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bobgasm · 7 months

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good 4 u | b.f

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x f!reader word count: 15,660 [sorry lmao] warnings: angst, heartbroken bob, flirting, slow burn, friends to lovers

prompt: good 4 u | #sourguts writing challenge by @mothdruid

summary: in which bob’s been invited to his ex’s wedding and you volunteer to go as his date

author’s note: this was supposed to be a fake dating au but i scrapped that plan halfway through 😅 hope u enjoy it regardless

oneshot | masterlist

It was like Bob was walking on eggshells around everyone. He knew why they were careful about what they say, and why even Hangman seemed to be taking pity on the heartbroken fool.

They all got the same pristine invitation that he did.

The invitation for Jamie, his ex, and her fiancé’s wedding. It was like a slap in the face, and for a week Phoenix had hidden it from him. She’d intercepted his mail before he could find the crisp white invitation with gold and floral decoration. Perfect penmanship addressing the upcoming wedding, and inviting Bob to celebrate the day.

Because he’d been too kind to say that they couldn’t stay friends when they’d broken up. Because he’d tortured himself with their friendship after their breakup, and suffered in silence when she’d started dating. Plastering on a fake smile and faux enthusiasm when it started getting more serious.

And now they were engaged. And like the good friend Phoenix was, she’d hidden the news as long as she could until Jamie and Hayden had shown up to games’ night flaunting the huge rock on her third finger. Rooster had dragged Bob outside, but Bob had pushed through. He had swallowed his hurt and put on a convincing performance.

One that was deserving of an Oscar, if you asked Rooster. One that had Phoenix casting worried looks at Bob throughout the evening. One that had Fanboy wondering if Bob had ever loved Jamie as much as he’d claimed to.

The wedding invitation hadn’t been intercepted, though several tried. Even Hangman tried to play the diversion, but they’d all been too late. Bob had found the invitation and had gone about his day the best as he could. It wasn’t until the third attempt to distract him that he simply asked outright if they were trying to find the invitation. When no one replied, he nodded and continued with his tasks.

It had been a week of deliberation. A week of people trying to convince him to just throw the invitation away and be done with Jamie for good. A week of hearing his friends whisper about not going in solidarity with him.

But he’d told them they didn’t have to choose. She was their friend too, and he wasn’t going to hold it against them if they wanted to go, even if he didn’t. Though Phoenix knew. She knew he’d decide to go, whether he told everyone otherwise or not.

It was why she planned a spontaneous games night for her birthday. Bob knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to buy time. Make him realise he didn’t need to cling to the memories he had with Jamie, and that he could make new ones. And what better time than her birthday, which her friend Y/N was in town for?

Bob was punctual, like always. He brought a bottle of Phoenix’s favourite liquor and helped finish setting things up. He made polite small talk and appreciated the distraction, but he didn’t want tonight to be a downer. No, it was Phoenix’s birthday! They were supposed to be celebrating! Hell, he even treated himself to a glass of wine when she offered him one before everyone else arrived. He wanted to loosen up and actually enjoy himself for a change, and what better way to do that than alcohol?

Coyote, Fanboy and Rooster were the next to arrive. They all brought games or snacks and drinks. Fanboy was quick to play some music before Hangman arrived and took control, and Bob helped himself to another glass. The only one missing was Payback, who’d said he’d be late, but by the time he finally arrived, Bob had a good buzz on. He was enjoying the banter that came from each game, and even commented some of his own.

“Fanboy, close your eyes.”

They’re playing wavelength, a game Rooster had seen on TikTok. The aim was simple: person A had to guess the number using 5 questions. The questions varied every round, but the person answering the question had to gage their answer off the number.

Say that the number was 7, for example. 10 is the best, and 1 is the worst. If the question was along the lines of “give me a fast food chain,” then the person answering had to give their third favourite place to go. The question could be a colour, or a hiking trail, but the idea was to get person A to guess the number that everyone else knew, based off where person B had ranked their answer to person A’s question. Hence, the name of the game being wavelength, because you’d all be on the same wavelength.

They’d played a practise round so everyone kind of understood how the game should be played, with a lot of clarification needed throughout, but they were there.

Maybe.

And Fanboy was the unlucky first person to try and guess the number.

Bob held up 3 fingers. Everyone nodded in agreement, then Fanboy opened his eyes and tried to think of who to pick on first.

“Coyote, give me an alcoholic drink,” Fanboy requested.

Oh, another thing Bob learnt, if the question had been asked in the previous round, you couldn’t use it for the next two rounds. The hard part was trying to come up with new questions each time.

“Merlot,” Coyote replied, offering no clarification.

The game works best if you have a group of people who know enough about each other to kind of guess where they’d rank their answers. The fun part came from trying not to blurt out the number, as Hangman had learnt in the trial run. A bout of laughter had ensued, and Phoenix was convinced her plan had worked. She just wondered where the hell Y/N had got to.

“Interesting, okay,” Fanboy said. “Bob, give me something you plug in?”

“You’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel with your questions, huh?” Bob teased.

“I panicked and zoned out staring at the cord for the tv,” Fanboy confessed with a laugh of his own.

“Let me think for a second,” Bob told him, sipping his beer.

He couldn’t tell you when he’d moved on to beer, but he didn’t mind it. The wine had been too tart for his liking, but the beer was going down a treat. He felt warm and relaxed, but it was taking a lot of effort not to blurt out the number like Hangman did earlier.

“Hair dryer,” Bob eventually said. There were a few murmurs of agreement at his choice, and while Phoenix tsk’d under her breath, she didn’t put up much of a fight. It’s where person B, in this case Bob, would rank the answer to the question since he was called on.

Fanboy directed his next question at Phoenix. “Give me a flavour of milkshake?”

“You asking me out, Mickey?”

“Keeping my options open.” He winked.

Phoenix laughed. “Banana.”

The next question was for Rooster, who’d just returned from the bathroom. He sat down beside Bob and reached for his beer from the table in front of him.

“Roo, give me a type of candy,” Fanboy requested.

Bob didn’t hear Rooster’s answer because the apartment door flew open and he was faced with you – hair slightly messy and cheeks flushed. Arms carrying more wine and balancing a cake, and he felt floored. Like the breath had been sucked from his lungs and he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“They wrote ‘Happy Birthday Phoebe’!’” You exclaimed, kicking the door shut and placing the cake on the kitchen counter, not that there was much free space for it. Regardless, you didn’t care, you just opened the bottle of wine you still held and took a large swig. “What are we playing?”

“Two steps back, Y/N,” Phoenix said with a laugh.

She used Bob’s knee to push herself to her feet, and her grip helped bring him back to earth. He remembered how to breathe, sucking in a deep breath which Rooster mistook for a wince and cast him a concerned look.

“Your knee acting up?”

“Sharp nails,” he lied.

“Everyone, this is Y/N, she’s come to town for my birthday this weekend,” Phoenix said, taking a moment to introduce everyone by their name. “And I’m sure I can live with a cake that says ‘Phoebe.’”

“We’re playing ‘wavelength,’ have you heard of it?” Rooster asked.

“Only from TikTok,” you said.

“That’s where I learnt it,” he replied, making room beside him so you could sit between himself and Bob.

Bob, who tried to not look like a complete fool as you smiled his way and sat down. Phoenix took her spot on the ground beside Bob’s left leg, but he didn’t miss the slight twitch of her lips before she spoke, “Type of candy, Roo?”

“I said warheads,” Rooster repeated.

You leaned over to Bob and whispered in his ear as Fanboy asked the next question. “What’s the number?” You asked him. At a loss for words, and not wanting to say them or hold three fingers up, he tapped the neck of his beer bottle thrice. An action you followed with your gaze before returning to his eyes once again and smiling. “Thanks, Bob.”

“‘Course,” he mumbled.

He needed another drink, and signaled to Hangman for another beer while he was up. He snagged a few and handed them off before passing one to Bob.

“Who’s driving you home?” He asked.

“Probably sleep on Nix’s couch,” he replied, casting a glance at Phoenix. “That okay?”

“You’re making breakfast in the morning,” she replied easily, clinking her bottle with Y/N’s like some sort of victory.

“Works for me,” Bob replied, thanking Hangman and opening the bottle before taking a sip.

He wished he could focus on the rest of the game, but he was acutely aware of the warmth radiating from your leg that was pressed up against the side of his own that he couldn’t think about anything else. Even through the layers of your jeans and his own pants, he could feel the warmth of your skin. His fingers gripping his beer a little tighter so he didn’t make a fool of himself and rest his hand on your thigh, desperate to feel more.

When Fanboy guessed the number 3 correctly, Coyote called for a round of shots to celebrate. Bob didn’t drink much, but he was down for a round. He needed to feel the warmth of the liquor rather than your leg.

Hangman volunteered to go next. Wavelength was a hit, and so was the round of Tequila shots. Bob felt lightheaded, but he felt relaxed for the first time in a long time. Everyone seemed to notice, too. Keeping an eye on how much he was drinking, making sure he was eating, but still letting him finally let loose a little. It was long overdue, and since he wasn’t driving home…no one was too bothered when he got up to get everyone another round of shots when Hangman guessed the right answer for the latest round of wavelength.

No one knew what to expect from a drunk Bob. They’d hardly ever seen him drink, so to see him actually drunk? He’d lost his shy exterior; shed it like a layer of himself and finally come out of his shell. He was boisterous and chatty, and sang along to whatever song was playing. Whether the song was one from the 80’s, or a newly released one, he was singing.

Then came the dancing.

You watched with curious fascination as he led the majority of the guys in a somewhat choreographed routine. You’d heard that a few of the guys had one specific song they liked to dance to, but according to Phoenix, she and Bob usually sat out and laughed at them. As it turned out, he knew the entire routine, and was now showing them up.

You and Phoenix howled with laughter as Bob and Fanboy slut-dropped, while Rooster fell over his own feet at the unexpected behaviour from Bob. Coyote and Hangman didn’t seem fazed, and continued on like nothing happened.

But it did happen, and you were enjoying every minute of it. Even throwing a few loose ones at the group of guys as their shirts came off. The song changing to fit the whole stripper vibe that the evening had somehow come to.

Bob collapsed on the couch, in the spot between you and Phoenix. Slumping down and closing his eyes while he breathed heavily, a drunk smile on his face.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” he confessed. “Happy Birthday, Nix.”

“Thanks, Bob,” she replied with a smile of her own.

“You didn’t want to strip for us, too?” You asked teasingly, looking over at the four men grinding against the air or flossing their shirts between their legs.

“Nah, you couldn’t afford me,” Bob replied, watching you turn your attention back to him. Amusement sparkled in your eyes, while his were hooded, heavy from the alcohol but still watching you as intently as he could.

You registered Phoenix getting up, but Bob had your undivided attention.

“We could find out just how much I’m willing to pay for a private show,” you told him, keeping your tone light. Easy, while still serious. You didn’t want to scare him away.

“Or?”

“Or not,” you said with a shrug, sipping your wine.

You relaxed back into the couch a little, the entire left side of your body pressed up against the right side of his. You swore you could hear his breath catch in his throat as you rested your hand on his thigh, maybe a little higher than you had intended, but it served its purpose.

You’d seen the shy, reserved guy Phoenix had described. He was just as cute as you’d imagined, but once the alcohol had loosened his inhibitions? You wanted to see more. So much more.

That was how you stayed until the song ended and Rooster offered you both another drink. Another round of tequila shots and you were up and singing loudly to the next song. Grabbing Bob’s hand and hauling him to his feet so he could join in with everyone, but it was like he wasn’t present. Not like he had been previously. He seemed to be stuck in his head, and was quick to sit back down once the song was over. Nursing a bottle of beer and picking aimlessly at the label.

“I think he’s hit a wall,” Fanboy commented to Phoenix, and you couldn’t help but overhear as you poured yourself another wine.

“I think you’re right,” she replied. “You guys should head out without us. I’ll stay and make sure he’s okay.”

“It’s your birthday though,” he replied. “You should be coming out with us.”

“Another time, I promise,” she assured him. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” he said, swiftly kissing her cheek. “Save us some cake?”

Fanboy herded the guys out of the apartment with a loud goodbye, and Phoenix shut the door behind them. When she joined you in the kitchen, she offered you a fork and you stood together picking away at the cake you got her. There was a good chunk missing already, but it was too good not to keep eating.

“Is Bob okay?”

Phoenix sighed, “If you ask him, he’ll say ‘yes’ and pretend he’s not falling apart, but he won’t talk about it.”

“Girl problems?” She nodded and you reached for your wine. “Do you think my flirting was the catalyst for his sudden withdrawal tonight?”

Her silence spoke volumes, and you wished it didn’t. Downing the last of your glass while she grabbed the bottle of tequila and sat down beside Bob.

You watched the two of them interact. Nothing was said, but there was mutual understanding. Respect. A comforting hand on his shoulder, a watery smile while he downed the last of his beer and gratefully accepted the bottle of tequila. He’d likely regret it in the morning, but if it helped him tonight? That was all he could think of.

“Room for one more?” You asked tentatively.

“Yeah.” Bob’s voice was thick, like he was trying not to cry.

The more he drank, the higher the likelihood that he’d be unable to help it. Tequila was notorious for making you feel your feelings. You’d know, you had a tendency to drown your sorrows at the bottoms of a bottle on the odd occasion.

“You want to talk about it yet?” Phoenix tried to pry.

Bob drank straight from the bottle of tequila. You shared a look with Phoenix – it was going to be a long night. Deciding to give them some privacy in case Bob didn’t want to talk about what was going on in front of you, you headed for the bathroom. Taking the time to brush your teeth and wash your face before changing into a pair of loose cotton pyjama bottoms and an old tee.

By the time you joined Bob and Phoenix again, they were lying on the floor of the living room, staring up at the ceiling. Phoenix looked over at you and held up the bottle.

“The room was spinning so we laid down. Lie with us,” she said. You took the bottle and downed a large swig before joining them.

“Do you remember the last time we drank tequila like this?” You asked her. “You’d just broken up with Sam, and I was having problems with Evan. We drank a bottle of tequila and you broke up with him for me so we could be single together.”

Phoenix laughed at the memory. “They were assholes.”

“Is Bob’s ex an asshole?” You dared to ask.

“No,” he answered after a moment of silence. “That’s the worst part.”

“She did an asshole thing though,” Phoenix pointed out.

“No, I did. By agreeing to stay friends,” he replied. “You can’t stay friends with an ex or it means you never loved them. I don’t think I loved her, I think I loved the idea of her.”

“How long were you two together?” You asked.

“Almost five years,” he said, reaching for the bottle from your hand and sitting up to take a swig. “Five years and she moves on like it was nothing, then invites me to her fucking wedding.”

He spat the last word like it pained him to say, and it probably did.

“You totally have to go,” you told him. “Show up with a hot date and pretend like those five years meant nothing to you, too. That you’ve moved on and you’re fine, and then never speak to her again.”

“I don’t think that–,”

Bob cut Phoenix off. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Except hot women don’t tend to fall at my feet.”

“Do you want me to trip or something just to prove to you that they do?” You challenged. “You’re hot, Bob.”

Phoenix rolled her eyes but she understood what you were trying to do. “If you want to go to the wedding, you know we’ll all go to support you. No one has sent their RSVP yet because we’re waiting to see what you want to do. And I think Y/N has just proven she’ll more than happily be your date. Think you can pretend to be in love with her for one night?”

“Do I have to answer right now?” Bob asked.

“No.”

“Good, ‘cause I think I’m g’na puke,” he said, shooting to his feet and darting towards the bathroom like a bat out of hell.

Phoenix looked at you as you both heard retching from the bathroom. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

“Bob’s a big boy. He can make that decision for himself,” you answered. “Should probably check on him, though. Make sure he’s not drowning in his own vomit.”

The pair of you headed to the bathroom and found him hunched over, sobbing into the toilet. Phoenix crouched down and rubbed his back soothingly while you leaned against the doorframe.

“She’s not worth your tears, Bob,” Phoenix said softly.

“How does she get to be fine while I’m falling apart?”

Your heart broke as he sobbed again, immediately followed by more retching as he hugged the bowl of the toilet.

“Sometimes we fall in love with people who don’t love us as much as we love them,” you told him after the toilet stopped flushing. “They love us 20% and we shoulder the other 80% because we don’t think that someone can love us more than that. We accept what we think we deserve, then they move on and we’re still hung up on what might’ve been. You deserve more than 20%, Bob.”

Phoenix gave you one of her all-knowing smiles, paired with sad eyes as she knew exactly who you were referencing. You’d been in Bob’s place before, a couple times actually. Moving on to the next person while still harbouring feelings for your ex and pretending that the new person was them. Loving them more than they loved you.

It sucked. Phoenix had picked up the pieces of your broken heart more times than you’d have liked. Now you’d been single the longest you’d ever been, but now you felt like you didn’t need anyone. Sure, company was great for a night or two, but your feelings were always more than the other person’s. You were tired of giving someone your all and not receiving even half of the love you gave them in return.

“It gets better,” you continued, watching him wipe his mouth with a bit of paper before he turned to look at you. “It’s not always this hard. It only seems like the end of the world because she’s engaged and having the life you’d always talked about, right? You’d been talking about getting engaged and having a big wedding, and now she’s experiencing all of that with someone else.”

“I–yeah,” he confessed. “Do you really want to go to this wedding as my date?”

“I wouldn’t have offered to if I didn’t want to go,” you told him. “And if Phoenix and the rest of the guys come along, between us all we can make it fun.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix agreed. “We can be your buffers if you don’t want to talk to her, or if you do then we’ll be there to support you. And carry you home if you get drunk like you are tonight.”

“Okay,” he said, not too sure but then he repeated himself, “okay. I can’t keep torturing myself by seeing her anymore, so it’ll be the last time.”

“Exactly,” both you and Phoenix replied.

Bob woke up to the light streaming through the small gap where the curtains didn’t quite meet. He tried to shield his eyes and go back to sleep, but his mouth was dry and his stomach protested. He downed the water bottle on the coffee table as well as a few aspirin for the headache splitting his skull. Letting it work for a few minutes before he got up and scoured the kitchen to make breakfast.

He knew he drank too much. He knew he ended up crying on the bathroom floor. He knew he’d turned Phoenix’s birthday into a pity party and he felt terrible. Not only that, but he knew he’d likely scared you off. You, Y/N, who’d called him hot and flirted with him early on in the night. You, who’d given him some great advice, but also offered to be his date to his ex’s wedding.

Why would you do that?

Surely you could do better than the heartbroken man he’d become lately.

With a sigh he watched the coffee machine drip coffee into a mug. When it was done, he took a sip before whipping up some pancakes. Personally, Bob thought they were overrated, but he knew Phoenix loved them. It was the least he could do after last night.

He fried some bacon and scrambled some eggs to go along with the pancakes, since that’s what he felt like eating. When he turned around to grab his coffee, you were seated at the breakfast bar already drinking it.

“How’re you feeling this morning?” You asked kindly.

“Would rather not think about it,” he replied, earning a soft laugh from you in response. “Phoenix up yet?”

“She’s awake but not up,” you told him. “I smelt coffee. Sorry for knicking yours.”

“It’s fine,” he assured you, already starting to make another, plus one for Phoenix. “Thanks for last night.”

“We’ve all been there, Bob, don’t sweat it.” You smiled sweetly and he nodded a few times, trying to get his breathing under control. “Smells good out here. I like the view, too.”

Bob suddenly felt underdressed. He’d removed his shirt to sleep and changed into a pair of sweatpants he’d left here a few months ago. He was glad he still had his briefs underneath, otherwise he would’ve felt more exposed than he already did.

“Uhh, you don’t have to flirt with me out of pity, you know that, right?”

“It’s not out of pity, Bob,” you told him. “I said it last night and I’ll say it again, you’re hot. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”

Bob hated that when he blushed it went down his neck and covered the top of his chest. He hated that you could see just how flushed your comments made him. Turning back to the coffee machine, and essentially hiding from you, he dropped some bread in the toaster before making the next coffee.

“If it makes you that uncomfortable, I’ll stop,” you offered kindly.

“No, I just, I don’t get called ‘hot.’ Usually only ‘cute’ or ‘adorable.’”

“You can be ‘hot’ and ‘cute’ at the same time,” you argued lightly, a smile to your tone. “Like right now. You’re all cute and shy about my flirting, but you can cook, so you’re hot.”

“I think I’m following.”

“Good boy,” you praised and Bob felt like he’d been kicked in the chest with the way his breath got caught in his throat. His heart raced and he made a face, like he didn’t hate that, and you grinned as you caught the shock before he tried to keep his expression blank. “When’s the wedding?”

Finally, a safe topic.

Bob cleared his throat before looking at you. “Second weekend in June,” he said. “Are you sure you want to go? With me?”

“I’m sure,” you confirmed. “Do you still want me to go with you?”

“I do,” he said. He held your gaze for a moment before it flickered over your shoulder. “Coffee’s ready, Phoenix!”

“Thank god!” Her reply came a moment later.

You smiled at Bob as he plated the food and set out some more plates and cutlery. Grabbing the syrup for the pancakes and the salt and pepper shakers for the eggs. You started serving yourself while Phoenix slowly joined you, accepting the mug of coffee from Bob as she sat down beside you.

“How’re you feeling this morning, Bob?”

“Better,” he replied. “Sorry about last night.”

“We all fall apart sometimes,” Phoenix responded. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Once breakfast was finished you helped Bob clean up while Phoenix took a shower. You washed while he dried.

“Do you think I could get your number? You know, so we can plan for the wedding?”

“Ask me again without the part about the wedding,” you replied.

“Uhh, can I have your number?”

“Of course,” you said with a smile in his direction. He grabbed his phone from the couch and you rattled off the digits for him. You were glad to see he still hadn’t put a shirt on, but while he was by the couch he quickly changed that.

“I sent you a text so you have my number, too,” he told you, unaware of the small pout on your lips as his chest was no longer visible. But still, you knew what he looked like without a shirt and you were happy about that. “What are your plans for the day?”

“Should probably go see my mom while I’m here, but then I’m driving home this afternoon. You want to meet me for coffee before I go?”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, and you saw the blush creep back up on his cheeks.

“Great, around two? You pick the place. I don’t know many good cafés around here.”

“Okay, I’ll text you,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Will you tell Phoenix I said thanks again for last night? I’m gonna head out.”

“Yeah, of course. See you later, Bob.”

“See you later.”

By the time Bob was set to meet with you at a small café just after two, he was nervous. He’d been nervous when he’d asked for your number, but he was more nervous now that he had it. He was nervous he was somehow going to make you hate him. Acutely aware that you’d told him to ask for his number without mentioning the wedding, so wondering what the fuck you’d even talk about in the meantime.

He blew out a breath and pushed open the door to the café. It was a quaint place with artwork on the walls done by a few local artists. If you saw something you liked, you could buy it. Bob had two small pieces in his collection already, and the staff knew him well.

He came in a few times a week and ordered a pot of green tea while he read a book. Today, however, he didn’t have a book with him and definitely seemed antsy.

“Your usual, Bob?” The barista, Marcy, asked him with a friendly smile.

“Uh, yeah, and a couple of menus, please,” he replied, thanking her for the menus before taking a seat at his favourite spot by the window. It gave him a good natural light to read, but also allowed him to people-watch.

You breezed through the door a second later, smiling as your eyes found Bob and he rose to give you a small hug.

“Hey, you look like you got a bit more sleep,” you observed, taking a seat opposite him.

“I did, yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “How was your mom?”

“She’s good, thank you. Told me I have to come back and visit more often, and now that I only live an hour away I guess I will be back more often.”

“That’s good to know,” he mused.

“What, that I’ll be back?” You teased lightly.

“Well, yeah,” he said with a cough and an awkward rub of the back of his neck. “I guess we have to plan our wedding outfits, right?

“You were doing so well until you mentioned the wedding,” you told him.

“You make me nervous,” he confessed. “I don’t know what else to talk to you about.”

“Okay, that’s an easy fix. Ask me what my favourite colour is, or what made me move away from/back to San Diego,” you supplied, attention being pulled towards the barista who placed a pot of tea on the table in front of Bob.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” She asked you.

“Iced Americano, thank you,” you replied, smiling at her before watching Bob pour himself a cup of tea.

“Why did you move from San Diego?” Bob asked you.

“I grew up here. Felt like I needed to get out and explore for a bit. Applied for a job up in Seattle and was living there for about five years, but it felt like something was missing, you know? So I packed up and moved back to San Diego.”

“Are you glad to be back?”

“Yeah, I am,” you admitted. “I think I missed the community here. It’s just me and my mom now, but it’s so familiar. I can still go to some little mom and pop stores and the owners remember me from when I was a little kid.”

“I get that,” he said. “It’s the same when I go back to Montana. Just feels like you never left, right?”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I didn’t know you were from Montana. You can hardly hair the drawl.”

“Oh, it’s still there,” he admitted with a laugh. “It’s usually more noticeable when I’m stressed, so Phoenix gives me plenty of shit for it when we land after an exercise or a mission.”

“I’ll bet she does.” You laughed along with him. “What made you join the Navy?”

“I knew I had to get out of Montana. They had a booth at a careers expo when I was in high school. Told me all the great things I could do. Signed up the day I turned eighteen and haven’t looked back,” he said, sipping his tea. “I still go home to Montana when I can. It doesn’t feel like I belong, but it’s nostalgic. It’s home.”

Bob recommended the BLT when your stomach growled, saying it was easily the best sandwich he’d ever had at a café. Apparently they toast the bread a little bit, plus the aioli they add is housemade. It made your mouth salivate just thinking about it.

You both ordered one when your coffee came out, and conversation continued to flow easily. Of course, you continued to flirt a little, but sometimes it wasn’t as obvious. Just enough to see the colour appear on Bob’s cheeks before you moved on.

Bob was sweet, which you already knew. Once he was more comfortable with you, you went back to your teasing and flirting. Sometimes you thought he might’ve even been flirting back, but it was so subtle you weren’t sure.

You talked about your favourite colour, your hobbies, and even what you did for work. It was so easy talking to Bob, it felt like you’d been friends for a long time, rather than having only met the day before.

When it was time to leave, because you had a few errands to run, Bob walked you out to your car. There was a battle for the bill, but since you’d asked him to meet with you, he reluctantly let you pay. Stating that meant he got the next one. Your heart fluttered a little at the promise of seeing him again. That you hadn’t scared him off. And graciously gave him a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek before you left.

By the time you reached the grocery store almost 40 minutes later, you smiled when you checked your phone to find a text from Bob.

I had fun this afternoon. You made me feel normal. Thank you

Any time, Bob, I mean that. I had fun this afternoon too x

Your thumb hovered over the ‘send’ icon, debating whether the kiss was too much. Deciding to send it anyway before getting on with your shopping, a pep to your step and feeling good.

Your week was busy. Your new job was still kicking your ass as you tried to learn everything you needed to know, but you felt fulfilled. Especially since Bob and Phoenix were messaging you several times a day, helping you keep sane.

They were busy training for something they couldn’t exactly talk about, but you knew it was a mission, and most of their team had been called forward. Even though you weren’t able to see them that often, you did spend most of your weekends hanging out at The Hard Deck. Phoenix and Bob had both mentioned that’s where they liked to hang out, and so you’d go there hoping that they’d have a free moment to stop by for a drink.

Sometimes they’d already be there when you arrived, while other times you’d enjoy a drink and text them until they showed up.

You’d even become closer with everyone else, but you had a soft spot for Bob. Most nights you’d talk until you were falling asleep, but not wanting to be the first to say goodnight. Bob would walk you to your car just for an extra few moments alone, you’d kiss his cheek and he’d tell you to text him when you got home so he knew you were safe.

The two times you’d hung out without everyone else had been wonderful. You’d gone to a farmers market one morning, and gone bowling the other time. Keeping it casual and light was easier said than done. You enjoyed spending time with him to the point you almost wished you hadn’t suggested being his date to his ex’s wedding. You wanted to suggest blowing the wedding off, but that felt cruel. He was ready to cut that chapter from his life and he deserved that closure. And you’d be there to see it through.

You’d asked Phoenix what she planned on wearing, but she’d been vague. Telling you to “ask Bob to coordinate your outfits,” each time. And yeah, you knew you should ask him about that, but you enjoyed the fact that he didn’t mention the wedding around you anymore. It would be like taking two steps backwards, but you knew it had to be done. After all, that was why you spent a lot of time together. You couldn’t pretend to be fake dating if you didn’t know the first thing about each other.

So you bit the bullet and fired off a text to Bob.

Hey, I’ve been thinking about what to wear for the wedding. What colour is your suit? I think it’ll be cute if we match x

His reply came moments later.

Haven’t got a suit yet, probably should organise that soon. I could use your opinion if you’re free tomorrow?

Of course, we can meet at the café for breakfast and then go from there. 9am suit you? x

Can’t wait x

You smiled at the kiss he’d added to the end of his text. Then came his next message.

Are you coming to the Hard Deck tonight? x

Got a work dinner that I can’t get out of. I’ll text you when it’s over to see if you’re still there. I might be due for some decent company x

I’ll still be here x

His flirting was more obvious through text, and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew it would be flushed. You also knew just how far down that blush actually went, and spent more time thinking about it than you should’ve while still at work.

You watched the clock throughout the entire dinner. You didn’t want to seem like you had better places to be, even if it was true, but you were acutely aware of the time dragging on. Sure, you made small talk and laughed with everyone, but it wasn’t where you wanted to be. You wanted to be playing pool and drinking with your friends, and Bob.

Bob, who you definitely felt was more than a friend. Bob, who you weren’t entirely sure felt the same way as you did. Bob, who was still shy and nervous around you, but had grown more confident with your flirting. Bob, who flirted back so subtly you were convinced you’d imagined it.

Bob, the cute and awkward guy who stammered over his words sometimes. Bob, who flushed a deep scarlet whenever you touched his arm or kissed his cheek, or even openly flirted with him in front of his friends. Bob, who consumed your waking thoughts.

But you were just friends, right? You were going to be his date to the wedding – even if it was his ex’s wedding, – and you were going to have a good time, damn it. You wanted him to see you, not compare you to his ex. Not use you to get over her.

Bob, who was sweet and funny and cared more for other people than he did himself.

You smiled and gave a few hugs to coworkers who’d been friendly to you and farewelled everyone with a wave. Making a beeline to your car while you typed a quick text to Bob.

On my way, handsome x

See you soon, sweetheart x

Sweetheart. That was new. Obviously you didn’t hate it, but you were excited to tease him about it and see that gorgeous scarlet taint his cheeks and disappear beneath his shirt.

At the Hard Deck, Bob’s excitement was obvious to everyone except him. From the flush of his cheeks to his eyes darting towards the door every ten seconds. They knew who he was waiting for.

“Bob’s got a crush,” Fanboy teased, taking up residence on the stool beside Bob’s.

“So do you, Mickey,” Bob pointed out, picking at the skin of his thumbnail. “You think we don’t see you and Phoenix but we do.”

“At least Tasha knows I have a crush on her,” Fanboy replied, winking at Phoenix just as she took her shot at the ball on the table. And missed. “Better luck next time, Tasha!”

“Shut up, Mick,” she replied, though her tone was light. Flirty. A smile on her face betrayed any hint of lingering animosity behind her words. “Y/N’s on her way, huh, lover boy?”

“Maybe,” Bob said vaguely, though his eyes darting to the door had both Fanboy and Phoenix making kissing noises. “Okay, fine, she told me she’s on her way.”

Mickey wrapped his arm around Bob’s shoulders while Phoenix smiled at the exchange. “We know. You can’t keep your eyes off the door long enough to watch Coyote and Payback kick mine and Hangman’s asses.”

“I’d put money on the reason we’re losing isn’t because of their skill, but your inability to stop eyefucking Fanboy,” Hangman pointed out.

Fanboy laughed while Phoenix rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a sore loser because you’re the only one without a girl tonight.”

Payback and Coyote’s attention had been pulled away from the game by two gorgeous brunette’s. Bob laughed along with Fanboy at Phoenix’s jab, watching her lightly pat Hangman’s shoulder before standing beside Mickey.

“Another drink?” She asked, looking from Mickey to Bob.

Both men nodded and she set off to the bar.

“How do you keep it so light and flirty all the time?” Bob asked Fanboy.

He was probably the only guy who wouldn’t laugh at him for this kind of question, aside from Phoenix. Phoenix was both of your friends, and she’d made it clear she wasn’t going to interfere in anything. You’d just have to talk to each other like adults.

“The truth?” He replied. Bob nodded. “It’s not. She makes me nervous and I say things that make me look like an idiot, but she still smiles at me and flirts to her heart’s content, so I know I can’t have messed up too badly. A confident woman isn’t a bad thing, you just have to keep trying.”

“Thanks, Mick,” Bob said with a grateful smile.

“I mean, we’ve all seen Hangman strike out more times than we can count,” Fanboy continued, dragging Hangman into the firing line. He looked pissed, but Fanboy pressed on. “The key is to adapt. What works with some women, doesn’t work with others. Yeah, rejection sucks, but he doesn’t let it get him down. Besides, she told you that she’s on her way, not Phoenix. She’s only coming to see you, Bob.”

“He’s right,” Hangman pointed out. “Whatever you’re doing is working for her.”

Bob’s eyes darted back to the front door to see you walking towards the bar, smiling at Phoenix. He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face as he watched you two embrace.

“You got it bad, Bob,” Hangman said, walking away with a laugh.

Yeah, Bob thought, don’t I know it.

You smiled at Bob as you and Phoenix joined the guys, offering the beer to Bob as you sipped your drink. He smiled in thanks, getting up to offer you his stool which you gratefully accepted.

“Why can’t you be like that?” Phoenix asked Fanboy who shrugged.

“Perfectly good seat in my lap,” he replied with a grin.

“How was dinner?” Bob asked you, paying no mind to the two beside you who continued to flirt while they bickered.

“It was good. Glad I’m here now, though,” you told him truthfully, watching the colour darken on his cheeks as he sipped his beer. “Teach me how to play?”

“What’s that?”

“Pool. Teach me how to play?”

You knew how to play, you just wanted to be close to him. Lucky for you, Bob took the bait. Taking your hand and leading you to the pool table, giving you a basic run-down of the game. He racked the balls and set them before offering you a cue and showing you how to hold it. His body pressed against yours as he positioned your hands. Lips brushing your ear as he instructed you to use your back hand to pop the cue out and hit the solid white ball, sending it flying into the triangle of coloured ones down the other end.

“You’re a natural,” he praised, smiling as he took the cue from you and lined up his own shot.

“Maybe you’re just a good teacher,” you countered, leaning against the table and squeezing your chest together just a little. Enough that you saw his gaze flit downwards to your cleavage before he hit his lip and took his shot. You watched the ball he was aiming for miss the pocket.

“That’s cheating,” he pointed out, handing you the cue while you smiled sweetly at him.

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” you replied. “Didn’t seem like you had any issue looking.”

“You made it hard not to,” he said, stepping closer to you. “You’re gorgeous, Y/N.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He groaned as you laughed and lined up your shot, looking over your shoulder at him. “You going to help me?”

“Call me ‘handsome’ again and I’ll give you anything you want, sweetheart.”

“You gotta be careful giving women that much power, handsome,” you said, taking the shot as you sent him a wink, hearing the ball sink into one of the pockets. You followed the cue ball around the table before lining up your next shot, peering up at him through your lashes. “A pretty girl might just take advantage of you.”

The back and forth was easy and you chalked that down to the couple of beer’s Bob had before you arrived. You liked when his words seemed to flow without any hesitation or overthinking, but you also liked the nervous babbling. The tripping over his words. Everything that made him him. You weren’t trying to change him, you were trying to help him love himself.

Though that might’ve been easier said than done.

The smile dropped from his face and he lost all expression. He was blank and you couldn’t read him. But you turned around and followed his line of sight, watching a young couple enter the bar. One look at Phoenix told you everything you needed to know – his ex was here with her fiancé.

You walked over to Bob and took his hand. He slowly turned his head to look at you.

“Get me out of here,” he pleaded, voice weak and your heart broke for him. You dragged him out the back entrance into the cool evening air, the sound inside dying out and replaced with the repetitive yet calming sounds of waves crashing against the shore.

You dragged him down to the beach, further from the bar, and sat down in the sand. He continued to hold your hand but said nothing. Deciding not to talk until he was ready to, you enjoyed the warmth of his hand and the calming presence of the ocean.

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t how you want to be spending your Friday night,” Bob apologised.

“I came here to see you. I don’t care if we’re playing pool or sitting out here in silence,” you told him truthfully, watching a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Getting over heartbreak isn’t a simple thing. If it was, we wouldn’t be able to learn and grow.”

“I just…I don’t want you thinking that I’m using you as a rebound or something,” he confessed. “You deserve better than that.”

“Right now,we’re friends who flirt and enjoy hanging out. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that,” you said. “It’s not always going to feel like this, Bob, I promise you. Sometimes all it takes is time, but other times? Other times, all you need is a friend who’s been there and gets it. Phoenix tries, but she hasn’t experienced this kind of heartbreak before. I’m like you, I love hard. Hard enough to make up for the other person’s piss poor efforts.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I know it’s not enough, but thank you.”

“It’s enough, Bob.”

Bob met you at the café early in the morning like you’d planned. After the evening took a turn last night, you’d driven him home before heading back to your place.

Your words had been true. You loved spending time with him, whether you were playing pool or sitting outside. It was his company that mattered the most, not the conversation or activity.

You also revealed more about yourself to him than you’d intended. You hoped he’d picked up on the double meaning of your words – that you loved the other person more than they could love you. Because it was happening all over again. You were falling for someone who was emotionally unavailable.

Bob.

Breakfast was a short affair, but still sweet. The café had became a regular place you two liked to meet at and the staff were lovely. They’d have your drinks ready, even if there was a store full of people because you were both creatures of habit. Bob liked green tea, you like iced black coffee.

With breakfast out of the way, you linked your arm with Bob’s as you walked down the street. Asking him what kind of vibe he was feeling for his suit, only to be met with a blank look.

“It’s summer, Bob, you’ve got to have a colourful suit,” you chastised. “Black is boring. It’s overdone. I think you’d suit a light blue, like a baby blue, but we’ll shop around a bit.”

That’s how he ended up trying on various suits throughout the day. You’d see his attention start to drift, so you’d pack up and drag him into a store while you tried on dresses. He’d sit in the change area waiting patiently, then he’d take his time watching you twirl and pose.

He’d comment on aspects of the dresses he liked, like the neckline or the frills. It wasn’t until one of the workers tried suggesting a dress that he balked at the suggestion and went to find a better one.

He was attentive and complimentative, more so than any boyfriend you’d ever dragged out shopping with you. You wanted to think it was because there was something else building between you, but your heart told you another story. That he only cared because you were his date to his ex’s wedding.

But when he came back with a pale blue number you knew he had a winner before you even tried it on.

“This is the one,” you told him through the curtain. You admired yourself in the mirror and smiled.

“Show me?”

You threw back the curtain and gave him a shy twirl. The dress was soft and flowed around your legs as you twirled on your tiptoes. The material was snug over your chest and could either be worn with the straps or without. You’d opted to tuck them into your bra for the time being.

“You look gorgeous,” he said, voice having dropped an octave as he truly admired you. “You always look gorgeous. I mean, wow.”

You chuckled softly and reached for his arm. “I know. Thank you, Bob.”

You left him to pick his jaw up off the ground and quickly changed back, carrying the dress over your arm. Opening the curtain and placing the dresses you weren’t going to buy on the rack before taking Bob’s hand in yours.

“Will that be cash or card?”

“Card.” Bob handed his card over before you had a second to dig for your own to pay. “It’s on me. Please?”

“Only because you asked nicely,” you replied teasingly, smiling at the cashier as she rang you up and processed Bob’s card. You accepted the bag when it was ready and walked out of the store together after thanking the cashier.

“Now all that’s left is my suit,” Bob mused.

“Should be easy enough. Then we can have a late lunch.”

You didn’t want the day to be over yet. Call it selfish or whatever, but spending time with Bob was the highlight of your week. The more time you spent with him, the more you saw glimpses of the real Bob hidden away from the rest of the world. He could take charge, like he did when he found you the dress. His shell was slowly cracking open and the more you saw, the more you fell for his sweet nature.

Bob smiled at the promise of lunch and you led him back into the store he’d tried on no less than 20 suits earlier in the day. The sales assistant smiled when he saw you both back again, surprised you’d found a dress already.

“We need a suit in this colour, or as close to it as you can,” you told him, showing him the colour of your dress.

He flew around the store picking up suits in various shades of blue, none of which were close to being right. Still, Bob tried on every single one of them to get your opinion.

“You do alterations, right?” You asked the sales assistant. He nodded. “Good. I’ll be back.”

You headed off on a mission. You’d seen a blue suit earlier, but it had been the wrong size so you’d all skipped past it. When you found it, you knew it was going to be two sizes too big, but if the alterations were done right, it would be perfect.

“That’s going to fall off me,” Bob commented.

“You’re not that skinny,” you replied. “I’ve seen your abs. The colour is right, Bob, please?”

“Only because you asked nicely,” he mumbled, throwing your words back at you which only made you laugh.

“Last night you said you’d do anything I’d ask, so get to it, handsome.”

He paused, trying to hide his smile as he accepted the suit, then stuck his tongue out at you. “Cheater.”

“All’s fair in love and wedding attire, or however the saying goes.”

You heard him laughing even with the door to the changing room closed. When he emerged, you signaled for the sales assistant.

“It definitely needs to be taken in, but the colour is definitely the right shade of blue. You have a good eye,” he told you, making you smile as you looked over Bob. “I’ll just grab some pins and then we’ll size you for the alterations.”

“Thank you,” Bob said politely.

“That colour looks so good on you,” you complimented, smoothing your hand down his arm before walking around him in a circle.

“Yeah?”

You smiled at his nervousness bubbling back to the surface. “Yeah. We’re going to look so good together.”

The apples of his cheeks began to pink up at your words. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

The sales assistant made quick work of pinning the suit where it needed to be tailored. Taking in the legs and the hem of the pants. Taking in the sides of the jacket and a little bit of the length, as well as attempting to make the shoulders look smoother. He made Bob turn a few times so he could adjust a few pins as necessary. Happy with his work, he told Bob to be careful while changing out of the pants, since he’d already taken the jacket off.

“Do you have a white dress shirt at home?” You asked Bob through the closed door.

“Yeah, a couple,” he replied.

“Tie?”

“I’m not wearing a tie,” he said firmly. “Ties are for the groom and groomsmen. Since I’m neither, I’m going as casual Bob. Casual Bob has a hot date and will have a few drinks then carve up the dance floor.”

“Remind me to keep you away from the dance floor,” you teased.

“You didn’t have anything wrong with my dancing at Phoenix’s the other weekend,” he pointed out.

“That was a safe space,” you replied. “You were surrounded by people who care about you. Do you really think dancing like a stripper at your ex’s wedding is going to be a good look?”

“You just want me all to yourself,” he deduced, opening the door to find you flustered by his shirtless self.

“I, uhh, what was the question?”

Seeing the roles reversed, that Bob was the confident one to your suddenly nervous self, fuelled him on. He took a step towards you, you took one towards him. Hand reaching out to touch him.

“Hot, fuck.”

You pulled your hand back the second your fingers brushed over his abdomen like you’d been burnt. You’d expected him to laugh, or blush uncontrollably, but he surprised you by cupping your face with one hand while his other settled on your waist.

“Go on a date with me.” His voice was soft and low. Thumb brushing over your cheek, feeling the warmth. “A real date.”

“Okay,” you said softly.

“Dinner tonight? No wedding talk. No talk about our exes. Just us talking like we do. Having fun like we do,” he said.

“What time?”

“Five, I have something else planned besides dinner,” he revealed, smiling as he stroked your cheek one last time.

“Do I get a hint?”

“Bring a jacket,” he told you, and you missed his touch instantly as he took a step back. “And don’t wear heels.”

You dressed casually for your date, unsure what to expect. You paired your jeans with a comfy tee, as well as a warm jacket that you had draped over your arm for the time being. It was still too warm to wear the jacket, so whatever Bob had planned had piqued your interest tenfold.

He picked you up at five sharp, dressed in jeans that had the cuffs rolled, a pair of boots and a white tee with a bomber jacket over top. His usual Navy issued glasses sat perched atop his nose and he gave you a warm smile.

“Well, don’t you look handsome,” you greeted, smiling widely at the man standing in your doorway.

“You’re not supposed to compliment me first,” he chastised playfully, though his flushed cheeks betrayed the confidence shining brightly in his eyes. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Bob,” you replied, feeling warmth in your own cheeks.

The two of you set off, Bob’s hand firmly in yours as he led you out to his car. No matter how much you asked, he wasn’t going to tell you what the first stop was.

“It’s a surprise,” he’d said with an all knowing smile. “Don’t give me lip about hating surprises either. I guarantee this is one you’ll like.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you,” he’d replied simply, like he was stating a fact.

You thought back to the past conversations you’d had, and what you might’ve revealed about yourself. There was a lot, and there was a good chance he did know you well enough to be able to state that you’d grant an exception to this surprise.

When Bob parked at the marina you cast him a bewildered look. He wasted no time in getting out and rounding the car to open the door for you.

“Ever the gentleman, Bobert,” you teased but there was no malice. There was never any malice. Just adoration for the man whose heart was slowly healing.

“Bobert, huh?”

“You told me you hated Robbie and Bobby,” you pointed out. “Bobert is fun, fresh, and a combination of your name and your nickname. Like it?”

“Don’t hate it,” he replied with a laugh. “C’mon, we’re running late as it is.”

“Are we fishing?” You asked, his hand slipping into yours like it belonged there, and maybe it did.

He held onto your coat as you walked along the boardwalk towards the docks, not giving anything away. There were lots of people milling around, heading towards other boats. Not you two. You weaved your way through the crowds until you arrived at a large tour boat already loaded with tourists.

“So, not fishing?” You asked, taking in the sign above the walkway up to the boat.

The sign read “San Diego Sunset Tours.”

“Not fishing,” Bob confirmed, taking in your excited expression. The way your eyes lit up when you looked at him with the biggest grin on your face that he’d ever seen. “Told you you’d like this surprise.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” you replied.

In the many conversations you’d had, you’d told him how even though you’d lived in San Diego almost your entire life, you hadn’t actually been on a boat before. You liked to come down and watch them all go out or come back in, waving to the passengers on board. But you’d never actually experienced it before.

Bob wanted to change that.

He’d planned it long before he’d found the nerve to actually ask you to join him for a date tonight. It took a while to secure a spot, even if he did know one of the owners as a former Naval Captain. They couldn’t play favourites, so he’d waited and waited. Grown more confident and playful around you, and you’d said ‘yes’ when he finally asked you out. He just hadn’t expected you to become so flustered about seeing him without his shirt on.

He gave his name to the check in clerk, who introduced himself as the first mate. Telling you that you were the last to arrive, so to grab a drink and take a seat while they worked on setting sail.

Bob enjoyed your look of utter bewilderment. The childlike awe and unbridled joy radiating from you in tidal waves. It was contagious, and he was happy he’d invoked this kind of reaction from you. That something he did would be a memory you’d always look back on and smile, and it made his chest grow tighter and his heart race a little quicker.

“When did you have time to plan this?” You asked. Bob was in half a mind to lie so as to not come on too strong, but you were here. Through his shyness, through his moments of boldness. You were still here. That had to mean something.

“Been thinking about it since you told me the story of you coming down here every weekend when you were a kid,” he confessed, watching you place a hand over your heart as you gave him a watery smile. “I wanted to make sure you experience it at least once.”

“Thank you,” you said, though words couldn’t portray just how grateful you were. Bob seemed to understand, pulling you against his chest for a hug. Your arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly as you enjoyed his warm embrace.

You chose to sit outside to watch the sunset. It wasn’t that cool yet, but you put your jacket on regardless. Not wanting to bother Bob with holding it, even though he didn’t mind, and kept an arm around your shoulders.

It was easy being with Bob. You didn’t feel compelled to fill the silence with mindless babble, because his company set you at ease. He was like a breath of fresh air, comforting and refreshing.

He was everything you never knew you were missing, and when he smiled at you, you knew there was no going back. You’d fallen, and you just hoped he was there to catch you.

Your date with Bob weighed heavily on your mind in the days leading up to the wedding. No one had ever done something so special for you for a first date before, so how could you not think about it?

The tour was amazing. You’d filled your camera roll with a bunch of images of the sunset, of the two of you smiling. A couple had even asked if you’d like them to take a photo of you, and you’d both gratefully accepted.

There were a bunch of you both wrapped in each other’s arms and smiling at the camera, but there were also a few where one or both of you were smiling at each other.

Then there was your favourite photo of all. The sunset was illuminating the sky behind you in a mix of gorgeous reds, oranges and purples. Bob had a hand resting on your lower back, the other cupping your face. Your hands gripped the collar of his jacket and you two had forgotten that pictures were being taken. The look shared between you spoke volumes. Pure adoration for each other shining brightly.

You’d made it your phone lock screen.

Of course, you’d sent a few of the others to Phoenix once Bob had dropped you home after dinner. You’d needed to gush about how much fun you’d had, and how Bob had surprised you with the best first date ever.

It wasn’t until you all met up at the Hard Deck later in the week that she saw what your lock screen image was. Apparently Bob’s was the same, and he’d been dealing with their merciless teasing all week. It brought a new wave of teasing around because apparently Bob hadn’t blushed over his choice of lock screen until it was revealed that yours matched.

You thought that you couldn’t fall any further for him, but it turned out you were wrong.

The two of you slipped outside as the night wore on and more drinks were consumed. Hangman and Rooster were killing it at karaoke, and their voices were drowned out by the lull of the ocean.

You were nestled into Bob’s side, his jacket draped around your back, your head resting in his shoulder. You liked him. It was obvious he liked you too, but you needed to have a conversation. Talk about things like adults, because while the feelings were obviously there, his words stuck in your mind.

“I don’t want you to think I’m using you.”

He’d said it a couple weeks ago. A lot has changed since then. You woke up to good morning texts from him, or would grab dinner or hang out watching a movie in the evenings after work. Your free time had been consumed by him, and while you loved it, you also needed clarification. You needed to know where his mind was at, because it’d been a while since you’d mentioned his ex. He never brought her up, so it was hard to know without being able to read his mind.

“You warm enough, sweetheart?” Bob asked you softly, pressing a soft kiss the top of your head.

You hummed. “Yeah, thank you. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

You sat in silence for a moment, trying to find the right words. Bob didn’t pressure you, and part of you was glad. “Do you like me the way I like you?”

“What way do you like me?” He asked cautiously.

“More than a friend, handsome,” you said lightly, peering up at him as your heart thundered in your ears.

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, sweetheart. I like you the same way you like me.”

“Okay, good.” You smiled, catching his eye.

He dipped his head, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you any reason to doubt,” he told you.

“I just needed to be sure, that’s all,” you told him. “There’s been times when I’ve thought you were going to kiss me, but you haven’t.”

“I needed to be sure of my feelings for you before I kissed you for the first time,” he said, hand lightly cupping your face. Thumb brushing over your cheek. “You mean so much to me, sweetheart. I’d never be able to forgive myself if I hurt you because we weren’t on the same page.”

“We’re on the same page now, handsome.”

“Yeah, we are,” he said, tilting your chin so he could capture your lips in a kiss you’d been anticipating for a month.

Finally.

You kissed him back softly, slowly. Savouring the feeling of his mouth against yours and the fire that ignited low in your belly. Your arms finding their way around his neck, fitting against him like you were two pieces of a puzzle that had long awaited their missing piece.

His hand slipped behind your head to cup the base of your skull, fingers winding their way into your hair. Your mouth parted slightly, sucking his bottom lip as a low groan rumbled in his chest.

And then there was the cheering. Bob’s squadron of friends whooping and hollering as they watched the spectacle of your first kiss from the rear entrance of the Hard Deck.

You chuckled against Bob’s lips, drawing him in for another kiss as you flipped them all off. His tongue pressed past your open lips as he deepened the kiss, earning a delicious moan in response.

Neither of you cared about the audience, or that it slowly grew quieter again. The blood rushed in your veins, your body reacting to his touch and you felt hot. Shrugging off his jacket as your fingers tugged at his hair and his grip around your waist tightened.

You were breathing heavily when you parted, Bob’s own breath matching yours as you softly laughed from the bliss of it all and started to smooth back his hair.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” you confessed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Quit stealin’ m’ lines,” he said, voice thick and gravelly even as heat rose to his cheeks.

“Hello, Montana,” you teased, fanning your face with your hand at the sudden tone of the Montana drawl he said only appeared when he was stressed. “Been wondering if your accent also came back when you were turned on.”

“Might be playin’ it up a bit f’ you,” he replied, cocking his head as he smiled and brushed some of your hair back from your face.

You hummed, smiling softly as he dipped his head for another kiss. This one was short but sweet, like he couldn’t help himself and he just had to kiss you again. Like he already missed the feeling of your lips against his and knew you weren’t going to protest.

“You wanna go back inside or stay out here a bit longer?” He asked sweetly.

His gaze flitted to your lips so you kissed him. “I’ll go wherever you go, handsome.”

By the time you were ready to go back inside, because the temperature had dropped a bit more and you noticed the goosebumps on Bob’s arms despite his insistence that he wasn’t cold, your lips were puffy and his hair was a mess. He’d given you his jacket again and walked a little taller with his arm around your waist, guiding you back towards his group of friends.

“You finally resurfaced for air, huh?” Phoenix teased you both, earning a laugh from you as you stole her drink and finished the last of it. Bob simply smiled.

“Another drink?” You asked Bob.

“Please and thank you,” he replied, earning a chorus of groans from his friends. His colleagues. His family. All he did in response was flip them off, grinning as you squeezed his hand before heading off to the bar.

“Treat her well, Floyd.”

Bob met Phoenix’s gaze. The woman, his pilot and someone he considered to be a best friend, wore a hard look. Of course, he knew her well enough at this point to know she was saying it out of loyalty to you, but also for his own benefit. If he hurt her, he knew she’d choose you. As much as she loved and respected him, she wouldn’t hesitate to kick his ass if he made you cry.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered honestly. “You g’na give her the same talk? Would hate to accuse you of playing favourites.”

“Oh, there’d be some truth to the accusations,” she replied with a laugh. “I’ve had the same talk with her already, Bob.”

At the bar, you greeted Penny with a warm smile. She finished serving the flock of women down the end before making her way over to you.

“Your usual?” She asked.

“And Bob’s,” you replied. She was already cracking open a beer before you’d even said his name. “All knowing bartender you are.”

She laughed. “Just a heads up. His ex is here for her hen’s night,” she told you, gesturing to the group she’d just served. “They’re drunk and up to no good.”

“Uh huh,” you said. It was clear which one was his ex. She wore the tacky ‘Bride to Be’ sash and the other women wore ones that said ‘Bridesmaid’s to Be’.

“Don’t roll your eyes too hard,” Penny warned you with a teasing smile.

“Thanks, Penny,” you told her, taking a sip of your drink. “How much?”

“I changed them for it,” she told you quietly, earning a boisterous laugh in response. She shot you a wink. “They haven’t seen you guys yet, but they’re flapping their jaws.”

“Appreciate the heads up, Penny,” you said honestly.

You’d had a great time tonight and you didn’t want Bob’s ex or her friends to ruin it. Part of you still believed he was hung up on her and you wished it wasn’t true. He’d told you he liked you. You’d seen his behaviour change from someone suffering through life to someone enjoying it. You were part of the reason his behaviour had lifted over the last few weeks.

Squaring your shoulders, you headed towards the group with a huge smile on your face.

“Oh my God, you’re getting married!” You gushed and it was just what the women needed to squeal and fawn over Bob’s ex. You knew her name, you just didn’t want to say it. “Congratulations, you must be so happy!”

“Thank you,” she replied, her answer quipped. “I’m sorry, we’re kind of on a mission to find someone tonight. Do you come here often? Maybe you could help us?”

“I can try my best,” you replied honestly.

“Do you know Bob Floyd?” One of the Bridesmaids asked you.

“Yeah, I know Bob.” You cocked your head. “Why do you need Bob for this mission?”

The women all shared a look and giggled. A different one spoke. “We want him to strip for Jamie. As one last hurrah before she gets married, you know?”

This time you giggled. “Oh, you couldn’t afford him,” you responded, watching the Bride to Be’s face turn from amused to confused, then fall completely. “I’m sure there’s someone here who would be into it, though. Hangman maybe?”

“Jake’s an asshole,” the bride snapped.

“I think he’s a sweetheart. A little misguided, but his heart’s in the right place. Maybe you’re right though, he seems to be loyal to his friends,” you mused, enjoying the discomfort growing on the Bride to Be’s face. “Oh, what do I know? You ladies have fun tonight!”

You breezed off towards the back of the bar where Fanboy and Phoenix had carefully hidden the group, grateful for the large crowd tonight so the group of women couldn’t track where you’d gone.

Fanboy eyed you curiously. He’d had eyes on the whole situation since Penny had sent him a text about the unwanted bridal party’s arrival while you and Bob had been outside. He’d positioned himself in a way that he could be hidden but also see everything.

You gave him a smile before you handed Bob his beer and sat down beside him.

“Your ex and her bridal party are trying to find you so you can strip for them,” you stated. Bob stared at you with his bottle raised halfway to his lips. “Don’t worry, I said they couldn’t afford you and offered Hangman instead.”

There was silence for a beat while everyone awaited Bob’s response. It came in the form of laughter, his arm going around your shoulders and a kiss pressed to your temple. With Bob’s own laughter in the air, the group followed suit. Until Hangman realised what you’d actually said.

“Why’d you offer my services?” He asked you.

“I’ve seen you strip to Pony by Ginuwine,” you stated.

“If I remember correctly, you were too busy flirting with Baby On Board to even notice,” he argued playfully.

“And she still knows I’m better than you, Hangman,” Bob replied in the same teasing manner.

“What can I say? I have taste.”

The kiss Bob gave you had the group groaning at the show of PDA. He didn’t care.

Neither did you.

The day of the wedding rolled around quickly. You were set to get ready with Phoenix and had arrived at her place a little after 10am. Mickey and Bob would pick you up just after two to make your way out. You’d planned to meet everyone just before half three since the ceremony kicked off at four.

You’d had a grueling week at work and didn’t even have the energy to see everyone at the Hard Deck last night. Instead, Bob had come over with dinner and the two of you spent the evening cuddling and making out on your couch like horny teenagers. You’d wished things had gone further, the noises he made ignited a flame inside you. A hot, passionate fire raging deep in your belly that your showerhead couldn’t quite extinguish.

He hadn’t stayed the night. You’d seen how torn he was between deciding whether he should stay or go, so you’d made the decision for him. Sure, you were straddling his lap at the time and grinding yourself against the bulge of his erection, but you’d told him there was no rush. No pressure to take things further if he wasn’t quite ready.

He was achingly ready. Fingertips digging into your hips, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear and breath hot against his skin as you spoke lowly.

“Every second I have with you is more than I thought I’d ever have, so until you make the first move, this is as far as we go,” you’d said.

“This is so much more fun than going home and getting off with my hand,” he’d replied with a groan.

“But it’s so fucking hot knowing you’re going to jerk off thinking of me,” you’d told him, your core clenching at the thought.

“You g’na get yourself off thinkin’ o’ me, sweetheart?”

“Seems only fair.”

The sounds he’d made had been replaying in your head all night. Nothing you’d tried had been as good at making you cum than the thought of him stroking his cock while thinking of you.

You’d been distracted all morning since you’d been at Phoenix’s getting ready. When she’s tried to ask, you’d brushed it off as nerves for this wedding. She’d hummed skeptically but had given you enough glasses of wine that had you spilling your guts.

Then she’d wished you hadn’t, but you needed to get it out. Needed to tell someone about your frustration in the hopes they’d set you right and tell you what you needed to hear. So she pushed aside her discomfort and did just that.

“You’ve been patient with Bob for almost two months,” she said. “I know you’re on the same page now, but he doesn’t rush things. He’s in his head a lot because his job is to weigh every possible scenario before he acts. He’s never thinking of himself because my ass is on the line, too. That’s what he’ll be doing. Your patience will be rewarded, and I’ll have to mentally brace myself to hear all the details, but he’s so into you, Y/N. Don’t doubt that for a fucking second.”

“I know, I know. I do, believe me. I know I go all in too fast sometimes, so can you just tell me that going slow for once isn’t a bad thing?”

“Going slow isn’t a bad thing,” she repeated, except you believed her whereas telling yourself the same thing felt like a load of shit. “Now do you want lunch or nibbles?”

“Lunch. I need to absorb some of this alcohol before I get in the car for the next two hours.”

You ordered sandwiches from the shop down the street and continued to get ready while you ate. The music got turned up and the vibe was lively. Laughter flowed as you took dance breaks or strutted the fake catwalk. It wasn’t until there was a knock at the door that you realised the time.

Phoenix opened the door for Mickey and Bob and you chugged the last of your wine.

“Don’t you two look dapper?” She greeted your dates with a teasing compliment. “A bow-tie, Mick? Really?”

“See, this is why I needed your opinion,” he countered, greeting her with a hug and a heady kiss. Phoenix was quick to take the tie off and undo the first two buttons of his shirt.

“Hi,” Bob greeted you shyly.

He looked amazing in his suit, like you knew he would. His hair curled at the nape of his neck, evidence that it’d been a while since he’d last cut it, but you didn’t complain. No, you liked the length. You loved to tug it, and that’s what had convinced him to avoid the barber’s for the foreseeable future.

“Hi yourself, handsome,” you replied, sliding your hands up his torso to grab the lapels of his jacket. His hands found your waist as the two of you shared a sweet kiss. You hummed as you parted and wiped away at a speck of lipstick lingering on his lips. “How do I look?”

“Good enough to eat,” he replied lowly.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you teased playfully. He kissed you again, unable to help himself. “Where are you glasses, Bobert?”

“He put contacts in,” Mickey supplied. “Ended up crying because he stabbed himself in the eye while we were driving over here.”

“You hit a pothole,” Bob stated.

“I miss the glasses,” you said with a pout. Bob shared a look with Phoenix and Fanboy who wore identical smiles. “What was that look for?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Bob assured you. You believed him.

The ride to the venue was a blast. You had the windows down, music pumping and shared a bottle of wine with Phoenix and Bob. They’d laughed when you’d grabbed the bottle before leaving, but Bob had a good buzz on and you and Phoenix were on a mission to appear more sober than you actually were.

That proved easier said than done, but at least you had a pair of sunglasses.

You kept half an eye on Bob. He seemed to be in good spirits, but you weren’t sure if it was for show or not. Of course, he did keep you glued to his side, which you didn’t mind. His arm around your waist, helping keep you steady since it was obvious that you and Phoenix had started drinking hours before everyone else.

Shit.

You weren’t complaining about his close proximity. Standing beneath the shade of a nearby tree while you sipped a bottle of water from one hand or a glass of prosecco from your other. Bob and Rooster were chatting to some other people they knew. Friends of Bob’s ex, apparently. You paid some attention to the conversation, but Phoenix was waving you over to where her and Fanboy were.

“I’ll be back, just going to see what Nix wants,” you told Bob, kissing his cheek. He smiled in response, following you towards where the duo sat in front of a few snacks. “What’s up?”

“Mickey thinks we need to eat more,” Phoenix told you, stacking a slice of cheese on a cracker before dipping it in a bowl.

“You almost tripped twice walking over here,” he commented, arm around the back of Nix’s chair.

“You try walking on grass in heels,” you replied, taking a seat and setting your drinks in front of you before picking at a slice of salami.

“She’s right,” Nix agreed. “Lover boy is on his way over.”

“You have separation anxiety or something?” Mickey teased, earning a laugh from Bob.

He took a seat beside you, arm resting on the back of your chair. Copying the duo sitting on the opposite side of the table. “They’re talking about baseball and I couldn’t give a single fuck about it. Better company here, anyway.”

“Charmer,” you teased, slicing some brie to put on a cracker with half of a cherry tomato. He grinned your way as you put the whole thing in your mouth, shaking his head as you struggled to chew it.

“Hungry?”

“They’ve been drinking since ten,” Mickey told him, smiling fondly at Phoenix as she scooped guac onto a chip and shoved it in her mouth.

“Ahh,” Bob replied, swiping your prosecco and finishing it before you could protest. “Finish your water.”

Chat was aimless as you all picked at the snacks on the table. Talking about your job or their training. Making plans for a double date sometime soon. It was easy.

Eventually Hangman and Coyote found you, handing out more prosecco or beer. They talked shit about some of the guests who looked annoyed to even be in attendance, which then started the game of trying to guess who everyone was. Making up stories about them, or names, until you were all in hysterics at Mickey’s description of an older woman.

He’d said her name was Myrtle and she had a turtle, but she was undercover for the CIA because some ex-Russian military – who were the groom’s family, – were here to cause trouble. His exact words were “eliminate everyone in attendance,” but assured you all that Myrtle had it under control.

Payback and Rooster joined you all after hearing your group’s laughter over everything else and immediately got in on the game too.

Your table was the loudest by far. Guests casting disgusted looks your way whenever someone finished their description, starting another round based on who looked the most annoyed. How else were you supposed to pass the time waiting for the ceremony to kick off? Mingling with people you didn’t know and gushing about how happy you were for the soon-to-be-wed couple? Get fucked.

“More drinks?” Hangman asked.

The guys had all hung their jackets over the backs of their chairs. It was hot, and while there was an umbrella covering the table, a few of the guys were still in the sun. Sleeves rolled to their elbows, empty waters on the table in front of them, and occasionally swapping just so no one burned.

There was a chorus of yes’ as he headed inside. The snacks in front of you had been finished for a while, but Rooster had swiped a tray of finger sandwiches which didn’t last long.

Bob had moved his chair closer to you to get out of the sun as it moved in the sky. You didn’t mind at all, especially not when you’d gone to the bathroom and come back to find him in your seat. Taking residence in his lap so you didn’t have to sit in the sun.

He’d pressed the occasional kiss to your shoulder, hand resting low on your hip, the other holding a bottle of water.

“They’re about to start,” Hangman said, arms full of water and a few bottles of beer.

Just as he said that, someone came out to ask everyone to move to the seats set up, or to stand at the back. It was obvious there wasn’t enough seating, so the group opted to stand under one of the trees not too far away. There was no need to be seated, and this way you all could still drink without looking obnoxious.

Mickey poured a bottle of water over Bob’s head, while Rooster and Hangman did the same thing on their own.

Bob wrung some of the water out before standing up and combing his fingers through his hair. You watched his forearms flex with the movement, enraptured by the show and the few droplets that trickled down his face and neck.

He pressed a cold, wet hand to the back of your neck and you almost melted, earning a laugh in response.

“God damn, that’s nice,” you said, closing your eyes for a moment. When they opened again, Bob was smiling before he leaned down and stole a kiss. “That was nicer.”

He chuckled, snaking his arm around your waist. “You’re welcome.”

He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, much to the dismay of the group. To hell with them, though. You were happy, Bob was happy, and that’s all that mattered.

The music started and you sipped your beer as the bridesmaids slowly made their way down the aisle.

Bob had anticipated this day for years. Except the reality was a stark contrast to what he’d envisioned. When he saw Jamie walking out with her father, he thought he’d feel bitter. He thought he still harboured some resentment towards her for moving on so quickly. For finding happiness with another man. For planning her wedding with someone other than him.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t feel bitter, or even happy. He felt like though the plans he’d had ended up being far different, that he wouldn’t change it for the world. Yeah, he’d struggled with the separation and all of her life changes initially, but now? Now, he felt whole. He felt like he’d found what he’d always been missing. And to think you’d only breezed into his life almost two months ago, and now had become his rock. The person he confided in. The person he wanted to do better for completely took his breath away.

Everything he’d ever wanted was standing in his arms at his ex’s wedding. What the fuck? Bob felt like a fucking idiot. He wished he’d realised it sooner. He wished he’d blown off the whole wedding and taken you on another spectacular date.

It was too late to leave now, but he didn’t want to stay. He wanted to whisk you away and tell you how much of an idiot he was for not acknowledging what was right in front of his face all along.

You.

Yet you smiled and leaned into him as the ceremony wore on. Your smile never once seemed fake, and he knew it was because you were a good person. A better person than he was, anyway. You’d supported him every step of the way. Encouraged him to find comfort in himself. Love himself first. And with that, you’d earned his heart. Words couldn’t even begin to explain it, but whenever you looked at him it was like you knew. You understood him without the need for words.

“If there is anyone who believes this couple should not wed, speak now or forever hold your piece.”

Jamie’s eyes were on Bob. He could see hopefulness, longing, and the evil green-eyed monster; jealousy. His arms were around you and you rested back into his chest. His chin sat atop of your head, and your group all stood with him in solidarity.

He knew you saw the look. She was looking right at the two of you. But still, you were relaxed and content in his embrace, and he didn’t bat an eye.

The rest of the ceremony was concluded and Phoenix audibly exhaled beside him.

“She looked like she was hoping you’d interrupt,” she commented.

“My best guess is that’s why I was invited in the first place,” he admitted. “Especially since Y/N said they were trying to find me to strip for her at her bachelorette party.”

Phoenix hummed. You twisted in Bob’s arms, giving him a proper hug. He tightened his grip without question.

“Hangman, you wanna steal some more beers for the road? I feel like pizza,” Bob said, earning a laugh from Hangman as he slapped Bob’s shoulder.

“Coyote, Payback, let’s roll.”

You all grabbed your things before meeting out the front. Handing over jackets and sunglasses while accepting beer in return. Rooster and Fanboy planned where to meet, and then you were heading off. It was a short trip. Everyone was hungry and needed to eat before the drive back home. Sure, it was only a couple hours, but the heat played a factor in their exhaustion.

Bob took your hand and pulled you aside once you arrived at the pizza joint. Everyone else headed inside, but he needed a minute.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asked softly.

“I’m so good, handsome,” you told him honestly, smiling proudly. Adoringly. “You okay?”

“The best I’ve been in a long time,” he admitted. “Because I have you. I have someone in my corner who only wants the best for me.”

“Bobert?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “This is the part where you ask me to officially be your girlfriend.”

“Hurry up and ask her so we can eat!” Hollered Rooster from the doorway. You both turned to look at him, only to be met with the faces of everyone closest to you. They all waited expectantly.

“Will you be my girlfriend, sweetheart?”

“I’ll do anything you want me to do, handsome.”

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd angst #bob floyd fanfiction #SOURGUTS #sourguts writing challenge #*good 4 u #bob floyd fanfic

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bobfloydsbabe · 6 months

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gold rush | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

SUMMARY: Everyone knows history professor Bob Floyd is a little eccentric. He only drinks tea steeped for exactly four minutes, his desk is pristine while the rest of his office looks like a bomb went off, he's distrustful of technology, and he definitely doesn't want or need a teaching assistant. Certainly not one who's as aggravating as she is pretty...

WARNINGS: academia au, enemies to lovers (if you squint), age gap (mid-to-late 20s/late 30s), bob being grumpy and rude. strictly 18+/minors dni.

WORD COUNT: ~0.5k

A/N: Eccentric Professor Bob Floyd has been on my mind constantly for the last week, so here we are with a moodboard and a short blurb. This AU will not be a full length series, but a collection of blurbs and drabbles. Special thanks to @ryebecca for raving with me about my new favorite grumpy man. Don't hesitate to send me questions and headcanons!

UPDATE: ADD YOURSELF TO THE TAGLIST

Bob stops dead in his tracks in the doorway to his office, hot tea spilling over the edges of the cup.

Inside, among piles of books and paper, stands a woman with her back turned none the wiser to his presence. She can’t be one of his students–they know not to come to his office unless they have an appointment.

“Who are you?” he asks, not bothered with pleasantries.

She turns around with a startled laugh. “Dr. Floyd, you scared me,” she says with a hand pressed to her heaving chest. “You can’t sneak up on people like that.”

“You’re in my office,” he points out, brushing past her as he walks to his desk in long strides, placing his cup on a coaster to protect the wood.

“Right,” she agrees.

He sits and pulls his books closer to continue preparing for his next lecture, but his eyes drifts back to the young woman. She appears to be in her mid, maybe late twenties. Dark hair falls in loose waves around her face, and she’s looking at him expectantly. “Did you need something?” he asks.

She cocks her head to the side, brows furrowed. “I’m waiting for you to put me to work.”

“Work?”

“Yes,” she answers, incredulous. “What did your old TA do?”

He stares at her, almost convinced he’s hallucinating. “I don’t have a teaching assistant.”

She smiles at him, wide and enthusiastic. “Well, you do now. Would you like me to clean up a bit? It’s a little messy in here.”

Bob suppresses a frustrated groan. Pushing back from his desk, he stands and rounds his desk, stopping in front of her. The scent of her perfume hits his nostrils, something spicy and vaguely floral, and this close, he can see all the colors in her eyes. “I don’t want a TA and I certainly don’t need one. Whoever hired you–”

“Dr. Kazansky,” she interjects. “–made an error. Now, please, leave.”

Walking back around his desk, he ignores the sound of her taking a deep breath and composing herself. She doesn’t speak until he’s fully sat and emerged in his books again.

“You may not want me here, Dr. Floyd,” she begins through clenched teeth, forcing him to look up. She holds his gaze, determination and a hint of defiance in those dark doe eyes. “But you’re stuck with me. So, I’ll be back tomorrow and we can start over. Have a good day.”

The door slams and Bob’s left in the silence of his office, staring at the spot where she stood mere moments ago. Of course, Dr. Kazansky went behind his back to hire a teaching assistant–he’s insisted that Bob needs one for years, but Bob’s always been able to avoid it. Until now, it seems. He wonders how long she’ll last before she realizes he’s too set in his ways to change. But as he imagines the way her nose will scrunch in annoyance, it occurs to him he never even got her name.

likes are nice, comments and reblogs are golden

TAGLIST: @blue-aconite, @sylviebell, @wkndwlff, @ryebecca, @sebsxphia, @rhettabbotts, @lewmagoo, @ereardon, @anniesocsandgeneralstore, @desert-fern, @fantasias-creativebubble, @lostinwonderland314, @luckyladycreator2, @cherrycola27, @flashyourgreeneyesatme, @atarmychick007, @yanna-banana, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @gizmodear, @hangmanapologist, @thedroneranger, @soulmates8, @withakindheartx, @eternallyvenus, @kmc1989, @bcarolinablr, @memeorydotcom, @dempy, @withahappyrefrain, @bradshawsbitch, @daisiesandinvasives, @teacupsandtopgun, @laracrofted

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd x oc #professor bob floyd #professor bob #professor au #dark academia au #top gun maverick #tgm #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd angst #madebyme #writtenbyme #mywriting #helena writes #lewis pullman

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laracrofted · 4 months

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i want your midnights

synopsis: on the coldest new year's eve in a decade, bob floyd shows up at your door. prequel to delicate.

pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors and ageless blogs dni, bob is really soft and cozy and lovestruck, swearing (barely), so much yearning and pining, kissing kissing kissing (wc: 2.2K)

note: surprise! i wasn't planning to write something for new year's, but i missed lovestruck bob. happy new year, loves! 🍾

summoning a few people who might be interested: @sometimesanalice @roosterbruiser @theharddeck @callsignspark @lewmagoo @gretagerwigsmuse @roosterforme @rhettabbotts

He shouldn't be here right now. For several reasons.

Technically, Bob should be on a plane right now – or on one of several planes because San Diego International doesn't offer any direct flights to the part of Montana Bob is from

He usually flies from San Diego to Los Angeles and Los Angeles to Bozeman and drives from there.

Except when half of California freezes over in the coldest storm in a decade on the very day Bob is supposed to head home for New Year's and grounds all of LAX.

This normally wouldn't be a big deal. He doesn't even care all that much about New Year's – New Year's is celebrated very casually in his family. He's usually in bed well before midnight. – but Bob already missed Christmas.

He and Phoenix were selected for a special detachment at the end of December, which – while an honor and a privilege, etcetera – meant Bob spent Christmas on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific. He didn't get back until December 28.

Phoenix immediately drove up to San Francisco to be with her nieces and nephews. He'd been waiting for New Year's.

Now, after countless delays and an eventual cancellation – which should've happened hours ago when Bob maybe could've found another way home, rented a car and driven the seventeen hours – Bob is stuck in San Diego.

Disappointed isn't a good enough word to express what Bob is feeling right now.

He could've driven back to his apartment – his sad apartment, already devoid of colorful lights and silver and gold decorations because Bob didn't expect to come back until January. He could've called Fanboy or gone to the New Year's Eve party at the Hard Deck, but Bob isn't in the mood to be around people right now.

He only wants to see one person.

And now Bob is here – standing outside of your apartment with a backpack and a carry-on, like Bob is about to clear out a drawer and move right in.

He probably looks like a weirdo. He definitely feels like a weirdo.

Damn. This was a mistake.

It's a brisk 40 degrees and dropping outside, and Coronado smells like ocean air and fireplace smoke. Pine needles, shed from the withering evergreens hauled onto the streets and abandoned the day after Christmas. Seawater and camphor and burning wood.

He shivers in the cold, broad shoulders rounding under the worn wool of his sweater. He should've worn something warmer – something nicer – but all of Bob's warmer coats are either deep in his suitcase or at his parents' house. He never expected to need them in San Diego.

A shaky puff of breath blows from his quivering lips.

He breathes in a deep and steadying breath. A bracing breath. And knocks on the door.

Minutes pass. Or maybe, just seconds.

Finally, Bob hears a voice from inside. Blessedly.

"Just a minute!"

Your calm voice is like a soothing balm, even muffled, even barely audible, and Bob feels like a loosed bowstring – held taut for hours on end and at the sound of your voice, finally let free. He can drop his shoulders and loosen his clenched jaw for the first time in the past day – in the past week.

Tension melts off of him like the last snow of late spring from the Montana pines. He can finally relax. He can breathe again.

A crack of light spills out of the creaking door, and Bob pulls his gaze from his scuffed brown Blundstones.

You are silhouetted in the doorway like a priceless Renaissance sculpture, glowing, curves highlighted and illuminated in the most beautiful dress Bob has ever seen.

Black satin, catching in the dim light and glimmering, like a blanket of stars on a cloudless December night.

He used to lay under stars like those in Montana and memorize the constellations. He feels the same sense of wonder, of awe looking at you.

He's always found you beautiful – even dressed in your coveralls with grease smudged on your cheeks, sometimes especially then – but now, fuck.

He's never seen your hair like that before, loose around your shoulders, curled like the ends of a ribbon on a beautifully wrapped present on Christmas morning. He shoves his hands in his pockets, slightly chapped and reddened from the dry cold, and pinches the denim between his palms, squashing the urge to reach out and wrap one of the delicate strands of hair around his finger.

A deep shade of red paints your lips, parting in a surprised smile. "Bob Floyd, is that you?" You shiver and hug your arms, and Bob, respectfully, keeps his eyes on your face. "Jesus Christ, when did it get so cold out here? Aren't you cold?"

"I, uh... run warm, I guess," Bob says. He lifts his baseball cap and runs his fingers through the mess of strands underneath, in desperate need of a trim. Sets it back on his head and squares his shoulders. "Are you headed out?"

You look down and absentmindedly shuffle your feet to look down at your heels – which reveals a slit in the fabric, exposing a line of bare skin all the way up to your thigh. God help him.

"Kind of. I'm supposed to meet up with some of the other mechanics at the Hard Deck. There’s some New Year’s thing there, I guess.” You fold your arms across your chest and look at him, still smiling curiously. “But what about you? What brings you here on New Year's Eve?"

He showed up out of the blue. Anyone else might be annoyed, but all Bob hears in your voice is gentle curiosity. Like Bob is the most pleasant of surprises.

"I spent 12 hours in the airport, only for my flight to get canceled, and I couldn't go back to my apartment after that and spend New Year's alone, but I couldn't go to the Hard Deck either. I'm sorry," Bob adds. "I shouldn't have shown up here like this. I should've called you. You have plans."

You regard him, expression calm. "Don't be sorry. I'm happy to see you."

You're happy to see him. You're happy to see him.

Is it cold enough for the pink in his cheeks to be mistaken for a different kind of flush? He hopes so.

"Do you wanna come in?"

His eyes grow wide. "Oh... well, what about your party?"

You drop your shoulder in a shrug. "New Year's is kind of lame anyway. I was really going as an excuse to get dressed up because I never go anywhere fancy enough to wear this dress. It's been in the back of my closet for months."

His eyes drop to the dress again, and absently, Bob wonders what the material would feel like between his fingers, what it'd feel like to run his hand over the elegant slope of your hip. He swallows.

"It's quite a dress," Bob croaks. His mouth is so damn dry. "You, uh... You look really beautiful. It's really... yeah."

You watch him, expression softening like warmed butter. "Thank you, Bob."

You look at him – look past the backpack and the scuffed carry-on and the slightly baggy sweater that once belonged to his older brother – and Bob feels seen, really seen. He feels safe.

You bump the door open wider with your hip and reach for his luggage, wiggling your fingers playfully until Bob passes the suitcase over. He's rewarded with a beaming smile, radiant and warm.

"Come on. You like Chinese?"

You change after Bob comes in, hanging up your dress and putting on an oversized gray sweater, pushed up at the sleeves, and a pair of fleece pajama pants that aren't quite the right length for your legs, covered in white dots and blue and white snowflakes.

You order the food and put on your favorite New Year's Eve movie while Bob calls his parents and gets comfortable, changing into sweatpants. His mom is pleased that Bob isn't spending New Year's alone, but Bob chooses his words carefully.

He is spending New Year's with a friend, not with a girl.

She'd ask questions Bob couldn't really answer in your hall bathroom.

When Bob comes back in, When Harry Met Sally is on.

You explain: "It's my favorite New Year's Eve movie. I watch it almost every year. If I start watching it 28 seconds after 10:30 PM – exactly, like down to the second – I can count down to midnight while Harry is confessing his love to Sally in the New Year’s scene."

You curl up on the couch, nursing a glass of champagne, while Bob sips from a chilled can of Ginger Ale while Harry and Sally banter and dance around each other and fall in love.

Admittedly, Bob is only half watching.

He likes this movie, but Bob is much more interested in you.

He is rarely alone with you.

He usually comes to see you on the Naval base – sometimes even making up questions as an excuse to come and talk to you, bringing coffee as a thank you for your answers – or seeks you out at the Hard Deck. He drove you home once when Bob was working late and spotted you in one of the hangars, but otherwise, Bob has never been here before.

About 30 minutes into the movie, Bob gets overheated and sheds his sweater, leaving him in a white short-sleeve and sweatpants underneath the oversized blanket from your bedroom. It's made of some kind of sherpa and smells like you.

Everything in here smells like you.

His legs are sprawled out in front of him, resting on the coffee table between a half-eaten plate of spring rolls and what’s left of his chicken chow mein. He ate his body weight in noodles and miso soup, and Bob feels warm and relaxed – if bordering on uncomfortably full.

He can barely focus with the smell of your perfume in his nostrils; excruciatingly aware of you underneath the blanket next to him, curled up with your legs folded underneath yourself, head lolling to the side, dangerously close to resting on his shoulder; smelling like cherries and champagne and vanilla and you.

A countdown begins in the background of the scene.

“Five…”

You sit up underneath the blanket, which brings you closer to him, inadvertently.

“Four…”

Your arm brushes against Bob’s.

“Three…”

You watch the screen, excited, and count along.

“Two…”

Your lips part in a wide and excited smile.

“One…”

Cheers erupt on the screen, but Bob isn’t even pretending to watch the movie anymore. He’s watching you.

You grin at him, eyes bright, looking so beautiful that Bob can’t hold the words in.

“Can I kiss you?”

Surprise flashes across your face, soon replaced with a small smile. Bob can see a lipstick stain at the corner of your mouth from where earlier, you'd messily wiped the red from your lips with a cocktail napkin. He wants to reach out and smooth it away with the pad of his thumb. He wants to kiss the spot where the smudge used to be.

Instead, Bob holds his breath. Waits.

He shouldn't have said anything. You've been such a good friend to him. You changed your plans, invited him in.

What if Bob's ruined everything now?

You've never been so close. You ask, "Like a New Year's kiss? Or like a real kiss?"

What if Bob hasn't ruined anything at all?

“Both,” Bob says softly, like a confession.

What if?

You're glowing in the sparkle of multi-colored lights, still strung along the walls, still decorating the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, blues and reds and greens, eyes glimmering, liquid warm. "Yeah. That'd be okay."

"Okay," Bob echoes, leaning in.

He presses his lips against yours in a gentle but firm kiss, cradling your jaw with a careful hand, stroking your cheek.

Bob doesn't linger. Doesn't press his luck.

He gives you a good and solid kiss and pulls back, eyes slowly opening.

"How was that?"

You lick your lips, and Bob follows the movement with his gaze, entranced.

"Kiss me again."

It's after midnight now, and uncertain, Bob asks, "Like a New Year's kiss?"

You shake your head, slow and clear, and lean in, and Bob meets you in the middle.

He kisses you in earnest now, kissing the smudge of red on the corner of your mouth, licking a drop of champagne from your bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth, running his hands over your skin.

You do the same, running your hands over his shoulders, over his neck, and knocking his baseball hat from his head, run your fingers through his hair. You pull on the ends of the strands, pull him closer, and god, it's all Bob can do not to moan into your mouth.

You're all warm skin and soft curves and sweet perfume, and Bob is drowning drowning drowning.

You knock the wind out of him, and eventually, Bob is forced to pull back and catch his breath. His chest is heaving. His cheeks are pink and warm.

You blink up at him, eyes wide and glassy, as if pulled from a dream, and give him a dazed smile. You murmur, low and breathless, "Happy New Year, Bob."

I think I'm in love with you.

"Happy New Year," Bob whispers instead.

end note: likes are always appreciated, but comments and reblogs make my whole day. i love hearing from y'all!

#bob floyd fic #robert floyd fic #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd x you #bob floyd angst #bob floyd fluff #laracrofted writes #fic: delicate #fic: bob floyd

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lewmagoo · 2 months

Text

six summers | bob floyd

description: it's been six years. six years since you walked away from the man you loved. six years since the night that your own foolish actions led to the disappearance of sixteen-year-old melissa seresin. you’ve spent these last few years living with crippling guilt. and after everything that happened, the last thing you are expecting is an invite to return to the camp and reassume your role as counselor. but here you are, staring in disbelief at a letter asking you to do just that. providing you with the opportunity to make things right. will you be able to come to terms with the past and allow yourself to accept this second chance? or will you let your guilt consume you?

characters: bob floyd x reader, the dagger squad as their respective characters, pete mitchell, penny benjamin, a number of my own ocs

warnings: 18+ only, mentions of death, guilt, references to sex, mentions of anxiety

series status: ongoing

listen to the playlist here!

this story is inspired by @ryebecca and this fantastic moodboard she made ; i also drew some inspiration from riley sager's the last time i lied

*this is my own original work - i do not consent to having it reposted or redistributed in any way

July 30th, 1980

1:15 am

All you felt was terror. Icy cold, like someone had shoved their frigid fingers beneath your shirt, digits pressing harsh, angry bruises into the skin while they were at it. Your arms were wrapped around yourself as you stood in the damp morning air, your eyes flitting about nervously, your gut churning with nausea.

“You do realize that your negligence in this situation is going to come with consequences, right? How could you be so stupid?!” Penny Mitchell’s voice had a sharp edge to it, despite her lowered tone. Her eyes were piercing. You couldn’t look at her.

“Don’t try to pin this all on her. I’m just as much to blame.” That was Bobby’s voice, coming from beside you, an air of protectiveness emanating from him as he stepped closer, standing in solidarity with you.

“Oh, trust me, I’m holding you responsible, too. But she’s the one who was supposed to be in charge of that cabin. If she would have been at her post, this wouldn’t have happened. But no! The two of you were off doing God knows what, while one of our campers wandered off into the night!”

Penny got into your face, pointing her finger, her anger palpable, radiating off her in waves. “You had better pray that girl is still alive, because if she winds up dead, her blood is on your hands, counselor.”

May 18th, 1986

10:30 am

“Mail’s in!” The voice of your roommate carried through your apartment, pulling your attention from the rhythmic tapping of the antique typewriter you’d picked up from a yard sale. Without a second thought, you sprang from your chair, flinging open your bedroom door, bare feet quick against carpet as you hurried toward the kitchen, where Margie was just walking through the door with a stack of mail.

“Any of it addressed to me?” You asked, a hopeful inflection in your voice.

Margie nodded, tossing the envelopes onto the countertop. “Yeah, you’re popular, got two letters addressed to you.”

Eagerly, you shuffled through the stack before you located the letters she was talking about. One had no definitive markings, so you had no idea where it was from. But the other had a promising logo on the front– The Capital Gazette.

“The Gazette sent something back!” You exclaimed, flipping the envelope over, fingers trembling as you tore into the seal.

Margie gasped, her attention immediately zeroing in on the letter you held. “What did they say?!” She exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Gimme a minute!” You shot back as you rushed to unfold the paper. Your eyes hurriedly scanned the contents, but within moments, your shoulders fell, the thrill of hope fading away to heavy disappointment. The words we regret to inform you were all you needed to read to know what the letter was about.

“I didn’t get the job,” came your glum statement.

“What?” Margie snatched the paper off the counter when you let it drop, reading it for herself. “Oh, come on! You’re the best damn writer I know, how could they turn you down?!”

You shook your head, fighting the tears of disappointment that had gathered on your lash line. “They don’t need me. They’ve got better writers.”

“That’s bullshit!” She huffed, shaking her head, knocking some of her unkempt curls loose from her haphazard ponytail.

“Whatever,” you said, bitterly. “There are other newspapers I can apply to. Other magazines. People are hiring all over the place,” you said, hoping to instill hope in your own heart. But it did little to lift your spirits.

Your roommate sighed softly, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“Thanks, Mar. So am I.”

Her attention shifted to the other, unopened letter on the counter. “What’s that one say?”

With a clueless shrug, you reached for it. All it bore was your address in handwriting that was oddly familiar. Tentatively, you tore into the envelope, brows furrowed as you unfolded the paper and began to read.

And then, “holy shit.”

“What is it?” Margie demanded, curious. When you looked at her, she noticed the expression of worry etched into your brow.

“Camp Mitchell,” you whispered.

At that, the woman’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God.” And then, she waved her hand, motioning you on. “What does it say?”

“They…they want me to come back as a counselor.”

I hope this letter finds you well. I am reaching out to you because I wanted to extend a formal invitation to return to camp as a counselor this summer. I know that things ended on a sour note for all of us involved, but Pete and I desire to breathe new life into this camp. We want to give other campers the chance to experience the wonder and magic of summertime at Camp Mitchell. I understand if you would prefer not to return, but it would be an honor to have you back with us again. Think we can agree to let bygones be bygones? I sure do hope so. Please give me a call at the number below and let me know if you would like to return and reassume your role as a camp counselor. Arrival deadline for counselors is May 24th. Hope to see you soon!

Best wishes,

Penny Mitchell

You stared at the words in absolute shock. They wanted you to come back? After everything that had happened? After your own foolishness had resulted in a girl going missing? You had to admit, it was a bold move on Penny’s part.

The police had heavily investigated you when young Melissa Seresin went missing six years prior. Penny had even blamed you for the girl’s disappearance. It was hard to imagine her wanting you to come anywhere near her camp ever again.

“I need to sit down,” you muttered, tossing the letter back onto the counter and stepping toward the kitchen table, where you hurriedly pulled out one of the chairs and lowered yourself into the seat. Two life-altering events had just taken place in the span of five minutes. You needed to process all of it.

As you tried to regain your wits, Margie scanned over the letter. Then, she sauntered over to you, letting out a sigh as she pulled out the chair across from you and flopped down into it, her legs parted, arms falling down to dangle over the sides. She blew a pesky curl away from her face.

Sympathetic brown eyes landed upon you, and the girl before you smiled softly. Understandingly. “What are you gonna do?”

“I really don’t know,” you said. “Since the job with The Gazette fell through…I might have no choice but to take up the offer to go back to camp. At least I’d be making some kind of income during the summer while I try to figure things out.”

Margie raised a dark brow. “Listen, you do what you think is best for you. But…after everything that happened there, are you sure you’re ready to go back? It’s only been six years.” She was not coming from a place of judgment. She was coming from a place of genuine concern for her friend.

You groaned softly, placing your head in your hands. “I dunno know what to do. Honestly, I’m not ready. But then again it might give me closure. And maybe that’s what Penny is thinking. If she wants to make things right with me after the way things ended…maybe I should go.”

The girl sighed. “Yeah, I guess closure might be something that comes outta this. I just don’t want you to have to go through all that shit again, though.”

Your mouth quirked into a grateful smile. “I know, Mar. I’ve gotta think about it, first. I’m not making any decisions yet.”

“Well, let me know what you decide. Whatever choice you make, I’ll support you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

As Margie left you at the table to be alone with your thoughts, you considered the weight of the situation. It had all happened so fast, and you felt as if you were caught up in a whirlwind. You only had a week to make a decision, because you had to be at camp on the 24th if you decided to go.

Were you ready to go back, after only six short years? The thought made your stomach turn. Camp Mitchell was a place that held a lot of trauma for you. Your life had fallen apart there.

You had been a first-year counselor in the summer of 1980. A job meant to get you through the summer, before you returned to college in the fall. You remembered being so hopeful and excited about what the summer held.

Camp Mitchell was a camp situated in Michigan’s wilderness. Secluded, surrounded by forests as far as the eye could see. Quaint little wooden cabins. A mess hall. A volleyball pit. A lake. All the other amenities that a typical summer camp would have.

You were put in charge of the junior/senior girls' cabin. Eleventh and twelfth graders. You were slightly intimidated because you were only a few years older than they were. You worried that they would not respect you. But much to your relief, the girls accepted you with open arms.

Throughout the many weeks of camp, you bonded with several different girls who passed through your cabin. But none of them connected as well with you as Melissa Seresin.

July 1980

She was the younger sister of one of the other counselors, Jake Seresin, and she was sweet as could be. She attended camp most of the summer, because her brother worked there, and she didn’t want to remain stuck at home alone while her parents traveled for the summer.

So, she tagged along with Jake. Unlike her brother, she was not cocky. She had a very kindhearted demeanor. A little spoiled, once in a while, due to being the youngest and only girl of rich parents and a doting older brother, but nothing you couldn’t tolerate.

Melissa remained a semi-permanent fixture in your cabin, even as groups of girls from different places — schools, church youth groups, family groups, so on and so forth — passed through all summer.

She knew the camp like the back of her hand, and had spent a few summers there already. You didn’t have to worry about her like you might other campers, because she was well aware of the camp’s procedures.

That was why it was so jarring when, one night in the middle of the summer, she disappeared without a trace.

Late one night, after lights out, the girls in your cabin noticed her absence. Melissa was always in bed come lights out. Not always asleep, but certainly always present. Her neatly made, unoccupied bed raised suspicions, but it was her missing backpack that made the girls think that she had left altogether.

You were not at your post like you were supposed to be. Earlier that night, you had enforced lights out, but soon after had slipped out into the night to meet someone. The girls ranged from fifteen to eighteen years old, so you were not particularly concerned about them getting up to mischief. But in your haste to leave, you neglected to double-check that Melissa was present.

To your utter shame, you had left to meet up with another counselor. The head counselor of the seventh and eighth-grade boys' cabin, Robert Floyd. Bob to his friends. Mr. Bob to the campers. Bobby to you, and only you.

It wasn’t in your nature to sneak around. Neither was it in Bob’s. But you had gotten tangled up in an impassioned summer fling, and you took advantage of every free moment you had to be together.

It was in that time span of you and Bob sneaking off to the lake, that Melissa had gone missing. And when you returned to the cabin an hour later, the girls were all awake, in a slight state of upheaval.

“Where have you been?!” Asked Claudia, one of the senior girls. “I was about to leave and go find Mrs. Mitchell!”

“I needed some air. Why, what’s up?” You cautiously asked.

Claudia motioned to Melissa’s empty bed. “Melissa never made it in for lights out.”

You stared at the bed, its covers untouched and meticulously tucked in, as a hotel bed would be. That was the way she made it every morning. She hadn’t been in that bed since last night. “No, she was here when I left!” You insisted.

“Um, no she wasn’t,” Marissa, another senior, piped up. “Plus, her backpack is gone.”

“Oh, God. Well, that’s my bad for sure. Okay, um, I’m sure she can’t have gotten far. She knows this camp well. Don’t worry, I’ll go take a look around. The rest of you, stay put. Lemme just do a count to make sure nobody else went off with her.”

After a headcount, you came up with fourteen girls. Melissa would make fifteen, so she was the only one missing. Huffing out a sigh, and attempting to keep yourself calm and neutral so the girls wouldn’t panic, you squared your shoulders.

“I’ll go grab another counselor and we’ll take a look. Claudia, you’re the oldest, so you’re in charge. Make sure no one leaves. The rest of you, try to get some sleep. I know you’re a little freaked right now but it’s gonna be okay.” The biggest lie you could have told them. It was, in fact, not going to be okay.

“What should we do if she comes back?” Claudia asked, running a nervous hand through her thick brunette locks. Her dark eyes were fearful, although she was trying to appear brave, just as you were trying to do.

“Just make sure she stays put. I’ll come back and check in a bit, if I don’t find her, and we can touch base then.”

Once you were certain the girls understood the plan, you excused yourself again, stepping out into the humid July night. Crickets sang as you ambled down the path that led to the boys’ cabins, but the pounding of your heart in your ears drowned out the sound.

Your hands shook, unsteady as you held your flashlight before you. Tears blurred your vision, and the heat of embarrassment washed over you. How could you be so stupid? Here you were, off getting laid while one of your girls was nowhere to be found.

You had to look for her, but you weren’t going to do it alone. Hurriedly, you ascended the steps of cabin 13, the first of the boys’ cabins. Light on your feet, so as not to step on any squeaky boards, you crept closer to the door.

Three soft raps, five seconds apart. That was your code. And sure enough, within moments, the door inched open, and there was your Bobby. You had just seen him twenty minutes prior, but he’d already changed into his sleep clothes. An old camp shirt and basketball shorts.

Brow furrowed, he quietly closed the door behind him, stepping out onto the porch. You reached for his hand and guided him off the porch, onto the soft, sandy ground. “What’s goin’ on, Kit?” He asked. The nickname he’d dubbed you for reasons so much more lighthearted than the situation you were facing.

“Melissa’s gone,” you whispered. “The girls said she was never there for lights out.”

“Huh? But you checked on them before you left.”

“I did, but I…I guess I just missed Melissa. I thought she was there, but tonight was so chaotic…God, I can’t believe I could be so stupid” You despaired.

“Shh,” Bob soothed, reaching out to run comforting hands down your arms. “Hey, she probably just went for a walk. I’m not close to her, but I know she likes to go and write in that journal of hers a lot. She’s probably doing that.”

“But that’s not like her. Yeah, she writes in her diary but she’s never done this before. Just…up and left like that. I’m scared, Bobby. I think something might’ve happened to her. And it’s all my fault.”

But he was already shaking his head. “No, don’t even let your mind go there. You’ll drive yourself crazy.” His hands had moved to cup your cheeks. “Tell you what, I’ll help you look for her. If we don’t find her in the next hour, we can tell Penny and get a search party goin’.”

You prayed it wouldn’t come to that, but the sick feeling in your gut told you otherwise. It was your fault, no matter how much Bobby tried to assure you it wasn’t. If Melissa was truly missing, then you were the one to blame. But you didn’t dare speak it into the air. You couldn’t.

“O-okay. We can look together, then.”

And so, the two of you set off on the search for Melissa Seresin. Missy, as her brother liked to call her. You thought of Jake, who was in charge of the senior boys’ cabin. You knew he’d be pissed that you didn’t wake him up immediately and tell him what was going on. He was very protective of his baby sister. But you didn’t want to involve him just yet. You had to try to find her yourself, first.

You set out to search all the places she frequented. Melissa wasn’t as outgoing as her brother. She had a vibrant personality, but also had introverted tendencies. She cherished her alone time, so it wasn’t odd for her to be at the lake, or the horse stables, writing. But she was always visible, and she had never sneaked off before. And certainly not after dark, either.

These woods were terrifying at night. It was easy to get lost in their vastness. Even a girl who knew her way around could get lost. But you prayed that wasn’t the case.

You took to searching her usual hangout spots. The lake, even though you and Bob had been there a half hour ago, and hadn’t seen her. Sure enough, she wasn’t there. Then, you took a peek in the horse stables. The camp had not yet obtained horses to occupy the stables, so it was just an empty building.

Hopeful, you followed Bob inside, holding your breath as he called out, “Melissa? You in here, honey? It’s Bob Floyd.”

But you were met with dead silence, so deafening it brought a shiver down your spine. “Oh, my God. She’s gone. She’s gone forever. This is all my fault!” You panicked, burying your face in your hands.

Bobby, ever the calm and steady one, gently soothed you. “Hey. Hey! Look at me.”

You lifted your tearful eyes to his face, illuminated by the yellow glow of your flashlight.

“It’s gon’ be okay, alright? We’ll find her. We just need to go get Penny and Pete and tell ‘em what happened. We can get a search party organized. We’ll cover more ground that way.”

Lovingly, he took your hand, and together, you made the trek back toward the main part of camp, where the office, mess hall, and staff quarters were. The entire walk, your mind was spiraling with all the possibilities of what could have happened to Melissa.

Something was wrong. You knew it.

And, as it would turn out, you were, unfortunately, right. Melissa Seresin never was found. Not when you and the other counselors organized a search party. Not when the police got involved. Not when Jake and Melissa’s dad, an agent in the FBI, got his team involved. It was as if she’d vanished into thin air. Gone without a trace.

Jake blamed you. But that was okay, because you blamed yourself, too.

Your own negligence was the reason Melissa was gone. And the police grilled you for it. Much to your utter relief, the Seresins chose not to press charges. But you were left to live with the guilt, and that was punishment enough.

And now, here you were. Six years later. Wounds from the past only partially healed. Presented with an opportunity to go back to the place where it all started, and ended. If you did return, would those wounds reopen, and drain the blood from your veins? Or would those wounds finally heal?

And most importantly, did you have the guts to find out?

One Week Later

A ticket reading Harper, Michigan was clutched tightly in your hand, the paper rumpling from your grip. Your suitcase and duffel bag were beside you, as you stood at the bus depot, waiting for the Greyhound to pull up and take you to your destination.

“I still think you’re crazy for this,” Margie spoke from beside you. She’d come to see you off.

You turned to her, taking in her soft smile, despite her disapproval of your choice. “I know,” you replied.

“But I also understand why you want to do this. I really hope it gives you the closure you’re looking for.”

You threw your arms around your friend’s shoulders, hugging her tight. “Thanks, Mar. I’ll try to give you a call at some point in the next few weeks, but the only phone on the property is the one in the main office and I doubt I’ll have time.”

“Don’t worry about it. You can tell me all about it when you get back,” she assured you.

You took one last good look at her, as you knew you wouldn’t see her for a few months, if you fulfilled your commitment to work the entire camp season. The late morning sun shone down from the sky, illuminating her dark curls. Always so unkempt, but the style suited her.

“I’ll be seeing ya,” you finally said.

She nodded, squeezing your hand. “Take care of yourself. And good luck.”

The bus pulled into the stop as you bid your final goodbyes, and then, you handed off your luggage to the attendant to pack away beneath the bus before you climbed the steps into the large vehicle, flashing your ticket to the driver. You took a seat toward the back, settling in and placing your purse beside you, hoping that you would get two of the tackily upholstered seats all to yourself.

As soon as you were settled, you fished your Walkman out of your bag, unraveling the headphones and placing them on your head. As soon as you hit play, the opening sound of the 1975 Eagles album, One of These Nights, filled your ears.

You had purposely chosen this tape to accompany you on your trip, because it held a lot of nostalgic memories for you. Namely, it had been a gift from your Bobby. He’d given it to you in the beginning stages of your romance, after you’d expressed to him that the album was one of your favorites.

“I want you to have it,” he insisted. “A memento that you can have all the time, to remind you of what a great time we had together here.”

And you did have a great time. But the trauma of Melissa’s disappearance had soured the whole thing. All you had left of Bobby was this tape, and a few braided jute bracelets he had made you, from plant fibers. You still wore them on your wrist to this day.

He had tried to keep in contact with you after the camp shut down. He’d sent letters. Called your home phone. But you never answered. As much as you loved him, the reminder of what had happened was too painful, and you let your connection to him fizzle out.

But as you listened to the familiar cords, a rush of memories flooded you, the wave so intense that it took your breath away. Flashes of Bob’s beautiful face. Twinkling eyes, blushing cheeks, a crinkled button nose. The prettiest laughter you’d ever heard.

Large, warm hands exploring. Lips trailing searing kisses down your sternum. Whispers of your name. Groans of pl–

With a gasp, you snatched the headphones off your head, eyes flickering about, as if someone around you could have heard your thoughts. But everyone else was in their own little world, completely oblivious to the salacious flashbacks you had just experienced.

But they made you warm with shame nonetheless.

You’d be foolish not to admit that you’d thought of Bobby over the years. Looked back on your encounters with fondness. With desire. You’d been sexually involved with a few other people since then, but the entire time, you could only think of him. It was why you’d stopped seeing other people. They weren’t your Bobby.

You wondered if he thought about you, too.

More importantly, you wondered if he’d be returning to Camp Mitchell like you were. Were you ready to face him again? The thought made your stomach flutter with butterflies.

You imagined he’d moved on. He had to. Hell, he probably had a wife and kids already. Imagining such a thing sent a queasy rush through you. You still weren’t over him, and you supposed you never would be. He was your first great love.

But he wasn’t the only person you would potentially face from your past.

Your mind went to the other counselors you’d worked with that fateful summer. Specifically, you thought of Jake Seresin. Surely he wouldn’t return to camp, right? Not after his baby sister had disappeared from that very place. It had to be too painful for him.

Little did you know, everyone you had worked with was also traveling from their own respective homes and cities, headed right for Camp Mitchell, just like you were.

The camp was founded by Pete and Penny Mitchell, a husband and wife duo. They had started it with the best of intentions. It was in its fifth successful year when you came on staff. And that just so happened to be the last year it was in operation.

Until now.

What had made the couple decide it was a good idea to reopen the camp, you had no idea. But you were going to give it a chance. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

But several hours later, as the Greyhound pulled into the station in Harper, a tiny town boasting of a general store, a bus depot, and a long, winding road that led up to the camp itself.

As you stepped off the bus, you realized one very important detail: you had no idea how you were even getting up to the camp. Would they send a driver down to retrieve everyone?

Your question was soon answered when you caught sight of a large white poster board propped against a nearby lamppost. CAMP MITCHELL STAFF WAIT HERE. A DRIVER WILL ESCORT YOU TO CAMP.

With a sigh, you rolled your suitcase over to the post, hoping you wouldn’t have to wait long. And you didn’t. About five minutes later, an old teal-colored truck came down the road, its engine obnoxiously loud. On the side, Camp Mitchell was printed in bold letters.

You straightened, smoothing out your travel-rumpled clothes as you grabbed your belongings, prepared to help load everything into the truck. It didn’t even occur to you that you might know the driver. You expected to meet someone entirely new.

As soon as the vehicle pulled to a stop at the curb, you were already moving to the truck bed, hoisting your duffel bag over the side, letting it land with a satisfying thump.

“Here, let me,” a familiar voice spoke up, and in moments, a pair of hands were stealing your suitcase away, heaving it into the bed.

You looked up at the man assisting you, and your blood ran cold. As he turned from putting your luggage in place, he froze, too. Wide blue eyes, no longer hidden beneath a pair of wireframes, locked with your own.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

But he did. In a voice as smooth and soft as butter, yet breathless with surprise. “Kit?”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Kit. The nickname he’d dubbed you six years ago. It was something so simple. So silly. You’d had an affinity for KitKat bars that summer. They were the only candy bars you liked from the camp store. As a joke, Bobby had said “I should call you KitKat, since you like those things so much.”

And thus, it was shortened to Kit. The name stuck.

Hearing it again made your head spin. You felt woozy on your feet. You swayed a little. A memory flashed in your mind. You and him. Sitting under the old weeping willow. His fingertips wiping chocolate from the corner of your mouth.

It sent a burning ache through your chest.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “B-Bobby.” The first words you’d spoken to him in six years.

He let out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think you’d show.”

You gathered yourself, trying to regain your composure. “I didn’t either,” you whispered.

He offered a tentative smile. “That doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you, though.”

You lifted your head, brow furrowed in confusion. “You are?”

“Gosh, I am. It’s been too long. I didn’t…didn’t know what happened to you. You never responded to my calls or letters. I thought maybe…” He wouldn’t speak it out loud. He couldn’t.

But you inferred what he meant from his tone. He’d feared that the trauma of what had happened had been too much for you to handle. That you’d succumbed to it all.

“I was working on myself. Trying to heal.”

He nodded. “Understandable.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “I really am glad to see you, though. You look well.”

You shrugged. “I’m workin’ on it. And I’m glad to see you too.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and you realized how much he’d changed, but also stayed the same. He’d filled out. His shoulders were more broad. Muscular. His glasses were gone, presumably replaced with contacts. His hair, once close-cropped, was longer now, curling at the nape of his neck, peeking out from beneath the baseball cap he wore. His jaw was shadowed with stubble.

He looked like a man.

But there was still that boyish glint in his eyes, and hiding behind his smile. Still that same gentleness reserved particularly for you. It was overwhelming, and you could feel your chest beginning to tighten.

“Are you, uh, are you ready to head up there? Or do ya need a minute?” Bobby asked, his voice low. Laced with concern.

You stepped back. “I thought I could do this. Maybe I can’t.”

He let you have your space. “Take all the time you need.”

The rush of memories flooding you was overwhelming. The last time you saw him. The last thing you said to him.

Six Years Ago

The day you left camp, it was raining. Pouring from the sky in sheets, washing everything in a gray hue that made the world look like a watercolor painting.

The sandy ground squashed beneath your feet as you walked toward that old truck, with the camp’s logo on the side. Your luggage was stuffed into the truck bed, wrapped in plastic garbage bags so it wouldn’t get wet in the downpour.

As you climbed into the cab, Bobby came running out of the main office, making a beeline for the truck. He scrambled to wrench open the door and join you inside, breathing labored as he settled into the seat.

For a few moments, it was silent, save for the sound of him moving to start the engine. He fiddled with the heat dial, hoping to reduce the fog on the windows, as the rain had made the air unseasonably chilly that morning.

You both sat there, staring out the windshield, watching the water trickle down the glass. He made no move to put the truck in gear.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Bobby—”

“No, listen to me. I’m sorry it came to this. It shouldn’t have.”

“What’s done is done. Please, let’s just get out of here. I can’t stay in this place another minute.”

Bobby lingered for a moment, his eyes on you, even as you refused to look at him. You were afraid that if you did, you’d melt into a fit of tears. So, with a soft sigh, he put the truck in drive, and began the journey down the winding dirt road that led out of camp.

The trip was silent. You had nothing left to say, because you’d exhausted all your words these last few weeks. Countless hours of interrogation. Recounting that night over and over again. The conclusion was that a girl was missing, and it likely would not have happened if you’d been doing your job. That was a sense of guilt that you would have to live with for the rest of your life.

Bob pulled into the bus station fifteen minutes later, and you didn’t hesitate as you hurried to slide out of your seat, shoes colliding with wet asphalt. Your chest was tight, eyes blurring with tears as you rushed to grab your luggage.

“Would ya stop for a minute?!” Bobby exclaimed, reaching out to gently grab at your arm.

But you jerked away from him. “Please, don’t…don’t make this harder than it is,” you whispered.

He stared at you, brilliant blue eyes wide, filled with emotion. “So, what, you won’t even say goodbye?”

You feared that saying goodbye would break the dam, and you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself together. You’d fall into his arms, sobbing your heart out, and you would never get on that bus. The man before you sighed, shaking his head before he moved to haul your suitcase out of the truck, placing the plastic-covered bag on the sidewalk.

“That’s it then?” He spoke, his tone grim.

Squaring your shoulders, you nodded, forcing yourself to hold it together. “Goodbye, Robert.”

You turned to leave, and he watched you go, his heart falling to pieces within him. He was losing you, perhaps forever, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He wanted to go after you. Wanted to shake you and tell you to just listen. But you were so entrenched in the trauma of what had happened that he wasn’t sure you could listen to reason at all.

So he let you leave. He watched you climb onto that Greyhound, bound for home, all while he was left there with a wound in his heart, wishing that things could have ended differently. Wishing that your love for each other had been enough to keep you with him.

But it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. And that was something he had to live with.

May 1986

Seeing you again was a lot for him. You were just as beautiful as he remembered. Even more so, now, if that was possible. He was also hit with a rush of emotions. He never thought he’d see you again. When he’d received the letter from Penny, inviting him back to camp, he had thought about you, and was sure you wouldn’t come back.

But here you were, standing before him, uncertain and anxious, and he found himself wanting nothing more than to pull you into his arms and comfort you. But he kept his distance, not wanting to invade your personal space. You weren’t his any longer. He could not touch you the way he used to.

You took a moment to pull yourself together, taking a deep breath, counting to ten, trying to ground yourself. Then, you fixed your posture, and nodded in Bob’s direction. “Alright. I think…I think I’m okay. We can, um, we can leave if you’re ready.”

“Okay. Let’s go then.” He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed into that old truck once again, just as you had six years ago.

Everything had come full circle.

Bobby rounded the truck and settled into the driver’s seat, and soon, he’d started the engine, pulling away from the curb, turning onto the road that led up to camp. Your gut churned with anxiety. You were really doing this. There was no turning back now.

The radio played softly as Bob drove. Some old country song. Hank Williams, you thought. Its grainy, peaceful tune did well to calm your anxiety. Your hands had stopped trembling.

“It’s been a while,” the man beside you murmured. His accent seemed to have gotten thicker, a slight twang to it.

“I know,” you replied, staring down at your lap. Then, “God, I’m so sorry, Bobby. I shouldn’t have gone no contact like I did. I got the letters you sent. And I got every message you left on my answering machine. But I just…I couldn’t bring myself to respond.”

He shook his head. “No, I get it. I should’ve given you more space. I know everything that happened was a lot for you.”

“But that’s no excuse for me to just ignore you. It wasn’t right of me. I’m really sorry.”

“Apology accepted. It’s in the past, Kit. We can leave it there.”

It was that easy. A soothing sense of relief washed over you, warming you from head to toe. That exchange made you feel a little more at ease, and the conversation soon shifted.

“Did everyone come back this year?”

He nodded, humming lowly. “Most of ‘em, surprisingly. Bradley, Natasha, Mickey, Reuben, Javy. Half got here last night. The rest came earlier this mornin’.”

You hesitated, picking at a jagged nail on your right hand. “And…Jake?”

Bob was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. “Yeah, him too.”

You recoiled in confusion. “But…why would he come back?”

“Penny didn’t say it in her letter, but they’re doing a dedication ceremony for Melissa. There’s a new garden area they installed in the main part of camp. It’s gonna be called Melissa Jo’s Garden. They had a plaque made and everything. Jake agreed to come for the ceremony. I dunno if he’s staying all summer though.”

“Oh.” It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from your lungs. You had not left things on a good note with Jake. He harbored deep resentment toward you for neglecting to watch over your cabin. He blamed you for his sister’s disappearance.

“He seems to be handling everything alright. He might actually be okay with seeing you again.”

But you weren’t so sure. There was that nervousness again, roiling in your gut. Did you have the nerve to face him? And how would he react? You doubted he’d welcome you back with open arms.

You’d soon find out, because just up ahead, the Camp Mitchell sign could be seen. Large, deep green in color, with white lettering. So familiar, yet so foreign all at once.

You couldn’t believe you were back. What if this turned out to be the most foolish decision you’d ever made?

You didn’t have time to consider that, because Bobby was pulling into the common area in no time, and killing the engine. It was time to face the past you’d been running like hell to get away from.

As Bob got out to gather your luggage, you pushed the old, squeaky passenger door open and let your feet land in the soft sand.

The scent of pine and honeysuckle filled your nose. It sent an intense wave of nostalgia through you. So much had changed, and yet nothing had, all at the same time.

The layout was still the same. Clinic. Main office. Mess hall. Common area. But in the middle of the main entrance was a small garden. Stone paths weaved throughout. Spindly bushes, multicolored flowers, and other plants decorated the soil. Right in the middle of the garden was what appeared to be a large stone, covered with a tarp. You assumed the plaque for Melissa was hidden beneath the tarp.

And then, a voice caught your attention. You looked up to find Penny Mitchell approaching you. Blue cotton shorts, accessorized with a belt. A blue and white striped t-shirt tucked into them. A pair of hiking boots were on her feet. Practical, that one was. Always ready for an outdoor excursion at a moment’s notice.

You braced yourself, unsure of how she would behave toward you. She had rightfully held you responsible for Melissa’s disappearance, and you weren’t sure if she’d moved on from that. But, if she’d invited you back, she had to have at least found it in her heart to forgive you. You hoped so, anyway.

“Welcome!” She said, sweeping her arms out in greeting. “I’m glad you could make it!”

“Oh, um, thanks. Me…me too,” you said, unsure of the proper response.

Bobby sidled up beside you. You didn’t feel so alone with him there.

“Did Bob fill you in on everything on the drive up?”

“Kinda, yeah,” came your answer.

Penny nodded. “Once everyone is settled, Pete and I will take you on a tour. We’ve made a lot of changes these last few months.” Then she looked at Bob. “Would you show her to her cabin? We’ll put her in cabin five.”

“Sure thing,” he replied.

“We’ll have a little orientation meeting after dinner. There’s a whole itinerary we have to go over. I put a schedule in your cabin. Any questions?”

Yeah, lots. You stared at her for a moment. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you invite me back? After everything that happened?”

She regarded you silently, her expression neutral. Then, she said, “Because I believe in second chances. Or, rather, my husband does. He wanted to bring all of you back and start with a clean slate. Whether or not you’ve earned that second chance remains to be seen. But I hope you have.” Her words sent a painful ache through your chest. You didn’t blame her for being wary of you, but it still hurt.

As she excused herself, you were once again left alone with Bobby. “Y’alright?” He gently asked, cadence low and comforting.

You processed his words for a moment. “Yeah…yeah. I’m okay.”

“You need a minute?”

“No. Let’s just get my stuff to my cabin.”

With a single nod, he grabbed your suitcase and duffel bag, moving to walk up the hill. You followed closely behind, letting the rush of memories ebb through you. The cabins were small, build from dark wood, with green paint detailing the shutters and doors. They looked like they’d received fresh coats of paint, but otherwise, everything was still the same.

It didn’t take long to reach cabin five. Bob carried your things inside, and you slowly followed, your heart quickening as you stepped through the door. The scent of cedar and pine was familiar and painful all at once.

This wasn’t the cabin you’d been in when you were here last. You were in cabin two then, just one over from this one. Even so, it looked so eerily similar that for a moment, you were transported back to the summer of 1980.

Funnily enough, Bob had been the one to show you to your cabin for the first time that year, too.

“You’ve still got ‘em.”

Your eyes flickered to him, and your brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“The bracelets I made you.”

Oh. You looked down, eyeing your wrist, where the two braided jute bracelets remained, from when he’d made them for you that year. Dyed faintly with berry juice. Fraying at the edges, but still intact. “Um, yeah…I do. Guess I just could never bring myself to take them off.”

He stepped forward, reaching his hand out. You let him gingerly take your wrist into his palm. His fingers brushed against the braided rope, and his touch sent goosebumps across your skin. “After all these years,” he whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder, his voice would fail him.

All at once, you were floored with an intense wave of emotion, so powerful it nearly drove you to your knees. It hit you out of nowhere, like a gut punch. “Bobby,” you whimpered.

Shocking blue flickered to meet your wide-eyed gaze, and his face crumpled, bottom lip quivering. “Kit.”

You weren’t sure who moved first, but you were in each other’s arms then, holding on tightly, as if the other would float away if you loosened your grip. The sound of soft sobs reached your ears, and you realized that they were coming from you.

“I never should have walked away from you. Never, ever!” You cried against his chest. “I’m sorry!”

“No, shhh,” he soothed, cradling your head against him. “Don’t do this to yourself. It’s okay, you’re forgiven.”

You pulled back to look at him, shaking your head. “It’s not okay!”

Two large hands came up to hold your face. “It hurt me, alright? I’ll admit that. Broke my heart in two. But I never held it against you, because…because I knew everything you’d been through. I know that summer was the worst time of your life. It made sense to me if you didn’t want to speak to me ever again. I would’ve just been a reminder of everything that happened.”

“But I did want to talk to you, Bobby. I did. I just couldn’t get past the goddamn trauma.”

He shook his head, his face kind. “I know. But we’re here now, together. That’s gotta count for something.” Maybe we’ve been given a second chance, he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to move too fast. He was well aware that your romance might never be rekindled. However, he was content to just remain friends with you if it meant that you would be in his life again.

You went quiet, letting your head fall against his chest again. You couldn’t believe you were here, standing in the middle of a cabin at the place where you had lost everything. It felt so surreal. It was as if a million years had passed since you saw him here last, and yet, it also felt like no time had passed at all.

There was so much that needed to be discussed. But there was no hurry. For now, you were just relieved to know that you had not burned a bridge with your first great love. If nothing else went right for you this summer, he was the one good thing that would come out of it.

“I’m glad…I’m glad it was you who picked me up at the station,” you admitted.

Bobby smiled softly. “So am I.” He searched your face, as if memorizing it. “I really thought I wouldn’t ever see you again.”

You hummed in agreement. “Me too. But I guess fate wanted us to meet again.”

“She’s a tricky one, that Fate.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Finally, he parted from you, though the absence of his body made yours feel cold. He didn’t want to overstep. “Well…I guess I’ll let you get settled.” He moved toward the door, but your voice gave him pause.

“Actually, wait for me. I don’t want to face everyone alone. I’d prefer it if we walked together.” Bobby might be the only person in this damn place to accept you again. You wanted to cling to that, and the security it provided.

He gave a single nod. “Alright. You want any help getting settled, then?”

Together, you set about getting everything situated. Bob went around and checked the cabin for spiders, because he knew you weren’t a fan of the little (and sometimes big) guys. He found one, which he very gently coaxed into his hand (murmuring “c’mon, little buddy” as he did) and released it outside.

Once you had your stuff organized, and did a quick clean sweep of the cabin, you were ready to join everyone else. There was a paper posted on the wall just beside the door, detailing the itinerary for counselors and other camp staff. In about fifteen minutes, dinner would be served in the mess hall.

Directly following that, there would be an orientation meeting in the meeting hall, a place where staff meetings usually took place. Assemblies with the campers were also held there. It ws in that hall that you would be forced to face people from your past. Namely, you’d have to face Jake again.

The thought made your stomach churn, and your hands tremble. But then, Bob’s gentle presence brought you back to the presence, and your racing heart calmed down a little.

He offered you a kind smile. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod.

Together, you walked out of that cabin and into the camp grounds, falling into silence as your steps synced up. There were so many things Bobby wanted to say, but he didn’t want to inundate you with questions and confessions, so he left it. He knew you had to be terribly overwhelmed as it was. He didn’t want to be the cause of more stress.

So, silence it was, all the way until you got to the mess hall. He stopped to open the door for you, and you hesitated.

“It’s okay,” he assured you. “I’ll be right here with you the whole time.”

You liked the sound of that.

So, with a deep breath and squared shoulders, you stepped through that door, entering the room. Dark wood stretched out before you. The mess hall was a similar design to the cabins, just much bigger. High ceilings with unfinished wooden beams. Wooden floors and walls. Dark green paint detailing. Windows on each wall to let in natural light. A large stone fireplace in the middle of the room.

It was very cozy, but as your gaze shifted to the table of faces to your left, you felt a chill run over you. Here goes nothing.

You appraoched the table, taking in each person seated there. At the head of the table was Pete Mitchell, Penny’s husband. He lifted his head and offered a smile, but you couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes. Beside him, Penny glanced up at you.

Then, to her right, you saw Natasha Trace. Another person you had once had a connection with. She was good friends with Bobby before you met him. The two of them had gone to school, and eventually college, together. Beside her was a woman you’d never seen before, but judging by the way Natasha held her hand, you inferred that they were in a relationship. It was no surprise to you. Nat had always made it clear that she only had eyes for women.

Then, on the other side of the woman was Mickey Garcia, another one of Bob’s good friends. His best friend, in fact. Mickey offered you a smile, and you took that as acceptance of you. He always had been rooting for you, all those summers ago.

Beside Mickey was Javy Machado. You couldn’t get a read on him. His face bore a neutral expression as he regarded you. Back then, he’d been best friends with Jake, and had therefore been completely on his side. You assumed the sentiment was still the same.

Then, of course, there was Bradley Bradshaw. He was Pete and Penny’s surrogate son, in a way. After Bradley’s mother died when he was a teenager, Pete had brought him on to learn how to run the camp. One day, he would take charge of the place, after the husband and wife duo retired.

All of them were seated around that table, but you noticed that one was missing. You had no idea where Jake was. Maybe he wasn’t joining everyone for dinner. Maybe he’d left. A part of you hoped so.

“Wanna sit here?” Bobby asked, motioning to two seats next to Bradley.

You nodded, and he pulled out your chair for you. Once you were seated, he took his own seat beside you, between Bradley and you. The other man leaned over the table, and you got a look at his face for the first time in six years. He’d lost his baby face, and was now sporting a defined jaw. A neatly kept mustache shadowed his upper lip. You thought it suited him. “Good to see you again,” he said.

Bradley’s statement seemed to break the ice, and a few murmurs of greeting echoed around the table. Even still, an air of awkwardness hovered over the group. You wanted to crawl out of your own skin. But you were here now, and there was no turning back.

The food was set up around the table like a regular family dinner. Simple foods. Sandwiches. Veggies and dip. Chips. You grabbed a sandwich, but you found your stomach in knots, and the thought of eating anything nauseated you.

“Well, Penny, you did it. Got us all to come back. Good on you,” Natasha spoke up.

Penny shrugged. “Pete and I have been talking about it for a while. I know the way things ended back in ‘80 was…bad, to say the least. But we really feel that this place has potential, and we could breathe new life into it.”

“What do the Seresins think about that?” Javy asked, his brow raised.

“We think it’s an okay idea,” a voice spoke up from across the room.

The group looked up all at once to see the man stepping through the door. You tensed, taking in a breath. Your heart rate picked up, thudding against your chest as the chill of anxiety crawled along your spine.

“Really?” Natasha piped up.

Jake nodded as he approached the group. “Yeah. Seeing as how Penny wants to dedicate this place to Missy. We all remember how much she loved it here. I firmly believe she’d want it to keep going.”

Penny smiled. “I’m glad we’re on the same page, Jake.”

He stopped at the empty end of the table, hands coming up to rest upon the back of the chair there. “But I do have one question.”

“What’s that?” The woman asked.

Jake smiled, but you could tell is wasn’t a real smile. In fact, when you looked at his eyes, the pale green was filled with snake’s venom. “What the fuck is she doing here?” He jabbed his finger in your direction, and you froze, your eyes growing wide.

That was more like the reaction you’d been expecting.

Penny faltered, her smile fading. Beside you, you felt Bob stiffen. But you didn’t dare pull your eyes away from Jake’s accusatory glare.

“I-I just thought that–”

“I don’t care. Look, Penny; I really appreciate you putting this all together, but in what world did you think it was okay to invite the person who had a hand in my sister’s disappearance?”

“She isn’t the one who wanted to invite her. I am.” Pete stood from his seat, his eyes narrow. “I thought that she deserved a second chance. And I wanted you to find it in yourself to allow her that chance.”

“Oh, really? What, is she gonna bring my sister back? Hm?” Jake’s gaze was so cold. You wished the ground would swallow you up. How on earth could you have thought this was a good idea?

“No, but–”

“If she stays, I’m refusing the dedication. She’s the reason I lost Missy. She doesn’t get to just stand there and pretend she’s sorry, while my parents and I are still grieving.”

Your eyes had blurred with tears, and your chest was tight. You should never have come.

But then, “leave ‘er alone, Jake.” Bobby stood up, facing the other man.

“Oh, you coming to her rescue is rich, Baby on Board. Wasn’t it your dick she was sucking when my kid sister went missing?”

The room went dead silent.

Bob took a breath. Then two. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that. She’s here, whether you like it or not. And she deserves another chance, just as much as anybody.”

“No, you know what? You’re right. This was a mistake. I should never have come,” you spoke up, rising from your chair.

But Bobby grabbed your arm. “No. Don’t let him drive you away.” His eyes were pleading.

You pulled away from his grasp, sadly shaking your head.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. Then you turned to Jake. “I wish I could bring your sister back. But I can’t. You need to know that I cared about her. And I should have been more thorough when I did bed check that night. I regret it every day, and I’ve lived with that guilt for the last six years. But my guilt is nothing compared to the loss you and your parents have had to endure. And for that, I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll leave, if that’s what you’d prefer. I never should have come in the first place.”

With that, you ducked your head, pushing your chair out of the way as you scrambled toward the exit. You could hear Bob calling your name, but you ignored him, your legs carrying you quickly toward the door. Your vision had tunneled, and your chest was heavy. You had to get out of that building. You felt like you were suffocating. Like someone had pulled a plastic bag over your face.

You threw your arms out in front of you and shoved the door open, letting out a great heaving sob as you stumbled down the front steps. You made it a few feet from the stairs before you leaned forward, hands braced on your knees as you fell apart.

“Oh, God!” You cried. You heard footsteps quickly approaching. It made you whirl around. “Just leave me the fuck alone!” Came your wail.

“No! I don’t care what he says, you deserve to be here!”

It was Bob, you realized.

“What do you want me to do, then?! He doesn’t want me here, Bob! And I never should’ve come. So just…just pull the truck around and I’ll get my luggage and get the fuck out of here.”

“No.”

“Either you take me back to the station, or I’ll get someone else to do it!”

“No other buses are running until tomorrow morning, so you can’t leave anyway! You’re stuck here for the night.”

“Goddammit!” You yelled. “I just want to leave!”

He grabbed you by the shoulders. “You’re not listening to me! I can’t handle watching you walk away from me again. I lost you once, and I’ll be damned if I let Jake Seresin be the reason I lose you again!”

And then, silence.

“Oh.”

He released your shoulders suddenly, his face stricken. “I-I’m sorry. I’m coming on way too strong. This is probably super overwhelming for you and I’m just making it worse.”

“No. No, you…you aren’t.” A pause. And then, “I don’t want to walk away from you again, either.”

“If you want to leave, then I’ll take you to the station tomorrow morning. But I just want you to try and stay. I know Jake doesn’t want you here, but I’m sure Pete can convince him to at least give you a chance.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

However, back inside the mess hall, a discussion was happening. “I’m sorry, Jake. I know we should have told you we invited her back. I take full responsibility for that oversight. But your parents…they knew she was coming. We checked with them beforehand. Your mom is of the belief that we should give her another chance.”

“What?” Jake asked, incredulous.

“Yeah. So, I know it’s hard for you, but if your mom is willing to forgive, then I’m going to respect that, and give this girl a chance. You know she’s lived with this guilt for so long. I think that’s punishment enough.”

The blonde sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. If it was up to me, she’d be on the next Greyhound outta here. But if my mom wants her here…” He looked out the window, eyeing you and Bob as you spoke to each other. “It boggles my damn mind, but I’ll respect my mom’s wishes. That doesn’t mean I forgive her, though. I don’t think I ever will. But you go ahead and keep her on staff. Something tells me it ain’t gonna end well, but what do I know?”

And with that, Jake stalked off in a huff.

He swung the screen door open, and your head shot up, your eyes widening as you saw him coming down the steps. Bobby took a protective step toward you.

“You can stay,” Jake said as he walked past. “But only because my mom is the one who wanted you here.” Then he leaned in close. Well, as close as Bob would allow him to get. “But just know this. If you fuck up in any way, shape, or form, I’ll ship you back home myself. We clear?”

“Y-yes,” you responded with a curt nod.

“Good.”

And with that, Jake Seresin walked away.

You let out an unsteady breath, your shoulders slumping. Bobby looked at you, his gaze questioning. “What are you gonna do?”

You shook your head. “I…I don’t…”

“You don’t need to decide now. Just sleep on it. Make your decision with a fresh mind, alright?”

“Yeah,” came your whispered reply. “Yeah, that’s–that’s what I’ll do.”

He took his baseball cap off, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. I know this is a lot for you. Do ya wanna just turn in early? I’m sure they’d understand if you skipped orientation.”

You considered his words, and finally, you shook your head. “No. I’ll, uh, I’ll try to go, and see how I do. But I think I’m going to just go and lay down for a while until then.”

“Want me to walk you back?”

“I’d like that.”

With a soft smile and a nod, Bobby began to guide you back toward the cabins. Your hands were shaking, and your head was spinning. It felt like someone had shoved their hands into your chest and taken hold of your lungs, squeezing them with all their might.

It was a painfully uncomfortable feeling, and you hoped that it would pass soon. But as long as you were here, in this place that held so many memories, it would probably remain a permanent fixture in your body. The only thing that soothed it was Bobby’s presence.

Even after all these years, and after the sour note you’d left him on, being near him still felt so comforting and peaceful. It was an odd, but welcome, sensation. You hadn’t expected it to be this way. When you thought of seeing him again, you imagined it would be painfully awkward, or that maybe he would refuse to speak to you.

But this was Robert Floyd you were talking about. He didn’t hold grudges. And if he did, then he’d been deeply hurt beyond repair. It was a relief to know that things were not beyond mending between you. At the moment, you were too overwhelmed and emotional to even consider what it might mean for you in the future. You were just grateful that he was near you again.

So much had changed. When you’d left him, he’d been more gangly. Twenty-two years old. Large wireframes perched atop his nose. All round cheeks and softer features. Now, he seemed a little taller. Or maybe, his slight bulk made him appear so. Gone were those gangly limbs, replaced with muscle that had been defined by physical labor.

His hands, though. His hands had stayed the same. They’d always been big, but he’d grown into them. They suited him now. Strong and steady. Farmer’s hands.

“You want me to come get you when it’s time for orientation?” The low cadence of his voice jarred you from your daydream.

“If you would? I forgot to pack my battery alarm clock, so have no way of keeping time.”

He nodded. “Sure. I can get ya one of those clocks. I actually have two, you can have one of mine.”

“You sure?”

“Yep, I don’t need two anyway. I’ll bring it to you later tonight.”

You shot him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

Together, you stopped just outside your cabin, lingering at the foot of the stairs. Bob’s face was gentle, his eyes kind. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. I know it’s a for you lot to be back here. And Jake didn’t help anythin’ by reacting the way he did. But if no one else is happy to see you, I want you to know that I am. I’ll respect whatever decision you make, but I really do hope you’ll stay.”

You considered his words, mulling them over in your mind. He didn’t expect you to decide at that very moment, and you knew your brain was too overworked to make that decision then as it was. So, the best you could do was nod your head. “I’ll see you in a bit, Bobby.”

He hummed, mouth quirking into a smile. “See you in a bit, Kit.”

You watched him walk away, his footsteps sure, his stance confident. He had a swagger to him that he didn’t have six years ago. It suited him well.

With a soft sigh, you finally turned and made your way into the cabin. As soon as the screen slammed behind you, you surged forward, collapsing into your bed, which was right near the door. Immediately, you buried your face in the pillow, and everything you’d been keeping inside came spilling out of you in bitter waves.

What had you gotten yourself into?

to be continued...

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#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd smut #bob floyd angst #story: six summers

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topguncortez · 2 years

Text

Baby On Board- B.Floyd

pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x wife!reader word count: 6k (its a long one) type: angst warnings: top gun shit, child birth, near death experiences, cursing. synopsis: being placed on a top secret mission weeks before his wife's due date was not what Lt. Floyd had imagined married life would be like.

note: thank you so much for 600! it's crazy how much this blog has grown in such little time! keep sending in requests!

She was his highschool sweetheart. From the moment Bob laid eyes on Y/N their freshman year of highschool, even with braces and acne and a ridiculous haircut, he knew that she was going to be his wife. She was perfect, smart, popular, kind to everyone and he was. . . well he was just Bob. A dork, a nerd, sweet and kind and too pure for this world. He could remember how badly he was sweating and shaking as he approached her lunch table, some cheesy valentine’s day card in his hand and asked her to the school dance. He thought he would get laughed at, but his heart filled with even more love as she pulled out a valentine of her own to give to him.

Bob had shocked everyone when he decided to go into the navy, including Y/N. They had talked about their futures, and Bob had briefly mentioned going into the navy, but he wasn't certain. So when he came home and told her he enlisted, she was shocked but proud of him. Her heart broke when he left for boot camp, and would wait by the phone or mailbox for a call or letter from him. When he came home with a buzzed cut, a bouquet of flowers and a ring, they both knew they didn’t want to be apart from each other. They got married in a small ceremony in his parents backyard, it was like a fairytale for both of them.

Both Bob and Y/N had agreed that they wanted kids. They weren’t ever too keen on actively trying for kids, but they weren’t doing anything to actively prevent it either. At first, they were going to let nature do its thing, agreeing that it’ll happen when it happens. But after two years of nothing, they knew that it was time for some intervention. It broke Bob’s heart when the doctor told them it was going to be nearly impossible for them to have a baby of their own. He watched as the light in her eyes diminished. She told him that she was okay, that it would be fine, but Bob could hear her crying in the bathroom when she thought he was asleep.

Bob stood by her side though, never leaving her. He held her hand in doctors appointments, when they had decided on doing hormonal treatments, Bob was always on track with timing, and keeping track of everything. When he noticed that her body had started to change, and her mood was different and her period was late, he went out and bought every kind of pregnancy test there was to get. He sat by her side on the bed as they waited for the timer to go off, and was the first to look at the results.

Seven months later, Bob and Y/N were glaring at each other from across the kitchen. Her belly had popped some weeks ago, and she was now supporting a nice round bump. She looked on the verge of tears as Bob had explained the document that was sitting in between the two of them. He was being called back to TOPGUN, something that he never thought would happen. The first time around, they had been married for only about a year, and Bob was excited to be chosen to go. He got permission to take his wife with him, and that was all he needed. Now, things have changed.

Y/N was not thrilled at all about Bob being called back. There was no other information on the document other than time and place to be. They had arranged on base housing for the both of them, but they both knew that Y/N couldn’t leave Lemoore. It wasn’t a good idea for her to be far away from her doctor, not when time was ticking away closer to her due date.

“Why can’t they send someone else?” Y/N asked, running a hand through her hair, “Can you tell them I’m pregnant?”

“Did,” Bob sighed, “Technically the baby isn’t born yet so I don’t get any sort of paternity leave. I would still only get 21 days anyway.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, of course he didn't, “There’s nothing you can do?”

“It’s non negotiable. You can come with-”

“Come with!? Bob, look at me, I’m the size of a water buffalo-“

“No you’re not-“

“Shut up,” Y/N said, getting angry. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and turned on her heel and left the kitchen in tears. Bob sighed, knowing the majority of this was caused by pregnancy hormones but it still didn’t make it any easier. He knew that there was a possibility of him getting a last minute deployment or special detachment, like this one, that could take him away from Y/N and his unborn child. He just didn’t think it would ever come true. Bob grabbed the sheet of paper and read it over again. Doing the math in his head, he should be back in time before Y/N has their baby, but it still didn’t bring him any comfort.

He pushed himself from his spot, walking to the freezer to get an orange crush popsicle for Y/N, and then walked down the hall. He found her sitting on their shared bed, looking out the window. Bob sat down next to her and offered her the popsicle.

“Thanks,” She murmured.

“I know it’s not ideal-”

“No, it’s not,” Y/N sniffled as she opened up her popsicle.

“You could come with. . .”

“Bob, I’m seven months pregnant. I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“It’s also not a good idea to have you here alone either,” Bob said and Y/N sighed, “At least, if you’re in Miramar with me, I’d be there in a matter of minutes if something happened,” He grabbed her free hand and intertwined their fingers, “Up here, yeah we are alone, but you’ll be even more alone if something happened and I’m seven hours away. It would bring peace of mind to me, if you came with me.”

“Well,” Y/N sighed, “Looks like we’re both going back to TOPGUN.”

Bob smiled and leaned in to kiss her cheek, and then slid off the bed to kneel in front of her, both hands going to her growing belly. It always made her giggle at how Bob’s large hands could cover her whole bump, but it also brought her a sense of security.

“You, my little one, can’t make any surprise appearances while we are there, you hear me? You stay right in here for the next six weeks and we won’t have an issue,” Bob said to her belly, and got a small kick in return, “I think they understood me,” He said looking up at you with his lopsided grin.

“I’m sure they did.”

— — —

It was almost too hot to do anything, even by the ocean in Miramar. Y/N had told herself when she got pregnant, she didn’t want to be pregnant during the hot months, but living in California, it was always hot. The drive down had been awful, having to stop almost every hour so she could pee, or being constantly uncomfortable. Bob felt bad, knowing that she was only doing this for him, but he let her complain as much as she wanted to. Bob had heard that everyone was gathering at the Hard Deck, a local bar that he and Y/N had frequented the first time around at TOPGUN. Y/N had opted not to go with him, as she wanted to just stay in the air conditioning of their tiny on base house.

Y/N had done what she could to make herself comfortable while being in Miramar. She went grocery shopping, to the beach a couple times, met with one of the OB’s on base (which Bob had gotten out of training early to do), but for the most part she kept a low profile, trying to stay as cool as she possibly could in the southern california heat. Her favorite part of the day was when Bob would come home, and lay his head in her lap and tell their child all about his day. His eyes always lit up as he talked about the simulations and the dogfighting. He would get so animated about it, it was adorable.

Y/N knew bits and pieces about the mission. She knew it was dangerous, that there was a lot at stake. Bob didn’t want to worry her too much at this stage in her pregnancy, but she had kind of gathered that them all being called back meant that it was serious. She tried not to think of a world where Bob Floyd wasn’t alive and she hated it. But Bob reassured her as much as he possibly could that he would make it back to her.

The team didn’t know much about Robert Floyd, other than he was a WSO and Phoenix’s back seater. He was quiet, kept to himself, and would speed off after showering at the end of the day. Phoenix had tried to pry some information out of him, but got nothing more than his full name, where he was from, and where he was currently stationed. Bob didn’t talk much about himself, and Phoenix kind of liked that. He was different from the usual cocky, arrogant (hangman) pilots she was used to working with.

“So Bob, what do you plan on doing when you get out of here?” Phoenix had asked him, as they were headed to the trial run zone. It was day four of doing the trial course, and no one had successfully completed it.

“I bet he is going to have himself a cold glass of ice water,” Coyote joked and Bob rolled his eyes.

“Oh shut it,” Phoenix laughed, “I bet he’ll go home and watch the office or something.”

“I prefer ‘friends’ over the office,” Bob said, thinking of his wife’s favorite show.

“Alright, dagger 1 easing in, time starting in 3, 2, 1,” Phoenix said as she started into the simulation.

Bob looked down at his radar, watching as Phoenix and Coyote made the twists and turns of the simulation, feeling his body jostle from side to side. It never got easier, the more that they ran the course, it seemed to somehow get worse. His body felt heavier, his lungs felt like they would explode. He would find bruises on his sides from hitting the side of the cockpit at such forces. Bob eyed their time, seeing that they were keeping up a good speed, until he caught another plane on the radar.

“Oh no, it’s Maverick!” Bob said.

“What?! Where is he!?” Phoenix called out, and Bob looked around the clear canopy into the sky, trying to see if he could spot Maverick.

“Lost him in the sun!” Bob called out, “Coyote, you see him!?”

“Man, he’s on my tail,” Coyote said, “Line it up, Bob.”

“Roger!” Bob said, controlling his laser to line up the shot, except he couldn’t get control of it. He swore under his breath as he tried but it was no use, “Dead eye! I can’t get it to lock!”

“Dropping in blind then,” Coyote said, and tried to line up the laser the best he could.

Bob could feel when Phoenix shifted the trajectory of the jet, sending them into a steep incline upward. Bob fought against the Gs being pushed on his body as he tried to keep his eyes open and himself conscious. Maverick had somehow shown back up, and stimulated a dogfight with them, until they realized they had lost comms with Coyote. He had gone into g-loc, and Maverick moved quickly to line up a shot, sending a loud buzzing sound into his cockpit. Bob took a sigh in relief as they got Coyote back, but the relief was short-lived when Maverick called out the bird strike.

“We’re on fire!” Bob called out, looking to see the left engine ablaze.

“Extinguishing!” Phoenix said, flipping a switch, “Lost hydraulics, losing altitude, I-I can’t control it!”

“Right engine on fire! We’re gonna burn in!” Bob’s voice was filled with panic, as he felt their jet start to drop from the sky.

“You have to eject!” Maverick called, “Phoenix, Bob! Eject, eject, eject!”

“Fuck! Eject, eject, eject!” Phoenix yelled out, as she hit the button to eject both of them. Bob covered his head as the canopy shot off, and he felt himself get pushed out of the cockpit. The next thing he felt was his feet hitting the ground.

— — —

The last thing any military wife ever wants is a call from the hospital saying that their husband had been injured. When Y/N arrived at the hospital, frantic with tears in her eyes, a nurse had guided her down to the room her husband was in. She felt the confused looks and stares of the aviators in the hallway as she passed by them on the way to Bob’s room. She had even heard one of them ask who she was and another say they didn’t know. Bob was busy flipping through the tv channels when she got to his room, he looked over at her and smiled weakly.

“Hey baby,” Bob said and Y/N rushed to his side, as Bob engulfed her in a hug, “Shh, I’m okay, I’m okay.” He soothed her, while rubbing her back as she cried as she sat on his bed.

“Jesus Christ Robert, don’t ever scare me like that again,” Y/N said, pulling away from him, and wiping her tears, “What the hell happened?”

“Bird Strike, lost control of the jet, had to eject. Nothing but a couple bruises and a sore tailbone,” Bob smiled, and Y/N shook her head, “Are you okay?”

“You’re asking me that?”

“You’re the pregnant one.”

“You’re the one who just ejected from a plane at 500 feet in the air.”

“Touche,” Bob said, as there was a knock on the door. Y/N turned her head to see a brunette woman peeking her head in with a shy smile on her face.

“The guys said you had company, I hope you don’t mind me coming to check on you?” The woman said, looking between the two of her.

Bob looked at you and you smiled, “No, not at all,” He said, “This is Phoenix, the main driver,” Bob said introducing the two of them, “Phoenix this is my wife, Y/N.”

“Oh- wow, Bob never-”

“Stealth pilot,” Y/N smiled and held her hand out to greet Phoenix, “It’s nice to meet you. He’s told me all about you. You’re pretty cool from what it sounds like.”

“You flatter me,” Phoenix said with a slight blush, “How far along?”

“Eight months. Not exactly my ideal location to be in, but,” Y/N shrugged and Bob smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her to sit back down on the bed, “How are you doing? I can’t imagine what it was like.”

“I’m okay, a little shaken up. I’m more concerned that Bob has hidden you away from us and made me suffer with the rest of the testosterone freaks out there.” Phoenix said and sat down in a chair by the bed.

Bob knew it was no use hiding Y/N from Phoenix, so he had told his pilot all about his wife, how they met, how he proposed, their wedding, their house, and even about their baby. Phoenix was surprised at how talkative Bob could be when he was talking about something he loved. She knew he could rattle off information about an F-18 and missiles and flight trajectory, but when it came to talking about his life, Phoenix was surprised. He had hardly let Y/N get a word in and Phoenix would laugh at how Y/N just looked at him.

Y/N would’ve liked it if Bob would’ve been able to stay home after having to eject from his plane, but the mission was still a go. It was only three days after the bird strike that he was packing his bags and headed to get on the carrier. Y/N had driven him to base, much to his dismay since he didn’t want her driving with her belly in the way. She tried to hide her tears as she put the car in park and looked at the daunting aircraft carrier.

“It’s only three days,” Bob said, looking at his hands, “Three days and-and I come home to you and our baby.” He placed his hand on her bump, feeling their little one move around.

“I know,” Y/N said, “Swear to God, if you don’t-”

“I will,” Bob said, cutting her off. He leaned over the console, holding her face in his hands and kissed her. It took her breath away, the type of kiss that is supposed to be a constant reminder. It left her lips tingling as he pulled back, “I’ll see you in three days.” Y/N nodded as Bob got out of the car. She saw Phoenix waiting next to her car and sent her a small smile and wave. Phoenix gave her a nod in response and hugged Bob.

Y/N let out a shaky breath as she watched the two of them walk towards the ship, “Three days little one, no sudden movement for three days.”

— — —

Y/N tried to keep herself distracted but she couldn’t help but stare at the clock, knowing that any second her husband’s plane would be taking off from the middle of the pacific ocean and would be flying towards a certain death. She knows that he promised to come home, but nothing is ever promised in this life. Y/N looked down at the hot mug of tea in front of her and felt a stray tear run down her cheek. She had gotten to the point in her pregnancy where she didn’t even know she was crying until the tear hit her shirt. She sniffled and placed her hand on her belly, just as she felt a cramping sensation.

“No. . .” She mumbled to herself and let out a shaky breath, “Please stop, don’t do this.” Y/N had been feeling contractions since Bob left. She knew that braxton hicks were common and had been feeling those since month seven, but now, these felt different. These felt stronger and she could feel her stomach dropping.

Y/N pushed herself away from the counter and slowly started making her way towards her bedroom. Laying down usually helped subside the contractions and the pelvic pain. Y/N paused as she felt the warmth of a liquid rushing down her legs as she stood in the hallway. She closed her eyes and clutched her stomach, hoping that maybe, just maybe this was all a dream and she had just peed herself in the hallway, rather than her water breaking. But when she opened her eyes at the feeling of a contraction, she knew it was very much real.

“No, no, no,” She felt tears in her eyes as she moved down the hallway towards the kitchen where she had left her phone. Her first instinct was to dial Bob’s number, which she did, but when it went straight to voicemail, she panicked even more. She gripped the counter as another contraction ripped through her body. This wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was not how this was supposed to happen. The next number she dialed was Penny’s, which the older woman had given to her after getting to know her at Iceman’s funeral.

“Hello?” Penny’s voice sounded through the receiver.

“Penny, I-I need your help,” Y/N’s voice cracked, “My water broke.”

“Oh my god,” Penny said, and Y/N could hear her get up and grab her keys, “Stay where you are, I am on my way. If you need to push, do it, don’t try and fight it.”

“I can’t have this baby alone!” Y/N cried.

“I know, I know, I’m on my way, just breathe okay,” Penny said and Y/N nodded.

Penny arrived after a short time, and helped Y/N get to the on base hospital. They had admitted her right away, and Y/N was thankful that Penny had decided to stay by her side. Penny had once been in Y/N’s shoes. Her now ex-husband had been on deployment when Amelia was born, and Penny was by herself in the delivery room, no family, no friends, just her and the nurses and doctor. Penny wasn’t going to leave Y/N alone, knowing very well she would’ve wanted someone to stay with her.

“Breathe through it, there ya go,” Penny said as she dabbed at the sweat collecting on Y/N’s forehead, “I left a message for Maverick and Hondo. I called in a favor from an old friend to hopefully contact the ship and get a message to Admiral Simpson.”

“I can’t have this baby without him,” Y/N cried, out of pure exhaustion. Even though her water broke, she was still going on hour eight of labor, waiting for her cervix to dilate and the baby to drop down even more. The nurses all shared a look, and Penny could read their faces. She had heard them say something to the doctor about being worried about maternal exhaustion.

“I know you don’t, but you might have to,” Penny said, and Y/N shook her head as another contraction hit. Y/N groaned in pain as she gripped the side rail, her knuckles turning white. Penny grabbed the white bucket next to her and placed it in front of her incase Y/N was sick again.

When Y/N felt her body relax, she let out a small cry and leaned back against the bed. Penny had hoped that the call she put in with her father would somehow reach the ship. She wished that Iceman was still alive, knowing he’d stop at nothing to get Bob from the ship and straight to the hospital. But all Penny could do was hold Y/N’s hand and wipe the sweat from her forehead. Y/N’s mind was wandering as she thought of the mission Bob was on, and prayed that he was alive and not dead somewhere in a European mountain range.

— — —

Life or death, Bob had seen the flash of death right in front of his eyes as Phoenix had navigated them through Coffin Corner. He felt his heart sink when he watched Maverick’s plane get shot down, and he felt like his heart stopped hearing Rooster go down too. Bob did what he could to comfort Phoenix as they flew back to the ship, placing a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off. They hadn’t been on the carrier long, when they heard that Rooster’s beacon had been turned back on, and Hangman had been instructed to go on the flight mission to bring them back.

The second Maverick buzzed by the tower, the tarmac broke out in cheer, as he landed and both of them had a large smile on their faces. Bob and Phoenix rushed over to Rooster, hugging him tightly. Bob had a bright smile on his face as he celebrated with his team.

“Lt Floyd!?” A voice called out for him. Bob turned around to see Admiral Simpson running towards him.

“Yes sir?” Bob asked, his heart racing slightly.

“You need to come with us right away, it’s a family emergency.”

Bob felt light headed as the Admiral’s words hit his ears. Bob had just escaped death with his team and now he felt a sudden rush of doom. Fanboy and Payback shared a look, confused on what the admiral had just said. As far as anyone knew, Bob didn’t have any family, Bob was a lone ranger. But the look on Phoenix’s face said otherwise.

“Go!” Phoenix said, pushing him towards the admiral. Bob stumbled on his feet but took off sprinting, trying not to let his mind go to the worse case scenario. Phoenix looked over her shoulder and noticed her fellow aviators looking at her confused, and sighed, “He’s married, and has a wife, who’s very pregnant.”

Hondo was waiting for Bob when he entered the tower, and relayed the information he had gathered from Admiral Bates. Bob couldn’t digest most of it, but what he gathered was that his wife was in labor and he was stuck on an aircraft carrier in the middle of nowhere after almost dying. Hondo directed him to the admiral’s office where they gave Bob some privacy to call his wife. Bob sat down in the chair, his hands shaking as he picked up the phone and dialed her number, something he memorized.

“Bob, thank god,” Penny answered.

“H-hey Penny, how is she?” Bob asked, trying to bite back tears.

“She’s getting checked by the nurses right now, I stepped out when I saw you call. She’s,” Penny sighed and looked down at her shoes, “They are worried about maternal exhaustion. She’s in hour 12 of labor, eight centimeters dilated and trying to fight it. She says she won’t do this without you.”

“She has too,” Bob said, feeling a tear run down his cheek, “She has to do this. And I swear to god, she will never have to do this alone again. I need to talk to her.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Penny said, and walked back into the room. Her heart broke seeing Y/N in such pain as she laid on her side. The nurse gave Penny a look, and she nodded, “Y/N, it’s Bob. I’m putting him on speaker.”

“Oh my god, Bob?” Y/N asked, her voice wavering in pain. Bob felt his heart break as he bit back a sob. He buried his face into his flight suit before speaking up.

“Hi babe,” Bob said, “This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

“No, not at all,” She sniffed, “God, why can’t you be here. Why now? They’ve been stubborn this whole time, but now?”

“I know,” He laughed, “But love, you have to stop trying to fight it, okay, you need to let them help you. It’ll only make things harder for you, for the baby.”

“Bob, I can’t do it,” Y/N protested and closed her eyes, feeling a contraction. Bob heard her suck in a breath and let out a whimper in pain. Penny grabbed her hand and helped her breathe through it. Bob wished so badly he could be there with her, all he ever wanted to do was be a father and he is completely missing it.

“She’s at ten,” A nurse said, “She keeps putting it off, she won’t be able to push.”

“Baby, you need to listen to them,” Bob said, sitting up straighter in his seat, “You need to do this okay. I’m right here, Penny is there. You need to bring our baby into the world.”

“No!” Y/N sobbed and Penny felt tears in her own eyes, “No! I won’t! I want to go home, let me go home!”

“You’re elevating your heart rate, Y/N,” Her nurse said, walking over to the bed and looking at the EEG reading, “If this continues we’ll have to do a c-section. Y/N, it’s time to push.”

Bob felt his heart stop. That was the absolutely last thing he wanted her to have to do. It was bad enough she was in labor by herself, he didn’t want to have her go under the knife alone. The nurses and the midwife started to move around, getting everything set up for delivery. Penny helped Y/N get to her back and sit up in the bed. The midwife put Y/N’s feet in the stirrups.

“Y/N, listen to me,” Bob said sternly, “You have to listen to them, you have to push, okay. I’m right here, I’m doing the best I possibly can.”

“This isn’t fucking fair,” Y/N cried, and gripped Penny and the nurse’s hand as she felt a contraction and what felt like the baby’s head dropping lower in her birth canal.

“I know,” Bob answered, “But you can do it okay, listen to the doctors.” Y/N nodded and Penny wiped her forehead.

The midwife looked up at Y/N and gave her a sad smile, “Alright, Y/N on the next contraction, I need you to push okay. You know your body better than any of us.”

Y/N nodded and let out a shaky breath. She felt the cramping of a contraction and sucked in a deep breath. When the contraction hit, she pushed, closing her eyes and letting out a groan. Bob closed his eyes, not being able to imagine the pain she was in. With every push that the midwife would count out, Y/N’s groans and cries got louder. He could tell as the time went on that she was getting more and more exhausted.

“Jesus Chrsit, I can’t do this,” Y/N said breathlessly as she leaned against the back of the bed.

“You’re so close, Y/N, I can see the baby’s head,” The midwife said, “Next one push as hard as you can.”

“You got this babe, come on,” Bob said. He heard the midwife tell her to push, “Come on sweetheart, push hard, you got this, come on love.”

“Crowning!” The midwife called out and Y/N let out a loud cry, “This is the hardest part, you are right here, you can do this. Give me a big push and bring this baby into the world.”

Y/N moved slightly, and beared down as she pushed hard, feeling a burning sensation as the baby’s head was pushed out of her birthing canal. She closed her eyes tightly, gripping on to Penny and the nurse’s hands for dear life. Bob was saying encouraging words but it was all drawn out as the pain subsided and Y/N felt her body relax.

“One more, give me one more,” The midwife said, “The hardest part is over, you can do it.”

“Bob,” Y/N’s voice shook.

“This is it, you can do it, bring our baby into the world.” Bob said.

She clenched her jaw tightly, she was surprised that she didn’t break her teeth as she pushed with all her might. It was like white hot pain, almost like breaking a bone, as she felt the baby being pulled from her womb. She let out a broken cry as she felt a weight being placed on her chest, a loud cry filling the room. Y/N’s hands went straight to the squirming newborn on her chest and looked down to see their big brown eyes. Her mind was so overclouded with stimulation that she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“It’s a girl!” She heard the midwife say and Y/N cried even harder.

Bob wasn’t fighting back tears anymore as he held his head in his hands and sobbed, hearing the cry of his daughter over the phone. This wasn’t how he expected the delivery of his rainbow baby to go. He always expected him to be right by his wife’s side, holding her hand, sitting behind her as she pushed, encouraging her, seeing his daughter the second she was brought into this world, being able to cut the cord. Instead, he was hearing her loud cries from the middle of the ocean.

“We’re going to weigh her and clean her up, then we’ll give her right back, okay,” The nurse said to Y/N. She was still so exhausted all she could do was nod, “Congrats momma, and you too, dad!”

Bob nodded, and wiped his tears, “I love you so much,” He cried out, his voice breaking.

“I love you too,” Y/N said.

“I’m going to let you go, okay, I promise, I will be there as soon as I get docked in Miramar. You need to sleep, you did so good, so good, I am so proud of you,” Bob said, knowing he was probably talking to her sleepy self.

“I love you, Bob,” Y/N said, “I’ll see you when you get here.”

They said their goodbyes and Bob hung up. He sat there with his head in hands for a bit longer, looking down at the ground. The events of the day started to hit him all at once, and the tears fell down his face uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop his body from shaking as he cried. He didn’t even notice Phoenix walked into the office. Phoenix’s mind went to the worst possible thing as she walked over to him, and placed her hand on his shoulder. Bob looked up at her, his brown eyes wet with tears.

“Bob-”

“I’m a dad,” He said, “I’m a fucking dad!”

“Oh my god!” Phoenix said, pulling Bob from his seat and hugged him. She pulled back from the hug and looked at him, “Is everything okay? Y/N? The baby?”

“A healthy little girl,” Bob smiled, “Y/N’s okay, the best she can be for having a baby on her own. But . . I’m a girl dad.”

— — —

She knew she had slept too long, even though she had been a mom for less than a day, she knew she still slept too long. Y/N groaned as she opened her eyes, squinting at the harsh light above her head. Her body was still sore, especially her lower region. Penny had been a godsend helping her through the night when she had to get up and pee or wanted to walk around. Y/N rubbed her eyes as she looked towards the small basnet that was placed by her bed, to find it empty. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked around the room frantically to hear the sweet voice she had been waiting to hear.

“Looks like Mom is up,” Bob said, walking over to his wife. Y/N’s heart settled back down as she saw the small bundle of blankets in his arms. He hadn’t even change18d bbout of his flight suit and it looked like he hadn’t slept in hours, but Bob still looked amazing, “You were sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you but the second I saw her I knew that I-”

“It’s okay,” She said, her voice still gravely from screaming during labor, “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Bob said and sat down on her bed, “And you will never have to do that alone again, I promise.”

“Bob, I can’t ask you to give up what you love.”

“But I love this more,” Bob said, looking between his wife and his daughter.

“She looks like you,” Y/N said, “Those eyes are exactly like yours.” Bob smiled as his daughter opened her tired eyes, “She doesn’t have a name yet. I was waiting for you so we can name her.”

Bob studied his daughter. Names were something that the two of them had spent some time going back and forth on. Neither one was quite set on a certain name, agreeing that once they saw their child they would be able to know what their name should be. Bob ran his finger gently down her face as she yawned.

“Eleanor,” Bob said and looked at his wife, “Eleanor May Floyd.”

--- --- ---

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ohtobeleah · 1 year

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Chronos // Robert Bob Floyd

Summary: Bob told you that Chronos carried a sickle, that he used it to cut a hole, a tear in the cosmos between heaven and earth. Chronos did that to separate this world from the next, to separate the known from the unknown.

And while someone by the name of Pete Mitchell told you over the phone that your husband had been involved in a training accident….Well—you felt as if you'd fallen straight into it.

Warnings: Bob Floyd x Pregnant F!reader. F-18 accident. Medical inaccuracies. Birth. Bob Whump, ANGST. Major character death.

Word Count: 6.1k

Author Note: Today is Monday, for most of you it’s Sunday: Please enjoy this oneshot that’s been a work in progress since the 28th of March. ~ Last minute title name change. I’m posting this at 4am my time so blow this up.

First there was a storm of carbon and molten rock which begat granite and soil. Then, the land shook and it cracked and it rose till it spiked the sky. Forest grew and died and grew a hundred times again. And then people grew and died and grew and died a hundred times again. There were storms and seasons and fences and blood. Wonder and vengeance and a whole lot of regret….

And through every grievance, every war, the land and the sky didn't give two shits about any of it. Bob Floyd knew that as he and his front seater, Natasha Phoenix Trance, fell through the sky in a tin bird designed by man, for man to destroy other men….

That it wouldn't give two shits about them either.

“Extinguishing right engine!” There were far too many sounds coming from every system possible as Phoenix tried to regain control of the F-18 that seemed impossible to wrangle. All Bob could think about in those utterly terrifying moments was you.

He’d always made it a promise to come home to you. He knew how much you worried about him, how much the thought of being left behind ping ponged around in your brain. How sometimes you'd stay up all hours of the night hoping that wherever he was and whatever ocean he flew across that he was okay. That he was safe and that he;d come home to you.

Robert Floyd had made you a promise he had every intention of keeping, but he wasn't so sure he could.

“Phoenix, Bob! Punch out! Punch out!” Maverick shouted through the comms as he chased the rogue fighter jet down. Bob looked around at all the warnings flashing in his face, there was nothing left to save except themselves.

“Phoenix there’s warning lights everywhere, we’re in hydraulic failure!” All Bob prayed for in those terrifying moments as his colleagues watched on in pure shock horror from the ground below was that he’d get a chance to tell you he loved you again.

He always told you that he’d come home, that there wasn’t a chance in hell that he wouldn’t. You knew better than to believe Government Property though, Bob knew you knew that there was always a chance. So he promised in the event of his untimely demise that he’d come back to you and wiggle your earlobe. To let you know he made it safe and sound. That you need not worry about him anymore.

You promised him the same thing, because working from home was just as terrifying as flying a multimillion dollar fighter jet.

“I can’t control it!” But as the ground grew closer and closer, Bob knew he wasn’t ready to die, he wasn’t ready to leave you behind and he certainly wasn’t ready to not meet his unborn child.

“We’re going down, Phoenix! We’re going in! We’re going in!” He wasn’t ready to wiggle your ear.

“You can’t save it! eject, eject!” Maverick shouted again, he was watching on like he’d been sucked into some kind of timeloop. He’d seen this happen before. Only he lost his best friend when to this day he thought it should have been him.

“Eject! Eject! Eject!” Were the last three words Bob heard escape from Phoenix’s mouth before he was reaching between his legs to pull at the emergency yellow and black striped handle that sent him flying out of the cockpit. He’d been taught how to handle a situation like this, they all had. Every single naval aviator currently on active duty had been taught what to do when they needed to eject.

But when Bob's head hit the top of the cockpit? He didn’t care for procedures and protocol and what he should or shouldn’t have done in the moment, all he cared about was you and holding on to whatever consciousness he had left as he tumbled through the sky at a rapid pace. Reaching for his parachute in just the nic of time.

Knowing if he hit the ground where the land had shook and cracked and rose till it spiked the sky that it wouldn’t have given a shit. It wouldn’t have been all that forgiving and it certainly wouldn’t have mourned his untimely demise.

So Bob faught until he hit the ground with a not so graceful thud, he hit the ground hard—with an almighty groan as his ribs popped and his head throbbed inside his helmet.

“Ahhh!” He gasped as he clutched at his stomach, forgetting how to breathe as the darkness of tunnel vision claimed its next victim. Unconsciousness overcoming its latest casualty:

Bob Floyd.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Bob had asked you once when you were wrapped up in his arms in the dead of the night, listening to the storm raging on outside if you knew anything at all about a Greek God called Chronos. When you had chuckled out a soft no as his lips trailed up your neck and his slightly calloused hands roamed your body like they knew every inch, Bob told you that he carried a sickle, that he used it to cut a hole, a tear in the cosmos between heaven and earth. Chronos did that to separate this world from the next, to separate the known from the unknown.

And while someone by the name of Pete Mitchell told you over the phone that your husband had been involved in a training accident….

Well—you felt as if you'd fallen straight into it.

You felt like you'd fallen into the cosmic existence between now and soon to come, plummeting into a realm where time didn’t exist and light didn’t reach. You tumbled into a parallel dimension where nothing made sense, nothing seemed tangible or real. You descended into a world where Bob Floyd wasn’t around.

“Your husband was involved in an accident during a training exercise this afternoon—“.

At the sound of Pete Maverick Mitchell’s voice explaining that there had been an accident on base during an exercise—you begun to crack, you started slipping further and further into the unknown because Bob had always said he’d never leave and if he did you’d feel him tugging on your earlobe to let you know he got there safe and sound.

There was no one tugging on your earlobe though, no soul that had passed on or ghostly figure watching over you. What there was though, was a radiating warmth between your legs. A wetness that shouldn't have been there.

Had your water just broken?

“Oh—oh god.” You gasped as you looked down, gripping the side of the kitchen island as you groaned out a prolonged, primal moan. You were in labour there was no doubt about it. “Ahh.”

“Mrs Floyd? Are you alright?” The voice on the other end of the line asked with a confused undertone as you watched the seconds tick past on the ongoing call.

“I uh—“ You tried to speak, tried to make sense of what you were hearing, what you were experiencing. Pain in every aspect both physically, emotionally and mentally. “I think my water just broke.”

“Oh—“ Maverick couldn’t suppress his shock nor could he disguise his sudden state of disbelief. “Oh okay, I’ll uh—I'll have an ambulance come by right away.” You replied with a sharp groan. Doubling over as you felt how hard your stomach had truly become. This was happening, everything was happening all at once and you had lost focus in the pain of both worrying about the state your husband was currently in and the fact your baby was on their way. “Mrs Floyd, someone will be there very soon, I’m gonna stay on the line with you until they arrive.”

“I need Bob—“ You’d begun to cry as you kneeled on the kitchen floor before you decided that sitting up against the cabinet with your legs outstretched felt a hell of a lot more comfortable. “I need my husband, I can't do this without him.” You felt warm tears streaming down your cheeks as your bottom lip quivered and another painful contraction rippled through your body. Every fibre of your being ignited in a fireball. “Ahhh—I won’t do this without my husband!”

On the other side of the phone call that had taken a rather drastic turn, Mav looked to Phoenix who was being wheeled into the awaiting ambulance on the tarmac. Bob was next, Pete didn’t have the heart to tell the Weapons Systems Officer that had just escaped death that his wife, who he hadn’t mentioned to a soul beside Phoenix, that his wife’s water had just broken.

“Phoenix, hey—“ Pete stopped the medics briefly, they looked at Pete like he was risking her life by wasting valuable time. But this was just as important. “What’s Bob's wife’s name?” Pete wanted to know so he could be a little more personal.

The truth was Natasha didn’t even know, she’d seen the picture of you in Bob's wallet that he’d shown her, but Bob had only ever called you by your nickname. Bob's beloved term of endearment.

Peach.

“He’s only ever called her Peach, I don’t even know her name.” Phoenix cried. She was still trying to process what had happened—she felt like the blame was all her own to bear. She’d damn near killed her back seater and she didn’t even know his wife’s real name or that you were pregnant. “I nearly killed him and I don’t even know his wife’s name—“

“Hey hey hey.” Mav tried to soothe the clearly shocked pilot. “It wasn’t your fault, it could’ve happened to anyone, Phoenix.” Mav smiled softly as he held the phone back to his ear, he was still yet to call Phoenix's emergency contact, her sister Lily. It wasn’t inherently Mavericks' job to call the emergency contacts listed in Bob and Phoenix’s files, but it was his duty, his responsibility.

He was going to as soon as he’d informed you, however, Pete wasn’t expecting this call to take the turn it had. “Peach, you there?”

There was no answer, Simply whimpers. When you’d doubled over in pain in the kitchen you’d left your phone on the island bench top. It was far too out of reach now as you sat trying to breathe through the latest contraction that bodied you.

“Peach—“ Mav started, but as he did so saw the medics wheeling Bob closer and closer to the ambulance waiting on the tarmac. He couldn’t say anything, not when Bob was still fighting to stay conscious. “Mrs Floyd, someone will be there as soon as they can, I promise.”

“Bbboooooobb—!” You cried out. “I can’t do this!” It was all too much for you to handle, the immense pressure, the anxiety, the fear of losing your husband. “I can’t fucking do this!” You never thought in your wildest dreams you’d have to do this alone. Bob always said he’d be right with you every single step of the way. And up until right now he had been.

“Someone’s coming Peach.” Maverick knew you couldn’t hear him, but he couldn’t bring himself to put the phone down. He looked at Bob being wheeled into the back of the ambulance on a stretcher, wondering if his decision to not say anything as of right now was a bad decision. He seemed to always be full of those.

“Someone’s coming—“

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

By the time Bob was brought back to the North Island Base Hospital, he was very aware that someone would need to call his emergency contact about what had happened. Someone was going to need to call you, he thought it would be best if he was the one who called.

With a throbbing headache and a few cuts and gashes, Bob let the nurses and doctors tend to his aid without much of a fight. He knew he needed the care, knew it was for the best if he just let everyone do their jobs. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon and if he put up a fight they would only keep him admitted for longer.

“You got a partner Robert? A wife or husband that we need to call?” Doctor Austin asked as he shined a light into Bob's eyes, watching carefully as he followed the light side to side.

“I have a wife–” Bob mumbled, his head hurt from when he’d hit the ground not so gracefully but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle as he sat up on the hospital bed with his legs hanging off the side. Phoenix was laying with an ice pack over her eyes on the other bed. “She’s um, she's pregnant, could go any day now.” Doctor Austin chuckled as he clicked his pen light off and placed it into his top pocket. Sending Bob an all knowing look.

“And you thought it was a good idea to fall outta the sky?” Bob's ribs hurt when he laughed softly, cupping at his side as he did so, laughing with the doctor who had cleared him and Natasha of any serious injury. “My good man, I can't say that's a good mix.” But there were still observations that needed to be made and a few more tests just to be sure. He wasn't out of the woods.

“Yeah I think you might be right doc—“ Bob smiled softly. “But can I be the one to call her? She’ll probably take the news a little better if she heard it from me.”

“I’ll see what I can do Lieutenant.” Doctor Austin nodded as he picked up his charts and headed out of the room, leaving Phoenix and Bob in the heavy silence of the aftermath of their near death experience.

“What’s her name?” Phoenix mumbled from behind the ice pack she kept over her eyes.

“Y/n—“ Bob replied softly as he played with the wedding band that was strung through his dog tags. “We’ve been together since high school.”

“Why do you call her Peach?”

“Because she’s as sweet as the peaches from the orchard my grandma used to own.” Bob couldn’t stop himself from bashfully blushing, a hume all consuming crept across the apples of his cheeks whenever he spoke about you. “We’re about to have a baby, the detachment was meant to be my last before I could access my paternity leave entitlements.”

“Rough last assignment—“ Phoenix chuckled as she shook her head in disbelief. Bob agreed silently, it was a rough last assignment. “You don’t talk about her an awful lot do you?”

“I would—“ Bob pressed his lips together. “Just no one really asked.” It was then that Phoenix realised that she didn’t know an awful lot about the man who had gone down with her. The man who sat behind her and had her back in the sky. Her WSO. “And I guess we’re not here for all that long anyway so I just kept her to myself, she’s a nice reminder that even after the rough days we’ve been having I get to go home, safe and in one piece to the woman I love.”

“Do you guys know what your having?” Phoenix didn't mean to pry, but she felt an overwhelming pressure to get to know the person she had been flying with since being requested for this detachment. Bob shook his head in response.

“Nah, we wanted to keep it a surprise.” Just as Bob was finishing his sentences Doctor Austin returned, his face looked all kinds of pale and worry was written in the deep lines across his forehead.

“Lieutenant Floyd it looks as if your wife was just admitted into the maternity ward—“ Bob's heart stopped beating inside his chest as he listened to Doctor Austin. “It appears that she was contacted earlier about your accident and the shock sent her into labour—“

“I uh—I need to see her.” Bob mumbled as he slid off the exam bed and nearly fell to the floor. His knees were so weak from the shock and adrenaline from the accident and now the realisation that he was about to be a first time dad. “I need to see my wife, where is she?”

“Lieutenant, I know this must be a stressful situation for you but I really advise against leaving until we’ve finished with your own test. We still need to get you in for—“

“I won’t miss the birth of my baby.” Bob shook his head in defiance. “No, I won’t leave her to do that alone, she needs me—I know she does because I know how scared she is about doing this alone.”

“Robert—“

“No no you have to listen to me. I can't let her do this alone because I’ve heard her cry about it in the middle of the night.” Phoenix's heart shattered into a million pieces as she watched Bob plead with the doctor and the nurses that had come in to try and subdue him. “She’s scared I won’t come back one day and today was almost that day and now she’s giving birth to our baby alone after I promised I’d be here for her—“

“We can’t let you go, it would be against all my medical advice.” Doctor Austin tried to explain. “I understand the difficulty of the situation Mr Floyd but your health and wellbeing is our number one priority.”

“But you have to let me!! That’s my wife! She needs me! Please—“ You needed your husband, things weren’t travelling all that well in the delivery room. You weren’t ready to have this baby—not if Bob wasn’t there with you. Not if Bob had left you behind, he was too young to die. He couldn’t leave you here by yourself to raise a baby, his baby, on your own. He promised he wouldn’t.

“Mrs Floyd, you are going to have this baby.”

“Aahhhhhh! I’m not doing this without my husband!” You groaned out. You were covered in sweat and crying your heart out as one of the labour and delivery nurses held your hand and placed a cool washcloth to your forehead. “I won’t have this baby without him, do you understand me!”

“Someone needs to contact her husband—“ Everyone from the King of England to the Hounds of Hell could hear you screaming. It had been a rather quiet day for the L&D department. Until the ambulance had brought you in.

“We can’t reach him, but I’ll try again.” One of the intern labour and delivery nurses replied as she rushed out of the room, she sprinted towards the nurses station in a hurry. So fast she almost went straight past it, she came to a halt with a flustered sigh.“I need you to try contacting Mr Floyd again, his wife won’t cooperate—she’s refusing to give birth to this baby without him.”

“She knows how having a baby works doesn’t she?” One of the older nurses sitting at the desk rolled her eyes. “That baby, no matter the circumstances, isn’t going to wait for anyone.”

“I’ll let the L&D ward know you’re here as a patient but that’s the best I can do at this stage Lieutenant, I can’t in good conscience let you leave this ward without having run through all the proper medical procedures to make sure you’re fit to return to work.” Doctor Austin wasn’t trying to be the bay guy, if anything he wanted nothing more than to send Bob on his way—but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing he didn’t do his job to the best of his ability. “My primary priority is you and Miss Trance here.”

“You don’t understand!” Bob ran his hands through his hair as his bottom lip quivered. He was holding back tears as he looked up to the ceiling—begging whatever God up there that saved him this morning to work just a little more magic. “She won’t have this baby without me, that was the deal—I needed to be there and now that I’m not—“

“She can’t not have the baby Robert.” Doctor Austin sighed, that was the moment Bob knew he needed out. He needed to get to you, he needed to be there by your side and whisper how beautiful and strong and amazing you are for being a whole person into this world. Because if there was one thing you were, it was strong willed, and you weren't going to have this baby without him. That was a promise. “I’ll go talk with L&D and I’ll be right back.”

“Tell my wife I’m here!” Bob shouted as Doctor Austin left the room, Bob felt like he couldn’t breathe. There was a pressure mounting inside his chest, like an elephant was perched upon his chest. “I’m—I’m here.” He broke. Tears streamed down his grazed cheeks as Phoenix hobbled over. She’d done a little damage to herself but nothing a little rest and recovery couldn’t fix.

They were lucky—oh so lucky.

“She's gonna be okay.” Natasha tried her best to comfort the Weapons System Officer she hardly knew, but Bob was long gone. He’d fallen deep into that hole, the one that the Greek God Chronos had created to separate this life from the next one. He was falling through a helpless paradox of anxiety and fear. You were about to give birth and he was going to miss it. As he crouched down as a whale of pain escaped his parted lips, Bob wished for nothing more than to reverse time.

Because if he could just simply reserve time then he wouldn’t have gone into work this morning. And none of this would be happening.

***~***~***~****~***~****~****~***

“Desmond, she’s not doing well, at all.” Lily, one of your delivery nurses, pleaded with Bob's doctor to just let him come to your aid. “She thinks he’s dead, something about an accident he was in this morning.”

“F-18 ejection, he hit the ground pretty hard.” Doctors Austin looked in at you on the bed, in the middle of active labour, fighting every urge you had to push. You weren’t having this baby, not without Bob, the love of your life, your best friend, your husband. “He’s fine, but he’s in for observation overnight and I’m still waiting for his result to come back from his MRI.”

“If she doesn’t see her husband soon she’s going to need an emergency c-section and I for one am not about to place a panicked mother to be under the knife unless it’s critical.” Lily was your voice of reason. You couldn’t plead with Doctor Austin to let your husband go yourself so she did it for you. “If your patient can walk, hold his wife’s hand while she delivers their child and can sign a waiver saying he waved all medical advice then send him down here before she loses this baby.”

“You L&D ladies think you know everything—“

“Just bring me her damn husband before it’s too late.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

Bob felt like he’d been condemned to some eternal hell, time froze as the walls of the hospital room he sat in with Phoenix grew closer and closer. He felt claustrophobic for the first time in a long time.

“How did the two of you meet?” Phoenix tried to keep Bob's mind from going to places too dark to fathom. He needed a distraction from the fact he was here with her and you were delivering his child. All alone.

“I was never good at history, she was my partner for this assessment we had in ancient history class once, everyone was doing their research on Pompeii but not Peach.” Bob chuckled to himself at the memory. “No she wanted to do Herculaneum and it turned out to be the only project I ever got an A on for that class.” You were just it for Bob. There was something special about your aura. Your ability to draw him close like a moth entranced by a flame. You took his breath away every time you told him you loved him.

Your love sent Bob's heart clear out of this world.

“We kinda just never left each other's side since then.” Bob explained as he sat against the wall on the floor with his elbows on his knees. “She’s always been so supportive of what I do even though I know it scares her more than anything to see me walk out that door every morning and she worries endlessly whenever I’m deployed.”

“Becoming she loves you.” Phoenix wished she knew a love like Bobs, but her time hadn’t come yet. Bob nodded along as he twirled his wedding band around his finger as it hung from his dog tags.

“Because she loves me.”

“Floyd—“ Doctor Austin made his presence known as he chucked Bob a blue hospital gown and cap. “Put those on, sign this form that says you're going against my professional medical advice and follow me, you’re needed in labour and delivery.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Push! Y/n dear you need to push—!” Lily tried to persuade you to push when your next contraction hit but you were too far gone. You weren’t ready to be a mother, not without Bob there to be a father.

“No! No, I'm not having this baby!” It was the hardest thing to hear as Bob came racing down the hall, his entire body ached from bruises, his head felt heavy on his shoulders from his concussion. But he was okay, he was alive. “I’m not! I won’t! I can’t do this without him!” You cried out in pain as you fought the urge to push, you swore your teeth were about to crush under the force of you clenching. A scream so heartbreaking and primal ripped through you as your body began to betray you. You were fighting nature's course and it wasn’t going well.

“She needs to push—she’s losing too much blood.” One of the nurses stated as a matter of factly just as Bob made it to the door. He froze at the sight of you, how could you look so beautiful in so much pain? He thought he was going to pass out as he took steady, slow steps into the room.

“I’m here—“ Bob cooed as he came up to your beside. “I’m here Peach I’m here.”

“Bob?” You turned in a delirious state to where your husband's voice had come from. “No no I thought you—“

“I’m okay.” He smiled as he bent over to kiss your forehead and splay his hand on top of your head to push your hair away from your face. “I’m here, I told you I’d be here didn’t I?”

“I thought you died, I thought you were in an accident?” You could barely focus, you felt so light headed that the world felt like it was spinning. “I thought—“

“Hey, hey you need to push alright? You can push now baby because I’m here and I’m with you and I’m fine.” Bob reassured you as you sobbed and nodded as he kissed your lips softly and held your hand. “You’re so strong, you’re so brave, and I love you so much, please push mama.”

“This baby is coming whether you're ready or not Mrs Floyd so I’m gonna need you to focus so we can get this baby out.” Lily rounded the bed as she positioned herself between your legs. Bob felt you tighten your grip around his head and everything stopped. Time stood still, your screams were all but drowned out by the excitement and fear in Bob's heart.

“Yes, Y/n good job. I can see bubs head you’re doing so well! Oh your next contraction I need you to push until I tell you to stop.” Lily smiled as you let your head fall back against the bed.

“You’ve been telling me to push and now you don’t want me to push!?” You hissed. Bob couldn’t help but to chuckle. He was so amazed by your strength.

“Yep, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.” Lily chuckled. She knew you were close, barreling towards another contraction. She could see it. “Alright this is the one mama, big push for me and bubs will be here in no time.”

“Bob! It hurts! Make it stop!” You cried out, Bob wished he could take all your pain and experience it himself. He never wanted to see you in such a state, but your baby was coming, the baby you’d made together. You’d created together late one night or in the early hours of the morning he wasn’t too sure. But what he was sure of was that you could do this. “It hurts!!”

“Push Mrs Floyd!” Lily shouted.

“Come on peach push! push!” Bob willed you on as you did. You shouted and cried and squeezed your husband’s hand so hard he thought you were about to break his damn hand. But this was it. Your baby was coming.

“Okay okay the heads out stop!” Lily guided you as you let your head fall back against the bed in pure exhaustion. You were dehydrated, covered in sweat and ready to give up. “So I lied before, you’re gonna give me one smaller push to help bubs out Y/n and that it’s—you're done.”

“I can’t.”

“No peach you can.” Bob cooed. “You can because you’ve come this far.”

“I’m not even sure if you're here or not.” You sobbed as you reached out to caress Bob's cheek. “I’m not even sure if you're here with me or if I’m seeing things.”

“I’m here, I’m real.” Bob whispered in your ear. “And we’re having our baby Peach, just one more little push and it’s gonna be you and me and our little one against the world.” You nodded softly and you shut your eyes and groaned. “You can do it.”

“Alright let’s have this baby! One more small push!” Lily announced as another contraction tour through your exhausted body.

“Ahhhhhh!!” You shouted and Bob swore you bust his eardrum, but it was a small sacrifice as the cries of the world’s newest human echoed off the walls.

“Congratulations Mr and Mrs Floyd you have a little baby girl.” Lily handed you your daughter the second she was born. Placing her on your chest within seconds of her arrival.

“Oh Peach, she's so beautiful.” Bob cried as tears streamed down his cheeks. He swore he’d never be able to love someone more than he loved you. But as you held your newborn daughter on your chest he kinda thought he’d been wrong. He could love someone just as much as he loved you. Your daughter.

“She's perfect, hi b-baby.” Your voice was all but a whisper as your head lulled to the side. You felt dizzy, lightheaded as your daughters cried softened. “I love you.”

“Y/n? Sweetheart are you alright?” You didn’t reply but you looked up at your husband with a dazed expression, a tunnel had begun to form, edges of a dark black hole crept its way into your mind.

Chronos hole—the one between this world and the next.

“Peach?” Alarms rang out as Lily removed your crying newborn just minutes earth side from your chest as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. “No no no no what’s wrong what’s happening to her?” Bob asked as he tapped your cheek softly. “Hey, Peach, no stay with me, stay with me.”

“Her blood pressure is dropping, she’s haemorrhaging.” Lily explained as she and a bunch of other nurses worked around you. “We need to get her into surgery, Mr Floyd.”

“Sir, step back—“ An older nurse asked as she placed a hand on Bob's shoulder. He did as he watched Lily take a sample of your blood.

“I’ll head directly to the lab to drop off the sample.”

“Just make sure her surgeon has o-negative on the ready.” The only nurse replied as Bob stood there, watching as they wheeled you out on the same bed you'd just given birth in. He didn't even get a chance to say goodbye, he didn't get a chance to tell you how much he loved you.

“Uh, do I go with her or?” Bob didn’t know what to do, his whole world had been turned upside down and on its head already today, and again it had just flipped once more. There was one nurse left, he didn’t know her name, but she smiled politely at him.

“No, you should stay here with your daughter, she needs her daddy now.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

And through every grievance, every war, the land and the sky didn't give two shits about any of it. Bob Floyd knew that as he sat with his newborn daughter in the maternity room of the Miramar Base Hospital designed by man, for man to help other men with westernised medical procedures and treatments…

That it wouldn't give two shits about you either.

“Hey..” A gruff voice came from the doorway, it took Bob all his light and all his remaining energy to look up from his daughter. The light and life of you. “I uh, I just thought I’d come check in on you and Phoenix.” Mav crossed his arms over his chest as he moved into the room. “How’s your wife doing?”

“I don’t know.” Bob explained as he rocked his little girl, skin to skin was important so he’d stripped off what he could. “She’s still in surgery.” Pete could see the worry written in the lines of Bob's face. But the little girl who cried against his shoulder had him mesmerised. “Sorry darlin, I got you, daddy’s here.”

“She’s a little beauty isn’t she?” Mav sat down beside the WSO who’d had a longer day then most. “You get a chance to name her yet? Before—?” Mav didn’t have to say before you went into shock. Your body had been through a lot and the nurses believed if you hadn’t held on so long, held back against what your body was telling you it needed to do then there was a possibility that it could have been a rather smooth delivery. Bob took that personally, the only reason you were holding back was because he wasn't here for you when you needed him the most.

“No, but we’ll name her after, for now she’s baby Peach.”

“Your wife’s nickname.” Mav replied softly as he looked up. He knew then and there what was about to happen.

Bob knew there was a Doctor standing in the doorway. He didn’t dare look up. He knew if he looked up he’d be told the worst news of his life.

Bob remembered that had asked you once when you were wrapped up in his arms in the dead of the night, listening to the storm raging on outside if you knew anything at all about a Greek God called Chronos. He remembered that you had chuckled out a soft no as he trailed his lips up your neck. Bob told you that he carried a sickle, that he used it to cut a hole, a tear in the cosmos between heaven and earth. Chronos did that to separate this world from the next, to separate the known from the unknown.

And while a Doctor by the name of Henry Nardella told him that you didn’t make it through the surgery, that you'd left him and your daughter behind, in a world where nothing made sense without you in it.

Well—Robert Floyd felt as if he’d fallen straight into it.

“No, please don't leave me here.” Bob felt like he’d fallen into the cosmic existence between now and soon to come, plummeting into a realm where time didn’t exist and light didn’t reach. He felt like he had tumbled into a parallel dimension where nothing made sense, nothing seemed tangible or real. He’d descended into a world where you weren't around. “No Peach, no.”

But at the touch of his earlobe, a slight pressure formed at the lobe. So warm and comforting. Bob knew as your baby girl settled in against his chest at the lub dub of his heart beating for you–he knew you were safe on the other side.

Because you had tugged on his earlobe, just like you promised you would.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob top gun #bob floyd fic #bob x reader #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #robert 'bob' floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd angst

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jupitercomet · 7 months

Text

20 Questions: In Three Parts

summary - You should have known to question when Bob suddenly appeared in your bakery and made his place in your life—but, in your defense, his smile was so charming! Five dates in and he’s already swept you off your feet completely with his thoughtful nature and kind heart. But the question still remains: what do you actually know about him? And why does he always come back to you covered in bruises?

warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, language, Bob is 6′5″ because I said so, no use of y/n, I added outfit links but you can imagine whatever you would like

this series is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 4.5k

sweeter than sugar masterlist

“Okay, 20 questions.”

Bob raises his brows slightly. “20 questions?”

“Yeah,” you grin at him from over the counter. “20 questions.”

You didn’t exactly know what your relationship with Bob was. After your impromptu lunch, he started stopping by Sugar Plum more regularly. Then that turned to him staying until closing. Then after closing—Eloise was there too at first, but when you both deemed Bob to be an, at least, normal guy, she started giving you privacy. She certainly doesn’t mind going home an hour early either. Now he chats with you until everything is cleaned and put away—he offered to help, but you have a system—and then walks you to your car.

Bob looks at you before he lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Yeah, alright. Are you starting or am I?”

“I can start.” You tell him over your shoulder. “And that counts as one of your questions, by the way.” You add.

“I don’t think that’s entirely fair,” Bob chuckles.

You ignore him coyly. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

“Probably New York, just to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.” Bob says after a moment.

“You like art?” You pause from wiping down the countertop.

Bob’s lip twitches into a small smile. “I do. And that counts as one of your questions. What made you know you wanted to be a baker?”

“I don’t know, it was something I did for fun growing up. I used to sit my family down and force them to eat whatever crime against chemistry I concocted. But when I got good at it, and realized I could make a career out of it, I just kinda did,” you shrug, a bashful smile playing on your lips. “What about you? What do you do for work?”

“Would you still like me if I told you I was unemployed?”

You laugh. “I know you’re not unemployed, Bob.”

“How do you know that?” Bob makes a slight face.

“Men who are unemployed don’t usually leave repeated 20% tips.”

The tips of Bob’s ears pinken. “Right well, I don’t know, I don’t really have a job. I… work at a gym, but I pick up odd jobs all over the place too.”

“That’s cool,” and you mean it, but you can also tell Bob is slightly embarrassed and he definitely shouldn’t be. “What do you do at the gym?”

He looks down and you think it’s rather sweet how shy he seems. “I’m a boxing instructor. Give lessons and all that.”

“Do you get a lot of boxers?” Your eyebrows raise. You’d heard rumors from Eloise when you first moved to San Diego. How there’s some elaborate underground boxing ring that connects all throughout the city. You’re not sure you believe it—it seems a little far fetched—but maybe there’s some validity to the fact that, at the very least, the sport is popular.

Bob lets out a hollow sounding chuckle. “You’d be surprised.”

“I’m sure I would be. The only thing I punch is, like, stubborn dough,” you wrinkle your nose after a moment, freezing behind the counter. “That was a terrible joke actually, I’m sorry.”

Bob lets out a genuine chuckle this time, his head dropping as he bites back a smile, looking up at you through his lashes. “You ever tried standup, sweet pea?”

“No,” you stick your tongue out at him. “And that’s question number three.”

Bob holds his hands up in mock surrender, and though it hardly graces his lips, there’s a smile in his eyes as he watches you finish up the last of your cleaning. You seem somewhat deep in thought as you reach behind yourself to tug on the ties of your apron. The canvas strings catch and Bob stands as you fiddle with them.

“Want help?”

You nod gratefully, moving out from behind the counter so he can reach you. It’s quiet as he untangles the ties and you keep your gaze trained on your shoes because you really don’t want Bob to see how the feeling of his breath on the back of your neck is affecting you.

“There.” His hands drop and the untied apron now opens around your body. “Think it’s your turn to ask a question, sweet pea.”

You take off your apron with a shaky breath, gathering all your courage before you turn to face Bob again. You like hanging out with him and the way he just goes along with whatever antics you put him through. What other grown man entertains the idea of playing 20 questions? You like hanging out with him and you want to do it more. “Do you think you could, um, teach me… boxing? That’s— That’s my question.”

“I don’t know if—”

“I was planning on starting it anyway!” That’s definitely a lie but there’s no way you’d ever tell Bob that. “It seemed like good exercise and one of my friends has been raving about it. But I’d feel better if I knew the instructor.”

Bob swallows, looking at you with an unreadable expression before he finally nods slowly. “I guess I could— Yeah sure, I’ll, um, I’ll teach you. Does Wednesday afternoon work?”

“Yeah, that works,” you nod excitedly, turning away to turn off the kitchen lights—as well as hide your giddy expression. “That was another question, by the way. Now we’re even.”

“Well, someone’s home late,” Mickey lets out a low whistle as Bob closes the door to his apartment, his legs kicked up on the coffee table as he lounges on the couch.

“You know you don’t live here, right?”

Mickey looks up in mock offense, powdered sugar sticking to the corner of his lips. “Is that anyway to treat your best friend? Since childhood?”

“How is reminding you that you have your own apartment—” Bob stops, looking at the open—and very empty—purple box with white cursive font on it. “Did you eat my donuts?”

Mickey’s eyes flick flatly down to the identical box in Bob’s hands before going back up to his face. Sheepishly, Bob looks away, not wanting his best friend to catch on to the pink blush that is dusting his cheeks.

“Clearly, I did you a favor. Don’t think your trainer’s gonna be too happy that you’re stuffing yourself full of sugar,” Mickey licks some of the powdered sugar off his lips, before making himself comfortable again.

Bob’s blush deepens. “It’s not that much.”

“Sure. Is she cute at least?” Mickey wipes his index finger on the sugar covered parchment paper in the box, popping it in his mouth with a satisfied hum.

“Who?”

“The girl you’re trying to impress by buying all this shit.” Bob opens his mouth to protest, but Mickey scoffs, “Don’t even try to act like you’re not. You did the same thing in middle school when you had a crush on Mindy Carverse.”

“No, I didn’t,” Bob calls over his shoulder, moving to the kitchen to put down the box of treats from Sugar Plum you insisted he take home with him—and to escape Mickey’s pestering.

“You forced me to join the mathletes with you because she was the captain. We were both in the lowest level math class, Bob!”

“Okay, well that— These are entirely different situations,” Bob argues back, peering through the wall cutout of his kitchen at the back of Mickey’s head. “She just makes really good desserts.”

Mickey jumps up, whirling around and pointing an accusing, powdered sugar covered finger at him. “Aha! So there is a girl, I knew it! Has Bobby boy found himself a girlfriend?”

“Would you stop it? You’re worse than my mom,” Bob groans, tossing an oven mitt at Mickey in retaliation.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with Sarah wanting her baby Bo to find a nice girl and settle down,” Mickey dodges the oven mitt easily and Bob huffs out a low scoff as it flops and then skids off the coffee table. “But you, sir, are avoiding the question. Who is she? When’d ya meet her? Does she like you? Have you kiss—”

This time he doesn’t dodge the second oven mitt that hits him in the face.

“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just— She’s just nice, alright?” Bob looks down at the swirly font of “Sugar Plum Bakery”, stark white against lilac purple, with a small smile. “She’s sweet.”

Mickey’s smile grows and he hurries around the couch to join Bob in the kitchen. “Oh, so you like like her then? You gonna ask her out?”

“No,” Bob deflates at the reminder, walking out of the kitchen to toss the empty box of treats Mickey finished before it starts attracting ants.

“What?” Mickey follows after him, brows furrowed. “Why?”

Bob sighs.

Guilt had been bubbling in his stomach since he’d agreed to see you again Wednesday, eating away at his stomach lining with every bitter reminder. He lied. He lied. He lied. Good people don’t lie, Bob knows that. He doesn’t need some children's book to tell him that, some rabbits or otters, he knows he shouldn’t lie.

But if Bob doesn’t lie, he admits he’s a bad person. If he doesn’t lie, he has to look you in the eyes—those same eyes that light up when you ramble about something you like, that hide behind your cheeks when you smile, that look at him so softly—and tell you that he beats the ever living shit out of people for a living. And good people don’t do that.

So he didn’t tell you that. He lied. He lied. He lied. And Bob told himself that he should leave you alone, that you don’t deserve to be with someone like him. That you don’t deserve to be with someone who covers his every mistake with reusable shopping bags and recycling bins—like cheap band-aids on a bullet hole.

Bob tells himself to leave you alone. But he can never seem to follow it. Instead he comes back, and keeps coming back, and asks you to share cupcakes with him, and agrees to teach you how to box. Because, even though he tells himself he doesn’t deserve you, it does nothing to outweigh the fact that he wants you anyway.

So Bob can’t ask you out—he can’t ask you to stay. Because, if he does, Bob knows he’ll do everything in his power to make sure you never leave. And you deserve more than reusable shopping bags and recycling bins. You deserve more than a liar.

Mickey’s lips suddenly part in understanding. “She doesn’t know.”

Bob swallows, looking down at the empty purple box with white cursive font in his hands.

“She doesn’t know,” he repeats.

You’re already waiting outside when Bob finally makes it to Maverick’s on Wednesday afternoon. The two of you had been texting back and forth in anticipation—which resulted in you sending him a very cute photo of you pretending to box pastry dough that he has since made your contact picture. But even with all of that, he feels slightly sick seeing you standing in front of white painted bricks of Maverick’s Gym and Boxing.

“Hi!” You wave excitedly as Bob gets closer, waiting until he’s standing in front of you to speak again. “You ready, coach?”

That puts a small smile on his face and he shakes his head as he opens the door for you both. “Coach?” He questions simply.

“Yeah, you’re coaching me, aren’t you? Like Rocky.”

Bob gives the girl at the front desk a small nod of acknowledgement. She knows him—most people at Maverick’s do—and only seems mildly surprised to see you walking in next to him. Bob doesn’t usually bring people here, even Mickey’s only seen the inside of Maverick’s a couple times.

“Is that the only boxing movie you know?” Bob teases lightly, your excitement making it marginally harder for him to feel uneasy about bringing you here.

“For your information, I saw the trailer for the new Creed movie, I just never got around to watching it. But there’s another franchise,” you put your hands on your hips as Bob turns around to grab some clean wraps and gloves for you. “And that definitely counts as another question for you.”

His eyebrows raise slightly and he cranes his neck over his shoulder to look at you. “We’re still playin’?”

“We haven’t gotten to 20 questions yet. We both only got to five— Well, now I’m at five. You’re at six.”

“Alright then, we’ll keep playing. Give me your hands please.” You hold your hands out for Bob to wrap them, watching with bated breath as his calloused fingers brush against your skin. “Gotta keep your hands protected, sweet pea. They got work to do decorating pretty cakes.”

You grin as Bob slides a glove onto one of your hands, before deciding it’s not the right size and taking it off. “They’re also very sick of decorating pretty cakes. I had to make, like, three wedding cakes in the past seven days.”

Bob finally finds a pair of gloves he’s happy with, sliding them on your hands and securing them with the velcro strap carefully.

“Decorating pretty cupcakes, then.” He gives you a small smile.

He pulls away once the gloves are secure, putting a step of space between you as he straightens to his full size. He’s not wearing his ball cap today and he runs a hand through his hair to keep it out of his face, soft looking strands peeking out under his ears. Bob crosses his arms, his biceps bulging enough to test the resilience of his t-shirt sleeves. You swallow thickly. Maybe Eloise had been on to something when she called him God’s gift to women.

“Alright then, let’s see your stance, sweet pea.”

You blink, pulling yourself from the trance of Bob’s biceps and meeting his eye. “My— My what?”

“Your stance,” Bob repeats. “Let’s say you’re trying to punch me, how would you start?”

“Like this?…” You trail off unsurely, attempting to keep your feet in line with your hips because that’s what most workout YouTube videos always said and you were hoping it would also be applicable here.

You feel a little silly, you realize, and not the least bit intimidating. Part of you wishes you’d just asked Bob out like you wanted to, instead of using his job as a pretense to hangout with him. When another tall, large man starts approaching from behind Bob, you drop the stance in mild embarrassment, like you’ve been caught trying something you shouldn’t, and Bob’s brows furrow.

“Hey Reaper, you lookin’ to—” When the man’s focus lands on you, having not been able to see you behind Bob’s towering frame, his eyes widen slightly. “Oh shit, my bad. Didn’t know you had a girl with ya, Reaper.”

Bob freezes, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, um, maybe another time, Brigham.”

The man nods in understanding, throwing you a polite wave as he leaves. “For sure, man. Sorry for interrupting.”

You wait for him to walk away, nose scrunched in confusion. Bob seems to be acting like the whole event never happened, moving through his routine like it was never interrupted. It throws you a bit because, to you, that man seemed perfectly normal. But Bob’s almost putting up an act of normalcy. “Why does he call you that?”

“Why does he call me what?” Bob returns the question, not facing you as he grabs two strike pads.

“Reaper.”

He stills, a pad halfway on his hand and he keeps his gaze stubbornly trained on it. You almost feel like you’ve ventured into territory that you shouldn’t until he finally speaks.“I… I love spicy food. It’s Reaper like a Carolina Reaper.”

“Oh,” you nod and Bob finishes putting on the strike pads. “That’s cool! I guess that probably counts as my question too, huh?”

Bob swallows, not quite meeting your eye as he nods. “Yeah, um, you ready to start?” You grin at his question and it seems like Bob can’t help the small smile that fights its way onto his lips. “I’m never gonna learn anything about you if you keep counting these as questions, sweet pea.”

“That’s a shame. You’ll just have to get better at asking questions then,” you shrug and then look down in baffled surprise when the weight of your hands snapped your arms straight back to your sides. Boxing gloves are heavy.

Bob lets out a loud, honest laugh at your expression. It’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh, you realize. Maybe the first time anyone has heard him laugh if the startled reactions of people around you are anything to go by. But you look up and Bob’s eyes are squeezed shut, his face all crows feet and smile lines, and he laughs.

You want to make him laugh all the time.

“Sorry,” he quiets down to soft chuckles, looking at you endearingly as his mouth returns to its usual small smile. “Sorry, that was just— I’ve never seen anyone make that face before.”

“It’s okay. I like when you laugh.”

Like some kind of fucked up Freudian slip, your mouth doesn’t stop when it’s supposed to, instead choosing to spill out the thought that’s been orbiting your mind for the past minute or so. The words hang in the air—your mouth choosing now to finally close, your teeth hitting each other audibly—and you almost wish you could punch them instead of Bob’s strike pads.

Bob’s bright pink from cheeks, to ears, to neck and he looks down. “Thank you… I, um, I also like when you laugh.”

“Oh.” Most of your mortification washes away as Bob smiles at you bashfully and you can’t stop the butterflies that are fluttering in your stomach. “Thanks.”

It’s quiet and you look down at your boxing gloves as you try to beg the butterflies inside you to go back to their caterpillar state so that you can calm down. Bob doesn’t seem to be faring much better, turning his neck to peer out one of the many windows in Maverick’s—a blush still very evident on his face.

“What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?” You blurt.

Bob turns back to look at you quickly. “Sorry?”

“For 20 questions.” You elaborate. “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Oh, right,” Bob looks up for a moment to think. “Probably cookie dough, I think.” He holds the strike pads up suddenly and you cringe internally at the reminder of what you’ve agreed to do just to spend time with this man. “Sorry, you came here for a lesson. We can—”

Your eyes widen slightly and you try to prolong the inevitable. “It’s your turn to ask a question,” you interrupt hastily.

Bob drops his hands, looking at you thoughtfully and not saying a word. You wonder if he’s finally caught on to how desperate you’re acting. You’d hyped yourself up this morning and everything! And yet you are still acting like an idiot.

Bob swallows, lets out a breath, and then meets your eye. “Would you like to get dinner sometime?”

What Bob Floyd wants to do and what he knows he should do are two very different things, and it was in meeting you that Bob realized he is far more inclined to do what he wants. Because he told Mickey that he wouldn’t ask you out, that you’re too good for him, that he would leave you alone. And here he is waiting outside a restaurant you suggested, wearing a nice button up and slacks like he’s some sort of Mav clone after having spent a little over half an hour slicking back his hair and gathering his nerves.

Which is entirely the opposite of leaving you alone.

Briefly, he wonders if he should go. Act like a dick in that regard and make it so you don’t want him around you anymore. Leave you waiting for him at a restaurant wondering if Bob Floyd is really the good person you thought he was. But he can’t stomach the thought for more than a second. Because he doesn’t deserve you, he knows that, but you're both well past that now so there’s not much he can do about it. The least he could do is try.

“Oh gosh, sorry! I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

Bob turns around at the sound of your voice, mouth opening to assure you that he really hasn’t been waiting that long. But his eyes land on you and suddenly words escape him. You’re so pretty.

“Fuck, I should have brought flowers.” He takes in your dress, and then his words, and then cringes. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t curse on a date.”

You laugh, looking up at him with a smile Bob thinks is far too large for him to be on the receiving end of. “It’s okay. And, um, next time we can both get each other flowers.”

Bob moves to open the door for you, which he knows he should do, so he can distract himself from the sudden urge he has to kiss you, which he really wants to do. You follow after him, sliding off your jacket as you enter the dimly lit restaurant. Bob hasn’t been here before and it seems you haven’t either, as you look a little disoriented searching for the hostess.

“Sorry, I’ve never actually eaten here,” you explain after the hostess makes her way to the both of you and seats you at a table. “I’ve just always wanted to check it out and their reviews say they have really good spicy food, so I thought you might like it.”

Bob has never been more grateful that growing up with Mickey Garcia meant being force fed every pepper in existence under the pretense of double-dog dares and weekly allowances. Because of that, he’s built up a fairly high spice tolerance to match the lie he told you at Maverick’s. Again, Bob’s stomach twists at the reminder.

“But anyway,” you wave off, pulling Bob’s attention away from his inner turmoil and onto you. “I’ve been thinking about what questions to ask you and I think I got the most important ones.”

“Alright, hit me.” Bob nods, rubbing the tips of his fingers together nervously under the table.

You make a sour face suddenly. “Don’t even use that as an expression around me, my arms are still sore from Wednesday.”

Bob chuckles, ducking his head down to hide his smile as you rub out your arms with a slight pout. “I’ll let you borrow a massage gun.”

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me.” You narrow your eyes teasingly. “But you should know that I box now and my trainer is really good, so I know how to kick your ass.”

Bob smiles and he realizes he likes the sound of being your trainer—well, he likes the sound of being your anything. And he knows that isn’t a thought he should be having, not with how much he’s lied to you, but as the waitress takes your order and you tease him for the fact he ordered a soda, Bob doesn’t want to throw that thought away. He wants to keep doing this with you and listen to you laugh, and ask him questions, and tell him how you’ll kick his ass. He knows he shouldn’t, but he wants to.

“Okay,” you look at him seriously. “What’s the movie that means the most to you?”

Bob hums, tapping his fingers against the wooden table. “Probably The Notebook. It’s my mom’s favorite movie and we’d watch it all the time - movie nights, if I was home sick, it was just kind of our thing. So, yeah, The Notebook.”

When Bob looks up, you’re smiling at him, eyes twinkling under the orangey-yellow bulb that hangs from the long ceiling light above your table. Normally he would have picked a cooler movie, he doesn’t entirely know why he’s being so honest with you. Maybe it’s his brain’s way of combating the guilt that comes from when he’s lied to you. Maybe, if he’s honest enough, it’ll balance out.

“What about you though?” He asks. “Do you have a movie that means the most to you?”

Your mouth falls open. “Hey! You can’t just repeat my question, that’s cheating!”

Bob chuckles at your outcry—and the way you nudge his leg with your own under the table. “I don’t think you can cheat at 20 questions, sweet pea. Besides, maybe I really wanna know what movie means the most to you.”

“Fine, I’ll allow it. But you can cheat at 20 questions and you just did.” You nudge his knee again before thinking. “I’d say Ratatouille as mine.” Smiling softly, you recall a memory. “It’s what inspired me to care so much about food, I think. I’d watch it and dream of working in Paris just like Remy.”

“Do you still want to work in Paris?”

You purse your lips pensively. “No, I don’t think so. I love San Diego, I don’t think I could leave. Even for Paris. What about you? Do you see yourself staying a boxing instructor?”

“Yeah,” Bob swallows down a sip of his Coke, but it does nothing to push down the honesty erupting from his mouth. “It’s just one of those jobs that makes you feel like you couldn’t do anything else, I guess. But there are worse jobs to have.”

The waitress comes back with your food before you can respond—Bob’s somewhat grateful for that as he’s not entirely sure if he wants to hear what you’ll say to his answer. Your game of 20 questions is paused, conversation flowing easily between the two of you, and Bob finds himself smiling, and chuckling—and laughing—between mouthfuls. He likes you, he knew that already. But he wants you too. And he knows he shouldn’t, but right now, under orangey-yellow lights and with the taste of Coca-Cola on his tongue, he can’t bring himself to care.

It isn’t until you’re saying goodbye, as he helps you put your coat on and opens the door for you, that he even remembers you had yet to finish your game.

“Wait!” You stop at the sound of his voice, turning to look at him as you stand on the sidewalk and Bob takes a few strides to meet you. “It’s— It’s your turn. You have the last question.”

You bite back a smile and Bob’s glad it’s somewhat dark out so you can’t catch how pink you’ve made him—again. But you’re looking up at him so intently, he’s sure you’ve noticed anyway.

“I’m gonna save it,” you say.

“Save it?”

“Yeah.” And as you stand there, under the warm light of the restaurant's frosted windows grinning at him, Bob swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful. “So I guess we’ll just have to go on another date.”

join my Bob Floyd taglist here or follow my library @jupitercometgold

#bob floyd imagine #bob floyd imagines #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd angst #bob floyd au #bob imagine #bob imagines #bob x reader #bob fluff #bob angst #bob au #top gun maverick imagines #x reader #sweeter than sugar #under the hard deck #buggy's got a pen

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

If you're still taking requests, how about a beach day with Bob and the squad finds out he has a matching tattoo with his partner

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐩

𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐛 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

There's a reason that Bob usually wears a shirt on beach days. Even if everyone else on the squadron likes to tease that it's because he's not as toned as they are--which simply is not true--no one really knows why that is.

Until you accompany your boyfriend to the beach one hot and wet afternoon, a wicker picnic basket tucked under your arm and straw hat flopped on your head.

You're happy to be at the beach--you and Bob had agreed to take advantage of the nice weather in San Diego more than you had in the past, so when the squadron deemed that afternoon as a beach afternoon, the two of you had been all in.

"Floyd," Hangman greets, waving the two of you over to the parade of sweaty bodies in the sand. Hangman cheekily tips his cowboy hat at you. "Eventual Floyd," he greets with a wink.

Bob's blushing--a good sort of blush, one that makes his heart pulse with adoration. Yes, you will be a Floyd--eventually. And he's glad that everyone around knows it.

And you're all grins, tipping your straw hat at Hangman and gesturing to the picnic basket.

"I brought strawberry muffins," you tell him, which causes a chain-reaction of hollering from the group as everyone abandons their previous activities to gather around your picnic basket.

Bob just watches you for a moment, slipping his sunglasses on, smiling softly as his toes dig into the sand. You're grinning that pretty grin of yours, happily giving away all the strawberry muffins you made this morning so dutifully. You're such a giver--and so, so kind--and that's something he loves about you. Even right now, you're offering everyone bottles of water and extra tubes of sunscreen. You just can't seem to help yourself.

And you're just happy to be there--you really do love the squadron and reckon you've found somewhat of a family in their company. So after everyone's given you very wet hugs and thanked you profusely for the muffins and refreshments, they're begging you and Bob to join them for another game of Dog Fight Football.

"Shirts and skins," Coyote says, looking between you and Bob with a smile. "Who's who?"

"Good question," Payback adds with a playful eye roll.

"You can both be skins if you want," Fanboy finishes, bumping you with his elbow. "Don't think anyone here would complain."

Phoenix strikes him in the back of the head with a grumble before Bob can.

You're blushing, laughing.

Bob's shrugging his shirt off before you can even think about it--even if Coyote's only teasing the two of you, Bob never wants you to feel uncomfortable.

"Bob, man," Rooster calls with a smirk. "You've got a tattoo?"

It tickles you that the rest of the squadron has seemingly never seen him shirtless--because if they had, they would have seen it already. It's hard to miss: it's about the size of the middle of your palm, inked on his skin in black. It's a stamp of a honeybee, drawn in a classic illustrative style that Bob found himself drawn to the year he got it.

"Uh huh," Bob says, shyly raking his hand through his hair and resisting the urge to put his shirt back on. He feels like he's going to burn alive not even under the sun but under the gaze of his entire squadron as they come to get a better look at him. "So, football?"

"Uh-uh," Phoenix tuts, letting her sunglasses fall down on her nose as she looks closer at the tattoo. "Is that a honeybee?"

Bob nods, pretending like the red in his cheeks is from the sun and not from their prodding.

You know Bob well--arguably, you know Bob better than anyone else in the world. So as you stand beside the emptying picnic basket and watch him shrink underneath everyone's gaze, wringing his shirt in his hands nervously, stuttering out responses and trying to steer everyone away from him--you know you need to do something.

So you take your cover-up off, which you know will give everyone a view of the matching stamp on your outer shoulder. You move over to the group, holding a tube of sunscreen in your hand, pushing your sunglasses up your nose.

"Hey, Nix," you call, smiling when she turns to you with her eyebrows raised. "Can you get my tattoo? It's sensitive to the sun. Don't want it to fade."

That's got everyone's attention, much to Bob's immediate relief. You've always been much better at receiving attention than him. You're less shy by nature, which is something he's always admired about you, and you don't get so stuffy beneath everyone's gaze.

"You have one, too?!" Rooster asks, coming to take a closer look at your arm as you smile, pretending to be coy.

"Uh-oh," Payback sing-songs. "That's a flower, isn't it?"

It clicks for the group just before you give a proud nod, confirming that you and Bob indeed have matching tattoos. And they're thinking about chiding you, the lot of them cooing mockingly and pinching your sides. But you're too prideful for that, just tilting your chin towards the sky and smiling your pretty smile, giving all of them the same energy.

"I'm his petal," you say, intentionally inducing a grimace on their faces, "and he's my honeybee."

"And suddenly, I want to play football again," Hangman snorts, promptly nodding before turning back to the sand.

What you're saying is the truth; you do call each other petal and honeybee. But it's always been something the two of you have kept under wraps, indulging in the sweetness of it but all too aware of just how sickly-romantic it is.

Phoenix is rubbing suntan lotion on you through her remaining giggles and the rest of the squadron is starting to filter back over to the sand to pick back up where they left off, crumbling their muffin wrappers and tossing them into the trash bag.

Bob falls more and more in love with you every single day--he is just a man after all. How could he not when you're the most perfect person he's ever met? You outdo yourself everyday--outdoing the previous days sweetness, selflessness, kindness, wit, beauty. And right now is no exception; you're chatting with Phoenix about her date, something she mentioned last weekend off-handedly but something that you'd remembered to ask about because that's just how you are. You're so happy, gasping and oohing and awing along with her words, practically glowing under the sun.

Whenever Phoenix finishes and you glance over at Bob, your eyes partially hidden by sunglasses, your smile is as sweet as those muffins everyone loves. Bob can't help himself--he cups your cheeks, tipping your hat back just slightly, thumbing your cheeks gently.

"Too much?" You ask, searching his wanton face as your smile falters. "Didn't mean to give our pet-names out like that, but I could tell you weren't comfortable and--!"

"--You better get ready," Bob interrupts, smiling softly as your face softens and your brows come together.

You carefully stroke his tattoo before letting your hands rest on his shoulders, his skin warm beneath your palms.

"For what?" You ask, giggling when he pulls you against him and presses his lips to yours sweetly.

"To become a Floyd," he mumbles against your lips with a grin. "Sooner rather than later, petal."

here is my tag list!!

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ultralightpoe · 2 months

Text

Sweet Nothing - Robert 'Bob' Floyd

Authors Note : I cannot believe this is only the second piece I had ever written for him because I loved him! This sat in the drafts a litte too long if you know what I mean.

Word Count: 3519

Warnings: - none I believe -

Requests: OPEN

Main Master list - - Midnights Event List

(Thank you for the gif @topgundaily )

x Enjoy! x

I spy with my little tired eye

Tiny as a firefly

A pebble that we picked up last July

Down deep inside your pocket

We almost forgot it

Does it ever miss Wicklow sometimes?

It’s a weird feeling, knowing that you were so close to the end and not being ready for it. You wanted to dig your heels in the mud and fight away from the finish line, drag yourself back to the start. What you would give to go back to the beginning when it was still so sweet and happy.

But you weren’t in a race, and you couldn’t fight your way away from the finish line this time. No, right now you are laid out across the bed of your guest room with the love of your life avoiding you downstairs. The end is coming. You both knew it, you just weren’t ready.

You had been warned over and over, from your friends to your parents and you knew his own group had warned him as well. You should have listened. But you both thought you could beat the odds.

He took you to the lake for a date, a fact that made your friends giggle amongst each other as you rushed around to get ready. Braiding your hair at first before panicking and not liking it so you rushed to brush through as your best friend chose the best bathing suit for you to wear and they all talked about your date.

“-He is so cute. And he blushes whenever you are close, which is so cute.” Veronica smiles, playing with your waterproof mascara as your brush snags on a nasty knot in your hair and makes you gasp in pain.

“Are you sure about this? He is a military man. We have the no dating military rule for a reason.” Samantha snaps, her eyes laid with mistrust and her body rigid as she leans against your wall. “I don’t want to get a call in the middle of the night of you crying to escape.”

That made you panic slightly, you knew Bob and he was always so sweet but how many females had fallen for the sweet act before. He was military and Samantha herself had gone through a military marriage that led to a broken cheek and nose, you had been the one to give her a place to stay.

“It will be fine.” You shrug. “I have a good feeling.”

And you had been right, he took you to the lake and you both swam around for hours. He braided your hair when you got out so it didn’t get knotted and tangled from the lake water. You stayed huddled together in his car for warmth as you ate the greasiest burgers you could and laughed about the day you had.

“I had a lot of fun today.” Bob blushes, fixing his glasses from where they were sliding down his nose as you smile at him. His cheeks were a little rosy from the sun and his knee was pressed to yours, his hair swept awkwardly. “Thank you for spending the day with me.”

“Thank you for inviting me.” You answer, both your voices low as you stare at each other. “I loved it.”

“You ready to go home, then?” He asks, his cheeks reddening even more past the burn which makes you smile a little wider.

“Or we could…. Well we could go to your place.” You offer to be near him a little longer.

“I’d love that.” He smiles, moving to pull something out of the pocket of his swim trunks, placing it on the dashboard so he could start the car, and you blink at it.

“Did you have a rock in your pocket?”

“Yeah. I thought it was pretty and I wanted to keep a memory of today.” He says lowly, looking at you nervously. “Is that weird?”

“No. Not at all.” You laugh, leaning to kiss his cheek.

They said the end is coming

Everyone's up to something

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they're push and shoving

You're in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

That little pebble from the lake still sat on his dashboard, the day he crashed his truck he made sure to grab it and keep it in his pocket. When he got his flier from the military he kept it on that dashboard now. He always carted it around in the air, saying it was his good luck charm.

The thought makes tears well up in your eyes as you drag yourself from the bed and shuffle around the room to get dressed for the day. It had been the very first time you slept without Bob, which meant you didn’t actually get any sleep and you were more than a little cranky. Tired, cranky and upset.

Not a good mix.

But you tried to keep it together while you got ready for the day, fixing your hair and slipping on shoes before heading downstairs to grab your bag and keys.

When your love sees you he casts his eyes away, rubbing at his chest as he makes himself look busy. “I made coffee if you need-”

It hurt to hear his voice, tearing at your chest as you snatch your work bag and keys before storming out of the house without any coffee. Just like that the feeling of betrayal is back, slashing at your heart and making you angry once more.

Even the sound of his voice upset you now.

Bob knew the news was not going to be delivered easily, waiting for you to get home from work with his leg bouncing wildly out of anxiety. You would leave, he knew it. Not that he would blame you, it would just tear him up through and through.

The front door stands and he rushes up, fixing his glasses and turning the corner to where you would still be taking off your shoes. “Hey.”

Your head snaps up at his greeting, smiling softly as you shuffle closer and lean up on your toes to kiss his cheek before you move to kiss his lips. You seem to read his body language then, the tight stance and the guilty way he doesn’t kiss back before you lean back and blink at him. “Everything okay?”

“I….. They are changing my… okay so you know how we always talk about how I might be restationed?” He mumbles, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “Well I… they are restationing me.”

“What? How long do you have?” You blink, fully pulling back from him. His hands catch on the bottom of your jacket, trying to keep you close and failing when you take another step back.

His face pulls in a grimace as he realizes that this is where the annoyance will kick in, where you will actually get mad at him. “I have about 2 weeks.”

“2 weeks! I’m sorry, repeat that because it sounds like you just said 2 weeks.” You snap, blinking at him as your face begins setting into anger. “Aren’t they supposed to give you more time? Why would they make this so short?”

“Well I found out… a month ago. I just didn’t know how to explain and I wanted to find an apartment that might work before I told you.”

“What do you mean, might work?!”

“For us. An apartment that would be big enough for us-”

“You expect me to drop my entire life in 2 weeks?!” And before either of you knew it there was a fight brewing.

On the way home

I wrote a poem

You say, "What a mind"

This happens all the time

You can’t really concentrate at work, your pen tapping on your desk a little too quickly, your coworkers beginning to look at you with odd glances.

The more you thought the more you began changing your mind. It’s not like you loved this job, you would be more than happy to give your two weeks. Hell, you would love to give your days notice. You would not miss this job nor would you miss any of your coworkers. You would however miss your friends and family.

But it’s not like phones didn’t exist, and it’s not like you couldn’t take vacations to come see them. But it still wouldn’t be the same, you would be tearing yourself away from your family and friends. Alienating yourself.

At the end of the day your options are narrowed down to leaving Bobby behind or leaving your life behind.

Would you be able to make that choice.

“Are you okay?” Your boss asks, coming to stand at your cubicle with a stern look. “I haven’t received any of the reports I needed from you in the past hour.”

“I…..” You blink, sitting up straighter, the photo of Bobby you have on your desk catching your eyes.

“Let’s talk in my office.” She snaps, nodding her head as you try to come up with a proper excuse to your behavior.

A month into the relationship and your friends still were a little skeptical of your boyfriend, but things were easy and you were in love.

Tonight you would be taking Bobby to your friends birthday party, which was a very important thing and your boyfriend was panicking. You were laying on his bed, watching him pace back and forth in his room as he tried to find something to wear.

“Does it look kiss assy if I match you? Because you look great but I don’t want your friends thinking I’m…. or maybe these jeans won’t work. How dressy is this party?” He panics, finally looking at you and fixing his glasses.

“I think you are stressing yourself out.” You mumble, patting the bed in front of you to call him over. He sighs, moving to sit by you with a grunt which has you crawling closer and laying your head in his lap. His fingers immediately comb through your hair as he smiles down at you.

“I know your friends don’t like me, I just want to impress them.” He blushes, shrugging his shoulders.

“They like you… they all just have thoughts on the military life.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. They are scared you’re going to try and marry me and drag me across the country away from them and everyone. It’s a valid fear.”

“So…. you…. Well….. “ He blanches, nodding his head before moving to stand up. “I’ll stick with the shirt that matches you and the jeans.”

'Cause they said the end is coming

Everyone's up to something

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they're push and shoving

You're in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was nothing

The drive home was filled with shaky hands and tears, you had to pull over once and swipe at your cheeks, taking a second to catch your breath before you continued your drive home.

The house was dark, Bobby’s shoes gone and his key slot empty which meant he probably went to work or had some other stuff to take care of. You sighed in relief, thankful for at least a couple more hours before you would have to have this conversation with him.

Instead you went upstairs, grabbing the stuff you had angrily dragged to the guest room last night and putting it back where it belonged before you hid and called your mom.

Cowardly, you might add.

You were in tears by the time you slammed the door to the guest room, hands shaking as you screamed at him to leave you alone, your breathing ragged and torn.

How dare he? How dare he hide this from you and assume you would just up and leave? How dare he not tell you.

A little forewarning, a little more understanding. Anything more than this.

“Baby, can we please talk about this?” He asks through the door, a small thump telling you he laid his head on the door. “I…. we both knew this would happen. This doesn’t need to be this big of a deal.” “Go away. Just leave me alone.” You hated that he was right, that you had always known and had always been warned and yet still couldn’t imagine it.

Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors

And smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other

And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more"

To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it

It had been a long day that had followed a long night, and he was tired.

All he wanted to do was crawl under your shared sheets and pull you into him, snoring in your neck the way you always complain about while laughing, tickling your sides and snoring loudly just to bother you a little more.

But after the fight he was sure you would still have a couple more issues to comb through. He understood, he did. The way he threw it at you was a bit much, and he should have told you sooner but he wanted to make sure everything was sorted before he brought it up. He wanted all his ducks to be in a row.

He was used to this life, you weren’t.

The house smelled like it normally does when he gets home, your key in it’s preferred spot and your shoes left by the door, but no you in sight which bothered him. He loved when you came to greet him and now the house just felt empty when he entered.

Calling your name once, another try, one last time before he sighs and moves to find you without taking his shoes off. He heads upstairs, moving through the halls easily in search of you. Something melting in his chest when he sees you curled upon his side of the bed with your face pressed into his pillow.

Shuffling closer and placing a kiss on the back of your head before closing the blinds to your shared room and making sure you are comfortable before heading downstairs and getting started on dinner. Concentrating on that rather than remembering your tear stained face from the night before.

There were hundreds of ways he could have handled the situation better, and he tried to do the right thing and ease you into it. But he still did the wrong thing.

He just wanted you, he just needed you.

Nothing else mattered to him.

“I can’t believe it.” You smile, from ear to ear, as you help him carry in the last of the boxes into your new shared townhouse.

He had gotten news that his leave would be extended another 2 years, which meant he didn’t have to leave you yet. You both chose to find a new place together after 7 months of dating and build a home together. He couldn’t be happier.

You were quick to set the box onto the kitchen table before dashing to jump into his arms which made him laugh loudly, nearly dropping you as he tripped up and ran into a wall. “What’s the first thing we do in our new place?”

“Oh there are so many options,handsome. We can cook dinner…. Or maybe set up our kitchen table properly…” You list off ideas, a mischievous glint in your tone. “Or we can fuck.”

He chokes on air, his cheeks tinting red as he blinks at you. “The last one. Definitely the last one.”

They said the end is coming

Everyone's up to something

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they're push and shoving

You're in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

By the time you wake up you have no clue how long you slept. More than a little disoriented as you crawl from the bed and shuffle down the steps of your home, still wiping the sleep from your eyes as you keep tripping on your way to the kitchen.

He’s got his back to you as he hums, cooking over the stove, and the sight alone makes your eyes well up in tears. It had been almost 3 years with him, living together and building a life together.

He doesn’t have time to turn as you dash to him, tears falling freely as you wrap your arms around him and cry into the shirt on his back, clutching the fabric between your fingers as he tries his best to hug back. “Hey hey. Take it easy.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.” You sob, keeping him held tight.

“It’s fine. We’ll figure it out.” He whispers, finally getting the perfect spot to turn and hug you back. “I can make trips down here, any time I get days off I can try to get back here. You don’t have to give up your life for me.”

“No.”

“Come on baby. We can’t just drop this.” He pleads, trying to move you both to the table so you can sit and have conversation. “I can’t lose you. I know we were both aware of this coming but it’s different now that it is here.”

“I quit my job.” You blurt, making him blink at you. “I quit and already called my mom to tell her. I’ll be going with you.”

He can’t stop blinking at you, his heart stopping in his chest. “You didn’t have to…. You didn’t have to do that. I could have made the trips-”

“I don’t want to. I want you near all the time. I can’t live without you so if you’re being shipped to some stupid ocean side town then I will come with you and learn to swim.” You mumble out.

“You can swim.”

“Yeah…. In stillwater.” You laugh, the tears still falling. “I’ve given you 3 years. I’m not giving up now.”

“I know you don’t want this life ,marriage and being carted around.” He sighs. “But I was too selfish to let you go. And I can’t do that. I can’t let you go.”

“Is that what you think? That I don’t want to marry you?”

“Well your friends always sai-”

“I would love to marry you….. Okay you will actually have to ask me, this is not a proposal.”

“Okay, just take a breath.” Bobby laughs, watching you shake in the seat of his cockpit. “It’s just flying.”

“I’m not going in the air.” You snap a little too aggressively, the panic of being in the seat beginning to get to you. It was too high already, and you did not know how he did this on a day to day basis. “Let me out.”

“Okay, hold on. Take a deep breath with me now baby and just relax.” He orders, rubbing your arm comfortably. “Take a breath. You’re okay. Just take a look.”

You do what he says and take a deep breath in, looking around his cockpit before you spot the small rock from your first date sitting under the sun on the dashboard. “You still have that?”

“Of course.” He laughs, reaching past you to grab it before beginning to point and show you all the cool things in the cockpit.

They said the end is coming (they said the end is coming)

Everyone's up to something (everyone's up to something)

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they're push and shoving (outside, they're push and shoving)

You're in the kitchen humming (you're in the kitchen humming)

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

The new place had a weird energy.

You were still getting used to not being so close to your family and days at the beach were not as amazing as you dreamed them to be. Bobby was a part of a ‘secret team’ and his days were pretty packed with a high paced training schedule at first so there were many days you were left alone to figure out what to do.

You ended up getting another job, this one you liked a little more than the last but it was still so new to you.

It would take you a while to get used to everything which was fine, you had never had to move like that before but it would all be fine.

But today Bobby got time off, which you made sure would be spent well. Dressing up in a great outfit and driving out to the stadium to scream Taylor Swift at the top of your lungs.

By the time he drags you home you have drunkenly decided that the poster you got from the Eras tour might help you liven your new house with. Bobby agrees, smiling from ear to ear as you hang it up lopsided, knowing that if it makes you happy then he will 100 percent get more for every room of the house.

You fall asleep in his arms, letting him whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

#top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun smut #top gun angst #top gun fluff #top gun fanfic #robert floyd smut #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd fluff #robert floyd angst #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x y/n #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd smut #bob floyd angst #bob floyd fluff

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stranger-nightmare · 2 years

Text

𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

Part Two

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x (female) Reader

Summary: (this is set during a time when our young Top Gun pilots were still training at the academy) at another function hosted by the academy you find Bob being his usual wallflower self, sneaking off somewhere to be alone and away from the crowd, but this time you decide to keep him company... and maybe teach him a thing or two…

Warnings: inexperienced / virgin Bob, fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, bit of praise kink, minors DNI

A/N: this does directly follow on from part one so I do recommend reading it beforehand but this can technically still be read as a oneshot I guess! other than that, honestly all I have to say is enjoy and I hope it makes you as horny as it did me whilst I was writing it lmao

Part One | Part Three

“Huh,” you scoff with a light smile, “now who’s drunk.”

You wipe a finger over your lips, brushing aside a drop of Bob’s spit that lingered there, before you move away from Bob and the wall to sit on top of the desk in the centre of the room.

“I- I’m not,” Bob huffs earnestly, quickly tucking himself back into his suit pants and redoing the fastenings before he hastily pads over to you.

He stands in front of you where you were sat on the desk. He hesitates for a second, as if debating with himself, before he slowly reaches out to cup your face in his hands. One of his thumbs strokes over cheekbone. The other moves to trace over your mouth, tugging at your bottom lip lightly. Your breath hitches in your throat as he looks down at you intensely.

“I mean it,” he breathes, his face barely more than a few inches away from yours. “I want to… I want…I just… want to make you feel as good as you made me feel,” he murmurs, his face inching closer to yours.

After a second of being so close you could practically taste his breath in your mouth, he finally takes the step the close the gap between you. He lets his lips slide over yours, kissing you slow and tender, no rushing, no pushing. A moan slips past your lips, your legs instinctively opening for him, letting him slot his hips between your thighs. He groans as he takes his place between your legs, pressing into you as you wrap them around his waist, keeping him in place. His hands stay cupping your face gently, even as yours move to cup his neck again, clawing at him, pulling him tighter against you. Your pussy is already slick and aching, already incredibly aroused just from blowing him a few minutes ago.

“Are you sure?” You whisper against his lips, feeling the restraint weaken in your body.

Bob nods enthusiastically with a small grin; “I’m sure. Really sure,” he confirms.

You groan as you pull him in for another kiss, this time letting your tongue invade his mouth again. He groans as he opens his mouth up to you and meets your tongue with gentle strokes of his own. His hands tentatively make their way down your body, landing on your hips with a shaky grip.

“I- er, you… I don’t actually know… like… what to do,” he admits meekly.

You nod lightly with a reassuring smile.

“I’ll teach you,” you whisper gently as you stroke the back of his head.

He returns your nod with a small smile of his own. You let one of your hands run down his body until you grab his hand in your own. You look him in the eyes and nod once more, checking for that permission again. He nods again, letting out a shaky exhale as he watches where you guide his hand. You trace his fingertips down your body, letting them brush over the bare skin of your thigh. Both of your breathing is heavy and uneven as you push his fingers up your thigh, goosebumps raising on your skin. You let his fingers slide under your short dress, pushing it up and bunching it at your hips. Bob lets out a quiet moan as he finally gets a look at the thin panties you were wearing.

“I’m gonna show how to do it with your fingers first,” you hum quietly, “then you can taste me, okay?”

He nods, his eyes never actually leaving the space between your thighs, his tongue sweeping over his lips quickly. You lean up and let your lips brush against the shell of his ear.

“First, pull my panties off,” you purr, relishing in the shiver and whimper that rolls through Bob’s body.

You can hear him audibly gulp as he brings his other hand up your leg too, his trembling fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. He lets out another shaky exhale as he slowly pulls them down your legs and off your body completely. You bite back the urge to giggle lightly as he places them neatly on the table beside you; no haphazard discarding of clothing like you’d done with his tie just moments ago. His hands quickly slide back up your thighs and you instinctively react to the touch, opening your legs wider for him. You can hear the breath that hitches in his throat as he gazes at your glistening cunt. You can’t be sure but you think you hear him murmur ‘holy shit’ under his breath.

You take a deep breath to help steady yourself as you once again take his hand in yours, moving it towards your centre. You go slow, giving him plenty of opportunity to change his mind. But he doesn’t, he keeps his gaze fixed on where your hand guides him.

Both of you let out a soft gasping moan as you drag one of his fingers through your folds. Your body moves on instinct, arching and bucking into his touch. You guide his finger up and down your slit a few times, letting your slick coat him.

“You feel that? Feel how wet I am for you?” You croak with a pleasure-strained whisper.

Bob lets out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan; “f-for me?”

“Mhmm,” you confirm as you add another one of Bob’s fingers between your folds.

You run his two fingers through your folds a few more times before you finally let them linger on your clit.

“Oh,” you moan involuntarily as you push his fingers down lightly against your clit, “you feel that?” You gasp.

Bob nods, looking at you curiously, eagerly.

“That’s my clit,” you explain in a tight voice, “that’s what you want to focus on.”

Bob just nods again.

“Just circle it with your fingers gently. Just pay decent attention to it,” you instruct as you let go of his hand.

Bob nods his head once more before he follows your instructions, moving his fingers in a circle motion around your clit. His fingers are a little unsure at first, taking a moment to adjust to movement. But soon he finds a rhythm and is circling your bundle of nerves with remarkable skill. Your hands struggle to find purchase on his shoulders, your fingers digging into his suit jacket as you pull yourself against him. You already feel euphoria start to course through you, even just Bob’s gentle fingers setting a pleasurable burn alight in your veins. You let your moans fly freely, your chest lurching into Bob’s as he works you with his fingers.

“Is- is this good?” He looks at you sincerely.

“Uh-uh,” is the best you can respond with as he speeds up his circles a little more.

Your head feels clouded, dizzy with pleasure. For a moment you almost forget Bob’s original request; you almost let him make you cum on his fingers.

“Okay, okay,” you pant heavily. “Do you want to try using your mouth now?” You ask breathlessly.

“Yes!” Bob responds quickly, almost too quickly.

“You sure?” You look at him seriously, “we can stop at any time if you want to, okay?” You cup his cheek again.

He shakes his head, a serious expression painting his face; “I don’t want to stop.”

You can’t help the warmth that floods your heart, and the heat that pools between your legs. That pool only grows even more as Bob looks at you with those intense, soft eyes of his, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he sinks to his knees in front of you. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, trying to supress the sinful moan that threatened to rip past your lips. Bob keeps his eyes on yours even as you shuffle forward towards the edge of the desk. He whimpers softly as you lift up your legs, letting your knees hook over his shoulders.

His face was so close to your dripping cunt you can feel his breath ghosting over you. Bob dips his head forwards, his lips a fraction away from you, before he flashes a final confirming glance, checking that was indeed still okay with you too. You nod frantically as you bring a hand to slide through his soft blond hair, cupping the back of his head.

And then, at last, Bob pushes out his tongue and lets it sweep through your folds.

“O-oh, wow,” Bob blushes furiously, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear him; you think it probably wasn’t actually meant to be heard by you.

“What?” You breathe in a slight panic.

“N-no, nothing,” he stammers. “It’s just… um… you… you taste really good,” he murmurs awkwardly.

You bite back a moan at his words, digging your teeth into your bottom lip again.

“Yeah?” You ask with a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” he smiles sheepishly.

He smiles at you for a second longer before he lets his tongue slowly delve back between your folds. He licks up your slit a few times, essentially following the same movements you’d just guided him through with his fingers. You gasp, your body lurching, each time his tongue glides over your clit. After a few times licking through your folds, you can feel when he starts to essentially feel around with his tongue, looking for that special spot that you’d just showed him.

When he does find it, his tongue connecting with your small bundle of nerves, you release a sinfully loud moan, your fingers curling in his hair even tighter. He lets his tongue slowly explore your clit, swirling and circling it, feeling out its shape. The whole time he looks up at you, watching you, your reaction, using it to help coax his movements. Your gasps and moans start to get louder, more frequent, as Bob works your clit with a soft fervour.

“Oh fuck, Bob,” you knot your fingers his short hair, pulling hard, harder than you’d probably meant to.

Bob pulls back, looking up at you with concern lacing his puppy-dog eyes.

“Yes? Sorry, did… did I do something wrong? Was that not good? Do you want me to do something different? I-” He rambles, his cheeks flushing red again.

“No, no,” you interrupt his short ramble, “that was good. Really good. I was… I was saying that in a good way,” you feel a flush creep into your own cheeks now.

“Oh, I see,” he smiles dopily before returning to his previous action, pursing his lips just around your clit and letting his tongue swirl and circle around it.

You let him continue his movements for a while, your hips grinding against his face desperately, before you add your next instruction.

“Bob?” You venture lightly,

“Mmm,” he hums against you in acknowledgment, keeping up with his circling motion.

“Now- now just try sucking on it a bit. But like, gently,” you pant.

Bob hesitates for a second as he processes your instruction. But, soon enough, you feel his lips latch around your clit and a gentle suckling motion pull on your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” you sigh with a quiet gasp, your head thrown back with pure ecstasy. “Now you can just kinda switch between the sucking and circling if you want, whatever feels right.”

Bob pulls back for a second again, those blue eyes shining bright even in the dimness of the room. You feel your insides clench when you catch your wetness glistening on his chin, on his plump and kiss-swollen lips.

“But it should be whatever feels best for you; it’s not about what feels right to me, is it?” He asks sheepishly. “So, what is it that you like specifically?”

Your stomach feels fuzzy and light; you don’t think you’d ever really been asked that before. You don’t think you’ve ever really had a partner genuinely start a discussion about what specifically it was that you liked. They usually just went for it and you kinda moved your hips with them and hoped you’d be able to find your high somewhere along the way. It was your turn to blush now under Bob’s intense gaze, the way he was looking at you so earnestly, just waiting to be told how to please.

“Um, I guess I like a bit of both,” you smile awkwardly, “but mostly the… um… circling motion.”

A part of you wants to feel embarrassed by having to explain yourself so openly. But something about the sincere look in Bob’s eyes just made you feel at ease. Comforted. Safe.

Bob gives you a small nod before he returns his mouth to your pussy. His tongue pushes between your folds, seeking out your clit again. When he finds it, he quickly gets back to work circling it. He keeps his main focus on circling your bundle of nerves. But he still sucks lightly at the same time, sending flares of pleasure like you’d never felt before through your body.

“Y-yes,” you sigh with a moan, your head falling back again, “just like that. Fuck yes, just like that. Don’t stop, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” you pant incoherently, completely overwhelmed by how good this was feeling, how good Bob actually was at this. A small part at the back of your mind wondered if this really was his first time doing this.

You sigh a moan as you arch your back, an aching kind of pleasure rolling through your body. Bob whimpers a small groan around your clit, the lightest of vibrations radiating through to you. The sensation makes your pussy clench, a desperate need to be filled racking through your body.

“Bob, please,” you whine. “I need… I need to feel you inside me… your fingers… please,” you pant desperately.

The sincerity of before making you feel bold enough to ask for what you want, what you need, knowing that Bob would be more than eager to oblige, or at lest try to anyway.

Bob hesitates for a moment; “I- uh- I don’t-“ he mumbles.

You cut him off by reaching down and grabbing his right hand off your hip.

“Like this,” you instruct, manipulating his hand so just his index and middle finger were out straight.

You then hold his hand, guiding him down towards your arousal and saliva soaked cunt. You let his fingers brush through your folds, your body lurching slightly as his touch glides over your clit. Bob watches your actions like a man entranced, his eyes alight with a burning curiosity. His mouth falls open, jaw hanging open slack, as he watches you drag his fingers even lower, circling them around your entrance. A high-pitched moan hitches in your throat as you guide him to push his two fingers inside you. Bob groans lightly as he feels your tight, warm pussy squeeze his fingers. Your eyes shut as you revel in the feeling of his long fingers inside you, the feeling of finally having something inside you, helping you to feel full. You pant heavily as you release Bob’s hand, letting yours go back to cupping his face. You force your eyes to open and look down at Bob’s waiting gaze.

“Okay, now just… like… move them,” you explain awkwardly.

Bob sputters slightly, looking at you helplessly.

“Just like… like this,” you whisper just as you start to rock your hips, letting yourself slide up and down Bob’s still hand.

You let out a soft moan as Bob quickly takes the hint, starting to pump his fingers slowly in and out of you. You steadily decrease the grinding of your hips as you let Bob take over, setting his own pace and rhythm.

You let your fingers twist back into Bob’s hair, guiding his head back towards your pussy. He obliges your silent request, letting his lips latch back onto your clit, sucking on your small bundle of nerves softly. You keen at the sensation, your hips bucking up towards his face. He sucks at your clit for just a moment before his tongue moves in that circular motion again.

“Fuck. Yeah, that’s it,” you mewl quietly, twisting your head so your face was almost buried against your shoulder.

You swear you can feel Bob smile against your cunt as he keeps up his now perfected swirling and sucking motion. He starts to speed up his fingers as he steadily gains confidence; not going too fast but definitely fast enough that you could feel yourself scrambling towards a climax.

“Oh sh-shit,” you sigh with a tremble, a wistful smile curving your lips. “You’re like, really good at this,” you moan with a light chuckle.

“Really?” Bob’s question is muffled against your cunt.

“Uh-huh,” you confirm with another soft giggle, “so good.”

Bob smiles proudly against you. Your compliment seems to give him even more confidence, his lips and his fingers moving with more self-assurance. He starts to take initiative again, steadily building a pace as he pumps you with his fingers a bit faster, sucks on your clit a little harder, swirls his tongue slightly faster.

It’s not long before he hits the perfect rhythm, the perfect combination and it has you seeing stars. Your mouth hangs open in a silent cry, your breathing coming out in heavy pants, gasps and moans pouring from your lips. You have to fight the urge to clamp your thighs around his head, not wanting to confuse or frighten the poor boy. Your one hand fists in his tight, probably hurting him, but if it was, he wasn’t complaining. Your other hand lands on his where it was resting on your hips. You cling on to his hand desperately, letting your fingers intertwine with his as you feel yourself steadily build towards one of the best climaxes of your life, you could already tell. The pleasure was building slowly, starting in all corners of your body, radiating towards your centre.

“Fuck, oh fuck Bob. I’m close. I- I’m gonna…. oh, just don’t stop. Don’t stop I’m so close…” your ramble is barely more than a breathy cry as you feel your groin start to tighten, just needing that tiny last bit of pressure to tip you over the edge.

Bob groans around, enthusiastically reacting to your words. Too enthusiastically. He speeds up his fingers as they fuck into you. He tries to speed up the swirl of his tongue too, but ultimately ends up losing the pressure, leaving you hanging on the precipice. Your orgasm refuses to break over you without that last bit of friction.

“Wait, wait,” you plead, pulling your hips slightly away from him, giving his hand a squeeze to get his attention.

He stops immediately, looking at you worriedly. You smile as gently as you can at him, letting your hand stroke his cheek.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him before he has the chance to voice his apology. “It’s okay. It’s just- when I girl says ‘don’t stop’, she means don’t stop. Not speed up or switch tactics or anything. Just keep doing exactly what you’re doing. Just don’t stop, ya know?” You tell him softly.

“Sorry,” he looks up at you sadly.

You shake your head at him gently; “no, it’s okay,” you stroke your thumb over his lips. “Just keep going. Please. I’m so close,” you whine, your voice barley audible, laced with a shaky desperation.

Bob gives you a quick nod of understanding before he gets back to his previous actions, clearly sensing the need within you. He swirls his tongue around your clit with a steady pace and consistent pressure, sending fireworks through your body. His fingers work back up to a matching pace, pumping you deep and thorough.

“Yes, yes, yes…” you sigh incoherently as your orgasm starts to build back inside your belly. “Just- just curl your fingers forward a bit, please,” you whine.

“Like this?” He hums, doing as instructed.

Bob lets his fingers curl slightly against your front wall, his fingertips brushing against that sensitive spot inside you.

“Shit, yes. Just like that baby. Feels so good. You’re so good,” your voice almost sounds unrecognisable as it’s heavily laced with pleasure.

“Fuck, right there. Don’t stop Bob,” you cry again, feeling that wave raise to the surface, just seconds away from crashing. “O-oh, I- I’m gonna cum… oh fuck, Bob.”

His name is a broken and wrecked cry from your lips as you finally feel pure euphoria crash over you. Bob moans almost as loud as you do as he feels your pussy tighten and clench around his fingers. Your hips buck wildly off the desk, pushing desperately against Bob’s mouth as his tongue keeps flicking against your clit. He moves with you, determined to keep his mouth latched to you, determined to provide you with as much pleasure as possible.

As he keeps his tongue moving over your clit, his fingers curling inside you, you start to feel your body tense with overstimulation.

“Okay, okay, you can stop now,” you mewl softly.

Bob looks up at you in concern, but you reassure him quickly, explaining that girls just tended to get a bit sensitive after they’ve orgasmed. You then let your body go slack, lying back on the desk. Bob stays for a moment between your thighs, just letting his lips kiss over your thighs and pussy lips. Your hands stay in his hair, scratching his scalp lightly.

“Uh fuck, you’re such a good boy Bob,” you sigh in a heavy pant, your lips smiling lazily as the last remnants of your orgasm wash over you.

Bob’s answering moan almost has you concerned that he might have just cummed in his pants at that compliment. In fact, his moan was so pronounced that it has you sitting up on your elbows to look at him. He stares back at you wide-eyed, a dark glint behind the gentle blue hue of his irises, his glasses askew on his face. You’re barely able to let out another breath before he’s reaching out for you, one of his hands snaking behind your neck, cupping your head. He pulls you to sit up just as he lurches forward, slamming your chest against his. Within an instant his lips are back on yours with a hungry fervour you’d never have expected from quiet and timid Bob.

Bob kisses you hard, a fever in his lips. He groans into your mouth, his hands grabbing onto your waist with a firm and assured grip, pulling your hips flush against his. You return his enthusiastic moans as you taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue. His body rocks against yours, curving over you as he leans into the kiss. Your legs are still spread wide, settled on either side of his hips. Your crotch is pressed right against him, letting you feel just how hard he’d gotten again from going down on you. So, he hadn’t cum in his pants, but he probably wasn’t far from it. One of his hands seems to move instinct, moving from your waist to your thigh. His strong hand runs up over your skin, pushing up your dress again as he lets his fingers slip under the fabric.

You pant heavily as you pull away slightly, letting your hands rest on his pecs, holding him just an inch away from you.

“Okay, maybe we should stop,” you breathe, your voice tight with barely contained restraint.

Bob practically freezes, his hands pulling off you.

“Oh, oh I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to push you or like take things too far, I- I’m sorry,” he pants just as heavily as you, his words coming out in a rushed exhale.

You shake your head and quickly lace your fingers around his beck, not letting him pull back too far as he was about too.

“No, no it’s okay,” you reassure him gently, letting your fingers stroke the nape of his neck. “Trust me, I want to carry on. I really do.”

His eyes brighten a little at that, but he still looks sceptical and slightly disappointed.

“I just think we’ve probably been missing from the party for long enough now,” you tell him quietly, smiling sympathetically.

“Oh right, yeah,” he smiles sheepishly.

You lean forward and place another kiss to his lips.

“We can…um…carry on later, if you want,” you hum the invitation against his lips.

“Y-yeah?” He stammers, hope and delight glinting in his eyes again.

“Mhmm,” you kiss him again, “think you can do your usual sneaking off trick and meet me in my dorm later?”

His sheepish smile turns into a gentle smirk; “I think so.”

“Good. Then I’ll let you fuck me,” you purr with a smirk.

Bob practically whimpers at the promise. You giggle lightly as you push him gently back, giving yourself enough space to slide off the table until your feet were back on the floor. Smoothing your hair back into place you smile to yourself as you watch Bob frantically try and comb his hair back into place.

“Um, here,” Bob gives a sheepish smirk as he grabs your panties off the table and goes to give them back to you.

You chuckle darkly to yourself as you take them from him. You push yourself flush against his chest, pulling him against you by the buckle of his trousers. Your eyes stay locked on his as you take your panties and tuck them into the inside pocket of his jacket. He stares at you dumbfounded, his mouth agape. You smirk wickedly as you place another kiss to his neck, just below his ear.

“You can return them to me later,” you purr.

Bob groans deeply as he looks at you completely bewildered.

“I’ll go out first. You can take a few minutes to… uh… collect yourself,” you smirk in reference to his still painfully obvious erection, “then you can come back out too. Sound good?” You reach up and tuck a lose strand of his hair that he’d missed back into place.

Bob nods lightly in agreement as another blush creeps into his cheeks.

“Good,” you confirm quietly before pulling your dress back down, smoothing it over your body, and turning on your heel towards the door.

But you’re stopped when you feel a gentle grip on your waist, pulling you back. You twist, about to ask what was wrong, but Bob silences you by placing a quick and tender kiss to your lips. You can feel his smile against his lips, and you can’t help but smile in return. He kisses you tenderly for just a moment before he releases you with a small nod as if to say ‘okay, now you can go’.

You have to take a second outside the door to the main hall, trying to wipe the giddy grin off your face and replace with it a look of neutrality before you went back into the crowd. Once inside you quickly made your way back over to Pheonix and Payback as they both rolled their eyes in sync as Hangman was reaching the end of his story. You deflect Phoenix’s line of questioning about your absence, saying you’d simply gone to find the bathrooms and then got wrapped up and distracted by some of the gorgeous artwork that decorated the large mansion. She eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t say anything.

Until Bob finally makes his way back over, joining the group, settling right beside you. It doesn’t take long for people to spot the error in Bob’s attire. Phoenix’s eyes flash with realisation, darting between you and Bob. Then Hangman spots Phoenix’s gaze and quickly realises the same thing.

“Hey, weren’t you wearing a tie earlier?” Hangman cocks his head to the side as his eyes rake over Bob knowingly.

Bob flushes beetroot red, his mouth opening and shutting with no sound as he scrambles for an answer. Hangman practically guffaws as he looks between the two of you. You glare at him, but he just flashes you both a shit-eating grin.

“Hey, good for you, Wallflower,” Hangman slaps Bob on the shoulder, flashes a wink, shaking his head in disbelief and chuckling lightly to himself as he saunters off again.

You hear a meek voice beside you, quiet enough for only you to hear. But his words warm your heart, evaporating any kind of embarrassment you might have been tempted to feel.

“I only like it when you call me that.”

Part Three

Masterlist

A/N: I am, humbly, fucking obsessed with this! idk what it is you guys but my Top Gun content is just hitting different for me, like I’ve never been so happy with my own work before honestly lmao! like I don’t think me writing for Top Gun is gonna go away anytime soon, sorry ‘bout it!! anyways, I really hope you enjoyed this <33

I am tempted to write a part three of this when Bob does indeed meet reader in their room later but idk, if you guys would like it just let me know🙈

Taglist // Join My Nightmare Realm // Ko-fi

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saltsicklover · 4 months

Text

Title: Fated to Run - Fated to Fly ꨄ︎ Part Two

Read Part One

Part Three Coming Soon!

Prompt from THIS ASK

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader SOULMATE AU

Word Count: 4000+

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Lots of Crying, Parent Trouble and Reconciliation, Insecurity,

We don't get to meet Bobby yet, I'm sorry!

My father's office looks the same. Honesty it has looked the same for as long as I can remember, and it's not just this office either. Every single one of my father's offices has looked just this way. Tan walls, that sort of sad, off beige color that every military installation, from this side of the world to the next, think outfit them so well. There's always a strong oak desk, sometimes it's pine, but either way it's always a sturdy piece of furniture that has no business around the thrown together particle board of the neighboring pieces.

My father has always brought in his own chair. It's faded leather is always well conditioned and it's warn in. Warn in just the way that when you sit in it, you can almost feel the ever lasting presence of the many years my father has sat in that very seat. He has hauled it with him all around the country, always in unaccompanied baggage so it would be sitting in his office and ready for him upon his arrival. He used to joke that if he made it there before his beloved chair, his time stationed there would be hell in a handbasket.

The day he got stationed at Top Gun as the Air Boss, that chair took it's rightful place behind the new desk. The same desk with empty drawers and too many files preemptively stacked atop it. But that's just how it is, right? After all, it's been that way since my father made Commander and things don't look to be changing anytime soon.

The decanter on his book shelf has been wiped clean of dust and fingerprints. No doubt filled with any run of the mill whiskey that may find it's way into my father's hands. It's an office staple, that decanter's about as old as myself, but the crystal still shines after 25 years, especially after a good cleaning. There's a bottle of good whiskey in the bottom drawer of his desk, sat beside a bottle of the best vodka he could find. Always ready for the COMPACFLT to drop by on a moment's notice, though the Admiral has never made himself known long enough to break it out.

I sit and stare out the windows, the ones that make up the back wall of his office. There's always windows, but strangely the size seems to correlate with rank. One might think it would depend on the building, on the base, on the climate or area of the world, but what I've come to find out is the higher the number on your Pay Code, the bigger your fucking office widows.

That, and the less time you have for your family. It seems the higher that Pay Code number, the more time I've managed to spend with clerks and assistants. More visitation with office windows and the low reflection that stares back at me as I try to focus on the air field. Aircraft take off and land, the service men and women knocking out their required flight hours as the sun moves its way throughout the sky. But still, there are times I catch my own eyes in that low light reflection, but there are less tears now. Or there had been, until that fucking incident at the airport.

Truth be told, I haven't stopped shaking. In that damn reflection of my father's office window I can see both my tear stained cheeks and the confused looks on Rhett and Jake's faces. The images twist together. It's all hurt, every last piece.

I'm sure the three of us would be a sight if we were all standing in the same place, the boys with those same lost looks, hurt flashing through there eyes, and me, red rimmed irises and damp skin. Skin that is already threatening to chap over from the way it stings. I should have savored the way they so fiercely defended me. The way they folded me into themselves and kept me safe. Isn't that what home is, if only so briefly? A lifted wing to a chick in the same way their kind eyes were to me. It's a shame, the way it all came crashing down with those four little words.

There's not even a part of me that doesn't ache when the memory of only hours ago runs through my head. Their touch still ghosts over my shoulders. Phantom fingerprints left upon my upper arms, still smoldering, smoking as they cool.

Friendship has to be written into the strands of the universe, it just must be. Hidden deep within the stitching, taking a back seat to the drips of ink that are marred into skin, so easy to see. Because if it isn't, my soul shouldn't feel this heavy. It couldn't feel this heavy. So it must be. It must be.

There's mumbling coming from just beyond the fire door of the office, voices that I can't make out by ear but I know those tell tale footsteps that can't help but get closer. My heart pounds in the same way his footsteps all but reverberate through the floor. The voices get closer, and closer, but I can't seem to focus on anything but the air field- the vision of my own red rimmed irises in the glass of the O-9 sized window.

"Sir, I'm trying to tell you that-" The words come through muffled then clear as the door nearly squeaks open. A call to DPW and those hinges wouldn't grind, but I know door hinges aren't exactly on the high priority list for a Vice Admiral.

"Birdie?" That damn nickname's spoken by my father, in that surprised tone that is just a little too irregular completely flattens all my resolve. The floodgates open, or moreover, they break, just as I turn to meet his eye.

"Hi Dad," The words come out too wet and too close to a sob, but we both just stand there looking at one another. In the time we stare at each other, the Earth has rotated almost two hundred eighty miles around it's access. Four hundred fifty kilometers in roughly fifteen seconds. His hand is still curled around the doorknob, the brass of the handle turned down just so. A Lieutenant stands next to my father, an apologetic look hung upon her features. The tightness of her bun pulls her eyebrows up, barely noticeable, but it makes her look a little more surprised, a little bit more of herself that's usually hidden under the mask, just barely breaking through.

It's another two hundred eighty miles before my father makes a move. He enters further into the office while the Lieutenant slips the door shut. I can almost feel how the handle must be warm beneath her slender fingers. The same warmth is rolling off of my hands; all of the nervous energy having nowhere to go but cycle out to my fingertips only to crawl back up my arms once more.

"Hey, kid," My father speaks after another moment passes, another few miles, "I- uh,"

There is so much hanging between us. After spending so many years arguing, instead of words left unsaid between us they all seem to be hanging in the air. Stiff and starched like a uniform collar, textured underneath my fingertips. The way they brush against my skin makes me itch as I inch closer. I wish to choke on them; on the words, longing for a moment that I had something else to say. Some sort of words found stuck somewhere between the tightness of my throat and the stickiness of my gums, lips dry and cracking under the pressure. Instead, they all still hang between us, a rickety old rope bridge while the few feet between us is a canyon's expanse.

The average argument lasts ten minutes, and families tend to have around a hundred arguments a year. That's a thousands hours of disagreements that stand between us over the last year alone. A hundred and twenty five words per minute. That's one hundred twenty five thousand words and I can feel each and every letter that hangs between us in this moment, thick between us like a fog. I can't seem to breathe.

The only thing that seems real is the hot tears falling down my cheeks and the sight of my father's downturned smile. There is so much pity there, or maybe it's remorse in the way one is remorseful for not appreciating a song the first time it's played through. It's the missing of the baseline and the way the bridge carries through to the end of the score. His eyes are gentle, in the way roses are- pricking, piercing from just the right angle.

"It's been a long time, Dad, I've missed you," The words have been hidden in the spaces between my molars, stuck there so long I barely recognized their honesty as they fell from my tongue. My lips catch on their sharp edges and I swallow down the acrid taste of bile and copper. Wiping at the new found streaks of tears, smearing them across the heat of my cheeks, my fingers come back tinged with watery mascara smudges.

"It's been too long, Birdie, sweet pea, too long," There's a slight hesitation in his tone, but it's all too genuine, in a way that makes my stomach turn. The nausea isn't new, not today. "How was-" I know he's going to ask about the last year, about the travel and the time spent in-between our arguments but I can't keep the words from slipping off of my tongue.

"I need to know about your Aviators," He stops, the words hitting him straight in the face leaving mouth hanging open mid sentence. His eyebrows scrunch with the narrowing of his gaze, the confusion evident in the way his head cocks gently to one side before he straightens it right back again. Parts of my father are slipping past the Admiral, like sand through fingertips, but he does everything he can to hold onto his hardened exterior.

"My Aviators?" There is so much hidden in the way the syllables crackle from his throat. He looks as though he has words still stuck to the roof of his mouth, words he keeps tonguing at to keep them hidden behind his teeth.

"I- yes," My brain is spiraling just a little to fast for my mouth to keep up. I can almost feel the way my nervous system is spiking, my neurons firing as my tongue tries to say the words in the forefront of my mind. The deep breath I force into my lungs does nothing to slow my thoughts, but my father's shoulders relax at the sight of my own shoulders dropping slightly. It's a shallow effort but it helps, if only a little.

"I met one of your Aviators today, at the airport," He nods in understanding, "Blond, tall, from Texas. Super nice. Said his name was Jake,"

"Jake?" My father huffs out, scrubbing a hand over his face. "A Texan with one of those shit eating grins?"

"He had a nice smile, if that's what you mean," I reason. The feeling of an impending argument is like static in the air, the hair on my arms standing on end as gooseflesh breaks out over my bare skin. That feeling is acknowledged with a quick glance between us, a look that has him moving closer to his desk. He picks up a framed photograph from it's corner before holding it out to me. I finally move closer, separating some of the distance between us. It's strange, being so close together after spending so long apart. I often wonder if that's how all children's relationships with their parents are after they grow up, or if my father and I are stuck in a unique form of perpetual misunderstanding. I take the photograph from his hand.

"This him?" He points at a man in the back row of the photograph, big smile and kind eyes. It's definitely him, that much I am certain of. There is just something so recognizable about that smile of his, the way the lines on either side of his mouth bend with a dash of mirth, bracketing perfect teeth. It's sick, really, how nice his teeth are.

There are a handful of other people shoved into the photograph together. Jake has his arm thrown around another man who sports a mustache and messy hair. That man looks at Jake like he emits pure light. Eyes squinted slightly with a smile too big to be contained with a closed jaw. That's Rooster. That's Jake's soulmate. There's no other explanation as to why the blond would be holding the other man so incredibly close, with his hands gripping into the material of Rooster's flight suit.

To Jake's other side is a woman. Her smile is smaller, almost practiced, but true joy emits from her eyes. With slicked back hair and sharp brows, she looks all business, like a woman not to be fucked with. But a friend, maybe? Her nametape is too small to read, but as one of the only women in the squad, she won't be too hard to pick out of the crowd. It's the man standing next to her that throws me. Another familiar face stands to her side, Rhett, only with shorter hair and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. My eyebrows scrunch, mimicking my father's expression.

"Yeah, that's him," I confirm, my eyes still tracking over the faces in the photograph.

"Why do you ask, sweet pea?"

"I met a man on accident, really, his name is Rhett, and his friend was with him, this man here, Jake. We actually ended up on the same flight" I watch my father nod in understanding, one of his hands coming up to brush at his nonexistent five o'clock shadow. I huff, averting my eyes for the next part. "I might have had my soulmate sentence encounter earlier this afternoon," The confession is sheepish at best. I don't meet his eyes. There's no point. I know the expression he wears now and I know I can't handle it in this moment. There's already been enough crying.

"Was it with him? With Hangman?" I watch from the corner of my eye as my father's eyebrows knit together impossibly tighter. His voice is pinched at the callsign, lips tight around it.

"Yes, it was him, but that's not really the point, Dad," My eyes trail over him in the photograph again, but I'm pulled back to Rhett, confusion gnawing inside of my skull, just behind my eyes, "How old is this photograph, because this is Rhett right here, and he told me he wasn't military," I want to ask him if he really knows his aviators all that well, considering the lack of acknowledgement on his features.

"That photo was taken after their last mission, wasn't more than a few weeks ago, right after they all graduated their advanced training. It's recent, and there's nobody in that squad named Rhett,"

"There has to be! This is him, right here next to that woman. I swear it's him!" My fingernail, all chipped polish and sparkles, clinks against the glass, my father leaning closer to get a better look before plucking the frame from my gently shaking hands.

"Sweet pea, I think you're mistaken," His tone sounds like his words are treading a minefield somewhere deep in his throat. I can't help but cough at the thought. That tension bristles between us again, electric like a storm. My fingers knit through my hair to keep from chipping more of my nail polish from my already scraped up nails.

"That," My father taps the glass with his finger, "Is Lieutenant Floyd"

"Lieutenant Floyd?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Floyd," There's a faux confidence in his tone, the same one he used to use when he would call home to say he'd only be gone a little while longer.

"Dad," I raise my eyebrows as I finally swing my eyeline back up to meet his, "What is Lieutenant Floyd's first name?"

He sputters a bit, a hand rubbing at the lack of stubble on his chin. There's a sort of furrow to his brow, one I recognize, even if the rest of his features are laid out in a way I have never come to know. My father has always been a sure man, steadfast in his actions, information spread out in his brain easy to access. This grappling for an answer is unlike him, but it makes him seem impossibly more human.

"Oh, Dad," The words are spoken with slight exasperation laced in the low chuckle that springs forth from deep within my chest. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. I'll just ask the very nice Lieutenant who let me in earlier, she seemed... knowledgeable,"

I am met with the deep roll of my father's eyes, his hands no longer scrubbing over his face, instead he rubs carefully at his temples. His reaction makes me grip a little harder at my hair. It's stupid, this battle between us. Something left over from the strife of my youth; what we clung to with white knuckles and bloody nail beds just to keep a semblance of a relationship. It's all adolescent animosity stripped to adulthood anonymity, achingly arduous.

"Honestly, Birdie," The words travel on an exhale, "I don't know his first name. Hell, I don't know most of them, especially if they don't give me trouble. I've always called him Lieutenant, barely ever needed Floyd tacked on the end,"

My father shrugs his shoulders unceremoniously, plopping the photograph back down onto the corner of his desk. He leans back into the long line of his desk, his usually pristine tan uniform wrinkling with the way he almost folds in on himself. My tongue flicks over my teeth as I fight the grimace I can feel rising over my features. I try and school my face back into pleasant nonchalance, much like my father usually does, however I think it's a skill better mastered with each star pinned to his collar.

"Can I say something?" There's too much honesty in the way the words crackle out. I nod; it's easier that way. My hands find home near my hips, my thumbs tucked into my belt loops in a shallow attempt to keep from continuing the pull on my roots.

"For what feels like forever now, it's just been you, your brother and I against the world. Just the three of us, and I know not having your mother has been one of the most challenging things, for all of us. I know there has always been this bond that Arrow and I have had, and maybe it's because he is my son, or because he decided that the Navy was his calling too. Either way, I know that there's a foundation there, one that you and I just don't have," I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I do my best to blink them back. The more he speaks, the more the sight of him swims.

"But, I want you to know that even though you and I have struggled," There's a little trace of humor there, but neither of us comment on it, "I love you so fucking much, kid. So much that my chest aches. And I knew this day was coming- your soulmate encounter. God, kid, I am so excited for you, but so fucking scared because you're my baby bird and I don't want anything bad to happen to you, I love you too much,"

There are tears steaking down his cheeks, a sight I haven't seen since my mother passed away. It makes my own chest ache in turn, seeing the strongest man I have ever known begin to crumble. With two quick steps, I am in my father's embrace. His arms are warm, cradling me into his chest, my face into the sandalwood scent of his collar. The stars pinned there less of an obstacle between us, now. He lets a land run over my spine, palm flat to my back, the warmth pooling through my top.

"I'll love you no matter what, kid, even if your soulmate is some military rat like me," He laughs, low and rumbling, into my hair.

"I love you, too, Dad, so much," I mumble into his collarbone, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. I can feel my tears sinking into the cotton of his shirt, the tan darkening with moisture. He doesn't seem to mind, or if he does, he doesn't say a thing. We stand there like that for a while, embracing. It's my father who breaks the silence.

"So, kid," He clears his throat in an attempt to hide the mangled bit to tears that still sits on the back of his tongue, "Tell me, how did it all happen? What did Hangman say?" The distaste in my father's tone is evident. I pull away from the embrace with a rueful laugh, one that stirs around that anxious feeling that's been ever present since the airport.

"Well," The word is all sigh, "Jake, Hangman or whatever you call him, was on the phone listening to his voicemail and Rhett had asked him who the message was from, you know? It was a pretty long message," I babble out the last sentence, trying to get to the point, but the words are stuck somewhere under my tongue.

My father just nods at me, allowing me the space to continue. Instead, I plop down into one of the chairs that sits in front of his desk, ones that are meant for official meetings rather than anxiety soaked realizations. I scrub a hand over my face before winding my fingers through my hair again, gentler this time. He stares at me, patient eyes and expression neutral. It's practiced, but genuine. I stare at he ground in front of my shoes when I can no longer meet his gaze.

"Rhett asked who it was," I begin again, back tracking a bit, "And Jake looked at him and said Oh, it's just Bob and that was it. I've had these words on my skin for so long that I thought hearing them would be so easy, but Dad, I panicked,"

"Oh Birdie, it's okay," My father hums, giving me a small grin on the side of reassurance, "It's not always like the stories, the fairytales are just to give us hope, but that's not how life is supposed to play out. It's alright,"

"It gets worse," My words are wet, "I ran, Dad, I ran. I heard him say that and I ran out of the airport and into the first cab I could find. I came straight here, I didn't know what else to do. I didn't even stick around to figure out exactly who Bob is to Jake. God, this whole situation gives me as much anxiety as a baby on board a pond jumper, look at me, I'm shaking like a fucking leaf."

"What did you just say?"

"I said I'm shaking like a leaf, look at me!" I laugh, but it catches in my throat and comes out all gargled. I hold my hands out, watching the way they tremor at the thought of it all.

"No, not that," My father shakes his head, "The thing about the pond jumper,"

"I dunno, Dad, it was an analogy," I reply, it's all furrowed brows and tired voice. as if it could be anything else at this point. I watch my father's expression turn quizzical, his eyes tracking though the air as if he's watching a hop. His nose twitches for a second before he schools his expression back. His hands tighten a bit around the edge of his desk, then he's clicking his tongue to punctuate a sort of silent eureka moment.

"Come with me, kid, I think there's someone we need to go talk to," Then he's pushing himself form the desk and heading towards the door with the same conviction the Admiral meets everything with.

"What?" I push myself from my seat but can't keep my shoulders from sagging. He's stopped at the door, turning back to offer just a hint more.

"I think you and I need to go see Captain Mitchell," There's distain in his voice at the name. I bite at my lower lip, tucking my hands back through my belt loops.

"Why do we need to see Captain Michell? Isn't he the man you can't stand?" I ask, following after him. The whole thing seems futile but a curiosity thrums between my ribs. We pass the nice Lieutenant's desk, her seat vacant, before turning down the hall. It's not long before we are out on the air field and heading towards one of the large carriers.

#ftrftf #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd angst #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #soulmate bob floyd #bob floyd soulmate au #icemav #father figure iceman #top gun maverick fanfiction #saltsicklover #requested prompt #saltsickrequests #father beau cyclone simpson #father cyclone

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laracrofted · 1 year

Text

delicate

synopsis: bob floyd is good at everything, except maybe expressing his feelings. based on delicate by taylor swift.

pairings: bob floyd x fem!reader (no y/n)

warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, listen... if you're a delicate enjoyer, you should know to expect light angst here. expect softness too and also, semi-explicit sex, swearing, and the like. (wc: 2.2K)

note: so i've done nothing but listen to delicate and watch the lewis pullman pottery videos all week. be gentle with me.

written for the love is in the air challenge hosted by the lovely @roosterforme.

summoning a few fellow bob floyd enjoyers: @theharddeck @bradshawsbitch @rhettabbotts @roleycoleyreccenter @hangmanbrainrot @t-nd-rfoot

Another late night comes, and Bob Floyd is naked on the other side of your bed.

Moonlight shines in from the outside, slipping between the curtains that aren’t quite closed, and in the near dark, Bob looks almost contemplative, tracing the length of your spine with soft, barely there touches.

He is like a statue, something carved from marble, stretched out against your side, close enough for you to feel the warmth that radiates from his skin. You are a seasonal bloom, curving towards the sun, basking in his warmth.

He isn’t wearing his glasses and so, probably can’t make you out as much more than shadow and light, but Bob doesn’t seem to mind, content to admire you in the darkness, content to find the shape of you through gentle touches. Fingertips skim the curve of your waist, drum along your ribcage, making you giggle into the pillows.

He knows your ticklish spots, careful to press the kisses a little lighter on the back of your knee or skim his nose along the side of your neck, all slow and purposeful, depending on his mood. A smile pulls at his blushing mouth, swollen with kisses, paired with an amused exhale.

That was definitely on purpose.

The BCGs sit on the nightstand, set aside on a stack of books, next to the mug of chamomile tea, half-drunk and probably cold now. You don’t want him to reach for them, knowing that Bob only puts them back on to leave.

He doesn’t reach for them.

You have a few more minutes.

You don’t mean to let your eyes close, but Bob is warm and familiar and comforting. It is a losing battle.

He brushes a kiss across your hairline and settles there, muscles bulging in the folded arm under his head. His breaths, slow and steady and even, stir the escaping hairs there.

You drift in and out, lost in dreams of smoking planes and late-night texts and chamomile tea and a whispered confession against your brow. Come back to awareness in the cold absence of his warmth, his weight sinking the cheap mattress.

Between your lashes, Bob is a shadow at the nightstand, already dressed again in the black t-shirt and dark jeans that he'd been wearing at the Hard Deck tonight, sending you the I’m coming over message.

He doesn’t notice your gaze, staring down at the nightstand with a clenched jaw, still wearing that contemplative expression. It has soured somewhere in the middle, tinged with an internal debate.

He casts his gaze down to you, looking over your sleeping form, brushing the back of his hand across your cheek. You don’t open your eyes, not brave enough to pull him back down beside you and ask him not to leave.

Stay here. Don’t make me ask.

And after a few minutes, Bob picks up his glasses and leaves.

Bob Floyd is good and also, good at everything.

He’s not loud about it.

Not like Hangman is good at pool, cheering and fist-pumping after a trick shot to draw over a crowd, already recounting the shot in self-congratulatory to the nearest person who’ll listen. He preens at the attention, basking in it.

“Not just good,” Hangman said once, not one to let a compliment slide without making it into a thing, making you regret saying anything at all. “Too good to be true.”

Bob’s not dramatic about it either.

Like how Rooster will dance his fingers across the piano, playing a few teasing notes to make sure the Hard Deck quiets down around him, building the suspense of the moment, waiting for them to look at him.

Not like that at all.

He is unassuming, not expecting compliments or attention, and in the rare event that a Hard Deck patron or a fellow Naval avatar does notice how skilled Bob Floyd is at the pool table and the like, he is quick to dismiss the praise.

He is just… good. It is that simple.

You’d been a civilian mechanic on North Island for a good six months and were utterly convinced that no Naval aviator who’d graduated from Top Gun could be anything other than a walking and talking ego. Experience hadn’t changed your mind.

It is probably your own fault. You’d made it too easy for him.

All Bob Floyd needed to do was be good, quietly good in that way of his, and Bob had you.

It sneaks up on you. A startling realization.

You’ve never been this person, the one who is waiting for the text to light up your nightstand in the black, the one who is reaching across the still warm bed after, grasping for a ghost that’s already slipped out into the night. You aren’t supposed to want him like this.

You are supposed to be the cold one, the one with one foot out the door, ready to leave rather than get left. You don’t let anyone get close enough to hurt you, not anymore, and Bob Floyd isn’t supposed to be the exception.

He is though.

He’s your friend. You like him.

He’s more than that. You like him.

You let yourself dream for a while, imagining that maybe Bob Floyd could like you too. He could want to be with you – not just want you on dark nights, drenched in loneliness, looking for someone who would understand the life of a Naval aviator and not expect promises.

It doesn’t always seem like such a dream. That, at least, helps you feel less foolish.

He comes to check on the F-18 repairs that Phoenix used to spearhead and lingers to ask you more questions.

Another mechanic calls him your boyfriend. A tease meant to embarrass you, not him, but Bob flushes pink.

His next words come out stuttered, caught in a sharp wind and knocked off course, but Bob doesn’t correct him.

He doesn’t deny it, but Bob still leaves.

And after Bob accidentally knocks your favorite mug from the nightstand with an errant foot, shattering it into pieces too small to glue back together, Bob makes you a new one. It is dotted with little pink and green flowers and on the bottom, marked with his initials.

Didn’t want it to get mixed up in the kiln, Bob explained to you, showing you the little R.F. on the bottom.

He can easily hold it in one hand, fingers wrapping around the sides and meeting near the handle. You weigh that against the delicate flowers that line the glaze and feel fragile.

You don’t know anything about ceramics – other than that Bob does know about them. Just like he can play the drums and pick out the constellations on clear nights. You do know that Bob must’ve spent at least a few days making it, if not a week.

“It’s not perfect. Got a little misshapen around the handle because I didn’t…” He shows you, pointing out the imperfection. It is a little misshapen, endearingly so. Little pink flowers. You pinch your arm and miss his explanation. “Is it okay? I could try again.”

He looks nervous. Moisture pricks at your eyelids.

“It’s perfect.” No one’s ever given me anything so thoughtful. I like you so much. You bite down on your lip hard and bring the mug close to your chest, cradling it. "I’m never using another mug ever again. You’ll have to put it in my grave with me.”

He made it for you.

No one has ever made anything for you before, and Bob made something so beautiful and personal and precious with you in mind. You feel raw, flayed right open for him to pierce you through the heart.

He made it for you… and still, Bob leaves.

A message lights up your phone screen, set aside on the kitchen counter during your meal preparation. It is much earlier than Bob would usually send an I’m coming over text, but Bob does text you about other things. You are friends after all.

Need a pool partner at the Hard Deck. Come meet me in the back?

He comes home with you a little earlier that night, stays a little longer, holds you a little tighter, arms around you like steel bands; but eventually, like clockwork, Bob reaches for his glasses on the nightstand.

You should’ve ended it ages ago. Protected your own heart.

He looks so handsome, so beautiful in your bed, pressing your legs open to take you apart with his mouth, guiding your hands to stroke through his hair, silky and slightly damp from a late-night shower. Soaking in every sound that escapes from your mouth.

You almost say it then.

You don’t, instead filling the silence with moans and gasps and the reverent repetition of his name. Move your fingers through the soft strands, tugging when Bob slides his ring finger into you and nudges at a spot that makes your vision haze.

He moans against you, low and wanting, curling his fingers tighter around your thigh, hard enough to leave indents. You’ll check for bruises in the morning, even though Bob never leaves any. He’s always so careful with you.

“Please,” Bob whispers, before making you shatter on his tongue.

You almost tell him then, but manage to hold it in, blinking the stars from your eyes, until Bob is sprawled across your bed after, mouth shining with you, pressing a wet kiss to your temple.

Soft. Like a promise.

“I really like you.”

Half a second passes, and Bob is completely still.

Fuck. You pull back from him.

Why did you say that? You shouldn’t have said anything,

You’ve ruined it. It was good. You’ve ruined everything. You –

A creaking bedspring. Bob reaches over you to turn on the light and grabs his glasses from the nightstand. You are both bathed in the warm yellow light as Bob slides them on.

Not to leave. He wants to see your face better.

He pushes himself upright, sliding to lean against the headboard, forearms rippling with the movement. Bob doesn’t leave.

“You…” Bob hesitates, expression guarded. “You do?”

It would be easier to lie about it. You can’t do it anymore.

“I do. Is that… Is it okay that I said that? Is it too soon?”

You can hear your own hope in your voice, unbridled, and Bob searches your expression, eyes wide and blue behind the wire frames. You’d never seen that color blue before him.

In lieu of an answer, Bob says, “I love you.”

You might not be breathing. You’re definitely crying.

He cups your cheek in a large palm, catching a tear that spills across the bridge of your nose. His voice is low and tender, enough to warm you from the inside out. “I’ve loved you for months now, and I couldn’t...” Wetness shines on his own cheek, and Bob brushes it away. “It felt so delicate and new, and I couldn’t risk losing you, even if I only ever got to have pieces.”

A curl falls across his forehead. You brush it back, stroking your fingertips down his cheek, and Bob closes his eyes with a shuddering breath, leaning into your touch. He is shaking.

“Not just pieces. You’ve had me, all of me the whole time.”

And Bob rewards your confession with his own.

“I always wanted to stay with you. You never asked, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” And the corner of his mouth lifts in a wobbly smile. “That didn’t stop me from pushing my luck when I was feeling brave.”

You remember. He’d hold you a little longer, pull away a little slower. He’d whisper words too low for you to make out. You wonder now if Bob was saying these words; if Bob had really whispered I love you in your dreams or said it for real.

You need to know. “And if I ask you now?”

“I’d stay with you,” Bob promises, serious and solemn. “I'd hold you. And then, in the morning, I’d bring you breakfast. I make a mean scrambled egg.”

You laugh, and Bob smiles at the sound.

He lowers you onto your back, moving over you. He is broad enough to blot out the light, looking at you with such hope and love. His gaze moves between your eyes and your lips.

“Are you?” Bob asks, serious again. He raises your interlocked fingers and kisses the back of your hand. “Asking, I mean?”

You kiss him. It is answer enough.

For the rest of the night, Bob is all over you, kissing your cheeks, pinning your interlocked fingers into the soft sheets. He slides into you with your name on his lips, saying those three words over and over again, like a prayer.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He lets go only once – to slide his glasses from his nose and deposit them back in their place on the nightstand.

And in the morning, Bob brings you coffee in a handmade mug with the little pink and green flowers. He stays.

end note: i'd love to hear your thoughts and feelings, especially since i've never written a bob floyd fic before. happy valentine's day!

#love is in the air tgm #bob floyd fic #robert floyd fic #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd x you #bob floyd angst #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd smut #laracrofted writes #fic: delicate #fic: bob floyd

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writingdumpster · 2 years

Text

when you come back

pairing: Robert Floyd (Bob) x reader

warnings: none

word count: 1,000

summary: After seeing how dangerous the mission is, Bob gets worried about leaving you behind.

masterlist

“Don’t tell me. Tell his family.”

The words rang over and over again in Bob’s mind. He wasn’t upset with Phoenix nor Coyote. What all of them were doing was difficult and they needed practice. He wasn’t upset with anyone but himself. He was going back and forth on whether he ever should have joined the Navy at all. On one hand he never would have met you if he hadn’t been based in Lemoore, but if he wasn’t in the Navy he also wouldn’t have the horrible feeling that was brewing in his stomach.

Bob couldn’t believe he’d ever been so stupid as to believe that he would never be in danger like this. He wasn’t scared for himself. He didn’t want to die, but he was in the Navy for a reason. He was scared for you. Bob meant to take care of you till the day you died. He couldn’t leave you unprotected. He had been distraught ever since his training.

You had a job that allowed you to work from home which was lucky because it meant as long as Bob wasn’t deployed, you could be with him. So you had gone to North Island with him even though he was only meant to be there a couple weeks. You rented an airbnb which turned out to be great for Bob because they’d only been offered barracks to sleep in on the base. He came home from his second day of training at Top Gun with worry written across his face.

“How was training, Robby?” You asked as you rose from the couch to wrap your arms around his neck and give him his ‘welcome home’ kiss.

“We have to get married before I go,” Bob blurted out when you pulled away. You chuckled.

“What are you talking about?” You asked with a smile.

“I’m not joking, honey. We have to get married before I go,” he said. His hands had found purchase on your hips, his fingers spreading across your body above the thin spandex of your leggings.

“Robby, why would we do that? We just finished paying off the venue and we sent out invitations two weeks ago,” you said with a smile. “I’m excited too, but we don’t want to let down all the people who are coming just to get a free meal.” Bob didn’t laugh. He raised a hand to your neck and ran his thumb along your jawline.

“The man teaching us is a Captain. His girlfriend has a boat and he’ll take us out to marry us before I go,” he said seriously. The smile on your face was fading away.

“Why do we need to get married before you go, Robby?” You asked. Bob gave you a sad smile.

“Just in case,” he said. He didn’t want to say what you were beginning to understand.

“In case of what?” You asked. Your voice had lost the softness that you usually spoke to him with. It was wavering and hollow. Bob sighed. He kissed your forehead.

“It’s a dangerous mission. More than I ever would have thought,” he admitted.

“Robby.” Your voice wavered. “What does that mean?” He looked at you and pursed his lips.

“I can’t tell you much more,” he said.

“Why do we have to get married now, Robby?” You asked, your voice cracking as tears rose to your eyes.

“Honey, I’m sorry,” Bob murmured.

“I don’t want to get married now,” you whimpered, the first tear spilling from your eye.

“I know, sweetheart. I don’t either,” he said.

“Then we shouldn’t. We should just go back to Lemoore,” you said, your voice cracking.

“Y/N, honey, you know I can’t do that,” he said.

“We should just go home, Robby. Just go back to Lemoore,” you repeated. Bob pulled you into his chest and ran his hand over the back of your head, smoothing your hair out. You let out the sob you’d been holding in.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I can’t lose you, Robby,” you whimpered through your tears. Bob didn’t know what to do. There was nothing he could say that would make you feel better and be truthful. He couldn’t tell you that there was nothing to worry about or that everything would be okay, because he couldn’t be sure of either of those things. He’d never regretted joining the Navy more, and after the two hundred push-ups he had to do the day before he hadn’t been expecting the record to be beaten for a while. You sniffled against his shirt, your arms were wrapped around him tightly keeping him pressed to your body. His hand was still running through your hair delicately.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he mumbled. “You mean so much to me, and no matter what–”

“Robert Floyd, you better not be trying to say goodbye to me,” you said sternly. You pulled away so you could meet Bob’s eye. You still had tear tracks on your cheeks and your eyes were red and puffy.

“I just want you to know,” he said softly.

“Tell me when you come back then,” you ordered.

“Honey…” Bob protested.

“When you come back,” you said firmly. Bob closed his mouth and nodded. There was time later for him to say what he wanted to say to you. Right now you needed to believe that he would come home. And all he had ever wanted to do was take care of you. So, instead of telling you how much he loved you and how lucky he felt to have you, he kissed your forehead and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

“Okay, honey. When I come back.”

#bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #Bob Floyd x reader #bob x reader #bob floyd angst #lewis pullman x reader #top gun maverick x reader

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topguncortez · 7 months

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Sleep When You're Dead || Whumptober Day 2 - B. Floyd

Whumptober Masterlist || Whumptober Taglist Form

synopsis: Bob has had a hard time adjusting to life after a tragic accident. Every time he closes his eyes, the nightmares come flooding back.

@ailesswhumptober prompt: insomnia

warnings: mercy killing, graphic details of injury, physical violence, nightmares, choking, panic attack, character death, insomnia.

word count: 5.2k

Bob Floyd didn’t let a lot of things bother him. He prided himself on being the cool, calm, and collected WSO in the box. Yes, he was one of the younger ones in his squadron, but he had the intellect of someone who had been flying for all their life. He was able to direct his pilot through the most successful situations and get them both back on the carrier in one piece.

But that had all changed in the blink of an eye.

The 4th gen had come out of nowhere. Bob would’ve certainly seen it on the radar and would’ve directed his pilot on how to get out from under the missile lock.

Bob could remember the burning scent of flesh as their jet went spinning down to the ground. He could remember the pain that shot through his whole body as he ejected from his seat, and crash-landed on the side of the mountain. He could remember running through the rough terrain trying to get to his pilot but finding nothing but mangled plane parts mixed with human body parts. He could remember trying to pull his pilot out of the damaged cockpit, but his brunt skin slid off in Bob’s hands. He could remember trying to keep the wildlife away from the crash, yelling and clanging against the side of the destroyed jet to make the vultures run away.

Bob had managed for two days to keep the wolves away from his pilot’s decaying body, until one night when he finally closed his eyes. He woke up to the harsh growls and snarls of the wild animals tearing the man’s body apart and having a feast. Bob could do nothing but sit from afar and watch and pray that someone was on their way to get him.

— — —

The sun had just risen above the clouds, bathing the whole house in a warm glow. Bob used to love the early mornings. It was one of the few fleeting moments that he got to truly spend with you. As soon as the two of you would roll out of bed, everything became a blur of trying to get out the door on time to get to work. And nights were always filled with long, tired sighs of just trying to keep your eyes open long enough to make dinner and take a shower. But mornings, you two felt like you had all the time in the world to hold each other in the warm light.

That all changed after Bob’s accident.

He no longer was there beside you when you opened your eyes as the sun poked through your white blinds. You stretched your limbs out, missing the warmth from your partner on the other side of the bed. A frown crawled on your face as you gently placed your hand on his pillow, seeing as it was cold and looked untouched. Just like how it had been the morning before, and the one before that, and the one before that.

You didn’t know much about Bob’s accident, and you were kind of happy that you didn’t know the true horrors that he went through. You knew the basics; he and his pilot crashed into the middle of the mountains, they were there for five days due to their location beacons being crushed, his pilot was badly injured, and Bob had some burns and minor injuries. Bob had tried to save his pilot, but all attempts were futile. Bob had also been diagnosed with PTSD.

“He’s going to be different from the man you once knew.”

His psychologist had sent you home with a folder full of information about how to handle someone with PTSD. How one minute, they could be the person you’ve always known and the next they are someone completely different. Truthfully, it worried you to have Bob home. Of course, you had begged and wished for the day he came home when he was missing in god only knows where. But having him home, in the house that you shared, you were scared. You could tell something was different about him.

Slowly, you made your way downstairs of your two-story home, wrapping your robe around your body. You found Bob in the place you found him most mornings and throughout the day, sitting on the front porch step, looking out at the bird feeder. His blue eyes were locked on the squirrels that were trying to figure out how to get into the feeder. You could remember when Bob bought the “squirrel-proof” bird feeder and how happy he had been to put it up in front of the large bay window.

“Baby! Look! My birds don’t have to fight with the squirrels anymore!”

You wanted to cry at the memory. At how light and bright his eyes had been holding the box in his hands. How that night the two of you sat on the porch swing until it was dark, watching the sunset and the birds. Bob held you so tight that night, right against his beating chest. He took you inside when it had gotten cold, and made slow, sweet, passionate love to you in bed. Keeping his eyes locked on yours, as he intertwined your fingers and held your hands above your head. You closed your eyes, putting your hand on your neck as if you could still feel the feeling of his hot breath on your neck.

But when you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of a man who hadn’t even hugged you since he came back.

Oh, how you ached to be held by him again.

Pushing those thoughts out of your head, you walked towards him, gently calling out his name. You had quickly learned that you couldn’t walk up behind him anymore. You had done that once and it sent him into a full-fledged panic attack and he locked himself in the bathroom for three hours.

“Bobby,” You called out. It took a moment, but Bob turned his head and looked at you over his shoulder. You smiled softly as you took a seat in the spot next to him on the stoop, “Gorgeous morning.”

“Squirrels are in the feeder,” He said bluntly, ignoring your comment.

You swallowed and looked down at your hands, “Yeah. Damn, squirrels.”

Bob just nodded, his blue eyes not looking from the bird feeder.

You weren’t sure how long you had sat by Bob’s side this morning, but eventually, you had to get up and start your day. You were working from home, taking time off so you could stay with Bob until he could be trusted to be home alone. The psychiatrist had told you that Bob was still in a fragile state of mind and that being home alone might be a trigger for him. Bob usually sat on the couch all day, watching the birds outside the window, or sat in your office, on the loveseat that you could remember cuddling on, with a book. As much as you loved having Bob back home, having him sit in your office made you so nervous, that you started to tell him that you had important meetings that you needed to be alone for.

“Are you still hiding from him?” Natasha asked over the phone.

You frowned at her words, “I am not hiding, Nat. I just. . .He’s just not the same. He just sits and stares at the birds all day. I wish he would talk to me. Hell, I wish he would fucking hug me! It has been so long since I’ve had any sort of human contact.”

“Awe babe,” Natasha cooed, “Have you told him that?”

You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see you, “I’m scared too. Doctor Sam said I need to let him have control over what happens. I just need to wait for him to talk to me, to hug me, to. . .” Your voice broke as tears welled in your eyes, “To love me.”

“Stop that,” Natasha commanded, “You know he loves you. There is nothing on this earth that Bob loves more than you.”

“He doesn’t even lay in the same bed as me anymore,” You said barely above a whisper. “I just want my old Bobby back.”

Natasha had been your closest confidant after Bob’s accident. She had blamed herself for everything that happened, telling you that if she had just been with him. If she hadn’t been on leave to help her ailing mother. If she had told Bob to sit this mission out and wait for her. If she had been the one to be out there for five days instead of him. But you told her she couldn’t dwell on all the “what ifs”, that wasn’t going to change anything that happened. You feared that maybe if she had been with Bob, it would’ve been her funeral they had to attend.

“He will come back,” Natasha assured you, “He is still somewhere in there. He just needs to heal a little more.”

You agreed with her, even though you didn’t want to. You wanted to yell and say that the man you once knew is completely gone, replaced by the cold-hearted barely functioning robot in your living room.

You parted ways with Natasha, telling her that you want to get together for a girls’ night soon, and made your way downstairs to check on Bob. He was sitting on the couch, with a quizzical expression on his face, staring at the wedding photo on the wall. You wanted to say something, to ask him anything, but you decided against it, going to the kitchen and making lunch for the two of you.

— — —

Bob hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on your conversation.

He had planned on coming to actually talk to you, to have a real conversation. He felt like he was making good progress in therapy with Doctor Sam. He no longer saw the lifeless, half-eaten body of his pilot every time he closed his eyes. The blades of the ceiling fan no longer represented the helicopter that came to rescue him. The birds outside in the bird feeder no longer looked like the vultures that came to pick over what was left of his pilot. And the recurring dream of you being the one he had to fight wolves off and bury.

But Bob had always been raised to be respectful and wait until someone was off the phone to enter a room. So he waited and heard every single word you had said.

“I just need to wait for him to talk to me, to hug me, to. . . love me.”

“He doesn’t even lay in the same bed as me anymore.”

“I just want my old Bobby back.”

Bob knew this couldn’t have been easy on you. He knew the type of person you are. All sunshine, and rainbows, and bright smiles. You were his sun, the light that shined so bright. The infectious warmth that you couldn’t help but be drawn to. But he knew that you couldn’t shine on your own, you needed the people around you to shine. Which was why the two of you fit so well together. Bob was like the moon, quiet and mysterious and you helped illuminate him.

Now, it was like a cloud had covered the both of you. Not letting either of you shine.

After a painstaking lunch, where neither of you said a single word, Bob had retreated back to the couch, as you went back to your office to finish up a couple of things for work. The words you had spoken over the phone still danced around in his head.

“I just want my old Bobby back.”

Bob bit his lip, closing his eyes and thinking of the things he used to do when he noticed your light starting to dim. Images of him cooking, you sitting on the kitchen counter next to him rambling about whatever had upset you filled his mind. The scent of rose petals filled his nose as he could remember bubble baths, filled with entirely too much water and bubbles. Then he could feel the imaginary touch of hands, running down his back, and your legs locking around his waist as he could remember making love to you until your mind had completely gone blank.

Bob wasn’t sure if he could fulfill all of those memories, but he could at least help with one.

Easily, Bob found his way around the kitchen, pulling out the skillet and various items needed to make your favorite dish; spaghetti with bow tie noodles. He worked in silence, letting the kitchen fill with the scents of oregano and garlic. It wasn’t long after Bob started to stir the pasta around the pot that you came walking into the kitchen, a look of surprise on your face.

“You’re cooking?” You asked.

Bob nodded his head, mustering up the smallest smile he could give, “You’ve been making all the meals. It’s not fair.”

“I-it’s fine, Bobby,” You said, pulling at the sleeves of your sweatshirt, “I don’t mind.”

You were nervous. Bob hadn’t noticed it before, so locked away in his own mind, but you were nervous to be around him. He could see the fleeting glance in your eye as you fiddled with your sweatshirt sleeve. Bob sucked in a breath and walked over to you, gently touching your hand.

“It’s the least I can do,” Bob said softly, “Please. Come sit.”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft and teary. You licked your lips, and nodded, letting Bob gently pull you over to the island. His hands gently rested on your hips as he helped you up, sitting you on top of the island, just as he had a hundred times before. It was silent for just a moment as Bob turned back around to the pots and pans he had on the stove. You weren’t sure what to say, but then Bob looked over his shoulder.

“Tell me about your day.”

You smiled at him and nodded your head, “So, I started working on this work project, and let me tell ya this. . .”

The rest of the night was filled with you telling Bob about your day, and him listening intently as he made dinner. He plated the delicious meal and set the dining room table as you rambled on about this work project and how your jerk of a boss wasn’t pulling his weight and putting it all on you. Bob didn’t say much, but his eyes said everything, which was enough for you. You truly missed nights like these, where he just listened, giving you a safe outlet to release all the tension you had been carrying. The meal he had made was utterly delicious, with homemade tomato sauce and meatballs. If there was one thing about Bob, he knew how to cook.

The two of you finished up dinner like you always did, doing the dishes together. You washing, and him drying. However, as the night dwindled down, the dread came rising back in your body. What was going to happen next? Were the two of you going to retreat back to the silent corners of the house and pretend like you hardly existed? Were you going to go back to just surviving instead of truly living?

When the last dish was put away, you turned around, leaning against the sink as you watched Bob. He gently shut the cupboards and then heaved in a breath, his shoulders rising and falling sharply. You rolled your lips together, waiting for him to silently walk out of the kitchen, and out the front door to go look at his birds. But instead, he turned around to face you, blue eyes looking more lively than they had in weeks.

“I would like to join you in bed tonight,” He said and then reached a shaky hand out to you. You didn’t even hesitate a moment, rushing over to him and taking his hand. Bob flinched at the contact but held your hand tightly. He leads you down the hall to your once-shared bedroom, pushing the door open softly.

He had dreams of this room, most of them nightmares now, of finding your body on the white comforter, contorted and twisted in the metal of a jet. Bob closed his eyes as you let go over his hand, and quickly started your nighttime routine. He sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the soft cotton of the comforter under his hands as you danced around the room and got ready for bed. The mattress felt a lot softer than the couch he had been sleeping on.

You quickly changed into some sleep shorts and a large T-shirt which Bob quickly realized was his. You piled your hair up on your head, tying it into a bun with a velvet scrunchy. Bob still sat on the edge of the bed, stoic, as you pulled the blankets back on your side, ready to climb into the awaiting warmth.

“Bobby,” You called softly, making him jump a bit. Guilt filled your heart as you looked at his stiff frame. You suddenly felt bad for how excited you had been to have him sleep next to you. He looked like the scared boy that you found lying in the hospital bed after being assumed dead for five days.

“You don’t have to-”

Bob stood up abruptly and turned towards you, “I need to.” He bit his lip and hesitated for a moment before grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head revealing his toned stomach. You tore your eyes away from a sight that made you weak in the knees. You cursed yourself for getting turned on at this moment. Bob rid himself of his pants, leaving him just in boxers, and then climbed in bed next to you.

The two of you lay with a palpable distance between you. You had never been so close but felt so far away from him in your life. However, you didn’t want to make the first move. You knew that you needed to let Bob control the scene. So, you just laid there, with your arms down at your side, staring straight at the ceiling, with the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“Can I turn the light off?” You asked. You knew that when Bob did sleep, he slept with at least one light on in the living room.

Bob swallowed and then nodded his head, “Yes.”

Sighing, you reached over and flicked the light off, letting the darkness of the night swallow you both. The tension seemed to rise even more as you two laid with at least a body’s width in between the two of you. Your nose started to burn as tears welled up in your eyes. You felt so selfish, but all you wanted was for Bob to hold you. Laying next to you was such a milestone in itself, but you wanted his strong arms wrapped around you, fighting off the imaginary monsters of the dark.

Your lips trembled as Bob shifted closer to you and whispered, “C’mere,” Holding his arm out and letting you curl into his side. You sobbed as you placed your head on his chest and wrapped an arm around his warm body. Oh, how you have missed this. You sucked in a breath of his scent, pine mixed with the faint smell of jet fuel. Your ear was pressed against his chest, feeling his beating heart and the warmth of his blood, lulling you to a long-awaited rest.

— — —

“We’re going down, Floyd! We’re going down!”

“Jackson! We need altitude! Pull up! Pull up!”

“I-I can’t! I can’t! We’re gonna die!”

“Jesus Christ, help us!”

The impact of the crash hurt worse than the time he had to eject from the bird strike. He had barely been able to get out on time, pulling his ejection handle and punching out. His blue eyes searched the terrain for any sight of his pilot and an extra parachute.

“Jackson!” Bob yelled, running through the snow-covered woods. There was a trail of burnt-out plane parts that led him to the mangled piece of metal sitting in the middle of the woods. Bob felt sick as the scent of burning flesh and jet fuel mixed in the air. He didn’t hesitate and ran straight towards the jet.

The sight was even worse up close. Bob couldn’t see the lower half of Jackson’s body, but he knew that he was pinned under the 13,000 kilograms of metal. His face had been burned, the white snow around his head bleeding. His chest heaved up and down, as he tried to catch his breath from his lungs being crushed. Bob fell to his knees at his side, looking over the wreckage, trying to decide what he could do.

“Okay, okay,” Bob shook his head. His mind was running a mile a minute. He gripped his hair tightly, “Fuck! I’m going to try and slide you out.” Bob shifted so he was kneeling at Jackson’s head, his hands going under his armpits. But even the slightest movement made the pilot cry out in pain, “I’m sorry. Take a deep breath. . . ready, on 3, I’m going to try and move you.”

“Please, Floyd, I don’t want to die,” Jackson cried, tears mixing with the blood and dirt on his face.

Bob nodded, moving so he could get a better grip on the pilot, “One, two. . .three.” Bob tried to shuffle backward with his pilot’s body in his hands, but the thing that happened was the sickening sound of the jet bending and moaning, and Jackson’s screams of agony.

“Fuck! Fuck! You’re ripping me apart!” Jackson yelled. Bob immediately set him down, tears in his eyes as he looked at the scene.

Bob had always believed that he could do something in every situation. He never felt like he was truly and utterly helpless.

Until now.

Bob felt helpless. There was nothing he could possibly do to save his pilot. He knew it and Jackson knew it as he turned his head to look at the quiet WSO. Bob sat down in the snow, leaning up against the jet, holding his head in his hands.

“H-hey,” Jackson called out, “It’s okay, Floyd. You tried.”

Bob shook his head, “N-no. I can get you out there. I know I can,” Bob quickly moved to his feet, his hands going to a part of the jet, “I-I just need to l-lift it, and I-”

“Floyd.”

“I’m going to lift it. Ready? One, two-”

“Floyd!” Jackson yelled, which was followed by coughing. Bob’s jaw clenched, the adrenaline starting to wear off and his body becoming heavy as he sunk back down in the snow. It was quiet for a moment, as the two of them let the gravity of the situation fall around them. They were in the middle of nowhere. No location beacons. No landmarks that could possibly giveaway to where they are.

“Floyd,” Jackson whispered out, “I-I need you to do something.” Bob nodded, getting to his knees, “I. . . I’m gonna suffer. There are wolves out here. . . I don’t want to die by being a wolf’s last meal.” Bob felt like he had gotten hit straight in his heart. His eyes grew wide at the gravity of what Jackson was asking of him, “I need you to-”

“I can’t,” Bob shook his head, “I can’t do that. I can’t- I won’t!”

“Please, Bob,” Jackson sobbed, “I don’t want to suffer. I don’t want to lay here and wait for-”

“I’ll be here. I’ll protect you!”

Jackson shook his head, “You need to get out of here.”

Bob looked at the man who was entrusted with his whole life. There was a special bond between the pilot and WSO. The pilot was ultimately the one responsible for the WSO’s life. Every decision a pilot had to make was not only to ensure their survival but also their backseater’s survival. And now, Bob was being challenged to take the life of the person who was supposed to get him back home safely.

“Please,” Jackson reached his hand out. And for the first time, Bob noticed the black wedding band on his finger. Guilt filled his body, realizing that Bob hardly got to know the man before climbing in the plane behind him and setting off on this mission. Bob didn’t know if he had kids, how long he had been married, or what his favorite color was. But there was one thing that Bob did know, and that was he could grant him his last rights.

Bob grabbed Jackson’s hand, holding it in his own for a moment and squeezing it.

“You’re a good man, Bob Floyd.”

Bob clenched his jaw, as he positioned his body so he was straddling Jackson’s. His foot planted on the ground and kneeling on his other knee. Jackson’s brown eyes trained on the sky, as one of Bob’s hands clasped down on his mouth and nose, the other going to his throat.

— — —

You jolted awake, feeling the pressure of another body on top of you. You gasped as Bob’s hand tightened on your throat, your eyes wide in panic. Your arms and legs failed as you tried to push him off, slapping at his skin. But the look in Bob’s eyes told you that he was anywhere but here in this dark bedroom.

Your lungs burned as you tried to keep fighting for air. Bob’s large hand pressed down on your windpipe, his hand held tightly over your nose and mouth. Tears were running down your face as your vision became blurry. Bob’s cold blue eyes bore into yours as if he were looking right through you.

This was not the man you loved.

Your body began to feel heavy, as your head started to swim from the lack of oxygen flowing to your brain. You struggled less and less as your brain had come to the conclusion that you were going to die. Right here, in the same bed, you were sharing with your husband, at his own hand.

“Bobby. . . “ You somehow, managed to squeak out Bob’s name, hoping that maybe, just maybe you could reach to him, get him to wake up. Hoping that maybe, he would be able to save you. But the blank look on his face told you that your greatest fear was coming true.

And the moment before you could give up, the door came crashing open. Bob’s body was tackled off of you, and you felt air rush into your lungs. You sucked in a deep breath, which was followed by a series of coughs as someone sat on the bed next to you, wrapping you up in their arms. You covered your mouth as sobs racked your body, your heart rate beating erratically in your chest. You looked over to the side of the bed, where Jake was tackling a screaming Bob on the floor.

“Don’t,” Your voice was hoarse as you tried calling out to Jake to stop hurting Bob.

“Shh,” You looked up to see Bradley, holding you tightly against his chest, “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

“He wanted me to! He said to! He said to kill him! I had to!” Bob yelled, his body flailing against Jake’s stronghold, “He told me-” Bob’s voice was cut off by the sickening smack of Jake’s backhand hitting him across the face. You flinched at the sound as Bradley led you down the hall towards the living room.

“It’ll be okay,” Bradley whispered in your ear, running his hand up and down your back.

Hours had passed, and you were still sitting on the couch, now holding an icepack to your swelling throat. Jake was still in the bedroom with Bob, and you had guessed by now, that Bob had finally calmed down. For a while, you heard yelling as Jake and Bob argued, and then what sounded like Bob sobbing how he didn’t know what he was doing. You sat motionless on the couch, as Bradley had turned on some late-night rerun of the Phillies game. He had encouraged you to go to the emergency room, but the idea of having to explain what happened made you nauseous. Besides, it was an accident. You knew it. But you knew others would think so.

Bradley looked over at you, for probably the tenth time in the last twenty minutes, “Your eyes might take some time to heal.”

“I don’t,” Your throat killed you to speak. You took a swallow, “Plan on going anywhere,” You whispered out.

Bradley frowned, “I think you should. I know someone who won’t say-” You shook your head, shutting down the conversation that had come up several times already. Bradley gave you a court nod before turning back to the game. The silence stretched over you again, until you shifted on the couch and patted Bradley’s arm.

“How did you know?” You asked softly.

Bradley sighed, “Jake and I were watching a movie, you must’ve accidentally called him,” He looked down at his fingers, picking at the callouses on his hand, “We could hear some struggling, coughing and all that. Jake didn’t even think twice when you didn’t respond to him calling your name. He got up and ran right over.”

You were suddenly very thankful to have Jake “Hangman” Seresin as your next-door neighbor. You don’t even remember clearing off your bedside table in a fit of panic, reaching for your phone to call someone. Anyone who could come save you. You felt an immense debt of gratitude towards Jake for saving your life.

The door to your bedroom opened and sucked the air right out of the living room. Bob had looked like he had been to hell and back. His cheeks were red, his eyes bloodshot, and his knuckles bloodied. Jake looked pissed as he stood behind him, his jaw clenched shut tightly. Bob walked with his head down towards you, standing in front of you, his body visibly trembling.

“Y/N, I. . .” Bob opened his mouth, but sobs escaped. All you wanted to do was wrap him up in your arms, but something in your conscious told you to stay put. Bob cried and rubbed at his eyes as if he were a child. He looked so small and fragile as he stood in front of you, “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t have to go to bed with me, tonight,” You spoke, “Why did you?”

Bob shook his head, his hands fisting his hair, “You said you wanted the old me back and I-I thought I was doing the right thing.”

You stood from the couch, “Look at me,” Bob shook his head like a petulant child. You grabbed his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. His blue eyes took in the sight of the handprint on your throat, already starting to turn purple. The blood vessels around your eyes had popped, leaving them looking red and angry.

“God, I’m so sorry,” Bob sobbed out.

“You don’t get to place the blame on me because I said I wanted the old you back. I know I am never going to get him back. We can both learn to move forward,” Bob nodded, “But you need help, Bobby. You can’t get better on your own.”

“I don’t like how-”

“Then I will leave,” You silenced him, “I will leave and never come back.”

Bob looked into your eyes, tears blurring his vision. He sucked in a breath and nodded his head.

whumptober taglist: @els-marvelvsp @sarahsmi13s @topgun-imagines @xoxabs88xox @cassiemitchell @seitmai @a-reader-and-a-writer @bradleybeachbabe @kmc1989 @senawashere @beautifulandvoid

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