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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 3 months

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Sickles, Snowflakes, & Sharks

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x Reader

Description: When you find yourself in the hospital fretting over a friend, the last thing you expect is a chance at love. One handsome doctor, some shitty hospital coffee, sickles, snowflakes, and a shark is apparently all you need.

Warnings: Hospitals, Doctors, Mentioned injury to the arm, Mentions of blood

Word Count: 3712

Author Note: Hiya everyone! This is from a request submitted by @emma8895eb. They sent in a gorgeous picture set of Lewis Pullman from Lessons in Chemistry and requested an AU of Bob being a doctor. The gifs of the scene were indeed soft and fluffy, so of course, I had to write a soft and fluffy little fic to accompany them!

Thanks to @horseshoegirl for beta-reading this fic for me!

My Masterlist

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

You haven’t been in a hospital since you were very young. So, it figures your return is due to the fact one of your friends decided to be completely idiotic and stupid in the middle of the night. Who in the world thought it was a good idea to drink in the middle of a snowstorm in a barn?

It's a rhetorical question, of course. Only your friends, your roommates, would choose to do that. As if that wasn't stupid enough, they also decided to jump from the hayloft into the colossal pile of fragrant hay. One of them, Jake, because of course it was him, ended up impaling himself on a still sharp sickle. You were the only sober member of the party, so the consequences had been up to you to handle.

At least you managed to keep him from yanking the blade out of his forearm. You'd run out to the main house in the snow, swathed his arm in towels, and loaded him into your truck. The next step involved booking it to the hospital, of course, but that is easier said than done when it feels like an entire glacier was raining down over your head. The temperature on the dash was edging towards -15°F, and even with the heat blasting, you could hear Jake’s teeth chatter. Something told you he's going into shock. e His eyes were fever-bright, and he hadn't spoken in nearly twenty minutes. If you knew anything about Jake Seresin, the man couldn't shut up if he tried.

So your face is pinched, and it feels like you've got an elephant sitting on your chest when you roar into the Emergency Room drop-off loop with a squeal of brakes and rocket yourself out of the vehicle. You slam the driver's door shut and call for a couple of the nurses in scrubs nearby to help you get Jake out of the truck. Unsurprisingly, maneuvering Jake out of his seat, all six feet of him, is far harder than you think. Also unsurprising is how Jake is laid on a gurney and taken straight away to get some painkillers and X-rays done. Shortly after, while you're pacing the hallway outside the waiting room, a very nice ER Doctor comes out to tell you Jake needs surgery and is being carted away to the OR at that very moment. You can't help but feel a little like a marionette with its strings cut at the news.

When you slump, finally, into a hard-backed chair outside of a surgical suite, you're so tired you could cry. With adrenaline coursing through your system, your hands shake, and you're shivering, too. Of course, given your panic, you also completely forgot to grab a coat or gloves. So you’re sitting in the hospital with snow melting into your hair and soaking into the hem of your jeans. Your feet feel like ice, and you’re so worried you can’t sit still.

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

You blink, and all of a sudden, someone is crouching in front of you. He’s wearing scrubs and a white doctor’s coat. There are wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and his blue eyes seem to twinkle in the sterile lights.

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft but warm.

When you look at your shaking hands, they are coated in rust, the color staining your skin in streaks.

“I, I don’t know.” Your voice sounds strangled as you choke the words out.

“Do you want to get cleaned up a little?” You nod, a little jerky bobble of your head up and down. His hands are warm as they cover yours, stalling the shivers as they pull you up.

“Truth be told,” He ducks in closer, murmuring into your ear in a way that should not be as sexy as it is, “I'm not supposed to be doing this.”

“But,” His voice makes sparks light up in your chest as he leads you into an elevator and up two floors. He keeps his hand hovering at the small of your back, close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin through your thin t-shirt. “What are the rules for if you can't break them every once in a while?”

The door he opens leads you to a locker room. You’re tongue-tied standing in such close quarters with this beautiful stranger. He turns, and the look of concentration on his face as he tugs out a spare set of scrubs takes your breath away.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd think you made a habit of doing this to unsuspecting girls covered in blood.”

“I, uh… I don't.”

“So why me? You don't even know my name. Nor do I know yours, for that matter.”

“Oh!” His laugh feels like champagne bubbles bursting across your tongue. “I’m Bob. Bob Floyd, I'm a trauma surgeon here at the hospital.”

“Well, Dr. Floyd.” You smile at the slight blush on the apples of his cheeks and introduce yourself. “You seem awfully familiar with breaking the rules for a man of your stature.”

“A man of my stature?”

“Yeah, sweet and kind. Bespectacled.”

“Bespectacled?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes crinkle with the force of his laugh as he tips his head back. A curl hangs over his forehead, and if your hands weren’t covered in blood you’d push it off his forehead for him.

“C’mon, silly girl. Get cleaned up. I’d love to continue this conversation when you don’t look like Carrie.”

Is it wrong to lay the moves on the hot trauma surgeon when one of your friends is in surgery? Your conscious mind is telling you it’s probably not the most moral of things to do. But the other part of you, the part routinely indulging in romances and squealing at the thought of a meet-cute, is begging you to hold onto the opportunity with both hands. You'd truly be stupid not to, you rationalize as you soap up your skin using the bottle of ginger and orange soap Doctor Bob gave you. It smells amazingly, mouth-wateringly delicious, and a part of you wonders if it smells as good on his skin as it does on yours. But you derail the thought before it goes any further and step out of the shower, shivering a little in the cold hospital air.

Goosebumps rise on your arms as you pull on the scrubs before bunching up your soiled clothes. What’s the likelihood Bob’s still out there? He’s probably gotten a call or something and needs to prep for surgery, right? There are probably a million better things he could be doing. You should return to the surgical suites and see if you can coax some information about Jake from a nice-looking nurse.

When you peek around the door, you're surprised to find Dr. Floyd is still there, arms crossed against the broad expanse of his chest, blue eyes narrowed in thought. Your eyes widen, taking in just how handsome this man is. With long legs, made even longer by the slim-fitting scrubs, muscular arms, broad chest, and slim waist, it feels like you're on a roller coaster ride because a flirty stranger shouldn't be this alluring. Of course, your favorite part of him has to be his eyes, navy blue and mercurial, the color seeming to shift depending on his mood and the atmosphere around him. They sparkle in the sterile lights when you step through the door, absolutely dwarfed by the scrubs on your body.

“Thank you for this, truly.” The words trip off your tongue in a futile attempt to stop the awkwardly shy way you've been staring at him.

“I was happy to.” Your breath catches as he steps forward, handing you soft, dark fabric. “Wear this, you look cold.”

Looking at the fine hairs rising on your arms and how your skin textures from the drafty, antiseptic-smelling breeze, it’s an offer you’re only too glad to accept from this sweet doctor.

“Would you, um…” When he drags his fingers through his perfectly coiffed hair, dislodging a curl that falls across his brow, you itch to push it back into place. “Would you like to grab a cup of coffee with me? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m sure you’d rather check on your friend.”

He’s babbling, and you feel bad as you toe at the pristine tile, murmuring, “I should probably check on Jake.”

It’s his turn to toe at the tile. A part of you is tickled to see he has a charm on his crocs in the shape of the blue shark from that Korean baby shark song.

“What would you say, sweetheart, if I told you I set it up so my colleagues would page me when your friend’s procedure is done?”

You’ve got bubbles crawling up your esophagus, popping blithely in your mind as you look up at this tall, broad man with the countenance of a puppy.

“I'd ask if the coffee in the cafeteria was any better than the cups dispensed out of the machine down the hall.”

“It's a little bit better than the machine, yeah.” There's something like a smile on his face as he looks down at you, blue eyes crinkling in joy.

“Then lead the way, Dr. Floyd.” Your cocked eyebrow and broad grin make him smile more, the curve of his lips growing as he tugs you in the other direction when you start walking the wrong way.

He makes you feel a little giddy as he walks you down to the cafeteria with his hand against the small of your back. When there are two cups of coffee in front of you, your confidence falls completely flat. It’s like you’re no longer sure what to say anymore. Dr. Floyd seems to be just as stymied for words as you are.

You sip on the bitter coffee because your hands are fidgeting and restless. He’s right about the coffee. It’s better than the machine coffee, but not by much. You fish for something to say because it’s awkward sitting in silence while staring at your coffee. If you’re not looking at your cup, you’re staring at your fingers, with nails clipped short and calloused with your work around the ranch. You can’t bring yourself to look your fill at Dr. Floyd, so you sneak looks at him as you fidget.

“So,” you smile, the gesture feeling awkward as your muscles contort. “How’d you get the baby shark charm on your Crocs, Dr. Floyd?”

He chuckles, eyes flashing behind his glasses as he sips his coffee.

“Would you believe it if I told you I’ve only been at this hospital for a few months now?”

You grin softly at him. It looks like he’s thinking about how to describe the shark charm best, brow furrowed and lips pursed. All you want is to know what’s going on in his head. So you’re content to sit in silence.

“My first rotation here was in the pediatric surgery ward. This adorable little girl was going in for open heart surgery. She was heart-breakingly beautiful, with the prettiest smile, despite how sick she was.”

“Is she okay now?” The words trip out of your mouth without your permission.

“Yeah, she’s perfect.” He’s smiling. “I kept her calm before she went under and greeted her when she woke up with a big stuffed shark from the toy store.” He grins conspiratorially at you. “They didn’t have any sharks in the hospital gift shop. She was so happy to see me that it nearly made me cry. She begged her mom and dad to get me a shark charm for my Crocs before she was released to go home. I’ve been wearing it ever since.”

You’re smiling now in total, and when you shyly glance up at him, he’s smiling a smile that mirrors yours. “You sound like you love what you do, Doctor.”

“Call me Bob. Please.” He grins, and you shudder when you feel his feet tangle with yours beneath the plastic table. “Dr. Floyd is my dad. I still recoil and fight this urge to turn around to see if he’s behind me when I hear that name.”

“Bob, it is.” You giggle a little as you sip on your coffee. “So, you don’t swoop in like a knight in shining armor for any old catatonic girl covered in blood sitting in the waiting area?”

“I don’t.” He cards his fingers through his hair, “You’re special, believe it or not.”

You giggle a little uncomfortably. “How so?”

“You looked like you could use some help. It’s true what I said earlier. I rarely find pretty girls in the waiting room and show them places to get cleaned up. That seems to be something I only do for you.”

His smile fades a little then, brow furrowing again. If you were bolder you’d reach out to brush the wrinkled skin smooth again.

“You looked so lost. It’s weird because I didn’t even know your name.” When he says it, it feels like he’s tasting it on his tongue - and it looks like he likes your name in his mouth, too.

“I just wanted to make you smile and flirt a little bit, too.” When he lifts his eyes back up to meet yours, he’s smiling shyly. “So, is it working?”

You grin back and slide your hand out until you can take his hand. If anything, it stops his fidgeting.

“What’s the likelihood of a girl getting a nice piece of cake here?

“I hate to break it to you, Sugar, but we’re in a hospital. The only dessert we’ve got in Jello.”

“Sugar?”

He smiles. “Yeah, you’re sweet like sugar, especially when you smile at me like that. Give me a second. Let me see what I can get for you.”

When Bob stands up from the chair and strides over to the long counter, he gives you a little bit of room to breathe. It shouldn’t be this easy to fall for a man you barely know. There’s a reason why you were goofing around with your friends in an abandoned barn in the middle of a snowstorm, after all. You don’t have a lot of time for fun anymore.

You haven’t since inheriting the ranch from your great-aunt three years ago. There just hadn’t been enough time. In between getting the ranch running again and taking care of all of the animals, you’ve barely been sleeping. There was always something you needed to take care of, whether it was patrolling around the herds to make sure the coyotes hadn’t gotten them or spending hours going over the accounts to make sure there was enough money for food and medicine - for the humans and the animals.

The first calving season had brought you Jake and Natasha in the middle of a rainstorm. They’d originally stayed just to help with a breech calf, and you’d asked them to stay permanently when you saw how the herd responded to Jake’s soft Texan burr and how at home Natasha had been on horseback under the cornflower blue sky, the wind teasing her hair out from its ponytail. Since then, it’s been the three of you and more animals than each of you know how to handle.

You don’t know for sure, but sometimes you think there’s something between your two friends. It’s easy to notice when you spend most of your day only with the two of them or with the animals on the farm. Maybe you should have let Nat drive Jake to the hospital. But with Betsie foaling soon and Nat one of the only people she trusted, you had no choice. You fumble for your phone, digging it out of your bag, and make sure you haven’t missed any calls or messages from your friend.

Betsie’s in labor. I’ve called Doc McCoy. I don’t know if he’ll make it out to the ranch in time, but don’t worry. You take care of Jake. I’ve got Betsie. Let me know when he’s okay.

She sounds angry or maybe stressed; her words sound clipped even over the phone. Either you’ll have to do a lot of groveling or plan to get her some time alone with Jake.

“Is everything okay?”

Your smile feels like it’s disappeared into thin air - like you couldn’t find it if you tried. Your light, easy demeanor is gone, and the burdens of your day-to-day life are back. But you still try to curve your lips up in Bob’s direction.

“Yeah, yeah.” You accept the plate of jiggling multi-colored Jello from him. “One of our mares is foaling back on the ranch. When it rains, it pours, I guess.”

“Is everything alright? Do you need to run back there?”

You poke lacklusterly at the jiggling sweet as you ponder how to respond to his earnest query. “No. Nat’s the only person the mare in question, Betsie, trusts.”

He blinks gently at you before nudging the Jello closer. “C’mon. You’ll feel better if you eat something.” His tone is quietly wheedling, and his blue eyes sear into you as you scoop a bite of the jiggling sweet into your mouth.

For several moments, it’s quiet. You can taste the artificial fruit as the Jello melts on your tongue. Inexplicably, it calms you as the sugar hits your stomach and dissipates the shadows brought on by stress.

“How long have you had the ranch?” Bob’s gently warm voice feels like being wrapped in blankets.

It feels like you’re wrapped in a dream, you and this handsome doctor, as you let the story spill into the quiet midnight atmosphere. There’s nobody else in the cafeteria with you, and it feels like there’s nobody else in the world. Maybe you shouldn’t share your struggles, things you haven’t told another soul, with a man you’ve only just met. But the stories spill off your tongue sweetly.

“The ranch is beautiful on winter mornings,” your voice is quiet as you intermittently sip your coffee. “It almost feels like a completely different universe.”

“What’s your favorite part of those winter mornings?”

Before you can respond, his phone rings. In an instant, it’s like the man you’ve been talking to for so long is a completely different person. His face shutters, his smiling mouth going flat as he listens to the voice spilling down the line. He hums and nods, all those little noises people make when they’re listening, spilling out in his rich, lush voice. You find yourself liking this side of Bob too - the doctor side.

When he hangs up the call and stands up, you scramble to join him in collecting the mugs of long-cold coffee and empty plates.

“Your friend, Jake?” Your head snaps up so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. “He’s coming out of surgery now. They’re moving him into one of the Post-Anesthesia Care Units. My colleagues on the surgical team say he’s going to be fine. He’ll have to stay at the hospital for another couple of days. He’ll also have to be careful of his arm and not lift anything heavy for the next little while. But he’s going to heal up perfectly.”

You nearly crumple with relief as you follow Bob to the recovery rooms and take your spot next to Jake. The first thing you do when you see Jake again is text Natasha. Between phone calls with Natasha and talking to Jake’s doctors, you lose sight of Bob. As the days pass in trips between the ranch and the hospital, in talking to Natasha, in crying when you see your best friend finally open his eyes when the anesthesia wears away, you’re not sure you’ll ever see Dr. Floyd again.

Was he just a figment of your imagination in the dark hours of night?

You’re signing the last discharge forms two days later when you finally see him again.

“Hey.” He looks sheepish, a small grin curling the corners of his mouth up as he tries valiantly to ignore Jake and Natasha, bickering off to the side.

“Hey.”

“They’re discharging him today, huh?”

You grin at him. “Yeah. I’m glad he’s alright.”

“W-would you maybe want to have coffee sometime, again? Or maybe dinner?” Your heart stutters in its steady beat as you process the words. There’s something like hope growing in your chest before reality rears its ugly head.

“I’d love to. But with the ranch, I’m not sure how feasible it would be to drive an hour into town to have coffee.”

The light in his beautiful blue eyes dims. “Oh.”

“Maybe I can come down to the ranch, then?”

You smile and nod. Jake and Natasha have stopped talking in the background, which means they’ve noticed your conversation with this all too handsome doctor who is wholly out of your league.

“I’d love that.”

“Here,” He hands you his phone. “Put your number in, Sugar.”

When you hand the phone back with clammy palms, he wraps his arms around you in a gentle embrace. You think you can feel the brush of his lips across your forehead.

You’ve got a giddy smile on your face all the way home. Nat and Jake are anything but silent, taking turns asking you what happened in the hospital the night you tore into the Emergency Room drop off. Nat’s a little bolder than Jake is, asking,“So, who’s the cute doctor?” as soon as you’re on the road.

You barely manage to avoid their insistent attempts at wheedling the story out of you until you’ve gotten Jake settled into his room with Nat fluttering about fussing over him. You pull your phone out again in the confines of your bedroom, far away from prying eyes and people who know you too well and can read your every facial expression. There’s a message waiting for you.

Hey, this is Bob. I’d love to come by the ranch when I’m free. Just let me know, Sugar. Hopefully, the winter view you told me about is better than my dreams. I think it will be because it’s got you in it. You have to give me my sweater and scrubs back anyway, doll. So I’ll see you soon.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32 @thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @chaoticassidy @shanimallina87

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #robert bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #bob x reader #bob imagine #robert bob floyd imagin #robert floyd imagine

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sometimes-i-write-good · 1 year

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5 + 1

Top Gun: Maverick - Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x f!pilot reader (callsign: Fallbeil)

4.4k || 5 times Bob remembers your little quirks and habits, and 1 time you remember his.

===

Genre: Fluff, crushing, love confessions

CW: mentions of drinking, swearing

Author’s Note: Bob is such an acts of service kind of person - I can feel it deep in my soul. Also, I thought the idea of him ending up with someone who has a scary ass callsign like Guillotine (which is Fallbeil in German) despite him being a cinnamon roll would be the funniest thing in the world. || cross-posted on ao3

===

The first time you noticed something was because Hangman had that stupid ass look on his face again. That same one he always had, the only one he had in all honesty. The one that, recently, only ever seemed to be directed at you and that pissed you off most of all.

“What?” He asked, but the smirk pulling his lips back into the stupid, smug fucking smile told you clearly: he knew exactly what.

“Leave her alone, Bagman. I’m not in the mood today,” Rooster said, and you could tell he meant it. HIs voice sounded surprisingly tired considering mornings were his prime time of existence. Maverick insisted on calling these meetings earlier and earlier, chinking away at everyone's stability, and it was proving to be too much for even the earliest of risers.

Hangman scoffed, pressing his hand to his chest, and feigning offense. “Why am I always the bad guy? What if today was the day Fallbeil finally snapped and did something to me instead?”

You rolled your eyes. “If I snapped, you wouldn’t be holding a conversation with me. Your head wouldn’t even be attached to your body.”

“Living up to your name as always, doll.”

Rooster slid into one of the empty chairs at the conference table, slapping down a notebook, and turned to look at you. “I’ll punch him if you want.”

“I’m perfectly capable of throwing my own punches, thank you.” The look on Rooster’s face said he didn’t trust you not to take it too far.

“And coffee mugs.” Hangman glanced over his shoulder; eyes trained on the spot where a cracked, open travel cup lay open. Opened and spilled, everywhere. “Which I managed to dodge.”

“Try to dodge my-” but your insult was cut short by Rooster saying, “Coffee? You hate coffee.”

You set your lips in a thin, embarrassed line. “He told me that it was tea.”

“And you believed him?” Rooster snorted.

You slunk back into your chair, crossing your arms with a pout. “It’s early! I’m basically the walking dead right now, birdbrain.”

As with every mission of this sheer level of importance, your anxiety had been too great to let you sleep. Usually Bob or Phoenix or Rooster, the early risers of the group, would be up to go for a job or hit the gym with you. You were up well before all of them today and had taken it upon yourself to go for a run, shower, and be painfully early to this briefing. You had hoped Bob would be the first one there, he typically was, but the universe was out to get you because instead of those sweet, doe eyes behind some thick-lensed glasses all you got was a stupid pair of lips messing with a toothpick.

“Don’t be too hard on, Rooster.” Phoenix called out, walking into the hangar with Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote in tow. “I already smoked him during our run this morning. He’s fragile.”

Before Rooster could get all up in arms or Hangman could jump on a moment of vulnerability, Maverick walked in. He had his way to the head of the table while everyone else found their seats. “Good morning, everyone.” Tired, disjointed voices repeated the sentiment, pulling a smile onto Mav’s face. “I see we’re all ready for a busy day. What do you say we get started?”

“Sorry, I’m late, sir!” Bob’s voice comes from behind you. “I couldn’t find the kettle.”

Kettle, you thought to yourself, but Maverick just waved for him to sit down and continued talking. Before Bob headed over to the only open seat, by Hangman of all people, he placed a small cup of tea in front of you without a word. In your favorite mug, too. You brought it up to your lips to taste it… and it was perfect. Exactly the way you liked it.

‘Thank you,’ you mouthed at him after he sat down. Bob just nodded and focused his attention on Maverick. You did the same, not even registering that he didn’t have a cup of anything for himself.

–

The second time you noticed something nice Bob did for you was during poker night. Fanboy and Payback had decided tempting fate and coming out the other side had bonded you all for life. A point any of you could hardly disagree with. That mission was not something any of you were supposed to come back from. So, the idea of a movie night had been tossed around, but Payback always tried to guess the endings and Hangman tried to outdo the one-liners and Rooster just had to know if he knew that actor from another movie - needless to say, movie nights were shelved very fast.

Then the idea of bar hopping came about, followed by karaoke night, followed by trivia night. Each of which ended up in all of you spending too much money on booze and drunkenly embarrassing yourselves with horrible vocals or blatantly wrong answers to obscure history questions. You all settled on the idea of a game night. It seemed to work well enough. A ‘family’ dinner followed by a board game. Except for the fact that Payback instead of placing bets no matter if it was CandyLand or Monopoly, which Coyote would double, and Hangman would triple. Leaving you all spending just as much money as you had at the bar.

It was Bob who brought up the idea of having poker nights. Something with betting already designed into it so that none of you had to worry about emptying your bank accounts at the end of the night. That was the problem with setting elite competitors against one another, they never knew when to quit.

You’d all been kept relatively close to TOPGUN, usually stationed a few hours away max. Months where distance wasn’t a problem, you all tried to meet once a week. If one of you weren’t stateside, then once a month worked just fine. Six months into poker nights so far and you’d been able to have at least one every month. Every time the list of things to bring shifted down a person, so that each time a new person would be in charge of chips or appetizers or the main entree, etc. It was a system that worked with military precision.

Until the one time it didn’t.

Bob was the last through the door of Payback’s small apartment. At least, it looked small with so many people crammed in there. “Here, I got special plates this time.” He raised them high above his head like a prize. Large, sturdy, and compartmentalized. Like the trays you’d get in the mess hall or for a school lunch.

The statement caused immediate uproar.

“I was on plates and napkins!” Coyote said around a mouthful of sour cream and onion chips, brought by yours truly. And Hangman started making comments about how if no one was going to follow the list, then he wasn’t going to either.

“You weren’t in charge of plates, Bob!” Fanboy tried his best not to get too worked up over it. He had created a spreadsheet of everyone’s responsibilities. Verifying everyone knew their roles was his main role in making sure this whole operation ran smoothly. “Please tell me you still brought dessert.”

“I’ve got dessert. My grandma came out this weekend and made a peach cobbler.”

The mention of his grandma’s baking ensured the pitchforks and torches were put away, for now. That woman had godly skills in the kitchen. You would gladly sit down and eat an entire cobbler of hers by yourself in one sitting.

Coyote, still hurt by his duty being impeded on, asked, “So then what are the plates for?”

“Fallbeil doesn’t like when her food touches,” Bob said as though it were the most common knowledge in the world. “You guys always insist on getting plates that are way too small.”

He set down the plates on the counter, followed by the pie, and went to take off his shoes and didn’t bring anything like that up again for the rest of the night.

–

The third time you noticed something nice that Bob did for you was a day he had to leave early. A helicopter was coming to pick him and Phoenix up to take them overseas. Just for a few days, or so said those in charge, and you knew how easily a few days could change to a few weeks to a few months.

The thought of possibly not seeing them for a while aggravated you. It meant being stuck on a ship hundreds of miles from the nearest shore without your two best friends. You’d known what you were signing up for when you first started. The military liked to keep their secrets. At any moment you could be swept away for a mission, but it still felt unfair when you woke up only to realize that your wingwoman and her WSO are replaced by strangers.

Back soon, take care.

Not signed but the handwriting was so obviously Bob. Cursive with careful, purposeful loops. Hangman tried to tear him apart for taking so much care in his notes during the pre-briefs before the uranium mission. The insults died out fast once everyone realized he had chicken scratch for handwriting. Funny how spreading a rumor Hangman deserved the callsign Rooster over Bradley could put him in his place so quickly.

Back soon, take care.

You stared at the sticky note, so carefully pressed against the outside of your locker. It was easy to imagine the conversation among him and Phoenix.

“I’m leaving her a note.”

“She’ll be fine, Bob. We’ve got to go.”

“Four words.”

He’d gotten into the habit of leaving sticky note updates in between lengthy letters. They held more emotion than an email or text, and you found that you liked it more than digital words on a screen. You could trace your fingers over each letter. Pretend as though he were pressed up in the seat next to you like when you’d go to the Hard Deck on a busy night and everyone would shove together in a few booths. A closeness you’d found yourself longing for in all moments spent together despite there being no reason for the two of you to share an armchair in the common room.

You had crushes before. A few relationships littered your history of schooling, but you, like many others who had graduated from TOPGUN, assumed the sky was to be your first and only love. And then Bob showed up with his quiet, gentle ways and your heart would soar every time he walked into a room. There were days you went without talking, but you could count on some kind of a note to be waiting for you on your door or waiting for you on the control of your jet.

Reminders that he was thinking of you. The way a best friend would. Surely. That’s all it had to be. No sense in constructing something out of nothing. Something that could wreck this perfect routine the two of you had created in one another’s lives.

You peeled the sticky note off the front of your locker to place inside, out of harm's way. Your finger traced each letter. It was likely he and Phoenix were off somewhere with Coyote or Rooster or Hangman doing something far more dangerous than the intelligence patrol you’d been assigned to. As you swung open your locker, you wished you’d had enough sense to write him a letter before he’d left. Something reminding him and Phoenix to be safe, but you hadn’t known he was leaving. You hadn’t even let the thought cross your mind.

“Oh, Bob,” you sighed.

A smile tugs its way onto your face. He’d left a mug in your locker. Not filled with tea this time, but with pens and highlighters and all your favorite stationary to use on your paperwork. You usually had a pencil case with you filled with pens that flowed smoothly and didn’t smudge or highlighters that didn’t bleed through the page.

He must have packed extra in his bag in case you’d forgotten that pencil case, which you had. But that wasn’t the best part. Somehow he’d managed to keep a rose alive and blooming to stick amongst the stationary. For, what it seemed to you, the sole purpose of making you smile.

–

The fourth time you noticed something nice that Bob did for you was at Coyote’s birthday cookout. You were running late. Very late. More late than you’d ever been in your whole life to a point that you would have turned around if you could have, but you had been stuck on a highway without an exit for miles on end. The need to pee had never been stronger.

Stuck in the literal sense. Construction fed into traffic fed into cars stopping for no reason at all fed into fender benders fed into your frustration. “Please just move!” You shouted at the trail of brake lights in front of you. All you had to do was make it to the next exit two miles away.

But no one met your frustrated request. Instead, the standstill continued. You were destined to never arrive at this party. It had been weeks since you’d seen everyone together in one spot. Poker night had been postponed to tomorrow. Bound to be a dismal affair of hangovers and stale chips left out in bowls overnight. A slice of heaven on earth. Though, you would say that for just about anything if it meant being released from a fucking prison of a car.

Your phone went off. The distinct sound of big band music filling your car. Bob’s ringtone.

“Where are you?” His voice came through the other line at the same moment you shouted, “I want to rip my head off!”

An amused chuckle filled your car which only caused you to fume further. “I’m serious, Robert. This two-hour drive has become four- maybe five. I lost count when I had to come to a full and complete stop for the three millionth time today. It would be so much easier if Coyote had a runway in his backyard. Then I could just fly there-”

“Fallbeil,” Bob cut in, “are you almost here?”

“I’m a mile from my exit. I should be there in twenty. If I’m allowed to take my foot off the brake for more than a few seconds.” You let out a loud groan. “I’m going to stop at a gas station because I think my bladder might explode. So expect me in thirty actually-”

Bob laughed and spoke once more, saving you from yet another breathless tangent. “I’m excited to see you.”

You smiled to yourself. Grinning at the stopped cars in front of you like an idiot. “Yeah?”

“Have I ever not been?”

“I’m excited to see you too.” You could envision Bob’s own shy grin. No, you couldn’t hear the sounds of the party going on around him. He had closed himself off alone in a room to talk to you, which would mean the smile would be big and beaming. “Coyote enjoying himself?”

“I think he might have cried when Natasha put on the birthday playlist she made for him.”

“She’s good at that.”

“Good?” Bob laughed. “She’s elite at it.” Then, after a moment of comfortable silence fell over the two of you he said, “Want me to stay on the phone until you show up?”

If it were a normal poker night, you would have jumped on the offer. Phone calls with Bob had become a staple in that routine in one another’s lives. Letters and notes were not nearly enough to tide the two of you over. But today was a special occasion.

“No,” you told him. “I’ll be there soon.” He deserved to go enjoy the party. Not be tied up in a phone call where you were bound to blow your lid if the car in front of you did not speed up.

“Be careful. Drive safe.” The line clicked.

Be careful, you turned the words over in your head wondering what they would sound like punctuated with a kiss every morning when you headed out the door.

You turned down Coyote’s street, knowing exactly what you’d find. Cars taking every spot. Coyote was the most popular out of the crew. Charming personality, willingness to help everyone so much as passing by, and good looks. The combination needed for a party of the century.

And the shouts of excitement that flowed from his backyard told you just that was happening. Without you, and it would continue to go on without you if you couldn’t find an open spot to park. Bob waited at the end of Coyote’s packed driveway, hands stuffed into his jeans. A surprising amount of muscle strained beneath the button up shirt he wore to every part. More cars shoved onto the asphalt and spilled over onto the lawn.

Bob waved, waited patiently for you to park the car in the middle of the street, and then came around to the driver's side of the car. “Hey,” he said as he popped open your door. “How was the drive?”

You shot him a look. One that immediately set that bright, beautiful smile on his face. “Funny.”

“Here, get out.”

“What?”

“Get out. Go inside and say hi.” He leaned over to unbuckle you and the scent of his cologne tickled your nose. “I have a plate of food for you in the oven, on low so it stays warm. There’s one in the fridge too with the cold stuff.”

“Bob-”

“They’re all separated.” He waved you out of the car, grabbing your hand to help, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Fallbeil.”

You saw him again ten minutes later because he had to park two blocks away and walk back.

–

The fifth time you really noticed Bob going out of his way for you was a few months into the two of you moving in together. Solely as roommates, two best friends making the most of a perfect situation. Rent was going up, you had an extra room, and Bob had just gotten hired as an instructor at TOPGUN. The timing couldn’t have been better.

In truth, nothing could be better. The two of you fit perfectly into each other’s lives. Bob with his early habits. Having tea on the table for you alongside the crossword section of the newspaper he insisted on reading every morning. The hardest word always filled in as a starting point. He’d saved you the frustration of straining your mind over a word you couldn’t have dreamed up in the wildest corners of your imagination.

The preference over sticky notes as communication over texts still remained the same. Left on the mirror in your shared bathroom always signed with “be careful” or “take care.” Sometimes there is nothing of importance to say, but Bob would write those two words anyway as a reminder.

You’d leave voicemails if it was something that needed your immediate attention - talking on the phone to Bob became a bright spot in your week. You tried your hardest to leave them only for emergencies but hearing his voice every day had spoiled you. Sometimes your mind would lock on something you would absolutely have to tell him. Then you would find yourself pulling out your phone, typing in his number, and putting it away with a great sigh. You had planes to fly, he had students to teach, and the torture of being apart for a few hours each day made returning home to him all the sweeter. Returning home to movie nights or long walks on the beach or stories of students who remind Bob of each member of the Dagger Crew.

Phoenix would crash often when she got called back to TOPGUN, and Bradley hung around often enough seeing that Mav and Penny had made their lives here. Everyone cycled through at some point. Even Hangman had a welcome place on your couch if he ever needed it.

There was one night Jake had spent the night. Out of the blue and completely inconvenient as was the case with Hangman, but he offered to cook dinner while the two of you were at work and you came home to a good meal and surprisingly good company. What a sight to see the three of you laughing at a small table.

You hadn’t minded Hangman staying over. Though he did scare the shit out of you when he knocked on your door and let himself into your room to talk. “You know he likes you,” he had said, perched on the corner of your bed with that same stupid ass look on his face that meant trouble. “I think he might even be in love with you.”

“Bagman-”

“Hey, I come in here to tell you some life-altering news and you start with insulting me.” Hangman had let out a low whistle. “Think about it, Fallbeil.”

“What if it ruins everything? We’re doing so well.”

“What if it changes everything for the better?”

You hadn’t expected those words to play in your head as often as they did when Hangman finally left. It had been weeks since you’d last seen him. Poker night was tonight. He was hosting, and you had a feeling he was going to corner you with all sorts of questions as to if you’d made a move on Bob yet. A foolish notion. Bob might not be a skittish dog, but making a move on him still might cause spontaneous combustion. You were just trying to figure out which one of you it would be.

What could be the right time to tell your best friend and roommate that you loved him? That you have always wanted to be more?

You thought it over as you wiped sleep from your eyes and made your way into the bathroom. Bob had left earlier than usual this morning. It was a test day for the students and he was nothing if not prepared. Likely that kind, painfully chirpy teacher in the early hours of the day.

There was a sticky note on the mirror. As expected. Longer than usual. Unexpected.

Took your car this morning. Saw you needed an oil change. Be home late, then he can head to Bagman’s. Hope that’s okay. My keys are on the counter. Be safe. Love you.

You traced those last two words with the tip of your finger. It was the first time he’d added those two words.

And they fit so naturally on the note. Like they always belonged there.

–

The one time (the first time) you realized you were going out of your way to do things because you loved Robert Floyd when you went into the mall with a head full of ideas to get for Rooster’s birthday and came out twenty minutes later with one thing. One thing not for Rooster.

A model plane for Bob. Before he’d gotten so overwhelmed with his responsibilities at TOPGUN to cease having many hobbies, he’d built model planes. It’s what had gotten him into a love of planes. At least, that’s what he had told you one night at the Hard Deck, when the two of you were shoved up against one another.

Growing up in a small midwestern farm town didn’t give him many chances growing up to be around planes, but he’d watch the ones that flew over crops with rapt interest. He memorized flight patterns, sat alongside fields, and watched them every chance he got. Then, in the late nights where he only had his imagination to keep him company, Bob built model planes and memorized their histories.

“I’ve always wanted to be around planes.” He had slurred the words a bit back then. One too many sips of beer between handfuls of peanuts. “I kept them around me as much as I could.”

You hadn’t been able to figure out how crop planes became fighter jets in his history, but more stories came out as the two of you moved in together. Dismissive comments about school bullies. Talks about how he knew he wasn’t the strongest, but had always felt the need to prove himself. It seemed to fit into this idea people created of him - always a bit behind the rest. You respected him for sticking to what people told him he couldn’t do and making a name for himself in spite of it all.

And you loved that he trusted you enough to bring you in on those hobbies of his. Building fighter jets in the low light of desk lamps and night lights. Reminding you of the purpose of each piece. Telling the history of each plane. But your favorite part of all was when the two of you would build a jet you were flying and he would include all your statistics, everything you’ve accomplished, and, when you caught him in rare form, things Bob imagined you would do that would etch your name into the very fabric of history.

“Did you get a present for Bradley?” He asked, hearing the click of the door behind you. There was a rag thrown over his shoulder. Bob turned to face you with a smile. In the midst of cooking, glasses slightly fogged from whatever it was he was cooking, and your heart couldn’t take it.

“N-no,” you said, tripping up on your words. “I, um, I forgot.”

“But on the phone you said you couldn’t wait to show me what you got?” He tilted his head, watching as you kicked off your shoes, and placed your shopping bag on the table. “I hope you’re not trying to sign your name onto my gift, Fallbeil. I spent three months finding a vintage record of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ for him.”

You smiled at his thoughtfulness. “No, Robert, I will not steal credit for your gift. He’ll know it’s from you anyway.” You took a deep, shaky breath. “I got something for you instead.”

Bob’s brows scrunched in confusion. “Me, but it’s Bradley’s birthday?”

You pulled the model F-18 from the bag and held it out towards him. Your hands shook slightly. Silly considering the two of you were always going out of your way to do things for each other. Plates and oil changes and parking cars. Small things. Nothing as momentous as a declaration of pure understanding of one another.

He said your name with a softness you’d never heard before. As though he were praying.

“I love you.” You said it at the same time as him. And the words fell so naturally from both your lips. Like they always belonged there.

===

ask and you shall receive (taglist): @whoeverineedtobe @dhwanishah09

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theundercoversquid · 2 years

Text

Flirting (or lack thereof)

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob Can't flirt. Not that it matters.

Warnings:

Masterlist

Bob couldn't flirt. This was not an observation or a comment. It was a fact.

Something that brought great amusement to Rooster and Hangmen. Coaching from payback, coyote, and fanboy. And half amusement, half worry from Phoenix.

Phoenix was half amused by his bumbling attempts at flirting, the same way you smile at a child as they try to do something new and fail harmlessly. And half worried that he would fail in a way that would end up hurting himself.

And that was where you came into this equation. Bob is in love with you. A statement as accurate as the fact that the sun will rise every day and set again every night. The problem with this fact is that Bob did not know what to do with it.

You were the beautiful and untouchable bartender at the Hard Deck. Bob would watch you (not in a creepy way, he promises), and even on the business nights, you never seemed rushed or stressed. You would calmly send out beers as fast as their requests came in.

The Dagger Squad would fruitlessly try to persuade him to go up and talk to you. You would even try to flirt with him whenever he came up. The problem was that flirting with him sent him running.

You were starting to give up any hope of Bob returning your feelings. Figuring that he didn't like you the way that you did. But that Bob was too polite to let you down. Hence why, he ran away whenever you tried to flirt with him.

So, you slowly worked on drawing back from the charming WOS.

You stopped flirting with him when he came up to get drinks. You slowly stopped trying to talk to him at all.

And poor innocent Bob couldn't work out what he had done wrong.

Bob couldn't work out why you were suddenly pulling away from him. Whilst your flirting had made him blush and get flustered, he had looked forwards to it. But now, you barely even talked to him, and he didn't know what to do.

So, one evening when you were leaving the bar, Bob corned you. Something that wasn't at all threatening but more slightly confusing. Why was the WSO that seemed to want nothing to do with you now seeking you out?

"What have I done wrong?" Bob timidly asked you.

"What do you mean, Bob?" You ask back. Unsure about where this was going.

"Why don't you talk to me anymore?" Bob pushed.

Suddenly realising what this was about, you sincerely wanted to escape before admitting your feelings to Bob.

"I didn't think you liked talking to me." You admit sheepishly as you try to find a way to escape.

"That's not true." Bob protested.

"Then why did you always try to run away." You snap, fed up with the game he is playing and scared of getting rejected.

"Because you scare me," Bob admitted quietly.

Laughing sarcastically, you push past him. "Because that's what every girl wants to hear," you call over your shoulder as you head for your car.

"Wait!" Bob calls, trotting after you. "I didn’t mean it like that."

"Then what do you mean by that, Bob." You turn around, snapping at him.

Freezing at that, it takes Bob a moment to process your question and then another moment to decide to tell you the truth. But by then, you have already snorted at his silence and carried on to your car.

"I love you," Bob shouts after you. Freezing you in your tracks. But you don’t dare turn around. "I have been in love with you since I first met you." Bob carries on. "You scare me because you are so amazing, and I know you will never return my feelings. So I would rather admire you from afar than approach you and get rejected. Because then you will hate me, which will be much worse than you not knowing who I am."

"But Bob, I do love you." You tell him incredulously. "That's why I always flirted with you."

Bob froze. Blinking at you for a few moments. "Really?" was all Bob could get out.

"Yes." You laugh incredulous. Scrubbing your hands down your face.

"So you wouldn't be upset if I did this then?" Bob asks from where he is suddenly standing right in front of you.

"Did what?" You ask him cautiously.

Bob's only answer is to gently cup your face and kiss you. A gently kiss full of so much passion. Your own hands come up to grab the back of his neck. Gently pulling him even closer to you as you return his affection hungrily.

This was something you had both wanted for a very long time.

#Top Gun: Maverick #top gun: maverick imagine #bob imagine #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #robert 'bob' floyd #robert bob floyd imagine #bob floyd imagine #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagine #bob floyd x reader #x reader #bob x reader #Imagine

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ultralightpoe · 4 months

Text

Top Gun Masterlist

Updated Top Gun Masterlist with working links yayyyyyy.

You can find my MAIN Masterlist here!

Last Updated: 1-31-24

"Remember boys, no points for second place."

-ALL WRITING IS AT A PAUSE BUT REQUESTS ARE OPEN!-

-Jake Seresin-

Rule Number One - - Rule Number Two

Tiktok Trouble - - Part 2 - Part 3

Lavender Haze (Midnights Album Event)

Carried Me With You

Haunted Doorbell (2023 Halloween Event)

-Bob Floyd-

Casper (2023 Halloween Event)

Sweet Nothings (Midnights Album Event)

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indigo-graves · 5 months

Text

This Dance | Joe Liebgott

It wasn’t often that the bulk of Easy Company had privileges on a weekend. Evelyn convinced herself it was absolutely because she had threatened all of the men within an inch of their life. If she had to spend one more weekend at camp, she would surely short circuit. So when they made it through the end of training on Friday, she was able to let out what felt like a breath she had been holding all week.

When she exited her separate living quarters, several of the company’s other members were waiting for her. Talbert let out a whistle, earning himself a smack in the back of the head from Toye. Evelyn rolled her eyes in response, giving Toye a smile of approval.

“Ready, darlin’?” Bull Randleman, her dearest friend, questioned. She nodded. Briefly, her eyes locked with Liebgott, who was biting back a smirk, quickly distracting himself with the cigarette he could put between his lips.

“Ready,” she said, smoothing her skirt decisively and turning on her heel. She had hoped they would mistake the blush rising in her cheeks as rouge.

Three drinks in, the blush in her cheeks was permanent. The bar they had found themselves comfortable in was hot. The Georgia heat mingled with the warmth of too many bodies in a small venue. The wafting clouds of smoke from cigarettes only thickened the air. She was thankful to sit lower than the rest of them in her seat due to her petite stature, most of it traveled over her head.

“Fifty bucks says I get the first Kraut kill when we hit Europe,” Guarnere spoke confidently. His accent only seemed to get thicker with each beer he downed.

“Bullshit,” Toye challenged, slammed a hand down on the table, causing all of their drinks to rattle. Chuckles echoed in response.

“Yeah?” Guarnere grinned, “you gonna get to ‘em before me?”

“There’s not a doubt,” Toye lit a cigarette casually. “One gust of wind and your ass will end up in the middle of the Atlantic while I’m on Hitler’s doorstep.” He jabbed at the smaller man. The table roared with laughter and Guarnere chuckled through gritted teeth.

“I’ll take both your money and take your broads out to dinner with it,” Luz spoke confidently, throwing his hat in the ring.

“Whatdya say we get a dance in while these boys get out their measuring tape?” Bull nudged Evelyn with a smile. She chuckled, threw back the rest of her drink, and got to her feet.

As the next song started to play on the jukebox, the two of them found space in the section of the room that was being used by a few other soldiers and their female partners. She felt Bull pull her close, surprised that he was so keen on dancing.

When Liebgott surveyed the room, he felt a drop in his guts. Through the haze of cigarette smoke and crowd of patrons, he watched as Evelyn moved gracefully in the arms of Bull Randleman. He watched Bull’s hand, splayed at the small of her back, and remembered what it felt like the first time she let him touch her. He thought about the way her breath tickled his ear and neck when he held her that close. The things she had told him. Even more, the noises he had drawn out of her when they were flush against one another in that same way.

He watched her rhythm, knowing it so intimately himself. The way he held those same hips as he guided her into that same rhythm in their most passionate moments. He thought about what it sounded like when she stifled herself, bit at her lips, his shoulder, the pillow, in attempts to keep their dance so secret. And here, he had to sit back and watch as she so publicly danced with someone else.

“Liebgott,” there was an elbow in his lower ribs.

He turned to Talbert, realizing the cigarette in his hand had burned down to a nub in neglect. Talbert furrowed a brow but asked now questions. Liebgott got to his feet and excused himself from the table, leaving his fourth beer nearly untouched behind him.

When the song ended, Bull let go of her waist and thanked her for the dance. She scrunched her nose with a smile at him. He tried to escort her back to their table, stating that surely some of their other company members would want a chance to dance with her. She provided him with a kind excuse, letting him know she was going to get some air and she’d be right back. Only twice did she have to argue that she would be just outside the door, where she had seen both Winters and Nixon standing. He agreed, only content when knowing she had chaperones. Rolling her eyes at the endearing concern, she navigated the compact crowd of people toward the door.

Anyone in their sober mind would have clearly observed the level of intent she had seen in Liebgott’s stare for the majority of her dance with Bull. There was an anger that had ignited in her that made it difficult to focus on Bull in those moments. Liebgott had made her a lot of promises, many of them in the throws of passion, that she had not taken with more than a grain of salt. But when she made him promise to keep the extent to which they had become acquainted to himself, she was sure he understood the severity of the matter.

Liebgott stood outside of the bar, his back resting against the building next door at the mouth of an alley. He knew he could only get away with a few minutes away from the company. Someone would come shouting for him before too long.

He was surprised when he saw Evelyn exit the bar with a relieved sigh. She nodded to Winters and Nixon, who were standing just to the right of the entrance, enjoying the much less congested air. They addressed her in kind, Nixon held up a glass toward her with a small smile. A less raw version of himself would not have had the intrusive image of himself taking a set of brass knuckles to Nixon’s straight, white, Yale-boy grin. A better version of himself, maybe.

When Evelyn’s eyes connected with his, her smile fell. The hard line that set along her lips let him know that whatever it was that she was going to share with him, it was not going to provide any solace to his bruised ego.

“You,” she gritted her teeth as she got closer to him. She glanced over her shoulder to assure herself that there were no interested ears. “You have got to get it together, Joe.” Liebgott bit the inside of his cheek at the sound of his name on her lips. He had only heard it when it bubbled up from deep in her chest in her most vulnerable, passionate moments. God damn, she was so fucking beautiful.

“What?” He was genuinely confused. How was it that he was getting in trouble for her dancing with Bull?

“You,” she shoved his shoulder. It was then that he smelled the liquor on her breath. She had been close enough to him that he had also caught the sweetness of her perfume. Something in him ached. “Looking at me like that.”

He chuckled a little at her. How threatening she was, how powerful. But he knew her soft edges. He knew those vulnerable moments. He knew her fear. He had swallowed it whole for her with the slip of her tongue. He knew her.

“Looking at you like what?” He asked. His voice teased her in a way that drew goosebumps to the surface of her skin. He stepped forward, daring her to close the distance between them. Her eyes fluttered in response, her tongue tied. She did not respond. He smiled slyly, not able to help the shift between them. This was his place. Standing before her, teasing her, flustering her. Did Bull fucking Randleman do that?

“Don’t do that to me,” she snapped out of her daze. She steeled herself, squared her shoulders, put a step of distance between their bodies. The haze of the moment passed and she remembered just how public a venue he had started this dance in.

“Do what?” Those coy responses were what got Evelyn into this mess in the first place. He wanted her to get drunk on him. Addicted to him.

“If you get us caught, you know what will happen,” she threatened. Joe nodded in response. There were no playful replies to bite back when the reality of what they had gotten themselves into was brought up. She had told him the conditions of her presence with the company. Should anyone catch wind of anything unsavory, she was done.

She knew he understood how much her career meant to her. She knew he respected it. Respected her. He, however, knew that maybe his deepest fear was that he did not know if he would ever see her again. And that reality was even more frightening than what he had waiting for him on the other side of the ocean.

Joe nodded, clenching his jaw. They stood at the mouth of that alley, wordlessly standing in the mud of their own making. She reached over, the softness of her fingers against his, caused him to jerk his head up in response, looking over her shoulder at the officers just ten feet from them. She boldly stroked the inside of his palm with her delicate fingers. The same way she did when they laid lazily in her bed under the cover of darkness, sweaty, glowing, and drunk on one another.

“Don’t make this end before it has to,” she squeezed his hand. “Please.”

Joe met her eyes. The dimensions of light and dark in them were picked up by the streetlamp. He wanted desperately to wrap his arms around her, tighter than Bull or any man could ever fucking hold her. He wanted to kiss her, taste every unsaid word on her lips. To touch her in ways that would leave her gasping, begging, crying out for more of him. He wanted to tell her that his days started and ended with her. Every single one of them since the moment his mouth tasted hers.

“Evie!” There was a shout from behind them. She pulled away from him with a jolt, her curtain of dark hair whipped around her shoulders.

“You’ve got a line of men in here wondering when they’re getting their dance!” Nixon called, speaking for the masses he was gesturing to inside the building.

“Yes, sir!” She responded, smiling brightly. She turned to Joe briefly. He swallowed the ball of fire making its way up from his belly. ‘Be good,’ she mouthed at him. She turned on her heel, the sweet smell of her perfume wafting behind her as she made her way back to the bar. Joe let out an exasperated sigh and reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

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t-nd-rfoot · 1 year

Text

SUNFLOWER aka The Secret Valentine

There's something special about the happiness that comes from flowers.

Pairing Bob Floyd x female!aviator!OC/reader (callsign: Honey, but he calls you Bee)

Theme fluff

Warnings Valentine's clichés (ish); love triangle (ish); mentions of drinking; Hangman does something OOC (but roll with it please); edited a million times but I'm sure there's still a typo or two

Word Count 5.9k

Note Oh my goodness. This was....a headspinner to write, to say the least. First of all, so many thanks to @avaleineandafryingpan for requesting this and being so patient and kind!!! This was supposed to be a quick Valentine's drabble and lol. Look at the word count. And I'm about a week late from Valentine's Day. Secondly, a quick thanks to bestie @hangmanbrainrot for giving me advice on writing OCs! I'm not sure if Honey ended up being an OC since I wrote it in reader's POV but hey, I'm learning 😅 anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this!

If you enjoyed this, please reblog! Reblogs are the best way to support creators (writers, artists, gif makers, everyone!) on this platform. Share the content, share the love!

It started with a sunflower.

One lonely sunflower sitting on the railing of your porch, its bright and yellow petals made it hard to miss on your out of your house on your way to the hangar.

How did this get here? you wondered aloud as you picked it up.

You looked up and down the street, hoping to see its owner, but it was still too early for anyone to be up. A few officers here and there were on their way to work just like you, but there was no other sunflower in sight. None on their porches, none on the ends of their walkways, none in their hands.

Shrugging it off, you took it as a sign for a good day. You figured it might make you late if you looked for a vase to put it in, so you placed it on the passenger seat of your car along with your work things and headed off.

“Happy love day, ladies!”

Hangman’s voice boomed as you, Phoenix, and Halo walked in the tactical auditorium. The guys were all scattered around the room and talked in groups, seeing as Maverick was running late to brief all of you on today’s drills.

‘Happy Valentine’s Day!’s and ‘thank you’s echoed around as all of you greeted each other.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Bee,” Bob greeted as he walked up to you. You smiled as his special callsign—he refused to call you by your real callsign, Honey—rolled off his tongue, always teasing him about the adorable blush he sported whenever he said it.

“Thank you, Bobby, and Happy Valentine’s Day to you!”

He looked at you, a small grin forming on his face, though he never said a word.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” you laughed.

He shrugged. “Nothing. You just seem extra happy today,” he pointed out.

Smiling even wider at the memory of this morning, you replied, “Well, it’s a happy day today, I guess. I found a sunflower on my porch this morning.”

“You mean you actually found it? Or do you mean ‘you found one in a flower shop and bought it for yourself’ kind of ‘found it’?” he teased.

You shouldered him playfully as he apologized. “I found it-found it. I have no idea how it got there or who placed it there, but I’m not going to question it. I got a free flower this morning and that’s all that matters,” you laughed.

Bob was one of your closest friends in and out of the Navy, graduating from the same TOPGUN class and working in Lemoore together before he got reassigned to North Island for the uranium plant mission. No matter where the two of you ended up, though, you somehow always found your way to each other as it wasn’t long till you were called back to TOPGUN as well. Though you missed being in the plane with him, the two of you were just happy to be working together again. Things between you picked up right where they left off, though the two of you had gotten closer—always sitting together at The Hard Deck or in the ready room, having lunches with Phoenix, and even going on morning jogs together down the beach. He even ditched Mickey as a teammate at pool, always calling first dibs to join you instead.

You turned to your seat when you saw that it had been decorated, and you noticed that Phoenix’s and Halo’s were as well. They were laughing with the others over the appropriately hand-drawn cards that were placed on the seats, along with a few small cut-out hearts. Clouds and wings were drawn around Halo’s cursive card, and Phoenix’s was drawn with fiery lettering.

The most detailed one, however, was yours—it was a full scene with a garden with flowers and bees in the background, and honey dripping down the block letters.

“Oh my gosh,” you cried out, “this is adorable!”

“You’ll never guess who made them,” Bob whispered.

Your eyes scanned the room and pointed to all your suspects. “Fritz? Coyote? Fanboy?” and all were denied with the shake of his head. Just as you let out a sigh of defeat, Bob pointed to the blond aviator who was talking to Phoenix.

“Hangman?!”

Bob nodded as you continued staring at Hangman. “He was one of the first ones here,” he informed you, “Just barged in with the cards and markers told us to help set it up.”

Overhearing your conversation, Harvard chimed in, “it felt like a pre-school in the locker room, or some weird Santa’s Valentine’s workshop.”

“First of all,” Hangman walked up to you, “my niece actually deserves fifty percent of the credit for pretty much bossing me around to do something nice for the ‘pretty ladies who always give her chocolate,’” he quoted as he slung his arm around you, “and naturally, I get forty-five percent for listening to her. The guys can split the other five for helping.”

Just the image of Hangman sitting down and cutting out paper hearts with his eight-year old niece had you giggling. “Aww, who knew Bagman had such a soft spot?” you pinched his cheek.

Hangman flashed his million dollar smile at you, “Honey, you know I always have a soft spot for pretty ladies.” He threw a quick wink at you before walking back to Phoenix and Fritz.

Could he have left the sunflower? you thought. This definitely was not the first time Hangman’s flirted with you. Knowing him, you always thought it was just light banter, but now, you were second guessing.

“Actually, his original plan was to decorate your lockers, but you can probably see how that might look like a problem,” Bob told you once Hangman was out of earshot.

“Probably,” you hummed sarcastically.

He was about to say something else when Maverick burst through the auditorium doors and rushed to the front of the room. You and the rest of the squad rushed to your seats before Maverick allowed you all to sit.

“Morning, guys. Sorry, I’m late. Had some…motorcycle problems.”

Rooster cleared his throat. He gestured tiny circles at the side of his own neck. The older pilot looked confused until the young Bradshaw mouthed ‘Penny,’ and his eyes shot wide before he cleared his throat and tugged up the collars of his flight suit.

“Let’s get to work!”

The squad rushed out of the locker rooms as soon as they could so they could get ready for their dates. Yale had just finished talking about his plans with his date when the others started talking about their plans.

“How about you, Honey? Got a big date for tonight?” Coyote asked as all of you walked out the building.

“Mhm, I got McDreamy and McSteamy waiting for me at home right now,” you joked.

Halo laughed from beside you. “Now that’s a threesome I can get behind,” she joked.

“Ouch, a Grey’s Anatomy marathon on Valentine’s Day?” He whistled lowly.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, okay?” you defended yourself, “At least there’s a Valentine’s Day episode! And besides, I didn’t hear you say anything about a ‘hot date’.”

He held his hand, feigning offense. “You wound me, Honey. And I just so happen to have one waiting for me as we speak!” And he rushed off to his car.

“You know, the more you try to hide her from us, the more we think she’s not even real!” Payback called out. Coyote didn’t even look back at the squad as he flipped the bird and drove off.

“Coyote has a girlfriend?” you asked.

Rooster snickered, “an imaginary one.”

“He says he met someone months ago, but he’s not giving us anything else,” Fanboy added, “no name, no story, nothing. Just that every other week or so, he meets up with her.”

“Or so he says,” his best friend quipped. “The fact that even I don’t know about her is something, and he usually never shuts up about someone he’s interested in.”

The group decided then to go their separate ways to get their Valentine’s Day started, but Bob walked all the way with you to your car.

“So, you really have no date for tonight?” he asked.

You shook your head in reply as you loaded your things in the backseat of your car. “It’s not that I don’t like Valentine’s,” you suddenly found your self ranting, “it’s just that no one’s asked me this year, and I’m fine with that. I’m not gonna sit around and wallow—well, I’m going to sit around and have my Grey’s marathon, yeah—but I’m not going to wallow! And it’s not like it’s the end of the world that nobody’s asked me to be their Valentine…right?”

You looked up at Bob to find his big blue eyes staring back at you, clearly at a loss for words from your little spout.

“Oh my gosh, I sound so pathetic,” you muttered. “Please, please forget I said anything, I—”

Bob burst into laughter and hugged you tight to try and calm you down.

“This isn’t funny, Bobby!” you said, though you couldn’t hold back your own laughter.

Looking up at him once again, you found his blue eyes already on you, though there was more sincerity in his gaze this time. And something else, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. You and Bob have both looked at and hugged each other a million times before, but the way he looked at and hugged you now felt different. Suddenly, you were both aware of the position you were in and pulled back. He ran his finger through his hair nervously while you crossed your arms, unconsciously missing the warmth of his embrace.

You stole glances at him as you cleared your throat. “So, um…how about you? Do you have a date tonight?”

It took a few seconds for him to answer. “Yeah,” he mumbled, suddenly finding the stray gravel on the pavement more interesting than you.

A small ‘oh,’ escaping your lips, you put on a poker face. “Wow, um, since when?” you asked.

“Oh, um, it’s been…awhile, I guess.” he trailed off.

Relationships weren’t a strange topic for either of you, but looking back, you were more open about your love life than he was. Maybe he met someone before you arrived. Maybe he didn’t want to let anyone know, especially if he thought the others were going to tease him about it. Maybe he didn’t say anything because you never asked…until now. Knowing Bob, he never dated casually, so this must have been serious. But he never kept things from you. Not in his emails, not in his texts, and certainly not in person. But you weren’t insulted, just confused, if you could ever admit.

“Well, whoever she is, she’s a lucky girl,” you assured, “I’m really happy for you, Bobby!”

You climbed into your car before your emotions started to show, but just before you stepped on the gas, Bob knocked on your window and you let it roll down.

“You’re not pathetic, Bee. In fact, you’re far from it, not even close to it. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Your lips turned up graciously at your best friend’s words of encouragement.

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“And if you ever start to feel that way again, just think about your sunflower,” he gestured to the plant in your passenger seat.

“It’s wilting,” you pointed out disappointedly.

“So?” he shrugged, “it’s still pretty. It’s still a sunflower.”

With a small grin, he pushed himself off your car to let you get home and waved goodbye.

You were about to pull up to your driveway a few minutes later when a delivery driver showed up and asked for your name.

“Yeah, that’s me?” you said before they handed you a bag. “Um, I don’t remember ordering anything…”

“Don’t worry, it’s all taken care of,” they informed you with a kind smile.

“By who, if I can ask?”

They shook their head, “Sorry, I was given specific instructions to not say anything. Though from what’s in the box, I’d say you have a secret admirer!”

After they left, you walked in your kitchen to open the bag. Inside was a stark white box with neon squiggles.

“Sugarlust,” you read aloud the sticker that sealed it. The bakery Coyote always goes to, you recognized.

A small card with a printed message was also stuck to the box ‘I’m no TV surgeon but I hope you find these just as good!’ No name.

Sure enough, it was a box of the salted caramel cookies you loved from the last time he bought a box for everyone. A quick flashback of Coyote’s proud smile popped in your head, of when you couldn’t stop raving about it and his promise to buy more next time.

You picked up the sunflower from the table and twirled it in your hand. The hours it lay in the heat showed in the paling yellow petals, and though you had no idea how to care for it, you placed it in a watered vase anyway.

Maybe it was Coyote, you thought. It certainly checked: he had your address, he knew you liked sunflowers, and he remembered the cookies you loved. But he said he’s on a date…unless he was pretending? The other guys definitely thought he was.

Refusing to confuse yourself any longer, you gave one last glance at the sunflower, took a bite from your cookie, and hoped that Derek Shepherd and Mark Sloan could distract you…for now.

“I'm in love with Teddy. I love her.”

“You're like Lexie with the inappropriate feelings for inappropriate people.”

“What can I say? My heart lives in my scalpel.”

The Seattle Grace Mercy West surgeons were trying to play baseball when your phone chimed. Phoenix and Halo were currently messaging the squad group chat.

Bassett Hound 🐾💗 date was a bust. reservation got screwed and they refuse to go anywhere else told them i refuse to waste this outfit hard deck anybody?

Pixie Nix 🧚✨ aw hales 😞 sorry to hear that if it helps, my date spoke more words to the waiter than to me don’t have to ask me twice

Bassett Hound 🐾 hbu @Mamma Mia 🍯🍯 ? we’ll be your valentines ❤️

Glancing between the half-eaten box of cookies and the Grey’s Anatomy theme running on your screen for the fourth time in a row, you decided that maybe it isn’t too late to salvage the holiday.

You showed up feeling a bit more refreshed from earlier. You opted to dress up just the slightest bit more than usual since you figured Phoenix and Halo would be too, coming from their dates.

The bar wasn’t crowded—a lot of the regulars you recognized were probably out on dates—but it looked like a haven for lonely hearts, single people dotting the bar or nursing their drinks at their small tables. You spotted some introducing themselves to others, and one lucky couple just escaped through the side door. The pool table, however, was as lively as ever with some of its usual suspects. Halo and Phoenix had already started a game, but you were surprised to see a few of the others there as well—Rooster and his girlfriend, Omaha and his wife, and Bob—who all cheered as you approached the table.

“Come here often?” Phoenix fake flirted.

“Only when I’m summoned with magic,” you came back and hugged her. “What brings the rest of you here?”

“We didn’t feel like going home just yet, then I saw Halo’s text in the group chat and she wanted to say hi,” Omaha explained and gestured to his wife as you went around greeting the others. “Rooster’s car broke down about a half mile up the road.”

“Excuse you, the Bronco doesn’t break,” Rooster interrupted, “It just…swerved off the road a little. But it’s fine. Just needed to stretch our legs a little.” His girlfriend giggled silently as he pulled her close to his torso and started whispering in her ear.

You took your usual seat on the stool next to Bob’s. “So I’m guessing Coyote’s date was real? Since he’s not here, I mean.”

“Looks like it,” he agreed as he sipped on his water. Noticing your lack of banter, he studied the pensive look on your face. “Why’d you ask?”

Your train of thought broke as he spoke. “What? Oh, um, it’s nothing,” you said nervously, “Forget I asked.”

“If you’re thinking about it this hard, it’s probably not nothing,” he egged on. “What is it?”

You could never say no to Bob. He was your best friend and you trusted him. Even though you were a little hurt that he kept his girlfriend a secret from you, you just couldn’t bring yourself to make it even. “Okay, so you know how I found a sunflower this morning?” you said in a low voice.

He nodded silently, letting you continue without being interrupted.

“I didn’t want to think anything of it at first. I just figured that someone—I don’t know, ‘neighborly person’ in a Valentine’s-y mood, I guess—left flowers up and down the street. But no one else had one so I just brushed it off. But then there was Hangman this morning with the cards and the flirting, and I thought it felt different. But it’s Hangman. You can never really tell with him, right? So I brushed that off. Then when I got home, get this: I get a delivery of cookies from Sugarlust. Coyote’s bakery. And it wasn’t just any cookie, it was the salted caramel cookies that he brought to that one dinner, the ones that I loved. What really did it for me, though, was the card. Something about him not being McDreamy but he hopes I love the cookies just as much. He was the one who commented about my Grey’s Anatomy marathon. And now I’m thinking if he was the one who gave me the flower, and…I don’t know,” you sighed, “I guess I was just hoping to see him here tonight to ask if it was him.”

And like this morning, he was dumbstruck again at your rant. You grew conscious of yourself at his reaction so you changed the subject.

“But enough about me, though. How about you? Where’s your date?” you asked as normally as you could.

Halo stood up after her turn. “Bob had a date?”

All eyes landed on the spectacled wizzo in his usual corner. “Oh. Right. My date.”

“Since when? And how come I don’t know about her?!” Phoenix asked, echoing your conversation and thoughts from earlier.

“Uh, awhile,” he said again, though he sounded more nervous this time, “but it’s okay, um, I don’t think it’s gonna work out…”

Your heart dropped after seeing how dejected Bob looked. “I’m so sorry, Bobby.” You put an arm around him, and he returned your small smile with one of his own.

Phoenix pushed herself off the pool table and handed him her cue stick. “Welcome to the club, Bob.”

Customers came and went in the two hours you have been there, but the eight of you had stayed. Rooster took over the piano, crooning blues covers with Halo, while his girlfriend and Omaha’s wife were talking with Phoenix. You were back on your stool after winning the last round of pool against Omaha, who was now playing darts against Bob.

The lack of a crowd allowed for cool night air to linger inside, that you had borrowed Bob’s jacket to keep you warm.

“What the fuck, bro?!” Omaha groaned in disbelief after Bob hit his fifth bullseye of the night.

“Target locked, and direct hit,” Bob retorted while he picked off his darts from the board.

Omaha took his place as he got ready for another game. “Best of nine,” he challenged and threw his darts immediately.

“Roos baby, I love you, but you’re kinda killing the mood here,” his girlfriend laughed from across the room while he and Halo were in the middle of singing November Rain by Guns N’ Roses. And without missing a beat, he started playing Little Richard’s Tutti Frutti. The lively melody brought the empty bar to life and the four girls started to dance with each other.

Halo called out to you, “Honey! Join us!”

“In a minute, Hales! I’m on dart watch from Omaha,” you pointed your thumb to the brunette who had just lost another game to Bob. He was practicing his aim when Bob took his seat beside you.

“Let me know when you’re done warming up, Vikander,” he taunted, his competitive side coming out now that he was more relaxed.

“Gonna make you eat your words, Floyd,” Omaha came back.

You and Bob entered your little world again from your seats. You watched as he chugged his water, his glasses slipping from the bridge of his nose.

“How’re you holding up there, Bobby?” you asked.

He let out an exhausted laugh. “You’d think darts wasn’t exhausting, but I think Omaha might as well have me running a marathon if he’s making me play this much.

“We’re aviators,” you snorted, “everything’s a competition.”

“I woke up the beast,” he sighed.

Taking a sip of your own water, you repeated his sentiments back, “You woke up the beast.”

A few beats passed in comfortable silence when he turned to you. “How about you? You don’t wanna join the others?”

“You might be surprised at how much five straight games of pool can do to your legs and back.”

He chuckled, “Well, you better hope you don’t get any push-ups tomorrow.”

It wasn’t even midnight yet when the bar was nearly empty. The jukebox played in the background seeing as Rooster and Omaha joined in on the dancing on the other side of the bar, but you and Bob remained in your seats. Usually, the two of you would be conversing non-stop—talking about the latest podcast he was listening to or your vivid dream from the night before, people watching the tourists, betting on who fellow aviator was going to do what predictable act for the night, or singing along to the music.

But you could sense some slight tension between you two tonight, thinking it might have been from the whole Valentine’s date conversation from earlier. Bob never brought it up afterwards so you didn’t think anything of it too, but now that the two of you were alone, you could see the somber expression return to his face as he stared at the floorboards.

You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder closest to you. “It’s gonna be okay, Bobby,” you said.

He looked up to your encouraging smile, and his empty hand crossed his body, his fingers brushing yours in a silent ‘thank you’.

“Who was she? If I can ask,” you said, “but you don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to, I don’t wanna pressure you—”

“It’s alright, Bee,” he said softly. He took a deep breath as he turned his eyes back to the floor. “She’s just someone I liked for awhile now.”

“How’d you meet?”

“The usual, you know. Work,” he shrugged.

“So she’s a local?” you inquired.

“Nah, she moved here from upstate.”

After placing his now empty water cup on the ledge behind him, he sat up straighter in his seat. “Guess that makes two of us now.”

Your eyebrows raised in confusion when he let out a low laugh. “Valentines-less,” he referred to your little blather from this afternoon.

You let out your own laugh as you jogged up the memory. “We can be pathetic together,” you jested. “Well, not entirely true, I guess. Halo and Phoenix decided to be my Valentine’s to get me to come here, but I think they’ve got each other covered.”

Bob looked back to see what you were talking about, to find Halo and Phoenix drunkenly belting out Love is a Battlefield a cappella with Rooster’s girlfriend while the aviator just watched their performance. The two of caught a glimpse of Omaha and his wife waving at the two of you just before they exited.

“Besides, it doesn’t seem fair that I have two Valentine’s and you have none,” you continued.

“So what are you suggesting? You give me one of your Valentine’s?” he played along.

You looked up, pretending to think, “Hm, I don’t know if they’d appreciate being someone else’s Valentine without them knowing, so what do you say, Bobby? Will you be my Valentine?” you proposed playfully, even looking up at him through your lashes for added effect.

He smiled tightly. “I don’t think you’re gonna give me a choice, anyway,” he mumbled playfully and you elbowed him, “but sure, Bee. I’ll be your Valentine.” You spotted just the slightest bit of a blush creeping up his neck.

Finally regaining some strength in your legs, you were ready to go home. “Well, I hate to cut our date short, my Valentine, but I think I need to call it a night,” you said, “I hate that you reminded me about the push-ups.”

Bob got up with you. “No worries, Valentine. And trust me, I think the three of them might have it worse than you tomorrow,” he said about your co-workers still in the middle of their impromptu karaoke.

You dug out your phone, wallet, and keys that you kept in his jacket pocket when something else fell out. You picked up a small velvet box tied with a white satin ribbon. What caught your eye was the tag—instead of a name written on it, there was a doodle of a tiny, squiggly, buzzing bee.

Like how the bees looked on Hangman’s card.

You looked up already finding Bob staring at you nervously. His mouth had been drawn in a thin line and the tension that you felt earlier increased tenfold.

Though he never outright said the gift was for you, he watched as you tested him, slowly untying the ribbon. Even as you pried the cover off the box, he never stopped you.

“Bob…?” you whispered in disbelief as you stared at the gift. It was a golden bracelet—two delicately thin chains connected by a shining sunflower charm.

“Hey, you guys okay?” Phoenix called out from the piano.

Neither of you spoke as you continued to stare at him. Seeing as you didn’t respond, Bob replied for the two of you. “Yeah, we’re all good.”

“We’re gonna get going, if it’s okay,” she notified you. All of them had their things gathered, and the bartender on shift was already wiping down the counters.

The two of you waved your goodbyes at them as they headed out. Halo blew flying kisses in your direction as the door shut.

“Take care!”

“Happy Valentine’s!”

“See you tomorrow!”

And then there were two.

Still in shock, you held the box as securely as you could while your mind was still reeling. Bob? The sunflower this morning. The sunflower on the bracelet. The bee on the card. This has to be a coincidence, right? Maybe this was meant for his date? Maybe he’s holding on to it for someone? Maybe he’s—

“Can we talk about this?” You didn’t even realize you had asked it out loud until Bob turned back to you. His eyes grew big, the same way they always did when he started to panic during a drill or a mission.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

He led you out to the parking lot where it was still a bit bright from the street lights. The cool breeze bit at your skin when you remembered you were still wearing Bob’s jacket. You had barely taken it off when Bob tugged it securely back on your shoulders.

“It’s freezing,” you insisted, but Bob just shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

It was hard to ignore the elephant in the room. Your thumb ran over the bracelet still in its box and the thoughts you had previously came flooding back.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you mumbled.

Bob wiped his face with his hands. “I don’t think there’s any other way of saying it except that it was me. I never had a date, and I was the one who left the sunflower at your door.”

Happiness. Relief. Frustration. Love. You could have been feeling all of those things right now, but no. You were just as confused as ever. “So when I was talking about all those other things, about Hangman and Coyote…”

“That was me too.”

The two of you took a seat on the bottom step of the bar’s front deck. “Hangman and the other guys were cutting out the paper hearts when he told me to bring out the cards from his bag. I didn’t have anything to do, so I just started drawing the garden on your card.”

You toyed with the hand-drawn bee on the card still hanging from the ribbon. “I guess I should’ve known from the card that it was you,” you said, mostly to yourself but loud enough for him to hear. “You’re the only one who calls me ‘Bee.’ Who was the guy from TOPGUN again? The one that you nearly decked—” you smiled trying to stir the memory.

“—But I didn’t—and it was that asshole, Shadow,” he groaned. “Ugh, I’m never gonna forget the way he called you that day.”

“But I still don’t get why you don’t call me ‘Honey.’ Everybody else does. I don’t mind it, you know.”

“I know, I know,” he nodded. “But if I’m one less person to remind you of that day, then I’ll call you ‘Bee’ until you truly forget about it.”

You couldn’t ignore the fluttering in your heart at his confession. You actually haven’t remembered that incident until now, but it was sweet that Bob always tried to make you feel better about it, even if you didn’t realize it.

“That’s real sweet of you, Bobby,” you said warmly. “But speaking of sweets…”

Bob winced jokingly, “Ah, thought I was in the clear.” He had a distant look in his eyes as he recalled, “I still remember the look on your face when you tried the cookies. The two of us alone wiped out half the box before dinner even started. You even begged Coyote to go back for another box after Fanboy ate the last one.” The grin on his face only grew bigger the more he looked back at the memory.

You barely even notice yours did too.

It all made sense now. Bob had been a constant presence in your life ever since the two of you met, even moreso now that you were together back where your friendship started. How you even thought of Hangman or Coyote before you suspected him was beyond you.

There was still one question you needed answered, and it had you on the edge of exasperation. Your voice was small as you spoke, “We were with each other the whole day, Bob. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Just as frustrated as you were, he let out a big breath. “I don’t know. I’m a coward, I guess. I was right there on the sidewalk outside your place, fully prepared to ask you out. Even had a whole speech prepared and everything,” he confessed. He spoke slower and softer, his eyes never leaving yours, “about how I saw the bracelet in a window the other day, and how it reminded me of the sunflowers you painted on my arm that one time I visited you in your hometown. And how I wanted you to have a sunflower on your own hand, then I’d ask you to be my Valentine.”

He looked down at the ground in shame as he continued, “But I got scared. I didn’t want to ruin the friendship, especially since you’ve only been here a month. So I figured after I left your house that it might be easier if you didn’t know it was me, and that’s why I lied about the date. Just in case you were, I don’t know, expecting something…more. Than just me, I mean.”

Taking the box in his own hands, he twiddled with it. “I thought I lost my chance this morning, but then Halo messaged asking you to come. So I came here thinking this could be my second chance until you started asking about Coyote…thought I was done for. You wanted him while I’d stay the idiot that lost you forever.”

Your heart no longer fluttered but burst at his words. A love you had for him that didn’t know was already there had finally surfaced as you shut him up with a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“You’re so much more than what I could ever want, Bobby,” you whispered, scooting closer to him on the step.

A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and you swore you’ve never seen him smile so widely. Gently lifting the bracelet from its box, he undid the clasp. “May I?” he asked.

You rested your outstretched arm on his knee, allowing him to put it on you. Your nerves awakened at the soft touch of his fingers against your wrist, sending even more shockwaves throughout your body as he clasped his hand around yours afterwards. The bracelet was cool against your skin, but you felt nothing but warmth allover—from his jacket, from his touch, and from the loving feeling dancing inside you.

The moon shone high above you as midnight quickly approached, and you decided to make the most of the last minutes of the day.

“Hey, Bobby. I believe you have one last thing to ask me.”

“Is it the something you actually asked me first?” he teased, but quickly surrendered at the funny look you gave him. Hee gazed sincerely at you, “Bee?”

“Yes, Bobby?” you pretended.

He leaned in close to you till your noses were touching, and whispered slowly, “Will you be my Valentine?”

“I don’t think I have a choice anyway,” you mocked his earlier response as you both laughed, “but yes, Bobby. I’d love to be your Valentine.”

His lips found yours not a second later, fireworks exploding with every kiss that landed on your lips.

The moon stood brightly above, indicating the beginning of another day. Though your days from this point would never be the same, now that you had Bob and Bob had you.

All thanks to a flower given on a front step.

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topguncortez · 1 year

Note

31. "If we insist on not dating, why do we always cuddle after sex?" "Aftercare is a fundamental right."

Shit Bob would say after sex 🤣

The Fundamental Right | Floydsin

Hangman Masterlist | Bob Masterlist | prompts list

synopsis: Bob isn't sure what they are doing, but he's pretty sure him and Jake are dating

warnings: mentions of gay sex, jacking off, unprotected sex

Jake's loud grunts filled the air as he fucked himself into his fist. His orgasm was fast approaching as he watched Bob's back rise and fall rapidly, still trying to ground himself after his orgasm. Jake's toes curled as he felt the all too familiar feeling in his body. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back.

"Oh fuck, fuck, I'm cumming, I'm cumming," Jake panted out as his body convulsed and his warm seed painted Bob's lower back. Bob let out something that sounded between a hum and moan at the warmth now on his back. Jake leaned his hand against the headboard as he milked his orgasm, squeezing out every last drop of cum.

"Shit," Jake huffed, wiping sweat away from his forehead. He placed a hand on Bob's bare ass, tapping the skin, "That was so fucking good."

"Mhm," Bob nodded, "Can you get up now? I need to take a leak."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, "Lemme get you a towel real quick." Jake carefully crawled off of Bob's bed and shuffled his way to the bathroom. Jake cleaned himself up quickly, taking a quick piss before getting a warm washcloth and going back to Bob.

The two of them had been messing around for a couple months now, and they did little to keep it a secret. When Jake wanted Bob, he made sure that everyone knew it. Jake would walk up to Bob, put his arm around his waist, whisper something dirty in the WSO's ear, and place a soft kiss right below his ear before heading out to his supped up ford f-250.

But besides that affection that Jake showed when he was keyed up, the dagger squad started to notice the small changes in him. It took anyone with a pair of eyes to know that Bob had a crush on Jake. Anytime the blonde pilot would walk into a room, his blue eyes were searching for the other blonde pilot. Whenever Jake would open his mouth to speak, Bob took in every word like he was modern day Jesus Christ. Jake even went as far as inviting Bob as his plus one to his sister's wedding. Jake could tell if Bob wasn't have a good day by the way he would sit in his chair.

What really set everyone on the track that Jake was crushing on Bob just as hard as Bob was crushing on him, was when Bob had called out of work because he was sick.

Jake was worried sick because Bob hadn't shown up to first formation on time, and wasn't answering his phone. He nearly tore the hinges off of Maverick's office door trying to find out where Bob was and why he wasn't answering. Jake left base so fast, he was surprised the MPs weren't after him, and went to Bob's house, finding the WSO shivering under a pile of blankets. Jake basically nursed him back to health, using some types and tricks from his mom.

Bob pushed himself up on his elbows as the bed shifted under Jake's weight. The texan placed a small kiss on Bob's bare shoulder before cleaning up the mess he had made. Although Bob liked what they were doing, he was confused. He liked Jake and Jake liked him, but there was something holding Jake back from taking that step with him. Phoenix had warned Bob when he first started fooling around with Jake, to guard his heart. That things with the infamous Hangman never ended well.

"Jake?" Bob asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Hm?" Jake asked, looking at him.

"What are we doing?"

Jake scoffed, "Well I am cleaning my cum from your ass crack-"

"No, I mean not that," Bob blushed, "I mean this. . . us. . . Are we, are we dating?"

"No."

The quickness of Jake's answer made Bob's heart drop. Jake shuffled off the bed, and dropped the dirty washcloth into the hamper by the bathroom door. Bob sat up in bed and looked at Jake, who was pulling his boxers up his perfectly toned legs.

"Can you pee so we can cuddle?" Jake asked, running a hand through his hair. Bob shook his head, laughing slightly to himself. Jake furrowed his eyebrows, "What, Floyd?"

"I don't get you," Bob said, "One moment, you look like you are gonna strangle that guy at the bar who was talking-"

"Flirting," Jake rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Next, you're telling me we aren't together, but you and I both know that we aren't seeing other people. And now you want me to hurry up and piss so we can cuddle. If we insist on not dating, why do we always cuddle after sex?"

"Aftercare is a fundamental right, Robert," Jake deadpanned, "I am a good partner, a great partner even. Aftercare is a must. And cuddles are a part of aftercare.

Bob's jaw dropped as he stared at the pilot dumbfounded. Jake always had a way of rendering Bob speechless, and usually it was from the bed room talk in his ear, not from his stupid reasoning behind cuddles after sex.

"I don't-"

"Do not argue with the founding fathers, Robert," Jake pointed, "Now, do you want a UTI, or not?" Bob scoffed as he got off the bed, and walked to the bathroom, grumbling under his breath about how ridiculous Jake is being. Jake smirked and grabbed Bob by the hip, pulling him back against his chest.

"I am not going to ask you to be my boyfriend after I just screwed your brains out," Jake placed a kiss on Bob's neck, "Momma raised a gentleman. Now, go clean yourself and come back to me." Jake turned Bob's head to look up at him, flicking his eyes from his blue eyes to his lips, "You're cute when you're mad."

Bob opened his mouth to say something, but Jake placed a kiss on his lips and slapped his ass, sending him into the bathroom to clean himself off.

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girl-in-the-chairs-void · 1 year

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Show me Bob Floyd x fem!reader

Word count: 2k ish?

Summary: Reader is insecure about her body and Bob shows her just how beautiful she is...

Warnings/tags: fluff, implications of smut, body insecurities, TW; mentions s/h, one use of y/n

Not proofread. English isn’t my first language so there may be mistakes.

Masterlist

It has somehow become an everyday ritual for you now. After showers, standing in front of the fogged up mirror as you picked out every small thing that you thought was wrong about you. the swell of your tummy to the fat of your thigh to the scars that littered your body, large or small, it didn't matter. Their existence was the sole reason you were here.

It first started when you and Bob attended the New Year's party at Jake's house. It was a beautiful house more so than the people in it. Tall girls, with skinny legs and model like bodies. It made you pull down your red slit dress a little that cling to your body like second skin. Trying to cover the already visible lines that you had spent hours covering. It wasn’t a special dress, something that had been sitting in the back of your closet collecting dust.

You moved through the house with Bob’s arm around the low of your back. Trying to navigate through the dense crowd of navy officials and some of Bob's previous Top gun classmates that you had met prior. Once you had spotted the gracious host of the party and your friends in the small patio, you and Bob settled in your little corner around the bonfire that Jake had set up. Just as you were about to sit on the chair next to him, Bob patted his thigh; an invitation you didn’t always decline. You smile at him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze and a kiss on the cheek before settling to the chair beside him.

His lips turned downwards, a frown replacing his toothy smile. But he dusted the concern off when he saw you wave happily at Phoenix who had also just arrived. You looked to him again, giving his a loving smile before tilting your head towards Phoenix to which he nodded gracefully.

You both were reserved like that. It was probably why you had become such great friends and ended up dating after meeting years ago at the Hard deck when you were working under Penny.

Soon enough it was half an hour before midnight. Phoenix gave you a heads up as she looked at her watch, a reassurance that you could find Bob if you wanted to. Once again you were left victim to the crowds because somehow you and Phoenix had managed to grab a private conversation in Jake’s bedroom. So, you moved through sweaty bodies and tender legs before you suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe. It felt as though everyone’s gaze was fixated on you, a deer caught in headlights.

You managed to stumble your way into Jake’s kitchen before you felt an arm tighten around your waist, flinching you tried pushing it back but the voice just above the shell of your ear spoke lowly.

“Been looking everywhere for you, darlin’.”

The calm in his voice eased your nerves a little as you let out a sigh, turning in his arms. Wrapping your hands around his neck loosely, a lazy smile on both of your faces. He backed you up against a counter in the corner, easily making way for himself between the crowd.

“Hmm… and why would that be?” You teased, leaning into him, your hand coming up to his face to push his glasses up.

“Is it a crime to look for the prettiest girl at the party?” Your cheeks flushed at the question, stomach doing backflips but somewhere in there you felt guilty. For not sharing the insecurities you had with him.

He took notice of the distant frown you wore now as you ducked your head into his neck, peppering small kisses as you muttered a ‘no’. Suddenly becoming too aware of your detached behavior. He swayed on his feet, moving a hand to the back of your head as his other tightened around your waist.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?”

“Hmm…”

The acknowledgement wasn’t enough for him. He somewhat knew of your anxieties and what they withheld. You had worked hard on improving your mental health over the months the two of you had been together. It was something that had held you back from dating him in the first place but he said he’d wait for you his entire life if it meant he had a single chance with you.

The rest is history and now, here you stand, twenty minutes to midnight, to a new chapter of your relationship. Fighting with all your might to put the gnawing feeling of unworthiness away.

Bob cupped your face in his hands, he noticed the faint hint of tears in your lash line. His heart broke a little, chipping away on the tiled floor.

“Hey, don’t cry. Tell me, what’s wrong?” He cooed. His voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” He asked when receiving nothing but a broken look from you.

You nodded, silently hoping that he will take you straight home. You ended up maneuvering your way out of the house, not before saying a quick goodbye to Phoenix and the rest of your friends. You step out into the nipping cold before Bob has a chance to catch up with you, hastily making your way towards his car as you pretend to not hear his calls from behind you over the loud music amplifying from the house.

“Y/n! Stop!” his voice booms and you freeze, turning slowly on your heels to face him.

He stepped closer to you, an unconscious move he made every time there was a single meter of distance between the two of you.

“Tell me what's wrong, please.” he says- no begs. He doesn't know what caused this sudden change in you but he sure as hell will go out of his way to make you feel better.

You shake your head, lips trembling. The ground is melting under you, the world slowly fading away as voices fill your head; cruel, vile, abhorrent voices.

“The voices, Bobby, they won’t stop.” You crumbled on the cobblestone ground, your heels digging into the ground as you put your full weight on them. Bob runs to you, swiftly taking you in his arms; a hand wrapping around your head as the other goes to stabilize you around your back, swaying you back and forth.

“What, baby, what are they saying?” He asks tentatively, scared that might say the wrong words.

“The scars…my tummy, everything. Please just make it stop Bob, please.” you sobbed into him. Gripping his shirt as though your life depended on it. Throat contracting, it was becoming more and more difficult for you to breathe.

“Let’s get you home”

…

Somehow the 30 minute car journey to your shared house had lulled you to sleep. It wasn’t unusual for you to experience these symptoms in crowded places. What concerned Bob was the voices. A sign you had been spiraling. It was something you had experienced for a few years before meeting Bob, but when you met him, somehow you wanted to escape to him; to work harder on your mental health just so you could be with him.

He had been with you every step of the way. Guiding you, though both of you were blind to the path that you had taken. There was only one thing you knew. You weren’t going to let go of each other.

As Bob pulled into the driveway, his attention turned to you. You were out cold, head propped on your shoulder uncomfortably that was bound to give you a ridiculous neck pain the next morning. Quickly, he moved around the car to your side, carefully removing your seatbelt, managing to avoid your head and resting it against the headrest. Squatting down to your eye level; he tucks his arms under you, one moving to support your back while the other is snug under your thighs. You stir a little as he lifts you out of the car,arms tightening around him as you tuck your head into his chest a little more. Closing the door with the heel of his foot, locking it; he moved towards the entrance of your house. Careful not to wake you.

After a while, he’s managed to get you in bed. Weighing the idea whether he should wake you or leave you be.

He decides he’d stay but not wake you. making his way to the en-suite bathroom to get some counsiousness into him. It’s way past midnight, the new year already seeping into his mind. Splashing some cold water onto his flushed face; steadying himself on the sink, he breathes. Inhale…exhale….inhale…exhale. He repeated it a couple times; just like you had taught him.

There is a sudden knock on the bathroom door, he lifts his head to meet your bloodshot eyes standing in the doorway. Hair let down, your dress long gone, replaced by a pajama shirt of his that reached just above your knees, swallowing you whole.

He shows you a weak smile, observing the way your lips slightly trembled when he did so. He turns around to grab the towel and wipe his face, then makes his way towards you, taking you in his arms. Tucking you into his chest as he peppers soft kisses on the crown of your head.

“I'm sorry.”

“I’m sorry”

The apology slips out of you both at the same time. One a whisper; the other equally as quiet.

“Why are you sorry?” he beckons, holding you at elbow length.

“I ruined New Year’s Eve for you, our first new years together…” you mutter in a small voice. Visibly shirinking, trying to pry out of his grasp but he keeps a firm hold on you, but not enough to hurt.

“No, baby, you didn’t ruin anything. It’s still new years, you see that, your big bang?” He inclined his head towards the window, a plethora of colors flashing their way in and out, a kaleidoscope in the night sky. Booming and sparkling their way into life and dying in an instant.

Like the Big Bang, you had once told him.

“I’m with you, that is the best part of my new year.”

A small smile graces your face, eyes burning with the salty tears as they escape their way out of them. Bob cups your face in his hands, thumb swiping the tears away as he stares into your eyes, the fireworks outside illuminating their way into his eyes as a thousand galaxies deep their way into yours.

He rests his forehead against yours, his own tears flowing down the soft slope of his cheeks. The focus of his eyes dip towards your lips and back to your eyes.

A question of consent.

You answer it by closing the space between you. Hands wrapping around his neck as you pull him into you. It feels as though the fireworks outside have traveled their way into your stomach as your lips meet. Molding together though they were made for each other.

A soft gasp escapes his lips as he pulls you in further by the waist, thumb rubbing the soft curve of it. Before it could go further than a gentle gesture, he pulls away, backing against the door as he keeps you steady.

“I’m sorry that I failed you” you open your mouth to interject but he pushes a finger to your lips, quieting you as you look at him with wide eyes; “ahh, let me tell you something:

You are the most beautiful creature that I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, no matter how you may think of yourself. The world- hell the fucking universe couldn’t compare to the beauty you hold. And I want you to know that; no matter how many times you point out things about yourself that you think are unattractive, I will always find a way to show you that it’s not unattractive. It’s unique. You are unique, my beautiful, beautiful Y/n.”

Your lips are still shut by his finger that rests softly on them. But the tears that run their way down your face are evident. All emotions held in one look.

You slowly grab the finger that holds them shut. Removing it to let your emotions out. Instead of saying something, you simply grab his face, smashing your lips together in a heated kiss.

“Show me”

A/n: ANNDDD that is all my lovelies, I am in LOVE with these two. do let me know if you want a part two and what you thought about this?? Reblog, asks and comments are always appreciated <33

Taglist:

@lemur46

@elicheel

@arson-tm

@blahblechblah

@ravenhood2792

@bussyslayer333 (I didn’t know if you wanted to be added but lmk if you don’t 🫶🏻)

#bob top gun #bob floyd x you #robert floyd #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #lewis pullman #robert ‘bob’ floyd #Robert Bob Floyd x reader #bob imagine #bob floyd fluff

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callsign-fox · 1 year

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Bob: *seductively takes off glasses*

Bob: Wow…

Y/N: *blushes and smiles* ... what?

Bob: You're really fucking blurry.

#Bob #robert floyd #robert bob floyd #bob imagine #Bob fanfiction #Bob incorrect quote #robert floyd imagine #Robert Floyd incorrect quote #robert floyd fanfiction #top gun #top gun Maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick incorrect quotes

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ohtobemare · 1 year

Note

Okay last one 😁

“I think I might be in some kind of love with you.” Is Bobby and you know it!

Ok, no joke —Bob was HARD. Hopefully this is decent!

Talk to Me, Baby

“Bob? Bobby, wait!”

Your words connect with Bob Floyd at the exact minute he drops his gear just outside the transport that’s about to disconnect him from California turf.

Brow furrowed in that little way of his, he checks over his shoulder to find you careening past a group of officers lingering with their families, red-faced and sweating as you offer a hasty and insincere apology to people who could, truly, care less about you.

Stopping only to stagger out of your heels, you clutch them to your chest as you race the rest of the way to Floyd, who’s jogged away from the Huey to, presumably, meet you. Tears are burning in your eyes and have been since sending him off this morning.

Deployment was a hell of a thing to spend your day thinking about, for sure—and Bob wasn’t even a pilot. Natasha was a great aviator, certainly, and you trusted her with more than secrets, but—something about sending Robert Floyd, the love of your life, off in her hand and her hands alone hit hollow in the base of your gut.

Bob knew you loved him. But you hadn’t said it. Not this morning.

Ricocheting off your spine, as you’d attempted, and failed, to work today, you couldn’t shake the thought that this brought an entirely new meaning to putting someone’s life in another man’s hands. Or, in this case, Trace’s hands. Reminding yourself that Bob trusted her, that she was on this mission for a reason, only kept you sane through your staff meeting—with lunch came an entirely new wave of fear, anxiety, and nerves.

You’d been shaking thinking about Bob, halfway across the world, loading into a plane with your picture pasted to the dash for what could be the last time. He needed to know. You needed him to know, in case knowing was the only thing he had left.

You’d dropped work faster than a hot potato, told your boss to take a PTO day. Hauled ass from your corporate office to the base—Bob was due to leave in, now, what was two and a half minutes. At the decision to leave he’d been slated to leave in an hour, and you’d driven faster than probably even conceivable to Fast and Furious.

Screaming into the visitor’s lot, you’d practically thrown your ID at check in, rushing the officers manning the desk. They, of course recognized you since you were all the time and had been merciful not to call the MPs when you’d bolted past the desk, calling for Bob Floyd to “Hold on for one fucking minute!”

Now, his fine features are narrowed at you in a look of confusion, as if he didn’t understand you running right toward him. Fifteen feet, ten, five, and then you catapulted yourself into him, starfishing his tall frame with your face buried into the chest of his flight suit.

Wholly uncaring if any of his friends and fellow officers can see you or not, you cling to him, welded to the tarmac that’s hot beneath your bare feet. Trying to contain your shaking sobs as his arms envelop you tightly, he smells like cologne, jet fuel and whatever material the damn flight suit is made out of. Fingers twisting into the flight suit, you can barely hear Bob shushing you softly over the thrum of his heart in chest.

“What’s wrong?” His voice deepens with concern, huge hand rubbing your back comfortingly before he shuffles you back enough to take your face in his hands, concern muddying his features. “Did something happen? Honey?”

Resting your hands on his forearms, you shake your head in his hands, trying to ease air into your chest. Oxygen is doing little to nothing for your lungs, but your heart seems to stop hammering against your ribs with excruciating pain as Floyd begins to walk you through breathing exercises, eyes tracking yours purposefully.

“Talk to me, baby,” dark concern is in his eyes now, his brow pulled into a deep furrow, “I want to help. What happened?”

Finally, heaving breaths, your eyes close and you release a shaking, heavy breath. “I don’t want you to go,” eyes opening to watch his face fall into one of apologetic sympathy, your fingers curl into the arms of his flight suit, the material stiff beneath your nails, “Bob, I—”

“Honey, I know, but—”

“—Bob. I think I might be in some kind of love with you,” your voice cracks and you sob again, stepping forward to rest your face against his chest. Curling into him, the thought of him leaving and not coming home is on a toxic loop in your brain, rattling your bones, plaguing every throb of your heart.

Hot, heavy tears skip down the front of his suit, and after a few seconds of Bob’s arms just hanging languidly at his sides, he rests his chin in your hair and just holds you. His heart ticks up a little faster, you can feel it against your cheek as you cry into his chest, and when he begins to rock you side to side, shushing you softly, the hard knot in your stomach releases just so.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he curls into you against his chest, arms tightening around you as the back of his hand cradles your head against his pec, “it’s gonna be fine. I’m gonna come back, I promise. This is just a routine run, baby girl—it’s only two weeks.”

“Two weeks is forever,” you mumble into his chest.

“It is not,” he chuckles, tugging your hair back just a little with his fingers, so you’re staring up into his face. “It just feels like it. And I’ll be able to call you and we can Facetime, so really it’s like having me right here in California.” He winks at you, nose scrunching just a little as if it helps make the point.

“I know,” you sigh, reaching to brush away the tears beneath your eyes, “just having you here, Bobby—”

He chuckles, hand skipping over your cheek lightly to cup your jaw, “I know, I’m pretty irreplaceable,” this, coupled with his little shrug and eye roll behind his glasses make you smile a little, giggling as his finger drops beneath your chin to tip it up. “But don’t sweat it, doll. I’ll come back to you. I always will as long as I can.”

The corner of your lips tug up in a smile. “You promise, Bobert?”

His nickname never ceases to make him grin, and he nods once, firmly. “With whatever equivalent the Navy offers as a scout’s honor,” he holds up to fingers, kisses them, and presses them against your lips lightly. Giggling into them, you kiss his fingers back, and he draws them back to his own lips.

Someone at the chopper calls for him, signaling the two minute mark, and he nods over his shoulder to them. “I gotta go, sweetness,” he kisses your forehead soundly, before taking your face again to kiss you deeply on the lips, “wait for me, yeah? I love you.”

“Always, Bobby,” kissing the corner of his mouth again, you smile softly at him as he salutes you lightly, turning on the heel of his boot to hustle back to the chopper. Throwing his gear inside, he swings into the Huey, leaning partially out of it to smile down at you softly with that totally Bob Floyd look about him.

“Be safe, my love. Come back to me in one piece.”

#100 followers celebration #100 followers #blurb requests #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #controlled chaos squad #call sign meerkat #answered asks #ask a meerkat #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #bob imagine

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lieutenantfloyd · 6 months

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AU — Christmas with Bob ♡

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob x reader #bob imagine #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob top gun #robert floyd #top gun maverick fluff #top gun moodboard #top gun imagine #top gun fluff #top gun fanfic #bob fluff

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 11 months

Text

Back to You

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x Reader

Description: When you wake up in the snow, you have no idea who you are or where you are. You're surrounded by ice and snow, the landscape utterly deserted. But slowly your memories come back. But how will you find your way back to those you love? How will you get back to Bob?

Warnings: Mentioned injuries, hospitals, comas, fantasy elements, not scientifically sound. This fic plays in a dimension between life and death. ANGST (this entire fic is angst, I have nothing else to say)

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU CONSUME ON THE INTERNET. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS FIC IF IT IS TRIGGERING TO YOU IN ANY WAY.

Disclaimers: All of the warnings above. Female! Reader

Word Count: 2306

A/N: Here we go! This is my first official entry to add Bob to my masterlist! This fic is for @bobby-r2d2-floyd! I promised Fireball an angsty Bob fic and this is the result. I hope you love it, Fireball!

This entire fic was written listening to the song Back to You - All Time Low x Illenium. For the full effect listen to the song as you read. All bold + italicised lines are the song lyrics!

Thanks to the gorgeous @desert-fern for beta-reading this for me!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

It's cold and dark where you are. So cold that the plumes of breath turn into frost shattering in the air. You're not wearing much, your bare feet sinking into thick wet snow with each step. It weighs your movements, sliding frigid fingers through your hair, soaking your scalp in ice. The worst part is, you can't remember much, if anything about who you are. All you remember is one thing, one person really. Sweet blue eyes, big gentle hands, blond hair curling gently over his forehead. And a name. You remember a name too. Emblazoned on patches, covering a helmet, a name that you desperately wanted to become yours just as much as it was his.

Where is he? Where did he go? You remember a promise, too. A promise to never leave your side. He doesn't break promises he makes. You remember this one fact about him too. So why are you here? Why are you alone?

"Starlight.'' It's a voice, soft as a whisper, that you hear first in the never-ending cold, the never-ending snow blanketing you. "Starlight, can you hear me?"

The voice has your back snapping straight, an electric current zinging through you as you long to remember anything, everything. Slowly a sight crystallizes before your eyes.

You're immobile, surrounded by blood, festooned in darkness. It hurts. The pain is overshadowing every sensation except one. You can smell it all of a sudden, the metallic ichor dripping from within you, coating everything it touches in foamy spray, coating everything in its sickly scent. That's when you see yourself, strapped down on an operating room table, ringed by lights and skilled hands as they work desperately, despairingly to patch you up. You want to scream, seeing the sight. Scream as they pump your veins with drugs. Scream as they put you under and wheel you away. But nothing pours from your gaping mouth. Not a sound, not a peep, not even the tiniest of whispers. This is the end of something. But what?

Your feet move of their own volition. The landscape around you remains mostly unchanging. You're still cold, still soaked in ice, but the light is changing. It's gradually becoming brighter. You walk right into a barrier as you look up at the sky, examining the snowflakes falling endlessly, unendingly. That's the first time you feel pain since you woke up, your synapses jolting as the haze surrounding you clears.

You can see him again. Bob, you think his name is. Bob, sitting next to a hospital bed, holding onto a hand you think might be yours. He's holding onto a hand that is yours. But you can't feel him. His eyes, the blue you remember, are red-rimmed and swollen, tear-bright behind his frames. He looks beaten down, exhausted. But still he sits, a sentinel guarding you day in and day out. It's his voice, you think you've been hearing all along.

Just echoes of it, truly. How did you end up here? Why can't you get to him? You so desperately want to be there, be with him. But no matter how you rage and scream, the barrier doesn't give. You beat on it with your fists until they're bruised and your throat is raw, but still you stand. Cold and alone, just as you have been for how long you don't know.

You travel slowly up and down the barrier, looking for the edges, the ends with all of your strength. But each time it looks like nothing changes. You still end up at the same place looking at the same thing - Bob sitting at your bedside. Small things seem to change, from the clothing he's wearing to the position and color of the flowers on the table. But the expression on his face remains the same. It feels like forever as you stand hammering on the barrier, begging and pleading to anyone that you'll break through. But you don't. You're stuck in limbo, alone and cold. It's starting to feel like you'll never break through. The longer you're stuck the more you start rationalizing - if you see Bob today, you can hope. You can hope that someday you will break through for him.

In the beginning of your time in limbo, you'd slept, using the snow as a blanket, resting fitfully until the artificial light had brought Bob to you again. As the days pass, you forget yourself, forgoing everything to trace Bob's features when you see him. But as the days turn to months and you sit in the snow, chilled to the bone, Bob starts skipping days. Where he'd sat by your side every day, all day, it deteriorates to a couple of hours, then one hour, then once every few days. That transitions to once a week, to once a month and then finally he doesn't come at all.

It hurts more than the second-hand remembered pain from crashing a jet at high speeds. For that's what you had done. Starlight isn't your name, but your callsign. You are a pilot, a damned good one, to boot. You'd flown far more dangerous missions in far more perilous conditions.

The difference was who you were flying with. You're not a solo pilot. You can take direction, of course you can, you're not Hangman. You had a backseater, a Weapons Systems Officer - Bob. There was nothing you wouldn’t do for your backseater. You were the best of the best. You flew circles around the boys with your eyes closed and your hands tied behind your back. Speaking of your back, with Bob at yours, keeping you safe and secure, you felt like there was nothing you could lose. Except this. In the darkness your life has been, you rack your brains, trying to figure out what happened. Instead, everything you remember is about Bob.

You remember meeting him the first time. You remember how he’d flushed pink like the finest rose at the sight of you, tongue-tied at the sight of your plain countenance and you long hair tied up in a Navy regulation bun. He’d barely spoken to you that first day, and at first you’d been shattered. All that hard work, fighting to the top, besting all the men as the sole woman in your flight class, and your WSO didn’t even want to speak to you? You’re nothing special, but even you can’t be that bad, right? His nerves had only faded up in the air. You kept the chatter to a minimum on comms with Bob, waiting for him to chime in, to speak. The first sound of his voice had nearly knocked you out. It was like a drug. You lived for those moments in the air when you’d hear his voice.

Things hadn’t changed until your first rotation on board a carrier. You only knew Bob out there. You spent long night after long night lying awake in your bunk, homesick and wishing for any connection. You’d never expected to find that connection in your WSO. It had been after another patrol when you had your first meaningful interaction with him. After your shower you had retreated to your jet. That's when he’d found you.

“Hey, Starlight.” He’d sounded so hesitant to speak to you.

“Bob, hey!” You’d smiled, trying your best to seem unassuming, unthreatening. “What’s up?”

“M-my mom sent me a care package.” He’d tugged at the collar of his uniform and straightened his glasses, swallowing noisily before continuing, “She wanted me to share it with my pilot. I, um. I noticed you never get any packages of your own, and I mentioned it to her once, so.”

Your grin had been soft, so unbearably soft that he’d pinked under your gaze again. “Thanks, Bobby. I don’t have anybody waiting for me to come home safely. This was incredibly kind of your mom.”

“You - you have me, you know?” You couldn’t believe what you’re hearing.

“What?” You blinked into his eyes.

“You have me wanting you to come home safely. And not only because I’ll be home safe if you are.” You’d smiled at him widely before splitting one of Mrs. Floyd’s homemade brownies in half and proffering it to your WSO.

That moment? That was when you fell for Bob Floyd. You fell for his kind heart, sweet smile and his brilliant mind. But he never seemed to want to go any further with you. You were his pilot and he was your WSO. There was no other way for the relationship to go. It had to be enough that he was yours on base and in the cockpit of a jet. That was it. But now? As you sit in purgatory, cold and frozen and lonely, you wish you could’ve made the leap. At least then you’d know. You’d know if your best friend, the love of your life, loved you too. Then you’d know if his tears were for the loss of your friendship or for the loss of your heart.

Bob looked so beaten down when you saw him at your bedside last. He looked so worried - so scared. He looked lost, and you don’t know when he lost his spirit. Was that you? Was that your doing? What happened? Why did you crash? But no matter what you do you can’t remember. It feels like days that you scream into the void, begging for answers, clawing at the barrier separating your body from your soul until your fingers are bloody stubs.

It’s as you claw pitifully at the barrier that you remember.

You remember the piercing wail of the alert for tone, the mechanical voice in your cockpit begging you to pull up. You remember the fear in Bob’s voice as he screams out the positions of the enemy missiles, as you steer your jet in the tightest, wildest maneuvers, trying anything and everything to outsteer the SAMs missiles. It had all fogged into background noise as the missile closed in.

“Eject, Bob! Eject!” You’d been screaming with all the breath in your lungs as he refused. Then you’d manually overridden the controls and ejected him yourself. The last thing you remember is the flames licking at your skin as you eject, too late and too close to the missile hitting its target. The next thing you remember is waking up in the snow, enrobed in the cold, wearing what you are now.

It feels like you’ve spent a lifetime trapped. The constant beeping of hospital machinery is the soundtrack to your existence. You wish you could let Bob go. Maybe then he’d be happy. Is that why he’s not coming to see you anymore? If he’s let you go, why are you still here? Why are you still trying to break through? Each day makes you feel like it’s an even longer way back home - back to yourself, back to those you love, back to Bob. But you can’t face the truth. If you do, you’ll lose all hope.

Time loses meaning and the days cease to matter. You lose track of everything, descending into apathy at the sight of the neverending ice surrounding you. As your will to live fades, your fingertips purple and your lips blue. Garbed in white, you feel more and more ephemeral, more ghostly, more inconsequential. There’s really nothing left to hold you to your body. Why would you go back? Who’d miss you when you’re gone? Not Bob. As your heart breaks, the flame of faith, the flame of hope you’ve been carrying for who knows how long begins to shutter out.

There’s a tiny flicker left when you hear a voice at your bedside again. Where there was a forest fire burning in your chest there’s a thin finger of flame.

“Starlight?” It can’t be. Why would it be? Why would he come back?

“It’s Bob.” He sounds good. He sounds so good. His voice feels like a warm hug, a blanket being wrapped around you. “I’m back. M’sorry I left you like that. The Navy called me out for a special detachment.”

He inhales shakily, and you want nothing more than to trace your fingers over the bags under his eyes, to feel the paper thin skin under your fingertips, to kiss the apples of his cheeks. “I nearly didn’t come home. The only voice I heard was yours. You were promising to bring me home. And you did. You brought me home that day and you brought me home from this mission.”

He’s sniffling, your Bob, your heart, carelessly brushing tears away from beneath the frames of his glasses. “So why aren’t you home yet? Come home, darling. Come home, my light. I miss you so much. It’s not the same - flying without you.” His voice breaks painfully as he sobs out the words.

Your heart is in your throat as you sob and sob. Every fiber of your being aches to be back home, to be back with Bob. But even as you sob, your heart pulses, painfully. You can’t breathe as you watch the meters keeping you alive screech in unison. Each screeching wail sends pulses of pain through you. You get ripped away from the snow and the cold. Ripped away from Bob. His name is the only one on your mind, the only thing on your lips as colors pulse before your eyes. And then, silence.

If everything heals with time

Then why is our flame dying?

If you don't want to get it right

Then why are we still trying?

If everything heals with time (another two years gone)

Then why is our flame dying? (I spent forever letting go)

If you don't want to get it right (and I don't wanna face the truth)

Then why are we still trying? (It's a long way back to you)

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

❄️@bobby-r2d2-floyd

❄️@mayhemmanaged

❄️@cassiemitchell

❄️@desert-fern

❄️@dakotakazansky

❄️@cherrycola27

❄️ @thedroneranger

❄️ @roosterforme

❄️ @sarahsmi13s

❄️@lovinglyeternal

❄️@lovingbradshawafterdark

❄️@chaoticassidy

❄️@kmc1989

❄️@bradleybeachbabe

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun angst #robert bob floyd x reader #bob x reader #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #bob imagine #bob angst #robert floyd angst

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callsignfrostbite · 2 years

Text

dancing in the moonlight | robert ‘bob’ floyd x pilot!reader

summary: an admiral’s daughter gets a confession after receiving unsolicited remarks.

warnings: mentions of drinking/drunkenness, hangman being a dickhead (i’m sorry), small use of y/n

word count: 1.5k

reader’s callsign: Glacier

author’s note: my first fic??? omg??? just a little warning, english is not my first language, so there will most likely be grammatical errors. however, i strongly believe that everything is a learning experience, so if you see anything that needs improvement, please let me know!

——————————

Only the best of the best are going.

You dressed up in your decorated khaki uniform and pulled your hair into a low bun.

Drinking? On a night before work? For you, that was a hard no. One man, and only one man, is the sole reason you're going: Bob. You two shared many interests and quickly grew close when you both joined the navy.

You didn't give your feelings for him any thought, until one drunken night when he changed your sheets and helped you clean up after vomiting. It wasn't until the next morning when you had that 'Oh. Oh,' moment when you saw him sleeping on your couch.

It would be an understatement to say that you miss Bob. It’s been months since you last saw each other. While you stayed in San Diego, he went back to Lemoore. You thought your feelings for him would go away, but, truth be told, they only grew stronger. So, when you found out that he was being called back too, you were over the moon.

"Dad, I'm going to the Hard Deck to meet everyone," you informed your father, Admiral Tom "Iceman" Kazansky.

Proving to your fellow naval aviators that you are just as good as they are, if not better, was a big challenge. Being Ice's daughter sure has its perks, but if there's one thing you stand for, it's achieving something without having someone pull strings for you.

Take care, Y/N, he typed on his monitor. Don’t come home with a drunk man, understand?

“Yes, dad. Don’t worry. I know how to handle dickheads,” you giggled at his remark before kissing him on the cheek and leaving.

A few recognizable people greet you as you walk into the bar. As you move through the sea of mildly inebriated naval aviators, you spot him. The one and only. Robert “Bob” Floyd.

Filled with excitement, you yelled, “Robby!”

Setting his most precious peanuts aside, he turned his head after recognizing your voice. “Glacier! How are you?” he welcomed you with a hug. A tight one. His hands encircled your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I’m good. I’m good,” you reply, still in his embrace. He doesn’t see it, but you have a smile on your face that could light up the whole room.

Despite being in uniform, you can feel the warmth emitted by his body. Your hearts parallel to each other. You waited so long for this. The hug lasted for god knows how long, exchanging a lot a few “hi’s” and “hello’s”, and earning stares from almost everyone in the room.

“Oh, look,” a southern voice interrupts. “If it ain’t daddy’s little princess.”

Breaking away from the hug, you turned towards Jake Seresin, crossing your arms, your smile disappearing. “Hangman,” you greet him in a flat tone.

"Tell me," he grins as he walks closer to you, "how does it feel to have everything served to you on a silver platter? No offense intended.”

Bob knows how much you hate comments like this. He puts a hand on your shoulder, letting you know that he’s there to back you up if you need him to.

“Yet somehow, you always manage,” the WSO contested.

“You know I’m right,” the blonde counters.

“Seresin. I don’t know much about you, but based on how you treat women, I know for a fact that you sleep with one beside you,” you pause. “But wake up all alone.”

Hearing a few chuckles from Fanboy and Payback, Hangman straightens his back, “Speaking from experience, Glacier?”

All you managed to blurt out was an annoyed "whatever" because you know better than to satisfy a self-absorbed son of a bitch. Hangman winked at you as he walked away.

“Well he hasn’t changed,” Bob complained.

You agreed, “He definitely hasn’t.”

After then, there was a brief moment of silence to let the tension dissipate. You had been looking forward to seeing Bob again for months, only for it to be interrupted by Hangman.

“Can we ta—”

Before you could continue your conversation, a chorus of "boo's" and "hey's" filled the bar after someone unplugged the jukebox.

The complaints turned into cheers as Rooster began playing the piano intro to "Great Balls of Fire.” The pilots and the rest of the crowd drew closer to him. All but you. Bob tried calling your name but failed as he got dragged into the clump that is Rooster's audience.

As the crowd sang, you swiftly made your way outside.

Despite how much you detest them, "silver platter" remarks never get on your nerves. You know you're a great pilot; you worked your tail off to get here, but now, you're holding back tears.

Perhaps it's because Hangman is one of the best pilots in the game and he thinks you didn't put any effort to get to your rank. Or maybe it’s because there’s a hint of truth in what he said. Maybe.

Body numb, you closed your eyes and let out a deep heavy breath. As water began to collect at the bottom of your eye, you feel your head hurt. Your brain is telling you that you’ve been holding your tears for too long. It’s time to let go.

You sat down on the veranda, knees pulled to your chest, sharply sucking in a breath. Training hasn’t even started, yet you’re already tired. I don’t deserve to be here, you thought.

“Hey,” a comforting voice said as you felt a hand on your shoulder.

Bob.

Oh, sweet Bob.

“Come here,” he says, offering his hand to help you stand up. You took his hand, propelling yourself upwards. Seeing your tear-stained face, he took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it down.

“I’m a mess,” you uncontrollably sobbed.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he took your hands again and pulled you closer to him. Your bodies were so close you could hear his heartbeat.

Inside the bar, the jukebox was plugged in again, and “Dancing in the Moonlight” by King Harvest was now playing.

He placed your right hand on his shoulder and held your left one tight, placing it against his chest. Putting his left hand on your waist, he started swaying slowly.

We get it on most every night

“Just sway to the beat, okay?” Bob said quietly.

When that moon gets big and bright

You stared deep into his eyes. Those bright goddam eyes that are so easy to get lost in. You can see a faint reflection of yourself on his glasses, lightly fogged up by his and your breath.

It’s a supernatural delight

“But you hate dancing,” you stuttered.

Everybody’s dancing in the moonlight

“I know, but there’s this girl I like, and I think she’s the only one who can make me dance like this,” he confessed.

Bob, who watched reruns of your favorite show until it became his favorite too, likes you. Bob, who will leave the lights on on the tiny balcony of his apartment to let you know he’s there if you need a place to crash, likes you. Bob, who will place a hand on your shoulder when you’re down, likes you.

Bob, the person you like, likes you back.

And oh so carefully, you lean in. Your lips brush against his a few times, breath fanning across each other’s faces.

Then, he fully closes the gap between the two of you. Placing your hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him impossibly closer towards you. Your need for him becoming more and more obvious.

His lips are softer than anything you can imagine. It felt like fire. Burning. Igniting. But, it also felt like water. A need. A necessity. Life.

A small gesture, enough to let you know you can’t live without him. Enough to let you know he’s yours forever.

When you finally decided to pull away, all of the things you wanted to say to him made their way towards the unknown. You couldn’t utter a single word, as if your brain was malfunctioning.

All you needed to say was in that kiss.

“I missed you,” he began.

“Yeah. Figured that one out,” you smile, looking at his lips. “I missed you too.”

—————-

BONUS!!

It was 2 AM.

Sneaking a boy into your house used to be a piece of cake. Bob tried his best to make as little noise as possible, but he couldn’t help but giggle at your current situation. You both felt like high schoolers.

Your room was on the ground floor of your house, meaning you wouldn’t have to tip toe for too long. Just as you were about to reach the door handle, Bob froze as a voice gnarled.

Ahem. Your dad.

“Admiral.” Bob salutes.

“Dad, I thought you were already slee—”

“Shh!” Tom silenced you.

He walks closer towards the both of you, your heart beating faster and faster. Much to your confusion, your dad sniffs.

“Oh my G—,” you laughed as you came to a realization. “He is not drunk!”

#top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #bob imagine #bob x reader #bob x y/n #bob x you #bob fanfic #top gun fanfiction #kazansky!daughter #bob x pilot!reader #Spotify

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