I.. help you?”

The words that come out of your mouth are less than expected by Bob “are you Jake Seresin?”

What. The. Hell.

So Jake knew you? Cool. Bob’s definitely never getting a chance now. 

“No. I’m Robert-Bob. He’s not here if you’re looking for him but I can tell him you came by…”

“No need,” you smiled that sweet little smile you give him when you pass him or yesterday when you almost bumped into him , something like relief flashing in your eyes,“I’m just dropping something off. I somehow picked up his load. Found Jake’s number on one of the old shirts.” You outstretched the large bag of clothes, Jakes academy shirt on the top.

So you didn’t actually know Jake. Good for you. 

Bob blushed, realizing the reason you had that shirt—that entire load— was because of him, and now you’re at his apartment and basically this is faith and he’s destined to be-

“My laundry delivery girl!” Bob mentally face palmed as he heard Jakes words echo down the empty hallway. Hangman approached the apartment, plucking the shirt from the top of the bag before looking you over without any shame whatsoever “if I knew someone like you were coming, I would have lost my shirt sooner.” Jake grinned and bumped Bob’s shoulder as he walked past him and deeper into the apartment. Bob took the bag carefully from your hands setting it down somewhere behind the door. 

You two stared at each other for a long second before you pursed your lips into a little line, “do you by any chance have my clothes?” 

“Right! Y-yes,” Bob reddened, every coherent thought in his mind disappeared the second he saw you. He almost forgot his own name. “Ill go grab it just, come in… give me a second.” You nodded passed the threshold. The apartment was a little messy and there were sounds of a metal shaker coming from the kitchen. Someone was in the shower and Bob was behind the closed door of his bedroom. You glanced around at the photos hanging about the walls, there weren’t many but you definitely recognized Bob’s baby pictures. In one he’s wearing a flight suit that’s too big on him, crowing him is a woman kissing his head and his father with a bright smile. 

You’re not sure how long you’re left staring at the picture, but long enough for when you look back you see Bob dressed in a flight suit which he now fills out nicely. A contrast between an innocent happy kid with a dream and an actual fighter pilot who hasn’t seem to have lost his kindness through the years. “Here,” he says softly, outstretching you the bag with neatly folded clothes. You thank him and take ahold of the bag, the handle digging into your palm a bit. 

“Well then,” you said, stepping back slightly “have a good day.” And with a nod you turned. Bob followed to the door, holding it open to let you out. You start down the hallway of similar wooden doors and welcome mats. 

“Wait.” Bob stepped out of the door slightly, “what’s your name? I- I just seen you around and,” he flushed as you titled your head up to look him in the eye, the type of blush that made him look too adorable for this world, “thought I should know.” 

Your face softened slightly, it was obvious that Bob wasn’t like his roommate. You told him your name and bid him a good day, finally heading out. 

When Bob closed the door he had a boy-ish smile on his lips, almost loopy. All you did was give him your name but that was enough to drive him deeper into the hole of delusion he was already digging. 

Hangman laughed while walking by, shaking his protein powder better into the water bottle “I didn’t know my laundry lady was your type.” 

Bob’s head snapped up. “What? She’s not your laundry lady and not my type! Anyway she was just-“

“Dropping off our load, yeah. Totally innocent.” Hangman grinned like a little dipshit he was. “Didn’t leave it at the doorstep or anything, she was getting all comfortable in here.” 

Bob could feel the blush creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears “you’re being rediculous.” He leaned off the door and walked towards his room. 

“Maybe,” Jake shot back, taking a sip from his bottle, “but if you’re not going to ask her out, Bobby, I might have to. Because let me tell you, I will not let that piece of ass slide-“ 

Bob shut his door and blocked out whatever Jake was saying. Because there is no way he is threatening getting with you right now. There’s no way you would say yes, he saw the way you looked at Jake when he was talking to you. And the least Bob could say was that you did not look very pleased. 

-

For the next couple of days, whenever Bob is around town, he keeps his eyes strained for you. Subconsciously. He’s not really trying to catch you, or talk to you, or seek you out. 

He definitely is but he is not going to admit it. 

When he doesn’t catch you on Wednesday at the laundromat something like disappointment stirs in his gut. And he knows its ridiculous but with Jakes remarks every day about the ‘pretty girl from the laundromat’ Bob can’t help but feel on edge. 

Coyote has caught on to what is going on and is just egging the whole thing on. Jake had the advantage since he had your number from that time you texted him and he made sure Bob remembered that. ‘Feeling lonely tonight, might text that pretty girl’ or ‘I might have to lose more shirts to keep her coming back.’ Just stupid comments that made Bob irrational mad, almost boiling over. 

-

Finally returning felt like both heaven and hell, because you loved living alone and away from family but missed your sister like crazy. If she was here, she would have told you to already jump both on this opportunity and the guys bones. But she isn’t and you felt too embarrassed telling her you had a crush on a guy you spoken to once. But nonetheless you had things to do. Falling back into the rhythm of your life, work-gym-personal time. Though you were gone only for a couple of days, something shifted. You couldn’t stop thinking about Bob. 

His face flashed while you made coffee early in the morning and you heard his voice in the soft murmurs of your office. 

His eyes that basically engulfed you when you came to return the laundry, the cute way he blushed, how he clutched his towel- you had to snap out of it or the next trip you would be taking is down to the insane asylum. 

-

Walking through the glass doors of the Laundromat, detergent and other stuff in one bag and clothes in your basket you scanned the machines. The sun was setting down so the place was illuminated by florescent lights that were buzzing softly accompanied by a dryer door slam and some coin clinks. The place was mostly empty. As you walked through one of the rows to find the cleanest machine you saw someone in the back by the dryers. Tall, glasses, cute tint to his cheeks, and leaning his back against the counter as one of his large hands holds a paper back bent in half. 

Sure, a part of you is screaming and crying at the way the spine of the book is bent back so unnaturally you are sure it would have screamed in agony if it had vocal cords. You packed your things into a washing machine and paid, tapping your finger against the top of the machine as it fills with water and shakes. You’re sucked into your thoughts, not sure if you should come up and talk to him or just let him read.

But before you could decide, Bob lifted his eyes and met yours. The florescent lights caught his eyes in a way that made them look almost glassy-blue. He offered an uncertain wave and you smiled, taking that as a hint. 

As he watched you approached he closed the book and shoved it in his back pocket. Which was insane for two things, who carries a book in their back pocket and how do mens jeans fit a whole paper back in their back pocket? 

“Hey,” you settle next to him, smilling up at him. 

“Hi,” he adjusts his glasses, shifting to make a little more space for you. “Thank you again for returning the clothes, Jake might have killed me if I lost his academy shirt.”

You chuckled, and Bob froze for a second, watching the way your eyes crinkled “it’s no problem, really.” You brushed your hair back behind your shoulder, “you know, you always read in this corner.” Bob felt his gut warm up because you noticed. 

And as pathetic as it sounds, Bob never really felt noticed before. Not for the little things he does in the corner. 

“Yeah its just, I don’t really have anything else to do and-“

“So what are you reading?” He swallowed, reaching back to grab the book again and handing it to you. He looks away as you read the title The Rosie Project out loud. Almost likes he’s embarrassed. You didn’t expect him to read something like that, its almost endearing. But you seem to catch the trend that everything he does is endearing. “That’s,” a little giggle bubbles out “I’m sorry, its just not what I expected.”

Bob flushes further, you can practically feel the heat radiating off him as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, just… thought It would be interesting, maybe. Don’t know.” The corners of your mouth curled at his little unsure gesture. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

Bob’s dryer stopped spinning with a little tune that broke the small interaction. You nodded and handed him back his book. You turned on the heels of your feet and walked back to your machine. You wanted to stand around and talk, fix his glasses, run your fingers through his hair- woah. 

Where did that come from? 

You physically have to shake your head to keep the thoughts away. 

With all Bobs clothes collected, and double checks done that they’re truly all back—and his— in his basket, he makes his way towards the exit. You perk up, watching as he almost reaches the door. You want to call out, you want to walk with him or ask him if you could get one of his shirts lost again in your laundry so you could come over. But you’re a coward and ninety percent sure he is just being nice. 

-

What is wrong with you? 

That’s what Bob hears in unison from the entire squad when he tells them what happened. 

Somewhere in the background Penny was ringing the bell behind the counter, people were singing along to some 80’s music playing from the jukebox, chatter was becoming louder by the minute and bodies were illuminated by the neon signs in all corners of the bar. Bob was nursing his coke, his cheeks already pink from the amount of teasing he had to endure. The Dagger Squad sat towards the back by the pool tables, the spot that they usually occupied since moving to North Island base. 

“You had the perfect chance to ask her out, dude!” Payback throws his hands up. 

“She came up to you!” Natasha laughs, as if it is the stupidest thing Bob has ever missed. 

Jake just slowly started lifting his phone up to his ear with a grin. 

“No!” Bob pointed at him, “put that down.” And a bark of laughter ripped through, so loud it might have shifted a couple of stray billiard balls on the poor tables. 

“She was all up in your laundry,” Javy took a sip of his beer and wiggles his eyebrows a little. 

“That’s weird,” Bob groaned, burying his face in his hands “don’t say that.” Which comes out more like a whine than anything else. 

Bradly slides in on an empty bar stool besides Bob “what were you even worried about? You want to tell us you fly some of the most dangerous missions, you had to eject before you plane crashed head on into a cliff, you literally might explode in the air at any moment and you can’t ask a pretty girl out?”

Bob shifted, taking a sip of his soda “I didn’t want to mess it up, that’s all. She’s nice, and she-“ he shakes his head. 

“The only thing you’re messing up is the chance to actually have a life outside laundry day,”  Fanboy leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

Bob took another sip from his coke bottle, hoping to hide his embarrassment. But all he could think about while sitting with the squad was you, and the way you looked in the buzzing white lights, and the way you smiled at him and teased him. God, he was in so much trouble. And the worst thing? He had a way in and he didn’t take it. 

Eventually the squad moved on, going into a heated discussion about something Bob couldn’t care less about. His thoughts were still on you. Should he ask Hangman for your number? Jake would not let Bob live that down. 

On the drive back Jake was sitting shotgun by Bob and Coyote was in the backseat as they were singing their hearts out to Fergalicious but Bob was in his own thoughts. 

“I be up in the gym, just working on my fitness-“ Jake hollered. 

“He’s my witness,” Javy continued even louder. 

“Do you two have to be this loud?” Bob asked, already exhausted. 

“Absolutely,” Jake said without missing a beat. “This song is literally me incapsulated.” Bob rolled his eyes at how extra Jake was being. “Speaking of fitness,” Hangman smirked “how is yours? You plan on exercising those social skills of yours?”

Bob’s cheeks flared “you’re going to make me crash,” he muttered. 

“So that’s a no,” came from the back seat. “You’re killing us, man. You could have had a date by now,”

Jake reclined on the seat and put his boots up on the dash board despite Bob’s immediate glare. “Next time you’re going to that laundromat, I am coming with you. So you don’t blow it like last time.” With a wicked grin he added “I’ll be your wingman.” 

“You’re the last person I would want as a wingman,” Bob murmured as Coyote cheered in the backseat. 

The rest of the drive was filled with more Fergie and very questionable high notes. But Bob barely heard that, instead replaying your laugh and the way your hair looked as you swung it behind your shoulder, and the curve of your smile when you saw him. He’s going to have a heart attack. 

-

Walking through the doors the only sound filling the space were the drying machines and the clothes hitting against the think glass. Bob had his basket in hand and and rehearsed what he was going to say. Just ask you out. Simple. Not terrifying at all.

Except you were already there, so he had less time to prepare. You were loading a machine, hair up in a loose ponytail and lips pouting slightly in concentration. And as if Bob’s luck couldn’t be any worse, the bell above the door jingled and a very unpleasant noise came in next. 

“Bobby-boy!” Jake’s voice rang out and bounced off the linoleum. 

Bob winced “Jake, what are you-“ 

“Being your wingman, like I told you.” Jake smirked, stalking towards Bob. “I brought my A-game.” This only made Bob a lot more terrified. Color practically draining from his face. “Its your laundry girl.” Jake whispered-or tried to, but he was naturally an obnoxiously loud man. 

You heard their voices, there was not a single bone in your body that didn’t recognize the sound of Bob’s voice, and sadly Jakes as well. But you didn’t lift your head, because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to go forward with you very very stupid and desperate plan. 

Yes, hanging out with your sister was so much fun. Seeing her all lovey-dovey with her husband only worsened your condition and feelings. Whatever possible feelings you could have for a guy who barely knew… but already seen half naked. You snapped out of your thoughts and kept loading the machine. 

Bob settled a couple of machines down from you. You knew he left during the washing and stayed to read during the drying, so as long as he leaves you can make this work. 

You could see Jake hovering over Bob, whispering something and throwing you glances, even a small wave with a huge grin. You knew they were talking about you, but with the way Bob kept shaking his head and muttering something it did not seem as if things were going Jakes way. 

Eventually Jake threw his hands up in expiration. You heard something along the lines of “you’re impossible.” But as he walked past you he slowed down “save us form misery already.” You stifled a chuckle as you watched him leave. Only a couple of minutes later did Bob follow Jake, his machine loading for a second. 

Perfect. 

You pull out a white shirt you washed last time that was now adorned with your name and you number written on it with a black sharpie. Was it a dumb idea? Totally. Was it original? Also yes.

You quickly popped the lid of his machine open and dropped the shirt in, just as the water began filling the tank. The lid fell close with a small snap and you finished your laundry as quickly as you can. Adrenaline pumping in your blood because what if he comes back and finds it and then it would be awkward!

You were out of there in record time, not bothering to fold anything in case that takes up too much time. 

-

Bob’s apartment felt weirdly quiet. Now that Hangman and Coyote were back at their place, there was no more random yelling and loud conversations, along with random song performances. There was the buzz of the refrigerator somewhere further down the hall and the steady ticking of the clock. The sun was already down and when Bob came back to the Laundromat to get his clothes you were already gone. He missed his chance. Again.

After the ted talk from Jake and some motivation from Javy and even a call from Nat. He simply missed you. Bob felt like the worlds biggest idiot as he folded his clothes on the bed. He kept replaying everyones words and the way you looked earlier. 

Bob kept folding, separating his clothes—only his now, thank goodness— before coming across a weirdly small shirt. It was a white shirt and definitely not his, he turned it around and-

Bob’s jaw almost fell to the floor because that shirt had your name and number written on it, though the numbers did bleed a bit from the hot water. Bob couldn’t believe it, it must have been a prank, but for once he didn’t want to over think something. Grabbing his phone off his pillow he dialed the number, pacing his room as the phone rang. 

“Hello?” Your phone was jammed between your shoulder and your ear as you scrubbed down your dishes in your teddy bear pajamas. Your hair clipped back messily and some strands falling back down on your face.

“Hi,” came in Bob’s voice, a little out of breath and a little fast “I’m asking you out. Go out with me. I keep missing every moment to do it properly and I just found your shirt and I just-“

“Yes.” You cut him off. Surprising even yourself with how slightly eager you sounded, your phone almost slipping out before you quickly jerk your shoulder back to the right location. “I would come over right now if not for your roommates,” you joked, or half joked, or actually didn’t joke at all.

“They’re not here.” Bob said just as quickly and just as eager. “I mean, they- they’re not my roommates they were just staying for a while.” 

There was a brief silence which followed. So you basically invited yourself and he basically said come here. But was he serious? Were you serious? 

You bit your lip and stared down at the half washed plate in your hand. “Are you saying you actually want me to come over? Like… now?”

Bob froze mid pace, clutching his phone tighter. “Only if you want to. I mean-yes. I would like you to. Very much. But no pressure. Unless… you like pressure? Not in a weird way, I just-“

You laughed, cutting through his fluster “Bob.”

“Yeah?” He fixed his glasses. 

“Text me your address. I can’t find Jakes message with it.” 

There was some shuffling on his end, almost like he nearly dropped his phone in the rush. “Right. Address. Of course.” Bob cleared his throat, trying to even his breath out. 

You rinsed the plate and set it on the rack to dry, “Ill be there in 20.” 

Bob desperately wanted to plead and call out fifteen but opted politely for “drive safe.” 

You stared at yourself in the reflection of the kitchen window. You definitely needed some fixing up. But you couldn’t help but feel giddy because you were going to see Bob, the most adorable and awkward pilot who you met over laundry, without his little wingman. 

Back in Bobs apartment, he looked around. He had to quickly put away his clothes and fix the couch cushions that were smooshed and dislocated from Jake and Javy. Fifteen minutes to make his apartment look like his again and less like its been wrecked by two other pilots. 

-

You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see when you arrived. Last time you came there, Bob was only wearing a towel around his hips. Maybe you expected something casual but the Bob that answered the door was anything but. He was flushed and a bit out of breath, fixing his sliding glasses. 

Bob was wearing a plain gray t-shirt and jeans, his hair looked freshly combed. “Hi,” he smiled his little boy-ish, dorky smile and stepped aside “come inside.” 

The apartment was nice, clean. You could tell Bob spent some time fussing over it and that just made him a little more cuter. The scent floating around was so him. It was clean with a hint of warmness. 

“Wow,” you looked around “did you clean before I came?” 

Bob went pink, all the way to the tips of his ears. “I just.. no- I was putting some things together. And vacuumed. And maybe Febreze’d the couch. Twice.”

You giggled, slipping off your shoes “that explains the ‘spring meadow’ atmosphere. But its.. very cozy.” You said genuinely. 

He scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t want the first-second time you came over to be… you know, chaotic. Especially after Jake and Javy.”

“Bob,” you smiled “I’m not here to judge your throw pillow arrangement. I’m here to see you.” You stepped closer, and in return Bob’s eyes widened, his lips parted softly. 

“Drinks?” With a hum you followed him into the kitchen. “Anything you want? I only have beer if you’re interested or tea..?” 

The kitchen was small but comfortable, necessities scrambled around the place but somehow still seemed to be in their own order. The light made everything look like it was dripping in honey, the soft ember lights casting low shadows and making the place a little more intimate. You smiled, leaning back against the counters as he searched for something to drink. 

The two of you settled down on the couch, and Bob placed the beer bottles on the coffee table, a halo of water already forming around it since these past couple of nights have been on the warmer side. 

“This is… wholesome.” You teased softly but in reality this felt really nice. 

Bob sat on the furthest end away from you, so you beckoned him closer while laughing. “I don’t bite, you know?” 

He hesitated—you could see the gears moving as if he didn’t want to overstep. Ultimately moved closer, his knee brushing against yours. 

“I’m sorry about the shirt,” you started and took a sip. “I know it was a dumb idea but I just… I thought it was kind of ironic since this whole thing started with laundry and I found you because of a shirt,” you explain, feeling slightly embarrassed. 

Bob laughed, you felt the deep vibration stirring in your bones from that sound. Running smoothly all over you and grounding your slightly fast-paced heart. “I should have asked you out earlier.” 

“Why didn’t you? Or do you usually wait until womens laundry ends up in your batch?” You lean back, your knee presses a little more against his and Bob has to will his eyes away from your legs. 

“I don’t usually ask girls out. Especially not this late at night and not in mild panic.” Bob shrugged, almost like he accepted that his quietness and busy schedule didn’t allow for anything else. 

You obviously noticed the way Bob kept to himself, how he chose the quiet moments. But you didn’t expect that answer from him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Bob plucked the bottle rom the table, taking a slow sip. “I’m better at other things, like… flying. Being a WSO. Folding fitted sheets.” You let out a little giggle. “Talking to you? Now that’s harder.”

His eyes met yours again, soft and a little crinkled from his smile, this time he didn’t look away so quickly. A dog was barking down the street and the clock was ticking on the wall, it was silent between the two of you but not awkward, just charged. Charged in a way that made your pulse skip. 

Bob clears his throat, setting the bottle back down, hands settling down on his lap. “So… would it be weird if I told you I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for weeks now?” 

“No,” you chuckled, eyes sparkling with amusement. “That’s sweet. Though I do wish you would have done it earlier.” 

Bob’s smile deepened but he didn’t say anything right away, His hands shifted on his lap like he was debating whether to move them closer to yours. You could see the faint red tint to his cheeks and the slight rise and fall of his chest. 

The air shifted again — thicker, warmer.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him, waiting for whatever would come next. His gaze shifted to your lips for just a heartbeat and you were sure he was going to lean in, but instead he cleared his throat. Looking  down at his hands in contemplation. 

“Then,” he said quietly, returning his gaze to yours, “maybe I shouldn’t waste any more time.”

Before you could tease Bob about finally catching on, he leaned forward, closing the small space left between you two. The soft brush of his knee against yours became more solid, combining with his hand there, shifting slightly higher, like it belonged there. 

He hesitates for a moment, and you can see the question in his eyes, the hope he has been carrying with him. You responded without words, tilting up to meet him. The kiss was tentative at first, like a test drive, just to test the waters. But you caught the steady pull behind it, like once he started he wasn’t willing to let go. 

It was gentle, careful, but deeply intentional. You shifted closer, almost unable to bare the space between the two of you. His hand shifted to to your jaw and your hand fisted in his shirt. He whispered your name against your lips and you only pressed closer. Bobs hands shifted down under your thighs, lifting you up with ease, almost like you were paper, and placing you in his lap. Your thighs on either said of him, your hands now on his jaw and his, warm large and steady, on your waist. 

You pulled away, your chest brushing against his, heaving out of breath. Bob’s lips were kiss-swollen and red almost matching the color of his cheeks. His blue eyes, dark in the low light but still shimmering, wide behind the glasses. He only began to overthink that he overstepped a boundary and now you were going to leave but “I really like you, Bob.” You whispered, looking down at him with wide but serious gaze. 

Bob’s lips parted as if to say something but you kept going. “And I don’t want to jump into this and have you thinking that’s all I came here for. Because that’s not true.”

Bob’s gaze softened and he nodded, “I know.” He lifted one of his hands, brushing back your hair with such tenderness, like he believed you were made of glass. “We can stop,” he offered but you shook your head. 

“Just promise me this won’t end here. That I can get to know you. More than this.” 

“That’s all I ever wanted.” He whispers back, so honest and raw. Exposed. You realize he doesn’t need to do anything with you tonight. He would be happy drinking tea on opposite sides of the couch and just talking. You lean in to close the space between your lips again and he does the same, but before your lips could connect he slips out “you’re all I ever wanted.” And the truth was sealed with a kiss. Soft, intimate, and sure. He was pouring out his heart with the kiss, every brush of his lips released whatever he was holding back. 

He shifted the both of you slightly, you were sprawled under him on your back, his lips trailing to the corner of your mouth. Down to your jaw, like every centimeter of you was deserved to be worshipped in the softest way, then down the column of your neck. His lips leaving small, lingering kisses on your soft skin. Bob can’t control the urge to nuzzle his nose a little deeper into your neck and hair. His senses filling with the smell of your very familiar detergent and something so distinctively you. His voice low and a little raspy “you smell so good… taste so good.” 

- 

After, the rest of the night was spent cuddled next to each other on the couch. Bob brought out a large blanket to throw over the two of you and turned on a movie. The living room was illuminated by the soft light and the murmur of the TV, all the other lights were out. His hand in your hair, gently massaging your scalp and almost lulling you to sleep. You wanted to know this Bob. The Bob that quietly read in the corner of the laundromat, the Bob that puts on Notting Hill, the Bob that lifts you and sets you in his arms like you belong there, the Bob that made you feel things you have never felt before. Every part of him, every corner and curve. 

[iyearn4thebeach]

i need him so bad, it’s not even funny anymore 😩

THIS WAS SO BEAUTIFULL WTF

₊˚⊹⋆ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 !

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Bob Reynolds x GN!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: In the quiet hours, you’re the one thing that feels real to Bob. For this, he treats you like the most precious thing ever.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Slight self-doubt and very minor hints at derealisation from Bob, otherwise, sweet fluff!

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀��𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐌𝐂𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐊𝐎-𝐅𝐈

The room is quiet. Not sterile, though that’s usually the vibe in the Watchtower. It was all sharp edges and ‘don’t touch’ signs and lighting that felt aggressive when you’d had a long day of following orders. But, here, with the lights dimmed and the windows half-fogged from the outside rain, it feels safe.

Your own pocket of peace. A place where Bob is watching you like he doesn’t get to keep you.

Which is absurd, really, because you’re right there. On the couch beside him. Your socked feet tucked under your legs. A steaming mug between your palms that’s long since gone lukewarm. You’re here. Yet, Bob is still looking at you like you might vanish if he blinks.

Like some part of him expects it.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you murmur, voice quiet so it doesn’t disturb the hush. You’re not looking at him, but you feel the weight of his stare. “The museum thing.”

Bob quirks an eyebrow, half-grinning. “The museum thing?”

“Yeah.” You tilt your head lazily to meet his gaze. “Like I’m some priceless artifact you’re not supposed to touch, but you really want to.”

He chuckles, low and rough at the edges. “That obvious?”

“Mmm,” you hum. “You’ve got the eyes for it.”

Bob doesn’t answer immediately. Just leans closer, the way he always does when he wants to say something he thinks might scare you off. It never does. That fact still seems to surprise him.

His fingers reach out, almost tentative, like he’s still checking if he’s allowed. You nod, just slightly. And then, he touches. Gentle. Calloused fingertips brushing down the slope of your cheek, lingering at the line of your jaw. Soft, slow strokes, like you’ll break if he’s not careful. He’s memorising the map of your face.

“You are,” he says, voice barely there. “Priceless.”

You almost laugh. Not to mock, it’s just so Bob to say something like that with complete sincerity and no idea how much it floors you.

“I’m really not.”

He hums, unfazed. “Not gonna argue with you. You’ll win, and I’ll get distracted watching your mouth move.”

That earns a real laugh from you, and his smile grows like sun creeping across a windowsill.

Still, there’s a weight in his eyes. Something quiet and scared, hidden behind the easy sarcasm. Something that crawls into the room after missions, when the suit’s off and there’s no one left to fight but his own mind.

You don’t push him to talk about it. Not always. You just sit there and let him be whatever version of himself he needs to be in the moment.

Right now, he needs to touch. So, you let him.

His finger traces down to your collarbone, barely grazing. Not in a way that asks for anything, it just grounds him. You feel like the only real thing in the world when his brain is trying to convince him he isn’t part of it.

“I feel like I’m gonna wake up,” he murmurs, still watching you. “Like this is a nice dream my head made up. And any second now…”

You rest your forehead against his, your mug abandoned on the coffee table.

“You’re awake,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

Bob closes his eyes, breathing in slow like he’s trying to bottle the moment. Like you’re the air he’s not sure he deserves.

His voice dips again, that low, warm hush like the dark has ears and this moment is only for you two. “Don’t leave yet.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say.

“No, I know,” he says. You see the way his shoulders drop a little, tension sliding off. “Saying it out loud makes it feel… certain.”

There’s a pause, the kind that doesn’t feel like silence. Just two hearts thudding gently in a shared space.

You lean back slightly, just enough to look at him. “You know, I am a little priceless.”

Bob raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You nod. “At least rare. Limited edition.”

Bob snorts. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Still tracing me like I’m a Van Gogh, though.”

He grins, boyish and bright, and that ache behind his eyes softens just a little.

“You do have a great nose,” he says, tapping the tip of it.

“I know I do,” you say, mock-offended. “I’ve been telling people for years. No one believes me.”

“Well,” he says, pulling you closer until you’re tucked into his side, your cheek against his shoulder. “They’re all wrong. I’ve seen a lot of noses.”

“That’s a weird flex.”

He laughs again, that warm, low rumble that starts in his chest and spreads into yours.

The lights stay dim. The storm outside is still distant, just a gentle percussion on the window. You breathe in the scent of him — laundry soap and cedar and something a little electric, like ozone right before a thunderclap.

“You’re different when it’s just us,” you say, not accusing. Just observing.

He hums. “Yeah. You too.”

“How so?”

“Softer,” he says. “Less guarded.”

You shrug against him. “You make it easy.”

There’s another pause, but this one feels golden. Like neither of you need to fill it.

Eventually, he speaks again. His voice is almost reverent.

“You know, sometimes I feel like I’m split down the middle.”

You nod, encouraging, your fingers finding his and intertwining.

“Like part of me’s just, Bob. Regular, messed-up Bob with weird hair and a caffeine problem. And the other part is…”

“The Sentry,” you offer gently.

He hums. “Or worse. The Void. Like there’s something in me that could break the whole world if I breathe wrong.”

You squeeze his hand. “And yet here you are. Not breathing wrong.“

He looks at you then, really looks. Like he’s trying to memorise this moment. You can tell he wants to say something dramatic, something poetic, but it gets stuck in his throat.

Instead, he just says, “You’re good for me.”

“You’re good for you,” you say, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “I’m just a bonus.”

He lets out a soft breath. “Hell of a bonus.”

And then, quieter, “Stay.”

You press a kiss to his jaw. “Always.”

And that’s the thing about Bob. He has felt himself tear at the seams more than once. But, somehow, you, just you, curled into his side in a dim room with moonlight dancing on the walls, make him feel whole.

Not because you save him, but because you see him.

And that’s rarer than any power in the universe.

𝐌𝐂𝐔 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @writingcrustacean @feliciahardysgf @ayvuhs @nomajdetective

[iyearn4thebeach]

Operation: Damsel

You, Bob's civilian girlfriend who hates everything to do with the New Avengers, get pulled into training him.

Warnings: thunderbolts being shitty

The Thunderbolts, or New Avengers, depending on who you asked, had a problem. More specifically, Valentina had a problem. More specifically than that, Valentina had a problem with Bob.

It wasn't just Bob. He wasn't the issue, per say. No, it was his fear of heights.

The man could fly, but he hated heights when he was in the Bob headspace. It left him pretty much useless.

In the Sentry headspace, he was pretty much perfect. It was just whether he wanted to help or not. And after he was in the Sentry headspace, Void was inevitable.

They'd learnt to deal with Void by now. They found a room to hold him, one he couldn't get out of, one he couldn't hurt people in. A room designed to hold Wanda Maximoff, but now it held him.

So, yeah, it would have been easier if they had Bob to help them.

They'd tried time and time again to get Bob into the air. Each time, he'd freaked out, panicked, and couldn't do it. Just once he'd passed out, crumpled to the floor.

They needed a new approach.

That was where you came into it. You, Bob's girlfriend. Yelena knew the most about you, listened as he went on and on about you.

Yelena knew where you lived. She'd put it together through the stories Bob told about you. You and your dog. She'd seen the two of you through your apartment window, dog stretched across your lap as Bob idly stroked his fur.

You seemed nice, but that didn't mean she trusted you.

(Yelena had come to trust you. After a good few weeks of stalking Bob to watch your dates together, she came to trust you. It didn't seem to matter to her that Bob was an adult man who was allowed to have his own life).

You didn't expect two women in pretty cool, if not slightly strange, combat gear. You tightened your grip on your dog's lead as they looked you up and down.

"You're Bob's girl?" The darker haired one asked.

Your dog stood between your legs, your way of protecting him. "I might be," you said stiffly.

The blonde looked towards her companion. She looked back at you. "We're his.... colleagues?" She tried, but it didn't sound right on her tongue. "Roommates? Friends?"

"You're on Bob's team," you pieced together.

They nodded. "That's why we're here," the blonde said. She quickly introduced herself and shook your hand. Her eyes flicked down to your dog, the german shepherd with his head tipped to the side, who couldn't look menacing if he tried.

"We need Bob to fly," Yelena said, getting right to it. "But Bob is terrified of heights."

This, you knew. You'd taken him to the roof of your apartment building before, to see the stars. And that was fine, until you tried to take him to sit on the ledge. "Nope," he'd said immediately, holding you tight so you couldn't fall over the ledge and die.

It took you a minute to register what Yelena had said. "Bob's going on missions?" You asked, a certain edge to your voice. "Why the hell is Bob going on missions?"

Ava furrowed her brows at you. "Because he's needed?" She said, like it was obvious.

"Is he needed, or is the Sentry needed? And I know you both know what happens after the Sentry." Your chest seemed to be heaving as you looked at them. "I can't believe you guys are taking Bob on missions! Why the fuck are you taking Bob on missions?"

At your raised voice, your dog started barking. You tightened your grip on his lead, pulling him back to your side.

Yelena took a breath. "What we need you for makes sure that we don't need to call on the Sentry," she said. "And not calling on the Sentry-"

"-protects Bob from Void," you finished.

"Exactly."

So, you agreed to do it.

That was how you ended up in a plane, the back end open for you to jump out of. Bob was beside you, blindfolded. He had no idea that you were there, but he had to know what was going on.

When they got to where they wanted to be, Yelena pulled you to your feet. You stood at the open end of the plane, waited for Bob.

He was pulled to his feet. "We need you to jump, Bob," John Walker said, hand on the back of his blindfold. Not yet pulling it off.

His body was visible trembling. "I can't," he said. "Walker, I can't."

Yelena repositioned you at the the very edge of the opening. She held your shirt and leaned you back. Either Bob was going to save you, or the other guy was going to make an appearance and kill them all.

Walker pulled off Bons blindfold. Before he could register just how high up he was, Yelena let go of you.

There was something incredible and terrifying about free falling through the air. Blue surrounded you, above and below you. You couldn't work out what was up and what was down.

Just falling.

Falling.

Falling.

You closed your eyes. What if Bob didn't save you? What if you plunged into the icy waters below? Someone would rescue you before hypothermia set in, right. And, if they didn't, who would look after your dog? Surely Bob would.

Arms. Big strong and familiar. They wrapped around you and slowed your fall.

But then you weren't falling. No, you were going up. You opened your eyes to look at the man holding you.

Bob, your Bob. His eyes were blue and he looked like he was panicking. Yeah, he was definitely your Bob.

"Bobert," you whispered, but he couldn't hear you over the roar of the wind.

"Nope," he managed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Let me concentrate on getting you to safety."

"Bobert," you said again as he got closer to the plain. "You're flying."

His flying seemed to slow. "I'm..." But then he looked down. "Oh fuck."

It was slow at first, but then all at once you were falling. "Bob!" You cried, keeping a tight grip on him. His chest seemed to be heaving, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

You slapped his cheeks. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to get his attention. "Come on, Bob, honey. Save me!" You cried.

His eyes flew open. So close to the water, you were about to feel its icy bite.

But then, you were in the air again. "I got you," Bob said, his mouth dry. "I-I." You didn't drop, not yet.

To take his mind off of it, you kissed him. Bob's eyes went wide before he closed them and let his instincts take over.

[iyearn4thebeach]

Friends To Lovers - Robert "Bob" Floyd X Female Reader

Title: Friends To Lovers

Robert "Bob" Floyd X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Natasha "Phoenix", Jake "Hangman", Bradley "Rooster", Reuben "Payback", Mickey "Fanboy, and Reader's parents

WC: 6,720

Warnings: Reader's callsign is Bumblebee, overbearing mother, slight family angst, nicknames, teasing, banter, flirting, italics, very brief misogyny, slight pressure to get married and have kids from parent, friends to lovers obv, cursing, plotting, mentions of bars (The Hard Deck), confessions, very brief threat, angst, and fluff

This was easily the most uncomfortable dinner yet, though, truthfully, most of them felt like this. You didn’t see your parents often, not with your schedule as a Navy pilot. Callsign: Bumblebee. The name stuck ever since the Academy, where you never really stopped moving, buzzing from one assignment to the next, always too busy to take a break.

Still, you made a point to have dinner with your parents every other Sunday when you could, helped that they lived on the island. Your father had worked at the base before he retired. You shifted slightly in your seat, picking at the food on your plate with your fork. You weren’t really hungry. Not for meatloaf, and definitely not for the weight in the air. Across from you, your father sat with a newspaper in one hand, chewing absently as he read the little comic section, completely detached. Beside him, your mother’s posture was stiff, spine straight as a board. She ate methodically, eyes locked onto you like she was waiting for something.

You risked a glance up, hoping she hadn’t noticed how little you’d eaten. Big mistake. Your eyes met for a second, barely that, and you quickly looked back down at your plate. Maybe she didn’t notice. You should’ve known better.

"How's work been, sweetheart?" Your mom asked lightly, stabbing a fork into her salad with far too much casual grace to be innocent.

You offered her a sheepish smile, picking at your own plate. "Nothing much has changed. A lot of training, paperwork, debriefs. Nothing really exciting to report back on."

There was a beat of silence before she tilted her head, voice lined with that same old syrupy curiosity. "Have you met anyone recently?"

You let out a humorless, breathy chuckle, leaning back in your chair. "You know it's kind of difficult to date in the Navy, Mom."

Of course, that didn't deter her. It never did. Your mother had been on a mission of her own. Operation: Find You a Boyfriend. She was hell-bent on you settling down, marrying, having kids, and riding off into the white-picket-fence sunset. You weren’t even sure if it was about your happiness anymore. Maybe she just desperately wanted grandkids. Maybe she felt like she was running out of time to see it all unfold. But she had been pushing this narrative more-so since your last long-term relationship ended over three years ago.

And sure, you wanted those things eventually. The idea of marriage, of having a family, made your heart feel warm. You wanted that soft kind of future. Just not now. Not when your career still demanded so much of you. But she didn’t see it that way. You’d tried to set boundaries over the years. Tried to tell her to back off, to let you live at your own pace. But she always had a way of deflecting, with lines like “I just want what’s best for you” or “I won’t be here forever. You need someone to take care of you.” 

You sighed quietly, staring at the rim of your water glass. You still loved her. You always would. But God, you really wished she'd just let you breathe.

Your mother set her fork down with a soft clink, clasping her hands together with practiced poise. Her eyes pinned you in place, the kind of stare that always made you feel ten years old again, no matter how many combat flight hours you had under your belt. "I just don’t understand," She began, her voice calm but edged with disapproval, "How someone with your… Position… Can’t find someone." She waved a hand vaguely in the air, struggling for something. "That… That bar you go to- What’s it called? That place where you all, uh- Mingle."

You exhaled slowly, barely holding back the roll of your eyes. “The Hard Deck?”

She snapped her fingers. “Yes. That one. I know it’s not my idea of a proper place to meet a man or… Occupy oneself,” She added, voice dipped in judgment. “But you go there every Friday, don’t you? With your coworkers?” She didn’t wait for your answer. “So what’s the problem?” 

You sighed, the kind that came from deep in your chest. “Mom, for the hundredth time,” You said, trying not to snap, “I’m focusing on my career right now. The Navy comes first. That’s what I’m committed to.”

Her lips pressed together, the tension thickening between you. “You can’t be in the Navy forever, sweetheart,” She said, shaking her head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Before you could even gather a response, she started muttering to herself, eyes narrowing as she traced an invisible thread along the tablecloth. “Brenda from book club,” She murmured. “Her son’s still single, isn’t he? About your age. Nice boy. Tall. Maybe I could arrange something. A blind date isn’t the most romantic start, no, but it’s an option. Nothing wrong with a little nudge.”

Your eyes widened in horror. The last time your mother tried to set you up with someone she swore would make “a wonderful husband,” he spent two whole hours ranting about late-night infomercials and his conspiracy theories about the stock market. And not-so-subtly checked out the waitress that had been serving you. And the guy before that? Far worse. He was very much a ‘I like my women in the kitchen’ kind of guy. Didn’t very much entertain the fact that you were in the Navy. Yeah, no. You were not going through that again.

You opened your mouth, desperate to stop her spiraling, and before your brain could catch up, your mouth betrayed you. “I have a boyfriend.” The words shot out like a flare, bright and panicked, and the second they were airborne, your breath caught.

Your mother’s brows lifted. “You do?” Even your father had looked up from his paper, giving you a long look before nodding his head and going back to his paper. 

Your hands shaking. God... What have you done? "Yes," You swallowed thickly, "I do." You continued to lie, looking at your mother as your mind was begging you to stop.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked, her excitement obviously showing, practically bouncing in her seat.

Good thing you'd perfected the art of lying back in high school. Back when your mother thought you were staying over at a friend’s house for a movie night, when in reality, you were sneaking off to a beach bonfire or going to a party. You hated lying to her, truly, but she had a way of turning any attempt at honesty into a lecture about your life trajectory, your future husband, and whether or not he had a 401k. She fell for most of your fabrications - ninety-nine percent, give or take - and this time, you really couldn’t stomach another one of her terrible blind date setups. Especially when, inevitably, she’d blame you for not going in with “an open mind and heart.”

So, you did your best to choose your words carefully, avoiding anything that might raise suspicion. “Well,” You started slowly, buying time as your eyes flicked around the room, hunting for a story to grab hold of. “I just... I guess I was nervous to say anything. I wanted to wait. See if the relationship was going anywhere, you know? If it was going to work out.” You offered a shrug, something small and casual, then met her eyes again. “I wanted to be sure he was the right guy before telling you, Mom.”

She blinked, visibly softening, her lips parting in pleased surprise. That bright sparkle returned to her eyes like you’d given her the best birthday gift of the decade. You almost felt bad, but not bad enough to take it back. "I expect to meet him next Sunday!" Your mother declared as she stood up and began gathering plates. "I'll make my lasagna and I’ll pick up that cheesecake you love from the bakery, the one with the raspberry glaze."

You blinked. Oh no. It was really stupid of you to think she’d never want to meet him. And so soon…

She turned toward your father, who was still buried in his newspaper. She reached over and tapped the paper insistently, trying to get his attention. "John, did you hear? Our baby is bringing someone home next weekend to meet us!"

Your dad peeked over the top of the page with a grin. "Proud of you, kiddo," He said, and for a second, your chest tightened.

You forced a smile. "Thanks, Dad..."

"Well, I better start cleaning up," Your mother continued, already clearing dishes with a hum. "And I need to make a grocery list- oh, this is going to be so nice." She looked completely delighted, and the way she practically floated around the kitchen made your stomach twist even more.

You got up to help, mumbling, "I’ll take these," As you gathered your own plate and a few others.

"Thank you, sweetheart." She gave your arm a light pat, her eyes still twinkling.

After the last dish hit the sink, you gave her a small smile, trying not to visibly panic. "It’s getting late. I’ve got work tomorrow."

She immediately pulled you into a hug, her rose and lavender perfume soft and familiar. "Drive safe. I’ll text you later about Sunday."

You waved at your dad as he lifted two fingers off his newspaper in lazy farewell, and then you slipped into your boots at the door, fingers fumbling with the laces. Your messenger bag went over your shoulder, keys clenched in your hand. The ride home was silent. Not even the radio played, your thoughts were too loud for music anyway. You chewed on your bottom lip as you pulled into your usual parking spot, engine ticking after you turned it off. Your bag felt heavier than usual as you trudged up the stairs to your apartment, the keys jingling in your hand as your mind raced.

Maybe… Maybe you’d just show up and say you and your definitely real, totally not made-up boyfriend broke up. That would be believable, right? You pushed the door closed behind you.

Kicking off your boots, you considered the alternative. You could tell her the truth. That there was no boyfriend. Never had been. But you immediately shook your head. No way. That would devastate her. And then she’d start in with her matchmaking crusade again, and that was almost worse.

You tossed your messenger bag onto your too-small couch and pulled out your phone. It was too late to call Natasha. You’d ask her what to do in the morning, if you had the chance. She was always better at this stuff. You sighed, your whole body drooping with exhaustion as you stared at the ceiling. You didn’t know what you were going to do. But you needed a plan. Fast.

~~~

You hadn’t really gotten the chance to talk to Natasha properly, just enough time to pull her aside earlier and tell her you needed to talk, and that it was serious. 

“So,” Natasha started as you both made your way toward your usual table for lunch, trays in hand, “You need help with what exactly?”

You sighed. “I don’t know,” You admitted, balancing your tray while trying not to sound too overwhelmed. “I just... You’re one of the only people around here who actually gives good advice and doesn’t sugarcoat things. And right now, I really need that.”

You both sat down, facing each other. You twisted open your water bottle while Natasha quietly poked at her food, lost in thought.

Finally, she spoke. “I know your mom can be... Intense. But have you thought about just telling her the truth? You never know, maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”

You shook your head slowly and took a sip of your water. “That’s the thing, Nat. I don’t want to find out what she’d do. Best-case scenario? She doesn’t get it and sets me up with some random guy again. Worst-case?” You exhaled hard. “Let’s just say I’m not up for the drama.”

“Mm,” Natasha hummed, giving you a soft, knowing look. But before she could respond a tray clattered down beside her.

“What’s this about finding you a boyfriend?” Fanboy asked as he slid into the seat, grinning wide.

You groaned, dropping your head briefly. “Nothing. Just, Mickey... Don’t.”

Of course, it didn’t stop there. The rest of the team trickled in - Rooster, Hangman, Payback, Bob - all finding their places around the table. Hangman took the empty spot to your left, immediately throwing his arm around your shoulders.

“You need help finding a boyfriend?” He asked, flashing that cocky smirk of his, “I think I can help with that.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed his arm off. “Thanks, but no thanks, Bagman.”

He held his hands up in mock surrender, clearly unbothered. “Just offering my professional services, Bee.”

Natasha shot you an empathetic smile as the guys started joking around. You hadn’t wanted the whole squad to know... But with this group? Secrets had a short shelf life.

Payback stabbed into his mashed potatoes, already halfway through his lunch. He didn’t look up, just spoke through a mouthful. “What’s this all about anyway?”

You let out a long, weary sigh, rubbing your cheek with your hand as you stared at your tray, appetite nonexistent. “My mom wants to meet my boyfriend.”

From beside you on your right, Bob shifted slightly in his seat beside you. You didn’t notice the way his grip tightened on his water bottle, or how he quietly brought it to his lips, sipping to keep his mouth occupied.

Bradley raised a brow, trying to clarify. “And… You don’t have a boyfriend?”

You shook your head, the exhaustion settling deeper into your bones. “She’s been on my ass for years about it. Constantly. I guess I just- Snapped. Told her I had one. Now she wants to meet him.” You let your head drop into your hand, elbow resting heavily on the table. “I’m tired. Stressed. And completely out of ideas. I don’t know what to do.”

Natasha swirled the food on her tray with her fork, her gaze fixed on you thoughtfully. “You might hate this idea… But what if you ask someone to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

You opened one eye, fixing her with a skeptical look. The idea wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t exactly ideal either.

Bradley leaned forward, nodding. “Actually, that could work. Just tell your mom you broke up a couple of weeks after the dinner. Clean exit, no mess.”

You huffed, “Then she’s just gonna start setting me up again. Matchmaking is like her Olympic sport.” The others chuckled as you leaned back slightly, rubbing your temple. “I mean… Maybe it could work. Maybe I could pretend I’m in mourning or something. Buy myself some time before she comes at me with another blind date.”

“You faking heartbreak?” Natasha teased lightly, raising a brow. “That’s gotta be convincing.”

“I can cry on command,” You deadpanned, though a tired smile tugged at your lips.

Rueben gave you a sheepish smile. “I’d love to help, really, Bee, but uh… Parents scare the hell out of me.”

You opened your mouth to reply, only for Jake to inhale like he was about to volunteer. You didn’t even look his way, just pointed a warning finger in his direction, and that shut him up quick.

“No,” You said firmly.

Jake raised both hands in surrender with a grin. “Fair enough.”

You let out a sigh, heavy and tired, your shoulders slumping as you rubbed your temple. “This is ridiculous.”

Bob’s hand moved gently to your back, his fingers warm and slow as they rubbed soft circles between your shoulder blades. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, giving him a grateful look. You sighed again, still tired, but somehow a little less overwhelmed.

The table was quiet for a moment, until a silent exchange passed between the others. Jake, Bradley, Rueben, Natasha, and Mickey all glancing at each other with shared amusement and something else that looked a lot like plotting; it went straight over your head.

“Well..,” Bradley said, dragging out the word. “I’d offer, but I’ll be stuck at base all weekend.”

“Yeah, me too,” Mickey added quickly, like it was part of the plan. “Real shame.”

“But,” Bradley continued, looking entirely too smug, “Bob could help you, Bee. Right, Bob?”

Bob’s hand stilled on your back. He cleared his throat, pulling his hand away slowly as your eyes turned toward him. You watched him shift in his seat, ever so slightly adjusting his glasses before he turned to meet your gaze.

“Uh, yeah,” He said, voice calm but quiet. “I could help you.”

“Really?” Your lips parted, surprised, “Are you sure?”

Bob gave you the faintest smile, “If you want me to.”

The idea of Bob being your fake boyfriend… Well, it wasn’t a bad idea at all. You really admired Bob. He was incredibly sweet. And not to mention incredibly brilliant. Thoughtful in a way that always made you feel seen. The kind of guy who remembered your favorite snack, who offered his jacket without a second thought, who walked you to your car after late nights out at The Hard Deck even when it was parked just a few feet away. He wasn’t loud or flashy like Jake or Bradley, but his presence was steady, comforting. You were close, too. He was right up there with Natasha when it came to people who truly got you. And somewhere along the line, you had fallen for him. But you didn’t want to say anything, in fear of ruining the friendship.

Bob nodded, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “I’ll do my best to help you out… Whatever you need.” 

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Thank you, Bobby.”

Jake immediately mimicked in a dramatic, high-pitched voice, “‘Thank you, Bobby,’” Dragging the words out. Without missing a beat, you elbowed him hard in the arm, making him yelp and jump back with a grin.

~~~

You settled into the booth at The Hard Deck, the hum of chatter and clinking glasses all around you; your friends in their own little world at the pool table feet away, Bradley and Natasha versus Jake and Payback. You took a slow sip of your Coke, the bubbles fizzing on your tongue, while Bob sat opposite you with a glass of water and a small cup of bar peanuts. He absentmindedly picked at the peanuts as he listened.

“I just want to warn you. My mom can be a bit intense,” You said, “She’s really excited about this and will probably have a questions. So… Maybe we should make sure we’re on the same page before this all goes down?”

Bob nodded thoughtfully, his blue eyes calm behind his glasses. “Yeah, that’s smart. Better to be prepared.” He took a slow sip of water before asking, “What did you have in mind?”

You shrugged, “Well, I already told her we’ve been together for a while, so maybe we say less than a year?”

Bob nodded slowly, setting down his cup of peanuts as he considered your plan. “Yeah, that sounds reasonable. I don’t think there’s much we need to change,” He said, “Saying we met at work makes sense. That’s true, after all.”

You smiled, gesturing to him with your Coke can before taking a short sip, “Exactly. We can keep most of it the same. We start as coworkers, become friends, and then...” You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Bob’s cheeks flushed faintly, and he gave a small, almost nervous chuckle. “I- Uh, I think that could work.” He shifted a little in his seat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If you’re comfortable with it, I’m comfortable too.” Bob then picked a peanut from his cup, looking up at you with a small, hesitant smile. “So… Is there anything I should bring to dinner?”

You shrugged, glancing briefly over at your friends clustered around the pool table before turning back to him. “I don’t really know. Flowers? Wine?” You chuckled, taking another sip of your Coke, “You don’t have to bring anything if you don’t want to.”

Bob nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the table. You caught the flicker of nerves in his eyes and without thinking, scooted a little closer in the booth.

Gently, you rested your head on his shoulder, “Hey,” You spoke loud enough for him to hear in the rowdy bar, “It’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect or have it all figured out. We’ll get through this together. Thank you again for doing this.”

“Yeah,” Bob's eyes flickering down to you where your head rested against him. A small, tender smile tugged at his lips, “Anything for you.”

~~~

Bob stood on your parents’ front step, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he clutched two small bouquets in one hand. One was a bundle of soft red roses; those were for you. The other bouquet… He wasn’t actually sure what flower they were. Something bright and cheery, reminded him of tulips. He’d been overwhelmed in the shop, staring at too many vases and labels, none of which helped. So, in the end, he’d grabbed whatever looked nice enough to be mom-approved and hoped for the best.

He let out a deep breath, then glanced down at himself. Baby blue tee, pressed and ironed. His nicest jeans, freshly washed. He’d debated wearing his usual khakis but Bradley suggested something simple. His sneakers were clean enough, and he’d run a comb through his hair at least twice before driving over.

Still, his palms were sweaty, his heart thudding a little too hard in his chest. This wasn’t just any introduction, it was pretending to be your boyfriend. The chance to be close to you like this, even if it wasn’t real, was both exhilarating and terrifying. Trying to stay composed, Bob raised his hand and knocked. Three short, polite taps. He immediately dropped his gaze to the welcome mat - upside down, with a cheerful message that read “Sea You Soon”. He let out a tight breath through his nose, trying to calm his nerves.

The door opened. Your mother stood there, blinking once before a warm smile spread across her face. “You must be my daughter’s secret boyfriend,” She said, stepping back and gesturing him inside without hesitation.

Bob gave her his best smile, a bit timid and awkward around the edges. “Uh, yes, yes ma’am.” He stumbled only slightly.

Your mother waved a hand in the air, as if brushing off the formality. “And a gentleman,” She said, clearly pleased, eyes flicking over his flowers and attire with impressed approval. “Come in, sweetheart.”

Bob stepped inside, doing his best to keep his breathing even. He offered her the mystery bouquet with a small, hopeful grin. “These are for you, Mrs. L/N. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I just picked something that looked nice.”

“Oh, aren’t you a doll,” She said, taking the flowers with genuine delight. “You’re already miles ahead of the last boy she brought home.”

Bob blinked, surprised, but managed a small, nervous laugh. “Okay,” He thought. “So far, so good.”

"Speaking of that daughter of mine..." Your mother said, her voice lifting as she turned toward the stairs. "Y/N! Your boyfriend is here!" She called, loud and clear.

Bob froze, the word boyfriend echoing in his head like a missile alarm in the cockpit. His hands gripped the bouquet of roses a little tighter as he watched you walk out onto the landing. Your steps were quick but graceful, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just you. You also wore your civvies - something a little nicer than usual. His mouth suddenly felt dry.

You smiled when you saw him, “Hi,” You said, your voice quiet, almost bashful.

Bob cleared his throat and nodded once, eyes not quite meeting yours until the last second. “Hey, Bee,” He pulled a small bouquet of fresh roses from behind his back. His lips twitched nervously as he held them out to you. “These are for you.”

Your smile widened instantly. You took the flowers carefully, fingertips brushing his for a moment too long, then glanced down at the bouquet with a gentle inhale. You tilted your head slightly as you looked up at him again, eyes bright. “Thank you,” You said softly. “They’re gorgeous.”

Before Bob could even try to respond, your mom leaned in again, voice cutting through the moment, “Well? Are you going to introduce him to your dear mother, or am I supposed to guess?”

You blinked, flustered, and quickly turned to look at her. “Right, right- Sorry,” You said, then looked back at Bob and slid your hand into his, grounding both of you. “Mom, this is my boyfriend. Bob Floyd.”

Bob straightened a little under your mom’s sharp but curious gaze, squeezing your hand just once.

“It’s really nice to meet you.” He said politely.

“You too, Bob… Well, dinner is ready. Why don’t you greet your father and sit down?” She spoke, “I better get out my best vase for these pretty flowers,” She added with a pleased little hum, disappearing into the kitchen.

You smiled softly and looked at Bob, giving him a gentle nudge. “C’mon,” You said, “Before I have second thoughts and we book it right out of here.”

Bob chuckled nervously, rubbing at his probably pink-tinged cheek as he followed you down the short hallway toward the dining room. The savory smell of lasagna wafted through the air.

Your father was already seated at the head of the table, his reading glasses perched low on his nose as he glanced through the paper. The sound of your footsteps made him look up. His gaze fell on Bob, sharp and assessing. Bob straightened slightly, offering a polite smile as he stepped forward and extended his hand.

“Sir,” He greeted, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Your dad stood and took a beat before accepting the handshake, gripping it firmly. “What’s your name, son?” He asked, eyes narrowing a touch as he shook Bob’s hand.

“Robert Floyd, sir,” Bob answered, nodding once with respect.

There was a pause. “Break her heart,” Your dad said, deadpan, “I’ll end you where you stand.” Bob’s eyes widened slightly, lips parting, unsure whether to let go or laugh nervously, but then your dad let out a deep, booming laugh and clapped Bob hard on the shoulder. “I’m just playing, son. You’ve got my blessing.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, your cheeks burning as you nudged your father gently on the arm. “Dad,” You muttered under your breath, your voice laced with embarrassment.

He just grinned, unbothered, and settled back into his chair, flipping a page in his paper.

Your mom came bustling out of the kitchen then, her oven mitts still on her hands, carefully placing the tray of lasagna in the center of the table. “Dinner is served,” She said proudly.

Before you could reach for your chair, Bob beat you to it, gently pulling it out for you. You blinked in surprise, the gesture catching you off guard. “Thank you,” You said softly, a smile tugging at your lips as you sat down. Bob offered a small smile in return and took the seat beside you. Under the table, your knees brushed, and he didn’t move away.

Your mother served everyone with a happy hum, your father finally setting aside his paper. And through all of it, Bob stayed by your side.

“So,” Your mom began as she settled into her seat, taking a quick sip of her wine, “Tell me about yourself, Bob. I want to get to know the young man my daughter forgot to mention to me.”

Bob let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, “Uh… Right.” He adjusted his glasses with a careful hand, then cleared his throat. “Well… I work on the Navy base.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow, “Oh?” She asked, a touch surprised. “Doing what? Communications or engineering? You know, John was a welder on the base before he retired.”

“Great forty years.” Your father mumbled, taking a bite of his slice of lasagna. 

“Actually,” Bob said, sitting a little straighter, “I’m a naval flight officer. A Weapon Systems Officer.”

Your mom blinked slowly, her smile tightening just a hair. “Oh,” She said again, this time with a note of restrained surprise that leaned toward judgmental curiosity. “So… Not quite a pilot then?”

You caught the subtle shift in Bob’s demeanor at your mother’s words. It was too slight for your parents to notice - the way his fingers fidgeted with the corner of his napkin, the small twitch at the corner of his mouth - but to you, it was clear. He was growing uneasy. Without a word, you reached beneath the table and rested your hand on his knee, hoping to reassure him.

“Bob is incredibly brilliant at what he does.” You spoke up proudly, a bright smile on your face, “Being a WSO isn’t easy. It takes sharp instincts, insane skill. His pilot depends on him. He’s calm under pressure, precise, and honestly one of the best out there.” You glanced at him, your gaze soft. “I’d trust him with my life. No question.”

Bob’s gaze was already on you, his eyes soft and slightly wide behind his glasses. You could feel the way your words affected him, could see the way his tense shoulders relaxed just slightly. A small, quiet smile bloomed on his face, one he gave just to you.

“You work with my daughter then?” Your father spoke up, eyeing Bob, who nodded.

“Yes, sir. I do.” Bob answered, earning a single nod.

Your mom shifted slightly in her seat, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth before she set it back down on her plate. “So, Bob” She began slowly, brushing her napkin over her lap, “What does your future look like? Long term, I mean.”

Bob blinked, a little caught off guard, and reached up to adjust his glasses again. “Uh…” He murmured, voice soft as he glanced down at his plate, then back up with a small, polite smile. “Well.., I’d like to settle down someday. You know… Get married. Start a family, if I’m lucky.”

At that, your mom’s eyes lit up. Her lips curled into a satisfied, almost smug smile as she nodded, clearly pleased by the answer. “Now that’s what I like to hear,” She said, reaching for her wine glass.

And you… You weren’t prepared for the warmth that suddenly bloomed in your chest. The image of Bob - gentle, brilliant, kind Bob - wrangling toddlers with that careful patience of his, reading bedtime stories in that soothing voice, holding a baby in his arms with that same tender way he held everything that mattered… It hit you all at once. You couldn’t help but smile softly, heart thudding a little faster in your chest as you looked at him.

Despite your mother’s somewhat judgmental attitude throughout most of dinner, you had to admit… It hadn’t been the worst thing ever. Before long, your mom had somehow coaxed both you and Bob into the living room under the pretense of “just a quick look” at one of the old photo albums. You barely had time to shoot him an apologetic look before she had the dusty leather book cracked open on the coffee table, patting the cushion beside her with intention. 

Your dad disappeared into the kitchen with a soft hum, returning a few minutes later with the cheesecake, sliced perfectly, placed neatly on little floral dessert plates your mother probably hadn’t used in years. He passed them out as your mother chuckled over a photo of two-year-old you sitting on a pumpkin almost twice your size at a fall festival. Bob leaned in curiously, his eyes crinkling with a smile.

“Oh, and look at this one,” Your mom grinned, flipping the page. “Her first day of kindergarten. She threw a fit because I wouldn’t let her wear her unicorn onesie.”

“Mom…” You groaned under your breath, but the photos kept coming. Birthday parties, braces, unfortunate middle school haircuts. It was a full-on ambush. Bob, bless him, didn’t tease. He just smiled, soft and warm, genuinely interested in every piece of your childhood on display.

Your father chuckled, shaking his head affectionately as he sat in his old La-Z-Boy chair. “She was always the firecracker.”

You were about to comment something back when you felt Bob’s hand brush yours on the couch. His fingers laced between yours slowly, like he was testing the water first, careful not to startle you. Then he placed your joined hands in his lap. 

Your mother’s voice faded into the background, a distant murmur as your attention shifted entirely to the feeling of Bob’s hand in yours. His fingers were long, warm, rough in places. You could feel the callouses from hours of training and gripping controls in the cockpit, the slight ridges of wear along his fingertips brushing softly against your skin. His thumb moved once, twice, over the back of your hand. It was incredibly comforting.

You barely suppressed a sigh of relief when your mom suddenly perked up and said, “You should show Bob your old room!” You blinked, but she was already turning to Bob. “I’ve kept it the same ever since she left for college. Didn’t have the heart to change it.”

You gave a sheepish nod. “Sure. Come on,” You said to Bob, standing quickly. He looked a little startled but stood as well, polite as ever.

“Go on,” Your mom added with a little smirk. “Don’t have too much fun.”

You groaned under your breath, rubbing your forehead. “Mom…”

Bob’s cheeks flushed immediately, and he cleared his throat awkwardly as you led him to the stairs. “Uh… Y-Yeah, we won’t.”

Upstairs, you turned down the familiar hallway and opened the door to your old bedroom. “Welcome to the past.”

Bob walked in slowly, eyes sweeping over every inch of the room, the twin-sized bed with yellow polka-dot covers, the desk cluttered with old notebooks, worn-out pens, and a dusty lava lamp that hadn’t glowed in years. The walls were still plastered with faded movie and band posters, some curled at the edges, and the ceiling was dotted with glow-in-the-dark stars.

You stepped in behind him, shutting the door. Then, without saying much, you sat down on the bed with a quiet creak of the mattress. You leaned forward slightly, elbows on your knees, and ran a hand through your hair with a sigh. Bob glanced over at you, then made his way to the bed and eased down beside you.

“I’m sorry,” You said after a moment, voice low, tired, “I didn’t think she’d be like that. I mean… I knew she could be, but not like that.”

Bob shook his head almost immediately, his shoulder brushing gently against yours. “You don’t have to apologize,” He said softly. “I agreed to do this, remember?”

You gave a hollow little laugh, looking down at your hands. “Yeah, but I wasn’t expecting her to be so- So judgmental. Her underestimating you.”

Bob was quiet for a beat, then he tilted his head slightly. “Hey,” He said gently, nudging you. “Look at me.” You did, your eyes meeting his, a little wary, a little unsure. “I’m okay. Besides, I wanted to thank you, actually.”

Your brows pulled together. “Thank me? Why?”

Bob smiled, just a little, eyes scanning the room again with something close to fondness. “Because… I’ve gotten to know my best friend a little more today.” You blinked, caught off guard as his eyes landed on the corner shelf where, half-buried behind a stack of old books, a wide-eyed white Furby peeked out. “… Also, I learned you had a Furby.”

You snorted, and then the laughter spilled out, surprised and real. You covered your mouth with a hand, “Oh my God,” You wheezed, “I forgot that thing was even there!”

Bob chuckled. “How could you forget that face? It’s nightmare fuel.”

“It was cool back then!”

He raised an eyebrow playfully. “Was it, though?”

You shoved his shoulder lightly, still giggling, and for a moment, Bob’s mind went quiet, fixating only on you. Your genuine smile, the way your eyes lit up, the warmth in your laugh. Everything about you felt impossibly perfect to him. His throat went dry, and he found himself staring at your lips before quickly shifting his gaze back up to meet your bright eyes.

You noticed the way he looked at you, so soft, so hesitant, and tilted your head with a small, curious smile. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Bob’s lips parted slightly, as if searching for the right words. After a breath that seemed to stretch forever, he finally spoke, voice low and a bit shaky, “I... I’ve been meaning to say this for a while. It’s just... It’s hard, you know? Because we’ve been friends for so long, and I didn’t want to mess things up.” You blinked, waiting patiently, your heart starting to quicken. He took another deep breath, eyes locked on your hand, voice barely above a whisper, “But... I- I like you. More than just a friend should.”

You blinked, your smile faltering ever so slightly, heart stalling in your chest. The warmth that bloomed across your cheeks and down your neck caught you off guard. “What?” You asked, voice just above a whisper.

Bob’s eyes widened, panic starting to rise behind his glasses. “I’m sorry,” He rushed out, shaking his head and pulling his hand back just a little. “That was- It was stupid. I shouldn’t have said-”

You reached forward, your hand gently finding his on the bed, “No, no,” You interrupted quickly, voice soft but certain. “Don’t apologize. Please.” You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t apologize, Bobby.” His gaze searched yours, uncertain but hopeful. Your thumb brushed against his knuckles as you whispered, “I really like you too, Bobby. I—I have since I met you… Specifically when you introduced yourself to me.”

His breath hitched, and his eyes went wide, shimmering with disbelief. He looked at you like you’d hung the stars on your ceiling just for him. “Can- Can I kiss you?” Bob asked suddenly, his voice still gentle, “Unless you don’t want to. Sorry if that was a little forwa-”

“Bob,” You said, barely able to contain the smile tugging at your lips, “I would love for you to kiss me.”

He exhaled slowly, his free hand coming up, his fingers trembling just a little as he cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing gently over your skin, like he still couldn’t believe this was happening. His blue eyes stayed on yours for a beat longer, drinking in every flicker of emotion on your face, before he leaned in. His nose brushed lightly against yours, a breath shared between you, before he closed the distance. His lips pressed to yours, featherlight and sweet. You smiled into the kiss, your hand moved instinctively to the back of his head, fingers slipping into his soft, golden blonde locks.

When he pulled back moments later, his cheeks were flushed, quickly taking off his glasses and setting them beside him, before he leaned back in, his mouth finding yours again; deepening the kiss. His hand that had cradled your cheek slipped to your waist, drawing you in closer as your fingers tightened in his hair, earning a little groan from him.

You breathed out softly, pressing a series of light, chaste kisses to his lips. “We’re gonna have a lot of explaining to do when we get back to base,” You murmured against his mouth, a breath of laughter in your voice as your nose bumped his. “They’re never gonna let us live this down.”

“Yeah…” He pressed his forehead against yours, his smile growing, voice low and warm. “Worth it, though.”

~~~

Main Masterlist | Miscellaneous Masterlist

[iyearn4thebeach]

black widows and other spiders

tasm!peter x avenger!reader

summary: when steve asked you to deal with the Loki mess, you didn't expect the god of mischief to cast you into a different universe altogether. Luckily, you have some help. [ a very special appearance by a very special someone :) ]

"Aw c'mon, I was just about to enjoy some quiet," Spiderman said, stepping out of the shadows.

"I'm not an enemy," you replied, quite calmly for someone who was handcuffed to the wall by literal webs.

"You sure about that? You just tried to stab me two seconds ago."

"That was hardly my fault," you shot back. "You sneaked up on me in a dark alley! If I really wanted to stab you, you'd already be bleeding. "

"Wow, I'm so scared. Who are you again?"

You hesitated. Should you tell him or figure out everything on your own? Thinking back, you remembered how the Peter from your earth was basically a walking encyclopedia. If this one had access to labs too, you could easily create a way back to your own earth.

For that to work, you needed to convince him that there were multiple universes and that you were from a totally different one.

Fun.

"I don't wanna know," Peter said finally. "You're taking too much time to think and I'd rather be home eating spaghetti."

"You're not going to get these off me?" you asked, nodding towards the webs.

He shrugged. "You still suspicious so just to be safe, you know?"

"That's not very nice of you Peter," you said just as he walked away, making him halt. Even with his mask on, you could sense his surprise.

When he turned, he was surprised yet again.

In that split second, you had somehow made the webs disappear and were standing quite amusedly, hands folded and an eyebrow raised.

"Now I'm a little bit scared," he admitted, his voice curious.

* * *

Back at his apartment, you groaned even before he let you in.

"What?"

"Aunt May isn't here, is she?" you asked, frowning. "She gives the best hugs. I could use one right now."

"She's at her friend's for the weekend," he said. "How the hell do you even know—?"

"I told you this seven times already. I'm from a different universe."

"And I told you seven times that I'm having a hard time believing it, but that's not what I meant. How do you know she's not in the apartment even before entering?"

"Perks of being a widow," you sighed, walking in after him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry—"

"Not that kind of widow, dumbass."

He watched as you plopped down on the couch, turning on the TV with as much finesse as you could. Even though your gaze was shrewd and calculating, he felt something inside him flutter when you looked his way. You looked so intimidatingly beautiful. He always liked girls and guys who were a little bit out of his league.

"Are you gonna stare or do I get that spaghetti?"

"Right!" he rubbed the back of his neck, lost as ever. He instantly hunted down a bowl, spilling questions all the while. "So I'm guessing you're some kind of assassin?"

"Used to be," you said casually, changing channels to see if something good was on. "Now I'm part of the Avengers, which I'm guessing you don't have here or otherwise you'd know me already."

"And avengers are...?"

"Protectors of earth, as much as ridiculous as that sounds," you said, chuckling. "You're the friendly neighborhood spiderman. We're the unfriendly intergalactic fighters who need therapy and better life choices."

You put down the remote in frustration, hating how there weren't any of the shows and movies you liked. Peter sat beside you and handed you a bowl.

"Aren't you eating too?" you prodded.

"In a bit," he said, waving it off. "How did you get here then? What happened?"

"Well me and another friend was tracking down Loki, a very troublesome person who is literally jumping through timelines," you explained, knowing fully well that Peter wasn't going to understand anything. You also knew he wouldn't shut up until you answer, so you went on.

"My friend isn't part of the avengers but she's there whenever I need her. Kind of like my best friend actually. Loki knows magic and he hurled me down here before I could complete the assignment."

"Loki knows magic?" he repeated. "Like actual magic?"

"He's also a god."

"A god." He rubbed his forehead. "What even—?"

"I have lots of stories like that," you said, sinking into the cozy feeling of a pretty apartment and friendly company.

Peter stared at you again, unable to understand how your mind worked. Or maybe he just found you pretty too.

"Tell me all of them," he said, his words hardly a whisper.

* * *

The next few days were hazy, kind of like you were trapped in a dream that wasn't even yours. He said you could stay for a while in exchange for telling him all about the multiverse. You didn't think it was possible for someone to be this excited about the concept being real, but here you are.

He gave you the guest room, and you stole all his clothes simply because you had nothing else to wear. You meant it as a "if you're taking me in, I'm gonna annoy the hell out of you" gesture, but he went speechless the first time. Blushing and stammering, he had said something along the lines of "take whatever you want."

In many ways, it was just like being on your own earth. You still fought with monsters and other villains, still had nightmares, still kept an eye around you as if any second you'll be attacked. Peter could see it. Going to bed with a knife under your pillow certainly showed that.

But even then, it was vastly different in its own way. You didn't have anyone to fight along with, but suddenly you were partners with Spiderman, taking down crime one at a time.

You had a home you could go back to, and a friend, one that'd let you pick the movies and pull a blanket over you when you fell asleep watching them.

You felt guilty to feel so at peace. Even after you escaped with Natasha, somedays you felt like the horrors of red room would never fully wash off, no matter how many good deeds you do.

Becoming an Avenger wasn't enough. Seeing the blood of monsters on your hands only reminded you of the murders you committed long ago.

Innocent or not, everyone's blood was cruel red.

Peter, on the other hand, kept you busy enough to not think too much. He demanded details of everything, every small one, which kept you occupied.

* * *

"He can only touch his hammer?" he asked, trying to keep a straight face.

"Kind of?" you answered thoughtfully. "Steve did take it once during a war but Thor said it was too big for him."

He burst into fits of laughter, unable to keep it in.

"What?" you asked, clueless.

"Thor's hammer sounds...kinky."

You threw some popcorn at his face.

* * *

"Who's your favorite avenger?"

"Natasha," you said, sighing. "Even after she died, I had a lot of pressure to be just like her. I can't, but I try."

"Ah, just so you know-" He gently nudged your elbows playfully. "You're my favorite avenger."

* * *

"So Loki's a troublesome god in all universes?"

"And a troublesome crocodile."

"Naturally."

* * *

Once he knew the basics, his energy didn't calm down. If anything, he was more excited and he portrayed this through the only outlet he had — jokes.

* * *

"What do you call Doctor Strange's cousin who can't do magic?"

"Huh?"

"Doctor Normal," he said, giggling.

You sighed in exhaustion.

* * *

"Why did Thor avoid Loki?"

"Please not another jok-"

"He Odin money."

"I'm ready to walk off a cliff," you said, looking to the heavens.

* * *

"Why's Thor's brother great at sneaking around?"

"I don't wanna hear it."

"He's very Loki."

Despite your wishes to keep a straight face, you burst out laughing. Peter's eyes widened, shocked that he actually got a reaction out of you. He looked proud, and his heart melted at the sight of you being you.

"What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

Before he could answer, the T.V went out, along with all other lights. The cautious instincts kicked in and you stood up slowly, knife already out.

You could hear footsteps, which you would have discredited to be a neighbour's if they weren't so silent. Too silent, like a cat ready to pounce.

"Someone's inside," Peter stated the obvious, getting up himself. Before he could get his web-shooters, the light came back on.

You pointed your knife at the intruder while they pointed a gun at Peter, making a very dangerous triangle.

Your hands went slack when you recognized the blonde.

"Yelena?" you called, lowering the knife.

"You know her?" Peter asked, a little too terrified. She didn't break eye contact with him, as if he was still a threat. You didn't like how close she looked to pulling the trigger.

"She was the friend I was telling you about," you explained. "She was helping me with Loki. What are you doing here?"

"Can we talk after all the weapons are lowered?" Peter suggested. If anything, Yelena's grip on the gun tightened.

"He's a friend," you said quickly. "It's okay. He's nice."

"Yeah, I'm Peter Parker. Just like the one from your earth!"

"I don't know who that is," Yelena said stiffly. He looked at you for an explanation.

"She hasn't met all the avengers yet," you answered with your hands on your hips. "Yelena, c'mon, does he look like a monster?"

She slowly put the gun in her holster, her eyes darting between the two of you.

"I was cast into this earth by Loki too," she said angrily. "I was passed out on top of a building for two days before I could track you down. Now here you are, watching Peppa Pig with a scrawny dummy."

"I didn't know you were here," you said, feeling guilt take hold. "You know I wouldn't have abandoned you."

"You wouldn't be the first one." She gritted her teeth, and while fury was the main objective, she came off as hurt, to both you and Peter.

"I'll get some tea," Peter said awkwardly.

"No, we are leaving," Yelena said, nodding towards the door. "Let's go."

"Wait, no—"

"You didn't think you were staying here, did you?" She asked, and you could feel the genuine curiosity behind her question.

"No, but we have a plan."

"We?"

"Peter's going to make us a temp pad like the one in TVA," you interjected before she could kill him with his eyes. "It's almost done. He just needs some kind of special aluminum. He had to call a friend and it'll be here today or tomorrow."

"Then we go back?" she asked firmly.

"We go back," you repeated, sounding less excited than your friend.

"Good, let me go steal some clothes then," she said, going to the door.

"You can take Peter's—"

"I'm not wearing Hello Kitty t-shirts," she snapped, then left, slamming the door behind her.

You looked at Peter apologetically. "Sorry about that I-"

"You're actually leaving," he interrupted, as if being held at gunpoint was the least of his worries. "I mean, I knew you wouldn't stay here forever but, you're leaving. Soon."

"Yeah," you rubbed your elbow, shifting awkwardly. He seemed heartbroken.

So were you, but you had better acting skills to hide it.

* * *

That night, you tried making dinner, knowing what Yelena would love. It was your way of apologizing to her.

She was your friend for as long as you could remember. After Natasha died, you had to hunt her down to see if she was okay. She wasn't, so you stayed with her.

You understood why she was so pissed at Peter. She didn't want to lose you too. For some avengers, you were the replacement for Natasha, but for Yelena, you were just you - that one friend in the red room who'd always say the worst jokes to cheer her up.

You couldn't even think of staying here when she was alone.

* * *

Peter looked absolutely shocked when you placed the macaroni and cheese in front of them.

"I thought you said you can't cook!"

"She can't," Yelena agreed, rolling her eyes. "I make the best macaroni and cheese, this tastes like garbage."

"You haven't tried it yet," you said, rolling your eyes.

"I don't need to taste your food to know it is not food."

You laughed and sat down, serving some into your own bowl.

Peter handed over a spoon while pouring juice into three glasses. His eyebrows were scrunched up in concentration, and you poked the glasses up his nose when it was dangerously close to slipping down. He didn't need glasses, but he wore them because it felt like a part of him he didn't want to let go of yet.

You respected that, and the fact he looked absolutely adorable in them was a plus.

Yelena looked taken back at how effortless you fit into the picture. That slight frown you always had was nowhere to be seen and you were so... peaceful.

"So this temp pad," she began, poking the spoon into the bowl. "How does it work?"

"Just like the one Loki has," Peter said, nodding. "It's in the basement if you wanna go see it after dinner?"

"No," she said quickly, far too quickly. "But it will be complete tomorrow, yes?"

He nodded, looking back at his food, suddenly disinterested.

* * *

Just like his promise, it was all ready the next day. You dreaded going back, but you had to. No matter how tempting it was to lead a semi-happy life, you had responsibilities. You had a past.

"Here you go," Peter handed over the device, not looking directly at you. "This will get you to TVA but you'd have to redirect to your own earth from there."

"Bye, sticky," Yelena said, incredibly bored.

"I'll- I'll see you?" your words were uncertain.

"I hardly doubt that," Peter replied, shaking his head.

You nodded, biting your bottom lip in frustration.

"Thank you for the stories," he said after a while, resisting his urge to give you a hug. Resisting his urge to ask you to stay.

"Can we just go already?" Yelena interrupted.

You were always bad at goodbyes so you didn't give one. Sighing, you pressed the button.

* * *

Nothing happened.

"Wait- what?" Peter took the device, examining the features. "That should have worked, there's a- wait the chip's outdated."

"Really?" you tried not to sound hopeful. "Is it the kind you can't fix?"

"Maybe I can, but it'll take some days."

You smiled, turning to Yelena. "Guess we're staying here for a while after all."

"How wonderful," she said sarcastically.

"I'll go uhm, heat up the pizza?" you asked, practically skipping to the kitchen.

"You know the basement has cameras, right?" Peter asked once he made sure you were out of earshot. "I saw someone going there last night and messing up the temp pad."

Yelena scoffed. "I don't know what you are implying."

"Sure you don't."

She glared at him so he raised his hands in mock-surrender.

"She looks happy here," she said, softening a bit. "Less of a killer and more of a bad cook. I like it. If she's hurt, I'll pull out your organs and feed them to a cat."

"Incredibly specific, but okay." Peter handed her the temp pad, which she took confusedly. "You know, for safekeeping."

Yelena rolled her eyes. But as soon as he turned, she looked at you and then at the device, wondering which chip she should fry next.

————————

join/be removed from taglist here

I took two of the marvel jokes from this website :)

general taglist: @sometandomstuff333 @cuddleluv @luvelyxp @violetrainbow412-blog @third-broparcelicito @wayvjinsol @dinfarrik @oliveoilthoughts @avengers-is-that-a-band @thankyouforanonymity @imabee-oralizard

marvel taglist: @magicalxdaydream @sexysirius @archangelaurii @vx-vexedvixen @junglxqueen @shyposttree @louderfortheback @garfieldssimp @/bex_tk1 @1999yanira @/cinderellacauseshebroke @aleksanderwh0r3 @levylovegood @inu1gf @doodles-bi-tea @tenebrisirae @slutfortasmpeter @wrathspoet @deafeningnightcollection-things @awesomegirl85 @lazysheepperfection @disartrous @triumph-of-form-over-content

andrew!peter taglist (1/4) : @angelcritterz @greekktragedyy @rophelia @littleredjason @geek-and-proud @arabellelancastersstuff @peachyplumsss @riibuns @lemonjane16 @strawberry-cake1 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @lokismidnight @blooo0ooop @plutoneu @livewittykid @melody-ed @dracoismydramaqueen @clean-and-claire @londonbrandcandy @jenoslov @luvwanda @daph-505 @breathinfive @secretsthathauntus @lovelyxtom @/chiliiscereal

[iyearn4thebeach]

All Soft And Golden - Robert "Bob" Floyd X Female Reader

Title: All Soft And Golden

Robert "Bob" Floyd X Female Reader

Additional Characters: The gang (Mentioned), Jake "Hangman" (Mentioned), Natasha "Phoenix" (Mentioned), and Bradley "Rooster" (Mentioned)

WC: 2,686

Warnings: Mini angst, italics, banter, teasing, flirting, nicknames, drinking wine, insecurities, slightly suggestive, references, and fluff

A gentle hum left your lips as you moved throughout the kitchen, the scent of fresh-cut grass drifting in through the slightly open window, where the summer breeze danced lazily with your pale yellow curtains. Warm sunlight spilled across the room, golden and soft, while the quiet crackle of music from your speaker filled the air.

At the sound of the front door unlocking, and keys jingling, your head lifted, your smile brightening with instinctive excitement, the kind reserved for someone you adored without question. You smoothed your hands over your apron, faded with time, the words ‘kiss the cook’ printed on the front, before stepping into the living room. Your eyes found him instantly. Bob stood just inside the doorway, shoulders slightly hunched, a long sigh escaping his chest, his eyes downcast to the hardwood floor. There was a distant frown tugging at his lips, the kind you’d come to know too well. Bob was stuck in his head again. And just like that, your smile softened, concern blooming in your chest. What happened?

Bob dropped his bag with a heavy thud by the door, the sound echoing in the warm stillness of the room. He closed the door behind him, the motion slow, the weight of the day lingering in his limbs, but when he looked up and saw you standing there, bathed in honeyed-thick sunlight, wearing his apron you got him for his birthday last year, your hair a little frazzled from the day, and your favorite fuzzy purple socks on your feet; something in him eased.

The frown softened, tender. A quiet breath escaped him, almost a shudder of relief. Without a word, Bob crossed the room in three long strides, forgetting to unlace and kick off his boots, too caught up in the need to be close, the need to touch you. His hands found your face gently, calloused thumbs brushing against the apples of your cheeks. His touch was warm, slightly rough from the day, but held all the care in the world. He leaned in then, pressing his lips to yours; softly, sweetly.

You sighed into the kiss, your fingers bunching slightly in the back of his khaki shirt as you wrapped your arms around his waist. The fabric was warm from the sun and his skin beneath it even warmer. You pulled him closer until there was no space between you, and he melted against you with quiet surrender. The kiss wasn’t rushed, just a lingering press of love and weariness. He breathed you in like you were air. Worshiping you. 

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he murmured, low and full of deep affection, “Hi, honey.”

You sighed, smiling as your arms held him a little tighter. “Hi, Bobby.” Your nose gently brushed against his in a little nuzzle before you pulled back just enough to see him clearly.

His eyes opened - those impossibly soft mixed swirls of cobalt and denim blue locking onto yours, just as captivating as the first time they ever looked at you a year ago at that small bakery. There was always something oceanic about his eyes: deep, calm, and easy to get lost in. You could drown there.

“How was work?” You asked, already knowing the answer. You’d seen it the second he walked through the door. The heaviness in his posture, the crease between his brows. But still, you wanted to hear it from him. Maybe talking would help lighten whatever weight he was carrying. You tried to tease it out gently, adding with a playful smile, “Did you have to do extra push-ups or something today?”

Bob let out a short, dejected huff, the corners of his lips twitching up with the smallest of smiles. “I wish it was just extra push-ups.”

Your brow furrowed, the teasing melting away. You reached up without hesitation, your fingers threading through the golden strands of his hair - soft and sun-kissed. He leaned into your touch instinctively, the smallest sound catching in his throat. Your hand then slipped to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing gently along his cheek. “Why don’t you go take a shower,” You said, “And I’ll finish up dinner. Then you can tell me all about it, if you want to.”

His eyes searched yours for a moment, glassy with emotion, not overwhelmed, but grateful. He gave a small nod, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before pulling back, just a bit lighter than before. “Yeah,” He said quietly, “That sounds nice.”

You nodded, offering one last look before reluctantly slipping out of his grasp, your hands trailing against him for a moment before you turned and padded back toward the kitchen. The scent of dinner wrapped around you as you opened the oven door to check on the meatloaf - perfectly browned, the glaze bubbling slightly at the edges. You gave a satisfied nod before, shutting the oven, and shifting to the stove, finishing up the mashed potatoes with a little extra seasoning, adding just a touch more butter for good measure. The green beans went into the microwave next, sprinkled with salt, pepper, and a healthy pat of butter. Simple, cozy, just the way Bob liked it.

Somewhere in the background, you could hear the faint rush of the shower. You reached for your phone on the counter by the sink, turning off the soft music that had played in the background earlier. The bluetooth speaker gave a gentle chime as it disconnected, and the kitchen fell into a warm, golden quiet. Tossing off your apron, you grabbed the half-empty bottle of wine from the fridge and set it on the counter beside two glasses. Then, you moved with practiced ease, grabbing plates, silverware, napkins, mentally double-checking that everything was in place before shutting the kitchen window.

The microwave beeped just as you closed the window shut. You opened the microwave, letting the warm, buttery aroma spill out, and gave the beans a gentle stir with a spoon. Everything was ready. And all that was left now was Bob.

You heard him before you saw him, his bare feet padding softly down the hallway. He appeared in the kitchen doorway a moment later, hand running through his damp hair, strands curling at the ends. His shoulders were looser now, his frame no longer burdened by the weight of the day. He leaned against the doorframe with that familiar gaze, watching you, admiring you as he always did.

You had just pulled the meatloaf out of the oven, your miss-matched oven mitts - one with Mickey Mouse, the other just plain blue - on full display as you set the hot loaf pan on the stove. When you slipped the gloves off and looked over at him, your smile lit up the room. There he was. Barefoot, in a plain white t-shirt and low-hanging sweats. 

“You wanna pour that while I get our plates sorted?” You asked, nodding toward the open bottle of wine on the counter.

Bob gave a small, wordless nod and stepped into the room, his fingers brushing gently along your arm as he passed, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your temple. 

As he poured the wine into the two waiting glasses, just halfway, you plated the food, the mashed potatoes holding their shape beside the meatloaf, the green beans glistening under melted butter. You brought the plates over to the living room, setting them on the coffee table in front of the couch. Bob followed close behind, carrying the two glasses of wine. He set them down beside the plates as you both settled in, side by side.

Dinner was quiet, unhurried, and before long, the sun had begun its slow descent behind the horizon, casting the living room in a dim, amber glow. You leaned back against the side of the couch with a content sigh, nursing the last of your wine, letting it sit warm on your tongue. With a lazy stretch, you moved your feet up onto his lap. He welcomed the weight without a word, his hands finding your calves instinctively. His thumbs began to trace small, soothing circles into your skin, the kind of absentminded affection that always made your heart swell.

Bob’s glass sat mostly untouched on the table in front of him, next to your cleared plates. You didn’t mention it. You could tell he was still a little quiet, still tucked inside himself, but not in a way that pushed you out. No, he was here, fully, completely. Just tired.

You took the last sip of your wine before leaning forward to place the glass gently on the coffee table. The soft clink of glass on wood was the only sound for a beat. Then you shifted, resting your side against the couch cushion, your arm draped along the backrest. You propped your hand against your cheek and watched him for a moment, how his fingers still moved in slow, absent circles against your calf, how his eyes seemed fixed there.

“So,” You said softly, your voice coaxing, not pressing. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Bob sighed, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose before finally speaking. “They…” He began, shaking his head, “They don’t believe I have a girlfriend.”

Your brows drew together, a small frown tugging at your lips. “They don’t believe you have a girlfriend?”

He gave a nod, eyes dropping again, back to your legs in his lap, where his hands continued to move gently, “Because I’m so… Me,” He murmured, “They don’t think I could’ve possibly made a move on anyone.” Your frown deepened, a low hum of irritation stirring in your chest. He kept going, “Nat doesn’t tease me. Rooster doesn’t either. But the other guys…” His jaw clenched faintly. “Most of ‘em joke about it. But Hangman… He really gets under my skin.”

Without a word, you reached down and took one of his hands in yours, lacing your fingers together before bringing his hand to your lips, and pressing a few soft kisses to his knuckles; you heard him sigh. Then you looked up at him. “Well,” You said, voice soft but edged with a bite of protectiveness, “Does he have a girlfriend?”

Bob hesitated, the corners of his mouth twitching into the beginnings of a smile. “I… Don’t think so.”

“Mmm,’” You nodded, matter-of-factly, “Then he sounds very jealous.” You tilted your head, watching him with a small, knowing smile. “Well, think about it,” You continued, “He must be jealous that this incredibly smart, incredibly handsome, completely gorgeous man sculpted by the gods-” Your thumb brushed over the back of his hand for emphasis, “- Who, by the way, did make the first move, has a wonderful girlfriend who’s going to love him forever… And gets to come home to her every day.”

Color bloomed almost instantly across Bob’s cheeks, a deep pink that crept up to the tips of his ears. He ducked his head slightly, a shy smile tugging at his lips, trying - and failing - to hide behind adjusting his glasses again. He huffed a little laugh through his nose, and you could see the tension in his shoulders beginning to melt again. But your expression shifted just a little, more thoughtful, as you played with his hand now in your lap, fingers brushing along the lines of his palm.

“I know we like to stay a bit private,” You began gently, “But… Do you want me to meet them? Or something like that?” You searched his face. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything, but if it’d help, I’d be happy to-”

But he was already shaking his head, his hand tightening around yours, “No,” He said, his voice laced with something affectionate but stubborn. “I don’t want to share you.”

Your breath caught, just for a second. The words were simple. But they hit with the weight of everything he felt. Not possessive. Not controlling. Just Bob. Quietly protective, deeply devoted. He said it like he still couldn’t believe he had you, and he wasn’t ready to let the world pick at something that felt so personal and sacred.

Your cheeks flushed with warmth, eyes dropping to your joined hands before you let out the smallest laugh, bashful and breathless. “Well… That’s not fair,” You murmured, trying to play it off as teasing, even as your heart beat a little faster. “You’re too sweet when you say stuff like that, Bobby.”

Bob gave a small shrug, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “I’m serious,” He said. “You’re mine. I’m proud of that. I just… Don’t need to parade you around like some trophy.” His eyes lifted to yours, “Loving you is enough proof for me.”

You looked at him, really looked at him. The curve of his mouth, the soft dip between his brows, the way his glasses had slipped slightly down his nose. And those eyes; gentle and storm-swept and sure. Eyes that had seen you at your best, your worst, and still never looked away.

And then, something shifted in you.

Without breaking eye contact, you slowly unlinked your fingers from his and moved. Bob’s breath caught slightly as you climbed into his lap, your thighs settling snugly against the outside of his, knees pressing into the back cushions of the couch as you straddled him. Your hands reached up to cradle his face, palms warm against his cheeks, your thumbs brushing softly along his cheeks; his hands instinctively found your hips. You were so close now, noses almost brushing, your breath mingling with his in the low light. 

Your eyes searched his as his hands tightened slightly. And the look in his eyes… God, the look - was something deep and full and awed. You felt your chest warm, that soft ache behind your ribs. Your thumbs moved instinctively, brushing along the gentle curve of his cheeks.

“I love you,” You whispered as Bob’s eyes flickered between yours, admiring the man that you were so lucky to get to love.

“You know I love you more,” He murmured.

A smile curved your lips as you leaned in, one hand slipping up to gently nudge his glasses higher, tucking them on top of his head, and then you kissed him.

His breath caught as you pressed your lips to his chin, then his right cheek, then the left. You felt the way his grin grew beneath each touch. His eyelids fluttered shut as you kissed any skin you could get your hands on; his jaw, the slope of his cheekbones, the faint curve of his temple. Your lips ghosted over his eyelids, and then down his nose, and then you found his lips.

One of Bob’s hands rose from your hip, slipping into your hair. His fingers curled gently against your scalp as he tilted his head just enough to deepen the kiss by a breath. His lips parted against yours in a sigh, his other hand tightening at your waist, grounding himself in you.

You pulled away gently, just enough to breathe, and Bob instinctively leaned forward, chasing your mouth with a quiet whine. The sound made you giggle, and his face flushed as he let out a soft, contented sigh, instead nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Carefully, you reached up and slid his glasses from where they’d been perched, placing them on the small side table beside the couch. Your fingers returned to him immediately, threading into his hair, nails lightly grazing along his scalp. He practically melted into your touch, a quiet hum vibrating against your neck.

“Wanna watch ‘A New Hope’ before bed?” You whispered, your lips barely grazing the edge of his ear.

Bob groaned softly, barely lifting his head as his lips brushed lazily against your skin. “Mmhmm.” He nodded slightly, his nose bumping your jaw, arms still wrapped tightly around you like he had no intention of letting go.

And you didn’t mind one bit.

~~~ Main Masterlist | Top Gun Maverick Masterlist

[iyearn4thebeach]

�� ࣪ ˖ 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 !

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: PB&JJ x Platonic!GN!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Your refusal to acknowledge that you’re burning out leads to you fainting in front of your friends who recognise your stress all too well.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Stress, burnout, academic stress, fainting, mild illness (cold/fever), mentions of forgetting to eat, caretaking, emotional support, hurt/comfort.

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐌𝐂𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐊𝐎-𝐅𝐈

You were fine. Totally, completely fine.

Maybe your eye had twitched a little when Joaquin asked if you’d eaten yet, or when Peter offered, for what felt like the millionth time, to help with your thesis outline. But, still, you were fine.

You were juggling a full time course, midterms, a part-time job, and the never-ending game of ‘don’t let adulthood eat you alive’. Normal stuff. Stressful, sure, but manageable.

You didn’t need to be babied.

So when Bob offered to cook for the fifth time that day and you waved him off with a “Seriously, I’ve got it,” and when Johnny threw himself dramatically across your bedroom floor and begged you to take a break, you brushed it all off with a tight smile and a muttered “later.”

You were tired. Your head had been hurting for a few days. And, you’d coughed a few times. But, that was probably some allergy you didn’t realise you had. You weren’t sick.

They were just worrying too much. Overreacting. You could handle it on your own.

“You know they’re lying, right?” Peter muttered, sprawled on the floor beside Bob, who was absently flipping through a self-help book but not really reading.

“Obviously,” Johnny grumbled from where he was sitting comfortably in the armchair, legs thrown over the arm.

“They do this every time,” Joaquin said softly, from his place in the kitchen, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he watched you through the cracked doorway. “Pretend they’re fine until they crash.”

Bob nodded once, serious and slow. “They’re burning out.”

“They’re burnt out,” Peter corrected, and for a moment the room was quiet except for the faint sound of you typing furiously on your laptop in the next room.

Bob closed his book with a soft thud.

“Okay,” he said, standing. “We’re done watching.”

“Hey, sunshine,” Johnny cooed as he strolled into the room, flopping on your bed without invitation, “Time to close the laptop and look at something prettier. Namely, me.”

You didn’t look up. “Can’t. Deadline.”

Joaquin came in next, carrying a mug. “You haven’t eaten yet,” he said gently, offering it to you. “It’s just soup. Barely counts as food, honestly.”

“I’ll eat later.”

“No, you won’t,” Peter said, kneeling on the floor beside your desk chair and gently spinning you away from the screen. You frowned, reaching to turn back, but Bob stepped in then, towering and calm.

“Enough.”

You squinted, an irritated frown tugging at your lips.

“You’re not okay,” Bob said, voice soft but sure. “And we’re not gonna let you pretend anymore.”

Your jaw tightened. “I’m—”

“You’re not fine,” Peter interrupted, leaning forward, thumb rubbing soothing circles against your knee. “We’ve been watching you run on fumes for days.”

lBecause I have to,” you snapped, louder than you meant to. “The work doesn’t go away just because I’m tired, and rent doesn’t pay itself, and I can’t just take a break, okay?“

Silence. It sat heavy in the air for a moment before Bob moved again, crouching in front of you with the kind of slow, deliberate presence that made it hard to look away.

“You don’t have to do it alone.”

That broke something. You looked away. You had to. Because the way they were all looking at you, soft, concerned, and unwavering, it made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t explain.

You stood, or tried to. The world tilted sideways, fast and sharp, and your legs buckled beneath you.

It was Joaquin who caught you.

One second you were upright, the next your knees were near to hitting the floor, but they never touched it. Joaquin’s arms were around you, voice urgent and low as he eased you down gently.

“Whoa, hey, hey! Sweetheart? I’ve got you, you’re okay, just breathe…”

You couldn’t. Your head was spinning, heat blooming across your cheeks, vision swimming. Your limbs felt heavy, the room too bright.

“Oh my god,” Peter’s voice, panicked, the pack of his palm against your forehead. “They’re burning up.”

“Couch,” Bob said, already clearing space. “Get them to the couch. Quickly.”

Johnny was gone and back again in a blink with a cold compress, Joaquin was scooping you up and carrying you like you weighed nothing.

You hated how your body felt, weak and unfamiliar and betraying you. But, worse was the ache behind your eyes that had nothing to do with fever and everything to do with the tight knot of shame in your chest.

You came back to yourself slowly. The first thing you felt was the cold cloth on your forehead. The second was the blanket tucked around your shoulders. The third was Bob’s hand cradling yours, warm and steady, grounding.

“Hey there,” he said softly. “Back with us?”

Your voice was a whisper. “I passed out.”

“Yep,” Johnny said, perched on the edge of the coffee table with an expression more serious than you were used to seeing on him. “Scared the hell out of us.”

You groaned, trying to sit up, but Peter pushed gently on your shoulder. “Don’t. You’ve got a fever. Like, a real one. You’re sick.”

“Just a cold,” you mumbled.

“Doesn’t mean you should ignore it,” Joaquin said, coming back from the kitchen with tea. “Your body was screaming at you to slow down. You didn’t listen. So it forced you.”

You closed your eyes, shame washing over you. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Bob squeezed your hand. “We’re not mad.”

You opened your eyes. They were all looking at you again, different this time. Not with pity. With care.

“I just didn’t want to be a burden,” you said quietly.

“You’re not,” Peter said, instantly.

“Never,” Joaquin echoed.

Johnny leaned forward, his tone surprisingly gentle. “We want to be here. Let us.”

The next few days passed in a haze of tea and blankets and the persistent, overwhelming kindness of four men who refused to let you lift a finger.

Peter brought you soup he definitely didn’t cook but claimed he did. Joaquin sat beside you for hours, scrolling through memes and laughing at your deadpan reactions. Johnny played hairdresser at one point (“You need a little glam to distract from the snot,” he said sweetly) and Bob, Bob just stayed close. His presence was steady. Solid. A silent reminder that you weren’t as alone as you thought.

There were moments you tried to protest, small ones. Tried to get up for water, or take your laptop back. Every time, they gently pushed you back into rest.

“You take care of everyone else all the time,” Peter said, tucking your blanket tighter. “It’s our turn.”

You cried once. Not from pain or fever, but from the unbearable gentleness of it all. The way Johnny carried you from the couch to bed without teasing, how Joaquin made a playlist just to help you fall asleep. The way Peter kept checking your temperature every hour. How Bob never let go of your hand when you had a bad dream.

You hadn’t realised how long it had been since someone simply cared for you like this.

“You don’t have to earn rest,” Bob said softly one night, when the fever finally broke and you were drifting, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and warmth.

“But I didn’t get everything done,” you murmured.

“You don’t have to,” he replied. “You just have to be. That’s enough.”

Eventually, the illness faded. The fog lifted. You felt human again. But, something else had shifted, too.

You didn’t flinch when Joaquin asked if you’d eaten. You let Peter read through your thesis draft. You let Johnny drag you out for coffee and didn’t apologise once for yawning the whole time.

And when Bob offered to cook? You just smiled, leaned your head against his arm, and said, “Yeah. That sounds really nice.”

Because maybe being strong didn’t mean carrying everything alone. Maybe sometimes strength looked like letting go.

Letting yourself rest.

𝐌𝐂𝐔 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @writingcrustacean @feliciahardysgf @ayvuhs @nomajdetective